#x. she says it's all a game; she trembles like a flower but in her there's a power ( cheng yu )

[silkscream]

CHAPTER 19: FLOWERS OF BLOOD

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader

You hum as you close your eyes, feeling the warmth in your veins. His proximity makes your skin feel electric along with whatever curse is inside of you. It gives you a heady feeling. You’re often needy with him, but this feels like a new beast.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: angst, fingering, vaginal sex

ੈ✩ wc: 9k

ੈ✩ a/n: why is this so long u may ask. i don't fucking know

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

May, 2005

Satoru is fifteen the first time he figures out how to warp. The second time he does it is to get inside your room while the two of you are fighting.

His mother offers to take you in for the weekend when yours has to go out of town to visit your grandmother. You think it’s excessive considering you’re certainly old enough to stay home by yourself, but Mrs. Gojo enjoys your company as if you were her own daughter. That, and she thinks that you’d be a good influence on Satoru, who, at the time, was on his second week of being grounded.

You have your own room in the house. It’s mostly sparse save for a few polaroids and drawings from your younger years. It’s odd to be inside it, on the twin-sized bed that you and Satoru used to make blanket forts in. Back when all you had was each other.

You mostly keep to yourself. You don’t exactly know what to do with him besides sharing the couch with him quietly while he plays on his Gamecube. You read your book because you don’t know what to say to him, either. You hadn’t been friends in over a year.

As the afternoon wears on, the silence between you grows heavier, more oppressive. You glance up from your book, catching Satoru's eye for a brief moment before he quickly looks away, his fingers fumbling on the controller. The air feels oddly thick.

"Do you have to mash the buttons so loudly?" you snap, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

Satoru pauses the game, turning to face you with a raised eyebrow. 

"Does it bother you?" he asks, his tone deceptively light.

“It’s distracting.”

His blue eyes narrow. “It’s not that loud. Maybe if you weren't so uptight, you wouldn't even notice it."

The barb stings, reminding you of why you drifted apart. "I'm not uptight," you retort. "I just don't waste all my time on video games like you do."

"Oh, right," Satoru scoffs, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because keeping your nose is so much more productive."

You feel your face flush with anger. "It is! At least I'm learning something! What are you learning from that game? How to jump on mushrooms?"

“You used to love jumping on mushrooms when we were kids, if I recall. Sorry that you forgot how to have fun, Twigs.”

His words hit a nerve, and you lash out. "Maybe I'd have more fun if my best friend hadn't abandoned me for his stupid jujutsu training!"

The room goes eerily quiet. Satoru's face, usually so animated, becomes a mask of cold indifference.

"Is that what you think happened? That I abandoned you?"

"Didn't you?” you accuse. “We’ve barely spoken in the past two years! Ever since you started getting stronger, you've been different. Distant. Like you're too good for normal people now."

"You have no idea what it's like," he hisses. “You know how much pressure is on me all the time. Not like you’d understand, anyway. You’re just a fucking window.”

“Excuse me?”

“What?” he scoffs. “Just stating a fact.”

“Oh, Satoru, don’t worry. I’m completely aware of how much better you think you are—”

“Oh, give me a fucking break—”

“I just thought you weren’t into that bullshit. But I suppose everything looks better when you’re at the top of the food chain, doesn’t it?”

“Jesus, Twigs. Sorry that I made some friends who can actually keep up with me.”

The words hang in the air, prickling the back of your head like a death blow. You rub your temple, feeling a headache coming on as tears threaten to spill over. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

“Keep up with you?” you spit back, your voice trembling. "Is that what this is about? You need other people to stroke your ego now?"

Satoru's eyes flash dangerously, a flicker of something inhuman passing across his face. 

"You have no idea what I need," he says, his voice low and cold. "You can't even begin to comprehend the world I live in now."

“Go ahead and explain it. Or have you outgrown me so completely that it’s not worth it?”

Satoru runs a hand through his white hair, a gesture you've seen a thousand times before. But now it feels like watching a stranger. 

"That's not what I meant," he says, but his tone lacks conviction.

“Then what did you mean? If you even thought of me as a friend still, which you don’t, you’d at least try instead of pretending you’re some kind of god.”

He looks back at you, and for a moment, you see a flicker of the boy you used to know. But then his walls come back up, and he's once again the untouchable Satoru Gojo. He narrows his eyes.

“A god? How flattering,” he bites, laughing bitterly. Satoru’s face feels too warm with irritation. Out of all the things he’d heard, that had to be the most ridiculous. All his life, he’s heard it. He’d never expected it to come from you, who had only known him when he was human. A defenseless child.

“You’re not invincible,” you whisper.

“Well, maybe I am,” he shrugs coolly. “Ever considered that?”

You scoff in disgust. “You’re not. You’re just an asshole.”

"You don't understand," he mutters, almost to himself. "You can't understand."

There’s a pang in your heart you wish you could ignore. The reality of your love for him comes crashing down, even when you’ve been distant from each other for so long. The habit of thinking about him as a security blanket comes back. You hate it.

Your fingers twitch as you stare at him before quickly averting your gaze. You want to show him how much power you really have. You’ve thought about it plenty of times before — suddenly unveiling your technique to see how he would react to your fingertips decaying something living.

You aren’t prepared for the anger that would probably be unleashed on you. The look of betrayal he’d have.

So, instead, you turn away and bolt for the stairs right as Satoru opens his mouth to say something else. As you hole yourself up in your room, alone in the growing darkness, you can't help but wonder if this is the price of loving someone touched by destiny. You're not sure if you're strong enough to pay it.

__

Dinner that night is tense. You can tell that Satoru’s mother gets the hint, given how often she flickers her stare between you and Satoru.

The head of the household has left for a work meeting, which leaves the three of you. If you were younger, Satoru would’ve had something snarky to say about his father, whether it was just to you or at the dinner table, where he would be scolded. But right now, he sits next to you and doesn’t say a word.

The silence is deafening, broken only by the soft clink of chopsticks against porcelain. You keep your eyes fixed on your plate, pushing the food around more than eating it. The weight of Mrs. Gojo's concerned gaze feels heavy on your shoulders.

"So," Mrs. Gojo says, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife, "how was your afternoon? Did you two have fun catching up?"

“Mhm,” you hum with an air of insistence. Your tone is higher than usual.

“Yeah,” Satoru offers. “Caught up and played video games. And stuff.”

You nod in agreement, avoiding eye contact with anyone that wasn’t your bowl of rice under you. You feel the slight graze of Satoru’s foot against yours. You glance at him briefly to see a small smile on his face, and it surprises you so much that you have to look away immediately.

The rest of the meal passes in silence. As soon as it's polite to do so, you excuse yourself and retreat back to your room. You curl up on the bed and hug your knees to your chest, willing yourself to think of anything other than him.

You’re about to get yourself a cup of tea when you hear footsteps in the hallway, pausing outside your room. For a heart-stopping moment, you think it’s Satoru about to knock. But then the footsteps continue, fading as he walks away.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Part of you wishes he had knocked, that he’d barged in like he always did and maybe apologized. You aren’t sure what his habits are anymore. They certainly had nothing to do with you.

Hours later, it’s impossible for Satoru to sleep. His mind is stuck on you, wondering if you’re still a heavy sleeper. Wondering what things would be like if he didn’t push you away.

Since you’ve been in his home, it’s been hard to look at you.

He warps to your room. It’s the second time in his life that he’s used the technique, and he nearly stumbles onto the bed. He holds his breath with wide eyes as you stir.

Your body is curled into itself, chin tucked underneath your fist. He always thought you looked like a bunny rabbit when you were a child, your nose twitching whenever he’d tease you. You look serene when you’re asleep. Pretty in the moonlight.

He isn’t exactly sure why he’s here, or why he warped at all, considering you probably didn’t lock the door. He had only thought about needing to see you like an itch he needed to scratch. He hadn’t even thought you’d be asleep. 

Truthfully, he imagined that he’d startle you, then you’d yell at him, then he’d make up some half-assed apology and try to humor you. Invade your space. Probably get you to lay with him so he could —

No, he thinks to himself. Out of the question.

But he does feel the need to crawl into your bed. You have a habit of curling towards the sides instead of staying in the middle, as if expecting someone to join you.

He hovers you and taps your forehead lightly. You don’t move. He taps your bottom lip and gets fascinated by the softness. Grazes your nose and gasps slightly when you twitch. You adjust your position, still sleep-ridden, still dead to the world. The comforter falls away to reveal your chest underneath the flimsy material of your cotton tank top.

He forces himself to look away, grunting when he feels his stomach tighten with vague want. It was stupid, being a high school boy. He’d lost his virginity only a few weeks ago and your face had popped into his head without warning. Hormones, he’d told himself. Hormones and familiarity —

He freezes when you let out a whimper. God, he can’t be here. Not with you making sounds like that.

Your breathing picks up. There’s a furrow in your brow that wasn’t there before as you fidget in your sleep. Your body twitches erratically, your knuckles tightening around the sheets. All the sounds you’re making are signs of distress.

“Twigs,” Satoru whispers, caressing your arm lightly. You whimper again, still asleep until he shakes you. With a gasp, you jolt awake.

“Satoru?” you blink at him, frowning. Sweat collects in your brow. “What are you doing here?”

Satoru widens his eyes, scrambling for an excuse.

“I— I couldn’t sleep and I heard you were having a nightmare. I just came to check on you.” A half-truth.

You exhale, closing your eyes before opening them to look at his electric blue ones.

“You okay?” he mumbles.

“Yeah. Just.. anxious.”

He doesn’t know why, but he sits down at the edge of your bed with you. The hairs on his neck prick up from the proximity of your warmth.

“Satoru.”

“Mm?” He pretends to look out the window.

“Will you stay with me tonight? Like you used to when I had nightmares?” you whisper.

He looks at you, eyes softening. He hesitates, his heart beating fast. He knows it’s not a good idea, but something in your voice breaks through his defenses.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice low. “Yeah, I’ll stay.”

He settles onto the bed beside you, careful to maintain a sliver of space between your bodies. The mattress dips under his weight, and you can feel the heat radiating from him. It's comforting and unsettling all at once.

For a while, you both lie there in silence, staring up at the ceiling. The moonlight casts strange shadows across the room, and you're attuned to every breath, every slight movement.

As your eyes droop towards slumber, you feel his body adjust. There’s a tentative touch to your hip, then an arm slung around your waist. The vague sound of his heart beating lulls you to sleep.

__

June, 2012

There seemed to be a permanent dread in Satoru’s heart when it came to letting you out of his sight. Exacerbated greatly when you’d gone to study in Kyoto, he feels it again when he overhears Shoko and Yaga discussing a mission together.

“Yeah, no, I think I should be retired from missions altogether. I’m trying to be a doctor, here, sensei,” Shoko scoffs. Mumbling, like something was in her mouth. A cigarette, Satoru would bet.

Ironic, he thinks. Smoking away your life while trying to become a doctor.

It’s a mission in Kyoto, something too minor for a Special Grade like him. He’s about to walk past the room until he hears your name.

“You know, she’s better suited for combat even though she technically heals.”

“I suppose she hasn’t been on a solo mission with a Grade 1 or Special Grade yet,” Yaga nods. “And she's still a Grade 2.”

“Yeah. She’s getting better every day.”

And you are. It makes Satoru feel guilty that he hasn’t considered your strength, hasn’t seen it for himself in perhaps years between you being gone and you confining yourself to the greenhouse. He’s always on solo missions, used to being trigger-happy on Grade 1 curses and exorcising Special Grades like the final bosses in his video games.

You are not his damsel but he feels the need to lock you up sometimes. It’s an ephemeral feeling now, but it lingers nonetheless. Part of it must be security, he’s sure – the need to be your safe space when knowing you are his. 

It had been simpler years before, when he had you to himself (and Suguru, too). Now, you have grown older, always as lovely as you’ve been, but with a reformed shell that has stuck to you since your school days. 

He couldn’t believe you had let him kiss you all those years ago. He knew that he’d fucked up something good, was afraid of your friendship as a teenager because of how deeply entwined the two of you used to be. Convinced he would taint something as good as you.

Satoru couldn’t help but indulge in the things he wanted. He’s convinced he’s ruined you somehow anyway. Consumed with you, the architect of his lust. 

He wonders what would happen if he let you use your technique on him. Born with the Six Eyes and prodigious, he had his maximum potential. If he let himself get cut, would your hands heal him faster than his own? If you touched him with the intent to hurt, would he rot from the outside in?

You’re so secretive about your studies. Part of it must be ritualistic – you’re extremely particular about your practice. Satoru often jokes that you would make a great monk.

You’d been warming up to him lately. He knows not to beg. 

Satoru leans against the wall outside Yaga's office, mind racing. You, on a solo mission not in Tokyo? The thought makes his stomach tighten uncomfortably. He knows he shouldn't interfere—you'd resent him for it—but the idea of you facing danger alone makes his blood run cold.

He pushes himself off the wall and heads toward the greenhouse. That's where you'd be at this hour, tending to your medicinal plants with that quiet concentration he's always found mesmerizing. The way your fingers move among the leaves, gentle yet purposeful—it does something to him he can't quite explain.

The greenhouse door is ajar when he arrives, sunlight filtering through the glass panels and casting dappled patterns across your form. You're hunched over a workbench, grinding something in a mortar, your back to him. The air is thick with herbal scents—earthy, sweet, and something sharper that makes his nose tingle.

"Knock knock," he says, not wanting to startle you.

You don't turn around. "I know it's you, Satoru. Your cursed energy announces you like a foghorn."

He grins despite himself. "Is that a compliment?"

"It's an observation." You continue grinding, chuckling. “What do you want?”

Satoru saunters in, running his finger along a leaf of a plant he doesn't recognize. It curls away from his touch. "Can't I just visit my favorite botanist?"

Now you do turn, fixing him with that level stare that always makes him feel transparent. "You never 'just visit.' What is it?"

He looks around, examining the foliage. His eyes settle on a row of strange flowers — black petals with luminescent blue veins that pulse like heartbeats.

"Those are new," he comments, making you jump.

You turn, wiping soil from your hands onto your apron. "They're corpse lilies. They only grow when fertilized with cursed energy from the recently deceased."

"Morbid," he says with a grin, approaching to examine them closer. "I like it."

“What’s up, Satoru?” Your voice is casual but wary. He can hear it.

He watches as you carefully extract a petal from one of the flowers, placing it in a glass vial. Your movements are precise, methodical—so different from the impulsive girl who used to chase him through summer fields.

He hesitates, then decides on directness. "I heard you're taking a solo mission in Kyoto."

Your hand stills for a moment before continuing its work. "Eavesdropping again?"

"Information gathering," he corrects, leaning against your workbench. "It's what I do."

You cap the vial and set it in a wooden rack alongside others. "It's just a Grade 1 curse in Kyoto. Nothing special."

"I could come with you."

Now you look at him directly, eyebrows raised. "The great Satoru Gojo, offering to accompany me on a mission? What would the higher-ups think?"

"I don't give a shit what they think," he says. He means it.

"I don't need a babysitter, Satoru."

"I know that." He steps closer, invading your space in that way he knows annoys and thrills you in equal measure. "Maybe I just want to see what you can do now. It's been a while since we've worked together."

You study his face. He maintains his carefree expression, but your eyes have always seen through him better than most.

"You're worried about me," you state, not a question but a fact. Your fingers trace the edge of the workbench, leaving faint imprints in the layer of soil scattered there.

Satoru shrugs, his casual posture betrayed by the intensity in his blue eyes. "Is that a crime?"

"No, but it's unnecessary." You turn back to your plants, carefully adjusting the position of a potted seedling. "I've been handling myself for years now. While you've been off being the strongest sorcerer in the world, I've been growing too."

He watches your hands work, thinking about those same fingers intertwined with his. His hand twitches.

"I know you have," he says, softer now. "That's why I want to see it."

The greenhouse falls silent except for the soft patter of water droplets falling from the misting system. The air between you feels charged, like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks.

You return to your plants, fingers dancing over the leaves of something that looks like mint but smells like copper. "I'm sure you've heard all about my skills from Shoko."

"Shoko only tells me you're improving. She doesn't give details." He leans closer, watching your profile. "I want to see for myself what you can do now."

Your hands still. "Why? So you can tell me how I could do it better? Or so you can swoop in and save me if things go wrong?"‘

The accusation stings more than he expects. "That's not fair, Twigs."

"Isn't it?" You turn to face him fully now, arms crossed. "Every time I've tried to stand on my own, you've been there, hovering. Even when we weren't speaking, I'd feel your cursed energy following me."

Satoru doesn't deny it. Can't deny it. "I was protecting you."

"I never asked for that."

"You didn't have to."

The silence between you thrums. Your eyes drift to the window, where the afternoon sun casts long shadows across the greenhouse floor.

"This mission is important to me," you finally say, voice softer now. "I need to do it alone."

Satoru studies you—the determined set of your jaw, the quiet strength in your posture that wasn't there when you were younger. Something inside him aches with a mixture of pride and loss.

"Fine," he concedes, surprising himself. "But I want details when you get back. And if anything—anything—feels wrong, you call me."

You look up at him, a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth. "I'll consider it."

He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You don't pull away, and he counts that as progress.

"What are these really for?" he asks, nodding toward the corpse lilies.

You hesitate, a private smile flitting across your face. "They're for a new technique I've been developing. The nectar can temporarily reverse decay."

"Reverse decay?" Satoru asks, genuine curiosity replacing his protective instinct. "That's the opposite of your usual method."

"Balance," you say simply, running a finger along one of the pulsing blue veins of the flower. "I've been studying both sides of the equation. Death and regeneration. Destruction and creation."

Satoru watches your movements, fascinated by the confidence in your hands. This is new—this certainty in your abilities that wasn't there before.

"They're also, um, for a new healing technique I'm developing. The corpse lilies absorb cursed energy from the dead, but I've been experimenting with using that energy for regeneration."

Satoru's eyes widen slightly. "Turning death into life. That's ambitious."

"It's theoretical," you admit. "But the preliminary tests are promising. If I can perfect it, we might be able to heal injuries that would normally be fatal to sorcerers."

He moves closer, examining the pulsing flowers with newfound interest. "And the mission in Kyoto? Is it connected to this research?"

You nod, feeling a small thrill at sharing your work with him. "There's a specific type of cursed spirit there that feeds on decay. I need to collect samples of its energy to complete my formula."

Satoru's expression shifts subtly, the playfulness giving way to something more serious. "That's not just a Grade 2 mission, Twigs. Those spirits are rare and dangerous."

"Which is why Yaga assigned it to me," you counter. "My technique is uniquely suited to handling them."

"Show me something else," he says suddenly.

You look up, eyebrow raised. "What?"

"Show me something you've learned. A technique. Anything." His eyes are bright with interest now, not just concern.

You consider him for a moment, then reach for a small potted plant on a nearby shelf. It's withered, brown, clearly dead. Placing it between you on the workbench, you hover your hands above it.

"I haven’t been able to regenerate living things since I was a kid. That cat I had – it took a lot out of me, you know? And it was only the one time," you explain, your voice taking on the measured cadence you use when discussing your work. "But now..."

Your fingers begin to glow with a soft green light, different from the angry red of your decay technique. The air around the plant seems to shimmer, time itself bending around your hands. Slowly, impossibly, the brittle brown stem begins to straighten. Color seeps back into the leaves, spreading from the center outward like watercolor on wet paper.

Satoru watches, transfixed, as the plant resurrects under your touch. Within minutes, it stands vibrant and alive, leaves reaching toward the light.

"That's..." he begins, then stops, genuinely at a loss for words.

"Not as flashy as your Infinity," you say with a small smirk, "but it has its uses."

He reaches out, touching one of the revived leaves gently. "This is incredible. When did you figure this out?"

"Last year. It takes a lot more cursed energy than decay," you admit. "And I can only use it on recently deceased organisms. The longer something's been dead, the harder it is to bring back."

Satoru studies you with new eyes. You've always been powerful, but this—this is evolution. "Does Yaga know?"

You shake your head. "Not the full extent. I've been perfecting it before showing anyone."

"Anyone except me," he points out, unable to keep the satisfaction from his voice.

You roll your eyes, but there's fondness there. "Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late." He grins, leaning back against the workbench. "So this mission in Kyoto—"

"Is still mine alone," you finish firmly. "But if you're good, maybe I'll tell you all about it afterward."

"If I'm good?" Satoru repeats, his voice dipping into a lower register. "That's quite the condition, Twigs."

You turn away to hide your smile, busying yourself with rearranging vials. "I know your track record with behaving."

He moves closer. "I can be very good when properly motivated."

Your hands are still on the glass containers. The greenhouse feels smaller suddenly, the air thicker with more than just the humidity needed for your plants. You can feel him behind you, not touching but close enough that his warmth radiates against your back.

You step back, needing the space to think clearly. "I leave on Monday. Early."

Satoru drops his hand, accepting the boundary. "Will you at least let me walk you to the station?"

The request is so unexpectedly modest that you almost laugh. "The great Gojo Satoru, reduced to asking for a walk to the train?"

His smile is self-deprecating. "I'm trying this new thing called 'respecting boundaries.' How am I doing?"

"Terribly," you say with a laugh. "But yes, you can walk me to the station."

"Good." He brightens, turning to examine one of your experimental plants. "So, hypothetically, if someone were to get, say, a limb severed by a curse—"

"I could potentially reattach it," you finish. "If I get there quickly enough. The corpse lily extract extends the window of viability."

"And what about internal damage? Organs?"

You nod. "Those are actually easier in some ways. The body naturally wants to heal. I just accelerate and guide the process."

Satoru's eyes gleam with genuine interest. "The applications for jujutsu sorcerers are enormous. Have you considered teaching this?"

"Eventually," you admit. "But I want to perfect it first. There are... side effects I'm still working out."

"Side effects?" Satoru's voice sharpens with concern. "What kind of side effects?"

You hesitate, debating how much to reveal. His intensity has always made you want to both confide in him and shield yourself from him.

"Nothing dangerous," you assure him, turning back to your workbench. "Just... the balance is delicate. When I reverse decay too quickly, it sometimes creates an energy deficit that has to be filled."

"Filled from where?" he presses, moving closer.

You sigh, knowing he won't let this go. "From me, usually. I feel drained afterward. Sometimes dizzy, sometimes worse. But I'm learning to modulate it better."

Satoru's expression darkens. "And you're going after a decay-feeding spirit alone? With this technique that drains you?"

"I don't plan to use the reversal technique on the mission unless absolutely necessary," you say firmly. "My regular decay acceleration works fine for combat. Better, actually."

“You’re not telling me everything about these side effects.”

With a sigh, you roll up your sleeve, revealing a network of faint dark veins running from your wrist to your elbow. They pulse slightly, like the blue veins in the corpse lilies.

"The decay has to go somewhere," you explain quietly. "When I reverse it, I have to channel it through my own body first. I'm working on a technique to disperse it more effectively, but for now..." You shrug, pulling your sleeve back down.

Satoru's expression darkens. He reaches for your arm, but you step back.

"It's not as bad as it looks," you insist. "And it fades after a few days."

"You're absorbing death into yourself," he says flatly, eyes narrowed. "And you didn't think to mention this?"

"I'm handling it," you reply, matching his tone. "This is exactly why I didn't tell you. I knew you'd overreact."

"Overreact?" Satoru's voice remains controlled, but the temperature in the greenhouse seems to drop several degrees. "You're poisoning yourself with cursed energy, and I'm overreacting?"

"It's my technique, Satoru. My body. My choice."

He runs a hand through his white hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "And what happens when you absorb too much? When the decay doesn't fade?"

You turn away, focusing on your plants. "That won't happen."

"You don't know that."

"Actually, I do." You face him again, chin raised defiantly. "I've been studying this for years while you've been off playing the untouchable god. I understand the risks better than anyone."

The accusation hits its mark. Satoru's expression flickers with something that might be hurt before smoothing into careful neutrality.

"Is that what you think I've been doing? Playing god?"

You sigh, suddenly tired. "No. That's not fair. I know what you do is important."

"So is this," he gestures to your arm. "So are you."

He studies you with those piercing blue eyes that always make you feel transparent. "Promise me something."

"What?"

"If you get in over your head—"

"I won't."

"If you do," he continues, "call me. I can be in Kyoto in seconds."

The concern in his voice makes something in your chest ache. You want to bristle at his protectiveness, but there's something different about it now—less controlling, more partnership.

"Fine," you concede. "But only as an absolute last resort."

Satoru relaxes visibly. "That's all I ask."

You turn back to your plants, aware of him watching you work. His presence used to make you nervous, but now there's a comfortable familiarity to it, despite everything that's happened between you.

"You know," he says after a while, his voice thoughtful, "your technique has evolved in ways mine can't."

You look up, surprised by the admission. "What do you mean?"

"Infinity is... static," he explains, gesturing vaguely. "Powerful, but unchanging in its fundamental nature. Your ability to both accelerate decay and now reverse it—that's growth. Evolution."

The compliment warms you more than you'd like to admit. "It's not a competition, Satoru."

"Everything's a competition," he says with a grin, but then his expression softens. "But seriously, I'm impressed. You've come a long way from that shy kid who was afraid to touch anything because it might rot."

Memories flood back—your tears when you accidentally killed your first houseplant, Satoru holding your hands and telling you it wasn't your fault. How far you've both come since then.

"We both have," you say quietly.

The afternoon sun slants lower through the greenhouse windows, casting long shadows across the floor. Time seems suspended in this quiet space, filled with the scent of earth and growing things.

Satoru watches your hands move among the plants with practiced precision, a strange ache building in his chest. "Do you remember," he asks suddenly, "that weekend at my parents' lake house? When we were what, nineteen?"

You don't look up, but your hands pause briefly. "When you convinced me to try using my decay on the algae in the lake?"

"And it worked," he says, smiling at the memory. "You cleared that whole cove in minutes."

"And then panicked because I killed all the fish too," you remind him, but there's a hint of amusement in your voice.

"But then you cried for hours," Satoru continues, moving closer. "Until Suguru showed us the fish had just moved to the deeper water."

You shake your head, finally meeting his gaze. "I was so scared of my own power back then."

"And now look at you," he says softly. "Creating life instead of just taking it away."

The greenhouse falls silent except for the gentle hiss of the misting system. 

"I keep preparing for the mission," you say, breaking the moment.

Satoru nods, stepping back. "Monday. I'll come by at six. For our very platonic walk to the station."

"Five-thirty," you correct him. "The train leaves at six-fifteen."

You try to ignore your blush. Platonic. All of your time alone together in his apartment has been anything but.

He grins. "Five-thirty it is."

As he turns to leave, you call after him: "Satoru?"

He pauses at the door, looking back.

"Thank you. For not insisting on coming with me."

His smile turns softer, more genuine than his usual cocky grin. "You're welcome, Twigs."

After he's gone, you press a hand to your chest, feeling your heartbeat beneath your palm. The corpse lilies pulse in rhythm with it, their blue veins glowing slightly brighter in the dimming light.

You look down at your arm, pulling back the sleeve to examine the dark veins spreading beneath your skin. They've grown since this morning—a fact you carefully concealed from Satoru. The reversal technique is taking more from you each time, but the potential benefits are too great to stop now.

"Just a little longer," you whisper to yourself, touching one of the corpse lilies gently. "Just until I perfect it."

Outside the greenhouse, Satoru leans against the wall, his confident posture gone. He stares at his hand, remembering the darkness he glimpsed spreading under your skin. He's seen cursed techniques consume their users before—seen talented sorcerers destroyed by their own power.

He won't let that happen to you. Not even if it means letting you go to Kyoto alone.

Not even if it means watching from a distance, ready to step in only if absolutely necessary.

Not even if it kills him to wait.

__

Satoru surprises you the night before you leave by showing up to your apartment. He doesn’t often leave the kids alone, but neither Tsumiki nor Megumi are particularly rebels. He’d left them in their shared room, a Ghibli movie playing on the TV while they drifted off to sleep.

“You could still use the door,” you scoff when you sense his presence. He laughs and puts a hand on your shoulder, his other one running through your hair in a way that makes your body heat up.

“But I don’t have to. Surprise.”

You snort. “What do you want? I’m trying to pack here.”

He pulls you closer, his arms around your waist. “Just wanted to see you again.”

“Well, my night time routine is pretty boring.”

“Nothing about you is boring, baby. I could watch you brush your teeth for hours.”

“Now that’s a lie.”

"Is it?" Satoru's voice drops lower, his breath warm against your ear. He spins you around to face him, those blue eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes your heart skip. "What if I told you I've memorized every little thing you do? The way you always start with the left side of your mouth when you brush. How you fold your clothes in perfect thirds before putting them in your suitcase."

You try to look away, but his fingers catch your chin. "Stop it," you mutter, uncomfortable with his scrutiny. The dark veins in your arm throb painfully.

"Let me see," he says suddenly, reaching for your sleeve.

You jerk back. "It's nothing."

"Don't lie to me, Twigs. Not about this." His playfulness has vanished, replaced by something harder, more desperate. "I saw it earlier."

"It's under control."

"Is it? Because it looks like it's spreading." His fingers hover over your arm, not quite touching.

The blackened veins have spread further, now reaching your elbow in intricate, web-like patterns. His expression doesn't change, but the temperature in the room drops several degrees.

"It's taking too much from you."

You pull away completely, turning back to your half-packed suitcase. "I don't need your concern, Satoru. I need your respect. This is my choice."

The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken fears. When he speaks again, his voice is uncharacteristically quiet.

"What happens when there's nothing left to take?"

The question hangs in the air. You've asked yourself the same thing during sleepless nights, watching the darkness crawl beneath your skin. But admitting that fear would mean admitting failure, and you can't—won't—do that.

"I'll find a balance," you say finally. "The corpse lilies are helping me understand the decay cycle. If I can master the reversal at the cellular level—"

"Theory won't matter if you're dead," he cuts in, an edge to his voice.

You slam the suitcase shut. "I'm not having this conversation again."

"Fine." He runs a hand through his white hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "But… are you sure you don’t want me to come–"

"We've been over this. I need to do this alone."

Satoru watches you for a long moment, his usually playful demeanor completely gone. "Kyoto has strong curse concentrations right now. You'll be vulnerable if—"

"I'm stronger than I was before," you cut him off. "I'm not that helpless girl anymore."

His expression softens slightly. "I never thought you were helpless. But even the strongest sorcerers need backup sometimes."

You zip your suitcase closed with finality. "Then I'll call if I need you."

"You won't call." It's not an accusation but a simple statement of fact. He knows you too well.

You avoid his gaze, focusing instead on checking your supplies. The small vials of preservation fluid catch the light, their contents shifting with an unnatural shimmer. Each one represents hours of work, experiments conducted in the darkness when pain keeps you from sleep.

"Maybe I won't need to," you reply, arranging the vials methodically in your case. Each one glows with a faint, sickly luminescence—evidence of your progress, despite what Satoru believes.

He moves closer, and you feel the familiar pull of his presence. It's always been this way—like gravity shifting when he enters a room. You steel yourself against it.

"Those veins have spread," he observes, his fingers hovering above your forearm without touching. The dark lines have indeed crept higher, branching like river deltas toward your heart. "Shoko mentioned you've been skipping check-ins."

You snap the case closed. "Shoko talks too much."

"She's worried. We both are."

"I don't need your worry," you say, but the words lack conviction. The truth is more complicated—his concern both irritates and comforts you in ways you're not ready to examine.

Outside, thunder rumbles. The storm that's been threatening all day is finally breaking. It matches your mood perfectly.

"The Kyoto branch isn't expecting you," Satoru says, changing tactics. "I checked."

You stiffen. "You're monitoring my communications now?"

"When you're being reckless? Yes." He doesn't apologize, doesn't even look remotely guilty. "The corpse lily experiments are banned for a reason. If the higher-ups find out—"

"They won't," you interrupt, turning to face him fully. "Unless someone tells them."

The accusation hangs between you. For a moment, hurt flashes across his face before his expression hardens.

"You think I'd betray you like that?"

"I think you'd do whatever you believe is necessary to protect me," you say quietly. "Even from myself."

Rain begins to lash against the windows, casting wavering shadows across the room. In the half-light, the veins on your arm seem to pulse with each thunderclap.

Satoru moves to the window, his silhouette stark against the storm-dark sky. "You remember what happened to Amanai," he says finally. "How it felt to watch someone fade away and be powerless to stop it."

The mention of Riko Amanai sends a cold spike through your chest. Of course you remember. How could you forget the blood, the screams, the way her technique had consumed her from within before the end?

"This isn't the same," you whisper, but uncertainty creeps in. The comparison is too close for comfort.

"Isn't it?" He turns back to you, blue eyes intense. "Your technique feeds on you. Every time you use it, you give away a piece of yourself."

You look down at your arm, at the network of dark veins that map your sacrifice. Each one a testament to power gained through something surrendered.

"That's the price," you say, flexing your fingers and watching the dark lines shift beneath your skin. "Every technique has one. Even yours."

Satoru's jaw tightens. You've struck a nerve.

"Mine doesn't threaten to hollow me out from the inside," he says, voice low. "Yours is different. It's... hungry."

You've felt it too—the slow, creeping emptiness that follows each use of your technique, as if something essential is being siphoned away. But you've also felt the power, the rush of connection to something vast and ancient that makes the sacrifice seem worth it.

"I'm close to understanding the reversal," you tell him, softer now. "If I can master it, I can heal what's taken. Balance the equation."

Lightning flashes, illuminating Satoru's face. For a brief moment, his carefully constructed mask slips, and you glimpse the raw fear beneath.

"And if you can't?" he asks.

“Then, I’ll deal with the consequences.”

Satoru sighs. There’s no point in arguing with you further. He moves closer to you, running his fingers through your hair affectionately. You hate how much it makes your core throb with heat. You almost preen to this touch.

"You can't deal with consequences if you're gone," he murmurs, his fingers lingering against your scalp. Despite yourself, you lean into his touch, craving the warmth that bleeds from his fingertips.

The dark veins on your arm pulse in response, as if jealous of this connection. A sharp sting radiates up to your shoulder, and you pull away with a wince.

Satoru notices immediately. "It's getting worse."

"It fluctuates," you say dismissively, though you both know it's a lie. The veins have spread past your elbow now, creeping toward your heart with each passing week.

Rain lashes against the windows of your apartment, the rhythm matching the throbbing in your arm. Outside, Tokyo glitters beneath storm clouds, oblivious to the battle waging within your flesh.

"Let me see it," Satoru says, his voice leaving no room for argument.

You hesitate, then slowly roll up your sleeve. The veins have darkened since he last saw them, now a deep violet-black that seems to absorb light. They pulse with a rhythm that doesn't match your heartbeat.

Satoru kneels before you, taking your arm in his hands. His touch is clinical now, professional, though his eyes betray his concern. "The pattern's changed," he observes. "It's forming a circuit."

You've noticed it too—the way the veins are no longer spreading randomly but creating deliberate pathways across your skin. "It's adapting," you say. "Learning."

"Learning what, exactly?" Satoru's eyes meet yours, searching.

The question hangs between you, unanswered. The truth is, you don't know. You only understand that each time you use your technique, the veins respond, as if they're recording information, storing it within your flesh.

His expression is crumbled, his bottom heavy with a pout he tries to contain. He looks away, then rubs his thumb over your wrist. He leans down and kisses a vein.

"Don't," you whisper, but make no move to pull away.

His lips are cool against your fevered skin, and something inside you stirs—not just desire, but the thing that lives in your veins now. It writhes beneath his touch, curious and hungry. You feel it reaching toward him, and panic floods your system.

“What’s this?”

"It's... reactive to you."

A flash of lightning illuminates his face, revealing a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Of course it is. Everything about you has always reacted to me."

"That's not what I mean," you say, finally pulling your arm away. The moment his lips leave your skin, the veins seem to calm, settling into their unsettling rhythm once more. "It's different. Like it recognizes you."

Satoru's eyes narrow, that brilliant blue catching the storm light. "Interesting. What else does it recognize?"

You stand and move to the window, pressing your forehead against the cool glass. The rain forms rivulets that mirror the patterns on your arm. "Everything. Nothing. I don't know, Satoru. Sometimes it feels like it's... cataloging. Cursed energy, emotions, intent."

Behind you, he's silent for so long you think he might have left. Then his reflection appears beside yours in the window, his height dwarfing you. “I’ll give it something important, then.”

“Sato—”

You’re interrupted by him, the softness of his mouth melting into the seam of yours.

The kiss is gentle at first, almost hesitant—so unlike him that it startles you more than any forceful gesture could. Then his hands find your waist, and the gentleness gives way to something more familiar, more desperate. Your veins pulse in time with your racing heart, dark tendrils crawling up your neck in response.

The kiss is like electricity, a current that runs from his lips straight to the veins in your arm. They pulse violently, glowing with a faint blue luminescence that matches his eyes. You gasp against his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, one hand cupping your face while the other finds your wrist again, his thumb pressing against your pulse point.

You wrench away, panting. The blue glow beneath your skin intensifies, spreading up your shoulder and flaring across your collarbone like a spiderweb of light.

"Satoru, stop." Your voice trembles. "Something's happening."

His eyes are transfixed on the pattern that now crawls across your chest, his expression a strange mixture of fascination and concern. "It's beautiful," he whispers, reaching out.

You back away. "It hurts."

That snaps him to attention. The playfulness vanishes from his face, replaced by something harder, more focused. "Tell me exactly what you feel."

"Like it's... recording you. Saving you." You clutch your arm to your chest, the veins pulsing in time with your heartbeat. "It's never done this before."

Thunder crashes outside, and the lights flicker. In that momentary darkness, your veins cast eerie shadows across the walls.

"Your technique is evolving," he says, voice low and serious in a way that makes your stomach clench. "It's not just reversing anymore, is it? It's... adapting."

Lightning flashes again, casting harsh shadows acrossl face. In that instant, he looks almost frightened—an expression so foreign on him that you reach out instinctively.

"I don't know what's happening to me," you admit. "Sometimes I feel like I'm losing myself to it."

Satoru's grip on your wrist tightens, his thumb pressing into your pulse point. "You're not losing yourself. You're becoming something else. Something more."

Your eyes flutter as you surrender to his touch. You’ve gotten better at saying no. With Satoru, it’s the first word that’s come to your head when you see him in person. It’s not fair, maybe, with how much he adores you. How good he’s been.

“You’re so good,” he drawls. “Always something otherworldly, baby.”

You let yourself let go, just this once. His mouth is on your neck and you can’t really think of anything else.

His lips move against your skin, and for a moment, the pain recedes. It's always been like this with him—the world narrows to just the two of you, everything else fading to background noise. But the relief is fleeting. The veins pulse again, more insistent this time, and you gasp.

"Satoru, wait—"

He pulls back immediately, blue eyes searching yours. The darkness of the room only makes them more striking, like ice catching moonlight. "What is it?"

"I don't think we should be doing this right now." Your voice is barely above a whisper. The veins are spreading faster now, creeping up your neck. Each new inch feels like ice water in your veins. "It's... reacting to you. To us."

A storm rages outside, but the one brewing inside you feels more dangerous. Satoru's expression shifts, that rare vulnerability replaced by calculation. He's analyzing you, the way he does with powerful curses or complex techniques.

“Is it making you feel good?” he whispers.

“Yes,” you whisper.

"Then don't fight it," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the dark veins with reverence. "Let it come."

The sensation is overwhelming—his touch against your cursed skin sending electric currents through your body. Your technique responds, the blue glow intensifying as if recognizing him, wanting him. The veins pulse in rhythm with your heartbeat, each throb a mixture of pleasure and pain so intense you can barely distinguish between them.

Satoru's fingers trace the dark patterns on your skin, following them up your arm to your collarbone. The veins pulse beneath his touch, as if responding to him directly. You shiver, feeling the strange energy inside you surge toward his fingertips like iron to a magnet.

The veins spread further, creeping across your collarbone, threading beneath the thin fabric of your shirt. You feel yourself changing, cellular memories rearranging, your cursed energy intertwining with something ancient and hungry.

Your back arches involuntarily as a surge of power courses through you. The room darkens, shadows stretching unnaturally across the walls. Outside, the storm intensifies, lightning illuminating the room in staccato flashes that reveal Satoru's face—fascinated, possessive, and something else. Something you've rarely seen there.

He kisses you and every tendril in your body electrifies. You kiss him back with more fervor than you anticipate and he moans.

You’re the one who initiates, surprisingly. You have your hands all over him, grazing the hardness tightening in his lap. He moans when you touch him. You keep touching him, knowing what makes him tick while he uselessly attempts to nip at your neck.

Your movements feel like autopilot. All automatic motions towards the next path of evolution.

Nonetheless, Satoru moans under your touch. Revels in the way your mouth feels against his skin.

Your fingertips trace the contours of his chest, leaving faint blue luminescent trails in their wake. The veins have spread further now, wrapping around your shoulders like dark vines, pulsing with each accelerated heartbeat. You should be terrified—this transformation is unprecedented, dangerous—but with Satoru here, his presence anchoring you, the fear dissolves into exhilaration.

"It's like it knows you," you breathe, watching how the cursed energy responds to him, reaching out when he's near, retreating when he pulls away. "Like it's always known you."

Thunder crashes outside, and the lights flicker, plunging the room momentarily into darkness before returning. In that split second, you see something else in the shadows—shapes moving, watching, drawn to the power emanating from your body.

"Maybe because you’ve always known me,” he mumbles.

You hum as you close your eyes, feeling the warmth in your veins. His proximity makes your skin feel electric along with whatever curse is inside of you. It gives you a heady feeling. You’re often needy with him, but this feels like a new beast.

He slowly removes your sleep shirt from you, eyes widening when he sees your skin. He’s always adored your body – every freckle, every stretch mark. With his Six Eyes, he sees you more vividly than anyone else can. When he undresses you to complete bareness, it’s like you’re glowing. 

“Satoru,” you gasp.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Touch me.”

He does. He should be more concerned, he knows this, but he feels spellbound. Your body is glowing and it’s beckoning him like a ship to a lighthouse. His hands are all over you – caressing soft skin and electric veins. He can feel your pulse thumping in tandem with his, his cock warm and throbbing at the same time. 

His fingers dive into your heat. You’re already wet. 

He groans at the sensation, pressing his face into your throat as he revels in the hummed vibrations of your moans. The more he touches you, the hotter you feel. His fingers disappearing into your cunt, melting him. Such a ripe girl – as soft as you were when he’d first fucked you.

You come without warning, thighs shivering. It’s so fast that it takes Satoru a second to recognize it. He has to wipe the drool from his mouth as he watches. 

He’s frantic when he takes you. It’s easy. His cock nudges into your cunt – when had you undressed him? Suddenly, he’s bare all over, skin to skin with you. He’s drunk on lust, sharing your delirium. He slams his cock into you quick but deep. Widens his eyes at the way you look like you were born from the moon. 

It feels way too fucking good. You always feel too good, he realizes, but this is something entirely different. Something out of his fantasies and wet dreams. You don’t even feel real to him right now. 

He can’t stop. All the sounds you make encourage him. He nearly forgets himself when he’s inside you. Magical girl. When he’s with you like this, he is no longer the strongest. Just a weak man in love.

Sometimes it makes him feel rotten. The feeling in his stomach is hot and syrupy, too sticky to get rid of. He groans as he fucks you, kissing the corner of your mouth and licking the side of your jaw. Too sweet, all of you.

Every plunge into your pussy makes you jump – he can feel it in your pulse. His eyelids dip as he pulls back to look at your face. Mouth parted, cherubic. Sweat clings to you like a second skin and Satoru has the urge to clean you with his tongue.

“F-Fuck,” he gasps, “How do you feel so fucking good?”

You attempt to reply but it comes out in nonsensical babbles. You’re too distracted from being loosened by him, your insides fluxing. Tightening on reflex and making him groan like an animal.

“Like that,” you whisper, eyes rolling back, “Keep going like that–”

Satoru swears he sees your pulse in motion right beneath your skin. Glowing like lightning against an inky sky. It can’t be real. Feels too psychedelic. When you clench around him, his eyes are all over you, watching you cum as your eyes roll back into your head.

His stomach twists into something akin to pleasure and longing. 

He applies pressure to your clit with his fingers and sees it again – your whole heart jumping with arousal. 

Your hips cant up to meet his thrusts, getting him so deep that he whimpers. 

“Gonna cum, baby –”

Every slam of his hips brings you towards the edge. You squeeze him until it’s all over, until he’s flooding you with warmth. There’s white hair in your mouth from him burying his nose into your neck. Breathing in your skin.

You gasp in pleasure, the feeling of him too heady. The way Satoru hums into your collarbone makes your cunt throb again. 

You blink your eyes open and there’s rouge all over his cheeks. He looks at you like he’s falling in love for the first time.

“Dunno if I’ll be able to let you go tomorrow morning,” Satoru sighs, pulling out gently and grunting.

“You have to,” you hum. “You’ve done it before.”

Satoru says nothing in response, only nods. He has nothing to argue about, but feelings of anxiety still pool in the place right below his lungs. Instinct is what keeps you so close to him. Without it, he only feels lost.

“Yeah,” he breathes, nodding slightly. His past boyish self wants to argue. “I have.”

[amethystarachnid]

I was reading “New Year Eve - part lll” and it’s just so cute ☺️☺️☺️☺️ I was thinking about a part lV, we need to see their wedding 🩷

NEW YEAR EVE - part IV

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Young!Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Timeline: they just finished college

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.3k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): some spicy scenes but nothing explicit

ᯓ★ Part I | Part II | Part III

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

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

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

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

Tony Stark has always been a force of nature—chaotic, brilliant, impossible to contain. But somehow, against all odds, his three-year-old daughter has managed to outdo him.

Layla Stark is unstoppable.

And now, as you and Tony attempt to finally plan your wedding, she is at the center of every decision.

"No pwetty weddin’ wifout me!" she declares one evening, standing on the couch with all the confidence of a CEO delivering a company-wide announcement.

Tony, lying beside her with his hands folded behind his head, grins up at her. "Oh, don’t worry, Princess Menace. This wedding is all about you."

You roll your eyes from where you’re flipping through a wedding catalog. "It’s not all about her."

Tony sits up dramatically. "Excuse me? Our genius, beautiful, perfect child has to be involved in everything."

Layla nods in agreement. "Evv-thing!"

You sigh, but you can’t help but smile. Layla might have Tony’s personality, but she’s got your stubborn streak, and together, they are impossible to handle.

Still, you and Tony both agree on one thing—Layla will be part of the wedding planning, but only within reason. You both worked too hard to build your lives from the ground up, and you’re not about to raise a spoiled child who thinks she gets everything she wants.

That… proves to be a challenge.

--

The first tantrum happens when you take Layla with you to choose flower arrangements.

Tony is holding her in one arm, casually inspecting a bouquet with his free hand. Layla leans over, examining the flowers with a critical eye.

"Dis one ugly," she declares, scrunching her tiny nose at the soft peach roses.

The florist chuckles nervously. You sigh. "Layla, that’s not nice."

Tony nods sagely. "Yeah, honey, you have to be diplomatic." Then he turns to the florist. "These are hideous. Do you have anything better?"

You smack his arm. "Tony!"

"What?" He gestures at Layla. "She’s just calling it like she sees it."

Layla nods proudly.

You groan. "Okay, how about this?" You point to a different arrangement, white roses with delicate baby’s breath. "This is nice, right?"

Layla tilts her head, considering. Then she gasps dramatically. "No, no, no!"

Tony gasps, matching her energy. "No?"

She shakes her head wildly, curls bouncing. "Piiiink!"

Tony nods. "You’re right, pink is the way to go."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "Tony, we are not making everything pink."

Layla pouts. "But Daddy said—"

Tony quickly sets her down. "Mommy’s boss. Mommy’s boss," he says, hands up in surrender.

You sigh, watching Layla cross her little arms. You crouch down and gently cup her cheek. "Baby, you can help, but you don’t get to decide everything, okay?"

Layla’s lips tremble slightly, but she nods. "Okay, Mommy."

Tony picks her back up, pressing a loud kiss to her cheek. "C’mon, Princess, let’s find some pink and some white. Compromise, yeah?"

She sniffles but nods again. "’Om-promise."

Crisis averted.

--

Tony is obsessed with Layla. Absolutely obsessed.

It’s something you’ve known since the moment she was born, but it becomes even more apparent during wedding planning.

"She needs her own special seat," he says one night, sitting at the kitchen island with his tablet. Layla, in her little pajamas, is curled up in his lap, chewing on a cookie. "Something fancy. Gold. No, platinum."

You give him a look from across the kitchen. "Tony, she’s three."

"And?" He strokes Layla’s curls. "She deserves the best."

Layla hums around her cookie. "Best."

You sigh. "She’s already the flower girl, Tony."

"Obviously. But she also needs a crown."

Layla gasps. "Crown?!"

You put your face in your hands.

Tony continues, undeterred. "And a tiny microphone so everyone can hear her adorable little voice during the vows."

Layla squeals in delight. "Mic! Mic!"

"No!" You shoot him a glare. "Tony, she is not getting a microphone at our wedding."

Tony pouts. "But—"

"No."

Tony looks down at Layla, whispering dramatically, "Mommy's mean."

Layla nods. "Vewy mean."

You snort. "I am the mean parent. And you know what? I’m proud of it."

Tony sighs. "Fine. No microphone. But the crown stays."

Layla cheers, shoving another bite of cookie in her mouth. "I pwetty pwincess!"

Tony beams. "The prettiest princess."

You roll your eyes, but you can’t deny it—Layla is going to look adorable.

--

The day you go dress shopping is the first time in your life you’ve had to ban Tony from something.

He is desperate to see the dress.

"Just a little peek," he pleads, hands pressed together. "I won’t even look at all of it. Just, like, a corner."

Layla shakes her head, curls bouncing. "No, Daddy! No see! Bad luck!"

Tony gasps. "You’re turning against me? You, my own flesh and blood?"

Layla giggles. "Mommy win!"

You smirk. "That’s right, baby. Mommy always wins."

Tony groans, draping himself dramatically across the couch. "Betrayed. By my own family."

Layla clambers onto his chest, patting his face. "Shhh. It’s okay, Daddy."

Tony sighs, pulling her into a hug. "At least I still have you, Princess Menace."

Layla nods solemnly. "Yes. But no see dwess."

Tony grumbles. "Fine. But it better be hot."

You throw a pillow at his face.

Everything is finally coming together.

The venue is booked. The dress is chosen (and still a mystery to Tony’s frustration). Layla’s flower girl dress is perfect—a soft pink (her choice, obviously) with tiny sparkles.

And the wedding is officially toddler-proofed.

No glass centerpieces. No open flames. No delicate decorations that could be immediately destroyed by a certain little whirlwind.

Layla has approved everything with great enthusiasm, though she still has little tantrums when you don’t let her have full control.

But she’s learning.

And honestly, as you watch her run around the penthouse, holding Tony’s tablet as she pretends to help him plan more things, you know one thing for sure—

This wedding might have taken years to happen, but it’s going to be perfect.

Because you have Tony.

And you have Layla.

And together, you have everything.

--

The night before your wedding was supposed to be a wild, extravagant bachelor and bachelorette party. That’s what people expected when it came to Tony Stark—something over the top, something people would talk about for years. But that was never the plan.

Because, as it turns out, Tony Stark isn’t just the genius billionaire playboy anymore. He’s a fiancé. A father. And the only thing he wants to do the night before his wedding is spend it with the two people who matter most.

Layla is practically bouncing off the walls as she holds both of your hands, swinging between you and Tony as you walk down the brightly lit streets. The city is alive tonight, people already celebrating something—you’re not sure what, maybe just the fact that it’s Friday—but it adds to the energy.

"Daddy, ice cweam!" Layla gasps, pointing wildly at a stand on the sidewalk.

Tony makes a dramatic gasp of his own. "Princess Menace, did you just read my mind?"

Layla nods enthusiastically. "Yeah!"

You roll your eyes but smile as Tony swoops her up and carries her over to the stand, rattling off a ridiculous order that includes way too many toppings.

The vendor is trying to keep up as Tony continues listing things. "And, uh, throw some sprinkles on there. No, more. More. Even more—"

"Tony, you’re gonna give her a sugar rush."

Tony turns to you, utterly serious. "She deserves it."

Layla nods. "I ‘serve it."

You sigh, shaking your head as the vendor hands Tony an ice cream cone that is practically a structural hazard.

Layla takes one bite and gasps. "Daddy, it yummyyyy!"

Tony grins. "Told ya."

Layla shoves the cone toward you, nearly getting ice cream all over your dress. "Mommy, bite!"

You take a careful bite before she can smear it all over you, and she giggles, satisfied.

Tony watches the two of you, his expression soft. "Best night ever."

And for a while, it is.

You wander around the city, Layla dragging you both from one thing to another—street performers, little shops, anything colorful or sparkly. Tony lets her sit on his shoulders as she chatters about everything she sees, her voice a mix of excitement and toddler gibberish.

But then, of course, people start to notice.

The first fan approaches cautiously, just asking for a quick selfie. Tony is polite, even as Layla tugs on his sleeve, wanting his attention back. But then another fan approaches. Then another.

Then the paparazzi.

The camera flashes are immediate and blinding, coming from every direction.

Layla flinches, pressing her little face into Tony’s neck.

You frown, reaching for her. "Baby, are you okay?"

Layla whimpers, her tiny hands gripping Tony’s shirt. "Too bight…"

Tony tenses, his grip on her tightening. He doesn’t even try to hide his frustration as he turns toward the cameras, his voice sharp. "Hey! Back off!"

Some of the paparazzi hesitate, but others keep snapping pictures, shouting questions.

"Tony, how does it feel to finally be settling down?"

"Y/N, is it true you’re already pregnant with baby number two?"

"Layla, are you excited for Mommy and Daddy’s wedding?"

Layla presses further into Tony, shaking her head, her little voice muffled. "Nooo…"

That does it.

Tony turns, his face furious, and pulls you close with one arm while shielding Layla with the other. "We’re done here."

You nod, hurrying alongside him as you weave through the crowd, ignoring the flashing lights, the voices, the chaos.

Layla sniffles against Tony’s shoulder.

"Shh, baby, it’s okay," you whisper, rubbing her back.

Tony is silent the entire way back home, his jaw clenched, his hold on Layla protective.

--

By the time you get home, Layla is exhausted.

Tony carries her straight to bed, whispering softly as he lays her down. "You’re safe now, Princess Menace."

Layla clings to his shirt for a second before finally letting go, curling up with her stuffed bunny. Her little face is still slightly scrunched, but her breathing evens out.

You kiss her forehead, smoothing her curls. "Sweet dreams, baby."

Tony stays for a moment longer, just watching her. Then, without a word, he takes your hand and leads you out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

The moment the door clicks shut, Tony lets out a long breath and runs a hand through his hair. "I hate those assholes."

You step closer, resting a hand on his chest. "I know."

He exhales, looking down at you, his expression softening slightly. "She was so happy tonight. And they just—" He shakes his head.

You nod, threading your fingers through his. "She is happy, Tony. A few bad moments don’t change that."

He’s quiet for a moment, his gaze flickering back to Layla’s door. "She’s just so little."

You squeeze his hand. "And she has us."

Tony looks back at you, his brown eyes warm despite his frustration. Then, suddenly, his lips curve into a smirk. "Damn. You’re kinda hot when you do the whole calm, supportive wife thing."

You roll your eyes. "I’m not your wife yet."

Tony hums, tilting his head. "Mmm. Feels like you are." He leans in, his lips brushing your ear. "And after tomorrow, you definitely will be."

You shiver. "Tony…"

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands sliding to your waist. "Y’know… tomorrow’s a big day. Might be hard to get any alone time."

You raise an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting something, Mr. Stark?"

Tony grins, walking you backward until your back hits the bedroom door. "I’m saying," he murmurs, fingers slipping under your shirt, "that since technically it’s still the night before our wedding… we should really enjoy it."

You smirk, looping your arms around his neck. "Oh? And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"

Tony leans in, his lips brushing against yours.

"Let me show you."

--

The morning of your wedding starts in absolute chaos.

You wake up to the sound of Layla jumping on the bed, her little voice full of excitement. "Mommy! Daddy! Wake uuuup!"

Tony groans beside you, his face buried in the pillow. "Five more minutes, Princess Menace."

Layla gasps dramatically. "Nooo! It wedding day! No sweep!"

You blink sleepily and glance at the clock. It is early, but there’s no going back now—your three-year-old has declared the day officially started.

With an exaggerated sigh, Tony flips onto his back and scoops Layla up, pulling her onto his chest. "Alright, alright. We’re up. Happy?"

Layla giggles, wiggling against him. "Happy happy happy!"

You laugh as Tony tickles her, her giggles filling the room. Then, reality sets in. "Okay, we really have to get up now. We have to go to the wedding suite."

Tony groans again. "Fine. But only because I wanna marry you."

Layla cheers. "Yaaay! Daddy mawwy Mommy!"

Tony smirks at you. "You hear that? Even she approves."

You roll your eyes, but your heart is already melting.

--

Getting to the wedding suite is an adventure.

The moment you arrive, people are everywhere. Hair stylists, makeup artists, planners running around trying to make sure everything is perfect. The energy is high, but with it comes absolute chaos.

Layla, wearing a little silk robe that matches yours, is zooming around the room, dodging people’s legs and shouting random things.

"Auntie Pep! I got nails too!" she announces, showing off her tiny painted nails to Pepper, who laughs and compliments them.

Meanwhile, you’re trying to sit still as your makeup artist works on you, but it’s hard with Layla constantly running back to you for attention.

"Mommy, look!" she exclaims, holding up her flower girl basket. "I gots da petals!"

You smile. "That’s right, baby! You’re going to throw them when we walk down the aisle."

Layla nods seriously. "I do good job."

You kiss her forehead. "I know you will."

--

Meanwhile, in another room, Tony is dealing with his own chaos.

"Where the hell is my tie?" he grumbles, searching through a pile of clothes.

"Tony, calm down," Rhodey sighs, handing it to him.

Tony takes it and immediately holds it up to his suit. "Does this look right? Is it too classic? Too modern?"

"Tony, it’s a tie," Happy groans.

"But it’s my wedding tie," Tony argues.

Rhodey rolls his eyes. "Dude, just put it on. Y/N is gonna love it no matter what."

Tony huffs but obeys. "Fine. But if she doesn’t like it, I’m blaming you."

"Yeah, yeah."

Despite the chaos, once Tony is finally in his suit—perfectly tailored, perfectly him—he stops and takes a deep breath.

This is it.

He’s about to marry you.

--

The ceremony is perfect.

Layla walks down the aisle first, clutching her little basket, taking her job very seriously. She throws petals one by one, pausing way too long in between, but no one minds. If anything, the guests are completely charmed.

Then it’s your turn.

The moment Tony sees you, he forgets everything else.

You’re stunning. Breathtaking. And you’re walking toward him.

He barely even registers the rest of the ceremony because his mind is focused on you. The vows, the rings—it’s all a blur until—

"You may now kiss the bride."

Tony doesn’t waste a second. He cups your face and kisses you like he means it, deep and full of love, dipping you slightly as the guests cheer.

Layla claps wildly. "Yaaay! Mommy an’ Daddy mawwied!"

You’re both laughing when you pull away, and Tony whispers against your lips, "Finally."

--

The reception is just as chaotic as expected.

Layla is running around, high on sugar, and Tony can’t stop showing you off.

"Look at my wife," he keeps saying to people, as if they didn’t just watch you get married.

The dance floor is packed, the food is incredible, and at some point, Layla grabs a microphone.

Tony notices immediately.

"Oh God."

Layla taps the mic, her tiny voice ringing through the speakers. "Mommy an’ Daddy?"

The guests awww, and you and Tony turn to her, both smiling.

"What is it, baby?" you ask.

Layla’s face scrunches in concentration. "I wuv you so much big wike da moon an’ da ‘tars an’—" She pauses, struggling to remember her next words. Then she gasps. "An’ da doggies!"

The entire room melts.

Tony is already tearing up. "Oh, Princess Menace—"

Layla claps. "Okay, bye!"

Everyone laughs as she puts the mic down and immediately runs off, probably to find more cake.

Tony wipes his eyes. "Our daughter is perfect."

You lean into him, smiling. "I know."

He kisses your forehead. "So, Mrs. Stark… happiest day of your life?"

You grin. "Every day with you and Layla is the happiest day of my life."

Tony cups your face, his eyes shining with love. "Damn. You always know exactly what to say."

And then, as the music plays and your loved ones cheer, he kisses you again—slow, deep, full of promise.

Your perfect beginning.

--

By the time you, Tony, and Layla finally get back home, it’s already late, but Layla is still bursting with energy.

"Mommy! Daddy!" she exclaims, practically bouncing as Tony carries her inside. "It so fun! I wuv da cake! I wuv da dance! I wuv—" She gasps dramatically. "I wuv marry!"

Tony chuckles, setting her down. "You love marry, huh?"

Layla nods eagerly, then grabs your hand and Tony’s, holding them tightly. "You two marry. You not weave, ‘kay?"

You crouch down to her level, brushing her hair back. "We’re not going anywhere, baby. We’ll always be together."

Layla beams, satisfied with your answer. Then she gasps again and runs toward the couch. "Now we watch moobie!"

Tony groans, rubbing his face. "Princess Menace, it’s way past your bedtime."

"But no sweep!" Layla protests. "It still marry day!"

You exchange a look with Tony. It’s your wedding night. You should be enjoying each other in private, but your little ball of energy has other plans.

Tony sighs dramatically. "Alright, one movie. But then you have to sleep."

Layla cheers, scrambling onto the couch. "Yaaaay!"

You shake your head, laughing as Tony flops down beside her. "You’re such a pushover."

He smirks, pulling you into his lap. "For you two? Always."

Layla claps her hands. "Okay, we watch—um—da one wif da big big doggie an’ da baby!"

Tony raises an eyebrow. "Are you talking about Beethoven?"

Layla nods furiously. "Yes! Da big doggie!"

You sigh, already knowing this is going to take at least another two hours.

Tony, however, is more focused on you. As Layla is distracted by the opening credits, he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "You do know we’re supposed to be, I don’t know, consummating this marriage right now?"

You shoot him a look. "Yeah? And tell that to our child, who still thinks it’s party time."

Tony sighs dramatically. "I knew we should’ve gotten a babysitter."

You smack his arm lightly. "She is the reason we waited this long to get married."

"Yeah, yeah," he mutters, kissing your shoulder. "But I swear the second she’s asleep—"

Layla suddenly turns to you both. "Daddy! No kissing! Watch moobie!"

Tony freezes. "She felt that."

You burst out laughing.

Layla frowns at you both. "No funny! Watch!"

Tony sighs, throwing his head back. "My own kid is cockblocking me."

You smack him again. "Tony!"

"What? It’s true!"

Layla, still unaware of what that means, just points at the screen again. "Watch!"

So, you do.

For the next two hours, you’re stuck watching Beethoven, Layla giggling at every scene, while Tony shoots you dramatic, desperate looks. His hands on your waist, his lips occasionally brushing against your shoulder—he’s suffering.

You, meanwhile, are thoroughly enjoying this.

Finally, about twenty minutes before the movie ends, Layla’s energy starts fading. She blinks slowly, her tiny body curled against Tony’s side, her breathing growing heavier.

Tony glances down. "Is she—?"

Layla shifts a little, murmuring sleepily, but doesn’t wake up.

You exhale. "Yeah. She’s out."

Tony immediately scoops her up, carefully carrying her to her room. He tucks her in, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Night, Princess Menace."

Layla stirs slightly, mumbling, "Wuv you, Daddy..."

His heart melts.

He stays there for a moment, watching her sleep. Then, quietly, he tiptoes out of her room, closing the door behind him.

When he turns back to you, his expression changes.

"Now, where were we?"

You smirk. "Oh, I think we were about to, I don’t know… consummate something?"

Tony groans dramatically. "Finally."

And with that, he grabs you, sweeping you off your feet and carrying you straight to your bedroom.

The second he kicks the door shut, his lips crash onto yours.

It’s desperate, hungry—three years of waiting for this exact moment.

His hands are all over you, tugging at your dress as he walks you backward until your legs hit the bed.

"Mrs. Stark," he murmurs against your lips, his voice thick with want. "I need you."

You smile against his lips, your fingers slipping into his hair. "Then take me."

And that’s exactly what he does.

For the first time as husband and wife, you truly become one.

--

The morning sun spills into the bedroom through the half-open curtains, casting a golden glow across the room. You stretch with a satisfied sigh, the soreness from last night still lingering in the best way possible. Tony, already half-dressed, is standing by the mirror, fixing his watch with that cocky smirk of his.

"You look way too smug for someone who barely got any sleep," you tease as you sit up.

Tony turns, eyes twinkling. "I had better things to do than sleep, Mrs. Stark."

You roll your eyes, though your cheeks warm at the memory of last night. "We just got married, and you're already impossible."

He saunters over, placing a lingering kiss on your neck. "You love it."

Before you can respond, the bedroom door slams open.

"Daddy! Mommy! Wake up!"

Layla barrels into the room, her curly hair bouncing with every step. Her little face is lit up with excitement, and she’s practically vibrating with energy.

Tony barely has time to react before she launches herself onto the bed. "Cruise!" she shouts, bouncing in place. "We go boat! Big big boat! Daddy say big boat! We go now? We go now?"

You blink, still groggy. "Layla, baby, it's—what time is it?"

Tony glances at his watch. "Way too early for this much excitement."

Layla pouts dramatically. "But boat!"

Tony sighs, rubbing his face. "You see what you've created? A monster."

You laugh, scooping Layla into your arms. "A monster who got your energy levels."

Layla wiggles free, bouncing on the bed again. "Boat, boat, boat!"

Tony groans. "Alright, alright! But first—" He picks her up, spinning her around, making her giggle wildly. "We gotta check our bags, Princess Menace."

Layla gasps as if this is the most serious task in the world. "Yes! Check bags! Daddy say all, all packed?"

Tony nods. "Exactly. We can’t go on the big big boat unless we make sure we have everything."

Layla wriggles out of his arms, immediately sprinting to the luggage by the door. She starts patting the suitcases, then dramatically flings one open.

"Layla!" you gasp, but it's too late—her tiny hands are already pulling clothes out.

"Check, check, check!" she sings, throwing a pair of your shorts over her head.

Tony watches the chaos unfold, grinning. "I like her method."

You glare at him. "Help me fix this, now."

After fifteen minutes of repacking—while Layla tries to help but mostly just throws things around—you finally confirm that you have everything.

Tony picks up Layla again. "Alright, now we can go."

Layla throws her fists in the air. "BOAT!"

The drive to the port is filled with Layla alternating between singing a completely made-up cruise song and asking "Are we there yet?" every five minutes.

Tony, ever the show-off, had of course arranged for a private driver to take you to the dock, where the most luxuriouscruise ship you’ve ever seen is waiting.

The moment you step out of the car, Layla gasps.

"BIG BOAT!" she yells, pointing dramatically at the ship. "Big big boat!"

Tony crouches next to her. "Told you, Princess. Only the best for us."

Layla grabs his face with her tiny hands. "I wuv you, Daddy."

Tony melts on the spot.

You nudge him. "What about me?"

Layla turns to you, thoughtful. Then she smushes your face too. "I wuv you too, Mommy."

You and Tony both melt.

Then, as if the moment never happened, Layla suddenly shrieks, "We go now! We go now!"

Tony laughs, scooping her up as you all head toward check-in.

From the moment you step aboard, it’s clear that Tony went all out.

Your suite isn’t just a suite—it’s practically a penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows with ocean views, a massive bed, a private deck with a hot tub, and a personal butler waiting to cater to your every need.

Layla, meanwhile, has only one concern.

"Where pool?!" she demands the second you step inside.

Tony ruffles her hair. "We’ll go to the pool after we unpack, kiddo."

Layla pouts. "But now."

You shake your head, laughing. "Let’s at least look around first, Layla. Daddy booked the best suite."

Tony grins, clearly pleased with himself. "Only the best for my girls."

Layla, however, is not impressed by fancy furniture or a king-sized bed. "Pool."

Tony groans, dramatically flopping onto the couch. "She’s relentless."

You smirk. "She’s your daughter."

Tony points at you. "First of all, rude. Second of all—" He suddenly scoops Layla up again, spinning her around, making her giggle wildly. "Alright, alright, let’s check out the pool."

Layla cheers, kicking her little legs excitedly. "Yaaaay!"

As Tony carries her toward the door, he shoots you a look. "Later, though… you and me? Hot tub."

You arch an eyebrow. "Oh? Planning something?"

He smirks. "Oh, definitely."

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling.

For now, though? It’s time for Layla to enjoy her big big boat.

--

The first day of the cruise starts with Layla practically bouncing on the bed at the crack of dawn.

"Wake up! Wake up! Boat day!" she squeals, shaking Tony’s arm.

Tony groans dramatically, rolling onto his stomach. "Kid, it’s too early for this."

"Not early! Sun up! Wake up!" Layla insists, yanking the covers.

You laugh from your side of the bed, watching Tony bury his face in his pillow like it’ll protect him from your very determined three-year-old.

"Alright, alright," you say, sitting up and stretching. "Let’s get ready and go get breakfast."

At the mention of food, Layla gasps like it’s the best idea ever. "Pancakes?"

Tony finally peeks up. "Only if you let Daddy wake up properly first."

Layla considers this for one second before shaking his arm again. "Nooooo, pancakes now!"

Tony sighs dramatically, but there’s a grin tugging at his lips as he lets Layla drag him out of bed.

Breakfast is held at the ship’s massive buffet, and it’s clear that Layla is in heaven. Her plate is piled high with pancakes, fruit, and a suspicious amount of whipped cream that you definitely didn’t serve her.

Tony nudges you with a smirk. "She’s eating like she just discovered food for the first time."

Layla, her mouth full of pancake, points at him. "Mmmmf!"

Tony snickers. "Yeah? You got something to say, Princess?"

She swallows dramatically. "Food good."

You shake your head, amused. "We might have created a food critic."

After breakfast, the real fun begins.

Layla is beyond excited when she sees the kids’ club. The ship has an entire area dedicated to toddlers and small children, with soft play areas, toys, and activities led by trained staff.

She stares at the colorful setup with wide eyes. "I stay here?"

You crouch next to her. "Only if you want to, sweetheart. We can come get you whenever you want."

Layla looks at the playroom, then back at you. "You go?"

Tony smirks. "Mommy and I were thinking of checking out the boring adult stuff."

Layla giggles. "Boring!"

"So, do you wanna stay here and play?" you ask gently.

Layla nods so fast that you barely have time to react before she runs inside, already making herself at home among the other kids.

Tony watches her go, shaking his head. "Didn’t even hesitate."

"She’s three and has unlimited toys," you say, linking your arm with his. "She’ll be fine."

Tony tugs you closer. "Well, in that case… we should go have some fun too."

With Layla happily occupied, the two of you take full advantage of the adults-only areas of the ship.

You start at the infinity pool, where Tony orders drinks while you both lounge in the sun.

Tony stretches, sunglasses on, looking completely relaxed. "Not gonna lie, I love this."

You sip your drink. "Me too. But I bet in about two hours you’re gonna want to check on Layla."

Tony scoffs. "I can last at least three."

You just give him a look.

"…Okay, two and a half."

You laugh, leaning back into your chair. The day is perfect—just the right amount of sun, the soft ocean breeze, and the best company.

After the pool, Tony takes you to the onboard spa for a couples' massage, which he pretends he’s too cool for until he actually starts enjoying it.

By the time you check on Layla in the afternoon, she’s still having the time of her life and doesn’t even want to leave yet.

Tony sighs dramatically. "She’s too independent. This is tragic."

You pat his arm. "Guess we’ll have to entertain ourselves a little longer."

Tony grins. "Oh no, whatever will we do?"

The evening brings a huge welcome party hosted by the cruise line. The deck is lit up beautifully, with live music, champagne, and a celebration of the first night at sea.

Layla, dressed in a tiny sundress, is thrilled by all the attention she gets from the other passengers.

"Daddy, dance!" she demands, pulling on Tony’s hand.

Tony smirks, scooping her up and spinning her around, making her squeal with laughter.

You watch them, heart completely full. Layla may be the biggest menace, but she’s also the best thing to ever happen to you both.

When the party starts winding down, Layla is still buzzing with energy.

"I no sleep!" she announces proudly.

Tony raises an eyebrow. "Princess, you are definitely sleeping."

Layla shakes her head. "No!"

Five minutes later, she’s completely passed out in Tony’s arms.

Tony chuckles, kissing the top of her head. "Told you."

You smile, brushing Layla’s curls back. "Let’s get her to bed."

Once Layla is tucked in and completely out, you and Tony finally slip outside onto your private balcony.

The ocean stretches out endlessly, the moon reflecting on the waves.

Tony, already in the hot tub, holds out a hand. "Come on, Mrs. Stark. The water’s perfect."

You raise an eyebrow. "And you promise this is just about the water?"

Tony smirks. "I never promise that."

Still, you join him, sighing as the warm water envelops you.

Tony pulls you into his lap, arms wrapping around you. "Finally," he murmurs. "Alone time."

You glance back toward the room. "Temporarily alone."

Tony grins. "Then we better make the most of it."

His lips brush against yours, slow and deep, his hands trailing down your back. The sound of the ocean mixes with the gentle splashing of water as his grip tightens on you.

"You know," he murmurs against your lips, "I think we should always have a hot tub wherever we go."

You laugh softly. "Oh? And why’s that?"

Tony smirks, nipping at your jaw. "Because it always leads to good things."

You shiver as his fingers ghost over your skin.

"Tony—"

"Shhh," he murmurs, kissing you again. "We gotta be quiet, remember?"

Your breath catches as he pulls you closer.

Being discreet? Easier said than done.

[d0llcuries]

I know it might be a little weird, but could you make a headcanon of what it would be like to have Tsu'tey as a father being a girl (like daddy's little princess, he's heart is softened by his daughter and his partner) and Trudy as a mother (she being a scientist and having an avatar like Grace instead of a military woman and fell in love with Tsu'tey like Jake for Neytiri) please? I don't know why but I think they would be such an amazing couple with a super cute dynamic and even better parents, Trudy is too good to be just a military woman.

Thanks so much and plis never stop writing, you are too talented for this 🥰💕

NOT ALOT, JUST FOREVER

pairing(s): tsuʼtey x fem!daughter! reader + trudy x fem!daughter! reader

summary: being tsu’tey and trudy’s daughter means living between two completely different worlds, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

author's note: beyond thrilled for this request!! it's not weird at all i think it's super creative and overall a really lovely request! i only hope i did the whole “trudy as a scientist and not an aviator” concept justice ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ ).

TSU’TEY IS A WARRIOR. a warrior of few words and fewer indulgences. yet somehow, your existence has shifted the soil beneath his feet. he doesn't understand it—the way a creature so small can root him in ways no battlefield ever did, how his spirit trembles more at the sight of your scraped knee than it ever did facing his fiercest enemies. the jungle's dangers are tangible, something he can see and fight. but this? the vulnerability that sneaks up on him every time you reach for his hand? that is an enemy he never learned to face.

HE NEVER SAYS IT ALOUD, but you are his soft spot, his ache in the quiet moments. he lingers at the edge of your games, arms crossed and posture deceptively indifferent. only his fingers betray him, twitching whenever you teeter, always ready to reach out. he remembers the first time he held you—skin still flushed with warmth from your mother’s womb—and thought, how could something so small hold such power over him?

TRUDY NOTICES IT TOO. she watches, amused, as he paces along the clearing’s edge while you struggle with a flower crown, petals and stems slipping through your fingers. he catches her smirk and glares, but the edge dulls the moment you call, “daddy, help me!” his pride dissolves as he kneels, calloused hands surprisingly gentle as he threads the flowers, each petal treated like something precious, as if winning this small battle for you means everything.

HE’S NEVER LEARNED HOW TO SAY NO TO YOU. no one really believes it. tsu’tey, head warrior, with a daughter who can wrap him around her finger. it's almost comical. warriors have seen you perched on his shoulders, his hands steadying your ankles with fierce attention, as if the entire jungle’s weight depends on your safety. when the hunters tease him, it's always in whispers, for none would be foolish enough to say it to his face.

TRUDY ENCOURAGES THE MESS. she lets you dig through the dirt, muddying your fingers as you paint the bark of a tree. she’ll ruffle your hair with dusty hands, or press her nose against yours and whisper stories about the sky people, but never in a way that makes you afraid of them. she’ll hold some odd gadget in her lap, her fingers nimble and focused, but she always makes room for you, explaining her tinkering in a strange blend of science and dreams.

TSU’TEY DOESN’T UNDERSTAND IT, this fixation you and trudy have with the stars, tracing shapes and murmuring about worlds and distances that stretch too far to see. it feels impractical, frivolous, yet he cannot tear his gaze from your face, lit up by wonder. he doesn’t understand the science, no, but he understands that quiet, wide-eyed look of awe you wear when you turn toward the night sky.

SOMETIMES YOU CATCH THEM BEING WEIRD, your parents, in moments they don’t think you’re watching. trudy sidles up to tsu’tey, wrapping herself around him like ivy on a tree, grounding him in a way nothing else does. you, hidden behind a tree, watch the way his usual stoic lines soften around her, watch the way she coaxes out a gentleness he barely understands. he’s the rock, unyielding, and she’s the wind, wearing him down in soft waves. it’s strange, but even at your age, you know it’s love.

YOUR MOTHER’S LAUGH IS LOUD, STARTLING. it breaks through the quiet of the forest, raw and unchecked, and when tsu’tey looks at her, it’s with a mix of exasperation and awe, a slow smile tugging at his lips, as if he’s still in disbelief that she is his.

TSU’TEY TRIES TO TEACH YOU TO HUNT, but you’re far too much like her, curiosity spinning you in every direction but the target. you tug on his arm, asking why the plants glow, why the ikran call out at dawn, and though he sighs, there’s patience in his hands as he steadies your bow. his answers are clipped, bare—“because eywa made them that way”—and you frown, dissatisfied. HE’S A WARRIOR, NOT A POET, but he tries for you, tries to see the world through the lens of wonder you wear.

YOU’VE NEVER BEEN AFRAID OF HIM, not like others are. to them, he’s a force, quiet and commanding, silencing crowds with a single look. but to you, he’s dad. the one who lifts you to pick the highest fruit, who lets you clamber onto his shoulders despite the fact that you’re nearly too big now, who calls you his “little warrior,” though anyone can see you’re a reflection of your mother.

YOU MAKE HIM LAUGH. it’s a quiet sound, almost lost between the trees, a reserved chuckle he saves just for you. it’s there in those unguarded moments, like when you drift off mid-story, cheek pressed to his chest, breathing softly in a rhythm that seems to ground him.

WHEN THE DAY ENDS, your family is wrapped in twilight colors. tsu’tey holds you close, his arms anchoring you as you drift between sleep and wakefulness. trudy hums an off-key melody from a time long past, and beneath the canopy, the sounds of pandora settle around you, your father’s heartbeat a steady drum grounding you in his embrace.

you’ve inherited her stubbornness, MUCH TO TSU’TEY’S DISMAY. once your mind is set, little can change it, and trudy often encourages you with a grin, while tsu’tey tries to hold firm, though his resolve quickly falters under your gaze. eventually, he’ll sigh, muttering that you’re “just like your mother.”

WHEN YOU’RE SICK, tsu’tey never leaves your side, discomfort tight in his chest, unused to the helplessness it brings. trudy works calmly, hands sure as she mixes medicine from plants she’s studied, but tsu’tey watches with a taut, silent worry. only when you reach out, your small hand grasping his, does he finally relax, grounding himself in the strength of your presence.

TSU’TEY DOES NOT TRUST BOYS, least of all the sully brothers. when they come around, he watches them like a hawk, shoulders tense, eyes narrowing every time they get too close to you. even when they're just playing, tossing a ball or climbing trees, tsu’tey stands at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, every muscle on alert. neteyam is polite, respectful, but it’s lo’ak who makes tsu’tey’s jaw tighten—the boy is too reckless, too bold. he doesn’t care that they’re still young; boys grow into men, and tsu’tey has seen too much of the world to be naïve. but when you laugh, loud and carefree, chasing after them through the trees, he can’t quite bring himself to pull you away. still, his eyes never leave you, the protective weight of his gaze making sure they understand—they may play, but they’ll never cross a line.

TRUDY, OF COURSE, FINDS IT AMUSING. she’ll shake her head and laugh when she catches tsu’tey scowling from his post. “they’re just kids,” she says, tousling your hair as you sprint by, face flushed and beaming. trudy’s always been the more lenient one, the one who believes in letting you figure things out for yourself. when you ask if you can go with the sullys on one of their adventures, she’s quick to agree, despite tsu’tey’s gruff protests. “they’re good boys,” she tells him, nudging his side. but even as she says it, trudy watches you with that same quiet intensity tsu’tey has—her kind of protectiveness isn’t loud, but it’s always there, a constant force just beneath the surface.

IN THE END, YOU’VE CHANGED THEM BOTH, reshaping their edges, carving space for softness amidst the warrior’s strength and the explorer’s curiosity. in you, they find balance. and as the night settles, they hold you close, a quiet promise between them that, whatever the world brings, this—their family—is worth everything.

[thunderg]

To Love and Protect | Min Yoongi x Reader

a/n: Hi! This is an au that my bestie and I have been developing @livingformintyoongi , so if you enjoy it, please like it, reblog it and comment, this helps me to keep going <3

Genre: Angst, Romance with touches of Fluff and Survival, The Hunger Games AU.

Warnings: Reader is describe like a redhead and pale.

OC: Chae, she's the second winner of district 12, if you want to know more about here you can read "The Cost of Victory (Hoseok x Reader)"

Wc: 1315

Yoongi blinked tiredly, feeling dizzy, and the weather wasn’t helping. There were times when he would wake up regretting drinking the night before, but of course, that feeling would fade once that night stopped dreaming, when he could lay in his bed without having to remember what he had lived through in his games. 

No one was chasing him, nor did he feel the terror that anything might be a trap. He entered a state of deep peace, though it had its disadvantages, like the damn headache and dizziness, never being sure of his steps. Damn, he didn’t look like his 13-year-old version, confident in every step, capable of hunting others down like a predator. 

The arena was his territory, he wasn’t trapped with them, the tributes were trapped with him, but that version was almost buried. Yoongi had tried, he had tried to keep going, but he didn’t know how to handle failure. He had been lucky enough to keep the tribute who had been reaped a year after him. 

He attributed it to his need to survive, not everyone had to fight the way they had. Yoongi remembered when he was only 9 years old, District 12 was one of the poorest, but his fate had been much worse than that. He belonged to the poorest part of the place, his parents, alcoholics (ironic, right?), barely managed to get food for the family. 

He was starving, desperate, wandering the streets, but no one was there to help or pity him. It was pouring rain, no one would be out on those cold streets, so he did the only thing that came to mind—he dug through the trash cans looking for something. He despaired when he saw there was nothing. 

He was trembling uncontrollably, his teeth chattering, soaked from head to toe, but through it all, the only thing he could think about was how hungry he was. He was getting tired of this, feeling numb. Maybe his time had come, maybe he could finally rest, he needed it so much. 

Before he could even lie down, something caught his attention. It was a girl, not much younger than him, her hair as shiny as a sunset, her eyes as green as grass, her skin as pale as snow, and her lips as red as wild berries from the forest. Everything about her screamed peace and tranquility, making him wish he could close his eyes and rest by her side. 

She approached timidly, as if afraid of his reaction, as if he were a wild animal. For a moment, he remembered his appearance—of course, he didn’t look friendly at all. He tried to stay as still as possible, not wanting to scare her. She extended something towards him. 

Bread. She was giving him a loaf of bread. It had been so long since he had eaten something like that. It didn’t look great, it seemed burned in some parts, but despite that, he clung to it with all his might. It was still warm. When he tried to thank her, she vanished, as if everything had been a hallucination. For the first time in his life, Yoongi could say that angels existed, and they were as beautiful as a sunset in a field of flowers. 

He felt Chae get up beside him. Right, they were at the stupid reaping ceremony. He got up as best as he could, walking unsteadily toward the tributes. He was thankful for the state he was in, it was easier to bear the pain of the deaths if he didn’t remember their faces. 

He looked up, this couldn’t be real. He almost tripped. She wasn’t real. Of course not, he must’ve been so drunk that he was seeing things. There, in front of him, her hair as bright as burning fire, her eyes as green as Hyori’s brooch, and her lips as red as blood. 

It was clear that the years hadn’t passed in vain; she was beautiful, no doubt. Her cheeks blushed with fury. All this could be mistaken for a typical reaction from a drunk person, but he had never felt more sober than at that moment. 

His heart began to beat with the same intensity as in the games, as if there was finally something to fight for, that he had made it this far for a reason, and that she was the one who had pushed him to this moment. It was foolish to believe in destiny and something greater than them, but after years of praying to the stars for a sign that it was worth being alive, it had finally arrived. 

The skies were cruel, but he had already overcome the adversities of the games, he would do the same for her. If he had to play dirty, he would. She was now his only reason. He remembered that in his interview, Heechul had asked him what would motivate him to win. At that moment, he had answered something shallow like money or fame. He had been arrogant back then, but if they asked him that question now, he would answer with complete certainty: Y/N. 

For the next few weeks, he distanced himself from his best friend, alcohol. It was difficult, but he had to think, even if it hurt, he had to remember. He had to reconnect with that part of him that fought to live, because that way, he would keep the girl alive. How could he ask her to fight for her life if he wasn’t doing the same? 

When he returned, he felt like he could finally breathe. The pressure on his chest had disappeared. It didn’t matter how he had done it; if he had to take the blame, he would, because she was back, safe in his arms. Of course, with the usual consequences the games left, but she was there, by his side. 

Without realizing it, he began to get closer to her, unable to bear even a minute without feeling her skin against his. His heart and mind screamed her name. She was the only one who could calm the pain. He was lost, but he was lost in the greenness of her eyes. He could write a thousand and one songs in her name without even tiring. 

He longed and prayed for a glance from her. Every day, he woke up hoping to spend his time by her side. He was terrible at showing his feelings, but he felt like he would explode if he wasn’t near her. So, he silently accompanied her in everyday things like cooking or cleaning her house. Even with all the money in the world, there was nothing interesting to do. 

The desire to kiss her clouded his judgment, and he was weak, so it was no surprise to anyone when, on a rainy afternoon (similar to the one from his childhood), lying on the couch, he succumbed to his instincts and kissed her with fervor, holding her sides, smelling the bread she had just made a few hours earlier. He was drunk on her presence. 

He almost ascended to the heavens when she kissed him back, caressing his hair with adoration, as if he truly deserved that tenderness, as if he were just a 22-year-old young man and not carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

His promise would remain until his soul left his body. Nothing and no one would take his angel from his arms. He was jealous and possessive, he knew that, but they had never experienced anything like this—loving with such passion that his heart could have pierced his ribs. He would protect her, even if it meant dying in the process. If he had to fight alone against the Capitol, he would. Because they didn’t know anything about him, nor how much he was truly willing to love.

Masterlist

(Banners of @k1ssyoursister )

[geekedoutbunny]

Sun Wukong x Fem! Mortal Reader - Selfish

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Sun Wukong x Fem! Reader - Selfish

Paring: Sun Wukong x Fem! Mortal Reader

Rating: Rated E

Warning: Fluff, complicated feelings, Slight Angst, humor

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You were resting in your room, scrolling through your phone in your own world. You could hear the sound of your family talking and laughing in the front. You sighed as you lost yourself in the content before you on your phone screen.

You live a double life, to your family you're a nobody, you're a nerd, and you like games, anime, quirky music, cosplays, and fanfiction. However, they're unaware you're friends with the chaotic group.

The Monkie Kid: MK

The Horse Dragon Girl: Mei

The Noodle Master: Pigsy

The Mythology Pro and allegedly Professional Food Critic: Tang

The Blue Friendly Giant: Sandy and his sweet little companion Mo

The Fire Baby: Redson

The Shadow Monkey: Macaque

The Lotus Prince: Nezha

and The Monkey King himself: Sun Wukong

You were a strange group, but it was worth it, they were the best things that could've ever come into your boring life. You first discovered them through Mei's live streams that she would stream at the most random of times, but it was always funny to watch them goof around and sometimes it was eye-catching when a random monster would appear.

You met them by chance one day when your brother ordered noodles from Pigsy's shop, you were unaware of where he got his noodles from but you couldn't care less, you answered the door with a bored expression ready to make an exchange of money for food when your whole world was turned upside down.

You were overwhelmed with excitement when you saw it was MK himself, to say you were their biggest fan was an understatement. You fangirled, and you ranted your love to him and his friends, and he took in kind as he puffed up his chest in pride. You were able to get his number and that was a good day, then it became even better a few weeks later when he had to deliver another thing of noodles, this time he had Mei with him and she liked you instantly.

She and MK stayed at your home for an hour before she invited you to come with them to the arcade and after that, you were friends with them. Being friends with them started off normal, with sleepovers, hanging out, going to the movies or the mall, hanging out at Pigsy's Noodle shop... it was normal until you ended up going on one of their adventures due to chaos breaking out unexpectedly with you there.

Mei took this as the perfect opportunity to bring you with them on an adventure so that she could show off her and MK's powers. MK was hesitant, but it didn't take much convincing when Mei mentioned it. "You can show off your Monkey King powers!!" And he was sold instantly. You were terrified yet excited to be on the scene of the battle. The trembling of the ground, the bright glows of powers, the giant dragon, the Monkey Mech, it was all so addictive.

After that, you were always on their adventures with them, rooting them on from the side while also helping them plan out their battles. It's been like that for a few months now, and you've grown to love it. One day, MK decided to introduce you to the Monkie King, you knew of the legend of Monkie King, everyone in China did, it was a simple children's story that all children knew.

Before you met your new friends, you never believed in them, but seeing their powers in the flesh, you weren't so confident in your own skepticism anymore. So off you went, with MK, on his unstable and very quick pole. You clung onto his back for dear life as you hid your face from the winds that whipped past you both.

You and MK finally broke through the thick clouds, and you stared on in awe as you saw Flower Fruit Mountain surrounded by beautiful clouds. "Wow." You said breathlessly, MK chuckled. "YEAH!! IT'S PRETTY AMAZING, YEA!?" He shouted over the winds. You nodded silently as you stared at the view. It wasn't much longer after that when you and MK finally landed on the cliff of the mountain.

You looked around in wonderment, taking everything in amazement. You stared out over the vast lands that lay before Flower Fruit Mountain, and a small smile grew on your face. You jumped in shock when a little monkey landed on your shoulder. You stared at the little monkey in shock for a while before you smiled kindly at it. "Hey there, little guy, where you come from?" You asked sweetly to the monkey as you gently rubbed under its chin.

As you did, loads burst from the trees and higher rocks, you looked around in shock as they all surrounded you, speaking among themselves as they sat around or climbed over you. MK chuckled. "Oh, man!! Looks like they like ya, which is an extremely good thing." He commented. You looked over at him questionably as you held a monkey by its underarms.

"Oh yeah? Why's that?" You questioned. He was about to answer, but another voice beat him to it. "BECAUSE THEN THAT MEANS I'LL LIKE YOU TOO!! HANDS DOWN GUARANTEED!!" His voice echoed out. You looked around rapidly as you looked for the owner, but you couldn't find him, so you looked to MK for guidance, but he did nothing as he shrugged and smirked at you in amusement.

You turned back around to ask the little monkey in your hands, but you were met with a face instead. "Hi." He simply said with a relaxed smirk. You gasped dramatically as you stepped back doing karate chops and gestures before you took a ridiculous stance in shocked defense. MK, Monkey King, and all the little monkeys stared at you blankly. Your cheeks slowly warmed in embarrassment before you quickly straightened yourself up. "Umm, ahem... Hi." You awkwardly waved at him. He arched a brow at you as he looked you up and down before he shot MK a smirk. "I like her." He said as he jabbed his thumb at you.

"AWW YEAH!! I KNEW YOU WOULD!!" MK cheered in success as he fist pumped in triumph. You nervously smiled happy to have been accepted even after your embarrassing first impression. Monkey King smirked at his student before he looked over at you catching your attention. You straightened up and he chuckled at you before he walked ahead his hand waving for you to follow him.

"Come on, let me show ya around." He said, you nodded your head before you followed after him. MK continued to rant about how he must be Monkey King's psychic. Monkey King Shook his head in amusement as he comically grabbed MK by the back of his shirt with great ease.

He carried him on, while MK continued to celebrate, you chuckled at their antics as you followed closely behind them. He stopped in front of the waterfall, you watched curiously as he held up the ranting MK to the waterfall. You stared with an arched brow as you tilted your head. He looked over his shoulder at you with a proud smirk. "Give It time and watch the magic happen." He said You nodded slowly as you watched MK rant for another 30 seconds before he suddenly spread his arms wide apart and the waterfall parted like a giant beautiful curtain.

"Woah." You whispered in amazement. He looked back at you with a smug smirk. "I know, cool right?" He asked smugly and you couldn't help but just nod your head. He walked through the parted waterfall, and you followed after him, the little monkeys all followed as well, as they ran ahead of the three of you. "So, what's the story between you two?" Monkey King asked as he walked through the cave he calls 'home', MK still in his hand as he enjoyed the ride, his legs outstretched before him as he rested his hands on his knees.

"Me and MK met through my brother by chance." You explained as you looked around the place. He nodded his head idle as he listened to you speak. MK looked up at Monkey King with wide eyes as he nodded. "Mhm, her bro wanted some noodles so I delivered it and that's how we met." He said with a little smile as he pointed his thumb at himself proudly. Monkey King smiled down at him. "Oh yeah? Great job, bud, you found a keeper!!" He said cheerfully as he rubbed his head with his other hand.

You smiled at them. 'It's like a dad with his kid, cute.' You thought.

Your first meeting with Sun Wukong was very impressionable, he was funny, chill, relatable, and very family-oriented with his monkeys and MK. It was a pleasure to see, and you wanted to come by and visit more often.

Sadly, going to Flower Fruit Mountain was a rare occasion for you, it was usually only when the world was in parel or when you were all having a celebration party after defeating a villain. It was usually during those parties that you got to hang with Wukong.

You'd laugh and play, joke, and just enjoy each other's presence. Eventually, it went from that to him coming to visit you at your family home, but he always managed to disguise himself as some sort of animal, but you told him that a cat was more favorable.

This way, it wouldn't seem weird to your family if they saw you out petting a cat, he'd usually have to sneak in at night when everyone was too deep onto their own worlds to give a damn. Some nights he'd kidnap you and would just fly you over the city, take you to some cheap restaurant, or just go to Flower Fruit Mountain.

These slowly became yours and his guilty pleasure, going out on night adventures that could last till three in the morning. It was like having a best friend that your parents considered a bad influence. MK and Mei, were your best friends, but Wukong was special.

He was your friend who was over the best friends. It was like that for a while, a few years, actually... but eventually, those feelings began to blossom into something else, something deeper and scary. You didn't want to create distance between you two over some romantic feelings, so you tried to hide them, be normal... but it was almost like he knew.

He'd do things that would make your heart flutter, or he would say things that would make your breath hitched. It was a losing battle, and you were feeling cornered, so you tried to make distance between you two. Making up false issues that would postpone a hangout, you would fake being slightly unwell to make him leave you to 'heal' for a few days... you didn't want to, but it was all you could do.

But Wukong has learned a thing or two in his age, he knew what you were doing, what you were feeling, how you were taking it, he knew better than anyone else. But he'll give you your space, give you time to realize that your feelings weren't a phase and that they were real.

He wanted you to embrace your feelings, he'll help in doing so. He'll send you flowers, cake, chocolate, jewelry, makeup, that new game you wanted, clothes, anime merchandise, anything and everything you wanted, and he'll be sure to write his initials extra large on the little tag so you'll know who it was from.

You were a wreck, he was still so close yet so far, making distance only made it worse, the gifts he'd send would make you want to be close to him... He must've felt the same way... So, with that thought, you made up your mind, you packed a couple of bags, all of your personal belongings boxed up and ready to go.

Your excuse to your family? "I'm going to donate some of this stuff and get new things, I'm ready for a new look, is all." You'd say. it took you a few days, but eventually, your entire room was packed. You had to be smart with it, leaving things out that you would use every day until the final night you'd pack it all.

You wrote a note to your family, telling them that you're going to go away with the love of your life and that they'll see you again in the far future, you'll never forget them and you'll even send them gifts and letters once a month.

Once that was done, you opened your window wide, and you waited... it wasn't a long wait, not at all, he was there within minutes. Perched on his cloud, his goody smile you love so much on his face. He reached up and grabbed a few blade furs, he blew and created 5 clones. They made quick work of gathering your packed belongings. They all jumped out the window with a box or two in their hands.

You watched them with wonderment as they worked like a moving crew, one even grabbed your bed, how that was gonna work out you didn't want to know, but he did make it shrink, so that's cool.

Once they were all gone, you couldn't help but look around your now empty room, you were going to miss this place, your family, everything... You never thought that you would be leaving your family like this one day. You sniffled as tears unexpectedly gathered in your eyes as you hugged your arms around yourself, trying to feel comfort. You flinched in shock when a pair of arms wrapped around you from behind.

You looked back, and you saw Wukong, a sweet little smile on his face as he looked at you. You smiled before you looked around your room one last time. He gently guided you to the window, he jumped out first and onto the cloud, before he offered you his hand. You grabbed his hand as you placed your foot on the window seal, but you didn't have to put too much effort into it as he hoisted you up with ease.

Once on, you fished around in your pocket and you pulled out the folded-up letter, you held it in your hand for a bit, almost like you were debating on it, but with a brief glance at your empty room, you nodded to yourself. You leaned forward and placed the letter on the window seal. You stared at it sadly, but you were happy. With one last look around the room, you slid the window close.

You leaned against the glass for a moment before you pulled away, you released a sigh, a hand on your shoulder made you perk up and you looked over at him. A small yet understanding smile was on his face. You smiled back, you stood up and you wrapped your arms around his neck while he wrapped his arm around your waist, and just like that, you were gone.

The wind blew past you rapidly as your home quickly disappeared in the distance behind you, the moon that sits high in the sky made you smile as you leaned against his shoulder. You were going to miss your family, but for once, you were going to be selfish.

[criolla-star]

Overwhelmed(Vinny x Garmadon)Part 63

(I suggest you check out parts 1-62 if you haven’t already, also my ao3 and wattpad for the chapters more organised)

(With Vinny and the others)

They all walked through the forest, Vinny avoiding eye contact with everyone. The guilt he felt knowing he was the reason they were all was overbearing, to him he deserved whatever happened to his arm.

Kai seemed to notice the cameraman who was trapped in thought and walked next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “You look blue buddy, what’s on your mind?” He questioned.

“Of course he’s upset Kai, his arm’s probably broken” Jay spoke, as he rolled his eyes.

“Shut up Jay” The fire ninja replied bluntly. It was a normal response to Jay, he would randomly tell Jay to shut up even when he wasn’t talking.

“Enough you two” Nya sighed as she watched her lover and brother squabble like toddlers.

“Alright alright…back to the questions, is anything on your mind?” Kai as Vinny who was looking away, avoiding eye contact.

“I…not really…just worried about the others…” Vinny spoke timidly as he looked at the ground, it wasn’t really a lie, he was concerned for the others, but he was mad at himself for being an idiot.

“They’re strong, if we managed to be safe this long, they’ll be perfectly fine” Lloyd spoke, “They have most of the brains of our group, other than Nya” he added, causing the water ninja to smile at the compliment.

“We can be smart” Cole spoke, Jay and Kai nodded in agreement.

“Sure you can” Nya spoke sarcastically as she rolled his eyes, causing Vinny to chuckle softly.

“When we get back we’re playing video games…” Jay spoke.

“Definitely” Cole and Kai spoke in unison.

“I still need to reorganise my side of the room” Nya groaned, causing Jay to snicker.

“Should’ve got it done when I did” The lightning ninja teased, receiving a glare from Nya.

“I swear whoever that guy from yesterday was in already a p-“ Kai was cut off as a spear flew by his face, narrowly missing him.

“What the…?” Vinny muttered as he and the others turned around to the spear which was lodged in a tree. Before they could say anything, there was two bangs on the ground that sounded like metal, and the spear exploded.

The cameraman stumbled back and fell onto the ground, his dagger falling out of his pocket, down next to him. The others managed to stay standing. Lloyd crouched near Vinny, holding his arm to help him stand up.

“Who’s there!?” Cole shouted as he banged his fists together, triggering his earth punch. Kai formed a fireball while Jay and Nya pulled out their swords.

As Lloyd began helping Vinny up, he was cut off by a harsh kick to his chest as he was knocked back into Nya, she thankfully caught him and lessened the impact. The cameraman stared back at Lloyd worriedly, but was given a thumbs up from in for comfort.

Vinny looked back in front of him, he took a sharp breathe as he felt cold metal pressed against his neck. It was a spear, which led up to a man…a cold, emotionless expression on his face…

The man was intimidating…black scleras with silver irises that pierced anyones soul just by looking at him, in this case…Vinnys’ soul…scars across his face…not as much as Rida though…a yin sign on his left cheek,…two different skin tones…vitiligo…as well as floor long, fluffy black hair that was tied up in a single bubble braid.

He wore balloon harem pants, with a short waist cloth, armour that looked like it weighed a ton, hardly any of his body shown other than his face. His armour had a flower like insignia which no doubt held some meaning. The spear had some gems scattered across it’s handle as well as the armour. His appearance was interesting…his most striking features, his hair, eyes and vitiligo…

Vinnys’ trembled as the blade of the spear was kept against his neck, he gulped, his adam apple bobbing as he done so. He noticed the mans’ eyes flick down to the dagger which was laid across the ground, a flick of recognition was no doubt in the mans’ expression, before his expression darkened.

“Where’s the dagger from?” The man spoke, it wasn’t a choice to answer he had to. The ninja watched from behind, Nya working up the courage to walk over and crouch next to Vinny knocking the mans’ spear away from his neck.

“He doesn’t have to answer you” the water ninja hissed as she grabbed the dagger from the ground and gave it to Vinny.

“N-Nya it’s fine, honestly…” the cameraman replied a little touched at the care from Nya, considering they’ve only been close friends for a few days, “I-I brought it from somewhere…” Vinny replied to the mans’ question, it was a lie, but it was what everyone believed.

The mans’ eyes sharpened as he grabbed Vinny by the collar of his shirt and pulled him up, “Lying won’t do you any good” He spoke, his voice hid no malice, no threats…no emotion and neither did his expression.

“What would you know?” Kai hissed from the back, clearly ready to fight whenever anything bad happened, the man just ignored Kai.

“I-I’m not lying…” Vinny spoke, his voice was shaking, did the man know Rida and Enji? Did he work with them? Was all that was going through his mind, he couldn’t deal with another like Enji. He looked up at the man, his expression begging for him to stop with the questions, he didn’t want the others finding out he lied.

The mans’ monotone expression faded for a second into realisation, before he sighed and let go of Vinny, and backing away. When this happened the others immediately bunched together. The cameraman let out a shaky breathe one he didn’t know he was holding once he was let go.

“Who are you?” Lloyd questioned,

“Shancai, prince and sworn protector of the Ivory Kingdom” the man spoke before he helped Vinny get up from the ground.

“Hah…that’s nice, but why’d you feel the need to attack us!?” Jay questioned, his rage not well hidden.

“You aren’t from here, technically trespassers” the man spoke bluntly, as he closed his hand around the spear and it disappeared into thin air.

“Ok cool, so where are we?” Kai questioned, as he rubbed his temples.

“As of now, Ivory Kingdom, if you were further into the forest would be the Grove where my sister protects” Shancai spoke as he dragged Vinny to follow him, making sure not to hurt his arm.

“Where are you taking us?” Lloyd asked.

“My mother, she can most likely take you back to wherever you’re from” Shancai replied as he continued walking, he kept Vinny close, glancing at him every now and then, the cameraman stuffed the dagger into his pocket.

“You’re helping us?” Cole asked.

“For now…if I find out you’ve caused trouble in your time of being here I won’t hesitate to change my mind” Shancai replied, as he gave the others a glare.

They continued walking, “I expect a truthful answer when we’re alone…” Shancai whispered quietly to Vinny causing him to take a sharp breathe and nod slightly.

This man definitely knew who Enji and Rida were…Vinny could only hope this man wasn’t working with them…

(I UNDERSTAND VINNY AND SHANCAI HAD A ROUGH MEETING BUT TRUST ME!!! IT WILL GET BETTER IT WILL GET BETTER!!! Also I love Shancai more than all my ocs…he’s so pretty🥺)

[danosrosegarden]

I’m sure you’re overwhelmed with requests but if you ever have the time (╥﹏╥) Could you write some male reader/Burt Fabelman because there is literally nothing out there <\3 ! Maybe some headcanons abt what he would be like in his first relationship w/ another man?

holding to the ground - burt fabelman x masc!reader headcanons ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

{contains: descriptions of anxiety with a happy ending!}

☽ I'm going to borrow a line from Falsettos: "I was sure growing up, I would live the life my mother assumed I'd live: very Jewish, very middle class, and very straight." It was instilled into Burt from a young age what he'd be: a hardworking, clean-cut man. A husband to a wife. A father to children.

☽ And he was just that for a long while. But his world doesn't spin the way it used to after the split. He can still feel the floors of the old house underneath his feet. The phantom of Mitzi's laugh echoes from the ghost-white walls. The girls are just a phone call away, but their blushing, smiling faces aren't in the next room. Nothing is the same.

☽ And there's you, of course, the new hire at work. Burt's supposed to be watching over you, making sure you don't screw anything up too royally. He's almost angry with you, though. With the way your smile beams and sparkles so gorgeously, the way your smooth voice pours into his ear, the way you carry yourself...you're so effortlessly cool and collected. So simply fun and upbeat. Just handsome and nice to look at. It frustrates him, because he can't have you.

☽ He's supposed to be a professional. He's not supposed to date coworkers. Not to mention how new the concept of being with a man was to him...it nearly frightened him. He was afraid to reach out and grasp the possibility, living in constant dread that it might prick him and drain his blood. What would his family think? His friends? The rest of the world?

☽ But he catches himself. He's always wanted the best for his children. Mitzi gave him these wonderful gifts that he could never repay her for...and what was it that she always encouraged them to do? Follow their hearts? Chase after their dreams? Burt could do the same, if he just plucked up enough courage.

☽ He decides to go with flowers. That's not too overbearing, right? They're a luscious deep red and pink and they smell like the light, airy, puffy clouds of heaven.

☽ Some of his coworkers crack jokes when they see the flowers on his desk. "Looks like someone's back in the game, huh, Burt? Who are those for?"

☽ It isn't until he asks you to stay after work that it all begins to feel impossibly real. The light coat of sweat slicked on his palms. The twist and lurch of his stomach as he grips the flowers tightly. He feels like a crushing teenager again, unable to keep calm when faced with his feelings.

☽ "These are for you, actually." It comes tumbling out in a jumbled, knotted string.

☽ He's unable to read your face for a moment, until a small smile cracks in the corner of your lips. It feels as though a trillion pounds has been lifted from his trembling shoulders. You like them. You like the flowers!

☽ All this to say, Burt might need some time to adjust to the new relationship. He's always going to be followed by the ghost of what could've been, what used to be. But with you, he feels as though he can finally breathe. Let go. Just be himself. He tries to see the good in people, see the good in the bustling world around him. And maybe with a man like you by his side, he can wake up to a world that's brighter. Lighter. With you, he can just be.

[deathofacupid]

just gonna drop this here, yep. a prologue, if i decide to do it. would be an itafushi x reader!

a coward. you were a coward. you could hear maki screaming through your headset, and no matter how hard you clenched your jaw to tune it out, it reverberated through your skull like no other sound.

even your own muffled sobs wouldn’t mask her yelling. you didn’t mean it, didn’t they know?

you’re trembling, hidden behind the wall.

“i don’t know what to do,” you cry, maybe just loud enough for them to hear you. it was a countdown. time was running out. “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.”

a crackly grunt from toge, paired with a yelp from junpei. the headset buzzed from their end, static that made your chest hurt.

you couldn’t think your way out of this, no matter how hard you tried. because this was how the game was designed, right? it was psychological warfare, built on the foundation of pain and betrayal. there was no winning, not really.

that’s how heart games worked.

five minutes remaining.

a bitter laugh from maki, “what’s the point in saying sorry?” rustling of leaves. “in the end, that’s all you ever do.”

she’s not done. you clench your fists.

“ever since you dropped out of school, it’s all you know.” her breathing is heavy, and you can’t tell if she’s getting closer. a thump. has she gotten fallen? is she okay?

in the botanical garden, it’s dark, and you can hardly see. you can smell the flowers around you, but they’re more bitter than sweet.

just like everything in your world. no, not your. this world. and it wasn’t yours, no. you wanted to go home. you were sick of the games, sick of watching people die around you.

“i’m sorry,” you repeat. over and over, more to yourself than them.

“i’ve had enough,” toge says. “i don’t care who survives in the end.”

“but…” he continues, and you faintly make out soft crying from junpei. toge struggles to keep him pinned onto the ground. “i don’t want it to end this way.”

three minutes remaining.

no. no, no, no, what were you doing? he was right, you couldn’t let it end like this. what gave you the right to live, and not them?

they had futures, lives waiting for them. toge had a good job, and maki had found the love of her life. you didn’t have that. it would be a waste, for you to be the only one left. so… if anyone deserved to live, it wasn’t you.

you let your eyes fall shut, and the noise fades to a gentle quiet. you miss late nights out with them. drinking irresponsibly in the bar maki worked at. you miss making dumb, stupid jokes, ones that didn’t even make sense. you miss picking on toge, and getting picked on by maki.

most of all, you miss the peace. the tranquility you didn’t even know you had, not until you lost it. you thought things were bad then? god, were you just asking for it.

they were your friends. you loved them so much, and you if you think about it, you didn’t really want to live in a world they weren’t a part of.

“guys,” shaking your head, you murmur. “i’ll quit. i’ll… drop out of this game. you’re all— you’re all that matters to me.” you push yourself up, stumbling out, back into the main area.

“if someone has to lose this game, let it be me. i’m leaving the game,” you decide. and with every step you take, you feel more and more certain. this was it. this was how it was supposed to be.

“maki, toge? maki?” you call out, breaking into a jog. “toge? junpei?”

why weren’t they responding? you could hear junpei’s muffled yells, but only through the headset.

your face pales. why weren’t they letting you find them? what was happening?

no, no, you decided. you made this choice, the right choice. they can’t switch on you, that’s not fair.

oh, god. “maki?” you scream, voice raw and broken from crying. “guys, please!”

your eyes flicker to the large screen, fixating on how the digits were going down.

running. out. of.

time.

hyperventilating bc i NEED to make an alice in borderland au series but i JUST started a series… what if… i smush the one i just started into that au ??

someone talk me out of this

[storyblcd]

»»———— “Mmm, I’m a very HONEST person - ” Quiet laugh jolts lightly as his lips graze her pulse point, her poor best friend and his poor, scarred mind ENTIRELY FORGOTTEN - “Why, would you prefer some playing hard to get?” Pulls away slightly if to EMPHASIZE her point, only to take Lian Song’s face between her hands, leaning in - “Shake ‘em up and leave ‘em cold?” 

Grin stretches only wider as she closes last inches between them to kiss him. Whispers, low, against his lips, “Unfortunately, I think I like you MUCH TOO MUCH for that.” 

@a-mighty-thunder​ / continued

[delicrieux]

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫  | autumn features (october edition)    

pairing—aemond targaryen x f!reader summary—before flowers can grow they must be nourished, and where is better if not under the gentle care of the red keep? history and prophesy mix into a trigger (29) of horrible things word count—6.7k tagging @thesadvampire​ since they asked nicely !

written for the october prompt list ♥ masterlist. ☕.  autumn features. back to part 1. part 3.  extra.

When you found the princess crouched in the gardens, her hands sullied and fingernails black from scuffling dirt, you had schooled your expression into that of politeness. The rumours you have heard prove to be true:

Prince Aegon, your husband-to-be, has idle hands and an appetite for lust.

Prince Aemond, second born son, dragon-less and meek, follows shamefully in his brother’s shadow with nothing to his name.

Princess Helaena, is, by all accounts, an idiot.

The entourage of servants behind you whisper yet one lift of your finger and they all shush, “Wait here, please.” Your voice is sweet as honey-wine, impossibly supple. It’s not an order, only a gentle request. They bow and lift their dresses cordially as you saunter over to the girl playing in the mud. In horror you watch her admiring the vermin she dug out – nasty creatures with many legs and blacker than the night. She does not flinch at the sight of them, or when they try escaping by crawling down her hand. You surpass a shudder as you kneel beside her.

It’s a sunny afternoon, warm, rosy. You tilt your head curiously with a small smile, “…Do you collect them, princess?”

Helaena startles, as if only now noticing you there. She glances at you then promptly looks away, and her tranquil composure is shattered under your watchful eye. Her fingers tremble and cheeks glow red; she releases the critter and it scurries away into the grass, “…I should never wish to harm them,” She says, and her voice is as soft as you had imagined it being, “My apologies, Lady Tyrell. I was unaware that you had already arrived.”

Truly, there had not been an impressive greeting, but only by your family’s request – you are to befriend these children, leave an impression of compassion and sincerity, and impose, onto the King, a show of loyalty.

That was all it was, a show. Having the approval of the King’s offsprings was integral for the safety and prosperity of the Tyrell lineage, of the future Queen.

“Nonsense,” You utter, airy and lovely and Helaena’s eyes bear into the dirt, ears burning behind strands of snow-white hair, “I must admit I am much fonder of meeting you so than in an exchange of curtsy at court.” Your hand finds her dirty one, holds it, “It is my greatest honour to meet you, sister.”

Her expression shifts to a one of almost panic, and both of her hands suddenly grasp yours as she stares into your eyes, “They feast on foals at dawn.”

You hear a giggle from your entourage and shoot them a sharp look. They quiet met with your ire. When you return your attention to Helaena, you offer her a most charming smile, “Come, sister,” You pull her up, glance at the hems of your dress in dismay that such expensive pretty fabric has been ruined. But the varnish does not wear, “I’d like to walk with you. Tell me more of King’s Landing and your brothers – I should love to know more of them before I meet them.”

They are training; passing blows as the courtyard full of men watch them. Aegon, taller, meaner, laughs at the attempts his brother makes to strike him – he evades easily, languidly, as if it were nothing but a game. Only Aemond takes every match as if it was his last, and the cry he lets out when he swings his sword is fearsome, if not desperate.

It’s Ser Criston Cole that notices your appearance by the Princess’ side, arms linked in solidarity. He dips his head in greeting, and hollers for the boys to stop, “Lady Tyrell.” He addresses as the princes spring away from one another. Aegon’s fingers tighten around the hilt; Aemond, in surprise, drops his sword. Distractions do not bode well in battle: his brother’s foot collides with his chest and he’s sent flying to the ground.

“…Idiot.” Aegon snickers, throwing his sword next to his gasping brother. Taking off his gloves, he flashes you a smile, “Lady Tyrell,” He approaches steadfast, though winded. Once close enough, “well met, I hope?”

“The weather is lovely and I’m in high spirits to finally be here.” Your hand steadies onto Helaena’s with a smile; she’s pleased to be included, “I had been especially—“

“--excited to meet me, yes yes, I know.” He sounds bored, seems even more so. Quick eyes wander to your servant girls and stay fixed there for long enough to consider it a slight to your honour, “We shall get to know one another quite well I think in the upcoming days.”

He’s pigly, just as you had been warned, “I look forward to it, my prince.”

He exits with that, and all is left is for Aemond to collect his pride from the ground and dust off his robes. His steps are not as steady and nor is he as composed as Aegon had been, but there’s a certain underlying charm to him, a gentleness that coats his cheeks and nose and ears in deep red. Tilting his chin up he tries to look you in the eye, but never quite manages. He’s more like Helaena, a pliant thing – getting his favour will be easy.

“Prince Aemond,” You bow, “an honour to finally make your acquaintance.”

“…Likewise, Lady Tyrell.” He utters hoarsely, still reeling from Aegon’s blow.

The boys of Princess Rhaenyra, round faced and curly haired, rush to introduce themselves – courteous, though excited. Aemond melts away, unwanted, as the boys, and Heleana, exchange pleasantries and inquire if you had the chance to taste the sweetcake yet.

“It’s good that you did not join them,” It’s your mother’s voice, a song-like, quiet tune that floats through the balmy night air; she sits on the foot of her bed as the moon hangs outside her window like a frozen tear, “for cake.” There’s a lovely smile on her lips, one you mimic often – one that, as time passes, will become your signature, a half-smile, with the corner of your lips turned downward. Faintly amused, somewhat unassuming – it’s a disarming thing, and the greatest armour a lady could wear. A smile, “Be cordial, though its best you make it clear that you came to court not for them. Though I suppose next time they offer, you must agree to avoid suspicion. Take the princess with you. These small sacrifices must be made.”

Its weeks after your ten and third name day and barely half a year into your stay. You stand by the door, with your hands hooked behind your back and a white linen dress covering the curves that are slowly moulding on your body. Hair unmade and eyes droopy, you glance at the waxing candles, the flickering flames emitting syrupy aromas that make your head spin. It’s an early hour, “But I came for Prince Aegon.”

Her face twitches, as if you have wounded her, “Prince Aemond will do.” She fiddles with the silk shawls draped around her neck, her shoulders, lets the silence stretch and sleep seep through you. Then, alerting, like a chime of a bell, “…Perhaps it’s better yet.” She stands suddenly, as if she can’t bear to sit for longer. She’s still wearing her jewellery; long fingers cast in heavy glimmering rings cup your cheeks, “A fine match, indeed.”

You scoff, “He doesn’t have a dragon.”

She tuts, “The Lord Hand had found the most…fitting compromise.”

“Father will not be pleased.”

“Father is not here to council you, child.” She reminds you, gazing into your eyes, “I am.”

“But Prince Jecaerys and Prince Lucerys have dragons,” You tell her, “surely they’d be a better—“

It’s that smile again, and her eyes sweep you like a frozen tundra, “Don’t jest.” Her hands drop from your face and she turns away, leaving a cold spot, “It’s unbecoming of a lady such as you. No, Prince Aemond is a fine match, indeed.”

“But—“

“No more of this, (Name).” She voices, “The hour is late and I am tired. You will read and play chess with Prince Aemond and ask of his interest. You will sit and marvel at Princess Heleana’s collection and you will not complain. And you should never find yourself in a room alone with Prince Aegon. The fate of our house depends on it. Such is your duty.”

Scorned, your eyes glare into the ground, “…I understand, mother.”

The funeral of Lady Laena and the quick betrothal between Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon had silenced the walls of the Keep, as if they had gone to mourning. You did not attend the funeral, and what you have heard only came from rumours whispered between prayers and ceremonies honouring the dead.

The King’s Hand had found you in the gardens picking flowers to bring to the Sept for the memorial of Prince Daemon’s late wife. The evening was golden-orange and King’s Landing was burning in the embers of the setting sun. Your entourage of servant girls were dismissed promptly upon his arrival, and when he, feigning innocence, had confessed that Prince Aemond had returned and had been injured gravely by the savage acts of Princess Rhaenyra’s children, you did not need to ask what was expected of you.

So you smiled, dipped your head in a nod, and as if sensing your retreat the maids flocked and collected white chrysanthemums and  black lilies from your hands. Another servant, one of Lord Hightower’s, appeared by his side and passed you a small, heavy box that clattered from within.

“Prince Aemond will be delighted by your company.” The Lord Hand smiled, though it was hard, stroppy, unused.

“Surely no more than I at the news of his safe return.” You said, and the words sounded so hollow, so deeply displeased underneath the sweet coat of a white lie, “Do excuse me now, my lord.”

The empty halls echo with your footsteps, and despite being alone, you feel as if you are watched: by the Lord Hand, by your mother’s all Seeing Eye, by the servants hidden beneath arches and pillars and the righteous glare of the Seven. Your pace is quick and shoulders tense, and when you reach Aemond’s door you halt for only a moment. It’s the last of your hesitation, drained, slowly, as you knocked on his door.

No guards patrolling, as if they had orders to make scarce upon your arrival. You knew that if you were to tend for Prince Aegon, then the spike of anxiety gripping your chest would be well founded. But Prince Aemond is gentle, and it is hardly the first time you visit his room on drawn-out evenings with a book in hand.

But those meant nothing, were simply part of a journey and a built-up to an expectation that was too far into the future to care.

This… is not.

The door creaks open and the face that greets you is gaunt, terrified by your appearance. Pale even in candlelight, Aemond seems to turn to stone, one good eye staring at you, through you, as his hand grips the handle tightly.

Your lips twitch into a lovely smile, like a mask pulling itself into place, “My prince…” There’s a hurtful note in your voice as you regard him, eyebrows pinching, worried, and it’s only partly untrue, “I’m glad to…” You quiet, think, continue, “I’m glad you’re home.”

“Lady Tyrell.” He mutters.

You motion to the box in your hands. His gaze burns there, contemplating, before he curtly nods and steps aside.

His room is clean and well aired, dim and full of dancing shadows. Unlike Aegon’s unmade bed or Helaena’s butterfly collection, there are books and parchment scattered. A broken quill and a spilled bottle of ink lay on the floor, untouched. You take in the sight, and there’s a pang somewhere deep within your chest that you recognise as pity.

You clear your throat, set the box down not minding the ink you step on, or that it slowly soaks into the hems of your dress, “Sit, please.” You offer gently, and he does so after a moment of loitering by the door. His approach is taut and awkward, and when he takes a seat on a plush armchair, he sits rigid, “May I?”

His voice sounds harsh as it says, “You came here all this way for that, didn’t you?”

It takes you slightly aback, but you sparsely show it, “Indeed, my prince.” You murmur, lifting the lid of the box and taking out gauze and some glass bottles with shiny liquids inside, “I wished to confirm for myself that you had returned. And that the maesters treated you well.”

“Surely they’d know better.”

“That they—“

“Or do you doubt the skill of the best maesters the Citadel has to offer compared to your own?”

It’s a brash thing festering within him, one that was not roused by his brother’s taunting, but awoke after the blade—oozed out of the cut. He had not yet learned to pick his words, delighted, even, perhaps, to show his thorns. It’s a frightening thing to grow so cold overnight.

“That I do not, my prince. I know my skills can seldom compare to even a novel scribe at the Citadel.” You admit, but it’s a gracious defeat, a light-hearted statement of simple fact, “But I see no maester here, and if you would prefer him to check your wounds, I would gladly fall back and watch for all I care for is your…” You pause, “…safety.”

He hasn’t learned to master his emotions yet. They play on his features as if in broad daylight – a wave of reluctant emotions that gradually fade to submission, “…My apologies if I offended you, Lady Tyrell.” He doesn’t look at you as he says this, “It was not my intention.”

You merely hum in response, your fingers working on untying the knot on the back of his head. His face slowly flushes red, and once you gently peel away at the gauze he comments, bitterly, “It’s an ugly thing. I would rather you not see it.”

It runs deep, pulses red with barely scabbed skin, pink at the side blooming purple-green. The socket is empty, a mushy crevice that’s tender to air and he flinches once the wet fabric is discarded. Your heart stutters in your chest and the placid smile slowly draws to a thin line, “…It must hurt.” You mutter, “I’m sorry it had come to this.”

“It’s fine.” He mumbles, though clearly it is not, “I gained a dragon. Vhagar.”

“A wonderful beast, I’m certain,” You say, cleaning his wound. His fingers dig into the armchair. He trembles, but does not cry, “The biggest dragon alive, correct?”

“Yes. You should see her, she’s magnificent.”

“I would very much like that, if you were to take me to her.”

Finally, there’s a smile on his lips, one you missed seeing, and he’s gentle again, same as he had been, reluctant, almost, to express his desires, “We can go in the morrow. I’ll tell you all about her.”

“The visit can wait till morning, but I’d like to hear of her now. If you would indulge me.”

“…If you care to listen.”

“I do.”

“Then I will always indulge you, Lady Tyrell.”

You smile, “We are to wed, my prince. Surely you needn’t be so formal.”

You figured it would cheer him up somehow, remind him that your companionship is promised, that you are bound, but it does the opposite. He quiets as you finish cleaning, and remains silent when you wrap a fresh cloth to hide the wound.

Only when you put away your instruments and shut the box does he utter, “I know that I’m not the husband you wished for.” He gulps, “…And I understand that you must feel slighted.”

You don’t answer.

“But know that,” He continues, “I shall treat you with nothing but respect and I shall remain faithful to you only, as a husband should.”

You produce a smile, lovely and heartfelt and almost real—whether he notices, whether he can notice with only one good eye and no true clue to your nature, you can only guess. You snatch his hand, cradle it in your palms, “…I shall be happy to be your wife, my prince.” He stiffens at the affection of your tone. So rehearsed, so refined, yet so affective.

He made well on his promise, made no advances that would defile your honour, and the most he had asked was for your favour.

It was his tenth and seventh name day, a bright, sunny afternoon in which even the ever solemn Queen Alicent seemed joyful. Wine was passed and trays full of food were carried by servants. Lords and ladies mingled, your family among them, chatting idly, though you know they kept their eye on you.

Donned in your best dress and finally free of Helaena’s clutches, you saunter to fill your cup.

“Fancy a joke, my wife-that-never-was?”

It’s hardly a subtle jab, but Aegon had never been much for theatrics – on the contrary, you found him to be quite transparent, vile with his intentions, but he never hid behind his name or the marble carvings of his face. Nursing a cup and chewing on a grape, he leans close to your ear, “Though I suppose your engagement to my brother is humorous enough.”

You smile, “It’s good to see you, Prince Aegon.” You say lightly, “We missed you at the starting ceremony. Seems you have been…occupied.”

He snorts, taking a sip and glancing at his brother, “Not that you’d know. Has he bed you yet?”

“This joke you speak of,” You continue, “I would very much fancy hearing it.”

He grins, “So he hasn’t.”

“How would you know?” You inquire with a raised brow, “Do you spy on your brother and I when we’re alone?”

He laughs, loud, boisterous, drunk—it catches the attention of a few nobles and Aemond alike, “Please, (Name).” He snickers, “I only need my eyes to see it.” You would slap him if you could, and so your hand grips your cup just a tad tighter, “Do you like it, by the way? The one-eyed look. Does it tickle your fancy?”

“I suppose the joke had been you all along.”

He shakes his head, still grinning, “Do you know why my dearest I’m-bored-to-fuck-of-tourneys-brother decided to host one on his name day?” He bites the rim of his glass, like a cat waiting for a treat.

“Do pray tell, brother,” You mutter, noting Aemond’s steady approach, “since you seem beside yourself to speak it.”

He draws closer again, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “Because I asked for your favour on mine.”

“Aegon,” Aemond’s curt voice cuts the air like a knife. The older brother pushes back, smiling to himself, “try not boring (Name) with your nonsense. Surely she’d rather listen to something else. An execution, perhaps.” You hide your laugh beneath a poorly disguised cough.

“Apologies.” You murmur.

“I should like to speak with you, (Name).” Aemond offers his elbow.

Your hand wraps around it easily, like many times before, “Lead and I shall follow, Aemond.”

“How quaint.” Aegon comments. The two of you easily ignore him.

Out of the Red Keep’s mess hall and in the lush garden, Aemond stops, “What had he told you?”

“I would truly rather speak of the weather.” You state dully.

A smile slips onto his lips, “I imagined as much.”

He’s grown – once a boy barely reaching your shoulder now towers over you. His hair is long and soft as Helaena’s. You would know, you had spent many nights braiding it. Aemond insisted that the servants never got it right.

“Did you wish to discuss something or just save me from your brother?” You ask.

“I doubt you’d need saving, though I would not miss the chance to try.” He responds, “But there is something I wished to ask you.”

“Must be important.” You note.

“It is.”

The two of you wait for the servants to pass, dipping their heads in curtsy and lifting their dresses, offering a passing dessert or a refill for wine. All is declined cordially, though affectively. The garden is vacant, besides you, Aemond, and the flowers. So many had bloomed, opened their petals in celebration. Mother had said it is a sign of good things to come.

“I wish to ask you for your favour during the tourney.” He states.

You blink, “And I shall give it without question, you needn’t ask in advance.”

“I wish for one now, as well.”

You grin, “…I suppose princes make their own rules.”

“You shall be a princess, too.”

“Then I hope to write many decrees that work in my favour.” You say, “But very well, my prince. I shall give you my favour, and if no one asks for it during the tourney, I shall give it again.”

He frowns, “Do think that’s not what I requested.”

“And yet,” You draw closer, “that is what you shall get.”

Your hands land on his shoulders and your lips brush a chaste kiss on the taunt skin of his scar.

He does not move once you pull away – stunned, perhaps, or distraught. Reading him had become difficult. He enjoys his secrets and reveals what he’s thinking only when faced with a challenge. Your wittiness had withstood the test of time. Your mother was pleased.

“I will be most disappointed if you lose.” You tell him.

He hums, “Then I will simply not.”

In the break of dawn you’re back in the room of melting scents; the hot air sticks to your skin, makes it difficult to breathe. Once a waxing moon you slip away from your chambers quietly, masked by shadows, carrying a secret that’s weight had become heavy over the years.

“Well?” Your mother’s voice is rasp, and there are lines around her lips and eyes that had shown more over the years. She’s still beautiful, wrapped in her opulence, drowning in her jewellery and riches, “Any news?” She ceases brushing her hair, puts away the comb and smiles at you – you are no longer young enough to be fooled by it, “He asked for your favour during the tourney, surely he has paid you a nightly visit.”

“No, mother. He has not.”

“And what of you?” It feels as if she struck you, “Did you not knock on his door at midnight?”

Your throat closes – there’s shame swirling in the pits of your belly, a great discomfort that makes the hands behind your back grip tighter, “No, mother. I did not.”

A harsh exhale comes through her nose. Her reaction is expected, yet it hurts all the same. Her gaze slices you – you’re stepping on glass, “…This won’t do.”

You’re quick to speak up, “I do think he likes me—“

“It is not the question of like, my daughter.” She scolds, and suddenly you are young, six or seven, and staring into the depths of the floor where a gem had shattered from your clumsy fingers, “He must love you.”

Something’s burrowing deep within you – a doubt, an irritation – and you try to keep your chin up so you would not appear weak in front of her. She has asked you for many things over the years, but now you feel as if you are privy to knowledge that had been kept from you, part of an unravelling scheme that you had not been an active participant to, but rather a passive rook pushed by an omnipotent hand in the direction of victory.

“What does it matter if he loves me or not?” It was supposed to sound hard coming from your lips, a displeased grunt let out from between the teeth. But it’s pliant, confused, childish. You had outgrown your old dresses, but it seems you had not outgrown this.

“Be wise, daughter.” Have you not been anything but? “A man in love is a man that listens. And there may soon come a time when a request will need to be heard.”

“A husband will support his wife.” You state with quick, anxious blinks.

“A husband will not care for her if he loves her not.” She bites back, and you have never seen her so visibly restless.

Your throat feels scratchy. Nails bite crescent moons into your palms, “And what of honour? My honour, as a lady?”

“And what of duty?” She inquires, “Of sacrifice?” She steps closer and you would step back if the door was not already ghosting your fingers, “Or do you plan on sabotaging what we have spent years trying to create?”

There’s a crack somewhere – your jaw from a harsh bite or perhaps your heart – one that shows through a treacherous tear that rolls down your cheek, “…No, mother.” You reply hoarsely, eyes red but head held high. You stare onward somewhere behind her shoulder, unable to look at the face that looks too much like your own and not enough, “I have no such plans.”

“Then we shall speak no more of it.”

It’s a sombre dawn, wintry – pale and unforgiving, as though the sun reflected from a glacier. Once out of your mother’s bedchamber you release a ragged breath, fold into yourself, and grip at the linen underskirt. She sits there, behind the carved wooden slab, unperturbed by your shakiness, and it feels as if one of her silky shawls had wrapped around your throat and kept you leashed.

You move cautiously after you collect your bearings, mind reeling, tears still falling, and you wish you could gather them for her – she would, in her hands, crush them, cool them, make them into pearls for her to wear, or perhaps give them to you as a token of misery. Had you not done enough? Had it not been years of playing servitude to these lords and ladies, prince and princesses? They adore you, all of them, just as it was meticulously planned, laboriously executed.

Perhaps it hurts because you had grown to love them – the Targaryens and Hightowers and the in-between; perhaps this feeling is but a passing spell and will abate once you’re fully rested, and you’ll be able to think clearly once more.

You move in the direction of your chambers quietly, aching and lost in thought, and you had always been keen to note the mistakes of others and even more so of yourself. This playground is dangerous, and distractions end in losing one’s head. Yet you fail to hear the jarring steps of an approaching knight, and only notice him once he calls you over.

Ser Criston Cole seems rested. His armour glints in the rising sun and his eyes promptly shift from your form to the wall beside you, “It’s an awfully early hour, my lady.”

You are aware of your state of undress, the unmade hair, and waxen eyes; aware of the tremble in your body, both from the cold and from the despair clawing from within. And for the first time in many years, you stare at him and your mind draws blank of an excuse, numbed from shock. But silence frames culprits, and when a smile lifts the corners of your lips your back straightens along with it, “Indeed. I could not sleep after such festivities – and what better way to call forth sleep if not to actively dismiss it? Do excuse me now.”

“Allow me to take you back to your bedchamber, Lady Tyrell.” And he moves with conviction, still not gazing in your direction.

“A kind offer, but surely given the hour you need to meet your own matters. I shall have no trouble navigating the Keep on my own.”

“I insist, Lady Tyrell.” He says, “You must be tired. It would be unwise to wander in such a state.”

He may frame his words as care, though he lacks the poise to make it believable. He is set to make sure you wander nowhere else. He’s not an escort, but a guard, and the hilt of his sword glimmers as a warning. Surely he would not draw it, not unless he felt that you were a threat to the sanctities of the royal family.

You have heard much of him and his shield of righteousness – behind it hides a vexed, easily tempered man. A wrong push and there may be your blood coating his hands soon enough.

“…Very well, ser.” You concede, walking beside him, “You are most generous.”

“I am from the Queens guard,” He starts, and the pride in his voice is unmistakable, “and the Queen cares deeply about you. It would be a terrible misfortune if something were to happen.”

A terrible misfortune.

“It brings me great joy that the Queen cares for me, as I for her.”

“You have her trust,” He says, “and certainly a lady such as yourself would never think to break it.”

“Careful, Ser Criston,” You remind tartly, “for if I were not a lady such as myself, I might mistake your tone for suspicion.” But you smile, “Though, surely it is not for a White Cloak to speak with such insinuation.”

“Forgive me, Lady Tyrell,” He utters, “it must be the hour. I did not mean to offend you.”

He did, and once you are safely in your room he will run with his tail between his legs to tell the Queen all about this encounter. The conclusions they will draw will be anything but the truth, and none will be in your favour.

You had never been more glad to see the entrance to your gilded prison.

“This is where I leave you.” He mutters, bowing, “Rest well, Lady Tyrell.”

You say nothing, already half-way shutting the door.

You are neither cornered nor executed. Weeks pass, and you almost convince yourself that the encounter with Ser Criston was nothing but a waking dream, an omen of what was to happen if you did not focus, entirely conjured by a frightened, sleepless mind.

“Do you ever wish you could go home, sister?” It’s Helaena’s voice that draws you way from the game of chess. Carefully, you move your knight to A6. The marble figures clatter as you strike down Aemond’s pawn. She’s stitching by the window, under the warm afternoon sun, “Back to Highgarden, that is.” She bites her lip, sets down her needlework, “I must admit!” There’s such light, carefree enthusiasm in her voice – you envy it, “I would like to visit Highgarden. We never visit it enough.”

“It’s a long journey, my princess,” You tell her. Your eyes shift to Aemond, “though, I suppose it is considerably lessened on dragonback.”

“Would you go? On dragonback, if we were to organise a trip?” Helaena inquires, “I sure would love to visit Highgarden. It’s so beautiful.” She turns back to look out the window, “Much more beautiful than King’s Landing, I think…” She adds to herself, going back to her stitching. This rendition is of a pale rose, “White from fire.” She says.

Aemond is silent on the other side of the board, contemplative. He assesses the pieces, and his brows are crinkled in concentration. The sun turns his hair to liquid in its glare. He’s beautiful, almost impossibly so.

“Perhaps.” You say, “But I’m not ashamed to admit that Vhagar frightens me.”

Aemond glances up from the board. You meet his gaze with a smile.

“Oh come now,” Helaena laughs, “Vhagar wouldn’t hurt you. Aemond would never allow it.”

His gaze then slides to his sister, and by now you know him well enough to realise that something is amiss. He is resigned to silence often, but with Helaena he has words to spare, and often many. He’s quick to entertain her, mostly for the sole reason that no one besides you does. His silence and the tick of his jaw unnerve you slightly.

“…Helaena,” His tone is light, but the way he regards you implies trouble, “would you give me and my betrothed a moment?”

Tension spikes in the air. Helaena’s laughter slowly dies in her throat as she moves, uncomfortable. Still keeping a cordial smile, she stiffly sets down her embroidery and, before leaving, declares, “I should check on Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. There’s never enough time.”

You stare at the rose she left, the game momentarily forgotten. Aemond moves his bishop across the board, “Would you consider yourself a traveller, (Name)?”

“I would not, no.” You say easily, your palms brushing out the creases of your dress, “I get sick on ship and terribly bored in a carriage.”

He picks up his queen, bone-white, almost the colour of his skin, and admires her for a moment, “…See, that’s not what I heard at all.”

Your smile does not waver, but the warmth in your eyes dissipates, “I did not expect you being interested in idle gossip.” You grasp your pawn and when you set it back down the sound echoes bleakly, like a crack of thunder, “I figured it was beneath you.”

“Where else would you like to go, Lady Tyrell?” He leans back in his seat, watching you closely. He seems genial almost, if not for the smiting look in his eye, “No need to exhaust yourself with options, let’s stick to the King’s Landing. Or better yet, the Keep. Especially on the hour of the owl when everything’s so…” He looks around, “…quiet. It must be quite curious, no?”

“It can be calming after the calamities of a day at court.”

He smiles – it’s a sharp, harsh thing, “I would seldom know since I stick to my quarters. Perhaps you could enlighten me?”

“Of what?” You raise a brow, “A walk to clear one’s head? The maesters recommend it, even. But surely you know that already, my prince.” You try to soften him, appeal to the nature that you know hides behind a hard shell that rarely ever opens. But the varnish is coated in layers and hard and long since dried – your pliant hands can’t do away at it, and your words move him even less.

“Humour me.” He says, “Pretend I don’t know that. Tell me, what is there to see at the Keep when the rest are sleeping.”

You sit just a bit straighter in your chair, “The lonely corridors, silent halls, deaf statues and others of the sort. There’s a certain splendour to it all on late nights or early mornings. Like a vacant Sept. It can almost be…eerie, but I suppose even that eeriness has a dangerous charm to it.” Your eyes don’t leave him, “Frightening, in a way… though undoubtedly beautiful.”

“And this beauty you speak of…” He draws in, “is it tied to a particular location?”

“There’s no one part. It’s all of it. All of that cold loveliness. You wouldn’t understand.”

He hums, tilting his head to the side, “…Perhaps you are correct, Lady Tyrell. That I wouldn’t. But I am curious to what sort of secrets you uncover late at night, if you were to indulge your betrothed still.” He slowly comes to a stand.

You crane your neck to look at him, “Unlike some, I prefer my secrets to be mine alone.”

“Surely you don’t mean me, Lady Tyrell.” He says as he moves closer, so casual that a stumbling servant may think that you’re simply discussing the weather.

“Of course not, my prince.” You breathe out, “It is only…an expression. One I hope did not offend you.”

“I believe that all words coming from a liar have a certain offence.” He halts suddenly, and before you can blink, his hand grasps your jaw harshly. Your heart thunders in your chest, eyes wide, “I would speak now, Lady Tyrell. While I still had my tongue.”

“My prince—“

“You must admit that your secrecy is a cause of concern, no?”

“Aemo—“

“Tell me, where were you headed, undressed and untidy like a common—“

“Don’t.” The voice that leaves your lips doesn’t sound like your own. It’s angry and sharp, like a whip. He swallows down what he had almost uttered, and his grip loosens, enough to wrestle free and come to a stand, “As I am well-mannered, and endlessly forgiving, I am willing to forget what you have just done. But know that if you are ever to treat me so again—“

“What will you do?” He questions, “You’re a lady from a noble family, one of many—“

“Then you are free to marry whichever one of them, seeing as there’s a line of them waiting for me to be replaced.” You state, “I have served in your court for years and never slighted you. I have done all that was asked of me and more, and even now, faced with such contempt, I chose to forgive you, for we are to wed. But so be it. Call it off and I shall return home and you can find yourself a lady one as I from the Stormlands, or better yet, if it’s a common whore you fancy, no need to exhaust yourself with options, my betrothed. For you are sure to find even more of those in the Keep and beyond it, as your brother had.”

He smiles, but it seems cold, cruel, defensive, “…Even cornered you don’t lose your composure.” There’s a hint of admiration as there is a hint of mockery. He stands tall and imposing, but he does not move to touch you again, “Though you insist on playing dumb. Very well, then. Act dumb all you please, it is sure to humour my brother. But you must know, Lady Tyrell,” He’s close now, by your ear, “that now I see you as you are.”

It seems as though from that day forth, you and Aemond had engaged in a different kind of chess – one that’s stakes seemed almost endlessly higher.

notes: thank you everyone for the kind comments! <3 and yes, before you ask, when reader was describing the vacant halls of the keep and their almost sacred beauty, she was actually talking about aemond

also im president of i hate ser crispin club

[footy-fictionist]

Forever - Karim Adeyemi

Pairing: Karim Adeyemi x female reader

Warnings: it mentions troublesome mental health, physical knee injury (acl), questionable parenting, angst, fluff, probably some badly translated German

Word Count: 1024

Note: I have been going through some things and decided to write it out in the form of something fictional. Karim just happens to be the one I feel most comfortable writing for. Remember, this is purely fiction and know that I in no way know what Karim is like in real life. If you are not comfortable reading things about troublesome mental health, physical knee injuries and troubles with parents and the way they raised you, please do not read! Feedback is always appreciated, so if I forgot anything please let me know. Please do not copy and/or publish my work (reblogs are fine).

Karim has been noticing some changes in his girlfriend lately. It all started when she twisted her knee during a volleyball game. She immediately dropped her whole body to the floor crying out in pain. At first they couldn’t see what the issue was, but eventually the orthopaedist confirmed that she would need surgery to replace her front ACL. She was gutted and broke down crying right after the appointment. She loved playing volleyball and now she’d be out for about a year. Karim knew everything about bad injuries and how awful they could make you feel, not just physically but also mentally. 

He’s been there for her every step and she seemed to be doing alright up until the 4 month mark after her surgery. She became more closed off, gave short answers and barely even greeted him when he came home. She didn’t really eat much and her sleep schedule seemed to be non-existent. Of course Karim wanted to talk to her about it, but he didn’t know where to start or how to even break the subject to her. He decided to first start cheering her up with little things. Bringing home her favourite flowers or her favorite sweets. Running baths for her after her physical therapy. Getting her a new book every once in a while. At the beginning it seemed to lift her mood a little, but slowly even that little light started to fade. 

She wouldn’t talk to him or anyone else about it. Communicating was never her strong suit. She was never allowed to share her opinion at her parents’ house and she wasn’t allowed to talk back or argue. It made sure that she didn’t communicate at all. When she left her parents’ house she started communicating more and then when she started dating Karim, it all became a bit easier for her. Karim knew that communication was key and he communicated everything with her and praised her whenever she communicated with him. He never once got angry, no matter the news. And yet, she was shutting him out now. He didn’t know why, but he could guess. But when he came home from the game against Chelsea and she didn’t say a word to him about it, he had enough. 

“Please tell me what’s going on with you! I can’t stand that you’re not talking to me. I’m here, I’ve never judged you or anything that happened before. What makes you think that I’m gonna judge anything that’s gonna come out? I just played an amazing game, scoring the only goal and you have nothing to say to me?”

She just stared back at him, almost looking unbothered but Karim knew better. He could see her mind working, her eyes showing so many emotions that even he couldn’t keep up. 

“Please, please talk to me. I’m here, always. Please don’t shut me out, Schatz.”

And slowly he could see her mask begin to break. Her hands started shaking, her lip gave a small tremble as her eyes began to water. She pressed her lips together and hid her hands behind her back, but it was no use as the tears started falling. A sob broke through and immediately Karim pulled her into him. Her arms wrapped around him too, her hands fisting his shirt so hard he thought it might rip. She hid her face in his chest, the tears flowing so fast, that they became small rivers on her cheeks. He started rubbing his hands over her back and softly running his fingers through her hair. Soft whispers of love escaped his lips whenever he wasn’t pressing kisses to her hairline. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Karim. I didn’t mean to. I just didn’t want to bother you and bring down your happy mood. You’ve been doing so well the past few months. I couldn’t ruin that with my own unhappy thoughts. I started to believe it would be better to keep my distance. But now I can’t anymore. I’m sorry I’m hurting you, I didn’t mean to. Of course I watched the game tonight and saw what you did. You were incredible Karim, ich bin so stolz auf dich.”

The words came flooding out, the dam finally breaking. Karim slowly guided her to the couch and once there he pulled her into his lap, still rubbing her back whilst she now hid her face against his neck. Everything came out, her worries about playing volleyball, the pain she was in, how hard her physical therapy sessions were, how she wanted to support him everywhere but she couldn’t even go to the stadium on her own. After everything came out that she was holding back, she finally started to calm down. Her body, which had been stiff with stress and holding back, started to relax against his. 

That’s when Karim responded to everything she said, reassuring her that she was getting the best care and that she would definitely be able to play again. Telling her how much he loved her and that he appreciated all her support no matter the time or place. She could be on the other side of the world whilst watching the game and he’d know that she was supporting him. The tears stopped and she pulled back and looked him in the eyes. She leant her forehead on his, whilst taking deep breaths, their breathing in sync as well as their heartbeats. 

“Danke für alles, Karim. I wouldn’t know what to do without you. Thank you for your patience with me and for getting me to communicate. Ich liebe dich, für immer.”

“Kein Dank, mein Schatz. Ich liebe dich auch, für immer.”

He pulled his forehead away from her and slowly pressed a few kisses on every part of her face. In the meantime her hands wandered to the back of his head, tangling her hands in his curls, keeping him as close as possible. After all this, she couldn’t be more grateful for Karim. He is her everything, as much as she is his. They both knew they could get through anything together, as long as they communicated.

(Mein) Schatz: my darling/treasure Ich bin so stolz auf dich: I am so proud of you Danke für alles: thank you for everything Ich liebe dich (auch), für immer: I love you (too), forever Kein dank: don't thank me/you're welcome

[sumsebien]

how i won the war (2/3)// the darkling

part 1 // part 3 // masterlist

summary: general kirigan’s plans backfire. sun summoner!y/n finds herself torn between love and country, truth and deception. (the show but with a twist.)

pairing: the darkling x fem sun summoner! yn

warnings: mention of blood, spoilers for the show

word count: 3k

a/n: the response to the first part was absolutely overwhelming in the best way possible!! so a huge huge thank you to everyone for reading and for your support🥲💕

Y/N slumped her shoulders, trying to understand what was happening. The man who had been nothing but gallant to her was the Black Heretic? She racked her brain, tracing back to every thing he had ever said and done. All of them could simply pass as thoughtful gestures, as nothing more than just him being nice. How could she have known that it was all part of a cruel game?

Baghra kept her voice calm, knowing how much of a shock this must have been for the young girl. “He wants to turn the Fold into a weapon, take over the world. And he will be able to do it now that he has you.”

It was ridiculous how important everyone seemed to make her out to be. Y/N could summon the lights just like an Inferni could summon fire and the Darkling could summon shadows. How would she being here make any difference to his plans? “Me?”

“You. You are everything. With your power and his, nothing can stop him.”

“What if I don’t agree to help him?”

Baghra shook her head. “Unnecessary.”

Y/N cocked an eyebrow. What?

“The stag’s bones can do more than just amplify. They can merge powers. After he finds and kills the stag, he will try to do so, which is where you come in.”

...

When Aleksander returned to the room, Y/N was still there, sitting on the desk just where he had left her. The sight oddly soothed him. He could get used to this.

Y/ N heard the door click open. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest and she prayed he couldn’t hear it.

She wiped the tears from her eyes quickly and put on a small smile. If she was to do the right thing, she was going to have to keep up her naivety and make it look believable.

“We’ll leave tomorrow morning at dusk. Apparently that was when the Tracker found it,” he said, walking around his desk towards her. “I think you had better get some rest now.”

“Yes,” she said, unable to fully meet his gaze without feeling her hands trembling. She pushed herself off of the desk, keeping her eyes on the ground. “General.”

He slipped his hand into hers. His touch still brought fire to her skin. “I never told you my name, Y/N. I apologize.”

“It’s fine,” she shook her head. She would rather not have another lie spoon-fed to her. What was he going to say? Dominik? Igor? Maksimilian? Said he never revealed it to her because it brought shame to him? Because he got it from his long lost predecessor, the Black Heretic?

“Aleksander. Call me Aleksander.”

Four words that spun her into a spiral. He told her his real name. She looked at his hand in hers, his long fingers covering hers. And then she gathered the courage to look him in the eye. His gaze hadn’t changed. Nothing had changed for him. At least, not that he knew of. Yet.

But for her, everything had changed, twice in a matter of moments. Her world ripped in two, leaving her hopelessly torn. She nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Aleksander.”

...

That day, Y/N managed to ignore him. Normally, it wouldn’t have been so easy. He was everywhere, behind every door, on every balcony, in every shadow she saw. But the newly arisen hunt had him busy, probably in the war room strategizing his plans for tonight, for her.

He had sent flowers to her room, though, apologizing for not being able to join her for breakfast and made a promise to see her as soon as he could. For her sake, she hoped that he broke it.

She took her alone time to prepare herself, practiced summoning her light and did her best to remember Baghra’s words. But she would be lying if she said that was all she did.

He was on her mind the entire time, as much as she tried to push him away. There were moments where she wanted to rip her hair out, thinking how much easier it would have been had he lied to her last night before she left.

Things became increasingly harder for her as they began their carriage ride. He kept her in his arms the entire time. It got colder and colder as they neared their destination. Winds rattled the windows, slipping past the gaps, turning the glass foggy and their breaths into smoky clouds.

Her kefta was not enough to save her from shivering. But he was. For a shadow summoner, he was surprisingly warm. And sweet. He made sure she was alright every couple of minutes, offering to stop at every town. She only caught a break when he dozed off. Head tilted back against the leather seat, occasionally tipping towards her. She watched him, her eyes tracing the handsome features she was supposed to despise.

He had been the perfect gentleman. And that worried her. More than ever, she wondered if she should be plotting his demise when all he wanted was to protect her. He wanted her warm, well-fed and safe. And that was more kindness than anyone had ever shown someone like her.

But if she was wrong, there’d be consequences. Fatal ones that would cost countless lives of people all over the world, not just in Ravka.

As she looked out of the windows, the fate of millions weighing on her shoulders, Aleksander woke. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly, pressing his cheek against her temple.

“I’m alright.” Her lips stretched into a small smile, disguising her troubles.

He held the lapels of her kefta, straightening them as he stared into her eyes. His dark eyes the color of the velvet night sky. “Not too cold?” She was about to say no again, stop him before he could suggest another detour. But he continued, “Because if you are, there are a couple of ways we could get you warm again.”

Her gaze leveled with his pink lips which were slightly parted as small puffs of air blew from them.

It was wrong. She should hate him for the things he had done to the world, for what he was going to do.

He inched his face closer, one of his hands slid under her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek, “Tell me what you want, Y/N.”

“General-“ she began, the words dying on her lips as she got lost in his hypnotic touch.

“Aleksander,” he corrected, lowering his eyes to her lips for an extended moment.

“Aleksander, I want you to keep me warm.”

Aleksander bowed his head. It was exactly what he wanted to hear. “As my lady commands.”

And he brought his lips to hers. Her doubts cleared, with his hand pulling her closer by her waist, all she could see was him. She forgot the guilt that weighed on her conscience, all she could feel was him.

When he ran his tongue ran along her lower lip, the world held its breath. In that moment, she understood him when he said there were only the two of them in the world. No one else. Believed him wholeheartedly.

And then, the carriage stopped. Like all good things, their kiss came to an end. Aleksander slowly broke away but his eyes and hands remained on her. He didn’t look like he wanted to let go of her any time soon either. “I adore you, Y/N,” he said, a glint in his obsidian eyes. She focused on it, noticing how the darkness didn’t swallow the spark, rather enhanced it. Could that be them? Her light enhanced by his shadows?

Ivan appeared at the door, knocking against it with an announcement: “I think we’ve found it, sir.”

A quiet sigh escaped his lips, like the thought of leaving her was so burdensome to him. “I’ll go check. Stay here and be safe,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze.

“No! I’ll come with you.”

Aleksander chuckled, nodding his head when she practically leapt out of the carriage after him. “Stay close behind me.” He made sure to get a nod from her before beginning to walk away.

The night had completely befallen upon Tsibeya. Clouds of fog descended on the ground, illuminated by the silvery moonlight. Shadows of skinny, weaving branches printed itself on the stark white grounds.

Aleksander spoke in hushed tones with his Heartrender a couple of steps ahead. Y/N foolishly believed that him distracted would give her the relief she needed to collect herself and make a decision she would not regret. But it only made things worse. If she thought the internal debate she had with herself this morning was bad then this should be considered wholly unbearable.

Whatever came over her moments ago, she had no control over it. It was just a natural, almost instinctive response to his touch. That was scary. If he had that kind of effect on her, how was she going to do as Baghra asked? Should she even be considering it in the first place? There was the possibility of him being an immortal threat to Ravka’s freedom but he could very well be a misunderstood man, her soulmate.

Then she heard it. A crunch in the ground so subtle it could have been lost to a breeze.

Y/N held her breath, turning her head slowly, silently. And there it was. Behind of a tree walked out a magnificent stag. Its antlers formed a circle over its head, mimicking the branches on the trees. In this light, its fur looked almost white, its jet black eyes shining. It looked ahead, towards her. It was so hypnotically beautiful that she could not help but admire like one would a masterpiece in the gallery. She wanted it alive. No she knew it should be kept alive.

Behind Y/N, pistols were being drawn. Sounds that could very well stir the silence and shoo away the stag. Y/N looked back, about to tell Aleksander’s guards to stand down but found that he had already ordered so with the wave of his hand.

She smiled. He didn’t want it dead. He didn’t want to claim its powers. He was a good man. He was her soulmate.

Y/N turned back, feeling safe enough to take one step closer. The stag wasn’t afraid of her, approaching slowly, dipping its head. Confidently she reached out her hand and the stag closed its eyes, allowing her to place her hand on the side of its face. Upon contact, out from around her came the most magical web of light. Much more powerful than she had ever been able to produce on her own. She felt a burst of life coursing through her upon feeling the warmth under its fur, its breath on her hands. This creature was as real as she was. Not a myth or a weapon. And most certainly not a possession for anyone to claim.

She turned around to see Aleksander admiring the light, right behind her, in the force field with her. She gazed at his hands laying on either sides of him and held out her own, wanting him to feel what she felt right then. But as soon as she took hold of his hand, the stag stirred. Startled, it reared, hitting her hand with its hooves and scratching her palm. It made her jump backwards, hitting Aleksander’s chest in the process. A bit of blood spilled from the gash but it didn’t hurt, not did it worry her.

What he was going to do worried her. Filled with anger, he held up his hands, shadows gathering between them. Her eyes widened in absolute horror as she yelled for him to stop. “No! No! Aleksander!” She wanted to take ahold of his hands, ask him to look at her and have mercy for her sake.

But it had already been done.

In a flash, the Cut hurried itself towards the running stag, slicing it in half before it could make its getaway. Its head fell upon the ground, antlers pushing into the snow while its body laid limp, lifeless, bloody against the ground.

Y/N held up her hands to cover her eyes, tears streaming from them as she twisted away. The sight was too gruesome. He was gruesome. Aleksander’s arms wrapped themselves around her shaking frame. And she did everything in her power not to flinch.

“Get me the antlers,” he said, lifting his chin and angling it towards the stag. Her heart fell. He was going to do it. He was the Black Heretic after all. She heard footsteps around her, rustles, grunts as his guards picked up the stag, presumably.

Aleksander pressed his lips to her forehead, still holding her. “Are you alright, darling? I am sorry you had to see that.”

She swallowed a lump in her throat, blinking away her tears. “I am alright,” she lied, wiping her face with the back of her hands.

“Did it hurt you?”

She shook her head, hiding her palm from him. But it was no use anyways, as he had ordered his Healer over to take a look. After her skin healed, not even a scar left behind, Aleksander turned to watch David dissect the antlers. Y/N did too. However difficult it may be, she forced herself to see them saw off two pieces from the stag’s antlers.

“Would you like to wait, sir?” Ivan asked, accompanying David as they brought the antlers to Aleksander. The rest of the stag discarded like a piece of trash. They discussed their plans, plans which she had been warned against by Baghra. They talked about her as if she wasn’t there at all.

She knew what she needed to do. He was not planning on saving this world.

“I think we should. Y/N’s hurt-“

“I am ready,” she said, causing all of their eyes to focus on her. She was ready and she was going to do this tonight no matter what.

Aleksander placed a hand on her back, rubbing some warmth back into her. “Are you absolutely certain? It is late. We can do it in the morning. Anytime you’re ready.”

It was difficult as it was, now with him being all sweet and kind did not help. “No,” she shook her head firmly, looking away from his eyes. “I am fine. I want this now. Please.”

Aleksander blinked. Meanwhile, Y/N gave David the order to go ahead with a simple nod of her head.

“This will enhance your powers greatly,” David explained, balancing the antler on her collarbone. It weighed on her like shackles to a prisoner’s legs, dragging her down with guilt. On the back of Aleksander’s hand was a rounded piece of antler.

Y/N listened to David. Or rather pretended to. Anything to keep herself busy enough not to look at Aleksander. He was watching her, worry clouding his eyes as though he had just watched her getting shot. And she was shot right through the heart, just not by bullets or arrows.

“Both of your powers.”

“Are you ready?” Aleksander asked, receiving a quick nod from Y/N.

David touched the antlers, closing his eyes and began the ritual.

Y/N’s voice was shaking as she repeated Baghra’s words. “Merge powers?”

“He will be able to control your light. But you won’t be able to control his shadows.” She sucked in a dry breath, suffocated by the notion that he wanted to own her. He said she was his equal...Or was that a lie too?

“Unless you resist. Mentally.”

Lights were being drawn from her. Just as before, the beams weaved into an elaborate web, dancing around her. She felt the air knocked out of her lungs, leaving her chest burning. The skin around her collar bones were stretched over the antlers, leaving her raw and itchy.

She shut her eyes, seeing the stag before her like before. But it kept the distance, backing away slowly. She could feel it slip away from her grasps.

“Resist it. Fight him. It cannot be done without consent knowingly or unknowingly.”

She opened her eyes, seeing Aleksander reaching out to her with his other hand. The sight stabbed her in the ribs, a sharp pain coursing through her when she saw his eyes. Loving, trusting and naive. He was just like her when she first met him. And she was going to be just like him.

She closed her eyes and summoned his shadows with all that she had inside. She saw the stag again, its head beneath her touch. And she could hear painful gasps. His painful gasps.

When she opened her eyes, it had been done. The antler had been healed into her bones, her skin covering it as though it was a part of her. She felt stronger than she had ever been but there was a sinking feeling. His burden was now all hers to carry just as his powers were hers to control.

Aleksander fell to his knees, his hands clutching his chest as he heaved breathless breaths. He coughed, his entire body trembling.

“What have you done?” Ivan demanded, rushing to clutch David’s neck, not even bothered to use his powers.

Aleksander looked up at Y/N as though directing the same question to her. His eyes were paler, weaker. They lost the glint she had loved once. Now they were filled with hurt, pain and confusion. And she knew she had lost her soulmate forever.

“I didn’t do anything!” David held up both of his hands, gasping for breath in the tight grip of Ivan’s.

“Liar!” Ivan growled.

“No! He’s right. He didn’t do anything,” Y/N held up her hands. The entire forest darkened, the moonlight slipped away into the shadows, black smoke covering the snow white ground. Aleksander clutched his chest, his eyes clamping shut in pain.

A tear slipped down her cheek. “I did.” And I am sorry.

taglist: @milkbaer @swthxrry @tartiflvtte @keepdaydreamingbb @remugoodgirl @stargirl76 @kawaiimarshmallow @fultimefangirl @5hundreddaysofsummer @bookscoffeandotherstuff

i have no idea why i couldn’t tag two of you :(((( but do let me know how i can fix that

[roger-that-cap]

wildest dreams

witch!wanda x reincarnated!reader 

summary: wanda had walked around the earth for centuries with no magic and hardly any soul left after losing her soulmate. she thought that her lover would never return and that the only reunion they would have would be in the afterlife, but a run-in with bucky changes everything after he insists that he met the long gone y/n at a fountain in the park. 

yet another au by me... 

word count: around 6.5k?

imma tag one person bc she gets upset when she isn’t tagged- and idk if anyone else would actually be interested?

@teenwonder

also this picture is not mine, and the dividers are by @firefly-graphics !!

without further ado, it’s almost 6 in the morning but i give you this!!

She held you tight, fingers digging into your skin as she trembled above you. The rose bushes were rustling in the wind next to you both, the sweet smell of the flowers contrasting with the moment. You were halfway gone already, eyes far off but trying to swim back to the surface, wanting to look at her one last time before the inevitable happened. 

  “S…” you tried to say, but she hushed you immediately, tears falling down on your face and mixing with your own. You shook her head at her as hard as you could, begging for her to let you continue. “Say you’ll remember me,” you ground out, fingers tightening around her hand. 

  “What?” Wanda asked, voice already thick with grief as she tried to decide whether or not it was better to keep the knife lodged between your ribs inside of you.

“When I come back-” you cut yourself off by coughing up blood, and Wanda didn’t even wince when it splattered on her cheek. “Back for you, promise that you’ll remember me.” 

 “Darling,” Wanda whispered back, her voice cracking as she bent over and rested her head on your stomach for a moment, hiding her sob. She could feel her magic tingling inside of her; under her skin, in her bones, dancing on her fingertips. “I wish I knew- I wish I just knew how-”

  “Please.” You said, a desperate look in your eyes as you halted her words, already knowing what Wanda wanted. But natural magic was nothing to mess with. She sobbed again with her lips pressed together, no sound escaping her. You squeezed her hand tighter as the sun started on its routine descent, basking the two of you in an orange glow that you would have stopped to admire in any other moment in time. But Wanda would grow to hate that shade of orange with every breath in her. “Please.” It would always remind her of the sound of your begging, voice reaching for something that she couldn’t see. 

Maybe it was the desperation in your voice, or the way that she just knew that you were well within your last moments, because she looked up at you one last time. “Of course I’ll remember you, darling. I couldn’t even dream of forgetting you.” There was a wheezing sound that came from your chest as you cracked a bloody smile, and then you gave one last squeeze before you looked away from her, your soul settling in the afterlife. 

  Wanda Maximoff would never forget it. Suddenly, her previously  irrational fear of losing her magic became real, but that feeling didn’t even come close to the one she got when you grew lifeless in her arms. 

Ever since you knew what a normal person was supposed to be like, you had identified that you, in fact, were not the normal person that you were probably supposed to be. Normal people didn’t daydream to the point where it felt like their bodies weren’t in the present anymore. Normal people didn’t have birthmarks under their ribs that aced and burned. Normal people didn’t feel out of touch with their world, like they weren’t even meant to be in the century they were in. Normal people didn’t feel like they were searching for something tirelessly, something just under their noses. And normal people surely didn’t dream of the same set of hands, same pair of eyes, or the same voice over and over again, a new setting every time, but always the same, faceless person. You either drew the same faceless person or rose bushes, and every sketch book you ever had was full of them. 

At first, you were sure that you were going insane. Every time you closed your eyes, you would see a flash of reddish brown hair, or the same set of eyes, or the same pair of pale hands. You kept seeing this person without ever seeing a face for nights at a time before you went to see a therapist, who just ended up telling you that worrying about it was only going to make it worse, whatever it even was. But eventually, you learned to get used to it. 

Acceptance turned into expectancy. You went to sleep knowing that there was going to be a pair of hands accompanied by the same slender fingers as always before you, sometimes intertwined with your own. You knew that there was going to be a set of eyes on you, watching you intently with no ace to go with them. You knew that you would hear whispers of the same voice, speaking so clearly in a language you didn’t even come close to understanding, and soon, you were craving to see and hear those things. And wanting to see them led to something that you never told your therapist; drawings. 

You drew nearly every day under the sky, trying to find different park benches to see the sun rise and set at different angles for inspiration. You loved the sky, moon and stars alike, but there was something special about sunrises and sunsets. Sunrises and sets both meant new beginnings to you, out with the old and in with the new, and each rise and fall filled you with a strange feeling of nostalgia. You were watching the sunset on a park bench by yourself, a sketchbook sitting on your lap as you held an idle pencil, still thinking about the way you wanted to draw the hands. The birthmark between your ribs started to tingle, letting you know that it was about to burn again. That damn birthmark. You dropped the pencil and scratched at it, trying to beat the annoying feeling at its own game. You cursed the mark, but your eyes didn’t leave the sky, and you noticed your heart swelling in your chest, faint despair in the pits of it, churning around like the middle of the deep sea. 

 You shook your head and put your pencil in your hand again, brain not even having to work hard at all to see the features of the faceless person who was in your every dream. 

Even before she ever met you, Wanda didn’t sleep well. She would toss and turn for at least an hour before she finally found some temporary, flimsy form of peace. Her sleep was always light and she hardly ever had dreams, which was customary for a woman like her at the time- an un-blossomed witch. 

It was hard for her to remember the time where she didn’t have magic, but that time certainly existed. It lasted nearly thirty years. She never aged a day past twenty one, time moving past her without a care in the world. She was stuck right there, no magic except for the little bit in her bones that was keeping her young. And then she met you. 

You were the person that kicked her magic into gear. You were her kindred soul, her other half and the power to her magic. Meeting you had flung her right into the world of magic and spells, things that she only watched others do, but even as she was introduced to an entirely different world, she could remember only really wanting you. Her heart and soul called to you far louder and stronger than spells called to her eager mind. When she met you, it all fell into place. It was an easy love, one that was never going to be disputed or questioned, and loved it. She was prepared to move heaven, earth, and the gods for you, if she had to. Your arrival into her life had caused her to finally blossom. 

But now, she had bloomed and flourished and wilted all the same, and she was just waiting to decompose. 

“Have hope,” was all that Bucky, a warlock who had been tortured enough in his own way, would tell her. “Have hope that something good will come to you, and it will.” 

She never had the heart to tell him that good things hardly came to those who waited. He himself was a product of waiting, and it had served him well. Before he met his other half, he was taken by a rival clan and experimented on with spells that were so far past illegal that they made the casual witch shudder. Eventually, he was broken out and the rival clan was defeated, but he returned to them as an empty shell of a man. But then, Steve came, and then the man was nothing but a ball of light. His magic grew to be strong and so did Steve’s, and together they became known as some of the strongest practitioners of magic in the world. 

 But what did Wanda have to hope for when you were gone? What did she have to wake up for and smile at when she knew that she had buried you hundreds of years ago? It wasn’t even about the magic. She couldn’t care less about the way she felt the energy leave her- and it was dramatic- leaving in a singular burst of light the second you left. She only knew that you were gone, and that was the only thing that mattered, and it seemed to be the only thing that she even really felt. 

Well, she did feel one other thing. Exhaustion. Exhaustion caused by the lack of you by her side. And exhaustion was exactly why she assumed that she was hallucinating when she felt a small tug at her heart, in a part of her brain that had been dormant for years and years. She shook her head and tried to take her thoughts away from you and the nagging feeling in her gut. 

“Oh, no…” you exclaimed, voice tapering out into a whine as you watched the ruined paper sink deeper and deeper into the fountain, a fist clenching at your side in disappointment when you realized how many hours were lost, just like that, and then even tighter when you realized that part of you wasn’t even truly upset about the time spent on the ruined art. You were mostly upset that you lost the only vision of the hands that you had during the daytime. 

You were on your knees, sleeves still all the way down as you reached into the water frantically, causing the paper to move even further away. You weren’t even worried about your sketchbook that had fallen open onto the pavement, more focused on the rapidly deteriorating piece of paper. You hardly even noticed the man who knocked into you talking, trying his hardest to make the situation better. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, is there anything I can do?” 

“I mean,” you breathed out, taking the nearly disintegrated paper from the water and grimacing. When you realized that the man was fumbling to say something from behind you, celery apprehensive over the fact that you were upset, you took a short breath and turned around, giving him a small smile. He had dark brown hair that was cut short and crystal blue eyes that were striking, but you knew that they held thousands of stories by looking just once.  He was holding your sketchbook, and by the way he was gripping it tightly, you could tell that he had flipped through it for a second. “It’s just a drawing. I guess I can make another one.” 

  His eyes widened. You saw his jaw slacken and his neck stretch out, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He blinked three times, and his parted lips trembled for a second before he slammed them shut. You cocked a brow at him, your sadness about losing the drawing being replaced by a weak feeling of uneasiness. “Sir?” 

  “Knew it.” His face was clear from any type of emotion as he watched yours, and when you opened your mouth to ask him if he was okay, a grin spread across his face. “I’m Bucky, what’s your name?” You furrowed your brows at him, asking what the hell had just occurred without saying a single word. “I’m sorry, you just looked really familiar.” 

 Just like that, you smiled. You knew that feeling, you felt like you got deja vu far too often to be normal. You hated when people made you feel strange for it, you always had, so you tried your best to ignore it with him. “You’re fine, don’t worry. I’m Y/N.” You extended your dry hand for him to shake it. He stared at it for a moment, and then with an eagerness that made you smile, he shook your hand. 

“‘I’m Bucky.” 

  For a moment, you could have sworn that you had done more tha just seen him before. Could have sworn that you had shaken his hand, met him before, been at the receiving end of his blinding yet somewhat shy smile. It flashed through you warm and bright, and you cleared your throat before pulling your hand away and realizing you had held it for too long. You cleared it again when you saw something flash in his eyes, a weak smile lifting on your lips.

“It’s not her.” 

Wanda was furious. She was insulted more than anything, really, angry that Bucky could even mistake the light of you for someone else. She knew that you would never grace the earth with your presence again, and she was so used to the fact that she was going to have to die before seeing you again. And for one of her closest friends to try to convince her that you were back? 

 “She would have already found me.” And Wanda believed that with her whole heart. You had asked her so long ago that you remember her, like she could ever forget. Your scent was so flowery that whenever she walked past a growing garden that she smelled you, your smile was so bright that she saw it in the way the rays of sun came down on the earth. She heard your laugh in the chirping of the birds every morning, and she saw your playfulness in the running waters of the stream by the cabin. She could never forget you, because everything was traced back to you. And you would never return without finding her. 

“I don’t think she even knows it yet, but she is looking for you.” Bucky insisted, stepping forward and receiving Wanda’s burning glare while Steve stepped to the side and let it happen. “I bumped into her and she dropped her sketchbook. I saw her drawings- she drew your eyes.” 

  Wanda’s heart skipped a beat. “What?” 

“She dropped the drawing of hands in the water, but I saw she had drawn eyes that looked just like yours, hair the same shade as yours, even drawn the necklace you used to wear. She draws roses, too. I swear to everything above, it’s her.” 

She could feel herself getting warm, the sort of emotions stirring inside of her that had the potential to turn into a singular weapon. The thought of a rose bush made her sick to her stomach. “It’s not her.” 

“You forget that I knew her, too,” Bucky stated, and Wanda’s desolation was replaced by some ancient feeling of possessiveness. “I could never forget her face, and that was it right there. That was her face, without a shadow of a doubt, And her voice-” 

Wanda’s face curled into a snarl. “Stop talking about her.”  

“Hey, Wanda, take a deep breath,” Steve cut in, ever the mediator, but Bucky was hardheaded. If he thought something needed to happen, he was the one to push for it to happen, and he needed her to see. 

 “She looks the same as she did the day she left.” Wanda let out a choked noise. For a second, all she could picture was her lover dying by the blooming rose bushes in the sunset, ruining two of the most beautiful things in life at once. The third (but first) was you, but not even your horrible death could taint Wanda’s memory of you. You would forever be the brightest and most beautiful thing to grace the earth. “I got her number, we’re meeting at a coffee shop a few blocks away.” 

“Leave her alone.” Wanda said through gritted teeth, tears welling up in her eyes. When she saw the brunet’s eyes widen and his mouth drop open, she spoke before he could get a word in. “Just stay away from her, Bucky.” 

All she could think about was your death. The way you choked on your own blood. The way you cried and looked up at her, but still managed to smile. And as she was consumed by rage and memories, the only other thought in her mind was that she was yours and you were here, and that she couldn’t save you then. But she was surely going to preserve your memory from Bucky’s mouth. 

  “I know you feel it coming back. You haven’t felt it in so long, but it’s warm, right? It’s powerful. You always were the strongest, and you’re not dormant any longer. Stop lying to yourself and depriving yourself of love, Wanda. You know Y/N-”

  She saw red. Red as red as the fires that burned in the magma underneath the ground, as red as embers in a fire. “You don’t get to say her name.” She saw so much red, so much hot anger that hardly covered her sadness, that she didn’t even see the way that she had her hand out red coming from her palm as she lifted Bucky right off of the wooden floor of their shared home. “You don’t get to talk about her.” There was a warbling noise in her ears, whispers that sounded like her name, getting louder and louder until she finally realized it was Steve trying to get her attention. 

  “Wanda.” 

Instantly, she dropped her arm and watched Bucky fall to the ground, landing in a crouched position. She watched him catch his breath on the ground. She opened her mouth to apologize, to say that she felt terrible and that she had no idea what happened, what took over her, but she was stopped by the brilliant smile that came onto Bucky’s face. 

  “You used magic.” He said, slowly and steadily, not a hint of hesitance or animosity in his eyes or voice. Instead, he seemed more proud than anything. “You can’t deny this now, Wanda.” 

She was hyperventilating, the pain in her chest intensifying as she tried without any results to get the right amount of air in her lungs. She felt her knees hit the ground before she knew that she did, her hands covering her face as she sobbed into herself. Her heart ached, tugging in so many different directions as her brain fought to rationalize what everything meant. She had used magic,  and that meant that you were back, in one way or another. She was in disbelief. She was in despair. She was in shock. 

“I know you do, I know you do,” It was Steve’s arms around her, and Steve’s voice in her ear, and she realized that she had been saying I miss her, I miss her, over and over again until the words jumbled. “We know you do, Wanda. We miss her too.” 

But he didn’t understand. He hadn’t lost Bucky since he had found him. He hadn’t walked the earth for centuries after losing the only thing that mattered to him as an empty shell of the person he used to be. He would never understand, but that wasn’t his fault. In fact, she prayed that he would never understand. 

“I’m sorry I approached you like that,” Bucky said, crouching down and hugging her just as Steve was, enclosing her into a hugging circle. They were coven, related by magic, and just being around them made her tears subside. “But you know that I would have never said anything like that unless I was one thousand percent sure. I would never do anything to hurt you, Wanda. All I want is for you to be happy. And I know that I found her.” 

And how could he want anything but the best for her? He knew her just as much as Steve did. Just as much as she probably knew herself. He and Steve were the ones who stormed the coven that took you from her by her side, and they were the ones that helped her send them to their graves. They supported her through thick and thin, through revenge and peace, and mostly, they loved you almost as much as she did. Why would Bucky lie? 

Wanda blinked, staring down at her hands in fear and wonder as her heart beat started to get away from her. Steve’s warm hand landed on her shoulder, and she flinched from the sudden touch after such a rush of power. 

“I think you should go with him, Wanda.” Her heavy breathing was all that filled the air for a moment. “Just take a look at her from outside so you can leave if he was wrong without anyone knowing, but you should at least try. I think Buck’s right.” 

Wanda’s breaths were still labored. Her hands trembled as she moved hair from her eyes, and her lip quivered before she found the strength to mutter a few words. “Will she- will she remember?” 

“I think she will,” Steve said softly. “But she’s probably just a human. It may take more than just seeing you for her to remember everything.” 

 Her eyes were wet with tears, and her heart was so big with warmth and need that she was scared that it would burst open at the seams. But she was even more terrified to lose the idea of you. Slowly and shakily, she nodded, her head bobbing up and down as she sealed her own fate. “I’ll go.” She saw Steve give her his fatherly and supportive smile, small yet full. “I’ll see her.” 

You didn’t know how you were gently swindled into giving Bucky your number. You knew that it was nothing but friendly, but he was so charming that you felt like you could never not know him. In fact, it felt like you already did know him. He said something about maybe commissioning an artwork of yours, and of course that excited you. You were going to meet him at a coffee shop, in a public place even though you weren’t the slightest bit afraid of him. But something felt different. 

 It started once you got into your car. You were driving to get to the shop when tingles came down your spine, and bumps raised on your arms, like someone was whispering against your skin. You started to feel warmth come and go in waves, brushing against your mind and then retreating again. You shook off all of the strong feelings as you turned your car off, parked in front of the coffee shop while the music from your speakers filled the silence, soft piano music that was perfect for the weather. 

  It was drizzling, the kind of weather that you liked to call a “lover’s drizzle” because of how often it was seen in romantic scenes. Scenes of confession, of reunion, of desperation between two lovers- more often than not, they had the mild rain to stand in. You turned the music down before shutting your car off and then stepping out, closing the door and locking it immediately before walking briskly to the entrance of the coffee shop with your recent drawings in hand. 

 Bucky wasn’t there when you arrived. In fact, hardly anyone was there besides the few employees, who smiled at you when you entered but otherwise fell back into conversation amongst themselves, which was fine with you. There was one beefy blonde man who was sitting with a laptop and a ball cap on. He glanced up for a moment and then took a double take, blinking hard at you with a star struck look on his face, and then he shot his gaze back down and went back to typing.

You sat down at a table for two, the only type of table that was there besides the long, awkward study tables that they had set up in the center of the room. You would much rather take the intimate setting of a two-seater than to sit in the middle of the shop, so you did just that. You flipped through your work, looking at it closely now that you had the time. He had mentioned something about possible portrait work for a friend of his, so you naturally brought most of the drawings that you had done with hands, arms, eyes, hair, nearly everything that was the closest to your heart. You rested your palm on top of them and watched your fingers trace the slender ones that you had drawn in what felt like by memory at the time, like you were just remembering the way an old friend’s hands used to look. You peeled that one back and looked into the eyes, the strangest and prettiest light green color that made your heart pound every time you looked at it. You took a deep breath in.

  “That’s gorgeous.” You jumped in your seat as the chair in front of you pulled out from under the table, and there was the charming brunet that you had met by the fountain, giving you the same welcoming smile that he first granted you. You smiled back without hesitation, your heart warming at the sight. “You sure can draw.” 

  “I try,” you joked, your grin nearly splitting your face. “Do you drink coffee?” 

“Nah,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “But I like tea, though.” You gave him a thoughtful look. 

“Are you into herbal healing?” 

You could have sworn that there was some sort of excitement in his eyes, but you weren’t sure enough by the time he opened his mouth again. “Yes, actually! What, does it look like I’m into it?” 

“No,” you answered, and it was true. Bucky was huge. He had the kind of build that intimidated other guys at the gym, the kind that made athletes jealous. He looked like the typical meathead, but he was sweeter than you could have imagined. But he looked nothing like a man who would be into herbal healing. “Just a guess.” 

“Pretty good guess,” he mused, and you grinned back. Your head was in the clouds of some strange deja vu when he asked you if you wanted something, and the entire exchange of whether or not you were going to pay was on the back burner as you sifted through your thoughts. By the time he came back, you noticed that you must have told him that you liked hot chocolate, and that he must have paid. You scolded him before he sat back down, waving you off. It was silent for a few moments as you looked out of the window, the rain still steadily working through the atmosphere. The cup was comfortingly warm. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

  With any other man, you would have immediately told him no, or at least have your guard up. But there was just something deep down, so buried that it was faint, but it was there, that told you that he was nowhere even close to being a threat. “Yes.”

 He nodded, taking a sip of his tea and then putting his cup down gently before giving you an intense look. “Who’s the girl?”  

You frowned. “What girl?” 

He raised a singular brow. “The one you draw.” 

Your breath hitched in your throat. You blinked twice, and then tilted your head to the side. “I don’t draw just one person,” you said slowly, the lie dragging its way out of your mouth and through your teeth. “They’re different people.” 

“Oh,” he said, but the smirk on his face told you that he knew you were lying to him and to yourself. You sipped your drink and something tugged at you, telling you to look out of the window and into the rain again, just one more time before you spilled your guts about seeing things- and then something caught your eye. A flash of a familiar reddish-brown. You turned your full body to look that way, and once you did, you nearly dropped your cup. 

  There was a woman staring back at you, eyes wide and full of so much emotion that the artist in you wanted to rush to make an unworthy attempt at capturing it. Her lips were parted in pure shock, but you were watching them tremble even from far away. She was getting slightly damp in the rain, but she stood there like it didn’t even matter, just locking eyes with you and sending your heart rate through the roof. When your eyes finally came back to hers after looking at her for what felt like the quickest eternity, you gasped. You knew those eyes. 

  If you weren’t so deep into gazing at the woman stuck behind the glass, you would have noticed the pleased and content look on Bucky’s face, and the look that he gave the big blond sitting with a ball cap on all by himself. You would have noticed the way that the blond man was turning his body towards your table, watching with the same amount of anticipation as Bucky was. You tried to understand why she looked so familiar, why she was scratching the part of your brain that always tried to convince you that you were much older than twenty something- and then it hit you. 

  You had been drawing this woman. And you had been thinking about her ever since you knew how to think. It was just the first time you were ever seeing the full picture. “I-” you muttered, eyes stuck on her and the way she looked like she was about to topple over from emotions. The words got stuck in your own throat as you weakly tried to get your mind to take you back to the conversation. “I- excuse me. I have to- I’ll be back- excuse me.” Your chair made a loud noise as you stood from the table in a haste, pushing the door open and walking towards the woman who was still standing on the sidewalk, dumbstruck. 

Before you even knew you were outside and into the rain, you were standing not even four steps away from the woman, who was now looking at you with an incomprehensible look on her face. You couldn’t even feel the rain on you. All you could feel was her gaze and the warmth that was settling in your stomach and chest, and the same intense familiarity that was hitting you when you looked at Bucky. But it was so much stronger. 

“I-” you frowned, taking a step closer and resisting the urge to reach out and touch her. “Do I know you? Have we met?” You had to have met. You had seen her in your sleep, in your daydreams, in your sketchbook. And still, you never could have imagined how beautiful she was. 

She was silent. 

“I know this is random and that I just bum rushed you, but, did we go to school together or something?” You were embarrassed. You had never begged someone to remember you before, but this woman was different. She hadn’t said a word to you, and you didn’t even know her name, but you were enraptured. You swore you knew her. You swore you saw her eyes glaze over for a second. 

“You really don’t remember, do you?” Her voice struck something familiar in your chest, something warm and comforting. It was so familiar, so far back in your memory that it felt like home. Her accent, her inflection, the way she spoke slowly yet deliberately. It was all there in your mind, but you just couldn’t figure out how you knew it so well. “You don’t remember who I am?” 

 That had you closing your mouth. You tilted your head to the side at what could have been a hostile question, but her tone made it sad. Did you forget a high school friend? “Oh, um, I know you from somewhere, but I can’t really-” 

 “Think.” The desperation in her voice made your knees shake. If she were anyone else, you would have told her to go away, but you couldn’t. You didn’t want her to go away. But you couldn’t quite place her either, even though your own heart was screaming at you to remember. 

  “I’m sorry,” you said, a hurt expression on your face. You braved yourself to leave, taking a deep breath and giving her a weak smile that embarrassed you even further. “This was weird of me. I’ll just-” 

 She was reaching for you. Time started to run slower as her pale arm extended towards you, long fingers that you had committed to memory and to paper a thousand times outstretched. Your mouth dropped open ever so slightly as you stood in place for a second, body still until you subconsciously leaned forward, your nerves buzzing under your skin. 

  For a second, the only thing you could do was look at the point where her skin touched yours. 

  You had seen magic before. You had seen it in movies and at theme parks and when miracles happened, but nothing ever like when her skin touched yours. You swore that the warmth that your body had been feeling kicked in even stronger, surrounding you in comfort. Her hand was wrapped around your arm, gentle yet begging, firm yet wishing all the same for something you couldn’t quite see yet. You looked up and into her eyes, the eyes you had drawn and seen so many times, and then you saw it. 

   You saw it in more than flashes. They were coming in at the speed of light, but somehow you were able to catch every moment and every feeling that came along. You heard her voice as clear as day, ringing with laughter. You saw the two of you attempting to skip stones. You saw her enchanting your stones behind your back to make you think you had actually done it. You saw her mouth brushing over your cheeks, your mouth, your forehead. You could feel her hands on you, holding you, protecting you, cherishing you all the same. You could remember the way that you felt when you saw her standing in traditional witch’s clothing, being inducted into her coven as a blossomed witch. You saw everything and nothing, and you remembered it all. 

Wanda. 

A strangled sound escaped your body, so feral that it scared you, but you didn’t care. You pulled her forward, your head clashing against her chest. You could feel her shaking, like she wanted nothing more than to hold you just as tightly, but she was hesitating. “Wanda,” you called out, hugging her tighter, and then, like something in the universe stretched too far and then snapped right back into place, she was returning the embrace. 

  “I thought I had lost you forever,” she said, her voice hollow yet so full, so expressive. “I lost you, darling.” 

  The memories were all there, like all it took was a touch, but you were still coping with the knowledge. You had been murdered. Murdered by witch hunters, way back when witches were known and feared. That had to have been hundreds of years ago, you knew it. But still, your focus was on Wanda. It always would be on Wanda, forever and always. Just like hers was on you. 

“You didn’t,” you managed to say, your own voice thick with emotion as you buried your face into her neck, finally feeling the texture of the hair that you tried so hard to get right. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere ever again.” 

“I’m sorry,” she said, suddenly sobbing in your arms. You had no idea how you weren’t being interrupted in the crowded streets, but when you took a look back inside of the cafe to see the men who you so clearly remembered as Steve and Bucky, you knew it had something to do with them and their fulfilled smiles. “I wasn’t able to save you. I let you die, and I’m so sorry, darling. I’m so sorry.” 

  Her words brought you back to the present. “Wanda, no. No, no, no.” You wanted to pull away and look at her face, but the second you started to, she held onto you even tighter. You leaned your head back onto her chest. “It wasn’t your fault. There was no way any of us could have known, and no way that you could have saved me. It was beyond us.” 

  “Nothing should have ever been beyond us.” She argued softly. “I’m so sorry.” 

“But it was,” you said. “And now it’s behind us. Don’t apologize, Wanda.” You wiggled around and got free enough to look up at her teary face. “I may not have recognized you, but now that I do, I can’t believe that I ever forgot you.”

   “A new life will do that to you.” 

“Is it really a new life if I remember everything?” You said softly, the rain long gone as you stood with each other, bodies nearly molded together with how close you were. 

  She pulled away to look down at you, her eyes and overall expression tense, and then there was a look that you recognized from a long time ago. It was a look of sweet desire. You closed the cap between the two of you, pressing your lips to hers in a way that proved that you were both two lost souls who had wandered their way back to their other halves. 

“It can be whatever you want it to be, darling.” Her lips brushed your again, soft and tender and eager for more touch. “As long as you let me be in it.” 

[lilyofthestyx]

I saw request we’re open for RE8. Could I please have a fem! reader who tries to get rid of Ethan Winters because he keeps causing distress to her wife, Alcina? Please and thank you.

yes. yes you most certainly can have this.

i have been DYING to write about some alcina x fem!reader for the sole reason being that i have NEVER questioned my sexuality so hard since this damn game came out so yeah.

ps: wrote this in first person hope that's okay!

pps: there is some major plot deviation because.... i felt like it. idk. it fit??

DISCLAIMER: I do not claim to own Resident Evil or its characters or plot. CAPCOM please don't come for me.

here you go love >:)

word count: 1.57k

"Girls!" I call, closing the door behind me. "My darlings, I'm home!" Shifting the grip on the parcel of items from the village, I look around.

Usually one of the girls would've answered by now. Bela is usually here to greet me.

She's probably with her mother.

I shrug off my fur coat, handing it to one of the maids. She takes it and lays it over the back of a chair. I can tell by the large, gnarled scar on her forearm who she is "Marienna," I mumble, staring up the stairway. "...where're the girls?"

Marienna's face pales as she stares back at me. Her mouth opens and closes like a trout. "Well?" I snap, "D'you know where they are or-?!"

A crash resounds down the hallway. Alcina's voice tears from her bedroom, followed by a shuddering sob.

I'm hurrying up the stairs in seconds, abandoning the parcel. My body collides with the door- forcing it open.

Our bedroom is destroyed- the vanity broken to pieces. Alcina's soft hands cling to the golden wood, thumb rubbing against the varnish. Slowly, her eyes trail up to me. A smile nearly as broken as the vanity crosses her painted lips. "...I loved this damned mirror," she mumbles, eyes turning down to the broken pieces again.

"What happened, darling?" I coo, stepping over the pieces to stand beside her. My hand on her shoulder, I turn her face gently towards mine. Tears are streaming down her face- leaving jagged streaks of mascara. "Are you alright? What happen-"

Alcina's body tenses under my touch. Trembling, her grip tightens on the wood. It cracks before being wrenching in twain in her hands. "It was that stupid manthing!" She hisses, standing back up to her full height.

"...what 'manthing'?" I ask, "Your brother?"

Alcina ignores me, leaning back down to pluck one of the larger fragments before throwing it across the room. "He laid his filthy paws on our daughters!"

My mind races as it struggles to understand what the hell is happening.

Manthing.

It's not Heisenberg. He'd never lay a finger on the girls.

Some brutish village slug- that's got to be it.

But why? Why on earth would they...?

It doesn't matter.

As Alcina leans down to grab another bit, I grab her hand. "...are... are the girls okay? Where are they?"

A shuddering sigh passes her lips. "...they're all together," she whispers, wiping tears from her face hastily. "Bela... she was... that disgusting beast, he nearly killed her!"

"What?" I mutter, eyebrows drawing together as I step back. "...what... well is she okay? What happened? Is she going to be alright?!"

Alcina sighs again. "...she'll be alright," her hand wraps around mine gently. "Her sisters found her. Brought her to me."

"Where is she now?," I ask, tightening my grip around her finger. "My baby girl... where...?"

Alcina smiles warmly, getting down onto one knee. Her fingers brush back the hair from my eyes. Tears fall quickly down my face as I realize what could've happened if Cassandra and Daniela weren't nearby. "She's with her sisters," she answers gently. "Resting... waiting for her mother to get back with the flowers and silk from the village."

A cold laugh passes my lips before I sniffle. "...her mother should've been there. Should've never left."

Alcina's face tightens. "You can't blame yourself, darling," she mumbles, turning my chin up so I can face her. "No one knew this... Ethan Winters... would be so hideously vindictive."

I nod slowly, wiping the tears from my face. "...can I see her?"

"Of course, my love," she says, leaning in to press her lips to my cheek. "Of course."

The two of us walk down the halls to the center of the house. 'Safest place for her' Alcina had told me.

She had spoken to me the entire way over here, trying to get me out of my own head.

Bless my beloved wife for trying.

But that name. It just keeps buzzing around my mind.

Images of my hands, covered in thick blood, gripping the handle of a sickle play through my head. The blade going through the jugular of this 'Ethan Winters' and popping out the other side. Him desperate for air, choking on his own hot blood, as he watches me loom over him.

His last words will be for mercy.

His last view will be my blade.

My breath is bated as I watch him stalk through the darkness of the courtyard. In the moonlight, I can see is head is down, eyes wary as he keeps a fair grip on his pistol. The cool air lets me see him regulating his breathing- keeping him steady, keeping his pistol steady.

He's experienced.

My grip on my own weapon tightens as he stops in the gazebo. His eyes narrow as he turns around, his pistol raised. I watch in mild amusement as he whirls around, looking for something to shoot.

He's experienced, yes, but still not experienced enough.

I tug the fabric around my face higher along the bridge of my nose. Gripping my sickle, I balance on the balls of my feet.

Ethan finally relaxes, dropping his arms with his back to me.

A small smile creeps along my lips under the mask. A foolish move made by an even more foolish man.

My body slides underneath the stone railings for the stairs leading into the center of the courtyard. Untucking one of the smaller knives from my belt, I pinch it between two fingers and flick my wrist forward.

The knife goes flying- landing right between Ethan's shoulder blades. A guttural yell comes from him as he spins around to face me. In a blink, I'm up in front of him, nose brushing against his.

I can see the fear in his eyes.

I can't help my smile growing beneath the dark fabric.

Ethan raises his hand, pistol in his palm. With a tut of my lips, I shake my head and stab his hand through with my sickle. "...no, no," I mumble as he continues to scream and thrash against my hold. "There'll be none of that, I'm afraid, Mister Winters."

His teeth gritted, he hisses as my sickle is pulled from the inner part of his wrist. A bitter laugh bubbles up from my gut as he stumbles back onto the floor of the gazebo, now holding the pistol in his shaky left hand. "You can't be serious!" I giggle as Ethan pulls the trigger.

A wet squelch hits my ears as the bullet tears into my stomach. I sigh dramatically, looking down at the gushing hole in my dress. "You didn't think I was human- did you?" I ask, twirling the sickle in my hand.

"Wh- what?" Ethan mutters, eyes fixated on the bullet wound in my torso.

"I'm not," I continue, stepping closer to him as he tries to back away. Another gunshot echoes through the courtyard- the bullet landing in my left shoulder. "Not entirely, anyways."

"What the hell are you?!" Ethan yells, firing three more shots. One in the crook of my neck, one just barely grazing my temple, one lodging itself in my hip.

My jaw tightens as I hurry forward, grabbing him by the collar and throwing him back into the center of the gazebo. "I!" I snap, grabbing him again and gripping his wrist. "I... am the mother of the girl you almost killed!"

I pull another knife out of my belt. Trailing it down his lips, I smile. "And the wife... to a woman scorned." With a single swing, the knife digs into the flesh of his palm and nails it to the gazebo.

Ethan yells in pain. As I step back, his other fist cracks across my face. I stumble back. Grabbing at my cheek, I chuckle darkly. "Oh, Ethan," I coo coyly, grabbing my sickle. "You really shouldn't have done that."

I swing and watch with what could only be described as 'glee' as the blade pierces his throat. Covered in blood, the blade glistens crimson in the pale moonlight. Ethan's choked pleas are drowned out by my laughter.

"Why?" is the only word able to leave his lips without being smothered in a gush of blood.

"Because, Mister Winters," I hum, my nose brushing against his as I watch the life in his eyes flicker. "You should never have touched my family."

BONUS ENDING:

"What is that delicious smell?"

I turn around to see Alcina bending down to peek outside. A smile crosses my lips as I gesture to the mutilated corpse with the end of my sickle. "Dinner, my love," I hum, wiping off the blade with the fabric I had used for a mask. "Sorry it's not the cleanest."

Alcina scoffs and waves me off. "It's fine, _________. I'll just go let the girls know their mother brought dinner...," she pauses, eyes flicking over the gushing body. "...who was that? He smells... familiar."

"Just Ethan Winters," I answer nonchalantly.

"...y-you..." Alcina stammers, eyebrows weaving together and lips pursing. "You... when did you-?"

"He must've been tired," I continue with a small smile. "He was not nearly as difficult a kill as I thought he'd be."

"...I'll... I'll be going now."

"Okay, love," I chirp, "I'll drag him in in a second. Love you!"

Alcina's eyes are still wide, mouth slightly agape as she steps away from the doorway. "...love you too... darling."

can you tell i had a lot of fun with this?

yeah. because i did.

i hope you enjoyed! writing lady d is so much freaking fun i kid you not.

big vampy lady make brain go brr

[husbandohunter]

Hello may I request albedo x shy reader where albedo and reader has feelings for each other but reader is too introverted to do anything and albedo doesn't want to tell as he thinks he scares her as reader always gets red and is stuttering when he talks to her. Klee finds out about this and makes it her mission to get albedo and reader together.

Klee gets albedo to play hide and seek with her and invites reader to play together with her. Albedo is counting down while klee and reader hides. Klee and reader hides in a location that klee always hides in so albedo would find them quickly. While they're hiding where albedo is within hearing distance, klee ask reader about whether she has feelings for albedo or not. Reader then admits to having feelings for albedo and makes klee promise not to to tell him. Albedo having heard all this comes behind reader and says why not, proceeds to bring reader to a private location and tells reader his feelings.

If this is too detailed a shy reader x albedo headcanon is enough.

I Found You [Albedo x Shy!Reader]

Synopsis: For someone as meek and reserved as you, love with Albedo was a game of hide and seek...literally!

Genres: Fluff

(A/n): Ahhh what a cute idea, don’t be afraid to be detailed at all! I love hearing people’s ideas. Buuut kinda went overboard with this one since I am in the narrative mood, hope you don’t mind >//< Word count_2.3k

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Albedo wonders if he had done something wrong?

Three weeks, four days, sixteen minutes and twenty five seconds. To this moment he had counted down every tick of the clock since the day you began avoiding him. That's how he sees it at least. You weren't always deliberately doing this on purpose, as Lisa's personal helper, there were times when you were given a chance to converse with the Chief Alchemist after dropping off the books he requested for research purposes. Albedo would ask how your day went, trying to find out if you wanted to take a short break and drink some of the tea Noelle had prepared for him. Your response was a modest one but he didn't mind, he eventually came to enjoy your tranquil prescence after a long day of work. 

But something changed. Those moments where you came in during your free time have gradually faded to nothing more than swift bows and small greets coming from the door. Every attempt he made to invite you for another tea session you left as quickly as you entered. At first he dismissed these moments, thinking that you were probably too busy with no time to stop by. Albedo was a busy person himself, though, that didn't prevent him from noticing your odd behaviour whenever he saw you in the hallway. Just as he was about to call your name, you avert your eyes and take a sharp turn until you were out of sight, leaving him perplexed and alone. The alchemist couldn't help feel neglected. Compared to everyone else, he was the only one you couldn't approach with ease. It bothered him immensely.

Did he accidentally say something to upset you? Albedo was well aware of his straightforward attitude which might have caused a negative affect on your contrasting, rather delicate personality. But he always felt that he had taken great consideration on how to approach you. Or what if it was the time when he happened to eat the last bite of Noelle's shortcakes? Remembering the afternoon you sat in his office, he recalls that there were exactly five instead of four treats left on the plate. Little by little, they began to disappear, you only ate two while he devoured three. Was this the reason why? No, that can't be it. You were the one who offered and refusing would only be impolite. Unless you felt pressured to do so when he told you that he was very fond of sweets….

Albedo heaves his shoulders and lets out a breathly sigh. He became very melancholy since then, staring out the window from the second floor when there were still unread research reports lying on his desk. His mind was so cluttered that he couldn't bring himself to focus these days. How troublesome. If only he were more adept with the ways of socializing, only then he can figure out what triggers you to be so nervous around him, why you tend to shrink when he gazes into your eyes and how is it that he feels so bitter when seeing you act the complete opposite with someone else.

"Big brother?" asked Klee. She hops off her stool before throwing the box of crayons to the side. The young girl prances her way to where Albedo stood and tugs on the hem of his coat, "Is there something wrong? Why are you sad?"

"Klee," Albedo turns his head in reponse. A pair of oversized cherry orbs looks at him with concern while the girl's bangs falls sideways to frame her petite face. He felt the white fabric crinkling within her grip as she signals him to come down. Placing one knee on the floor, Albedo gently smiled, speaking in his soft and brotherly tone, "Don't worry, I'm fine. Have you finished your drawing?"

"Mhm, almost done!" She throws her hands up and cheers, "But can you help me with the backgrounds? Klee doesn't know how to colour them."

"I don't see why not," agreed the alchemist, "Come, I'll teach you."

Just when Albedo was leading Klee back to the little space he set up for her, a knock was heard on the door. He ushers her to stay put and Klee tries to peer over his shoulder to see who the visitor was. When she recognized you standing at the frame, her smile grew wide in excitement.

It's big sister (Y/n)! Did she come here to play with us too? Oh please please please!

"(Y/n), you're here," Albedo couldn't help the apparent surprise on his face, "What brings you? Is there something I can help you with?"

"Ah sorry to bother, I-I have the documents you requested from the library!" You nervously handed him the folder.

Huh? Klee brings a finger to her chin, That's wierd...Why does she look so scared?

"Thank you (Y/n)," Albedo slips them out of your trembling grasp in the same fashion he would handle old relics on the verge of breaking. It was so long since you last visited him and he didn't want to startle you, "I appreciate you for bringing them here."

You shook your head in response, "It's nothing much…"

There it was again. You were avoiding to look at him in the eye. At this rate the next thing to occur would be you taking your leave and he didn't want that. Not when he finally gets the chance to fix his mistakes. Using his calculative mind, Albedo tries to formulate the best approach to soothe your worries. He thought of the first step, something that would make you more comfortable. Perhaps he could try smiling? Yes, that could do it. They always seem to have positive affects.

"(Y/n)."

He calls you. The sound of your name on his lips brings you out of your frenzy state and you subconciously lifted your gaze, daring to take a small peek over his countenance. 

"I'm very glad to see you again, truly."

Oh!

You froze into place. Your brain stops working and the whole world comes to a halt. It was the sight held in front of you that stole every last breath away leaving you with nothing but butterflies fluttering about. They spread their wings, voraciously swarming from the pit of your stomach, desperate to burst along with the pounding of your heart. Never in your life have you witnessed or even fathomed the idea of how Albedo would look if he smiled but here you were, mesmerized and captivated like a butterfly entranced by the flower's glow.  It blooms. So brilliantly that you couldn't stop yourself from being drawn. Eyes you fought so hard to tear away from, sparkled just for you, crinkling from the impact of his evergrowing smile. It was the feeling that made you fall for him. The same feeling that pushes you to run somewhere far far away, knowing if you flew too close, the outcome would risk everything you were trying to protect. 

"(Y/n)?" The alchemist tilts his head in confusion. He noticed the redness seeping into your features and immediately brings a glove hand to press against your forehead, "Your temperature is rising. Are you feeling sick? You should have told me earlier."

"I can't…" 

"Hm? Why not?"

"Ah I just remembered there's something I need to do!" Taking a step back you gave him a stiff bow, "Good luck in your research Sir Albedo!"

Given no chance to reply, Albedo watched you dash away before disappearing around the corners. He could only stare blankly at the empty space in front of him before dropping his arm back to his side, contemplating; where did I go wrong?

"Does that mean (Y/n) doesn't want to play with us?" Klee said dissapointedly.

"…I suppose."

"Big brother?" Upon hearing Albedo sigh, Klee finally figured out what caused him to falter these days. Perhaps not entirely being the small child she was but there were enough clues to let her know that the relationship between you and Albedo was somewhat strained. To Klee, she saw you both as the bestest friends! And it was only natural that friends play together right?

----------------------------

"Eh? You want me to play hide and seek?"

The Spark knight nods heavily as she grinned up at you, "Uh huh, and with big brother!"

"Klee, don't force her if she doesn't want to, it'll be fine with just the two of us," Albedo scolded lightly and folds his arms over his chest.

She only returns him a pout, "But it's fun with more people!"

"Klee-"

"It's okay Sir Albedo, I don't mind," you chimed in at last. You were just taking a stroll near Starfell Lake after you finished organizing the bookshelves in Lisa's stead (as always, she naps while you worked away). All of a sudden, Klee waves over from the otherside and proceeds to drag you into a friendly game for little kids. You weren't sure why she seemed so desperate but…

"Yay!" While jumping side to side, the girl did a little mini dance while waving her arms in the air, "You're the best (Y/n)!"

It was hard to refuse someone as cute as Klee.

"So for the first round, big brother is going to be the one who counts to twenty while you and I go hide so he can never ever find us," Klee informs enthusiastically. 

"Alright, that shouldn't be a problem," said Albedo.

You followed suit with a giggle, "But considering it's you Albedo, I don't think twenty seconds is enough."

He quirks an eyebrow, shocked from the way you referred to him.

"Ah, I-"

"Let's go!" Klee interrupts which you were thankful for, "And no peeking!"

Turning to face the Statue of Seven, Albedo counts down monotonously while you and Klee scrambled for an ideal hiding place. This was not the first time you indulged in one of her many activities, in the past it had almost become part of your daily routine to assist the alchemist in entertaining his little sister. Even Klee was capable to be the seeker for several rounds and Albedo would lead you to a spot nearby yet discreet, just the right amount of difficulty for her to handle.

He wouldn't think of this area again, would he?"

"Six...five...four..."

Eeek! Better hide.

You hopped into the crevice formed between the mountain rocks and crouched down, huddling your knees together against your chest to blend with the shadows. You let out a soft sigh, pleased that you were able to make it in time.

"Wow big sis, I didn't know you would be here too."

The screech nearly escapes when you were startled by a pair of ruby eyes gleaming at you innocently. Klee signals you to stay quiet and you nodded, bringing down the hand that you used to cover your mouth. From a distance you spotted the chief alchemist shifting his footsteps against the grass, though he was far enough on the otherside to not notice you and Klee together in the same room. You beamed softly. He was purposely holding back.

"Pssst! Big sis?" Klee whisper-shouted, "Are you angry at big brother?"

You returned a curious glance, slightly taken aback by the outlandish statement she made, "No of course not. How could I?"

(If anything, it was the contrary).

"Then why are you always running away from him? You guys used to be really good friends, Klee misses you and big brother misses you that's why...that's why he's always sad when you're gone.

"Oh...I-I had no idea..." feelings of guilt begin to emerge when you realized what your action seemed from a different prespective. You were so caught up with being cautious that it prevented you from seeing how Albedo would react on the recieving end. Without knowing, your true colours began to reveal themselves as you could no longer stand the thought of making Klee (making him) upset, "I'm sorry, I'm just not good with words."

The little girl cocks her head to the side.

"Ever since I was little, I never found it easy to make friends. Until now when I finally became Lisa's assistance, I still can't approach other people and they tend to shy away from me since I am...difficult to hold a conversation with..."

Hugging your knees even closer, a fond expression graces your features, "But Albedo was kind to me. He was patient when I didn't know what to say. Whenever I made a mistake, he would always be there to teach me the correct steps. I have alot to thank him for."

"Huh...?"

"I think it's also on of the reason why I fell for him too. But I will never have the courage to say it. I don't want to ruin the friendship we have so I chose to keep it to myself. Though, I guess it only made things worse. So promise me that you won't say anything okay? I'll apologize to him later."

Klee did not respond. She only stares past your shoulder and you immediately spun around to see Albedo standing at the entrace with an expression equivalently shocked as yours.

"(Y/n)...."

"I...I-" you stammered. The embarassment was so unbearable to the point that tears began to form at the corner of your eyes.

"Wait, don't cry. There's no need to because-"

You thrusted your way past him before he could finish his sentence, sprinting to the distance while yelling, "I'M SORRRYYYYYYYYYYY!"

"Wait!" The alchemist chases shortly after, "Come back!"

--------------------------------------------------

You groaned at the pain throbbing against your skull as you pushed yourself upright. A fallen branch, it was. One you didn't catch before tripping over your steps and tumbling down the hill while landing harshly on the sensitive pad of your elbow. The surroundings seemed unfamiliar to your memory since you never travelled too far from Mondstadt, your vision was filled with nothing but the endless columns of trees and bushes nearby. There were no signs of anyone else within the area.

"I'm lost," you announced in a defeated tone. Something cold taps against the tip of your nose and you realized that the clouds have already gathered over your head, violently spilling the rain down to where you sat. You crawled to a dry space where the tree branches were thick enough to keep the water out. You stayed there, waiting. But waiting for what?

"I can't go back," you meekly say, "I can't see him."

The air was cold and you shiver in response. You hated how much of a coward you could be sometimes. You were always so weak, never having the strength to be courageous for once. Albedo was a beautiful man, he was smart and he was popular, he was everything you're not. There's no way that he'd return your feelings.

However...

"I found you."

Why did he come back?

"Thank goodness you're alright. Are you hurt?" Albedo lowers himself to meet your level. Up close you could see the strands sticking from the side of his golden head and the residues that marred his features. Still, he looked beautiful. Your heart soars from the intense gaze he kept on you, drawing lower until he caught the scrape at the side of your arm. Albedo pulls it forward so that he could examine them at nearer proximity, "Hmm this doesn't look so good. We should head back so I can treat your wounds immediately. Can you stand?"

You nodded. 

"Good. Here, take my hand," he offers his gloved fingers and pulls you up to your feet. You could tell that he was trying to be gentle from the way he adjusted his stance so you wouldn't wobble. Kind. He was so kind.

"Why did you come for me?" You started, "I don't understand."

Albedo frowned. There it was again, the expression he hated. The one where you wouldn't look at him in the eye.

"I just don't want to-"

He didn't even bother with what you wanted to tell him. Instead, Albedo removes his coat almost within an instead and threw it around your shoulders. He wraps you gently, making sure that the rain didn't touch your bare shoulders before bring his arms around your figure and trapping you in his embrace. You could feel his fingers raking against the strands of your hair as your vision was blocked by the star on his neck. A little voice thanked the archons for this particular position, for two reasons in fact. The first being that he wouldn't be able to see your expression, knowing you must've looked as if you ate a bowl of raw Juyeun chilis. The second reason, well, you were simply overjoyed. 

"Do you understand now?" 

Closing your eyes, you succumbed to the grasp of your beloved, "Yes, I do."

"You won't run away?"

His tone was almost a plead. You reassured him by moving your head to the crook of his neck, how foolish for you to assume all this time, "I won't, don't worry."

"Are you sure?"

"I promise."

"Good," Albedo's eyes soften in response as he pulls alway to see your face, "I love you too (Y/n)."

Alas the butterfly and the flower finally united as one. Like nectar, he was sweet. How bold of him. It seems that not only was he able to steal your heart but your first kiss as well.

[dracowars]

Hi could you write something where the reader is on the place of Hermione on the manor during DH1. And Narcissa sees her memories and finds out she's with Draco and how happy he looks with her. Happy ending please🥺 also Hufflepuff reader

daffodil | draco malfoy

pairing: draco x hufflepuff!reader

word count: 2,3k

summary: where narcissa is y/n's last hope

a/n: rip helen mccrory <3

warnings: angst, torture, mentions of blood

universe: harry potter

Trying to suppress your tears, you have to helplessly watch as your close friends Harry, Ron and Hermione are pushed away from the large, dark room to the basement, leaving you alone. Not actually alone, but in the sense of everyone who remains in this room now, will not help you out of here. It all began so well and was going smoothly.

Your plan was almost perfect, it should not have failed. Nevertheless, you were caught by Death Eaters and taken to Malfoy Manor, the mansion of the Malfoy family, which ironically also includes your boyfriend. Draco, of course, did not know about your plan, otherwise he might have accidentally given something away. You wanted to tell him, but you could not bring yourself to do it. You did not want to disappoint your friends and risk your plan. Anyway, it seems like Draco does not know what his own family is up to either.

“So, you are the pathetic little Hufflepuff girl who sniffed around in my dungeon in Gringotts and stole, huh?”, Bellatrix directs her sharp words at you after she made sure that her sister safely locked your friends in the cellar. “Speak!”

“I do not know what you are talking about”, you lie to her, your whole body visibly shaking in fear. You have heard numerous stories about Bellatrix Lestrange, and one was worse than the other. She is merciless and will not stop until she gets what she wants and that is exactly why you are not quite sure yourself why you suddenly have the audacity to lie directly into her face in this moment when it is obvious that you definitely know what she is talking about.

“Do not lie to me, you cheeky brat! How did you get my sword!?”, she furiously screams at you all of a sudden, anger in her eyes, making you shrink back a little. With her crazy sparkling eyes, she takes another step towards you until you retreated so far back against the wall that you have no way out, no way to escape her.

Before you can answer, however, you already feel the tip of her wand against your throat and you have to swallow hard as she drills it deeper, an insane smile on her pale lips.

“Well, if you do not want to speak, I will gladly force you to speak”, she giggles wickedly and before you know it, she harshly grabs you by the arm and forces you onto the cold wooden floor. You can intercept your fall with your hands in the last moment. Scared, you turn around to face her, your gaze falling on Narcissa, who watches the scene unfold in front of her without a word, just like her husband.

Nobody in Draco’s family knows about your relationship and so far, it has always been better that way. Even so, you do not come around wondering what if they did know about it right now. What if his mother knew about your undying love for each other? What if you would tell her right here, right now that you were the one who was always on her son’s side when he felt bad, that you cheered him up in his darkest times and supported him when no one else did. You were with him after he was declared a Death Eater and you were there when he decided against murdering your headmaster. You were there for him all this time when his family was not.

You can’t continue your thoughts when Bellatrix suddenly kicks you in the abdomen and you softly groan in pain, curling up on the floor.

“I will not ask you a second time: Where did you get the Gryffindor sword from?”, Bellatrix interrogates you again and harshly turns you on your back with her foot, using all her strength to prevent you from moving. Slowly she makes it hard for you to breathe and you desperately try to free yourself from her grip – without any success.

Since you still have not answered her question, she ends up pointing her wand at you threateningly again and before you even have the chance to admit anything, she puts an unforgivable curse on you.

“Crucio!”

Your body writhes in pain on the floor, screams escaping your mouth louder and stronger every second. You try to defy the curse, but you are too weak and can’t defend yourself, having to suffer the worst pain you have ever felt in your entire life.

And despite all of this, your thoughts go back to Draco. His smiling face appears in your mind and his gentle laughter echoes in your ears.

“D-Draco”, you gasp in pain and suddenly all of the pain disappears at once. Bellatrix has now lowered her wand and looks at you in confusion. But not only does she, but Draco’s parents as well.

“I did not ask about Draco!”, Bellatrix freaks out again in a matter of seconds and finally crawls over your weakened body, your faces so close to each other that you can feel her breath on your skin. “You have played enough games.”

At her words, you feel this unendurable pain again, but this time it feels different. It does not come from within you, you can still feel your body as a whole, and it feels a lot more realistic until you suddenly feel her rip open your arm with a sharp dagger inch by inch. Screeching in pain, you try to throw her off you, but she presses you onto the hard ground with all of her might and strength.

Exhausted, your head falls to one side, your body twitching at every painful touch on your arm. Tears flow down your already damp cheeks and you look at Draco’s mother through your blurry vision. She has averted her gaze from the terrible scenario.

“D-Draco.. I-“, you stutter out, the feeling of weightlessness from being on the verge of passing out obfuscating your words and thoughts. Still, you know that there is only one last chance that may get you out of here alive, even though you may regret it in the end.

“I love him”, you cry out in a heartbreaking voice which Bellatrix does not seem to mind at all. Narcissa, however, lifts her head in an instant and looks directly at you, her eyes full of sadness as far as you can tell by your restricted vision. Your eyelids are getting heavier by the second and just when you are about to pass out completely, you notice how Narcissa finally comes closer and thus puts an abrupt end to your unbearable pain.

“Legilmens”, her soft broken voice whispers and the world around you begins to spin, to transform.

And suddenly you are peacefully lying in a bed that is all too familiar to you, your gaze focused on the door that is opening at this very moment, revealing none other than Draco himself. You feel strange, weird, as if you have experienced all of this before. As soon as Draco enters the room with his head hanging low, you uncontrollably run into his arms. You speak to him with calming words until everything starts blurring in front of your eyes and you find yourself in a different place.

You are in a flooded bathroom, a slim and fragile figure trembling from crying from the bitter sobs at the sink in front of you.

“Draco”, you hear your own voice softly speak up and he jolts, turning around to you, his eyes red and swollen, his face completely dejected. Not another second goes by and you lie in his arms again, comforting him.

“I can’t do this anymore, Y/N. It hurts so much”, Draco’s echoing sobs ring in your ear as he rolls up the sleeve of his white shirt, revealing the Dark Mark. “Please help me.”

However, you are not able to help him because you are forcibly torn away from the moment again and land in a large, wide meadow of flowers. Warmth created by the burning sunlight flows through you and the exclamation of your name from the distance brings a happy smile to your face immediately. Not far from you Draco runs up the hill towards you, a smile as bright and wide as yours decorating his beautiful facial features. Quickly, you get up from the soft picnic blanket that you have placed in the meadow and greet him with a firm hug.

The next moment, you lie on the blanket, hugging and looking up at the clear starry sky after the sun has already set hours ago. Draco repeatedly points to different shining stars which form a constellation, telling you everything he learned in astronomy, while you can’t take your eyes off him.

When he finally notices your gaze, he turns his head towards you so that the tips of your nose are almost touching. Neither of you say a word and you just stare into each other’s eyes lovingly.

“I love you”, your voice carefully confesses and your heart hammers against your chest.

“I love you too”, Draco replies, connecting your lips in a gentle kiss.

The safe and happy feeling suddenly gets teared away from you and you find yourself back in the dark room of the Malfoy Manor. Shocked and not so sure about what has just happened, you straighten up. Only now do you realize that Bellatrix had let go of you in the meantime and is now looking down at you with widened eyes, standing closely behind her sister.

It hits you like a train when you realize that Narcissa has just used Legilimency on you, which caused you to be subjected to a rapid succession of passing memory scenes and in some cases even made you briefly lose consciousness. Thus, not only your expressed thoughts or perceptible feelings were revealed to her, but also your hidden feelings and experiences as well as your most secret desires.

An extremely uncomfortable silence arises in the room while all eyes are on you and only you. Lucius and Bellatrix seem rather angry at something, with Narcissa looking at you with pity and sadness.

“Take my hand”, Narcissa breaks the silence first, but because of her words you only look at her in confusion when she extends her hand to you. Looking back and forth between her outstretched hand and her face, for some inexplicable reason, you realize that she actually wants to help you.

As soon as your hands touch, everything around you blurs again and the next thing you know everything goes black. You feel pressure on your body from all directions and you find it difficult to breathe until everything around you takes on its usual color again, allowing you to breathe in deeply.

You feel the ground beneath your feet and notice that you are standing upright. And you notice that your and Narcissa’s hand are still connected. Startled, you pull your hand out of her grasp and look around.

“Where did you take me?!”, you angrily ask her, the place where you are now not seeming familiar to you and the fact that she just kidnapped you after invading your privacy makes you feel even more confused.

“To safety”, Narcissa replies shortly and it seems she wants to add something when her gaze suddenly slides past you, to something hat has now apparently appeared behind you.

“Mum?”

“Draco?”, you breathe out in relief when you hear his voice behind you and immediately turn around to him. Tears well up in your eyes and you run into Draco’s arms at lightning speed, but Draco seems to be quite perplexed. After all, he does not know what happened.

“W-What?”, he tries to form meaningful words while still not returning your hug, standing there rigid and tense.

“She knows about us”, you whisper in his ear while sobbing and his posture relaxes from one second to the other and he wraps his arms tightly around your trembling body without hesitation, his face disappearing in the crook of your neck.

“What happened?”, Draco asks you worried as he gently loosens the hug and takes your face between in his hands, not understanding why you are crying. With a shake of your head, you indicate that you do not want to talk about it and he understands, giving you the space you need, before his gaze falls back on his mother, who is watching you two silently.

“I am sorry”, Narcissa finally clears her throat, causing you to look at her as well. Tears have now also formed in her eyes, but her lips are adorned by a gentle smile as she looks at you. “It should never have come to this.”

“Why did you do that? Why did you help me?”, you want to know and step closer to her, your hand intertwined with Draco’s.

“I was inside of your head and saw all of your memories”, she explains and while she nervously plays with the long black sleeves of her beautiful dress, she looks up from the ground again. “I have seen how happy you make my son. I could not let them harm you or it would break him. You- You are too important to Draco.”

You are speechless at her words and Draco seems pretty stunned by what his mother said as well. Before either of you can comment on it though, she speaks up again.

“I will make sure that your friends get free”, she adds, letting her inner conflict reflect in her soft voice. “Stay with Draco. You are safe here until I have clarified everything. I will come back.”

“Mum-“

“I promise you that everything will be fine”, she gently smile at him, giving both of you a loving hug, before she disapparates into thin air and probably reappears where she has just saved your life moments ago.