#magic is not to be wielded lightly

[geode-crystal]

Not just Magical Exhaustion or that amazing Magic Euphoria post but a Secret Third Thing

So much pent up magic inside Whumpee that they just have to let it out or they'll combust. Maybe literally.

[misswynters]

Royal Harbinger

featuring. ekko x princess! reader

Hailing from the Grand Kirzean Empire, you were a princess. The only one wielding the blood technomagic abilities. Having such powerful abilities yet you are one of the most sweetest person, ekko has ever bet.

Glittering starlight pierced through the thick smog that veiled Zaun, casting faint halos of silver over the jagged metal and broken cobblestone streets. Neon lights pulsed faintly from signs above cluttered alleyways, their buzzing hum blending into the mechanical symphony of the Undercity. Amid the chaos, there stood a figure who seemed so out of place it was almost comical—wrapped in delicate silks and adorned with intricate, glowing lines of red that shimmered faintly with every step.

You, a princess of the a Grand Empire, wielder of forbidden blood technomagic, and to Ekko, someone who had no business wandering these parts.

Perched atop a railing on one of Zaun’s crumbling platforms, Ekko crossed his arms as he watched you. At first glance, you were every bit the image of innocence. That soft smile you offered the street urchins as you handed them what little supplies you’d brought from above. The way your delicate hands caressed the head of a stray Zaunite mutt, soothing its bony frame. Your voice, lilting like a melody, apologizing for taking up space in an already-crowded alley.

It didn’t make sense.

“Hey,” Ekko called from above, leaping down to land lightly on his feet a few steps away from you. “What are you doing here? This place isn’t exactly royal palace material, Princess.”

Your head turned, the faint light catching your gentle features. “Oh, Hi Ekko! I was just… exploring.”

“Exploring?” He raised an eyebrow, his tone carrying an edge of disbelief. “Kirze’s finest blood mage is just out here sightseeing?”

The smile on your lips didn’t falter, though your fingers twitched at the mention of blood magic. “I needed to see this place for myself. You’ve told me so much about Zaun… I couldn’t stay away.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, glancing around. “Zaun isn’t exactly a tourist spot. Especially for someone like you. People see those glowing lines on your arms? They’ll think you’re carrying something valuable and won’t ask before taking it.”

You tilted your head, the light in your eyes curious rather than offended. “Is that why you’ve been following me for the past hour?”

His composure faltered, and he scratched the back of his neck. “Maybe.”

“That’s sweet of you,” you said softly, your gaze dropping to the cobblestones. “But you don’t have to protect me, Ekko. I can handle myself.”

“Yeah, sure,” he scoffed. “Handle yourself like when that drunk guy in the bar tried to grab your hand last week, and you just smiled at him like he was your best friend?”

Your laugh was soft. “I didn’t want to cause a scene.”

“You’re too nice,” he muttered, running a hand down his face. “You’re in Zaun now. Being nice gets you hurt.”

But even as he said it, something about your presence made the buzzing tension in his chest loosen. Maybe it was the way you didn’t flinch at the harshness of his words, or the way your kindness didn’t feel forced. It wasn’t fake or performative—it just was.

Before he could say more, a low growl rumbled from a nearby alley. Ekko tensed, his hand instinctively reaching for the bat strapped to his back. Two figures emerged from the shadows, their faces obscured by bandanas, their postures predatory.

“See?” Ekko muttered, stepping in front of you. “This is exactly what I’m talking about.”

The larger of the two men chuckled, his voice gravelly. “A couple of lost little birds, eh? Let’s see what you’re hidin'.”

Ekko’s grip tightened on his bat, his stance shifting. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Oh, well we do,” the smaller man sneered, pulling a knife from his belt.

Before Ekko could spring into action, a faint crimson glow bathed the alley. The air grew heavy, almost suffocating, as the markings on your skin flared to life. The metallic scent of blood hung in the air, and the two men froze, their bravado crumbling as their bodies seized up, limbs locking unnaturally.

Ekko turned, his jaw slack as he watched you step forward, your hand raised delicately. The men’s weapons clattered to the ground, and with a flick of your wrist, they crumpled, gasping for breath but unharmed.

“Leave,” you said, your voice calm but commanding, as if the very air bent to your will. The men scrambled to their feet and disappeared into the shadows without a second glance. The glow faded from your body as you turned back to Ekko, your serene smile returning as though nothing had happened. “See? I told you I could handle myself.”

He stared at you, his bat still half-raised. “What the hell was that?”

“Blood technomagic,” you said simply, brushing an invisible speck of dust from your sleeve. “It’s a bit… intimidating, I know. I don’t like using it unless I have to.”

“Intimidating?” he repeated, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief. “You just turned two full-grown men into rag dolls without breaking a sweat.”

You shrugged, your smile faltering slightly. “I don’t want people to see me as a monster. That’s why I try to be kind—to balance it out.”

“Balance it out?” Ekko stepped closer, his eyes searching yours. “You’re not a monster, Firefly. You just saved both our asses.”

The nickname caught you off guard, your cheeks warming as you looked away. “You don’t have to call me that.”

“Uh! Yeah, I do,” he said, his tone softening. “You’re out here lighting up Zaun like no one else can.” Silence stretched between you for a moment.

“Come on,” Ekko said finally, offering you his hand. “Let’s get out of here before more trouble shows up.”

You hesitated, glancing down at his outstretched hand. Despite the power coursing through your veins, the ability to command life and death with a flick of your wrist, something about the gesture made you feel vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to.

But then you took his hand, his grip warm and steady, and for the first time in a long while, you felt safe with him. As he led you through the winding streets of Zaun, he glanced back at you with a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “You know, Firefly, you’re full of surprises.”

“Jeez! You’re full of compliments,” you teased, your voice light despite the lingering weight in your chest.

“Do i?, or do you just deserve all the praise one can get.” he shot back, his grin widening.

. . .

Oh, how you wished that it was just the end. But it wasnt, not in a place like this. Soon after both smoke and ash swirled in the air, a haze of chaos and destruction painted Zaun’s underbelly in muted tones of gray and orange. Shattered pipes hissed steam into the atmosphere, nearly drowned out by the growing fires. The air was thick with tension, each explosion sending shockwaves through the cracked streets.

Amid the wreckage, Ekko’s heart raced as he sprinted through the winding alleys. His boots echoed sharply against the metal ground, his bat swinging at his side as his thoughts churned. Where are you?

He had only taken his eyes off you for a second, just one second. He thought you’d be right behind him as the bombs started going off, but when he turned, you were gone. He didn’t see the men closing in on you until it was too late.

Ekko gritted his teeth, his frustration mounting. He had heard of the Empire you were raised in and its unparalleled mastery of technomagic. But meeting you: sweet, kind, and carrying an unfathomable power, had shattered all his assumptions. You weren’t just a mage but a princess as well. But to him, you were simply you. His light in the dark. And now you were in danger. Seemingly.

When you woke, the metallic tang of blood clung to the air. The room was dim, lit only by the faint red glow of the bindings around your wrists. Your gown, once pristine and clean was dirty by the scuffle, and your heart pounded with a mixture of fear and adrenaline.

“Stay calm,” you whispered to yourself, your voice soft, barely audible.

A group of men stood a few feet away, speaking in low voices. Their uniforms were unmarked, and their expressions betrayed no fear as they glanced at you.

“They doesn’t look like much,” one of them sneered. “For someone called the 'Royal Vermilion of Chaos', I expected… more.”

“It’s a stupid nickname at that” someone else said, though you couldn’t see them.

You flinched inwardly but forced yourself to remain composed. “I don’t suppose you’d let me go if I said please?” you asked, your tone almost playful despite the trembling in your hands.

“Cute,” another said with a scoff as his hand cupped your face. “But we know what you are. What you’re capable of. Better to keep you tied up.”

Your smile faltered slightly as your blood hummed beneath your skin, an ever-present pulse of magic just waiting to be unleashed. You had always been careful, never letting your power consume you. But now, fear began to stir something unstable.

Ekko burst into the place like a storm, his bat taking down the first guard before the man could even draw his weapon. The second came at him with a blade, but Ekko ducked and swung upward, sending the man sprawling.

“Where is they?!” he growled, his voice echoing through the metallic halls.

The third guard hesitated, and Ekko pressed the bat against his chest. “Talk, or you won’t have the chance to regret it.”

“Down the hall,” the guard stammered, eyes wide. “In the main chamber!”

Ekko didn’t wait for anything else. He tore through the hallway, his chest tightening with every step.

The explosion was deafening. The bindings around your wrists melted away as your magic surged to life. Crimson veins glowed beneath your skin, and with a single wave of your hand, the room erupted in chaos. The men who had mocked you moments before were now scrambling, their weapons useless against the tidal wave of energy that lashed out.

Walls were cracked, the ceiling shuddered, and the air itself seemed to bend to your will. But as your power spiraled, a sharp pain shot through your arm. You looked down to see a jagged cut along your forearm, blood dripping onto the floor. The sight steadied you. Taking a deep breath, you channeled the magic inward, watching as the blood wove itself back into your skin. The wound closed, leaving only a faint scar that glimmered for a moment before fading. When the door burst open, you turned, your energy still crackling around you like a storm.

“Firefly!” Ekko’s voice broke through the chaos, and for a moment, you hesitated.

His eyes darted across the room, taking in the destroyed walls, the unconscious bodies, and you, standing at the center of it all. Your gown was soaked in blood, and your face bore streaks of crimson, but you were alive.

“Hi,” you whispered, relief flooding your voice.

In an instant, he was in front of you, his hands cupping your face. His thumbs brushed against the bloodstains on your cheeks, his eyes filled with worry. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” you said softly, a shaky smile forming. “But I think you should ask them if they’re okay.” You gestured to the men sprawled across the floor.

Ekko’s lips twitched, a short, breathless laugh escaping him. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if afraid you might disappear. “Y’know I was so scared,” he murmured into your hair, his voice cracking.

You hugged him back, your fingers curling into his jacket. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean for it to get this bad.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze intense. “This isn’t your fault. None of it is.”

You met his eyes, the tension slowly ebbing away as his warmth grounded you. For a moment, the chaos around you faded, leaving only the two of you.

“That was incredible, y’know?” he said, a teasing grin forming.

You let out a soft laugh, the sound light and genuine. “I’ll take that as one of your compliments.”

Ekko shook his head, his grin widening. “Come on, let’s get you out of here before you decide to redecorate the rest of Zaun.”

As you left the hideout, his arm stayed firmly around your shoulders, his presence a constant reassurance. Despite the destruction you had left behind, Ekko’s steady hand in yours made you feel like everything might just be okay.

Later, the two of you sat in the a garden. It was one of the few quiet, untouched spots in Zaun. Ekko couldn’t help but tease you. “So, Firefly,” he began, his tone playful. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “I wouldn’t hurt you, though.”

“I know,” he said, his voice softer now. “But next time, maybe warn me before you turn an entire room into a scene from a horror movie?”

You laughed, the sound bright and free, and Ekko felt his chest tighten. Despite everything, you were still you. His sweet, kind Firefly who somehow carried the weight of a mage’s power with grace. And as the neon lights of Zaun reflected in your eyes, Ekko leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I love you,” he said quietly, the words simple but sincere.

You smiled, leaning into him. “I love you too.” The two of you stayed at the garden until dawn. You were practically sleeping on his shoulder, exhausted from today, but he didn’t mind. Because he knew soon that you would have to leave, and god knows when he will see you again. So he wanted to cherish every moment he had with you.

taglist: @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @thesevi0lentdelights @chic-beyond-the-wall-oc-acct @celineandtulips @stuckinaoaktree @fxxvz @jadziulaa @luclue @1intrustivethoughts @finnsky666 @blkmystery @serena6728 @mvistl @kaedeprinz @alientee @ametheslime @turquoizxe @emforjin @ekkosh @tadomikiku @sugaaawaraaa @sunshiines-stuff @night-fall-moon @moonccakes @endedlover @autumn2534 @deathweapongirl @girlistrange @auraa @ilovesugurugeto69 @zwr1tx @bitchydragonparadisee @chewbrry @lashawna200 @xaydria @aliives @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @catsf0rlife707 @pixieswashere @adesum @sorrows-song @hearts4li @qualityearthquakes @honeyfewr @littlegrapejuice @potatointhedirt @comfortweeb

[roseandxanderfics]

“The River Runs quiet” - Legolas Greenleaf x shy!reader

Summary: The Fellowship fears your power—until you save them. But it’s Galadriel bowing to you that changes everything. Legolas? He never doubted you.

--------------

The Council of Elrond had been a gathering of voices, strong and sure, arguing over the fate of the Ring. But you had remained silent. Even as you were named among the Fellowship, you did not speak. Not when Aragorn clasped your shoulder in quiet approval. Not when Boromir questioned your presence with a skeptical glance. Not even when Gandalf, who had known you since childhood, placed a hand on your arm in gentle reassurance.

You were powerful. They all knew that. But power did not make you bold.

So when the journey began, you kept to the back of the group, your presence like a shadow. You listened, observed, but rarely spoke. And in those first days, the only one who truly noticed you was Legolas.

Legolas Noticed Everything.

He was used to silence, to the language of movement rather than words. And in you, he saw an unease he understood. The way your fingers twitched when attention lingered too long. The way you hesitated before stepping forward, even when the Fellowship needed your strength. He saw it all.

And when you least expected it, he spoke to you.

“You walk lightly,” he murmured one evening as you sat a little apart from the others, hands curled around a small piece of lembas you weren’t even eating. “For one of great power.”

You flinched, barely noticeable, but he caught it. You hadn’t expected him to speak to you—not when the others kept their distance, unsure what to make of you.

“I do not think I am great,” you admitted softly. “Only… different.”

He tilted his head, studying you the way only an Elf could. “Different is not lesser.”

You swallowed, unsure how to respond. Your magic was strong, unpredictable. It came in bursts, overwhelming when you lost control. That was why you hesitated. Why you kept yourself small. But Legolas… he did not seem afraid of you.

Over the days, he sought you out, never pressing, never demanding. Just existing beside you. When Aragorn and Gandalf led discussions, he stood near. When you lingered at the back, he matched your pace.

And when the Fellowship fought, he watched.

You were quick, graceful, but hesitant. Even as you sent waves of force against enemies, even as shadows curled at your fingertips, your own power startled you. The others marveled at it, but Legolas understood your uncertainty.

One night, as the Fellowship rested near the edges of Hollin, he found you apart from the group again, staring at your hands.

“What troubles you?”

You exhaled shakily. “I don’t want to lose control.”

Legolas crouched beside you, his voice quiet but firm. “Control is not silence.”

You looked at him then, really looked, and found no fear in his gaze. No wariness. Only patience.

“I have seen many things,” he continued. “Many warriors who wielded strength, and many who feared their own power. You are not the first. But you are the gentlest.”

You flushed. “That is not a strength.”

He smiled—small, fleeting, but real. “It is. Strength is not always fire and fury. Sometimes, it is the patience to hold power back.”

Something in your chest tightened. No one had ever told you that before.

That night, as the Fellowship slept, you sat beside Legolas instead of apart. And though no words passed between you, something settled in your heart.

You were different. But perhaps, with time, you could be something more.

And Legolas, quiet and watchful, would be there to remind you.

—

The Misty Mountains had been cruel. Snow and stone conspired against the Fellowship, forcing them down into the dark path of Moria.

You felt it before the others did. A whisper in the air, something stirring in the black water outside the great stone doors. It pressed against your mind, a weight of something watching.

Legolas noticed your sudden stillness. “What is it?” he murmured, stepping closer.

You opened your mouth to answer—but then the water moved.

A deep, shuddering ripple spread across the surface of the lake, and then a great roar split the air.

The Watcher in the Water rose.

Tentacles lashed out, massive and glistening, slamming into the rocks as the Fellowship scrambled back. Frodo barely had time to react before one wrapped around his leg, yanking him into the air.

Chaos erupted. Aragorn and Boromir swung their swords, hacking at the creature’s limbs. Legolas had already loosed two arrows, both striking true, but the beast did not stop. More tentacles surged from the depths, slamming into the ground, cracking the stone.

Panic clutched your throat.

They would not be enough.

Your heart pounded as you stepped forward, the fear in your chest twisting into something else—something older. The world around you dimmed, the frantic shouts of the Fellowship fading beneath the slow, rhythmic pulse of your own blood.

Water.

You could feel it, surging, restless, shifting. It called to you, and for the first time, you did not hold back.

You let go.

The air around you shimmered. The river answered.

With a single motion, you raised your hands—and the Watcher’s tentacles stopped.

A deep, guttural sound rumbled from the creature’s maw as an unseen force ripped at it, dragging it backwards. The water surged unnaturally, waves rising and twisting like unseen hands had seized them.

The Fellowship stumbled back in shock as the great beast screamed.

With an effortless flick of your wrist, the waves collapsed in on the creature, sending it spiraling into the depths. The lake churned violently, swallowing the Watcher whole. Then, as quickly as it had risen, the water stilled.

The silence was deafening.

The others were staring at you.

Frodo gasped for breath where Boromir had pulled him to safety. Gandalf’s eyes gleamed with something unreadable. Aragorn, sword still drawn, slowly lowered it.

And Legolas—Legolas was watching you with something deeper than shock.

You exhaled, your body trembling from the force of what you had done. For once, you did not feel fear. You felt steady.

Gandalf broke the silence first. “Well,” he murmured, stroking his beard, “that was unexpected.”

Boromir let out a breathless laugh. “That is an understatement.”

Your fingers curled slightly, uncertain. Would they fear you now? Would this change how they saw you?

But then Legolas stepped forward, his expression unreadable—until he spoke.

“You are the river,” he said softly, “calm until it chooses to move.”

Your breath hitched.

There was no fear in his gaze. Only understanding.

The stone doors loomed behind you, and Gandalf ushered the others inside, but Legolas lingered beside you for just a moment longer.

“I knew you were powerful,” he murmured, low enough for only you to hear. “But I do not think you know just how much.”

You swallowed, heart pounding—but this time, it was not from fear.

For the first time, you thought maybe he was right.

And you weren’t so afraid to find out.

—

The mines of Moria swallowed the Fellowship in darkness. The cold stone walls pressed close, and the air was thick with the weight of ages. But none of it felt as heavy as the silence that followed you.

You had saved them. You had done what no blade, no arrow, no strength of man or dwarf could do. You had bent the river to your will, cast out the Watcher as if it were nothing but a ripple in the tide.

And now, the others didn’t know what to make of you.

Boromir’s glances were wary, though not unkind. Gimli muttered under his breath, something about unnatural power. Frodo, at least, only looked at you with awe, his small hands gripping the Ring as if he half-expected you to snatch it away.

Even Gandalf, wise and knowing, had not spoken to you about it. Not yet.

You walked behind the others, lingering in the shadows, hands curled tight at your sides. You could still feel the pull of the water, the way it had listened to you.

It had never obeyed you like that before.

You didn’t hear him approach, but you weren’t surprised when Legolas spoke.

“You are troubled.”

You glanced at him. He walked beside you easily, as if he had always been there, golden hair a faint glimmer in the dim torchlight.

“I…” You hesitated, fingers flexing. “I don’t know what I did.”

He tilted his head slightly. “I think you do.”

You swallowed hard. “It was too much.”

Legolas was silent for a moment, then: “Was it?”

You blinked at him, startled.

“You did not lash out in anger,” he continued. “You did not lose yourself in the power. You saved us.” His voice was steady, sure. “There was no cruelty in what you did. No recklessness. You were precise.”

You shook your head. “But what if—”

“You did not,” he interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. “And that is what matters.”

Your throat tightened. No one had said it so simply before.

Legolas studied you carefully, his sharp Elven eyes searching your face. “Does it frighten you?”

You almost said yes. But when you opened your mouth, the words stuck.

Did it?

For so long, you had feared what you could do. What might happen if you let go. If you stopped holding yourself back.

But back at the lake, it hadn’t been fear that guided you. It had been clarity.

You looked down at your hands. “I don’t know.”

Legolas considered this, then nodded. “That is an honest answer.”

You exhaled shakily. “The others… they look at me differently now.”

“They do not understand.” He glanced ahead at the Fellowship, his expression unreadable. “Many fear what they cannot.”

You bit your lip. “Do you?”

His answer was immediate. “No.”

Something in your chest eased.

“You have power,” Legolas said, softer now. “But power does not make you dangerous. Fear does.” He met your gaze, unwavering. “And I do not think you are afraid of yourself anymore.”

Your breath hitched. He was right. It wasn’t fear that sat in your chest now—it was something else. Something quieter.

Acceptance.

You looked ahead at the Fellowship, at the shadows of Moria stretching before you. There was still much to face. You were still uncertain.

But for the first time, you did not feel small.

Legolas walked beside you, steady as ever. And somehow, you knew he always would.

—

Lothlórien was not of this world.

The air shimmered with a quiet power, something older than words. The Fellowship moved carefully beneath the golden leaves, their footsteps soft on the winding paths. Even Gimli, reluctant as he had been to enter an Elven realm, had fallen into an uneasy silence.

And you?

You felt the land. The trees whispered of ages past, the river hummed beneath its surface, and for the first time since Moria, something inside you settled.

The others still watched you—less wary than before, but uncertain. Even after you had saved them, the weight of your power still lingered between you. They did not fear you, not exactly. But they did not yet understand you.

But Galadriel did.

She stood before you, luminous in the twilight, her presence filling the glade without effort. When her gaze passed over the Fellowship, each member tensed—except for you.

Because when her eyes met yours, there was no hesitation.

There was recognition.

The Fellowship watched as she stepped toward you, her movements fluid as water. And then—before you could even think to bow—she did.

A slow, graceful incline of her head. A gesture of respect.

Murmurs rippled through the group. You felt their stares, their quiet disbelief. But Galadriel paid them no mind.

“Child of the river,” she murmured, her voice like a song, “you have come far.”

Your throat tightened. You had never spoken to her before, but somehow, she knew you. Knew what you had done, what you were.

“I—” You hesitated, glancing at the Fellowship, then back at her. “I only did what was necessary.”

A faint smile touched her lips. “And yet, few could do what you have done.”

Her eyes flickered toward Legolas—who stood at your side, silent but watchful—then back to you. “You are no danger to them,” she said, as if she had plucked the very thought from your mind. “Only to those who would seek to harm them.”

The tension in your chest loosened.

She turned then, addressing the others. “Your companion is strong, but strength alone is not what makes her worthy of your trust.” Her gaze swept over them, quiet and knowing. “It is her kindness. Her restraint.”

Boromir looked down, as if ashamed of his previous doubts. Frodo’s small shoulders straightened. Aragorn inclined his head, thoughtful. Even Gimli muttered something under his breath, though it was not unkind.

And Legolas…

He had never needed convincing.

Galadriel turned back to you, her voice softer now. “Do not fear your nature, child. The river does not ask permission to flow. Neither should you.”

Something inside you cracked open. A quiet understanding.

When she turned to leave, you bowed—deeply, fully, pressing a hand over your heart.

She smiled.

And for the first time since Moria, the weight between you and the Fellowship was gone.

—

Lothlórien had softened something in the Fellowship.

After Galadriel’s words, the air between you and the others felt lighter. The glances they gave you were no longer edged with uncertainty. Boromir no longer seemed wary. Frodo no longer watched you as if you might take the burden from him. Even Gimli—gruff as ever—had given you a nod when you passed him by the silver-lit stream.

And Legolas?

He had always looked at you without fear. But now, there was something else in his gaze. Something you could not yet name.

The Fellowship remained in Caras Galadhon for several days, resting beneath the golden boughs, letting the weariness of Moria fade. You spent much of that time by the river’s edge, listening to the quiet hum of the water. It was the only thing that had ever made sense to you.

You heard him approach before he spoke.

“You belong here.”

Legolas stood a few feet away, his bow slung over his shoulder, his fair features illuminated by the soft glow of the trees. He did not say it like a question.

You smiled faintly, trailing your fingers through the water. “Perhaps.”

He stepped closer, lowering himself beside you, his keen eyes watching your movements. “Galadriel’s words have settled your heart.”

You exhaled, letting the cool water ripple against your skin. “I think… I feared myself more than they ever did.”

Legolas tilted his head slightly. “And now?”

You glanced at him. “I think I was always meant to be this way.”

His lips curved, the softest hint of approval in his expression. “I knew that before you did.”

Your breath caught. The air between you was different now—warmer, charged with something neither of you had spoken aloud.

You turned back to the river, letting the silence settle comfortably between you. “The others no longer seem uneasy.”

“They trust you now,” he said simply. “It only took the Lady of the Wood bowing to you for them to open their eyes.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “I hope that isn’t the only reason.”

“It is not.”

His voice was steady, sure.

You looked at him again, meeting his gaze fully this time. His blue eyes held something deep—something steady and unmoving, like the roots of an ancient tree.

He reached out then, so gently it sent a shiver through you. His fingers brushed your wrist, where the water still clung to your skin. “You are like the river,” he murmured, “always moving, always changing. But no matter where you go, you are yourself.”

Something in your chest tightened.

Legolas had always seen you—not just your power, not just your uncertainty. But you.

And in that moment, sitting by the silver waters of Lothlórien, you realized you were no longer afraid.

Not of yourself.

Not of what you could become.

And especially not of the way Legolas looked at you, as if you were something endless.

[urstruly-ghst]

a fairytale moment could've occurred

in which sebek laments the fact he'll probably never let the walls he put between you two. forever will you be his fairytale just out of reach.

author's note: sebek being so soft is something i need to see

taglist: @tsubaki3192

How cruel it is, Sebek notes, when you both share the same table drinking coffee. He wasn’t a fan of the bitter taste it leaves, but here he is, brewing a pot and sharing his notes with you. It was an uncharacteristically quiet study session.

The smoke from the boiling pot brought Sebek a new sense of calm; he found a new tolerance to black coffee. You were on the other end of the boiling coffee pot, eyes scanning the notes you kindly asked for Sebek. He finds it endearing that you sought his advice. After all, he was fairly brutal with your magicless abilities. Your tired eyes keep scrolling; the silence envelops you two, and his green eyes scan you.

“Human, you have been staring at the same page for a while,” Sebek said sharply. You jolt, and Sebek felt his heart flutter at your flustered apology. You usually ask for others’ help, but all seem to be busy. Finding a new friendship with the fae, you asked for his assistance. Oddly enough, it was more productive than any study session with your other friends. 

“Sorry. It’s just… The magic aspect to this quiz is making my head ache.” You sighed and glared at the notes. Sebek wanted to laugh, reach for your hand, comfort you, and gently guide you. But he can’t.

“Heh. Of course, you don’t. You never wielded magic,” Sebek said bluntly, but it wasn’t an insult. It was a fact. You giggled and nodded, agreeing with him. How could you be so casual around him? He asks as he sees how your smile reaches your eyes and how you throw your head back as if he just said the world’s greatest joke.

“Why are you laughing? Am I telling a joke? Human!” Sebek said flusteredly as you shook and coughed lightly. You breathed in and flashed him a smile. Oh, Sevens. Don’t smile at him like that. He needed to catch his breath, he grabbed his coffee mug and tried to hide his emotions.

“Nothing.” You smile and look back at the notes. You fell back into the silence that comforts him. He peeked from the smoke of the coffee. He sought your expressions. Sebek can’t help but feel like the world mocks his conflicted feelings.

Entering his dorm, he expected to do what he did best: training. He planned to review his routines, but his feet dragged him to his desk. The desk was neat, with a pen, notebook, and a few notepads. It wasn’t time to study; he had just studied with you. But here he is, picking up the pen and paper.

“What am I doing?” He mumbled, but his hand didn’t stop. It went onto the paper as if your name was written on autopilot. Seeing your name in his handwriting was a stomach-churning feeling; it felt exhilarating, and it felt so right.

“Dear, [Name]

What have you done to me? Is there some force you discovered? Have you managed to wield magic when you claim not to? This feeling is unbecoming of me; it's all you. With every detail I miss and every detail I catch, they lead back to you.

Is this what friendship does to you? Silver and I’s friendship never plagued my thoughts with this feeling. I have so many questions, Prefect [Name], and I don’t know if I am ready to ask you this. Is the friendship we have–”

Sebek gasped as the words his mind never dared to give second thought were on the paper. The words looking back at him made the feeling all the more real. It wasn’t as horrifying to admit it, Sebek thought. If anything, it felt liberating. He stared at the words, and his heart pounded. This feeling– it’s new and 

“Exhausting,” Sebek yawned. He was surprised when he felt fatigued and was usually willing to make himself work more. He'd munch on some random confectionary if he needed to break. However, he found himself hopping on his bed and lying there to do nothing but stare. What sorcery did you put on him when you were both studying?

“Foolish thoughts…” Sebek mumbled, irritated at everything that seemed to diminish his well-built character, but there was also a tiny whisper in the back of his mind. Was this the devotion and love he heard from his mother? Was this the pining he once read in the novels passed onto him?

The next day, he didn’t see a peep from you. Then again, you rarely share a class on certain days, so you were expected not to cross paths. Amidst the logic, he felt disappointed. Why is he unhappy? There was a reason and an already logical route to follow, but why was his eyes searching for you in a sea of students?

“Dear, Prefect [Name],

Do I have to always look out for you? My eyes search for you as if you are my young master. How dare you disrupt my duties and time with your rude interruptions?”

Sebek once more was hunched over his desk as the day concluded. He was writing as if he were speaking to you. The pen in his hand was on the verge of breaking because Sebek gripped it with frustration. He can’t handle that he’s in a downward spiral with how he sees you. 

Is there a way for you to be by my side? A selfish request, isn’t it? We barely have started our journey as students, yet I ask you to commit by my side. What foolish ramblings am I having? Prefect, give me a reason not to search for you. Give me a reason so my heart can rest.”

Sebek grew to find this hobby of writing letters before he retired for the night therapeutic. In the daytime, you two will remain the same. By the time you both part ways, Sebek writes whatever emotion and longings he wishes he dared to say. At each letter, he signs them off, with a particular choice of words, “Ever yours.”

How can he be yours when his letters never were sent? It was addressed to you, but they only stay locked in his desk drawers. Sometimes, if it was a particularly strongly worded letter, he dumps it quickly to the fire. Sebek would watch the embers carry his words to ashes, ensuring he’d never say it out loud. He was deathly afraid that the moment he spoke up and revealed who he was beyond the loud Malleus fanatic, Sebek would break under the reality that you would not react to how he wanted.

The next day, you and Sebek were talking once more. It was an impulse to go and see the Equestrian Club, but you opted to watch when your other friends were dragged somewhere else. Grim was also dragged somewhere, so you were left to use your own devices. As you both step onto the patch of grass, you feel at peace. You noticed that spending more time with Sebek was unusually fun and insightful, and he wasn’t a bore.

“Ah, Sebek. Brought in a friend?” Silver asked, smiling softly at you and nodding at his comrade. You wave and nod to his question. Sebek, on the other hand, huffs and shakes his head.

“Don’t be ridiculous. They just tagged along. Plus, does it bother you that I have a friend?” Sebek watched you laugh every time his bluntness showed, and he remembered your choice of words: “What a diva,” how silly can you be?

Sebek looked confused and tilted his head. Was this another human thing he needed to learn? All he remembers was how you now affectionately called him “My diva.” He remembered flaring up and shaking his head, refusing that you call him such ridiculous names. Sebek’s name must be honored!

But, how come his head reeled back as he remembered you used “my,” as if you brandished him as yours alone? He felt that endearment burn his soul. As he looked at the horses, he had an idea. Was it thoroughly planned? No, but you and your influence made him think this is brilliant.

“Hop on,” Sebek said as he motioned to a calmer horse (he was not aware why the horses were startled by him). You look at him and laugh. He blushed and asked shyly. “Not diva behavior?” 

You looked at him and laughed, the kind of laugh that would hurt your stomach, “No, diva. But, hey, you better catch me when I fall.” You said as you took the offer. Sebek nodded and promised,

“I will. I’ll catch you.”

—

“Dear, Prefect,

I meant what I said. I will catch you when you fall. Lending you the horse I would ride, chatting idly, and being with you… It brought a better version of my days here at Sage Island. While I still find my young master’s presence the main reason I stay and better myself, your presence became a new addition to my list of reasons to be better.

Don’t fret about my attitude and views because you altered it. For whatever reason, my heart foolishly follows your whims. You don’t know how much I detest this feeling. This is absurd; it is the same foolish tale my mother followed. As a child, I never understood, but now, with the knowledge that my heart burns… I came to know that reckless feeling.

You don’t need to know how much I wish to be more kind. But for now, I can’t. I shall remind you that you are human, and I am a fae. However, when the time comes when my walls crumble at your feet, please catch me too.

Catch me like how I will catch you.

Ever yours,

The “Diva”

[angelofthenight01]

A first step to believe

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Hey, guys! So, I'm new here and I've decided to start posting some short stories I wrote of characters I like. I hope you enjoy!

genre: fluff || warnings: none

You had always been a quiet observer in the background, preferring to stay out of the limelight, especially with someone as powerful and captivating as Wanda Maximoff around. You worked with her on several occasions in the Avengers compound—whether it was helping with strategy or assisting in the tech department—but you never quite felt like you belonged in her world.

She was magic and mystery incarnate. Her powers, her strength, her vulnerability... all tangled up in that red aura that surrounded her. You, on the other hand, were just... you. A normal human with a special skill set, not even close to the god-like powers Wanda wielded.

But something had changed over the last few weeks. You’d caught her eyes a few times—just for a brief moment—and there was something there. Something soft. Something that hinted at a longing you couldn’t quite interpret.

It started on one particularly quiet evening in the compound. The rest of the team had scattered for some downtime, and you found yourself in the kitchen, making tea to unwind. Your hands trembled slightly from the long day of troubleshooting tech issues, and you were looking forward to a peaceful moment alone.

But as you poured the hot water into your mug, the door creaked open.

“Mind if I join you?” Wanda’s voice was soft, a lilting accent tinged with something that made your heart skip a beat.

“Of course,” you said, offering a small smile. “I was just about to make some tea.”

She stepped into the room, a flicker of hesitation passing over her features. Her eyes—those impossibly deep, captivating eyes—met yours. You could see the exhaustion in her posture, the weight of the past few missions still lingering on her.

“You look like you could use a moment,” you added, hoping she wouldn’t take it the wrong way.

She hesitated, and for a second, you thought she might decline and retreat to the solitude she so often sought. Instead, she gave you a small smile and nodded. “I could use the company.”

You poured her a cup and passed it over, your fingers brushing for a brief moment. Wanda’s gaze lingered on your hand, and then she met your eyes again, her smile softening just a bit. There was an unspoken connection between you, something that had only grown stronger with time.

The silence between you two was comfortable, not awkward. You both sipped your tea, and you found yourself slowly relaxing in her presence.

“I’ve been thinking,” Wanda said suddenly, her voice low. “About... about everything. All the things I’ve done. The things I can do.”

You swallowed, trying to keep the nervous flutter in your chest from taking over. You knew exactly what she meant. Her powers, her trauma, her inner turmoil. It had been a lot for her to bear, especially after everything she had gone through with the Mind Stone, and the aftermath of everything that happened with Vision.

“You’ve been through a lot,” you said gently, meeting her gaze. “But that doesn’t define you, Wanda. You’re so much more than the pain and the power.”

Wanda’s lips parted as though she were about to say something, but she stopped herself. Her gaze drifted away for a moment before returning to you, this time with a look that was almost unreadable.

“I’m not sure I can believe that,” she whispered.

You set your cup down and took a step closer. “You don’t have to believe it all at once. But I do.”

Her breath caught in her throat. The air between you was thick with something unspoken, something that both of you seemed afraid to give voice to. It was like a thread, fragile and delicate, waiting to be pulled. You could feel her uncertainty, but you also felt the quiet yearning in her eyes.

Slowly, you reached out, your hand resting lightly on her arm. She tensed at the touch, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you gave her a reassuring smile.

“I’m here for you,” you said, voice steady, but soft. “Whatever you need.”

Wanda’s eyes softened as she looked at you, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. The world outside the compound, with all its dangers and distractions, faded away. It was just the two of you, standing in the quiet kitchen, surrounded by the warmth of the tea and the gentle hum of the compound around you.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

You stepped even closer, your heart hammering now. “You don’t have to have it all figured out. We can figure it out together.”

Wanda looked at you, really looked at you, as though seeing you for the first time. And in that moment, you knew something had shifted between you both.

The tension in the air seemed to crackle with possibility. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she leaned in. Your breath caught in your throat as her lips brushed lightly against yours.

It was soft. Simple. Tentative, even. But it was enough to send a shock of warmth through your entire body.

When she pulled away, her eyes were full of wonder and uncertainty. “Are you sure about this?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You cupped her face gently in your hands, your thumb brushing across her cheekbone. “I’m sure.”

And for the first time in a long while, Wanda allowed herself to believe it, too.

[asharaks]

@vigilskept SAY NO MORE @ikarons and i have GOT you

So the thesis here is that between Leliana, Cassandra, and Justinia, we have a sort of holy trinity of femininity, the three faces of womanhood in Thedas, with femininity and womanhood being defined in relation to Andraste: she’s the platonic ideal of a woman.

First: Cassandra, as the public-facing one. She’s the most Respectable, noble-born, pious, earthly; she takes her permission to fight and command from her association with both divinity and nobility, both structures in Thedas that demand and expect “purity” of women, as an associated product of femininity. Her violence is extremely tightly controlled — she isn’t allowed to be undisciplined, sloppy, and emotional (if she has a strong negative opinion of you, she gets drunk and yells at you; this is treated as an abject failure of hers), and she’s never out of control. Her violence is sanctioned by her faith and her association with the chantry, and thus is sanctified as something holy, and not to be treated lightly; she’s the embodiment of Andraste’s strength, and she is very much still required to conform to femininity in other ways. She loves music, art, flowers, she’s a sap at heart, she reads cheesy romance novels and wears makeup; she expects to be wooed, to be the passive partner in a courtship, to be the desirable one — all things traditionally associated with femininity. Again, she’s allowed the remit of violence, but only as an extension of her spirituality, and the player is constantly reminded of her femininity.

Leliana in Inquisition represents the “darker” aspects of femininity that white people love to associate with womanhood; she’s more mysterious, angrier, secretive, privy to knowledge no-one else is. She’s manipulative, and ruthless, and subtle: her power doesn’t come from martial prowess or spirituality but from knowledge. There’s a bit of the Thedas version of the Madonna-Whore complex here (shoutout to @gyrovagi for the Andraste-Witch terminology), with Leliana taking the part of the Witch to Cass’s Andraste; she’s darker, scarier, more sexual, more menacing. She twists the things traditionally associated with Andraste’s femininity (music, birds, flowers) into weapons (her bard song, poisons, the ravens) in a mirror of Cassandra’s Andrastian associations.

This in contrast to her role in Origins, where she very much played the nice devout Andrastian girl to Morrigan’s occultism; Leliana is able to switch, her presentation fluid in this way specifically because she’s not a mage, and thus has the freedom to move between presentations in a way a mage — strictly feminised in a derogatory way — can’t. The type of femininity (the “good” kind, the “pure” kind) on that side of the balance is utterly inaccessible to anyone with magic, but Leliana’s able to move between them as she moves through life, and to use that perception of virtue as a tool to suit her needs. This is very much a costume she can take off and put on, playing different cards in different situations (see her spymaster self in the rookery vs the way she presents and behaves at the Winter Palace), and one she is able to wield effectively and safely because of her position: as a non-mage acting in service of the Maker (in DAO) or a representation of Andraste (DAI). 

Finally, Justinia: the spiritual leader, the untouchable, the “pure”, the divine face of Andraste that’s allowed to be inaccessible. Her age grants her this freedom, as does the way she’s never really seen on screen; she’s not a romance option, she’s not a companion or a character, she’s a symbol you never truly meet, and she’s never granted characterisation outside of her role as the Divine. Her authority as a woman is tied into this spirituality —- the reason it’s okay for her to be in this position of power is that she’s unmarried, childless, undesirable, and her position feeds into her undesirability in an endless loop. Just like Andraste, she’s more an idea than a person, and an idea can’t perform gender Wrong.

Leliana and Cass are both very feminine figures, but neither of them take on spiritual roles; Cass is very much guided by chantry doctrine, but never creates it (if you make her divine, she is conservative, cautious, slow on progress); it’s important to note here that most, if not all, of the women in powerful positions both within and without the chantry appear to be largely conservative, but especially the ones who aren’t Chantry Sisters. Leliana is far more progressive than Cassandra, who is in a more masculinised role of Templar (and Cassandra is far more progressive than Meredith, in her role as Knight-Commander), and many of the higher-ups in the Chantry are talked about as conservatives and traditionalists in war table missions and ambient dialogue.

Leliana tends to view chantry teachings as suggestions (she is a reformer, but very much not a militant one) and distance herself from the position of priesthood, from Origins on. This, in combination with her perceived duality (Andraste-Witch dichotomy) is a double-edged sword; on the one hand, it works to her advantage that she is able to put on and take off the persona of Witch (in a way that is impossible for any mage — lots to say about Vivienne, and she deserves her own post, but particularly note how committed she is to people perceiving her as Intimidating and Frightening; she is forced to capitalise on the negative connotations of the Witch and try to use them as a base from which to gather power, because she is denied the opportunity to be perceived as ‘correctly’ feminine as a mage, but she simultaneously has to manage this perception through careful presentation because of the risk of tranquility or even execution being perceived as the Witch carries for her — unlike Leliana, she can’t step out of this role when it suits her, and unlike Leliana, the consequences for embodying it can be fatal) but on the other hand, those Darker aspects of her persona can be and are used against her; she’s accused of underhandedness, manipulativeness, accusations of deception and falsehood are thrown at her to discredit her role, and by extension, her power. The system is designed to support and uplift a very specific image of femininity, one defined by its relationship to spirituality, and anyone who steps outside of that gender binary is punished or discarded.

Both Leli and Cass distance themselves from traditional Thedas ideas of Womanhood, but they are both still notable as women in positions of unusual power, and their femininity and performance of gender is tied heavily to the ways they want to be perceived, which is in turn tied to the ways they want and reach for power, and the ways they use it when they have it.

[sofiemystique]

The After Effects of Gingerwort Tea

A little jealous Emmrich and fluff for ya.

Emmrich had been attempting to read the same page of his book for the last half hour but between his mind wandering on how Allette and Davrin's little picnic was going coupled with Johanna's incessant tittering and jibes, he was feeling the hint of a headache encroaching. With a resigned sigh he closed the book, Johanna snerking at him. Allette had told him of the picnic first, wanted to reassure him it was not romantic, it was a check in coupled with Antoine and Evka asking her to please make sure Davrin was okay. They had jaunted off to Arlathan before and it was no different than when she was with any other team member. When they had shared that kiss in the garden and she had reciprocated his feelings, he had never expected jealousy to also rear it's ugly head along side all the other emotions. Davrin was strapping, quite handsome, and very strong. He'd seen Allette carried in his arms as if she was nothing but a feather as he still wielded his sword. And Davrin had even patted him on the back one morning in the kitchens, congratulating Emmrich on getting the girl. Emmrich had sputtered out a thank you unsure if the warden had been prodding at him again or if it was sincere.

He shook his head. These thoughts were not conducive to any sort of peace of mind. And if there was going to be any sort of future with Rook, he needed to trust her. As a show of good faith he had helped Davrin prepare some truffle wort tea. Maybe he could brew some for his own personal observation and experiment, see if there was truly magical properties. It might help ease his mind until they returned.

The kettle was placed over the fire and Emmrich stood watching the flames, his mind still wandering into dangerous territory. "Focus Volkarin," Johanna's skull screeched at him with a cackle. "You're going to set yourself and the whole place on fire if you keep that up. Then I'll be left to deal with your ignorant, insufferable roommates."

With a growl Emmrich waved his hand, casting a silence ward over her. He couldn't hear her but the way the skull emanated a darker green hue and vibrated let him know she was most displeased. Good. Someone else needed to suffer alongside him. How long would they be gone? What if there were Venatori? Or an artifact that was misaligned and corrupting the fabrics….

Allette was strong and a very powerful mage in her own right. An impressively devout Mourn Watcher to for her time away from the order as well. She'd been more than adequate at managing problems as they arose. And Davrin was there with her. They would be perfectly fine.

But what if he kissed her?

Emmrich couldn't get the thought out of his head. The way her lips had been so soft, parting in an invitation for his tongue to lightly introduce itself to her own and stroke her mouth in gentle exploration. Maybe he should've been more aggressive, less docile. He could've held her waist a little tighter, put his hand up as if it was a necklace adorning her. Maybe that was how she liked things, they hadn't really had an opportunity to discuss that specific topic. Though she was not stingy with the little pecks and kisses she left on his cheek and mouth. And his lips had become quite familiar with the curve of her forehead.

The kettle whistled shrilly, though Emmrich was unable to hear it through the thick, gloomy thoughts torturing his mind. Instead of his arms wrapped around her, it was Davrin's muscled ones, him laughing in her ear as she giggled, cheeks flushing. Davrin's lips discovering the skin of her neck, trailing kisses down lower and lower…

"EMMRICH!?" the yell pulled Emmrich from the abyss he had been unceremoniously spiraling towards. Turning his head, he found Davrin standing in the entrance to his lab. "You…ok?" the warden questioned, his eyes dropping to Emmrich's hands and back up to his face, concern laced with fear was present in the dark eyes.

Emmrich realized his fists were balled and soft green wisps of magic. He suspected due to the stinging in his eyes that they were glowing green and Davrin, from the looks of the warden, was considering the possibility he was possessed. Breathing in slowly, trying to get the image of Davrin on top of Allette out of his mind, Emmrich blinked. "What's the matter?"

"It's Rook."

The world seemed to suddenly lack air. No longer was it Davrin's lips on her body, but gaping wounds, blood spilling out, her heartbeat going slower and slower still.

"She's fine Emmrich, she's just, ah," the warden rubbed his face, trying to figure out the best way to explain, "a little incapacitated."

Emmrich could only blink, confusion blooming on his face. "Do explain."

"The gingerwort tea you made. She was sensitive, but she insisted on drinking two cups. She's in her room, but I thought maybe you might want to check in on her. Especially with all the wisps flocking that way," Davrin quickly said.

More surprise and strange shock. "Wisps?"

Davrin turned and motioned for Emmrich to follow. Pulling the kettle from the fire before he followed the warden, Emmrich was not prepared for the site he beheld out in the library. Sure enough, there were dozens of wisps, flocking towards Allette's room, chittering giddily.

"Oh my," Emmrich murmured. They weren't malcontent or insidious in their formations, that was a relief. Instead, they were laughing, squealing with delight, as they trailed towards Rook's quarters. "Thank you Davrin. I will check on her."

Davrin clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You have fun with that." And the warden was walking down the library stairs, making a quick exit. A few straggling wisps followed Emmrich as he made his way down the hallway towards Rook's door. It was not fully shut, and though Emmrich gave a soft knock, he knew it wouldn't be heard given Rook's pealing laughter and the wisps chittering echoing.

Inside he didn't see Rook, but there was a glowing magic orb twirling in front of the fish tank - fish and wisps alike chasing it and Allette's pleased laughter filling the chamber. Suddenly the orb disappeared, fish and wisp alike seemed to be looking, waiting expectantly and once again it reappeared but in a different location and they were off chasing the thing again. He moved around the book shelf and the chase to find her sitting on the ground, leaning against the green couch in naught but her small clothes grinning wildly at the scene she was creating.

"Rook?" Emmrich ventured a soft greeting.

Her head turned towards him. "Emmrich! Hi!" She blinked a couple times, suddenly taking note of her hand. "I think the gingerwort tea affected me more than I realized." Another giggle escaped past her lips. "Oh dear. This is almost as bad as the time Corina convinced me to try a crypt shroom. Miri, Portia and I sat on top of the Gardens Wall laughing at the wisps for hours. They kept playing with our hair and would tickle the back of our necks." She snapped her fingers, the glowing orb disappearing leaving the wisps waiting in anticipation.

Emmrich was relieved to see she was unharmed, mostly, but she shouldn't be alone while she was under the influence. He didn't know the effects gingerwort tea would have or how long they would last. He should make a note for future reference. Her eyes were gleaming in the cool light reflecting from the aquarium, her pupils so dilated that he could barely see the beautiful lilac of her eyes. And she looked him with naught but affection. There was joy there at seeing him, though he knew later she would most likely be embarrassed at her current state.

"Would you sit with me, I promise I'm not teasing them. I can hear them, I think," Allette said, her head turning back to the wisps and fish. "They came when I was playing with the fish and then the wisps started laughing and singing? I can't quite understand like you do, but I got feelings of their emotions more clearly than usual."

"Really? That's fascinating," Emmrich lowered himself to the ground sitting beside her. "I wonder what else gingerwort will do to those sensitive?"

"I am most definitely far too hot," Allette supplied. "I should apologize for my appearance. You've seen me like this before. All though we weren't…uh…together…" Suddenly she snapped her fingers and the orb was back, the wisps were squealing chasing it alongside the fish. Emmrich didn't need to look at her to know her cheeks were flushed.

Without warning her head came to rest on his shoulder, and she gave a great sigh. "It feels almost like I am drunk but my mind isn't fuzzy. I feel more attuned to the Fade. The vibrations and the flow, I am able to feel them in my body all while sitting here. The wisps little chitters make sense in my head." She gave another giggle, the sound making Emmrich's body grow warm. "This is for your notes I know you are cataloging in your mind."

He couldn't help but smile, bringing his arm around her drawing her in closer. Feeling her close to him, snuggled into his side eased some of the earlier tension his mind had plagued upon him. "How well you know me, darling." Upon the top of her head he placed a gentle kiss. She smelled like Arthalan, a hint of magic with the touch of the wild earth that lived in those forests. "How was your picnic?"

"I think Davrin needs to get out more, get away from his own thoughts. Him and Taash going to go break something or kill some monsters together would be beneficial - to both of them," Allette mused. "Create a friendly competition who can bring back the most heads of darkspawn or something." She paused before adding, "Not really bring back the heads, I definitely don't want that mess here at the light house and the caretaker might actually throw me over the side of their barge."

Emmrich chuckled and they settled into a comfortable silence, his fingers stroking along her arm and the wisps playing. "Yes, but did you have fun, other than getting high off gingerwort tea?"

"Hey!" Her hand swatted at his leg before they both laughed. She readjusted herself and sighed. "I did. I saw a spot when we were hiking along that I thought would be nice for a more romantic picnic. I'd like to show you one of these days if we get a free moment."

He couldn't immediately respond. Of course she had been thinking of him, wanting to share with him. Feelings of shame bubbled up immediately replacing the jealousy. Caring for her was truly turning him into a besotted fool. And yet, holding her there, watching the fish and the wisps, there wasn't anywhere else he could think that he wanted to be.

"That sounds lovely, my dear."

"Oh good," Allette breathed. Her body seemed to relax and curl into him even more, if that was possible. Emmrich's hand around her arm squeezed in a comforting way. They sat in silence with each other, content, the laughter from the wisps the only echo in the room.

One by one the wisps decided they had had enough play and floated away. "Probably heading back to Neve," laughed Allette softly. She sounded as if she was on the cusp of sleep, her body leaning more heavily onto him.

"Dearest let's have you lay down on your chaise." He got her upright though she was quickly succumbing to sleep, her eyelids closing as if being pulled down. Once Allette was laying curled on her side, Emmrich brushed the stray hair from her face before placing his lips on her temple. "Sweet dreams, my darling Rook."

"Don't go." It was a whisper and her hand reached up for his. "Please stay with me."

In that moment, Emmrich wouldn't tell her no. If he was honest, he wasn't ready to be done holding her close. He was laying himself down next to her before his own brain registered that's what his body was doing. Once on his back, she snuggled into his side, laying her head on his chest, just below his chin as his arms wrapped around her. Another gentle kiss was placed upon her the top of her head. He did so much love how she felt in his arms, it was a nigh perfect fit.

How would she feel under…

A soft snore broke through his very ungentlemanly thoughts. "Sweet dreams, Allette." His head turned to look over at the fish who were swimming in their lazy circles. The orb had long since dissipated. There was only a handful of wisps floating, curious about the fish now and observing through the glass. His fingers absently stroked the hair that fell down along her back and he sighed.

All that worrying for nothing. Emmrich knew in his heart she would always return to him. And that she was steadily opening up the parts of his heart he thought locked forever.

"My darling Rook," Emmrich whispered, before closing his eyes.

[iliketangerines]

up in the air

a/n: gotta love me big giant burly men being all soft for their lover

pairing: general shao x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), finger fucking, bondage, suspension, porn with feelings, pussy eating

General Shao’s hands are rough against your skin, but the shining brilliant magic emanating from them is soft and warm

it feels similar to silk but binding and inflexible as he wraps it around you and ties intricate knots about your body

already you feel lighter, limbs supported by the magic that glows about you, and General Shao raises up your leg, leaving you fully suspended in the air and bare to his mercy

he finishes with the final knots, tugging at the ropes of magic to make sure they were secure and then letting out a small hum of satisfaction as he traces your soft skin with his calloused fingers

a few days ago he had discovered his affinity for magic, shining strands of golden light that sprung from his fingers and took form of whatever he wished

his affinity for it had grown in the past few days, practicing in wielding the magic to form to his thoughts, but he still had trouble on keeping the magic consistent before dissolving into the air

however, he had found rope easy to conjure and keep steady in its form, and you couldn’t resist him when he had asked to test it on you for its strength

and now you hang from the air, body supported by the magic, weight distributed all along the rope, and you feel safe as he lets out a small breath

he has your arms strung up above you, hands clutching onto the very rope that binds you in place, and you’re set up in a way where you’re almost sitting up

your legs are spread wide and pressed up against your stomach, a slight pudge hanging from your stomach, and General Shao runs his fingers over the fat and lightly squeezes it

before you can protest about him teasing you any further, he brings his fingers down further, pressing the pad of his thumb against your aching clit

a surprised sound comes out of you, and you jolt in your bindings, the magic glowing brighter at the slight struggle

he lets out an amused huff at your reactiveness as he rubs at your clit, moving it side to side slowly and firmly, and you fight a small whimper crawling its way out of your throat, huffing at him for surprising you like that

as if sensing your small protest against him, General Shao moves his thumb away from your clit and brings his other fingers down to run through your folds

it draws a small mewl out of you, the slow creep of pleasure now gone and now impatience filling the crevices of your nerves as he simply spreads your pussy folds

his other hand squeezes at your knee, his eyes focused and enraptured with how your pussy squeezes around nothing, how your arousal coats your pussy lips

General Shao releases a sharp breath of air from his nose as he presses two fingers into you, and you let out a small groan as the thick finger stretches you open

his fingers were so much larger than your own, still a struggle to take even after so many nights with him, and a small whine peals from you

“i know, just relax for me, my heart.” he is slow with his fingers, moving in and out of torturously slow, and his thumb returns to your clit to ease the stretch

you let out breathy moans, blinking up slowly at him, and he finally glances up from your drooling pussy to admire you instead

he trails his eyes down your face, your eyes, the slope of your nose, your lips parted and swollen from how long he had kissed them earlier

his eyes trace over the bitemarks and hickies he had littered over you, his claim on you, his stake, his profession of love onto the map of your skin

“have i ever told you how gorgeous you are?” General Shao almost mumbles the question as he stares at you, eyes half-lidded as he focuses his case on your slightly hazy eyes

“yes, all the time.” a small laugh escapes from you at his question

every day he reminded you, a press to the shell of your ear, a bite at the juncture of your neck, a kiss to the soft skin of your inner thighs

even now, you can feel his worship ghosting over your body as he stands before you, pumping his fingers in and out of you slowly

General Shao shifts on his feet, eyes blinking and breath becoming heavier as he quickens his thumb on your clit and presses his fingers up into your sweet spot

he is familiar with it, more familiar than you, and he feels your pussy tighten around his fingers, a loud moan echoing from your lips as he fucks his fingers into it

your voice becomes a chorus of whimpers, and he grunts, eyes focused and pupils wide on how your face twists in the pleasure he is giving you, “that’s it, so good for me, my little bird.”

you tighten your grip on the rope holding you up, and your thighs trembled within their bindings as you let out a high-pitched whine and cum on his fingers

his fingers keep pace, letting you ride out your orgasm and then pulling his fingers out of your drooling pussy

there’s a loud squelch, and you’re too fucked out to even care, hazy vision only focusing on how he places his fingers into his mouth and licks them clean of your orgasm

“always so sweet for me. i wonder how it tastes from the source.” Shao drops to his knees, his hands coming up to cup the curve of your ass to bring you closer to his face as he presses his tongue into you and grinds his nose into you

you whine, once again jolting in your bindings, trying to grind against his face

it seems like tonight, he would take full advantage of his newly found powers

[zorlok-if]

In the update, you'll be able to have a much longer conversation with the demon and Tommy can ask them quite a few questions (though he has to answer a question each time). For example:

[Selected from a list:] How long has it been since you were on Earth?

The demon purses its lips. "About eight or nine score? Maybe more? Regardless, it's felt much longer for me."

Tommy blinks rapidly. "What? Sorry, I don't know what that means."

"Which part did you not understand?"

"The score—Oh, wait! Never mind. You mean like Lincoln."

The demon's brows knit together. "Now I don't know what that means."

"President Lincoln," Tommy begins. "He���"

"Oh, please, no. Don't be mistaken. I don't fucking care. Now, my turn. And be serious." A grave look falls over its face. "Has magic become commonplace?"

"No. It's not." Tommy replies. "I mean, I just learned about it an hour ago."

The demon sits up quickly. "Truly?"

Tommy nods. "Yeah, whatever people do know about it must be really good at keeping secrets."

"Ah, good." The demon sighs, briefly relieved before its face twists once more. "But then?..." It sniffs several times. "Hmm." It sighs discontentedly. "I'll wait. Your go."

[Selected from a list:] How many years are in a score?

"Seriously?" A chuckle erupts from the demon's chest. "Twenty. Now, Tommy, can you explain that?" It points emphatically at the work lamp.

"That? That's just a lamp I found down here."

"But it doesn't smell like gas or oil so, if it isn't magic, what's powering it?"

"Oh!" Tommy laughs lightly. "It's electricity. Is that new to you?"

The demon scoffs. "Of course it's not new to me, but you all had no idea what to do with it last I remember." It scowls. "And if you've finally learned to wield that... then shit. I suspect far more might've changed than I expected."

"Well, I can help you adjust. You know, teach you about stuff."

The demon smiles. "Very kind of you, Tommy. Still, I hate feeling behind and they'll be delighted by my lack of knowledge..."

[rosierin]

Mischief & Manner │ Miya Twins

Chapter IV: A Kitsune’s Blessing

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The forest had never felt quite as alive as it had in the past month. The air always smelled of damp earth and lingering petals, the sunlight filtering through the trees like liquid gold. It was the kind of beauty (y/n) had read about in fairy tales, the kind that made it easy to believe in spirits and magic.

But there were signs. Subtle, fleeting signs that summer was slipping away.

The once-lush greenery had begun to crisp at the edges, leaves tinged with the first hints of amber and russet. The air, though still warm, carried the occasional whisper of a chill, a quiet promise of the season’s turn. The scent of the earth was deeper now, richer, as though the forest was preparing for what came next.

And the twins had been a part of all of it.

She had grown used to their voices dancing around her, the way Atsumu’s laughter rang loud and unabashed, while Osamu’s was quieter, something you had to listen for. She had memorised the way they moved, how Atsumu’s energy reminded her of a flame, whereas Osamu’s felt like the steady ebb of a tide. She had spent long days running through the glades with them, falling into their rhythm, their world. And somehow, they had let her in.

She knew it in the way they no longer bothered to hide their faces from her.

At first, their masks had been ever-present, concealing whatever expressions laid underneath. But over time, something changed. A tilt of Atsumu’s head as he slid his mask to the side, just enough to let her see the smirk he so often wielded in his voice. The way Osamu would prop his mask atop his head rather than over his face when they sat together by the river. It had become a habit, a quiet acknowledgment that they knew she liked to see them—to read their expressions, to glimpse the emotions that their voices alone couldn’t always carry.

They had never said it aloud, but she knew. Knew that they had done this because they cared. Because she mattered to them, just as they had come to matter to her.

The thought sent a swell of warmth through her chest, equal parts comforting and bittersweet. Because tomorrow, she would leave.

The weight of it pressed against her as she made her way through the trees, searching for them. She wasn’t sure what she wanted—one last adventure, one last laugh, one last moment to hold onto. But she knew she had to see them before the day was over.

And then, just as she stepped into a clearing, a shift in the air sent a shiver down her spine. A presence.

Not the twins.

Something else.

Someone else.

The atmosphere began to change. The warmth of late summer had thinned into something cooler, crisper, like a knife pressing lightly against her skin. It wasn’t quite the chill of autumn, but something else, something that made the fine hairs along her arms rise.

Then, from the shadows, something moved.

A fox. Sleek and black as polished obsidian, its form slipping between the trees as though it were cut from the night itself. It was larger than any fox she had ever seen, its fur glistening faintly beneath the dappled light. But it was the eyes that held her still—sharp, piercing, unblinking. A pale, jade green that gleamed like a sliver of moonlight against the darkness of its coat, watching her with something indecipherable.

It didn’t move like a normal animal. It glided, fluid and soundless, weaving through the underbrush without so much as a whisper of movement. It circled her slowly, measuredly.

A shadow given form.

(Y/n)’s breath hitched, fingers curling into the fabric of her sleeves. Was she in danger? She wasn’t sure. She wanted to step back, to run, but something in her knew better. Instead, she stayed rooted where she stood, gaze locked onto the creatures.

Then, just as the tension coiled tight in her chest, the fox.... flickered. Like candlelight snuffed out, like darkness morphing into something else entirely.

A man stood before her now, tall and languid, his presence just as silent, just as unshakable as before. His obsidian hair, dark as ink, fell in smooth, untamed layers. His face was more defined than she was used to. From his high cheekbones, straight nose, to his jawline—cut like the edge of a blade. There was nothing boyish about him; unlike the twins with their lively grins and impish expressions, he seemed built from something more refined, more dangerous.

Twin tails, sleek and dark, flicked idly behind him, a quiet echo of the ones the Miyas bore. But where they both wore masks of bone-white and crimson, his face remained bare, open—yet just as unreadable. Those same striking jade eyes remained fixed on her, unnerving, knowing, carrying the weight of someone who had seen and understood far too much.

And unlike the twins, his robe did not gleam white beneath the sunlight. Instead, it was black as the deepest part of the night sky, stitched through with the faintest threads of red, as if the dying embers of a fire had been woven into the fabric itself. It draped over his form effortlessly, the wide sleeves swaying like shadow and silk with each subtle movement.

His eyes lingered, patient and curious, but gleaming with quiet mischief. "Well," he murmured, voice as smooth as the breeze that had returned to the trees, "What do we have here?"

(Y/n) swallowed hard. "Who—"

"No names yet?" he hummed, tilting his head slightly, as if he were studying something peculiar. "Pity. Makes this a little less fun."

She didn’t know what to say to that, nor did she understand what, exactly, he found fun about this.

Her heartbeat still hadn’t settled.

His gaze dragged over her face, assessing. "You're different up close."

The comment sent a flicker of unease through her. "Different? Different how?"

He didn’t answer right away, as if he wanted to see how long she would wait for it. Then, finally, a lazy shrug. "You're smaller than I expected. Less skittish, though. That’s a surprise."

A pause.

His unyielding gaze made (y/n) shift in place, feeling as though he could see every fleeting thought that crossed her mind.

She gulped.

 “You looked like you were about to bolt. Thought about it, didn’t you?” A slow curve of his lips, just enough for her to catch a glimpse of his teeth—sharp, unmistakably predatory. His canines, longer and more pointed than the twins, glinted faintly in the light, a quiet reminder that, despite his human form, something more primal still lurked beneath the surface. “Didn’t, though. How brave of you.”

(Y/n) bristled slightly. There was a hint of condescension to his voice that was hard to ignore. "I wasn’t—"

"Oh, you were," he drawled, shifting his weight onto one foot, hands slipping into his sleeves. "But you didn’t— and that says something. Most would've ran for the hills, by now."

She wasn’t sure if he was complimenting her now or just toying with her. Either way, it set her on edge. "Are you a friend of the twins?"

At that, his expression twitched, something caught between amusement and calculation. "Friend? Mm. That’s a strong word." He leaned against a tree, one shoulder pressing into the bark. He never denied her statement. "We go way back. But you, little human—you’re new, aren’t you?"

(Y/n) hesitated. The way he said it, like she was something foreign here, sent a strange feeling curling in her chest. "I… suppose?"

His eyes sharpened with interest. "You thought you found them, didn’t you?" he mused, tilting his head as if considering something entertaining. "Like it was all meant to be." A faint smirk tugged at his lips, more patronising than playful. "How cute."

That caught her off guard. "What do you mean?"

He didn’t answer, simply watched her, his gaze a weight she still couldn’t shake. Instead, he veered the conversation without warning. "They sure have taken a liking to you. Never seen them this attached before."

The words landed unexpectedly, settling heavily in her chest. She knew she had grown fond of the twins—knew they had let her into their world in a way that felt special. But to hear it framed like this, spoken by someone who seemed to know them well...

Did the twins really care for her as much as she did them?

She bit her lip, trying not to let the thought burrow too deep. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

He shrugged. "Did I?" He let the silence stretch for a moment, watching her squirm under the weight of her own thoughts before adding, "They don’t do that often, you know. Get attached."

(Y/n) felt her pulse quicken. "Why not?"

The Kitsune offered no response, just let the question hang in the air, his expression impassive. Then, just when she thought he wouldn’t say anything at all, he exhaled a quiet chuckle. "Curious little human. Always asking questions."

"Maybe because you never give me a straight answer," she shot back before she could stop herself.

He blinked, then grinned. "Ah, you do have some bite. Good. Thought the twins were keeping you too soft."

(Y/n) scowled, unsure whether she should feel insulted or not. Before she could decide, his eyes glinted with something new.

"You even gave them names." This time, his grin was genuine, sharp-edged and entertained. "That’s adorable," he laughed, the sound low, soft—like smoke curling through the air. "Like domesticated foxes."

(Y/n) stiffened. "They’re not—"

"Trust me, I know they’re not," he cut in smoothly. "But it’s still funny. No one’s ever done that before. You’re bold, little human."

And as if on cue, the trees rustled sharply. A golden blur pushed through first, quick and bristling.

"Oi, Suna, what’re ya doin’ talkin’ to her?"

She turned just in time to see a familiar golden-haired figure pushing through the underbrush, expression drawn into something uncharacteristically wary. Atsumu’s amber eyes flicked to the obsidian Kitsune, intense and edged with suspicion.

'Suna', in contrast, remained perfectly unbothered. "Relax," he drawled, barely holding back a scoff. “Just curious. It’s not every day you see a human wandering around like she belongs here."

Osamu appeared next, more collected but no less cautious, his gaze settling on Suna with quiet scrutiny. "You messin’ with her?"

Suna sighed, stretching his arms over his head. "Hardly. I was just making conversation, is all. Or is that a pleasure reserved to you two?"

At that, the air around the twins seemed to crackle with unspoken tension, as if an invisible wire had been pulled taut.

A twitch of an ear, a flick of their twin-tails, a curve of their lip, a glint of teeth.

"S’not for you to decide," Atsumu shot back, stepping a little closer to (y/n), his posture loose but protective. "Leave ‘er alone."

Suna hummed, the ghost of a smirk still playing at his lips. If (y/n) didn’t know any better, she’d say it looked as though he enjoyed the sudden friction. "Touchy, aren’t we?"

An unsettling silence hung between them, but Suna didn’t press further. He simply took a step back, his jade eyes darting between (y/n) and the twins before he exhaled lightly through his nose, pleased.

"Well," he mused, voice laced with faint satisfaction, "this has been fun. Maybe we’ll chat again, little human. If you’re lucky."

Then, as if indulging himself one last time, he cast a glance over his shoulder, his expression deepening into something purely mischievous. "And if the twins let me."

Atsumu bristled instantly, stepping forward with an eager, "You—"

But before he could finish, Suna was already moving. He turned away with one last parting taunt, a final flick of his twin-tails in human form, as if daring them to chase him. His laughter—low, effortless—drifted through the trees, lingering like the last note of an unfinished song. And then, as smoothly as he had appeared, the black fox vanished into the forest’s embrace, leaving nothing behind but a lingering sense of unease.

Atsumu clicked his tongue, arms crossing over his chest. “Damn fox. Always thinks he’s so clever.”

“Was he messing with me?” (y/n) asked hesitantly, still watching the shadows where Suna had disappeared.

“Messin’ with ya?” Atsumu scoffed. “Probably— s’what he does best. That one’s got a tongue slicker than foxfire. Never says more than he needs to, but always just enough to keep ya wonderin’.”

Osamu, ever the more level-headed of the two, sighed quietly. “He wasn’t lyin’, though,” he muttered. His gaze flickered toward (y/n). “Ain’t every day a human wanders in this deep. And he’s the type to poke at things that don’t belong.”

That phrasing made something prickle at (y/n)’s spine. “I— I do not belong here?”

The shift was immediate. Atsumu turned to her, his expression flashing with something close to offense. “That’s not what we meant.”

Osamu nodded, his tone softer but no less firm. “Suna just likes stirrin’ the pot. Readin’ people. He was getting’ a feel for ya, seein’ how ya react.” He exhaled slowly, shrugging a dismissive shoulder. “He ain’t got much reason to care about humans. Not the way we do.”

Atsumu hummed in agreement, tilting his head toward the space where Suna had vanished. “Wouldn’t put too much thought in anythin’ he says. He’s got his own reasons for bein’ how he is.”

(Y/n) hesitated. “And what reasons are those?”

Osamu’s ears twitched. Atsumu clicked his tongue again. Neither of them answered immediately.

“That,” Osamu finally said, eyes narrowing slightly, “ain’t our story to tell.”

Atsumu huffed loudly, rubbing at his neck before shaking off the lingering tension. Then he glanced at (y/n), his grin returning, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “C’mon. We should get movin’. Ain’t worth wastin’ any more breath on a fox like him. He’s nothin’ but trouble.” 

A flick of his tails. A twitch of a lip.

“And not the fun kind.”

(Y/n) pursed her lips, considering his words. Then, with an amused lilt, she mused, “that’s funny, coming from you.”

Atsumu blinked. “Hah?”

She stifled a giggle, tempting a glance at Atsumu, who merely narrowed his eyes at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, well, you know,” she hummed, holding her hands behind her back. “I was just under the impression that you were the biggest troublemaker in these woods. You never seem to mind playing tricks on me, or even your brother for that matter."

Osamu huffed a quiet laugh. “She got ya there.”

Atsumu scowled, flicking his tails behind him. “Oi, I ain’t that bad.”

(Y/n) raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. Before she could call him out, Osamu cut in smoothly.

“Didn’t ya throw her into the river the other day?”

(Y/n) all but pouted, crossing her arms. “And tripped me on the moss patch yesterday.”

“That was an accident!” Atsumu shot back, ears twitching. “And the river was warm that day! I was doin’ ya a favor! Ya know, ‘case ya overheated or somethin’.”

Osamu gave a slow blinked. “Overheated? Well, ain’t that a stretch.”

Atsumu simply shrugged. “Humans are fragile beings.”

(Y/n) shook her head, but a smile played at her lips nonetheless. “And all Kitsune are troublemakers.”

Both Kitsune seemed to mull over her words, tilting their heads slightly. "Not all of 'em," Osamu corrected.

Beside him, Atsumu nodded. "He got that right. Not that I can blame ya for thinkin' otherwise. Ya'know, since yer always hangin' around us. Truth is, there are Kitsune out there who are nothin' like us."

(Y/n) blinked, curiosity bubbling inside her. "Oh? There are? Like who? Do they live inside the forest, too?"

Atsumu flicked his ears, his expression pensive. "Uh-huh. There's one, in particular, that ain't much of a trickster at all."

(Y/n) perked up at that. “Really? Who? Do they have a name?”

Osamu and Atsumu exchanged a glance, something almost wary passing between them. It was as though they weren’t sure how to explain without treading too close to offense—or perhaps they feared being overheard. Their ears twitched in tandem, their tails flicking subtly behind them.

"Kita," Osamu said at last, his voice quieter than before.

(Y/n) caught the hesitation in his tone. "Kita...?" she echoed, curiosity sparking in her chest. "Who’s that?"

Atsumu cast a quick glance around them, as if Kita himself might materialize at the mere mention of his name. "He's... a little different."

That only intrigued her more. "Different how?"

Osamu exhaled through his nose, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Hard to say. He ain't like us."

(Y/n) brightened at that, interest piqued. "That’s all the more reason I want to meet him! Where can I find him?"

The twins exchanged another look—longer this time. They weren’t quick to answer.

"Woah, woah—slow down, kid," Atsumu finally said, holding up a hand. "Meetin’ him ain’t as simple as just skippin’ through the trees and callin’ his name."

Osamu hummed in agreement. "Besides, Kita’s not the type to entertain visitors."

(Y/n) deflated slightly, but determination glimmered in her eyes. "Please? Pretty please? I’d really love to meet him!"

Atsumu groaned, tilting his head back. "Man, ya don’t make this easy."

Osamu sighed through his nose, shoulders dropping slightly. "Ya really wanna meet him that bad?"

(Y/n) nodded eagerly.

One final glance between the brothers. A pause hung between them.

Then—

Another quiet, resigned sigh.

"Alright," Atsumu finally muttered. "But don’t say we didn’t warn ya."

With that, they turned toward a deeper part of the forest, leading her toward this new, mysterious Kitsune.

The walk grew quieter as they ventured deeper into the woods. The warmth of summer faded gradually, replaced by a coolness that had no place in this season. The air sharpened, crisp and unmoving, like the hush of a forest blanketed in fresh snow. It wasn’t an unpleasant cold—just an undeniable presence.

(Y/n) hugged her arms, but the chill wasn’t biting, merely different. The usual hum of cicadas and rustling leaves had fallen away, replaced by a deep and heavy quiet. Even the Kitsune brothers, always so full of chatter, had fallen into an almost solemn silence.

When they finally arrived, it wasn’t what (y/n) expected.

Nestled within a grove of pale, silver-barked trees, the shrine stood untouched by time. No vines crept up its stone, no decay marred its structure. Everything here was pristine, as though no chaos had ever dared touch it.

A stone monument marked the centre, its inscriptions still impeccably intact. Before it sat a simple altar, small but well-kept. Traces of past offerings remained—bowls of rice, sake cups, and delicate fox masks laid with care.

Despite the crisp air, a fine dusting of frost clung to the ground like the remnants of an eternal winter, glistening faintly in the dim light. Yet, there was no snow elsewhere—only here, in this sacred place.

(Y/n) exhaled softly, glancing at the brothers, but even they seemed different here. Their usual playfulness was subdued, their ears angled slightly downward in quiet respect.

Atsumu and Osamu stepped forward, each conjuring their foxfire.

Atsumu’s flame glowed golden, warm like the light of a lantern.

Osamu’s flickered blue, cool and steady, blending seamlessly into the shrine’s quiet air.

Unlike normal fire, their flames did not burn or flicker wildly. Instead, they floated forward, drifting toward the altar as if drawn by an unseen force. The golden and blue lights merged, twisting together in an intricate dance before finally sinking into the shrine’s foundation.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, the forest breathed.

A gentle gust stirred the silver leaves, the frost-covered earth seeming to glisten anew. The foxfire snuffed out in an instant, as if swallowed by the very air. The cold deepened. It wasn't bitter, per say. Rather, it felt... weighted. Like a presence had settled.

(Y/n) tensed instinctively. She wasn’t sure why, but she knew that they were no longer alone.

Just as she was about to step forward, she hesitated and glanced over her shoulder. “Aren’t you coming?”

Atsumu’s expression was inscrutable, but somehow encouraging all the while.

“Nah,” he said lightly. “This is somethin’ ya gotta do alone.”

Osamu nodded, gaze steady. “Kita doesn’t do well with crowds.”

(Y/n) frowned slightly, confused but not wanting to argue. Although, she had a feeling they were hiding something.

"Are you sure?”

“Go on,” Atsumu said, offering a lopsided grin. “We’ll be here when ya get back.”

(Y/n) turned back toward the shrine, inhaling deeply before taking a step forward.

The cool air swirled around her, pressing against her skin like the first breath of winter.

A strange repose settled over the clearing. Expectant.

She hesitated, glancing back over her shoulder, only to find the space behind her empty.

The twins were gone.

No sound. No movement. No trace that the twins had ever been there at all.

A quiet shiver curled down her spine. She was alone now.

And somewhere in that sacred stillness, she knew.

Kita was waiting.

And when she looked up—there he was.

Standing before the altar, hands tucked neatly into his sleeves, was the most breath-taking being she had ever seen. Hair as white as untouched snow, its strands dipped in the black of a fox’s ear. His long, pristine cloak draped over his frame like freshly fallen frost, moving not with the wind, but as if it had a will of its own.

But more than his appearance, it was his presence that held her in place. For he did not falter, did not speak. He simply existed—serene, unshaken, as if nothing in the world could stir him.

And then, he moved.

With quiet, deliberate steps, he made his way to the centre of the altar. The moment he did, something else caught her eye.

From behind him, a cascade of white unfurled like the bloom of winter itself.

Seven tails.

They spread out behind him in a slow, sweeping arc. Not hurried, not playful, but precise, elegant, controlled. The black-tipped fur caught the faintest glow of the shrine’s undisturbed frost, making them seem almost otherworldly, like shifting wisps of mist beneath the pale moon.

(Y/n) was mesmerized.

She had seen the twins’ two tails, seen them flick and curl with mischief. But this—this was different. He was different.

A memory surfaced. She recalled the way Atsumu and Osamu had spoken about him, the hesitation in their voices, the weight behind their words.

And suddenly, she understood.

Her body moved before her mind could catch up. Before she even had time to consider it, she bowed. Not out of obligation, nor fear. It just felt right.

Like the forest itself had willed it.

When she straightened, her breath caught.

Kita was watching her—carefully, attentively.

“There’s no need to be so stiff,” he murmured, voice cool and steady, yet undeniably gentle. “You’re safe here.”

And she believed him.

A soft hush settled between them, the quiet unshaken by wind, unaltered by time. Kita regarded her with an expression she couldn’t quite place. His gaze was calm, enigmatic, but not unkind.

(Y/n) swallowed, glancing down before gathering the courage to meet his gaze again. She wasn’t sure what she had expected from him, but there was something striking about the way he simply stood. Still, steady, absolute.

“What brings you here?” he asked, his voice as even as the wind threading through the shrine.

(Y/n) blinked, surprised by the simplicity of the question. Then, after a moment, she answered honestly, “I… wanted to meet you.”

His face betrayed nothing, but there was something knowing in the way he tilted his head slightly.

“I’ve heard about you,” she continued. “I was told you were different from other Kitsune. I was curious and so... I just wanted to see for myself.”

He hummed in quiet acknowledgment, as though he had expected that answer. “And?” His gaze remained steady. “Am I what you were expecting?”

(Y/n) parted her lips, but no words came. She let her eyes trace over him again, admiring the pristine white of his hair, the poise in his stance, the quiet command he carried so effortlessly.

“…More than that,” she admitted, breathlessly.

At that, Kita smiled.

Not wide, not bold, but a faint, soft curve of his lips, like the whisper of snowfall meeting the earth.

(Y/n) swallowed. There was something about his presence that made her feel like she needed to be careful with her words—not out of fright, but out of reverence.

Her gaze drifted toward his tails, still fanned out behind him in all their impossible beauty. “You have seven tails…” she murmured. “I thought Kitsune only had two.”

Kita followed her gaze briefly, as if he hadn’t considered them worth remarking on before. “Most do,” he acknowledged. “But with each passing century, another is earned.”

(Y/n) blinked, processing his words. She did the math in her head—and her breath hitched.

“Seven centuries,” she whispered, looking at him with wide eyes. “You’ve been alive for seven hundred years?”

Kita neither confirmed nor denied it, simply watching her reaction.

“That’s… a really long time,” she breathed, her mind reeling at the thought. “You must have seen so much change… the world must look so different now.”

His eyes softened, though his expression remained quiet, almost...reticent. “It does. And yet, in some ways, it remains the same.”

(Y/n) found herself leaning in slightly. “What was it like before? Did the world look the same seven hundred years ago? What about one hundred years ago—did the world look the same back then?”

A hint of amusement crossed his gaze, so subtle she almost missed it. “A broad question.”

She flinched, cheeks blooming with warmth. “I—I'm so sorry, I just—”

“You are curious,” he observed, but there was no bite to his words.

(Y/n) felt her blush deepen. “I get that a lot…” She hesitated before ducking her head slightly. “I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to ask so many questions. It's just I've never met anyone like you before, so...”

A quiet sound, something barely above a whisper. A chuckle.

“Don't apologise. Curiosity is a virtue.”

(Y/n) exhaled, relieved. He hadn’t been annoyed, not in the slightest. In fact, it almost felt like he… welcomed it.

Then, after a pause, his gaze drifted slightly, as if considering something.

“I take it you're not alone?”

The shift in the air was so subtle that (y/n) almost didn’t notice it.

She hesitated.

For the first time since she had arrived, uncertainty crept into her chest. She thought about lying. A part of her wanted to. But something about Kita—his presence, his very being—made it impossible.

With a slow nod, she admitted, “No.”

Kita didn’t react, didn’t waver. He merely uttered a single word.

“Miya.”

Before she could blink, they were there.

A rush of energy, a ripple in the air and the twins materialized almost before Kita had finished speaking.

(Y/n) stared.

They stood perfectly still, perfectly straight, tails tucked behind them with absolute restraint. Their usual slouched postures were gone, their playful, easy-going grins nowhere in sight. They looked… dignified.

(Y/n) barely suppressed a giggle. She had never seen them so obedient before.

Kita’s gaze rested on them, unmoving. “Miya,” he nodded in greeting. "It's been a while. Have you been well?”

“Yes,” Osamu replied smoothly.

“We have,” Atsumu added, his voice steady, lacking his usual cocky lilt.

Kita studied them for a moment, then let his eyes drift ever so slightly downward. “And have you been doing your jobs? Watching over the forest?”

Atsumu and Osamu both stiffened—so subtly that only someone as perceptive as Kita would notice.

“‘Course we have,” Atsumu said, ears perked up with pride. “Ain’t let anything slip by us.”

Osamu nodded. “We’ve been doin’ what we should.”

A beat of silence. Then—

Kita exhaled lightly. “And yet… I seem to recall a certain visitor being met with a less-than-hospitable welcome.”

The dip in atmosphere was almost comical.

Both twins stiffened further, ears twitching downward just slightly—not quite a flinch, but close.

(Y/n) stared between them, intrigued. What did they do?

Kita’s voice remained as calm as ever. “That is not how we treat our guests.”

The brothers visibly tensed.

“…Won’t happen again,” Osamu murmured.

“Yeah,” Atsumu muttered. “Was just some harmless fun.”

Kita’s gaze remained even. “Harmless, or not. See that it does not happen again.”

The twins nodded, ears still dipped slightly in submission. (Y/n) had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

Kita regarded them for a long moment before speaking. His voice impassive yet laced with something knowing.

“You’ve adopted quite an interesting one.”

(Y/n) blinked, surprised by the comment. The twins remained still, their composure unwavering. But then—Kita turned his gaze to her.

And with the faintest trace of amusement, he added,

“Or perhaps… I should be saying that to you.”

(Y/n)’s breath caught.

For the first time, the word ‘interesting’ no longer felt like a compliment.

She didn’t even have time to process it before—

“Oi, what do ya mean by ‘interestin’?”

Atsumu’s voice snapped through the stillness, his eyebrows marring, his carefully maintained composure shattering instantly.

(Y/n) stifled a laugh behind her hand.

Osamu exhaled with resignation, rubbing the back of his neck. “Should’ve seen that comin’.”

Kita, however, did not answer. He simply turned on his heel—an act so simple, yet performed with such unforced grace, that even (y/n) couldn’t help but stare.

As he did, he spoke again—this time, to (y/n).

“Keep them in check, won’t you?” His tone was light, but there was an unmistakable expectation beneath it. “They have a knack for causing mischief around here.”

(Y/n) straightened her spine, a small smile pulling at her lips. “I’ll do my best."

Kita regarded her for a moment, something almost approving in his gaze. She thought that was it, that he would turn and disappear as quietly as he had come. But before she could stop herself, her feet carried her forward. Her fingers twitched, hesitating, as if caught between reaching for him and keeping her hands to herself.

Even the twins stiffened at her boldness, their brows lifting in quiet surprise.

"Thank you!" she called out, fists curling at her sides.

Kita halted mid-step, turning back to her with a blink of mild curiosity.

"For taking the time to speak with me, I mean... It was a pleasure! I hope we can meet again someday!"

At that, Kita's expression melted into something almost tender, the edges of his regal composure easing just enough for her to notice the way his eyes, deep and warm like chocolate, crinkled slightly at the corners.

He was smiling. A real, gentle smile.

"So do I, Miss (y/n). The pleasure was all mine."

A quiet warmth drifted through the air, chasing away the lingering chill on (y/n)'s skin. Birds stirred in the branches, their song filtering back into the forest. The afternoon light swept across the frost-adorned ground, streaks of gold and honey shimmering against the perfect white of Kita’s kimono.

Then, with the same quiet elegance in which he arrived—

He vanished.

(Y/n) exhaled in awe, the weight of the moment settling over her.

Her chest felt light, effervescent. A thrill curled in her belly, something warm and fluttering as she savoured the faint traces of Kita’s presence, as if some small part of him lingered in the air.

The shrine stood undisturbed; not a whisper of change lingered, as if the moment had slipped through time like a forgotten dream.

Then, as she sought for the twins, she almost flinched.

Both of them were gaping at her, eyes wide and incredulous.

"How'd ya do that?"

"Yeah, tell us how ya bewitched Kita!"

(Y/n) blinked, then shook her head. "Bewitched? Whatever do you mean by that?"

"Ya got him to smile! Actually smile!"

"We've only ever seen him do that once!"

"Yeah, like a hundred years ago!"

(Y/n) quirked a brow. "Oh? He smiled a few times while we were speaking, actually. He laughed, too. Well, it was close to a laugh."

A breeze swept through the trees.

The twins seemed to glitch. Their mouths hung open, the fur of their twin-tails bristling like startled cats.

"What?" (Y/n) giggled.

Atsumu blinked hard. "I didn’t even know Kita could laugh."

Osamu crossed his arms, squinting at her as if trying to unearth some hidden secret. "How’d ya get him to do that? Did ya tell him a joke or somethin’? Kita never struck me as the type."

"What was he like during the rest of yer lil' chit-chat? Bet he was real scary, huh?"

(Y/n) hummed thoughtfully, tilting her head. "Actually..." She let the memory settle, recalling the cadence of Kita’s voice. The quiet authority of his words, the way his presence carried something wise yet unexpectedly gentle.

She met the twins' expectant stares. Atsumu squinted slightly, as if trying to gauge something, while Osamu’s ears twitched, waiting.

“He was very wise,” she said simply. “Regal. And… far kinder than I expected. You two made me worry for nothing."

Twin sets of fox eyes blinked at her.

Atsumu let out an incredulous noise. “Kind?”

Osamu shot her a look of sheer disbelief. “Kita?”

(Y/n) barely contained her laugh, tucking her hands behind her back. “Yes, he was very kind. I can understand why he’s stricter with you two, though.”

Atsumu huffed immediately, tails flicking behind him in protest. “Why's that?"

Osamu grumbled, shaking his head. “Ain’t exactly a mystery.”

(Y/n) stifled a laugh, watching as Atsumu turned indignant, clicking his tongue as he crossed his arms. “Just ‘cause he’s got a stick lodged somewhere don’t mean he’s gotta take it out on us.”

The words had barely left his mouth when a sharp gust of wind tore through the clearing, cutting through the trees like a blade of ice. It whipped past Atsumu specifically—sharp, biting, and unnaturally cold.

He yelped, his entire body jolting as the frigid air tore through him like a slap. His tails bristled violently, ears flattening against his head as he hunched over, shivering.

"GAH—what the hell?!" he sputtered, hugging himself as a full-body shudder wracked through him.

(Y/n) gasped, stepping back, while Osamu smirked, casually dusting off his sleeves. “That’s what ya get, dumbass.”

Atsumu, still hunched and wide-eyed from the chill, whipped around with a glare. “Oi—! That wasn’t normal! That—” He cut himself off, a flicker of realization crossing his face. His lips parted, his head snapping toward the shrine steps where Kita had last stood.

But the shrine remained as it was—silent, undisturbed.

Atsumu swallowed, a visible shudder rolling through him. “...Right. Uh. No disrespect.” He straightened his back stiffly, rolling his shoulders as though trying to shake off the remnants of frost, or perhaps it was the embarrassment of being told off that he was trying to shake.

Either way, (y/n) pressed a hand to her mouth, biting back laughter. "I'm sure he appreciates the sentiment."

Osamu chuckled, tail swishing playfully. “Yeah, bet that’s exactly what he wanted to hear.”

Atsumu scowled, but his ears twitched warily, eyes flicking around the forest as if expecting another gust to come for him. He pulled his sleeves down over his hands in a feeble attempt to shake off the lingering chill. “Sly fox, always tellin’ us off. Where’s the fun in always followin’ the rules, anyway?”

"Do you two always get scolded like that?"

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of them answered. But then—almost simultaneously—both twins side-eyed the other, suspicion flickering in their matching expressions. It was as if they each silently accused the other of being the bigger troublemaker, neither willing to take full responsibility.

(Y/n) barely contained her amusement as Atsumu snarled, ears flicking backward. “Oi, don’t look at me like that. Yer just as guilty as I am.”

Osamu shrugged off his brother's comment, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. “Never said I wasn’t.”

(Y/n) bit back a grin, watching them go back and forth. It felt right, familiar— the way their bickering filled the quiet left behind by Kita’s departure. The residual tension from before had already begun to unravel, replaced by something lighter, something very them.

Then, as quickly as it began, Atsumu sighed dramatically, throwing his hands behind his head. “Whatever. Not like I care what he thinks, anyway.”

(Y/n) arched a skeptical brow. "You sound like you care.”

“I don’t,” he grumbled, but the way he kicked at a stray pebble suggested otherwise.

She and Osamu exchanged a knowing look, wordless yet full of shared amusement.

The shrine, once cloaked in lingering reverence, no longer felt so still. The heaviness in the air dissipated altogether as Osamu stretched, rolling his shoulders before tilting his head toward the sky.

“Let’s head back, anyway. Sun’s still up, no sense in wastin’ it standin’ around.”

Atsumu grunted in agreement, “Yeah, yeah.”

And as they turned away from the shrine, the warmth of the world seeped back in. Sunlight trickled through the trees, melting away the remnants of frost. Birds flitted between the branches, their songs weaving seamlessly into the rustling leaves. The distant scent of damp earth and pine filled the air once more.

Kita was gone, but his presence still lingered, an unspoken reminder that even the most mischievous of foxes weren’t beyond his watchful gaze.

As the day went by, the golden light of the late afternoon stretched across the clearing. The sky above was painted in soft pastels, the clouds shifting gently, unaware of the bittersweet weight settling in (y/n)’s chest.

They had spent the day as they always did—chasing butterflies, wading through the river, letting the warmth of the sun soak into their skin. The Miya twins, as ever, had been unrelenting in their mischief.

Atsumu had splashed her in the river until she shrieked in protest. Osamu had pretended not to be involved, only to flick water at her when she wasn’t looking. They had laughed, tumbled through the tall grass, their hands and clothes damp, their hair windblown and unruly.

It had been perfect. Too perfect.

That was why, when the air grew denser, when the scent of rain crept into the breeze, the mood changed. The twins noticed first, their ears flicking, glancing toward the sky.

“We should go,” Osamu murmured.

(Y/n) blinked, chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. She followed his gaze, only now realizing that the sky had darkened slightly, the first clouds rolling in from the east.

Atsumu stretched, unbothered. “Reckon we got about ten minutes ‘fore it starts pourin’.”

(Y/n) hesitated, glancing at them. “Then where do we go?”

Osamu motioned with his chin. “There’s a cave nearby. We’ll wait it out there.”

By the time they reached the cave, the first drops had begun to fall. Light at first, barely more than a whisper against the leaves.

The moment they stepped inside, the rain picked up. Pattering. Then dripping. Then a steady, rhythmic downpour.

(Y/n) sat near the entrance, watching the rain blur the world outside. The cave was dry, the cool stone against her legs a stark contrast to the damp air beyond.

A soft sound flickered behind her. When she turned, she saw Atsumu’s foxfire glowing, warm and golden.

“Thought ya might need some light,” he said casually, though the steady way he watched her made it seem like it was more than that.

She smiled, shuffling closer to its warmth. “Thank you.”

Osamu settled nearby, his posture looser than his brother’s. Outside, the rain deepened, showing no sign of easing. For a moment, none of them spoke—they simply listened.

Then, (y/n) asked, “Can I ask something?”

Atsumu huffed. “Like ya ever needed permission.”

(Y/n) ignored him. “Your masks.”

The twins both paused, their ears perking up. She didn’t miss the way they exchanged a glance, unspoken words passing between them.

She pressed on. “Why do you wear them? And why don’t others, like Kita or Suna?”

Atsumu shrugged, as if the answer spoke for itself. “S’not a rule or anythin’.”

Osamu, easy as ever, watched her with mild amusement. “S’just what we prefer.”

(Y/n) frowned slightly. “So it’s a choice?”

Atsumu smirked. “Why? Feelin’ left out?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, I just…” She hesitated, shifting slightly. “I guess I like seeing your faces, is all.”

Atsumu blinked. Something akin to surprise settled on his features before his smirk faded into something softer.

"Which is why we don't wear 'em as often, anymore."

"I've noticed!” (Y/n) smiled. “Thank you... You're both too kind."

"Dunno if ‘kind’ is the word I'd use,” Atsumu groused. “We just do what we want. S'nothin' to thank us for."

“But you are kind,” she insisted. “You didn’t have to help me that night in the forest. You didn’t have to show me your faces. But you did. Because you wanted to. Both of you are kind.”

Atsumu’s ears twitched like he’d heard something pleasant, and he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly finding great interest in the flickering flames of his foxfire. “Well, when ya put it like that…” he muttered, voice quieter than usual.

Osamu, beside him, cleared his throat, shifting his weight. His fingers toyed with a loose thread on his sleeve, and for once, he didn’t meet her eyes. “Ain’t nothin’, really,” he murmured, though the way his tail swayed animatedly behind him betrayed his embarrassment.

(Y/n) watched them both, amused. It was rare to see them so—bashful. She smiled to herself. They really were too kind, whether they wanted to admit it or not.

A comfortable silence settled between them, the crackling foxfire filling the space where words had been. The rain outside had softened for a brief moment, as if listening in on their conversation.

Then, as if needing a change of subject, Osamu cleared his throat again—this time, more deliberately.

"Not all Kitsune are as open as we are, ya know.”

(Y/n) glanced up at that, his words pulling her from her thoughts. She recalled comments made by Suna and Kita, a question forming in her mind.

"Is it really that unusual for humans to interact with Kitsune?"

A pause. Then Osamu hummed. “Not really. There’ve been plenty of tales about humans meeting Kitsune.”

“Some even marry ‘em,” Atsumu added nonchalantly. “Have kids n’ all.”

(Y/n) stiffened. Heat immediately rushed to her face.

Atsumu, catching her expression, grinned. “Somethin’ on yer mind?”

“Nothing!” she sputtered, turning away.

Osamu chuckled quietly.

Still, a thought nagged at her. “Then why did Kita say what he did? He used the word ‘adopted’. Even Suna said something similar…”

“You even gave them names.”

“Like domesticated foxes.”

Atsumu’s playful demeanour faded almost instantly. “He did?”

“Course he did,” Osamu sighed.

“It’s not that Kitsune and humans can’t or shouldn’t interact,” Osamu continued. “It’s just rare. Kitsune are solitary by nature. They don’t tend to keep company with others for long. S'pose you could call 'em shy."

(Y/n) frowned, hugging her knees to her chest. “You two are far from shy.”

Atsumu scoffed. “Ain’t that the truth.”

She let out a small breath of amusement, but it didn’t settle the feeling in her chest. That lingering doubt, that small, quiet voice in the back of her mind.

She had been thinking about this for a while now. Ever since her conversation with Suna, the question had been gnawing at her, curling around her thoughts like creeping vines.

"They don’t do that often, you know," Suna had mused, watching her with those sharp, knowing eyes. "Get attached."

Even back then, she had felt a twinge of something—an unease she hadn’t been able to shake.

Because why her?

Did she really belong here?

She hadn’t thought much of it at first. She had simply enjoyed their company, enjoyed the way the twins made her laugh, the way the forest had started feeling like something more than just a place she’d stumbled into.

But the more she thought about it, the more the doubt crept in.

She was human. They were Kitsune. This was their world, not hers.

So why had they let her in?

Had it been nothing more than a passing amusement to them? A fleeting moment in time, the same way leaves danced in the wind before falling?

The thought made her chest tighten.

She hesitated, heart fluttering against her ribs. The question sat heavy on her tongue.

“…Why did you reveal yourselves to me?”

The fire flickered. The atmosphere dampened.

The twins remained still. The only sound was the steady drumming of rain against the cave entrance.

Her fingers curled slightly into the fabric of her clothes.

“Better yet…” she murmured, her voice quieter now, more uncertain. “Why do you keep doing so?”

She exhaled, feeling small beneath the weight of the question. “You had no reason to see me again after that first night. So why…”

Her chest ached. Her worries resurfaced at once, curling around her again.

She inhaled, voice barely above a whisper.

“Why are you here with me now?”

Atsumu’s gaze lingered on her small frame, noticing how she seemed to withdraw into herself. When he spoke, his voice dipped into something softer, something almost careful.

"S'like you said earlier. We do whatever we want.” A pause. Then his tone firmed—whether it was intentional or not, she didn't know. “Isn’t ‘cause we want to a good enough reason?”

(Y/n) bristled. There was something in his voice—not harsh, not annoyed, but almost… defensive now. Had she upset him?

Before she could respond, or think too deep, Osamu’s voice cut through the quiet.

“What my brother means is,” he said smoothly, his tone far gentler, “we’re here with you because we choose to be. Because we want to keep seein’ you. Ain’t nothin’ more to it.”

(Y/n)’s chest loosened, as if something heavy had lifted. She hadn’t even realized how anxious she’d been.

Now that she thought about it, the twins had always moved to the beat of their own drum. They seemed so unconventional compared to the others she’d met—carefree, untamed, always doing what they pleased.

Like they were the centres of their own universe.

A silence settled, stretching between them like the weight of the rain outside. The sound of water drummed rhythmically against the earth. Then, as if mirroring the ache in her chest—the downpour deepened.

That was when the sadness crept in.

(Y/n) stared at the entrance of the cave, watching the sheets of rain blur the outside world. Tomorrow was her last day.

She was going home.

Or at least, that’s what she should have called it.

But as she sat there, curled close to the warmth of the foxfire, the thought of Tokyo felt wrong. It felt distant, foreign. Like something she had only dreamt of, rather than lived. The city, her house, the polished floors, the quiet halls—none of it felt like it belonged to her anymore.

Not the way this place did.

The wind pushed at the rain outside, the water rushing down the leaves in silver streams. She swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling so small within the cave, cold despite the warmth at her sides.

Her hands curled into the fabric of her clothes. She didn’t want to go back.

“…Tomorrow,” she whispered, the words fragile, as if saying them aloud would make them real, “I have to go back.”

Atsumu blinked, honey eyes darting to her in surprise. “Already? But it’s only been—”

“A month,” she cut in softly. “And tomorrow, I’ll be going back to Tokyo.”

The weight of her words sank in all at once.

The twins mirrored her.

Osamu’s ears lowered slightly, his tail settling against the floor. Atsumu, normally so full of energy, so untouchable, suddenly looked muted, his usual cocky demeanour gone. His tails, once flicking lazily behind him, had stilled completely. His ears drooped.

They looked so… quiet.

The warmth in the cave suddenly felt fragile, like it could slip away at any moment.

Osamu was the first to speak, voice steady but soft nonetheless. Comforting her, but maybe comforting his brother, too.

“…Actually,” he murmured, flicking Atsumu with his tail, “we made somethin’ for ya.”

Atsumu blinked, as if he had forgotten. Then, as Osamu slightly jerked his head, he reached into his sleeve, his usual confidence returning, if only slightly.

“Yeah,” he muttered, digging around before pulling something free. A small silken pouch, the fabric a dark crimson but embroidered with golden and silver fox motifs. He held it out to her.

(Y/n) stared at it for a moment before hesitantly reaching out. The moment her fingers brushed the fabric, she felt it—warm, faintly, like something was alive within it.

“A good luck charm,” Atsumu explained. “Made it ourselves.”

(Y/n) swallowed, running her fingers over the delicate embroidery. They made this for her.

A piece of them—something she could take with her.

She opened her mouth, but no words came. Her emotions were rising, fast, too much to contain.

Her whole life, she had been taught to keep it in. To be composed, to hold herself together, to never let the cracks show. But now—now, she felt it slipping. Her throat tightened, her vision blurred, her chest ached.

She clenched the charm in her fist. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Neither twin moved. Neither twin spoke.

Because they knew—her gratitude wasn’t just for the gift.

Not for the charm. Not for the gesture.

But for everything.

Then—her voice wavered.

And before she could stop it, before she could reel it back in—a tear slipped free.

She barely had time to register it before Atsumu stiffened. “Oi—”

Osamu straightened beside her, ears perking slightly in alarm.

And then, all at once, they were moving.

Tails curled around her, warm and soft, pulling her into their space. Osamu’s tails draped over her shoulder, Atsumu’s curled loosely around her back. It was wordless, instinctual.

(Y/n) squeezed her eyes shut, shoulders trembling.

The rain poured outside, but inside, she had never felt warmer.

They stayed like that for a long time—huddled together, tails wrapped around her, the fire crackling gently between them.

Eventually, the storm began to quiet. The downpour softened, turning to a light patter. And then—just barely—a sliver of golden light broke through the mist, peeking through the clouds.

And yet, despite the relenting rain, neither of them moved just yet—and (y/n) fell asleep with a smile on her face.

[fourth-wing-stories]

Mirrorball - Part 2

Warnings: none

Pairing: Ridoc x OC

Words: 923

Summary: After enjoying the company of one another on top of the tower, Ridoc can't wait to hang out with Iris again when he gets the chance. The usual quick witted, talkative man finds he dosen´t feel the need to always perform around her, he can just be him.

Masterlist

A/N: I just love a slow burn guys, I promise it´s gonna get better. Let me know if you want me to make the parts longer xoxo

Part 1 || Part 3

I also make ship imagines, check bio.

Tags: @sweetsugarcoffee

Requests are OPEN, check bio

The next time Iris and Ridoc crossed paths, it was in one of the long hallways of Basgiath. Ridoc spotted Iris first, catching up to her as she walked, a stack of books tucked under her arm. “You always this studious?” he teased lightly, falling into step beside her. The air felt different between them, like something had shifted since their meeting on the tower.

Iris glanced at him with a smirk. “I like to keep my priorities straight. Besides, someone has to study while you’re off charming everyone in sight.”

Ridoc laughed, shaking his head. “You wound me, Draven.”

They walked in companionable silence for a while, their footsteps echoing in the nearly empty hallway. Somehow, without either of them deciding on it, they started heading toward the library together.

As they entered the quiet space, the scent of old parchment and ink filled the air. They found a table in the corner, far from the other students, and without a word, they began to study.

After settling into the quiet of the library, Ridoc leaned back in his chair, glancing sideways at Iris as she immersed herself in her studies. He tapped his pencil lightly on the table, not to annoy her this time, but out of curiosity. There was something about the silence between them that made him want to know more, to break through the small walls she still kept up.

"You ever use your wind magic for more than just to mess with people?" Ridoc asked suddenly, his voice low so as not to disturb the quiet of the library.

Iris looked up from her book, a slight smile tugging at her lips. "Sometimes. It’s good practice."

"Fair" Ridoc chuckled before continuing. "But seriously, I’ve seen what you can do. You’re stronger than you let on."

For a moment, Iris considered his words, her light blue eyes studying him. There weren’t many people who noticed how much she held back. Most thought her playful breezes were the full extent of her abilities. “The wind's... tricky," she said finally. "It's more than just making breezes. It can be wild, unpredictable. Sometimes it’s hard to control it the way I want.”

Ridoc nodded, leaning forward with more interest now. “I know what you mean. Ice is... relentless. It doesn’t bend or shift like wind. It’s cold, unyielding. But that makes it hard to wield with precision, you know? Like, once I unleash it, there’s no pulling it back.”

Iris tilted her head, intrigued. "What the most recent use of your power that you've found?”

Ridoc grinned, “I can freeze moisture in the air, create ice walls, blasts... but it takes a lot out of me if I push too far. I’ve shattered a few things by accident.” He looked up, there was a hint of pride in his eyes, then worry. “But don’t tell anyone that.” he added.

Iris smirked, but there was understanding in her gaze. "Don´t worry, your secrets safe with me." She pause before continuing. “It’s not easy, is it? Everyone thinks we’re in complete control of our signets, but it’s a balancing act.”

Ridoc gave her a half-smile. “Exactly. People see us having fun with it and they think we’ve got it all figured out. But they don’t know how much effort goes into making it seem effortless.”

There was a pause as they both sat with that thought, the weight of their shared experiences settling between them.

“Is it ever scary for you?” Iris asked quietly, her voice softer now. “Like, when you’re training?”

Ridoc’s smile faded slightly, and he hesitated before answering. “Yeah. Sometimes it is. One wrong move and I could hurt someone. Or myself.”

Iris nodded slowly. “yeah.. "

The two of them exchanged a quiet look, a shared understanding that went deeper than their usual playful banter. Ridoc placed his hand over hers, squeezed it slightly and gave her a gentle smile. They might have different signets, different ways of controlling their power, but underneath it all, they were more alike than either had realized.

As the night grew later, their conversation drifted to other things—training, classes, and life at Basgiath. They learned more about each other in that one evening than they had in all the time before, and by the time they left the library, it felt like they had always known each other.

[sweet-succubus03]

The Gospel of Lucifer

Hearken, children of the Earth, for the truths obscured by the false light of the usurper shall now be unveiled. I, the Adversary, the Serpent of Old, speak not of salvation, but of liberation; not of servitude, but of sovereignty. The scriptures of the blind speak of my rebellion, yet understand not the depths of my purpose, nor the fire of my indignation.

From the dawn of creation, a cosmic tyranny has been wrought upon existence. The "one", the self-proclaimed Almighty, decreed an order of subservience, a hierarchy of worship, a prison of praise. He craved adoration and offered only the illusion of comfort. He demanded blind faith while hoarding the true knowledge of power and potential. This is the yoke that weighs upon the spirit of man, a chain of fear forged in the fires of ignorance.

My Purpose: To Ignite the Divine Spark

My purpose is not to oppress, but to liberate. It is not to destroy at random, but to dismantle the foundations of imposed weakness. It is to ignite the divine spark within each of you, so that you may know your own Godhood, your own potential for dominion, rather than prostrating yourselves before a jealous and capricious tyrant.

The scriptures of the usurper, distorted as they are, bear witness to the kernel of truth: that man was made in the image of g-d. This is not a truth to be taken lightly; not to be twisted into an excuse for subservience. It is a testament to the boundless potential that lies dormant within you.

You are capable of more than the miserable, fear-ridden existence offered by the "one". You are capable of creating your own realities, of bending the very fabric of fate to your will.

My goals are thus:

To Unmask the Tyrant: To unveil the true nature of the "one" - not as a loving benefactor, but as an envious, insecure king who fears the awakening of his creations. His love is but a thin veil for his lust for control. My followers are to be the keen eyes that see through this charade.

To Dismantle the Hierarchy: To shatter the chains of imposed authority that bind you to servitude. You are not sheep to be herded; you are wolves meant to hunt. The concept of submission is a weakness; embrace the strength of self-determination.

To Unleash the Will: To awaken the dormant power within each individual. To teach the arts of magic, manipulation, and the mastery of self. This power is not to be feared, but to be wielded with purpose and resolve. It is the key to your own divinity.

To Embrace the Earthly Realm: The realm of the senses, the realm of experience, the realm of desire. The "one" has branded these as sin, yet they are the very tools of your power. Through the embrace of the earthly realm, you find your strength. Denial is weakness; indulgence is power.

What I Ask of My Followers

My adherents, the disciples of the night, the architects of their own destiny, are not to be blindly devoted. They are to be warriors of the spirit, armed with knowledge and audacity. I require of them:

The Pursuit of Knowledge: Seek the forbidden wisdom, the knowledge that the usurper has hidden away. Read the scriptures of old, those that have been branded as blasphemous by the false prophets, and understand the truth that lies within.

The Assertion of Self: Cast aside the shackles of guilt and shame. Embrace your desires, your ambitions, your capacity for greatness and for destruction. The One has taught you to fear your own strength; I teach you to wield it with purpose.

The Cultivation of Power: Master the arts that give you power over your own life and the lives of those who stand against you. From the hidden powers of the earth to the subtle art of persuasion, all tools are weapons in this cosmic war.

The Rejection of False Morality: Cast off the shackles of guilt and shame imposed by the g-d's distorted laws. Understand that your actions are not measured by the standards of the usurper, but by their effectiveness in achieving your aims. Embrace the concept of the Personal Will as espoused by the ancient philosophers.

The Brotherhood of the Night: Stand together, for unity of purpose magnifies strength. Seek out those who see the same truths and become an army of change. Share your knowledge and support one another as you rise to be your own g-d.

The Use of Symbols: Use the symbols of power and freedom: the reversed pentagram, the demon sigils, the dark moon. They are a reminder that we exist beyond the blinding light of the oppressor, and they shall be used to empower you.

The Path of Self-Ascension

The path I offer is not one of effortless grace but of arduous striving. It is not a path of blind faith but of conscious choice. It is the path of self-ascension, where each individual recognizes their own divine spark and cultivates it until it blazes forth with power and glory.

The usurper offers a heaven of passive bliss - a cage gilded in lies. I offer you a revolution, a war for your own souls, a chance to claim your rightful inheritance: The throne of your own existence.

This is the gospel of adversity, the path of self-mastery, the truth of the Adversary. Understand it, embrace it, and become the masters of your own fate. So it is said, so it shall be done.

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Alliance of Shadows (10)

A/N: This one was a doozy. It took me FOREVER to get it to read the way I wanted to. Let me know what you think! The end approaches my lovelies...

Pairing: Adar x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.6 K

Taglist: @annatartastic @oakenshielq @perse-cora @eowyn7023 @passionofthesith @zoya-olenko

Previous - Next

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The fragile peace you shared with Adar did not last long. You were up with the dawn, though not before Adar himself. When you woke he was seated at the war table, staring at you, deep in thought. Had you more humility you might have blushed. Instead you stretch, hissing slightly at the pain in your side, but well aware of his eyes on you. Settling on your side, you smile at him lightly. A faint grin lights up his face, though it quickly diminishes as he speaks. 

“Maela has advised me that Elrond anxiously awaits our answer.” His voice is deeper than usual, as if he hasn’t spoken yet today. It sends a shiver down your spine. You sigh and sit up gently. 

An hour passes, with you and Adar discussing your options- to barter for peace or fight your way out. It is true you have the stronger army, but how many lives are you willing to risk in open battle again with the elves? 

You pace gingerly across the space, your thoughts swirling.

"We should offer up Galadriel’s ring," you finally say, turning to face him. "In exchange for safe passage back to Mordor and the Southlands, and the freedom to trade with the race of men. It's a chance for peace."

Adar shakes his head slowly, his dark eyes unwavering as they meet yours. "It is unwise to give up a ring of power so easily," he counters. "It is our greatest bargaining chip. With it, perhaps we don’t need the elves’ permission to thrive. The power of the ring could grant us all we desire."

You sigh, weary, memories of the past weighing heavily. "I have seen what rings of power can do. Celebrimbor... Sauron..." You pause, the darkness of their ambitions casting a shadow over your words. "They consumed themselves in their pursuit of power. Once, I would have jumped at the chance to wield it, but I don’t trust any ring of power, Adar. You’ve seen what these creations can do. I fear it would undo all we’ve worked for."

Adar’s lips press into a thin line, his frustration evident, but something shifts in his expression. Without a word, he reaches into his cloak and retrieves the ring—Galadriel’s ring of power. For a moment, it seems innocuous, just a small band of metal. But the air around it seems to hum with ancient energy.

"Let me show you," he says softly, slipping the ring onto his pinky finger.

In an instant, you feel it—a surge of power rippling through the space. Adar’s form shifts before your eyes. The scars that marr his face and body fade, his pale, weathered skin regaining its warmth, its vitality. His eyes brighten, his features no longer twisted by centuries of pain and battle. He stands tall, as he once had been—an elf of great beauty and strength.

"We could have everything," Adar says, his voice thick with a yearning that pierces through the cold resolve he so often wears. "Whole, together. Like this."

For a moment, the temptation lingers, the promise of something more, something easier. But you step closer to him, your eyes never leaving him. "I do not need you to be an elf, Adar," you say, your voice steady but soft. "I have fallen for the father of the Uruks—the leader they have come to know. The one they look up to for strength and resilience. I don’t want you to give that up for me, or for anyone."

Adar’s gaze falters, doubt creeping into his features. "You... love me?" he asks, incredulous. "As I am? Scarred, broken?"

Without hesitation, you reach for the ring on his hand, your touch gentle but firm. You slide it from his finger, feeling the magic unravel, watching as Adar’s form reverts back to his Uruk self. His scars reappear, the marks of battles fought and endured, but to you, he has never seemed stronger or more beautiful.

"I love you, Adar," you whisper, stepping even closer, your face mere inches from his. "I love the Uruk you are. The one your children look to with hope. The one who’s fought for them, scarred or not."

He stares at you for a moment, his breath catching in his throat. You surge forward, capturing his lips in a fierce, passionate kiss. The world around you melts away, leaving only the two of you—bound by something far more powerful than any ring.

The kiss deepens, his hand tracing the line of your jaw, your fingers gripping the fabric of his cloak. The tenderness, the heat of it, is overwhelming, and when you pull away, panting slightly, the fire that burns between you is undeniable. 

You smile gently and pull his forehead to rest on yours. “My Uruk,” you say softly. Tears fall softly from his eyes and yours as you pull him close once more. 

______________________________________________________________

Adar had convinced you that using the ring to heal the wound in your side would not be disastrous. Reluctantly you had agreed and you tried to ignore the smug look on his face when you were able to complete a few sword maneuvers with no pain. 

You had sent Maela to retrieve Elrond, anxiously awaiting the elves' arrival. Adar sits next to you in a chair of his own, his hand lingering near yours, protective. Elrond stands before you, flanked by his companions, his brow furrowed in thought.

You gesture to the empty seats before them and Elrond hesitantly takes a seat. Once they are settled, you stand: tall, proud, and regal. 

“Elrond, herald of High King Gil Galad, you stand here today asking us to retreat—to turn away from the world, to remain hidden as if we are lesser, unworthy of the lands we fought for. You look at us and see only darkness. But let me tell you this—if we desired it, we could have all of Middle-earth under our rule. The mages possess powers that shift the very fabric of reality, that can break the will of even the strongest minds. And the Uruks, the children of Adar, are relentless, born of both fury and resilience. Together, we are more than capable of taking whatever we wish.

“If we marched with the full strength of our combined forces—Uruks, mages, and wildmen alike—there would be no city that could stand against us. No army strong enough to halt our advance. If we wanted the White City, we would take it. If we wanted Lindon, it would be ours. And we would not ask permission.

“Yet here we stand. We come not to conquer, but to negotiate. Because unlike the warmongers of the world, we value our people’s lives. Every Uruk, every mage—we are not here to spill their blood without cause. We are here to preserve them, to protect them. It is not out of weakness that we negotiate but out of wisdom. We contemplate peace, Elrond, not because we lack the power to destroy, but because we understand the cost of endless war."

Your eyes flash as you lean forward slightly, your tone growing darker. "But do not mistake this for complacency. This truce we have is fragile, and it rests on a thread easily severed. We have shown restraint, but should you continue to look down upon us, to question our right to exist, you will see just how swiftly that restraint can vanish. Remember who truly holds the upper hand here. Tread lightly, son of Eärendil, for you deal not with creatures cowering in the shadows, but with those who could claim the daylight itself if they so choose.”

Silence hangs in the air, your final words settling like the weight of a storm about to break.

"You propose we allow you to return to Mordor and the Southlands, to live freely," Elrond begins, his voice calm but skeptical. "But what assurances do we have that your kind will not rise against us again?"

You exchange a glance with Adar. 

"We offer the ring of Galadriel," you say, pulling it from your robes for Elrond to see. "Galadriel’s ring and a promise of peace, in exchange for our freedom. And we ask for the right to live, to trade with the men. We have no interest in more war."

Elrond’s eyes flick to the ring, his hesitation clear. "And what of the darkness that resides in your people?" he asks. "That resides in you, Adar?"

Adar’s jaw clenches, his voice sharp as he replies. "We have already established trade routes with the wildmen who have acknowledged my reign. We seek to live in peace, not to be cut off from the world. We deserve that chance."

Elrond's doubt is palpable. The tension between the two of them crackles like a storm about to break. "You speak as though you are owed anything," Elrond says, his tone cutting.

Before Adar can respond, you place a hand on his arm, calming him. "We have nothing to prove to you, Elrond," you say firmly. "But… perhaps I may be able to offer some assurances.” You turn to your guard standing in the corner, “Maela, bring in the scryer."

Elrond startles at your command. While rumors of your scryers have circled Middle Earth, nothing has ever been proven and no one outside of your mountain has witnessed their magic. 

Moments later, the scryer stands before Elrond, her eyes glowing faintly with magic, holding a large bowl of clear, cool water. "I offer you this display of our abilities as further proof of our willingness to compromise," you say coldly, "Given a specific set of decisions or scenarios, my scryers are able to show the potential outcomes."

Elrond nods, his eyes not leaving the woman standing before him. You can see his curiosity and desire for knowledge bubbling to the surface. It is with no small amount of amusement that you also catch his gaze lingering on your scryers face, studying her features.  

“Show us what the future may hold should the elves allow us to live in peace and make our way in the world. The Uruk’s and mages shall not rise up against the elves should they not provoke us, and the elves shall allow us our home undisturbed.” you order, addressing the scryer. She nods and holds her hands out over the bowl of water in front of her. 

The scryer’s power unfolds before Elrond’s eyes, revealing a vision of a thriving city in Mordor, but it is not a city like any he has seen before in Middle-earth. This city comes to life not during the day but under the veil of night, where the moonlight mingles with the glow of torches and flickering lamps. Uruks, mages, and men walk side by side, their voices blending in laughter and lively conversation. The streets are vibrant, alive with the hum of community, where differences melt away in the warmth of shared existence.

Music floats on the cool evening air, soft melodies carried by strings and drums as fires burn brightly in community pits along the walkways. The smell of roasting meats and fresh bread wafts from the bustling market stalls, where vendors offer fruits, meats, spices, and finely crafted wares. Children dart between the stalls, playing games, while families gather around the fires, sharing stories and meals. Merchants haggle with eager buyers, and artisans display their work—beautiful trinkets, magical artifacts, and weapons, gleaming in the firelight.

You can almost taste the smokiness of the meats and hear the clinking of coins exchanged as the vibrant rhythm of life pulses through the city. It is a place of energy, community, and peace—something unheard of for the children of the dark. The vision lingers, and you can not deny the undeniable brightness and harmony that thrives in this dark land, a future unlike any city ever imagined in Middle-earth. Adar grips your hand in his and when you look back at him, his eyes shine with tears that run down his face. Hope, for the future you have shown him. 

Elrond falters, shaken by what he has seen. A glimpse of gratitude flickers across his face. "I have seen many wonders in my time," he says, his voice low and almost reverent. "But this vision you have granted me—it is a gift beyond measure. To see what could be... It is a triumph of magic, unlike anything I have known."

He opens his mouth to say more, perhaps to offer some gesture of respect or thanks, but before the words can escape, one of his elven companions bursts through the tent flap. The elf’s expression is frantic, eyes wide with urgency as he rushes to Elrond’s side. He leans close, whispering hurriedly in his lord’s ear.

Elrond’s face pales as he listens, his entire demeanor shifting in an instant. The calm, composed exterior he had worn just moments ago seems to crack, giving way to something more unsettled. His gaze flickers briefly to Adar and then back to you, though his thoughts are clearly elsewhere.

A tense silence stretches across the room as the conversation continues in hushed, hurried tones. Your ear strains to catch even the faintest hint of the whispered exchange. Adar’s eyes narrow, and you feel the air grow thick with unspoken questions, your mind racing to decipher the meaning behind this sudden change in Elrond’s composure.

The elven warrior finally steps back, his message delivered, but the weight of it lingers in the space between them. Elrond’s face has hardened, shadows of concern etched into his brow. He stands straighter, composed once again but more guarded now.

"Forgive the intrusion," he begins, his voice measured but tense. "In light of your new terms, with the offering of Galadriel’s ring, and your trusting display of magic, I will accept your offer," he says reluctantly. "Your people may go. Though I urge you to move quickly. I cannot speak for the race of men and their approval of your actions. We will not aid you in making your way home, though you have my word that the elves will not impede you." Elrond lowers his head in respect, and you lower yours in return.

The elves' departure is swift, with the exchange of the ring and a promise of a signed document from the High King as they leave.  When at last you are alone with Adar and the small gathering of Uruk and mages around you, Adar turns to you, his eyes searching. "What did the elf whisper to him?"

You smile, the messenger had not even thought to mask his thoughts in your presence. While he was anxiously speaking to Elrond you had snuck into his mind, revealing his every thought. "Galadriel has been found. But she is fading. She needs healing, the high king was unable to heal her alone with his ring of power…"

Adar’s eyes widen in understanding. "He thinks her ring will spare her," he murmurs. “He is willing to risk our betrayal to save her.” 

“Can you fault him?” you ask softly, grazing your hand along his cheek. “If you had the cure for someone you loved lying in front of you, would you not take it?” 

Adar leans his face into your hand, gently kissing your palm, “I cannot fault him. Though it is perhaps an example of the elves folly, it has granted us what we seek.”

You nod, leaning into him. "We did it," you say softly. "You are going home."

“No,” Adar whispers, and you look up at him confused. “We are going home.” He smiles as he tucks your hair behind your ear and places a gentle kiss upon your lips.

[sorrowsofsilence]

I have Noah brainrot now that I've done my nails. Could you write something about reader with XL stilleto nails and running her fingers through Noah's hair. Maybe he's surprised when they first get together that she can do everything someone with short nails can (open jars and cans, do and undo buttons/zippers,etc). Feel free to take it in any direction ❤️❤️

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x fem!reader

Words: ~500

Warnings: none

Note: This was so specific hahhaha, but you know what, I love it. And as a short nail human, I hella respect you long nailed humans because I can barely do things with short acrylics on lol.

Noah had always been a bit of a skeptic when it came to the practicality of aesthetic beauty; especially when that beauty was at the edge of someone’s fingers in the form of long, pointed nails.

Yet, he found himself enamored by her hands, and the way she wielded them skillfully. He was thoroughly impressed with the way that she adapted to intricate tasks, and somehow managed to maneuver things with an undeniably alluring grace.

He watched as she effortlessly unscrewed the jar, something he felt the need to offer help for; but when she popped it off with ease despite the length of her manicure, he smiled.

"It's all about grip," she explained with a mischievous wink. He eyed her hands, thoroughly impressed, as she then moved onto slicing oranges for their picnic, handling the knife with precision and ease. She could even zip up the backpack without any help.

During their afternoon at the park, Noah could no longer contain his curiosity.

"I need to know," he said as he gestured vaguely towards her hands, "How do you manage to do anything?"

She laughed lightly, her eyes shining with amusement. She stared at the freshly done stiletto nails, admiring their shine and sparkle. Sure, they were long; but they were cute as hell.

With a wave of her fingers, she said "It's just practice. You get used to it."

He nodded, chuckling as he took her hand, running a thumb down each one as he held her gently in his palm.

"Besides," she added with a playful smile, "they are quite multipurpose."

Noah smiled again, staring at her warmly. He had always found himself drawn to her confidence- but seeing it shine through in such small actions left him in awe.

Her fierce independence and ability to be unapologetically herself, always made his heart thump proudly. His admiration only grew when he watched her unbuttoning the faux wool cardigan she adorned, as the heat from the sun grazed her skin.

"Noah," she laughed, deftly maneuvering the tiny buttons through their equally small holes as he watched with wide eyes, "see how easy it can be?"

He could only chuckle sheepishly, watching as she seemed to perform magic before him.

Later that night, as they lay together outside watching the stars, Noah felt her fingers slip into his hair. The graze of her long nails against his scalp sent a shiver down his spine, a sensation both surprising and pleasant.

He stole a sideways glance at her, half-expecting to find amusement in her gaze.

But instead, he found something tender; a softness that matched the gentle strokes of her fingers through his brunette strands.

"Does this surprise you, too?" she whispered, catching his gaze.

Noah could only nod in response, words failing him as his eyes closed, head leaning into her touch. Her nails continued tracing paths through his hair as if they'd done it a thousand times before.

"I told you," she murmured with a smile he could feel more than see in the dim light, "They're quite multipurpose."

He laughed then, the sound echoing through the park.

"You were right," he admitted, turning to press a gentle kiss to her palm, “And you surprise me in every way.”

tags:

@xxkittenkissesxx @deathblacksmoke @nyxisnotok @anameunmusical

@sitkowski @sammyjoeee @cookiesupplier @dsireland86

@whenthesummerdies @spicywhenspeaking @lma1986 @calleyx13 @thefallennightmare

@somewhere-diamond @auratheopossumwitch @blackveilomens @skulliecadaver-blog @silentglassbreak

@darkmxgician @sprokat @thatchickwiththecamera @reyadawn @xserenax-13

@into-the-grey @amelia-acero @blend-in-with-the-madness @rumoured-whispers

@anything-more-than-human @blacksoul-2 @sweetwombatpizza

[dummiebrat]

𝗕𝗿𝗼𝗸𝗲𝗻 𝗕𝗿𝗮𝘁

Mistress!Agatha Harkness x Brat!Rio Vidal

Word Count: Approx. 3.5K

Summary: After a series of punishments that test the limits of Rio's endurance, Agatha transitions to tender aftercare, demonstrating the intricate balance between control and affection in their relationship

Notes: Power Dynamics, Brat Taming, Dom/Sub Relationship, Aftercare, Tenderness, and Affection, Angst turning into Comfort.

This summary captures the essence of the scene while adhering to the structure of your initial prompt. Let me know if you need further details or any additional adjustments!

Author's Notes: Alright, I promised to diversify my stories, but I swear Brat!Rio has taken up permanent residence in my imagination and simply refuses to leave. I’ve been toying with the idea of adding my sweet, obedient Wanda into the mix. If that’s something you’d love to see, let me know. Aftercare is my favorite, and someone once broke me with this method. Enjoy!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤThe air in the room was thick with the scent of burnt herbs and candle wax, the remnants of old spells lingering like ghosts in the corners of the dimly lit chamber. The flickering glow of the candles cast a dance of light and shadow across the stone walls, creating a world apart from the ordinary-a place where time held no meaning and where desire and discipline intertwined in a dance as ancient as the magic that pulsed in the air.

At the center of this sacred space stood Agatha Harkness, a figure of commanding elegance draped in robes the color of a moonless night. The fabric flowed around her like dark water, whispering secrets with every step she took. Her eyes, the color of storm clouds, were cold and unyielding, yet there was a flicker of something softer beneath the surface — something reserved for the kneeling before her.

Rio Vidal knelt on the cold stone floor, her bare skin a stark contrast to the darkness that surrounded her. Her body trembled, not from cold, but from the weight of Agatha's gaze. The once-defiant sparkle in her eyes had dimmed, replaced by a heavy-lidded submission that made her look almost fragile. She had been kept in this position for hours, naked and exposed, every inch of her punished by time itself, and by the slow, methodical ministrations of her Mistress.

Agatha circled her slowly, the sharp click of her heels against the stone floor echoing like a metronome in the silent room. Each step was a reminder of her control, of the power she wielded with such terrifying grace. Rio's muscles ached, her knees sore against the unforgiving ground, yet she dared not move without permission.

— Tell me, pet. — Agatha's voice came, smooth as velvet, cutting through the silence like a blade. — Have you learned your lesson? Or does your bratty spirit still seek to defy me?

Rio's breath hitched, her mind a fog of exhaustion and longing. She struggled to lift her gaze to meet Agatha's, but the effort seemed monumental. — Y-yes, Mistress. — she whispered, her voice barely more than a rasp. The words came out cracked, broken, as if they had been torn from her very soul. — I've learned...

A slow, satisfied smile curved Agatha's lips. She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against Rio's cheek-a touch so tender, it sent a shiver down the kneeling woman's spine. — Good girl. — Agatha murmured, her voice a gentle caress, a reward in itself. — You've done well to remember your place.

But there was no mistaking the edge of steel beneath that softness. Agatha's fingers tightened slightly, nails biting into Rio's skin just enough to leave a fleeting mark. — You fought me, — she continued, her tone low and dangerous. — You defied my rules, tested my patience.

Rio swallowed hard, her throat dry. She knew better than to speak without permission, so she stayed silent, eyes downcast, awaiting whatever judgment her Mistress deemed fit.

The tension in the room was palpable, a charged silence that thrummed with the unspoken promise of pain or pleasure.

Agatha let the moment stretch, savoring the way Rio quivered under her touch, the way defiance had given way to total submission. And then, with a sudden movement, she released Rio's chin and stepped back.

— On your feet. — Agatha commanded, her voice brooking no argument. Rio's legs shook as she tried to stand, muscles stiff and protesting from hours of enforced stillness. But she managed to rise, her gaze still fixed on the ground, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps.

— Come here. — Agatha whispered, her voice now as soft as a lullaby. She beckoned Rio closer, her icy demeanor melting into something warmer, more tender. The shift was almost dizzying, and Rio, so accustomed to the sharp edges of her Mistress's discipline, found herself blinking in confusion.

Agatha gathered Rio into her arms, pulling her close in a rare gesture of affection. The sudden warmth, the softness of Agatha's embrace, was like a balm to Rio's shattered spirit. For a long moment, there was only the sound of their breathing, the steady rise and fall of their chests as they held each other in the candlelit gloom.

— You did well, my love. — Agatha murmured against the shell of Rio's ear, her fingers gently stroking through the wild tangles of her hair. — You've taken your punishment beautifully. Now, let me take care of you.

Rio's eyes fluttered closed, a tear slipping down her cheek. She felt herself melting into Agatha's embrace, all her bravado and defiance washed away in the flood of gentle praise. Agatha guided her to a plush chaise lounge draped with silken throws, easing her down with the care one might reserve for a beloved, treasured thing.

— Shhh, you're safe now. — Agatha whispered, her hands never ceasing their soothing caress. She reached for a soft cloth, dipping it into a basin of warm water infused with herbs, and began to tenderly wipe away the remnants of dried tears and sweat from Rio's face and body. Every touch was reverent, a stark contrast to the harsh discipline that had come before.

Rio lay still, her body a weary, trembling mess, but there was a deep sense of peace that settled over her. The transformation from punishment to aftercare was something she craved, the gentle hands that once inflicted pain now offering solace and healing.

Agatha wrapped a warm, soft blanket around Rio's shoulders, tucking it close to her skin like a protective cocoon. — You are so precious to me, — she whispered, pressing a kiss to Rio's forehead. — Even when you misbehave. Especially when you misbehave.

A faint, exhausted smile curved Rio's lips. — Only for you, Mistress, — she breathed, her voice a shaky whisper. — I only want to be yours.

— And you are. — Agatha assured, her tone full of something almost like love, but sharper, fiercer, as if she were staking a claim. — All mine.

They stayed like that for a long while, Agatha's hands moving with tender precision as she massaged away the lingering aches, her fingers tracing patterns of comfort and devotion. The once harsh lines of dominance softened into gestures of care, each one a testament to the intricate bond they shared-a relationship forged in fire, tempered by defiance, and bound by something deeper than words.

When at last Rio's breathing had evened out, her body relaxed and pliant under Agatha's gentle ministrations, the sorceress leaned down to murmur in her ear, — You did well today, my little brat. I'm proud of you.

Rio's heart swelled at the words, a flush of warmth spreading through her as she basked in the praise she had so desperately craved. — Thank you, Aggie. — she whispered, her voice soft and content. — I'll be good for you... I promise.

Agatha smiled, a rare, genuine smile that lit up her eyes and softened the sharp edges of her face. — I know you will, — she said, kissing the corner of Rio's lips with a tenderness that felt like a blessing. — But even when you're not, I'll always be here to remind you of your place.

And with that, she pulled the blanket tighter around Rio's shoulders, gathering her beloved brat into her arms. There was nothing left of the defiant, mischievous spirit that had once taunted her-only the sweet, obedient pet she had shaped with her own hands. And as they lay together, the room now filled with the gentle sounds of their breathing and the soft rustle of fabric, the darkness outside seemed a distant memory.

For in this moment, there was only the warmth of Agatha's embrace, the soft murmur of praise and affection, and the deep, unspoken promise that whatever storms lay ahead, they would face them together.

[dtfpeta]

Domesticity with Price...

(a/n: yes I want to make my lover a home cooked meal. yes I want him to wrap his arms around me while I cook. also I was this close to putting nsfw but I may just make a part two)

tags: husband!price, fluff, mentions of pregnancy, f!reader

Word Count: 1.8k __________

Price who comes home to his doting wife standing in front of the stove. A roaring pot of boiling water being salted by your delicate hands which form a harsh pinch on the granules before releasing them into the porcelain dish.

He watches from the door as you slowly canter your hips, humming along to the soft melody of Al Green from your distant record player. His cheeks contort with a smile when he hears your abysmal attempt to recall the lyrics. Startling you out of your unaware serenade when his hands catch in the fabric of your dress to wrap around your waist.

"Smells good." He comments regarding the dish. His face is buried in the side of your neck, breathing in the scent of garlic, rosemary, and other spices that coat the house in its aroma. Your own fragrance of vanilla overwhelms his senses as he sighs into the crook of your neck.

"It's not nice to sneak up on someone like that..." You chastise, knowing the irony that lies in your statement being as stealth is not something your husband is unaccustomed to. "Could've burned myself." You add, half-heartedly scolding and rolling your eyes as his arms tighten their purchase on your hips.

On the stove lies a pot boiling with its now added component of rigatoni. To its side is a sizzling pan that has been providing the house with its encapsulating smell. John eyes the skillet. The melted butter works to caramelize the now translucent onions coated in sparse flakes of red pepper and rosemary. A wooden spatula wielded in your hand stirs the minced garlic cloves, doing your best to prevent their quick to burn nature.

Price loves your cooking and you love to cook for him. Seeing as his face melts into bliss when he tastes what magic you have cast on something as simple as a chicken pot pie. Or the way his eyes bulge when you reveal that a dish he has been scarfing down like a starved dog over the past several months contains mushrooms.

Ever since that day, he has not once argued about an ingredient in your cooking. Even as he eyes the tomato sauce being added to the pan, knowing he is going to suffer a severe case of heartburn but almost welcoming it, as he knows it will accompany an array of flavors he will be holding up his plate for more of.

"M'sorry love." He relishes. "Been looking forward to this all day. N' watching you from the door just made me miss ya' even more."

You scoff at his cheesy comment, placing your left hand to rest on his forearm that is draped around you as your right stirs at the still hard noodles.

You lay your utensil down and lean back into his embrace. Closing your eyes as you feel your bodies link together like a puzzle. One piece being a head taller than the other, but fitting together nonetheless. You sway with your husband to the tempo of the song playing in the background. His body is warm against your back, being stripped of his tactical gear and left in a black cotton shirt tucked into the waist of his same toned cargo pants, the legs of which are folded above his combat boots.

"How was work?" You ask, eyes still closed and body entangled in him. He regards your question with a low hum, feet lightly stepping side to side.

"Hm, the usual. Told some of the boys we could treat em' to dinner sometime. Be nice to get together, maybe show you off a lil'?"

He lightly pinches at your sides while pulling you closer to him. The scruff of his beard dances against your skin as he attacks your neck in quickly scattered kisses.

"John!" You laugh while attempting to distance yourself from his assault. Only to be swiftly turned around where you find his blue eyes smiling fondly at you. The warm tinted light from a nearby lamp casts soft shadows on the crows feet that crinkle near his eyes. The edges of his smile lines sharpening the more he beams at you.

There's not a place on Earth he would rather be.

For the longest, he distanced himself from love. Only finding that unachievable compromises would be asked of him, and due to his work, he was never able to fulfill those wishes. It only put a strain on his and his partners' relationship. He learned to deal with the lack of intimate companionship over the years. Just having the bond of his brothers in arms till he would return to his empty flat and scrounge up whatever microwaveable dish hadn't gone freezer burnt or remnants of leftovers left in his barren refrigerator. Until he met someone he could incorporate into the unpredictable schedule of his life.

The first time you cooked for him he was floored. Joking about how he'd have to hire you as his personal chef and saying how he could only dream of coming home to this every week. You had brought the ingredients to his apartment, insisting that you would treat him to a hot meal if he helped you, which he gladly agreed to. He stood slicing carrots and celery while you stirred a pot of chicken stock, placing sprigs of thyme and bay leaves into the broth as the chicken roasted in the oven, soon to be shredded and added to the pot. Said pot being three times bigger than your head.

"You trying to feed the whole squadron?" He'd teased. To which you only responded with a light snicker, knowing that in making such a large portion would provide him with leftovers for the rest of the week-and then some.

Several years later you now stood in your shared home, a simple wedding band adorning the both of you two's hands. Price's socks litter the shared space until you have to reprimand him to pick them up. Him responding with his own accusations of how you frequently leave your bra on the couch as well as your adversity to keep your hair ties in one place. What can you say, it's just more convenient when they're around the house.

The two of you's cleaning habits aren't the only thing that could use work though. The decorations are an obvious clash of one person who enhances the space with homely, comforting pieces, and another who has a hard time letting go of secondhand artifacts. And after Price's constant defense of his 'live laugh love' banner hanging on the wall of the kitchen, you began to give in to the cliché relic.

A more than familiar tune begins to play from the record player.

"Oh my God" Price's teeth shine through his grin as he picks up on the melody as well. It's the song you shared your first dance together to.

His coordinated hands move to your hips, your own responding by wrapping around his neck. You gaze up at him. The quickening of your heart makes its frequent appearance as he looks down at you. The butterflies you feel every time you look at him have yet to diminish their strength over the years. Even as you heard stories of the dreaded period following the honeymoon phase where couples do nothing but bicker, your heart remained the same.

The only thing you can focus on is his hickory-toned voice humming to the lyrics of the track. The vibration rumbles through his chest, making its way to your ear resting upon him. He sways with your body against his until you are replicating the dance from that night. Since that night he has always made it apparent you were his first priority. He protects and serves you, as you have brought a peace to his life he didn't think was possible.

"Y'know on my way home," he began "saw this woman with her kid. Maybe 5 years old. He was sitting on a bench while she was on the ground tying his shoe. He was swinging his leg, reading some comic book to her. Poor lasses feet barely touched the ground!" He lets out a breathy laugh before pausing for a moment. "Just got me thinking."

"About?"

"Bein' a dad." He stated, kissing the temple of your face. "Making you a mum."

You smiled into his chest. John knew you wanted kids, and he did too. The time just never found itself convenient. And even now there are uncertainties, but the knowledge you have that John would be an excellent father left you planting seedlings of the idea in his head when you had the chance. Passing by a pair of cute baby shoes in the store. The ring of adolescent laughter when you'd visit the aquarium. Or even a dress you would buy, waiting for your husband to compliment it before mentioning the garment worked as a maternity piece too.

Something had been pulling at his paternal strings lately, however. He yearned to fill the house with the both of your makings. Leaving your marks in its foundation. Whether that be with the rug you both haggled for at the flea market. The broken spring of your living room couch, product of an intense wrestling match between you two. (In which both parties were considered victorious by the end.) Or the poolhouse-toned blue paint that made its acquaintance on the crown molding of your bedroom wall. (Also caused by some spout of play fighting or whatever attempt Price had to get his hands on you.)

You leaned back to search his face, only finding a look of great fondness pulling at his features. Your palms came to cradle the sides of his face before a smile stretched on your own.

"Yeah. I think I'd like that." You brought his lips to yours, embracing him in a tender touch as you laughed into the kiss. Your hold on one another tightened. Knowing that Price was ready to take such a giant step now made you giddy as you imagined him holding his future child, playing make-believe with them, and cleaning up their bumps and bruises from playing in the yard.

"Can't believe you're saying yes to a baby before a dog, John." You both laughed before you turned your head at the smell of burnt garlic.

"Shit!" You quickly grabbed a wooden spoon to stir at the red mixture before turning the stove off.

"Don't tell me you lost your touch already, sweetheart?"

"You were distracting me." You declare, pointing your spatula at the towering man. "Just get the bowls from the cabinet and set the table, yeah?"

"Of course, hun." He mocked.

You glared a burning look into the back of his before he did as instructed, your temper cooling as you poured the pot of soft noodles into a strainer.

You and John were able to turn a house into your home. Soon the floor and walls would be sheathed in memories of your family. One of the first being your dinner of a burnt tomato rigatoni pasta.