#he made a choice and took his own path

[posletsvet]

Was anyone going to point out to me that the reason why curses were swarming the streets and filling every empty nook and cranny in the summer of Geto's spiral was actually Gojo Satoru?

The narrative already bears witness to how Satoru's mere birth tips the balance of the world. As the first Gojo to be born with both the Limitless and the Six Eyes in what is almost a half-millenium, he holds unparalled power. Him simply existing is enough for curses to spring into action and start growing in strength as well.

When he suffers a crushing defeat by the hands of Toji and subsequently thrusts himself vigorously into perfecting his technique, this rapid increase in his strength puts into motion a similar process. He becomes stronger, and so cursed spirits follow suit. He breaks the fragile equilibrium, and cursed energy seeks means to restore it.

First time Satoru Gojo changes the world, he is named the strongest. Second time Satoru Gojo changes the world, he becomes the strongest.

Now, this might be a bit of a stretch on my part, but what if Geto's defection and everything in its aftermath is how the world responds to Gojo being the strongest? After all, you cannot balance the scales by putting too much weight on just one side.

Suguru's abilities as a sorcerer are inherently deeply tied to Satoru's, and intentionally so. The stronger he is, the more potent the curses are -- and therefore the more potential there is for Geto's technique. I have said it before and I'll say it again: they are a perfect counterbalance to each other. The equilibrium is broken by Gojo twice. Each time, Geto is there to restore it: first by being born with the ability to manipulate curses, then by creating the opposition to jujutsu society, which Gojo has become the centrepiece of.

Ever since Suguru Geto entered the narrative, he has been the one to keep Gojo's powers in check -- hence preserving the balance. That's why the narrative brings him back: in order to be well-balanced, it needs both of them to be present.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: In The Serpent's Den.

Pairing: Yandere!Suguru x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 4.7k.

TW: Non/Con, Hybrid AU, AFAB!Reader, Cobra!Suguru, Rabbit!Reader, Biting, Aphrodisiacs, Heat Cycles, Oviposition, Manipulation, Biting, Breeding Kinks, and Predator/Prey Dynamics.

“It’s time to come out, little rabbit.”

 His tone was sickly sweet, lulled into something saccharine and tempting, only slightly distorted by the uncommon shape of his tongue. Despite his melodic coaxing, you curled further into yourself – pulling your thighs flush to your chest and burying your knees in your face, doing your best not to breathe, not to cry, not to make a sound. The temptation to uncurl yourself entirely and run, run, run until you found somewhere small and dark and safe gnawed on the back of your mind, but it never would’ve worked. You were in Suguru’s enclosure, Suguru’s territory, and there was nowhere to run where he wouldn’t be able to follow.

“I’m losing my patience, little rabbit. If you come out now, I promise I’ll try to hold myself back.”

Why was he even looking for you? It’d been weeks since his eccentric, white-haired owner forced you into the sprawling greenhouse that made up Suguru’s enclosure, and he’d never paid you a second glance. You did your best to avoid him, to make sure you never crossed his path while he was prowling for a meal. You could count the number of times he’d acknowledged you on a single hand, and he’d never so much as lunged at you. You couldn’t imagine why he’d decided you’d make a good meal now, after weeks of relatively peaceful cohabitation. Maybe he’d gotten tired of keeping you around, of having to share his territory with another hybrid – one so far below him on the food chain. Maybe, this was just the first time he’d gotten hungry enough to hunt you down.

You heard branches shift, twigs break, and instantly, all of your thoughts (rational and otherwise) were replaced with a frantic, buzzing static. “You’re only making this worse for yourself,” Suguru went on, and his voice was too loud, too close. You’d tucked yourself into the densest patch of foliage you could find, but your white ears and cottony tail stood out like blood on snow against the vivid greens and blacks of the flora. Suddenly, trying to hide at all felt stupid. Rabbits weren’t supposed to hide. Rabbits were supposed to die and get eaten by the big, mean snakes who preyed on them. “I’m going to find you, and when I do, you’re only going to be sorry you made me wait as long as I have.”

You could hear the dull drag of scales moving over rough stone, the ebbing ‘hiss’ that formed a slight lisp at the end of each sentence. You raised your head just far enough to see a large, black shape move in front of you, and something buried deep inside of you cracked and spilled open.

Running wasn’t a choice – it was the only option. You were on your feet in a second, sprinting deeper into the greenhouse in another. The direction didn’t matter. As long as you got away from him, nothing else mattered.

Blindly, you vaulted over fallen branches and overgrown roots, rotting leaf litter threatening to steal your balance as you veered away from the beaten path and threw yourself into the tangled wilderness. If Suguru was chasing you, you couldn’t hear him – the world little more than a blur of color and your own racing pulse. You just needed to find somewhere better to hide, somewhere he’d forgotten. A tunnel, or a tree hollow, or a cave dark enough to hide your snowy pelt from prying eyes. You just needed to—

 Your trek came to an abrupt end as your collided with a pane of thick, emerald-tinted glass and were sent crashing to the ground. It took you a second to process what you’d run into – the wall of the greenhouse, the edge of Suguru’s enclosure – and another to remember that you weren’t in the wilderness, anymore, that you wouldn’t find a tunnel or a cave or anywhere else to hide that hadn’t been created deliberately to trick animals like you into to think they were safe. You might’ve cried, if you hadn’t been so desperate. You might’ve gone looking for Suguru yourself, if you hadn’t been too scared to remember what it meant to be caged.

Fighting back tears, you started to scramble onto your feet, but it was already too late. There was no sound, no warning, just a sudden pressure against your back and an agonizing pain burrowed into the side of your throat. His fangs were planted in your neck before you could so much as scream, his strong tail wrapped around your legs and his arms crossed over your midriff, keeping your body locked against his as he pinned you to the ground. You expected his venom to burn, to be able to feel death as it flooded into your veins, but instead, there was only a slight numbing sensation around the point of insertion, a distant fog over your senses that might’ve just been your own fading adrenaline. If anything, you felt…

You felt warm.

Suguru took his time pulling away, his ribbon-like tongue flickering over the skin of your throat before he lifted his head. You weren’t facing him, one of your cheeks pressed into the dirt, but you could just barely see him out of the corner of your eye, make out the dark hair tucked behind his shoulders, the pitch-black scales littered over his face, his chest. You knew he was a snake, but you thought you might’ve heard his owner call him something else, once or twice. A ‘cobra’, maybe, but you’d never met a cobra before. You felt safer thinking of him as a snake.

He opened his mouth, but you were already babbling. Trying not to cry had been useless. Tears poured down your cheeks unabashedly, blurring your vision and making it that much harder to spit something coherent out. “P-please don’t eat me – I’m really small for a rabbit, and I promise I won’t taste very good, and I—”

“Quiet, little rabbit.” You’d been wrong, before. You didn’t feel warm, no, you felt hot – something deep inside of you beginning to smolder at the sound of his voice. Immediately, you shut your mouth, and he rewarded you with a raspy chuckle. “You thought I was going to… to eat you?” You nodded stiltedly, and he went on. “Ah, no wonder you were so afraid. And here I thought my timid little bunny just didn’t like me very much.”

“…’m sorry.” You must’ve run farther than you realized. A few minutes of sprinting shouldn’t have left you this breathless, this dazed. “You… You aren’t going to eat me?”

“No, bunny. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“But, you bit—”

“I gave you a present.” Another dry chuckle, his tongue flitting over the back of your neck. “Just a little something to make sure you wouldn’t be so shy. You should already be feeling better.”

You weren’t sure that you felt better, but you didn’t feel scared, either. A different feeling had taken the place of your fear – the sensation viscous and churning and prone sending pangs of dull, burning pain to the pit of your stomach. You had to make a conscious effort to move your lips, and even then, it was hard to get any sound past your suddenly dry throat. Suguru waited patiently, seemingly more than happy to watch you stumble over your own tongue. “It’s really warm,” you managed, eventually. “I think I might be… tired?”

“Oh, of course. I forgot how easy it is for prey animals to wear themselves out. I’ll take you back to my nest, where you’ll be able to rest safely.” It wasn’t a question, but you nodded eagerly. Safe. You wanted to be safe. You couldn’t remember what you needed to be safe from anymore, though.

He uncurled, but didn’t pull away from you. Rather, your smaller body was pulled against his broad chest as he took you in his arms and carried you through the greenhouse. His destination was a raised loft – set above the wild foliage of his enclosure, accessible only by a sparsely wrung ladder you never would’ve had a hope of climbing on your own. His nest wasn’t at all like a rabbit’s nest, either. Rather than a deep, dark tunnel padded with fur and leaves, he’d taken you to a mess of tangled roots and woven blankets, all piled onto one another to form a box-like bed. Your form, limper than you would’ve liked it to be, was laid on a relatively soft patch, and Suguru positioned himself above you; upper body supported by his forearms, his never-ending tail taking up whatever space you left unoccupied. You wanted to sleep, to do what he said you should, but he was still touching you – dragging a single, clawed finger down your chest and over your midriff, only pausing at your waist to draw slow, swirling patterns into your hip. “My venom has a unique side-effect, you know,” he muttered, his voice low and soothing, the tapered tip of his tail lashing from side to side as he spoke. “A full dose would be fatal. It’d be fast, too – a few seconds of screaming, a few seconds of twitching, and then—” He paused, clicked his tongue. “—dead, just like that. It’s a little anti-climactic, to be honest.”

Something deep inside of you began to throb. You shrunk into yourself, trying to relieve the pulsing ache, but Suguru mistook your agony for fear. “In controlled portions,” he continued, splaying his open palm over your hip. “The symptoms are much more pronounced. Humans tend to get all feverish and clumsy, but hybrids—”

Again, he paused. His hand drifted lower – first to your thigh, then your cunt. You didn’t realize you were dripping until his cold fingertips skirted over your slit, gathering up the slick already staining the inside of your thighs.

“Hybrids go into heat.”

A cold wave of dread washed over you, and Suguru’s smile widened.

“…heat?”

“Heat, little rabbit.”

His hand lingered on your pussy, two of his massive fingers splitting apart your lips and making room for his tongue to lap gingerly over your entrance. The sensation was strange – not good and not bad, a little ticklish – but your hips bucked as it flickered over your clit. You knew better than to get so close to a snake’s mouth, but you couldn’t seem to move, to think about anything but getting closer, closer to anything that could touch and poke and lick you. “Is heat—” You started, only to be cut off by a cracked whimper as the throbbing in your core intensified. “Is it supposed to hurt?”

“Only for a while.” His deep voice reverberated against your cunt, and you couldn’t stop yourself; attempting to rock your hips against his mouth with a high-pitched whine. It was embarrassing to be so needy, so desperate, but Suguru didn’t seem to mind, only ghosting his lips over the inside of your thigh as he pushed you back down. “But, you’ll need a mate to help you through it. Do you want a mate?”

“Y-Yes! Mate!” You’d never felt this empty, before. It was a little like hunger, but not as jagged, not as desolate. It was more of an absence than anything more tangible; a total and complete vacancy that had to be filled. You tried to roll onto your stomach, to scramble onto your hands and knees and present yourself, but Suguru held you in place with minimal effort. Your protest came in the form of a drawn-out whine, a waving sound Suguru mocked with a low coo and an airy laugh. “Please, please, it hurts, Suguru, I can’t— I need—”

“You need cock,” he finished, his tone one of pure, undeniable satisfaction. With a sigh, he picked himself up, straightening his back and towering above you. You felt saliva pool at the bottom of your mouth as the junction between his upper body and his tail came into view – pale skin slowly giving way to ebony scales, the sculpted muscle of his chest meeting the plated armor below his hips. His hand fell away from you, but you couldn’t mourn the loss of contact, not when your attention was so fixated on the thin, almost invisible slit just below his pubic bone. His fingertips slipped shallowly inside of it, and his gaze shifted back to you. “Come, little bunny. I think you’ve earned another treat.”

The encouragement was appreciated, but unnecessary. You were already crawling towards him, your limbs uncooperative and your movements jolting but your resolve absolute. There was still a throbbing emptiness inside of you, getting worse and more demanding with each neglectful second, but all you could think about was settling onto your knees in front of Suguru and drooling at the sight of his fluttering slit. You weren’t sure what to do, whether to use your hands or your mouth, but Suguru didn’t leave much time for indecision. His free hand found its way to the back of your head, nudging you forward until your mouth was pressed against his slit, just starting to leak thick trails of translucent slick over his dark scales. Your tongue darted past your lips hesitantly, at first, but your trepidation didn’t last very long. It couldn’t, not when you had a hollow pit inside of you still begging to be filled.

Suguru’s fingers carded through your hair as you lapped and sucked at his slit. The taste was mildly acidic, but surprisingly sweet – your eyes quickly falling shut as you sank into a pattern of wet sounds and strange textures and point claws grazing over your scalp, scratching at your ears. Throaty moans (the loudest noise you would ever hear Suguru make, in hindsight) and mumbled praise trickled past his lips as you worked, letting you know that he liked the way you were curling your tongue, that the spongy spot you could just barely reach inside of him was particularly sensitive. It wasn’t long before a mix of your saliva and his arousal dripped past the corners of your mouth, before the end of his tail was lashing violently within the confines of his nest. Maybe Suguru was in heat, too. You hoped he was. You didn’t want to be the only one in so much pain.

You felt the tapered tip of something smooth and stiff against your tongue, and Suguru buckled forward, a ragged gasp tearing past his lips as he took your head in both hands and pressed you flush against his abdomen. Confused and panicked, you tried to pull away, but his grip was iron-clad and it was all you could do to whimper, to sit there helplessly while something filled your mouth – hard and ridged and hot enough to burn. Cock, the pulsing in your core filled in, but it couldn’t be. Suguru had made it sound like something you needed, something you were supposed to want, but you didn’t like the way the blunt head prodded at the back of your throat, the way the ridged underside ground against your tongue. For the first time since he’d caught you, your instincts agreed with your better judgement, both urging you to get away, to run, to put distance between yourself and this newfound threat.

Your pussy, though, couldn’t seem to do anything but chant mate, mate, mate.

You could feel something else, too – not in your mouth, but pressing into your chin, your throat. Reflexively, your hands shot up, wrapping around the thick intruder, and this time, Suguru let go of you entirely, biting back a half-choked groan as he pushed you away, leaving you sprawled out and alone in the center of his nest. The hollowness inside of you was nearly unbearable, and rubbing your thighs together only seemed to make it worse. You tried to look to Suguru, to ask him to do something, but instead, your eyes caught on the long, pale appendage pressed into his lower stomach. His cock. Or, his cocks, you guessed.

You hadn’t expected there to be two of them.

You hadn’t expected them to be so big, either. Even at a distance, it was clear they weren’t meant for a rabbit. Just one would’ve been more than you could handle – as long as your forearm, as thick as your wrist, the end tapered to a steep point but the base absolutely massive before they disappeared into his slit. The color was strange, too – the tip flushed a dull pink while the base was nearly as dark as his scales, creating an ombre that might’ve been pretty, if you weren’t so terrified. You couldn’t see any veins, but both were sculpted with pronounced, perfectly spaced ridges. You couldn’t imagine having something like that inside of you, but you couldn’t imagine not having anything inside of you, either.

You couldn’t be sure how long you spent staring up at him, trying to wrap your head around his size, trying to decide if you’d rather be torn apart by his cock or your own increasingly demanding needs. In the end, it wasn’t really your choice to make. His eyes darted from your clenched thighs to your heaving chest to yours, wide and watery, and a grin found its way back to his lips. For some reason, his smile wasn’t as comforting as it’d been, the first time you saw it. “I’m sorry, little rabbit. Did I startle you?” The tenderness in his voice was almost cloying. You didn’t move, didn’t respond, but he didn’t seem to need you to. “I didn’t mean to. Why don’t you spread your legs nice n’ wide for me, and I’ll make it up to you?”

Your gaze fell back to his cocks. One of his fists had wrapped around both, pumping idly while he stood above you. “Are those supposed to…?” You trailed off, shrinking into yourself. Suguru hummed, and you took it as confirmation. “But you’ll only use one, right? I don’t think I can— I mean, it won’t fit if you—”

“Really? I could’ve sworn you were begging to be fucked properly just a few minutes ago.” You stiffened, but he only laughed. “Fine, fine. If that’s what you think you want, I’ll only use one.”

You didn’t think you could trust him, but you could feel yourself getting hot, again, a haze forming over your mind. You could leave when he was finished, you figured, even if you weren’t entirely sure how to get out of his nest, or where to go once you’d escaped back into the greenhouse. After you got over your— your heat.

Hesitantly, you started to listen to the negging mantra still playing in the back of your mind, to obey the near-deafening voice in the back of your head urging you to get on your hands and knees and make him fuck you, but Suguru must’ve decided you weren’t moving fast enough. His tail shifted underneath you, a thick coil catching your side and leaving you bent over one of the thicker lengths, your stomach pressed into his cool scales and your feet barely able to reach the tangled roots of his nest. You scrambled for purchase, but Suguru was there to steady you – his hands finding your hips, his cocks pressing into your ass. The calloused pads of his fingertips pressed into your waist as he aligned one of his cocks – the upper one, you thought, just a little thicker than its twin – with your entrance. He was kind enough to give you a long, slow second to breathe before his hips rutted forward and he inside of you.

Immediately, it felt wrong.

You’d been right when you decided he was too big for you. He was only half-sheathed, and yet, the tip of his cock pressed into the floor of your cervix, the head of his cock alone enough to stretch your pussy as far as it could go. Thankfully, he didn’t try to force himself deeper, but feeling the smooth ridges of rub against the walls of your pussy as he pulled back wasn’t much better. Still, your cunt clenched around him eagerly, doing its best to suck him in despite your physical limitations. Suguru, of course, seemed more than happy to indulge you. His thrusts were slow and lethargic, as gentle as they could’ve been but still forceful enough to leave you pinned to the curve of his tail. You weren’t in control of your body, anymore. As he rolled his hips against your ass, you ground back against him, your greedy cunt never warm enough, never wet enough, never full enough. You tried to dig your blunt claws into his tail, to ground yourself, but it was a futile effort; a limping dear attempting to evade a wolf who’d already tasted its blood. Suguru’s only response was a stifled groan, a new roughness to the way he fucked into you. You felt his chest against your back as he bent at the waist, draping himself over you, his dark hair falling from his shoulder and replacing chunks of your vision with a curtain of thick, endless black. It didn’t matter. A fresh wave of tears would’ve left you just as helpless, not that Suguru seemed to mind the way you sniffled and sobbed between moans.

“They say— fuck, you know what they say about rabbits, don’t you, bunny?” His voice was barely audible, but it seemed to echo on and on and on in your overly sensitive ears. His cock ground against something softened and vulnerable inside of you and your back arched, your pussy clenching impossibly tighter around him. “That’s it,” Suguru encouraged, as you tried to pry yourself away from his freezing tail and chase the gentle warmth of his chest. “They say bunnies make the best sluts. Knock them up once, and they’ll never stop begging for it.”

Kits. A strong mate. A safe nest. The thought alone had you crying out for nothing, your convulsions growing that much more erratic, and Suguru chuckled in-turn. “Like that? Want me to make you into my little mate-whore?”

“Want it, please, w-want it so bad.” It was all you could do to force yourself to speak, to spit something out through the daze of lust and exhaustion and total, unrelenting fullness. You’d never been more sure of anything than you were in that moment, never knew something as deeply as you knew that you wanted Suguru’s kits inside of you. “Please, wanna be you mate, wanna—Suguru—!”

One more thrust, one more scape of his sleek scales against your clit, and you were coming undone around his cock in jolting, erratic convulsions. Suguru let out a ragged grunt and straightened his back, but the distance was short-lived. Strong arms snaked under your knees, spreading your legs and hauling you up to his height. Your back remained pressed against his chest as he pulled out of you entirely and slammed back in. Even through the overstimulation, the wrongness hit you immediately. His cock was too big, too thick, and—

And he was inside of you.

Completely inside of you.

You forced yourself to open your eyes, letting your head fall forward limply. The shock was minimal, but still devastating – both of Suguru’s cocks buried inside of you to their pitch-black bases, their outlines just barely visible against the plush flesh of your lower stomach. “You—You promised you wouldn’t—”

His face was buried in the dip of your shoulder, his lips parted as panted against you. You felt his teeth catch on your skin before sinking into you, had time to process the pure heat of his venom seeping into your veins. Instantly, anything you might’ve said died on your tongue, your mind going utterly, entirely blank save for a single thought: mate.

Your mouth fell open, your thighs spreading that much farther. Suguru pressed a lingering, open-mouthed kiss into the injection site, then pulled away, grinning wildly. “A few drops, and you’ll want everything I have to give you,” he muttered. “That’s better, isn’t it, bunny?”

Much better. You could feel something swelling at the base of his cock, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge anything other than the utter bliss as a small, round shape was milked up the length of his cock and emptied into your core. Kits, you thought, and did your best to settle onto his twin cocks, to hold still as another egg was forced through your tight pussy. You stopped trying to count after the fourth – giving in completely to the shuddering, splintering euphoria every new member of your little family brought you. By the time the final egg was safe and snug inside of you, you were limp, twitching, and so full, it was hard to imagine ever feeling empty again.

As the last aftershocks started to fade, Suguru sucked in a stilted gasp and pulled you flush against his chest. You felt his second cock twitch once, then twice inside of you before something warm and thick flooded into your pussy. You whined miserably as he pulled out of you, but he didn’t stay gone for very long. Your pliable body was turned around in his arms, his cocks slid back into your leaking cunt as he carefully lowered himself onto the floor of his nest – your body laid on top of his. You strung your arms around his neck and pressed yourself against his chest, closing your eyes and giving in to your well-earned exhaustion.

You lasted just long enough to hear him mutter something about mates and clutches before your consciousness faded entirely and your mind went mercifully, blissfully silent.

~

Hours later, you woke up to the sound of a low, long whistle. “Really did a number on the poor thing, huh, Suguru?”

It took you a second to blink your eyes open, to raise your head and glance toward the man standing at the top of the ladder that led to Suguru’s nest, and another to recognize him as Suguru’s owner. His white hair was in a state of disarray, his eyes hidden behind circles of tinted glass, and for some reason, he was looking at you. You shrunk further into Suguru, but he only laughed – the noise loud and piercing to your foggy senses.

Suguru’s cocks were no longer inside of you, the flushed tips just barely visible at the base of his slit. You were still on his chest, and his arms were wrapped around your waist, his hold loose but possessive. There was a small bump over your lower stomach, and you weren’t sure whether to grimace or beam at the feeling of Suguru’s eggs shifting inside of you with every little movement. He was already awake – had been for some time, judging by the unimpressed scowl pressed into his lips. Something sharp and icy lodged itself into your chest, but his glare was directed towards his owner, not you, and the very tip of his tail curled around your ankle protectively as his owner stepped into his nest.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to walk into a serpent’s den?”

“I don’t think it counts if I own the den.” He straddled the bulk of Suguru’s tail, then gestured to you. “Turn the pretty baby around. I wanna see the damage.”

You shook your head vehemently, clinging to Suguru’s neck, but his own response was an exasperated sigh, a fleeting hiss to your cheek as he flipped you over; leaving you slayed across his chest and exposed to his owner’s prying gaze. “Five minutes,” he said, as his owner shrugged the waistband of his pants down just far enough to free his cock, already half-hard, already enough to send a bolt of pure dread from your heart to the pit of your stomach. “I don’t want your scent on my mate.”

You opened your mouth, ready to whine that you were sore, that you were tired, that you didn’t want anyone but Suguru and your kits inside of you, but the words withered into nothing on your tongue as his owner eased himself into your dripping pussy, as Suguru caught you by the chin and pulled you into a shallow, lingering kiss – the points of his fangs just barely scraping over your bottom lip. Looking back on it, it had been silly to ever worry that he’d eat you.

You should’ve been worried that he wouldn’t.

[ireneaesthetic]

Pointing out little moments and details of my fav s3 scene.

choir practice scene • episode 2

this scene caught me so off guard, in the best way possible.

it only took simon's "you should do an activity you actually like" for wilhelm to drop everything and choose getting to spend more time with him!

simon's reaction at wille joining the choir was also mine: he can't believe his eyes and keeps looking back at him with the brightest smile on his face. and simon shifting wille's attention to where the song lyric is bc it's all new to him is adorable.

wilhelm's little proud smirk between the kisses while simon is so into it: he knew and imagined simon's surprised and happy reaction to all this, but i bet he was thriving to see it up until this very moment. so he might just be thinking that he made the best choice of his life.

having to practice and wait for everyone to leave was probably torture for simon, when all he really wanted to do since wille came in was this (simon's main love language is clearly acts of service btw *cough*). he felt important, cared for, loved - and couldn't wait to reciprocate it.

also, he's holding the key chain and happens to do the middle finger with the same hand. if you look at it as a way of saying 'mind your own business' to us is quite funny.

simon setting the rhythm and wilhelm fully going along with it. they don't even separate their lips before leaning in for another kiss - melting into it. they literally said 'no need to catch air bc we're already breathing each other in'.

simon not breaking physical contact even once. his hands are the third main character in this scene: they act like a glue for their bodies and carry so much passion. it is peak chemistry.

going on his tiptoes to push himself as close as possible and clinging to wille for dear life is the most simon thing he's ever done. love really brings out the cuddliest version of him.

smiling into the kisses and out of the kisses? insane of them if you ask me (i support it) (keep doing it lovers).

wille smiling and biting his lip bc he's the one overwhelmed by simon's presence now. physical touch is his love language and he's flooded with simon's - he must feel the luckiest boyfriend on earth.

one of their greatest proofs of love has always been to provide each other's comfort by being exactly what they lack receiving from other people or what they need most of the times - it's a constant learning of how to give and take.

they can't get enough of it: it's not even only about the kissing but more about their need to just keep pulling the other closer, leaning into each other, slowing their movements to not leg go yet but take time to touch and deeply feel instead - wille's face speaks for itself. this hug is so intimate ugh.

it's finally shown a glimpse of wille's hand on simon's back! it was always there obv but it's nice to see it more properly.

wilhelm obsessing over simon's neck and simon who tilts his head back to make it more accessible. wille could've done it all and trace the path with kisses - simon wished - but the boy knew what he was doing!

the way simon looks up at him and wille rubs their noses back and forth, keeping his eyes on him, gives me butterflies.

they're super affectionate and it's the easiest thing for them to do. the intimacy that comes with their whispering, their own personal space becoming one for both of them to share bc it's safer, warmer, a lot more comfortable. everything is such a manifesto of how much they genuinely adore each other - it's what makes this the it scene for me.

their bottom lips touching are sooo *internally screaming*.

wilhelm stands still to let simon's lips brush past his own and simon's cheek resting against wille's lips to enjoy the feeling a little longer. they look so peaceful.

it happens after wille's "i like listening to you sing": they went from "he likes it when i sing" / "i do too, don't i?" (locker room's fight in s2) to wilhelm actually telling him that listening to his voice is one of the main reasons he joined the choir. it has to be extremely special for simon to finally hear it.

idk if it's just my mind making this up but let's pretend simon is kissing wille's neck here!

wilhelm picking simon up by the waist to carry him elsewhere and keep the thing going more privately. that's my wille.

can you believe this is the face of someone who's saying that he needs to go? to not miss the bus? he just looks crazy in love to me.

wille's laugh is cute! and simon throwing his stuff on the floor bc the priority was to push his boyfriend against the lockers to make out will never not be funny.

also, @allthefakepeople once said the only thing that could've made this scene even more perfect is if simon paused when walking away and ran back to wille to steal a quick goodbye kiss - ahhh i'd have been so here for it!

[comradekatara]

these lines provide some of the most telling insight into azula’s character throughout the whole show. while she claims she “doesn’t actally care” that ursa “always preferred zuko,” that her “own mother thought [she] was a monster,” it’s clear she does care, deeply, that she’s belying a core truth about her psychological landscape that is ultimately revealed by the mirror scene in the finale. these lines are the closest she ever gets to being honest with herself before her breakdown. so let’s actually take the time to unpack them.

my own mother thought I was a monster.

much ink has been spilled on whether or not ursa was a good mother to azula, whether she actually thought azula was a monster or whether ozai simply convinced azula that she did to further isolate her. personally, i think it’s something of both. ozai isolated her and molded azula into an extension of himself; thus, he made both azula and ursa see her that way, until ursa was not only afraid for azula, but also afraid of azula. ursa thought that ozai was a monster, so azula, as a projection of ozai, became regarded as a monster as well, even if logically ursa knew that azula was an abused child and not simply an extension of her husband in any ontological sense. ursa had no choice but to let ozai mold their daughter to his image, as she could not disentangle her daughter from her father without also facing his wrath. she was faced with an impossible situation, and she hurt azula as a fellow victim of ozai’s abuse, regardless of whether or not that was ever her intention.

she was right of course.

however, an aspect of these lines that I think gets overlooked and misunderstood is the fact that azula readily admits that she sees herself as a monster. flippantly, even. “she was right, of course.” most people assume that azula is simply acknowledging that she’s the villain of the story. “of course she must know she’s the villain, she clearly relishes in being evil.” but people neglect to acknowledge that azula truly believes that the fire nation is right. azula has been indoctrinated into this ideology since birth; she has no reason to think that she might be on the wrong side of history. when azula admits that she thinks herself a monster, it is not because she thinks that she was wrong to conquer ba sing se, wrong to capture the kyoshi warriors, wrong to kill the avatar. no, azula thinks that she is a monster for the same reason ursa did: because she is like ozai.

but it still hurt.

let’s say, for argument’s sake, that azula did know that the fire nation was evil, that she did bad things for a bad cause. would that actually change anything? no, azula would continue down her path of imperialist conquest, never entertaining the notion that she even had another choice. like zuko, azula is angry at herself. and as we have just seen, she is not just angry; azula hates herself, despises herself, considers herself loathsome, ghastly, monstrous. because as much as she projects an image of supreme power and confidence, wherein she is at liberty to do whatever she wants at all times, azula is ozai’s obedient servant. and azula is paralyzed by the fear of leaving one hair out of place, of straying even a millimeter from his path.

azula was shaped in ozai’s image, with no iroh or ursa or anyone else for that matter to present her with new paths, with ways of escaping her abuse. even zuko, who did receive support and other options, took years to unlearn ozai’s conditioning. azula had no other options, no real support system, nothing to define her identity besides her abuser’s dictums. she has seen what happened to her mother and brother when ozai perceived their treasonous inclinations (i.e., contradicting his narcissism by expressing loyalty to other human beings besides solely himself) and she is paralyzed by fear that the same could happen to her. she rationalizes ozai’s violence by convincing herself that his victims deserved it for being “weak,” but deep down, she knows that she is also weak, that she is also a victim, even if she cannot fully admit it to herself.

so she sees herself as a monster, for being ozai’s shadow, for being the servant of the man who destroyed her family. her proximity to monstrosity appalls her, even as she tries to convince herself that it is proximity to godhood, that she is not an extension of abject violence but a messenger of the divine. zuko can only recognize ozai’s abuse for what it is once he deconstructs ozai’s imperialist ideology, but azula still buys into that ideology, so she cannot put a name to his abuse. but it’s clear she still fears it, still feels disgusted with herself for being victim to it, still feels like a monster even as she tries to convince herself that she is an angel.

in fact, she has to tell herself that she’s a monster, because if she’s not a monster, then she’s a victim, weak like her mother who got what she deserved. if she’s a victim then that means she and ursa (and zuko) were all destroyed by the senseless cruelty of an egomaniac’s petty whims, that all the love she has ever known was ruined for nothing. so she has to be a monster, because at least then she has power, at least then she has agency. ozai shaped her in his image, and she has to be proud of that fact, because otherwise she’d shatter.

and when that realization overtakes her, she does. when she takes inventory of all the love she’s lost, of all the people who cannot look her in the eye, of all the ways in which she has been perverted by her father’s abuse, she is disgusted by herself, for being both monstrous and weak, feared and afraid, victim and perpetrator. and it hurts.

[flamingpudding]

Fictober23 Prompt: 14 - "If you don't stop now-"

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: T

Warnings: -

If there was one thing vigilante work did for you it was honing your senses and instincts as well as helping you become more aware of the things around you. Of course there were a lot more things it helped with but these were the things that helped Dick realize what just happened.

His back pocket was definitely a whole lot lighter than it had been before he had a little run in with a black haired child. Dick chuckled lightly to himself as he turned around and surveyed the streets. It didn't take him long. The child was apparently still a starter when it came to pickpocketing people, well at least not as skilled as the kids of Crime Alley.

Still for a kid to resort to stealing, especially in a city like Gotham, there had to be a situation behind it. So what was originally supposed to be a little errand run for the sibling gaming night later in the day became now the observation of the little pickpocketier.

He followed the child all evening, watching how the kid stole wallets and fruits from street stalls all unnoticed by anyone else. Close to sunset Dick then also watched with surprise how the kid approached a police station. The kid didn't stick around long, and a quick question to the officers inside as a good natured citizen looking for his wallet, let him find out that the kid delivered all the wallets he had stolen over the day. Emptied of their money but returned with everything else.

He pocketed his own wallet quickly so that he wouldn't lose sight of the child and continued to follow the boy. With time Dick became more and more worried, as the boy appeared to walk around Gotham in a completely random path with no clear destination until the boy looked up once at the clocktower and then appeared like he had a place to go to. It worried Dick, especially when he noticed the boy going into Crime Alley.

Now he wasn't in uniform but civvies and this was his little brother's territory. Dick had two choices, follow the kid and put his civil image at risk and apologize later to Little Wing about investigating a kid of his territory or contact Little Wing and ask him to see what he could find out about this child or if he maybe even knew the kid already.

He did neither, fully knowing he would probably get an ear full from B later. Checking his surroundings he quickly made sure that no one was around as he took to the roofs in his civies. Still following the child as the boy walked through Crime Alley. Finally they reached an old, small and run down warehouse. One Dick knew, neither his brother nor anyone else was using because of how run down it was.

Carefully he jumped on its roof, avoiding any and all loose boards while he made his way to a window and snuck in. Luckily there was an overhead pathway in this warehouse and despite the metal creaking under his feet it looked like it was holding his weight. Looking over the railing though caused him to frown and his eyebrows to furrow with displeasure.

Below him was a small camp. A red haired teenager was holding a toddler in her arms cooking something on one of these mobile electric camping stoves that was hooked up to what looked like a soup thermos. Little ways from her lay two barely okay looking mattresses with little to now ratty looking bedding.

"Danny, where were you all day?!" The teenager shouted once the kid he had followed came into her view and Dick recognised that tone. It was one he also used at times with his siblings and Dami liked to call his older brother voice.

"Earning some money and buying some food for you." The boy, Danny, muttered as he handed over the money he had stolen as well as the food he also had stolen.

"Danny." The sister knew that, Dick thought as he continued to listen in. He had his phone out and had taken a couple pictures already he had sent to his siblings in preparation. Babs was already organizing a temporary stay for the three.

"You need to eat something too! Ellie, Dan and I are fine temporarily living off ambient ectoplasm but you need some food!" Dick narrowed his eyes. Four siblings, three can be assumed as metas able to live off something that's not food. The oldest sister appears to be a normal human. He sent the update of information to the others.

"Besides neither Dan nor me did get caught so far and you said it yourself! Once we got enough money we can get an apartment! Or move further away!"

"Danny. You and Dan can't go and continue to steal things."

"How else should we make money then. No one would hire kids!" Dick could easily disagree with this, considering what he had seen in all his years of vigilante work. But a part of him was glad that these kids did not have the contacts to end up on the really really bad side of things.

"Still you shouldn't do that. What if you do get caught, or worse if you and Dan get the GIWs attention."

"We won't." The boy retorted stubbornly and Dick couldn't help but feel reminded of some of the arguments he had with his own siblings.

"Danny, I know that you and Dan are using what little you have recovered of your ghost powers. If you don't stop now-"

Dick never got to hear the rest of the scowling the teenager was going to give the boy as the door of the little warehouse burst open and he had to make sure that he wasn't going to fall off the overhead pathway at what he saw.

In the bust open door stood Little Wing in his full Red Hood get up and he was holding what appeared to be the feral twin of the boy he had followed. Well at least feral in the sense that the child was yelling profanities and trying to punch and kick his brother.

"So this is where you little shit hide all this time? This is no place to live for a kid like you."

Dick muffled a chuckle as he watched Little Wing take in the stunned other occupants of the warehouse before tossing the kid in his arm over to his siblings. Interestingly enough he saw the boy's eyes flash red and Danny's started to glow green as he took a protective stance before his brother.

"Listen up, you little squatters. You four are coming with me before this shit of a place collapses. No running, no escaping and no fighting back and no fucking biting. You are coming with me and that's that."

Dick made sure that he filmed his little brother's entire interaction with the four siblings, including his very dramatic and bad guy like spiel about forcing the four to follow him when Dick knew perfectly well that his brother was a bleeding heart when it came to the kids of his territory.

Grinning Dick escaped the situation through the same window he had gotten in and sent the video he had taken to the others as the update to the situation. He probably would have to dodge Little Wing later for that but for now he could return to the manor knowing that the little pickpocketier and his siblings were safe with his brother.

[sluttyminghao]

gamers do it better | c.sc x j.ww

♡ pairing: choi seungcheol x jeon wonwoo x female!reader ♡ genre: smut ♡ w.c.: 2k ♡ this fic contains: messy gamers wonwoo and cheol, mention of mutual pining/longing over years, cockwarming, blowjob, mentions of fucking/multiple rounds, degradation (whore, slut), praise, and probably other stuff I've missed ♡ a/n: the brainrot is real...anyways enjoy! thank you to @idyllic-ghost for proof reading and giving tips on how to be More Feral <3

reblogs and feedback are much appreciated!

Living with two men had seemed like a great idea initially until you moved in with them. You were constantly cleaning up after them, making sure they ate proper meals besides drinking energy drinks, and scolding them to go outside for just 10 minutes a day to enjoy the warmth of the sun.

You had lived with Seungcheol and Wonwoo for a number of years. At first, it was because you all took the same Biology class together in college and it was convenient for you to commute together at the same time, but even after your classes finished, you found yourself emotionally attached to these men and couldn't bear to part with them, and the feeling was mutual.

The last 12 months or so had been…more challenging than the last few years. There had been some longing glances from the two men, especially if you had walked around the apartment in just a sports bra and spandex shorts. The occasional graze or touch over your exposed skin had also been noted, and made your heart rate quicken, but nothing had ever been initiated.

Many nights you went into your room and your hands wandered to lower places while thinking about how they’d treat you, how they’d bend you into a pretzel and fill you with cum. But it all dissipated when you went back out to the kitchen and found plates and food littering the kitchen bench. Typical men.

It was a warm summer evening, the sun still peaking over the horizon and bathing your kitchen and living area in a golden glow that took your breath away. As you stood over the stove, contemplating your life choices over the bubbling water with noodles, you hear a sudden shout coming from one of your roommate's rooms, sparking interest.

Normally, Wonwoo is a very quiet and reserved person. He makes small talk with you if you eat a meal together, but apart from that remains either in his room gaming or leaves home before you wake and comes back after you fall asleep. Even still, he pays the bills on time and is extremely good-looking, so you can’t ask for more than that.

Turning the stove off, you place the wooden spoon down and pad to Wonwoo’s room, the door closed as per usual. You rap on the door quickly, and a small mumble of a ‘come in’ can be heard from inside, so you turn the handle and squint against the bright light emitting from his screen computer.

“Are you okay? I heard you scream.”

“Oh, I’m fine, that was Seungcheol who screamed because he’s a little bitch.”

Your eyes drift across to the fluffy-haired man sitting next to him, who's staring at Wonwoo, shocked. He shoves Wonwoo’s shoulder and rolls his eyes, before turning around to face you with an unimpressed look on his stunning features. Seungcheol was stunning in his own way; fluffy black locks he’d permed a few weeks ago, bare-faced and the sweetest smile around.

“I am not a little bitch! He purposefully gave me a jumpscare!” He pouts as you chuckle and Wonwoo follows suit, only for him to immediately switch up and jump from his spot on the bed, stalking towards you until you’ve stepped back as far as you can go, aka hitting the wall with your back.

“You think it’s funny?”

“I-” Your justification is cut off by Seungcheol dragging his fingers up your exposed arm, goosebumps raising in their path. You can feel your heart pounding against your ribcage as he places a hand next to your head, and your palms grow sweaty. He grins and beckons Wonwoo to come over, who’s been watching the interaction intently ever since Seungcheol had backed you against the wall.

Everything about this interaction is like your dreams coming to life right in front of your eyes, the only thing that would place the cherry on top of the cake would be if they actually did bend you like a pretzel and have their way with you.

You feel small as both men stand in front of you, their eyes drinking you in as if they haven't had lingering stares on you before (which they definitely have). You don’t try to stop them as they let their hands roam your figure, fingers fiddling with loose fabric before eventually pulling your clothing off piece by piece until you’re left in nothing but your white cotton underwear.

“Don’t you look so cute like this?” Seungcheol comments, his calloused fingers tracing your nipples and causing them to harden. He smirks as he watches them pebble up, not wasting any time dipping his head down to capture one between his lips, letting the bud roll over his tongue lewdly.

A moan escapes your lips, which is quickly swallowed by Wonwoo who shoves his tongue down your throat messily. Their free hands are roaming untouched parts of your body, and while there’s a nagging in the back of your mind about how you shouldn't be doing this with your roommates, there’s a louder voice yelling at you in your brain for not doing this sooner.

“Look how easily you’re giving yourself up for us, already soaking through your panties,” Wonwoo mumbles against your lips as his thick fingers glide over the cotton, the wet spot undeniable as he presses his fingers against it and watches smugly as you keen at the pleasure.

You can only gasp as Seungcheol pulls himself off your nipple and attaches himself to your neck instead, sucking a bruise into the flesh that will be purple within a couple of hours. Wonwoo glances over at his screen and curses, before heading back to his seat, leaving you and Seungcheol in a confused and lustful state.

“I didn’t realize my next game was about to start, why don’t you be a doll and come and sit on my cock? It’s aching just thinking about being sheathed inside that perfect cunt of yours.”

You feel the wet spot grow larger at his filthy words.

When you don’t move from your spot, Seungcheol takes it upon himself to drag you by your hand to where Wonwoo is sitting and readjusting his headset to prepare for his game. With a small groan, Seungcheol rips your panties off your body, mumbling something about buying you some more later, before positioning you over Wonwoo.

A low whistle escapes Wonwoo’s throat at the sight of your dripping cunt, and feels his cock straining tightly against his sweats. He can’t take it anymore and quickly shoves his sweats and boxers down to pool at his ankles, letting his cock spring up to attention. Your eyes widen at the sight, pre cum beading on the fat mushroom head, a prominent vein trailing down the shaft and his balls twitching in anticipation.

He chuckles but doesn't say a word as he grips your waist to pull you over his cock, and lets the tip slide against your clit, a garbled whine escaping your lips at the feeling. He grins and taps the head of his cock against your clit teasingly multiple times, and with each teasing pass you feel your whines grow louder and needier. In a moment of lust, you feel Wonwoo’s lips come up to nibble on your jaw, sending a variety of feelings through your body.

“W-wonu…please…need you,” your breathing is shaky and your words are slurred, the teasing from both men going to your head and sending you into a frenzy. If you didn’t cum soon you think you might just have to grab your vibrator to finish the job.

 Luckily, it doesn't come to that, and your hand comes to rest on his shoulders as he finally guides his cock into you after teasing you mercilessly, the pressure of his cock finally filling you up makes your head swim and your thighs shake.

“O-oh fuck…” your voice trails off and you feel Wonwoo twitch inside of you as he finally bottoms out, a low groan filling your ears as your cunt squeezes around him like a vice. Seungcheol is losing his mind standing next to you, his own cock straining against his basketball shorts.

As you grow accustomed to Wonwoo’s size, you rotate your hips and begin the process of bouncing up and down. When his large hand comes to rest on your hips and grip tightly, you halt all motion and bring your head up to stare into Wonwoo’s lust-filled eyes.

“I didn’t say to move, did I? I just want you to sit on my lap and be a good little slut, and maybe once I’m done with my game you'll be rewarded.” His voice is short as he refocuses his attention on the game, delving right in and becoming immersed in the content.

You whimper as you clench helplessly around his cock, your fingers digging into his flesh through his shirt as he keeps you in place, despite still playing his game. You can’t even see him but you’re sure he’s smirking even while smashing the keyboard quickly.

“In the meantime, why don’t you be a good whore for me and help me out, hm?” Seungcheol’s husky voice has grown deeper and makes you clench, causing Wonwoo to chuckle. Your eyes open and you can see Seungcheol standing in front of you, thick cock in his hand pumping slowly.

As if on instinct, you open your mouth for him to place his cock inside, and you’re immediately met with the salty taste of his precum. You moan softly and start bobbing your head to take more of him in, which has his head falling back and one of his hands entangling in your hair, tugging on the strands harshly.

The sounds filling the room are lewd; the wet sounds of your mouth bobbing quickly over Seungcheol’s cock and how your cunt is still filled with Wonwoo’s cock, the occasional clench of your pussy sending a wave of arousal flooding down his cock and creating a puddle of slick on his chair. 

“Your mouth is like heaven, sweetheart, been waiting for y-years to do this,” Seungcheol praises you as his hips stutter when you deepthroat him particularly well. The grip he has on your hair is beginning to sting, but you couldn't care less when the arousal in your abdomen is beginning to grow by the second.

“Son of a bitch!”

The loud profanity has you jerking off Seungcheol’s cock abruptly and looking at Wonwoo with concern. You can hear Seungcheol groan in annoyance and move your head back to his cock, where you teasingly take the tip into your mouth and suck lightly. 

“Ya lose your game, big shot?” Seungcheol teases Wonwoo, who quickly whips his head around to stare the older down. He removes his headset and raises the middle finger to Seungcheol, who reciprocates quickly before focusing his attention back on you.

“Like you can play any better, especially with a slut in your lap.”

The degradation has you clenching around Wonwoo’s cock and moaning around Seungcheol’s, simultaneously making them throw their heads back and groan. You grin to yourself and make the effort to grind against Wonwoo and deepthroat Seungcheol before you’re pulled off both of them and shoved onto the bed.

You don’t have any time to react as they both crawl up next to you, Seungcheol now taking position between your legs and Wonwoo stroking his cock and tapping the fat head against your lips.

“Are you gonna show us just how much of a slut you can be?”

You lick your lips and spread your legs, inviting both of them to do as they please. It’s going to be a long, long night for all three of you.

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[winterinhimring]

The real tragedy of Dune (which the movies did an excellent job of portraying) is that almost none of the characters we see have any real choice in what they do. The only choices they have are in how they do them.

Duke Leto must take House Atreides to Arrakis, or be declared a traitor to the Imperium and hunted down. He knows it's a trap and that the Emperor is, in the very best case scenario, setting him and his family up for a serious reversal of their fortunes (far more likely, he's outright scheming to get them killed). But he doesn't have a choice. He must go to Arrakis. He does go to Arrakis. He dies.

Paul and Jessica must flee into the desert or the Harkonnen soldiers will kill them both brutally. They must go to the Fremen for refuge or the desert will kill them. They go. They find that the Fremen have already begun to mythologise Paul. He's the Mahdi, the Lisan al-Gaib. There is no option for Paul to be a normal person here. He is either the messiah or he is a false prophet, and false prophets in a nation of true believers don't live for long.

So Paul fits himself into the mold of the myth. He becomes Muad'dib and leads the Fremen in war because they believe too much in him to let him be anything less. Is it manipulation? Yes. But because the Bene Gesserit have been manipulating the Fremen for centuries, Paul has no choice but to continue it if he wants to live.

He sees the holy war at the end of every timeline by glimpses and he fights to avoid it. To avoid it, he becomes the Kwizatz Haderach and gains the ability to fully see timelines, and thereby he makes himself that much more of the Fremen messiah and brings himself one step closer to the holy war. Every choice he makes is a choice for survival and an attempt to avoid that war, the war he cannot escape because every step he makes along the path to survival is one more step towards the war. He has no more choice in what he becomes than his father had in whether or not he went to Arrakis.

The only people who ever had a choice were the Emperor and Gaius Helen Mohiam. They made their choice, to exterminate House Atreides, and thereby they took everyone's choices away, including their own. Once they sent House Atreides to Arrakis, the entire plot was inevitable.

[theerurishipper]

I feel like people really underestimate the importance of Dick being the first Robin. Like, reverse Robin AUs are interesting and such, but I just hope people realize that in the context of canon, they would never work. The reason Batman and Robin ever works is because the first Robin was Dick Grayson specifically. Because Bruce would never have taken in any child if Dick's tragedy hadn't specifically happened to mirror his own experience. Dick Grayson was the only one Bruce truly saw himself in first, because the fundamental event that defines them is the same. And he sees the opportunity to help someone the way he was never helped, to make sure that Dick didn't go down the dark path he did. So, my point here is that the only one Bruce actually made the choice to take in, the only one who could kickstart it all, is Dick Grayson, because he is the only one with whom Bruce could immediately empathize and connect with.

This never happened with any other Robin. He took in Jason because he missed Dick, he took in Tim because Tim forced himself into the role, he took in Steph because he was trying to make Tim come back to being Robin, and Dick made Damian Robin. Of course, he loved all of them, and they all have their unique relationships with Bruce that are very important and inform their characters, and he does need them too. But he specifically formed this connection with Dick that made Dick the only person he ever considered taking in. It took a very specific set of circumstances in Dick's backstory that made Bruce commit an impulse adoption that just isn't really present in any other Robin's story. And the reason Jason or Tim or Steph or Damian or anyone else whom Bruce has taken under his wing even got that chance is because of the work Dick Grayson put into Bruce Wayne.

Before Dick, Bruce was reckless and didn't care at all about himself, to the point of almost being borderline suicidal. He was more brutal, more violent, etc. The reason all this changed, is because of Dick Grayson specifically. He was the one with whom Bruce opened up, with whom Bruce was forced to grow up, to take responsibility and learn to take care of both Dick and himself. Dick, to Bruce was the one who brought "color to their [his and Alfred's] monochrome lives." Dick Grayson's specific brand of happiness and joy changed Bruce for the better. Dick gave Bruce hope. This is true for other Robins too, but only because they followed the precedent that Dick Grayson set, only because they slid into his role (they have their own interesting relationships with Bruce, but this specifically is from Dick that other Robins carried on. A legacy, if you will). Dick Grayson turned Bruce into the kind of man who would become a serial adopter.

Without his influence, without his precedent, there would be no Batfamily, because Bruce would never have gotten to the point where he would be able or willing to take in someone else and care for them properly (It took living through his trauma again to get him to take Dick in lmao). Hell, there would be no Batman because Bruce would have gotten himself killed a long time ago if Dick hadn't helped him learn self-care. Dick knows Bruce best, because he understands him on a fundamentally deeper level than anyone else in the world. And he's the only one who can make Bruce open up at his rawest, most downtrodden state. He is the only one who can give Bruce at his lowest that kind of hope. There is no Robin without Dick Grayson. It's literally a tribute to his parents, using their colors and the name his mother called him. He created that identity as a symbol of hope. He helped Bruce become the kind of man who could and would let other people that he had to care for into his life. Without Dick Grayson, you can simply forget about any other Robin or the Batfamily as a concept even existing.

[kasagia]

My love will never die

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/General Kirigan/The Darkling x moon summoner! reader Summary: You knew Aleksander before he was a Black Heretic, a foldmaker. You married him and promised to be by his side through thick and thin. And you never, ever regretted your choice. However, one day, your paths parted in an unfortunate way, and you both believed that the love of your lives was gone forever. After many centuries, you meet again with a man very similar to your Aleksander. And you start to wonder... maybe your love never die after all? Warning(s): ANGST, de@th mention, the reader yearns for Aleksander, and Aleksander yearns for the reader :c I USED FRAGMENT OF THE SONG "Jeg Saler Min Ganger" FROM THE SERIES "LOKI" Nonsense from me: So this is request from @morrigan-crowmwell Thank you so much, I was super excited to write this! I hope this is more or less what you asked for and that you like it.♡♡ I'm sorry it took me soooo long! ♡♡ Word count: 13k

"Aleksander Morozova! You'll be late to meet your mother!" you squealed as he stole another long kiss from you. "We don't have time for this, Sasha." you moaned, when he moved his lips to your sensitive neck.

"Nonsense… I always have time to properly say goodbye to my wife before I leave." he murmured against your skin, sucking on your weak spot behind your ear. He smiled slyly, hearing the sweet moan coming from your red lips, swollen from kissing.

Saints, he could stay in your arms for the rest of eternity.

"As much as your wife loves your goodbyes, she'd rather her mother-in-law didn't wander in the middle of one, looking for her spoiled son."

"This is how you say goodbye to your husband, lapushka? Calling him spoiled and hurting his feelings?" he asked indignantly, hovering over his beautiful wife and looking at her intently. He wanted to burn the view below him into his mind until he was back in her arms again.

"I have been "goodbye-ing" you for three hours, Aleksander. Don't you think that's enough for a 4 day trip?"

"I need at least one more hour to enjoy you." he murmured, placing more kisses on your already-marked neck.

"If Baghra finds us…" you moaned as he bit your neck gently, effectively silencing you, and got out of your head all the reasons why he should go now.

"It would be helpful if you would stop thinking about my mother while I try to kiss every inch of your gorgeous skin. Besides, don't worry about her. She likes you—sometimes even more than her own son, I have to admit. If anything, she'll blame me."

"Don't worry, sobachka (puppy), you'll always be my favourite." you smirked, flipping him onto the mattress of your bed and straddling him, marking his skin with your lips, making sure you'd give him back the same favour.

"I thought we didn't have time for this?" he purred meanly, pleased with your attention.

"Shut up and kiss me, Sasha." you demanded with an equally malicious gleam in your eyes, knowing full well how this would end. Bagra was right. You had him wrapped around your little finger. Which was good considering how many female Grishas wanted to catch his eye.

"As you wish, milaya." without a second's hesitation, he grabbed your cheek and pulled you into a kiss, pinning you back under him on the mattress.

Disappointment, as usual, overtook you after waking up from this beautiful dream. During those few centuries, flashbacks about HIM only became more frequent. Someone should hang that fool who said time heals all wounds. In your case, it only made it worse.

You'd give anything to go back a few hundred years and not let him go alone with his mother on this trip. You didn't even remember why they went to Aleksander's sister.

You had a vague memory of that day, only remembering the morning with your husband and the fragments of the Fjerdans' attack on your village.

But the moment you found out you were a moon summoner will forever be etched deep in your memories.

You helped your best friend's family and herself escape when the men attacked you. You defended yourself using all the tricks and attacks Alexander had taught you, but it wasn't enough against a band of trained soldiers.

Just as he was about to slash his sword at you, you felt heat radiating deep from your chest. You screamed, falling to your knees as light began to emit from you, blinding some soldiers and killing those close to you. The first time you've used the cut and your power.

You escaped with your friend and her brother - the last survivors, and hid in the city, pretending to be siblings who managed to survive the great fire caused by Grisha.

It was hard to pretend to hate your own people and even harder to hide your new powers. But the hardest thing was going through all this without Aleksander by your side.

You tried to contact him, search in every possible way. But the world was different back then. Your attempts in advance were doomed to failure. And you knew it. But your stupid heart made you search for your husband until the end.

And you did. Until the news of the Black Heretic, the shadow summoner, who died while creating the fold, spread across the world.

You mourned Aleksander for a long time. Your life went on, but the wound of losing your husband never healed. And you knew it wouldn't. He was your great, true love. Your end game. It was impossible to let him go, to make place in your heart for someone new.

Time passed, and everything around you slowly changed. Except you. Your friends got old, grey, and wrinkled. And you remained the same as those decades ago. Then you discovered your second curse. You were immortal.

You and Aleksander could have lived together forever if not for Shu Han's and Fjerda's people.

It was the time when you vowed to finish Aleksander's work at any cost. His sacrifice will not be in vain. You were supposed to build a Ravka safe for the Grishas. All you needed was a sun and shadow summoner.

So you waited. At any sign of the sun summoner's presence. You knew Aleksander's lineage was fine. People often spoke of the descendants of the Black Heretic. You've never come close to them. You didn't want to relive the pain that would be associated with being with a member of his family. Aleksander had no children, but his sister probably did; maybe even Baghra found someone - you weren't sure about the old woman's fate.

The past centuries have not been kind to you. But this month was fruitful in terms of good news. The sun summoner has been found, the king of Ravka was ill, and your men were on the trail of Morozova's deer.

And that's how you were on your way to meet Alina Starkov and the descendant of the Morozovas, General Kirigan.

You were supposed to change the world together - in memory of your Aleksander.

~•♤♤♤•~

Aleksander had never been in such a hurry to get home before.

He was so desperate to have you in his arms again that he even ignored all of his mother's taunts, remarks, and other snide comments. All that mattered to him now was coming home to you.

That's why he bravely endured his mother's teasing remarks as they rode horseback towards your cottage.

He was excited, only moments away from returning to the love of his life.

He missed you more than he dared admit to anyone. And he was a little ashamed of how an ordinary woman without Grisha's powers, like you, could have such power over him.

NO. You were not ordinary. You were his wife, friend, lover, support, rock, asylum, home. The only one to whom he entrusted his heart and soul voluntarily and without the slightest hesitation.

And with this gift his sister gave him, Aleksander will make sure you stay with him forever. That you'll live as long as he does. Neither of them, nor he, Baghra, nor his sister knew if this "gift" would work.

But Aleksander would be damned if he didn't try to keep you in his arms forever.

It didn't matter how many times he failed, trying to make you his equal, trying to turn you into a Grisha with similar powers to his. He was ready to do everything for you.

Aleksander sped up seeing your house. In his haste, he didn't even notice that he had lost his mother and that the scenery around him seemed to be getting darker and more frightening.

He practically leapt off his horse and raced to the door, opening it and rushing inside as fast as he could.

"Y/N?! Sweetheart, I'm home!" he shouted, expecting that as soon as you heard his voice, you would come running, throwing yourself into his arms.

But he was greeted by nothing but a terrible, deadly silence.

The scattered things in the corridor made him slightly anxious, but he dismissed his dark thoughts by saying that you were a little mess. However, after he still didn't hear any response from you, he started to worry.

He entered the living room only to find shattered furniture, an overturned bookshelf, and a broken window.

He panicked. He went mad with fear, screaming your name and running around the house like crazy, looking for you or any clues to where you might have run away.

His heart stopped when he found your battered body under an overturned wardrobe.

In the blink of an eye, he got you out from under the furniture and took you in his arms, trying to bring you back to consciousness.

"Y/N, please, Y/N, open your eyes! You can't leave me, not like that! Y/N! My sweet wife, my heart, please open your eyes!" he was shaking you in panic, begging all the saints to prove his dark suppositions wrong.

"Aleksander?" your quiet, tearful whisper both relieved him and broke his heart.

You lived. He hasn't lost you yet.

NO.

He couldn't lose you. He has to take you to the healer.

"Yes, love, it's me. Everything is fine now. I got you. Just stay with me until I get a help."

"You promised to protect me... why didn't you protect me, Aleksander? Have you stopped loving me?" your desperate whimper tore his soul in half. He began to shake all over, despising the feeling of helplessness and distress that had completely taken over him.

"What? No, I'll always love only you..." he felt your body suddenly go limp in his arms. He gripped your shoulders even tighter, shaking you in his panic attack. "Y/N? Y/N?! Y/N open your eyes! Y/N no! Don't leave me! Darling, no!" he screamed desperately in pain, burying his head in your hair and crying as he knelt on the floor and rocked with your cold body in his arms.

~•♤♤♤•~

Aleksander sprang from his bed.

The general was breathing fast, trying to calm himself after another nightmare involving you.

His beautiful wife. His epic love.

For hundreds of years, the day he lost the only love of his life played out in his nightmares in different ways. This time, his subconscious was kind enough to let him talk to you for a while. Usually, he finds your body either impaled or dismembered. He never managed to save you. With none of those dreams.

His dreams might have macabred the events of that day, but he had never, in all those hundreds of years of his life, forgotten what really happened. He has not forgotten the grief, anger, sadness, and despair that overcame him when he and Baghra found their village burned to the ground without any trace of you.

Despite his search, he still didn't know what really happened to you, and he doubted he'd ever find out the truth. If all this had happened a few years later, if he hadn't been a boy just discovering the true power growing within him then, but the man he is now, you'd never despair like that. You'd never leave him to mourn over the future you two could have if only he was more powerful.

He was trying to fool himself. Telling himself that if you survived, you would have lived a much better life than you'd lived with him by your side. What could he have given you, then? An uncertain future, living in hiding, being hunted by the king's men? You were worth much more. You were worth all the jewels and treasures of this land, safety, peace, family, and happiness. Aleksander couldn't give you that. Not then.

He couldn't remember how many sleepless nights he'd spent wishing he could meet you now, to have you by his side, when he was this powerful man who could look after you properly, who would throw the world at your feet or burn it to the ground, depending on your humour.

But every time the sun came up and he had to continue playing his new role, the bitter reality made him realise that he would never have you again. He will never feel your soft skin under his fingers again, never lose himself in those beautiful, mesmerising irises, never run his hand through your hair, never take in your wonderful, intoxicating scent, and never taste your alluring, feisty lips again.

He was alone. And he will be until the end.

Until he widens the fold and makes sure no more Grisha dies at the hands of common otkazat'sya. That none of his people will repeat your fate.

He was supposed to change the world - in memory of his Y/N.

And then, maybe fate will be kind enough to reunite him with his beloved wife on the other side.

~•♤♤♤•~

Alina Starkov was a pain in the ass.

It took the girl only 15 minutes to run away from Kirigan's Grishas and get herself into trouble. She has damn luck that you decided to follow her and rescue her sunny ass.

You disappeared as soon as you made eye contact with her after you burned the Fjerdans with your pale, white light.

You wandered through the forest, cursing under your breath at the carelessness of both sun and shadow summoners. You didn't know which was worse, the impetuous girl or the thoughtless general who just let her get away.

With helpers like that, you'll have to work twice as hard to make the fold bigger. Fate really had no mercy on you.

You stood by the river, sighing in relief as you washed the blood from your face with cold water.

Your moment of peace didn't last long, however. You sensed an additional presence—someone creeping towards you. You took out one of your daggers and braced yourself for an attack.

But the moment you turned to face your opponent, you froze.

Aleksander...

He was standing in front of you. In a black kefta, a man so like your husband that just looking at him hurts you more than any blade could. This gaze, this face, were hunting you each night, every time you closed your eyes. And now he was standing right before you.

And the worst of it all was that it wasn't your Aleksander.

Only his descendant looking just like him. A shell that resembles the only man you've ever loved.

In your rage, you attacked him first, taking out your anger on him for the saints for continuing to play you mercilessly by putting your husband's doppelgänger in your way.

But Kirigan did not give up so easily. As soon as you moved towards him, he too snapped out of his strange daze and drew his dagger as well. The clang of metal echoed across the clearing as you both tried to find the other's weak spot. Oddly enough, you both did it at the same time.

"Put that down and I'll consider whether or not to spare your life." he growled, holding your arm in a tight grip as he felt your nails digging through the skin on his hand.

"Femoral artery. You'll bleed out faster than me." you replied with a malicious smirk, ignoring his threats.

"Who are you?"

"My mother taught me better than to make friends with the stranger freak in the forest, sir. Especially when they have a dagger dangerously close to my back." you kicked him, pushing him away from you, and attacked again. The clanking of steel against each other echoed across the clearing as your daggers met halfway. You growled in frustration, pushing him away.

"Your mother should teach you not to attack everyone you meet. You may encounter someone much stronger than you." Kirigan recovered faster this time, storming at you.

You ended up in a rather uncomfortable position as you held the steel against his heart and he wrapped his arm halfway around you, pulling you close. You didn't know if you were more dissatisfied with the metal digging into your chest or with his hands on you.

"And yours that you shouldn't raise a hand against a woman. I guess they both failed."

Did you both just say the exact same thing when you first met your husband? Yes.

Will he get lenient treatment from you just because he looks like your Aleksander? Absolutely fucking no.

Taking advantage of his moment of inattention as he stared at you distractedly, you pulled out the second hidden dagger and placed it against his neck. You tried to push his hand away from you, but the man, feeling the extra-cold blade against his skin, woke up from his trance and grabbed your left hand aggressively.

He moved your blade away from his neck and pinned you to the tree, slamming your left hand hard against the trunk, making the weapon fly out of your hand and bury itself in the ground near his foot.

Kirigan pressed his dagger to your side, leaning closer to you. He stared intently into your eyes, and for a brief moment you saw longing flicker in his dark eyes, which then gave way to rage and frustration, equal to the one that exploded inside you the moment you saw him. The moment you noticed that saints still played cruel with you by creating someone so damn similar to your husband.

He has no right to have the same face and eyes as your lost love.

"What. Are. You?" he asked, pausing on each word to intimidate you and bring his face closer to yours. But you didn't care much. You have hundreds of years; nothing, especially the doppelgänger of the man you love, could scare you.

You stared at each other with hostile eyes, and for some reason (other than your dagger at his thigh), he had some sort of hatred for you as well. So much so that he didn't notice how your powers reached for each other where your skin touched.

Strangely, it felt familiar to you. HE felt familiar.

You stared into each other's eyes as you unknowingly leaned in closer. You were about to try to break free from his grip when a sudden snap of branches caught your attention.

"That's you! She saved me from the Frejdans, sir." Alina's voice pulled him out of this strange moment between you two.

You wanted to find a sun summoner. You spent several hundred years on this, but the girl had hellishly bad timing.

Kirigan moved away from you, but you both continued to aim your daggers at each other, not trusting each other for a moment. Even though Alina just admitted that you saved her life.

"Why did you do that?"

"Someone so powerful like you should recognise when they stand before their equal, general Kirigan." you sneered, glancing for a moment at the woman standing next to both of you. Fortunately, nothing happened to her. She had a few scratches, but nothing that even the most ordinary medic couldn't heal.

"And how exactly are we equal?"

You smirked mischievously as you slipped the dagger into your sheath.

You linked your hands, focusing on the warm feeling of your light coursing through your veins, and without taking your eyes off the general's, you pulled them apart, revealing a thread of white light. You spread your arms wider, causing the rays to illuminate the clearing around you.

They both stared at you in amazement as your light turned into stars, which then arranged themselves into constellations. Figures of saints ran around you until you flicked your wrist to make them disappear.

"Melinoe Petrova. Moon Summoner. I think the three of us are going to change the world together."

You watched the speechless Alina with satisfaction, but your smile faded as you shifted your gaze to Kirigan. You had some difficulty reading him, but even more so understanding the longing in his eyes.

It seems your problems with a shadowman have only just begun…

~•♤♤♤•~

Kirigan didn't trust you.

You weren't surprised by it, but you hoped it would be easier for you to manipulate him. Apparently, the descendant of Aleksander inherited family cunning and distrust.

It's been a month since your little encounter (and fight) in the woods. In the meantime, you've been living in the Little Palace with the other Grishas; you met the king and got your own fancy kefta.

Black kefta. With moons, stars, and so on.

You wouldn't care about the colour of the fabric if it didn't turn out that only Kirigan wore one. Bloody Alina was the first to find Genya and get herself a blue one. So you stayed in your black kefta, pretending the general wasn't trying to mark you as his property.

But the son of a bitch liked your look in his colours too much for you to accept it.

It didn't help that he was too much like your Aleksander, either. Many times you've held back from taunting, making snide comments, or yelling at him just because those fucking dark eyes looked at you, taking you back hundreds of years to the time when HE was by your side and looked at you like that.

The similarity between them was not only in appearance. They had a lot in common when it came to character traits. Stubborn, mischievous, prescient, well-read... sometimes, when you spent too much time in his war room, you found yourself thinking of him as your Aleksander.

So slowly, despite all your self-loathing, you fell in love with the general.

That's why you were hiding from him in the library, hoping Alina, Zoya, or anyone else would keep him busy tonight enough to forget that you were supposed to meet him after dinner.

You had to suppress that stupid feeling. He was not Aleksander. He was just your husband's doppelgänger. Just a shell of your lover.

"Mel? Are you okey?" Alina's soft, concerned whisper snapped you out of your thoughts.

"I'm fine. Another nightmare?" you asked, patting the space next to you and opening the edge of the blanket for the girl to sit with you.

Your beginnings with Alina were not colourful; the sunny girl irritated you and could easily throw you off balance. But as time passed, you became friends to the point where you comforted her after her nightmares about the fold and the deaths of her loved ones. Sometimes you would read her old Ravkan fairy tales or sneak into the kitchen for hidden sweets. In more critical situations, you would drag her outside to the gardens, where you would sit on the pier by the lake, watching it gleam in the moonlight.

In a way, you too found solace in comforting the girl. It was nice to have company after being alone for so long. Fighting your past, which was showing up in your dreams, was easier with a ray of sunshine by your side.

"No. This time I can't sleep."

"Are you bothered by overly comfortable pillows, or maybe our princess felt a pea under the mattress?" Alina snorted, shaking her head. It took her some time to realise that your sarcastic remarks were not intended to offend her but merely to make her laugh.

"I'm thinking about Mal."

"Oh yeah… your boyfriend and childhood friend, what's up with him?" you asked, slamming the book shut to turn all your attention to the black-haired girl.

"He's not my boyfriend. We are only friends." she murmured, blushing, obviously awkward at your apt comment.

"Sunshine, I can recognise the face and eyes of a woman in love. You can't hide your feelings from me."

"Well, you're not the only one with this gift. Kirigan also gives you an infatuated man's look. Don't deny it! Even Ivan can see it. I think that already half of the second army knows about their general's fondness for the moon summoner." she teased you with a cocky smirk on her face. You rolled your eyes, returning your attention to your book.

"Please, half of the Grishas look at me like that."

You knew what Alina meant. Kirigan looked to you as the solution to his fold problems - as did the other Grishas. Little did they know that instead of being their saviour, you gonna be their worst nightmare... a White Heretic.

"No, not in that way. They look at you, at us, as saints, as saviours who can destroy the fold. He admires you, not your power. And judging by the fact that you're still wearing a black kefta, he's not indifferent to you either."

You inadvertently snuggled deeper into the black material. Alina was partly right; maybe you didn't want to get involved in any romance, but it would definitely be easier to manipulate the general who is infatuated with you. You could have taken advantage of the fact that seeing you in his colours put him in a strangely pleasant mood. You've used your black clothes more than once as a weapon in your negotiations with the dark general.

"I have a black kefta because some irritatingly fast sun summoner found Genya first and got herself a dark blue one. You didn't leave me much choice, Alina."

"How sorry I am for that. By the way, Kirigan asked about you. He waits in his chambers, longing to finally see you after you've been ruthlessly ignoring him all day."

"I'm not done with you, Starkov!" you shouted after her, but the girl was already at the door, sticking her tongue out at you.

"See you in the morning, Petrova! You will tell me about your meeting with the General." she said as she walked away, slamming the library door.

"That little bitch." you muttered under your breath, wondering if you should go. You could have lied to him and said that you didn't meet Alina and forgot about your meeting. You only doubted the sun summoner's loyalty to you...

However, you started gathering your things, knowing full well that you would have to leave the library anyway.

You frowned as you heard soft footsteps behind you that probably no normal human would have heard… at least not one who hadn't lived at least a hundred years of hiding and running.

"Ivan." you greeted him without turning to face him. The man stopped, obviously surprised that you sensed his presence. However, he quickly returned to his unemotional mode.

"Miss Petrova. The General requests your presence in the war room."

"I was on my way." you replied, knowing full well that the man knew the truth. More than once, he chased you around the Little Palace at the general's behest. Fortunately, he had enough sense in his head not to make Kirigan aware that your memory was reliable and you didn't meet him only out of your own reluctance (actually, a huge desire to see him). "Alina just told me he wants to see me."

Ivan nodded and waited for you to escort you to the war room.

~•♤♤♤•~

Considering the fact that you were a regular visitor to Kirigan's war room, you should know the way to his chambers. But each time, you seemed to take a completely different route than the last time.

Ivan had to repay your elusiveness by making the longest trips to the general's room.

But this time, heartrender quickly dropped you off at his general's door and, wishing you good night, disappeared into one of the corridors.

You sighed, not wanting to face your growing infatuation and subsequent attempts to manipulate the general into carrying out your plans today.

You opened the door, entering the "vestibule". You pricked up your ears as you heard Kirigan talking to someone very familiar. Zoya.

"You used to call on me. On times like this. Your table wasn't messy, and in bed, it was me instead of these books. I can help you make it all right. Just let yourself relax." without knowing why, you wanted to go in there and interrupt whatever plan she had to seduce him. And not because you felt jealousy eating you up inside. You were supposed to be the one to lead him by the nose to do whatever you wanted. Not that windy bitch who was ruining your plan.

"I shall relax when my moon summoner comes here to help me with this. With her by my side, you don't need to worry about me anymore. I'm with the perfect helper." you chuckled internally, wanting so much to see the look on her face after he had rejected her. You figured this would be the perfect time to step in.

"Am I disturbing?" you asked as you walked inside.

If Zoya was an inferni, the general's room would probably go up in flames at the sight of you. Kirigan, on the other hand, seemed very pleased to see you. His eyes were focused only on you. And your black nightgown, over which you threw on (also the black) kefta he ordered.

"Not at all. Zoya was about to leave a few minutes ago."

"General." he said. Kirigan did not even glare at her as she bowed to him. She walked past you, giving you a hostile look, which you only smirked at.

"Didn't you forget something?" Kirigan's sharp question broke the silence between the three of you. Zoya stood immobile, as if engraved. She stared at the general for a moment, then clenched her hands into fists and bowed to you.

"Miss Petrova." she growled, then stormed out of the war room, slamming the door.

"It wasn't necessary. You'll only infuriate her more by forcing her to show me respect." you said, turning to face the general, who was suddenly right behind you. He was the only one who could sneak up on you. A skill he used extensively.

"You're the moon summoner… you'll get all the respect you deserve. I'll make sure about it." he murmured, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"You can't make people do it. Respect is something that has to be earned, something that has no meaning if it is given involuntarily." his silence surprised you. He usually answered your words with 10 of his. But now he was staring at you silently, which didn't help your already fast-beating heart. "So what do we have on the agenda today, general? Arguments about whether we really need First Army soldiers or you don't know where Loavana is."

"I know where Loavana is. I was tired then, and besides, you were the one who turned the map and misled me."

"Of course, general." you snorted, smiling teasingly. You moved to the other side of the table, tactically increasing the distance between you. "So, did you summon me for any reason other than staring at my natural glow? Because honestly, I'm getting a little bored." you said as you sat down on the table and casually reached for one of the orders he had written.

"Always impatient." he muttered, suddenly appearing in front of you and gently taking the paper from your hand.

"Always too mysterious."

"This may surprise you, but I have other things on my mind than your natural glow, little moon."

"What a shame." you murmured, placing your hand over your heart in a hurt gesture. But you became serious when you saw him staring dully at the map. "What's bothering you?"

"The Fjerdans have moved closer to our border."

"How many?" you asked, jumping off the table and turning your full attention to the distressed general.

"Several branches. Enough to get our attention and attack one of our regiments." he replied, pouring himself a glass of liquor and handing you your own.

"We need to speed up Alina's training. Before all hell breaks loose and our great king orders our troops to be divided to fight the Fjerdans. The fold case must be finally closed. Before we go to another war. For now, we have to send some of our healers and additional troops there. If there are more of Grishas there, no Fjerdan will dare attack them. They will shift their attention to the soldiers of the first army, and this will no longer be a direct problem for us." you turned to him, confused by his silence. Kirigan stared at you with a gentle, tender smile on his face and a longing, dreamy look. The silence between the two of you and the gaze he was giving you embarrassed you. "What? Why are you looking at me like that? Did I say something wrong?"

"No." he grunted, shaking his head as he blushed slightly when you caught him staring. "I just... I was fighting this war alone for so long."

This was the moment. You had to cast your net over him, surround him at his most vulnerable, and make him fall for you.

But you forgot to guard your own heart in the process...

You grabbed his hand. Your powers combined as usual when your skin touched, causing you to be enveloped in the utter darkness of his shadows, with only the white light emanating from your joined hands illuminating your faces.

"You're not alone." you whispered, afraid to break the spell between you. Afraid that the moment your voice reaches him, those damn hypnotic eyes will tear away from yours. Afraid your mind is about to scold the stupid heart that beat for the man before you. A man who, for the sake of your sanity, was too much like the husband you loved.

"I've been waiting a long time for you." he replied just as quietly, afraid to break the sanctity of the moment. Afraid it was another of his cruel dreams where he would have your dead body in his arms again. But the reality was even more brutal for him. Because the woman who stood before him, the woman who looked exactly like his wife, wasn't her at all. And that didn't stop his cold, centuries-old heart from beating for her.

"Believe me, not as long as me." you whispered. Tears began to gather in his eyes, threatening to spill out as he raised his other trembling hand and cupped your cheek. The feel of his cold hand on your face made you realise what you were doing. He was not Aleksander. He wasn't yours. And you will never be his. "I think I should go." you grunted, stepping away from him.

His shadows returned to him, as did your light. Everything has returned to normal. Except for the frantic beating of the hearts of the two of you.

"Don't forget about tomorrow's ball. We're supposed to put on a little show for the king and his nobility."

"How could I forget that we're supposed to be circus monkeys tomorrow?" you asked with a pugnacious smirk, to which he just shook his head in amusement.

"Don't let anyone else hear it. I don't want to visit you in a dungeon… however tempting you look in chains." his bold suggestion shocked you, but you decided to play on without giving him a chance to have the last word. You walked over to him and, ignoring his intense gaze, whispered in his ear with your lips brushing his earlobe.

"I'm not that easy to put in chains, general." you brushed his cheek with yours and disappeared from the war room at the speed of light.

It was something you could do. Game, flirt, chase, challenge—all kept away from any emotion other than lust. It was a game. Manipulation game. And you were going to win it. For your Aleksander and other Grishas.

~•♤♤♤•~

Your dress was so beautiful and wonderful. You admire Genya's skills, but what she did for you this time was indescribable.

With trembling hands, you smoothed the fabric of the dress around your waist, admiring the intricate embroidery of the constellations. The white and silver threads shone in the candlelight like real stars on your dark blue dress.

You didn't like getting dressed up, getting your hair up in a fancy hairstyle, or wearing those uncomfortable ball gowns. In fact, you've only worn formal clothes a few times in your life. But only twice did you feel like a true goddess, a queen. Today and on your wedding day.

"Who put that veil on you?" Baghra's grumpy tone snapped you out of your thoughts as you looked at yourself in the mirror. You had a lovely dress, even considering that neither you nor Aleksander and his mother had as much money compared to other families. But it didn't matter. Not for you. The most important was Alexander and you. And not the judgmental looks of other people. It was your day and no one could ruin it for you.

"Myself. Something's wrong?"

The woman sighed as she walked over to you and unfastened it with unusual delicacy for her, mumbling something about your blindness as she adjusted your crooked veil.

"Now. You look almost properly. You're missing one thing."

"Which is?"

She reached into the pouch strapped to her side and pulled out something shiny. She gestured for you to turn towards the mirror. You did it while watching a woman put the most beautiful necklace you've ever seen around your neck.

"Bagra is… it's wonderful. I can't…"

"Yes, you can. And you will be. I won't let that old hag gossip about my daughter looking like a poor peasant on her wedding day."

"Thank you." you whispered in a shaky voice, more concerned that the woman called you her daughter than the ridiculously expensive and beautiful necklace.

"Come on. Don't cry, or you'll turn red and scare everyone, including my son. You'd better hurry up. The boy is about to have a heart attack if you're another minute late. If it wasn't for Ulla, he would have run here 10 minutes ago."

"Did she manage to come?" you asked as she took your arm with the obvious intention of walking you down the aisle.

"Of course. That's my daughter. She wouldn't waste the opportunity to tease her crazy-in-love brother." you giggled, not missing her little smile. The woman stopped right in front of the exit door, giving you a serious look. "Y/N, are you absolutely sure you want this? You know our true origins, my boy's character, and all the dark things our family has been through. Are you absolutely sure you want to join this mess? 'Cause once we walk through that door, there's no turning back."

"I think we both know the answer to that question, Baghra."

"No. I need to hear it. Do you truly want this?"

"I dream of nothing more than marrying Aleksander, and spending my whole life with him, no matter how long or short it may be."

The woman nodded silently and opened the door.

A wide smile appeared on your face as soon as your gaze met the clearly nervous Aleksander. He calmed down the moment he saw you, an equally goofy, in-love smirk playing on his lips. And when he finally had you at arm's length, he didn't hesitate to grab your hands in his firm grip, never taking his eyes off yours for a moment.

It was just you and him. Lost in your love.

And so began your little eternity together... shorter than either of you would have liked.

You'll always remember that day, even if it was associated with bittersweet memories of your all-too-short marriage. A single tear fell from your eye. You wiped it with the sleeve of your dress.

Your hand automatically wandered under your dress, absently stroking the Baghra's necklace to which you had attached your wedding ring. The only memento of your past.

In another life, you and Aleksander could have had it all.

"Little moon? Are you ready?" Kirigan entered your room." We're going... soon." you could see in the mirror how he froze as his eyes met your reflection in the silver mirror.

You turned to him, making a sweeping movement with your skirt. You wouldn't waste your chance to be a diva. However, you yourself soon succumbed to a similar blackout as his as soon as you assumed the general's appearance.

The saints really liked to torment you.

There was no other explanation for why the man in front of you looked almost exactly like your husband on your wedding day.

Aleksander couldn't take his eyes off her. She was perfect. Ethereal, otherworldly, and breathtaking. His Y/N... No. She wasn't her. No one could be her, not even a woman with her face. Which didn't stop him from giving himself to this dream that it was his wife standing in front of him. He spent hundreds of years in suffering; maybe this one night he can afford to live in his most beautiful dreams, where SHE would still be with him.

He cleared his throat, snapping you both out of the strange, nostalgic atmosphere.

"You look amazing." you blushed as you turned back to the mirror, pretending to consider the truth of his compliment.

"Thank you. Genya makes wonderful dresses." you reached for the kefta thrown over the armchair, but the man beat you to it.

"Please, allow me." you nodded to him. You turned your back to him, waiting for him to put the kefta on your shoulders.

He smoothed it out, letting his hand brush the fabric of your bare collarbones for a moment too long. You shivered as you felt the tiny touch of his fingertips on your bare skin. Good thing the kefta covered most of your bare arms. You didn't want to give him satisfaction for how he was affecting you.

But judging by his dilated pupils, you weren't the only one who felt the attraction between the two of you.

However, you will definitely not be the one to give in to such trivial desires. He was not Aleksander. Nobody could.

"Thank you again." you murmured as you pulled away from him, smiling. You preferred to act oblivious to his advances rather than risk giving in to the lust that was evident between the two of you. Although you knew there would come a point in your little game where you'd have to seduce him a bit to lull his guard down. And you feared that moment more than entering the fold.

"Anytime, love. Shall we?" he asked, offering you his arm. "I hope you spare me at least one dance." he murmured, smiling at you with that flirty twinkle in his eyes as he kissed your hand.

Wonderfully. Now he was supposed to be your personal bodyguard for all night.

You sighed, grabbing his arm. Kirigan pulled you closer as he escorted you through the maze of corridors.

It was going to be a really tough day. - you thought, allowing yourself to steal a glance at the general who was already watching you. - Especially with those eyes so focused on me.

~•♤♤♤•~

The Kirigan left you alone for a moment just before entering the ballroom. You were to wait for him and Alina, and then the three of you were to give little shows of darkness and light.

So you waited patiently until someone bumped into you, knocking you to the floor.

"Watch where you walk!" you growled, dusting yourself off as you got up off the floor. The hooded figure stopped and turned to you. You both froze when you saw your faces.

"Y/N?" Baghra asked in disbelief. "It is impossible." she whispered, coming closer to you and catching your hand in a strong, bruising grip, only to grab your necklace later, which had slipped out from under your dress after you fell. She looked at him tenderly, shifting her gaze to you.

"Hello mom." you whispered uncertainly, fearing your mother-in-law's reaction. She liked you, it's true, but in the meantime, you managed to disappear without a trace for hundreds of years. You didn't know what your relationship was like now. But rather, neither of you could be hostile to the other.

"It's really you… But how? I… we thought you were dead, child. Where have you been all this time?"

"A little here, a little there. Forgive me for not writing or coming. I think you understand perfectly well why I didn't."

"Not even a bit, actually." she replied, confused. You frowned. You've never seen Baghra confused. It was a strange sight, to say the least, and definitely worth remembering.

"You know how dear he was... Aleksander is to me. After his death..."

"Death?" she asked. You didn't know if you misheard or if the surprise in her voice was genuine. She rather knew about his death, didn't she?

"Yes. While creating a fold." you explained, looking at her intently. But Baghra's face never betrayed anything. Not any single emotion. She tucked the necklace under your dress and grabbed your shoulders.

"Oh, my dear child. For all this time..."

"Baghra!" Kirigan's scream echoed through the empty corridor. The woman stepped back from you like she was burned, watching the general with contempt as he approached the two of you. "What are you talking about with my moon summoner? I hope she didn't bother you too much, Miss Petrova."

"Not at all. Actually…"

"I was just leaving, moi soverenyi." the woman interrupted you, giving you an enigmatic look, before she turned her back to you two. "Enjoy yourself, Miss Petrova." she threw over her shoulder as she walked away.

"Crazy woman. But he teaches the young Grisha well. What did she want from you?"

"Nothing special. She asked where I was from and what I was doing here. I don't think she's heard of the new moon summoner yet."

"Probably you are right. Let's go. We've got a show to play."

He took your hand gently and led you to the centre of the room, where Alina was already waiting for you.

You had a simple task. Kirigan summons shadows. Alina, on the other side of the room, her golden rays, and you, the white moonlight that was supposed to connect with her powers, then break up into several constellations.

A child's trick and spectacle for the common folk who treated you like toys all rolled into one.

Everything was going smoothly. Suddenly, the room was completely dark. You waited patiently for Alina's light to appear on the other side of the room. When suddenly someone approached you from behind.

"It's okay, it's me. It's just me, you're safe."

"What are you doing?" you asked as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, taking both of your hands in his.

"Don't you think this is the best place to watch the whole show?" his question confused you. You turned in his arms, miraculously seeing those bloody, dark eyes in the darkness. The mischievous sparks both made your chest feel warm and terrified. The bastard was up to something.

"I doubt it; with my light, you'll barely see Alina's trick."

"Works perfectly for me, my little moon." he whispered against your ear. You tensed as you felt his soft lips on your earlobe.

Suddenly he leaned in, the tip of his nose tracing a path from your ear down your skin, sending shivers down your spine as he inhaled your perfume and those damn distracting lips slid from your ear to your neck.

He started placing small, wet kisses there. Your brain has melted. It stopped working while the general was kissing every sensitive spot on your neck. He read your body so damn well that if it weren't for his quick reflexes and his hand over your mouth, your loud, obscene groan would have echoed in the darkness of the ballroom.

You felt the light involuntarily escape from you and thanked all the saints that you lost control just as Alina finished her part.

You tried to push the shadow summoner away from you, but your attempts were so futile (and reluctant) that you quickly gave up, focusing on doing your job with his intoxicating mouth and roaming hands on you.

The son of a bitch was lucky to stay in the shadows, unseen by anyone but you.

You internally cursed yourself for how much easier it was to do the whole trick with him around.

To your great disappointment, he moved away from you just before the grand finale. You were panting, trying to calm your wildly beating heart, and breathing as the light began to take over the ballroom.

And those fucking dark eyes and smug smirk were the first damn thing you saw when you and Alina lit up the room.

People started applauding. Kirigan came up to you and grabbed your hand, and after Alina joined you, you bowed to everyone, gathering an ovation. You glanced briefly at Kirigan, who was staring at your neck. You just hoped he didn't leave a hickey in plain sight. But judging by the way his smirk widened and the way he ran away from you as soon as you were surrounded by a crowd of people, you assumed you had a new, not-so-visible yet bruise on your skin.

You'll kill him as soon as you get your hands on him.

~•♤♤♤•~

You stand in the darkness of his war room, waiting for him to finally appear. You played with the dagger in your hands, contemplating meeting Baghra. You felt something was wrong, something was missing. The woman's behaviour both helped you and, after the general's arrival, gave you a lot to think about. She was hiding something. But what?

you sighed. If only Aleksander was here. It would save you a lot of trouble. Among other things, intimidating his doppelgänger, who started to stick to you too much - much to your tacit approval.

But you were aware that this attraction was only due to his resemblance to your Aleksander. In a few decades, Kirigan will die too. And you will be completely alone again.

The sound of his boots hitting the floor snapped you out of your thoughts. You braced yourself for an attack and jumped on him just as he flanked the door and stepped inside. You pinned him against the wall with a dagger to his neck as he gave you a surprised, amused look.

"Hello, moonlight. Do you like the ball?"

"What the hell was that?!" you growled, pressing the blade against his skin as you made a small, harmless cut.

"You put a dagger to my neck far too often, darling." he noted, frowning as droplets of blood decorated the silver metal.

"Don't change the fucking subject! You have no damn right to act like this. Lay your hand on me like that again, and I'll make sure you don't have anything to summon your shadows with, general."

"So my lips on your incredibly alluring soft skin were no problem for you, my sweet moon?" he asked maliciously, raising an eyebrow. You growled, irritated by his arrogance. You guessed you preferred it when he responded to your attack with his own dagger.

"Do that again, and you won't live to see another moment to find out."

"You forget..." he mumbled, suddenly grabbing your hand holding the blade and wrapping his other around your neck. He pinned you against the wall, making sure there was no space between you two. "That you're not the only one with power here."

"You'd better let me go, little shadow, before you unleash hell you can't stop." you growled, summoning your light, which immediately met his shadows. You fought, jostling with your powers and staring hard into each other's eyes. You weren't going to lose this fight.

"You underestimate me, darling. I'm more than able to face any of your hell."

You didn't know why, but that sentence, the confidence in his eyes, the arrogance in his voice, and the same immense need that was hiding under both yours and his mask of restraint changed something between you two.

His already dark eyes were practically taken over by black pupils that stared at you lustfully. The intoxicating smell of his perfume, the warmth of his body, and those damn big, cool hands on your hot skin only made you accept your spur-of-the-moment decision.

With his hand still tightly wrapped around your neck, you leaned forward and pressed your lips against his.

You both groaned in unison. Your only consolation in this situation was that before your hands hooked on his strong arms, holding on tightly for fear your legs would give out, you could hear his dagger first drop to the marble floor, seconds before your blade.

You only broke apart for a moment before quickly removing the other's kefta and catching the other's lips again. You fought for control, biting into the other's lip every now and then, which only met with more resistance and the will to fight. Neither you nor he were made to lose.

At one point, he grabbed you by the waist, wrapping your legs around him as he carried you to the nearest flat surface—the war table. With one flick of his hand, he swept all the maps, papers, and other stuff off him onto the floor and practically threw you onto a wooden table.

You gasped in shock as your body suddenly hit the wood, which Kirigan quickly took advantage of. He dug into your mouth, his tongue grazing yours as he tried to dominate you once again.

You growled, grabbing the back of his black shirt and tearing the fabric to get to his skin, where you didn't hesitate to leave blood crescents in the shape of your fingernails.

He hissed away from your kiss-swollen lips and bit into the same damn spot on your neck where he had dared leave a hickey before.

Aleksander...

You froze. It wasn't Aleksander. It will never be your Aleksander again. No matter how damn similar they were.

Kirigan continued to kiss your neck when you finally decided, with a heavy heart, to push him away with a gentle kick.

You both stared at each other, gasping for breath. Kirigan took a hesitant step towards you and raised his hand to gently stroke your cheek. But you jumped off the war table before his skin could touch yours and start your kissing session all over again.

You had to escape from there. As soon as possible.

"I... I should go." you mumbled, shoving past him to pick up the kefta that had been thrown on the floor by him.

"Wait a second..." he followed you but stopped the moment his eyes met yours again. You both wanted each other. You were both held back by the very same thing that attracted you in the first place.

"We have a hard day tomorrow. Make sure Ivan wakes up Alina; she's not such an early riser after all." you mumbled in panic, backing towards the door.

"Melinoe." he tried to stop you, but your hand on the doorknob was faster. You opened the door, and without looking back, you threw over your shoulder:

"Good night, general."

You ran to your room, and before anyone could stop you, you shut the door. Tears began to flow freely from your eyes as you slid to the floor.

For a moment, a fleeting little moment, you were Y/N again. You were that 20-year-old girl kissing her husband again. But Kirigan could never be Aleksander. And even if you gave him your heart, he would shatter it to pieces over time when he, like other descendants of your Aleksander, reached old age. You were doomed to be lonely. But the fact that a person with eyes, a face, and a mind so like your husband was at your fingertips wasn't helpful to your already broken soul at all.

You just wanted to have your husband in your arms again. Was it so much for the saints to accomplish? You sobbed piteously until you fell asleep on the floor from exhaustion.

Little did you know that a few floors above you, someone was also mourning their dead significant other. And he also cursed fate for putting in his path a woman so similar to the one for whom he would give everything he held dear.

One thing was certain. The longer you stayed in the presence of the other, the more you lost your mind. But neither of you was ready to deprive yourself of the toxic pleasure of seeing the living face of your beloved, lost spouse.

~•♤♤♤•~

As planned, the next day you headed towards the border with Fjerdans. Neither you nor the general spoke to you most of the way, which Alina and Baghra noticed. Yes. Baghra went with you. The general was just as shocked as you, but surprisingly, he didn't argue with the woman about her unannounced presence.

The only thing you were afraid of during this trip was crossing the land where your village used to be. Aleksander's house and yours. It also didn't help that you were supposed to be there on the exact anniversary of his death - the creation of the fold.

You thought it would be easier for you to ride a horse through the only place where you were happy, but the wave of memories flooding you did not allow you to pass by indifferently.

"You'll never catch me!" you run away from him, laughing.

"If I catch you, the game will be over. But since you're insulting my capabilities…" you yelled as you ran away when Aleksander rushed to you.

You ran along the river, looking over your shoulder every now and then to make sure your boyfriend wasn't right behind you.

Suddenly, a cloud of shadows appeared in front of you, from which your Sasha came out and grabbed you by the waist. You thrashed in his embrace, causing you both to fall to the ground, laughing.

"Aleksander! You shouldn't use it in public!" you scolded him, punching him lightly in the chest.

"We are in the middle of the forest. There are only us and some animals."

"Still it is risky for you. Don't make me tell your mother about this."

"Could you please stop threatening me with my own mother?" he groaned, throwing you off him, to which you squealed indignantly. You stared with your daggers at the man lying before you with a mischievous smirk and an amused twinkle in his eyes.

"Since I found out she likes me and trusts me more than you? No, it's too funny, my grumpy shadow-man." you laughed. You rolled your eyes as you watched his expression growl. You climbed on top of him and kissed the crease that had formed between his eyebrows from your comment. "I'm soooo sorry, Sasha. You know how much I love you, right? You're the most important person in my life, Aleksander Morozova."

"And you in mine, Y/N Y/L/N." he murmured, grabbing your cheek and pulling you into a sweet, slow kiss. You purred, enjoying the feel of his lips on yours - something you'll never get tired of. He pulled away from you far too quickly. He licked his lips, looking at you nervously. You raised an eyebrow, questioningly. "Y/N... can I ask you a question?"

"Right now? I thought you gonna kiss me a little longer, but if it's so important." he chuckled, shaking his head, as he leaned down to catch your lips in a kiss again.

"Happy, lapushka?"

"Not really, but I'll try to survive a few minutes without your lips on mine." he chuckled, but you knew from the features of his face and the gentle clasping of his shoulders that something was bothering him. You just hoped he wouldn't have to leave with his mother again... "What did you want to ask me?" Aleksander cleared his throat, taking your hands in his trembling.

"You know that I love you. I can't imagine how my life would have turned out if you hadn't put that dagger to my throat five years ago right here."

"I knew I recognized this place from somewhere." you cut him off, looking around the clearing. Aleksander laughed, catching your attention again as you blushed at how stupidly you interrupted him. But it seemed to help him relax, judging by the way his hand confidently reached out to cup your cheek.

"You make me laugh. Even on the darkest, worst of days. Just one look at those wonderfully beautiful eyes is enough to completely change my mood. One word from you and all my plans and beliefs fall into oblivion. You are the light in my darkness. The only good thing that happened to me. The only person who isn't afraid of what I can do. The only person who looks at me with such adoration despite my shadows."

"You know I love them. I love all of you, Sasha. Nothing will change that." you replied with tears in your eyes, suspecting what his confession would lead to.

"I know I have nothing worth you and that the life I can offer you is nothing compared to what you deserve, but you know me better than I know myself... I would go crazy if I wasn't the only man who has the privilege of seeing your face first thing every morning and falling asleep in the presence of your beauty. I'd go crazy if someone else could be called yours..." Aleksander took a simple gold ring with a small black gem from his pocket.

You gasped, knowing full well how much money he must have spent on even such a simple engagement ring. Baghra was supposed to skin your fiancé when she figured out what he wasted their money on.

"Sasha..." you whispered, crying, moving your gaze towards him.

"Y/N, kei onolich yash (will you marry me)? Will you be my wife?" too moved to answer him, you pulled him into a kiss. You both smiled like idiots. "I'm guessing it's yes then, but I'd rather hear it from you before I tell everyone else."

"Yes. Yes, I will marry you, you idiot. You didn't have to buy me a ring, Sasha. I would say yes without it."

"I wanted to make sure you wouldn't reject me." he replied with a mischievous smirk, putting it on your finger. You huffed and punched him lightly on the shoulder. The ring sparkled in the moonlight. Your face hurts from smiling. "I promise you, Y/N one day I'll give you the prettiest, flashiest ring in all of Ravka."

"And I will still prefer the one you gave me today." you replied without a second of hesitation, pulling your fiancé into another kiss.

The Kirgian ordered a stop, which everyone accepted with gratitude. And when others Grishas dispersed to their tasks, you decided to go to the place where your house and Aleksander's once stood.

Since you were already a stupid girl, as Baghra so nicely called you, this little trip shouldn't hurt you. You'd rather be stupid and crazy—completely mad from love—than ever forget about Aleksander and move on.

And that's how you got here. By the river, close to the place where you used to be the happiest in the world, and now you were shedding a sea of tears over the life you lost.

"I will build you a palace."

"What?" you asked, giggling as you looked away from the stars to your husband lying next to you on the grass.

Sensing the movement of your head, he turned around to look at you closely. You both loved nights like these. Your hands intertwined as you both lay on the ground looking at the stars and talking about your day, your plans, and your dreams. It was a sacred ritual between the two of you that you performed at least once a week.

"A palace. For you and our future children. A safe place where we can live with our little family."

"Sasha... I don't need a palace to feel safe with you. You are my shelter. My protector. What we have now is more than enough."

"That little hut where we barely fit in with our stuff, even though we don't have much anyway? NO. You deserve all the treasures of this world, Y/N" he murmured, stroking your cheek tenderly.

You sighed, pressing your cheek against his hand, enjoying every ounce of his attention. It's been getting more and more dangerous around here lately. You seldom had time to spend together; you were too busy with the Grisha needing your help. But you didn't mind. As long as Aleksander's eyes gave you that loving, adoring look at least once a day, you were ready to face anything to get back into his waiting arms.

"I already have one." he raised an eyebrow questioningly, looking at you in surprise. You just smiled, pulling him to you by the chin and connecting your lips in a kiss. Aleksander rolled over and hovered over you, not breaking your tender kiss. You placed your hands on his cheeks and gently pulled him away, looking into his eyes. No stars in the sky could match the brilliance of his dark irises. "You are my treasure. With you by my side I want nothing more. You're all I need to be happy, Sasha." you mumbled, stroking his cheeks with your thumbs. Aleksander buried his face in your hands, closing his eyes for a moment and surrendering to this tender gesture.

"You deserve much more, milaya. And I promise, by all the saints and stars in the sky, I'll give you the world."

"Everything in time, Aleksander. Now, kiss your wife and show her how much you love her." you giggled as his long hair tickled your cheeks as he dutifully caught your lips in another sweet kiss.

"Was he really worth it?" Baghra's question cut through your sobs. You wiped your tears, not wanting to cry in front of her, and turned to face her. "Wouldn't you rather curse him for creating a fold and for leaving you than mourn the bastard that was my son? Y/N, child, you have eternity ahead of you. An eternity where you can be happy. Is Aleksander worth wasting it?" you laughed bitterly, knowing the answer to her question all too well. Nothing has changed over the centuries. And you knew nothing would change your feelings.

"You know very well that I will never know happiness again. Not without him. I've never done that in all these years."

"There had to be a moment. Even the smallest." she tried desperately to convince you. You dropped your head, remembering those few moments between you and Kirigan in Little Palace.

"There was. Next to a man who looked like him. But after a while, it dawned on me that he would never be Aleksander. Call me and think about me however you want. Pathetic child, crazy woman… But the truth is, I loved your son, Baghra, and I will always love only him. Our hearts were created by the saints as one and divided in two, placing one in Aleksander and the other in me. There is no one in the world I could love like him, with whom I could be truly happy. This type of love never dies, Baghra. Even separated by a grave."

"What if you got him back? If he was with you, but he wasn't the same man you remember?"

"It wouldn't matter. We are all changing. I know I would love him as much as I did then."

"I just hope you know what you want, child. And that maybe he'll go back to who he used to be because of you." she sighed, leaving you alone with your grief. You frowned, analysing her vague words.

It wasn't until it started to get dark that you got up from your knees and brushed the dirt off your clothes. You were about to leave when the crunch of branches caught your attention. A foolish hope rose in you and you lifted your head, only to meet your eyes with the Kirgian.

"General. I was just returning to camp." he nodded his head without a word.

Taking that as your cue to leave, you turned to take one last look at what used to be your home. You sighed tremblingly as a lone tear rolled down your cheek.

And you whistled.

It was a fragment of an old Ravkan song about lovers returning home after a long journey to throw themselves into each other's arms, longing for separation. You and Aleksander adored it. And you decided that every time one of you left home, you would whistle that particular verse that stuck in your mind.

In storm-black mountains, I wander alone

Over the glacier I make my way

A cool breeze caressed your hot (from crying) skin. But the goosebumps that formed on your arms weren't from the cold at all.

"In the apple orchard stands the maiden fair and sings, When will you come home?"

You froze. Incapable of anything but breathing. You misheard. It's just one of your stupid fantasies, your mind playing tricks on you, or another cruel dream about how you got back the man you loved. It couldn't be true. It couldn't be real.

But the man holding your arm in a tight grip and turning you around to face him felt very real. AND ALIVE.

"Sasha?" you whispered tearfully, shaking all over, and if it wasn't for his strong grip on both of your arms, you probably would have fallen to your knees in front of him long ago, unable to do anything other than stare hopefully at the man in front of you.

Aleksander's heart shuddered and threatened to burst as the pet name, unused for hundreds of years, reached his ears. In an instant, you were on his chest as he hugged you with all his might. With your ear to his heart, you listened to his beating, and for the first time in hundreds of years, you cried WITH HAPPY.

"It's me, milaya. My sweet Y/N, my moon, my heart, my wife. It's me."

You heard him through a haze, too intent on his eyes to understand anything more from his speech. It was him. Your Aleksander. All this time. He was saying something to you, but you completely ignored him as something gold around his neck shimmered in the moonlight. You pulled the chain from under his jacket, sighing as you saw his wedding ring hanging securely on his necklace. A sob of disbelief escaped you. It was really him.

His hand cupping your cheek caused your watery gaze to shift back to those dark, beloved eyes.

"No more tears, milaya. You do not have to worry. From now on, I will never leave your side again. Not for a single bloody second."

And that was enough for you.

Grabbing his hair, you pulled him closer to you to feel his lips on yours as soon as possible. It wasn't one of those soft, gentle, unhurried kisses that lovers share after they meet after some separation.

It was intense, desperate, and needy, expressing your deadly longing for each other's lips through those painful years without each other. You didn't have the strength to hold back, to pretend you didn't miss that exact feeling all those lonely nights.

It didn't matter that your tears mixed and you could taste their salty taste on each other's lips. It didn't matter that your lungs were burning for air. It didn't matter that you had already fallen to your knees, too shaken by the feeling of the other's lips, but both of you longed too much for this closeness between you to deprive yourself of the warmth of the other's body even for a millisecond. It didn't matter if your lips were too swollen to decently go back to camp and pretend nothing had happened between you two.

You sincerely doubted that you would be able to take even a step towards the camp. Not after you trembled in Aleksander's lap as his hands caressed every inch of your skin.

But the moment came when you had to pull away from each other, cursing the need for air. You rested your forehead against his, inhaling his scent and clinging to his kefta to be as close to him as possible.

You both knew that there was no way you were going to be an arm's length away from each other. And you were seriously considering sticking with him permanently. His dark cloak looked big enough for you to hide under it too.

You couldn't believe your luck. He was here. With you. You had his arms around you again as you both clung desperately to each other.

Your Aleksander. Your husband. Your loved one. Your heart.

He had you again. His wife. His soulmate. His sanity. His equal. HIS EVERYTHING.

You wanted to pull away for a moment to look at his face again, but something tugged at your neck, bringing your head to Aleksander's shoulder. You looked down. Your necklaces are tangled.

"Seriously? It couldn't have happened a month ago?" you groaned as you tried to untangle your chains. You smiled, hearing how your husband laughed carelessly for the first time in centuries, since the day he lost you. "We'll never hear the end of it from Baghra, you know about it Sasha?" you asked, resting your forehead against his as you gave up on releasing the two of you. It didn't matter that everything was against you again. At least now you finally have Aleksander with you. YOUR real Aleksander.

"She had already called me a blind fool before she made me come here. I think we'll hear a lot from her about our stupidity." he murmured. You shivered as you felt his fingertips on your neck as he untied your intertwined necklaces effortlessly. He unclasped yours and, with great delicacy, placed the ring on your finger.

"Remind me to thank your mother for making you come here later." you replied, making sure his wedding ring was on his finger as well. Maybe you won't scare all the bitches away from him, but at least you'll make it clear that he belongs only to you. After hundreds of years without him, you have the right to be territorial.

"Later?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You don't think I'm going anywhere other than your tent and your bed right now, do you?"

"Our bed." he murmured before grabbing you in bridal style and heading for your tent. "By the way, I must commend you for how bravely you resisted the charms of someone who wasn't me. I barely managed to kiss you properly before you pushed me away."

"I don't know what I should do to you. Slap you for groping someone who had my face, or kiss you for only being attracted to my beauty."

"You have to admit, you didn't resist me much back then, my little saint." he murmured, kissing you again. He ran his hand through your hair, pulling you all the way onto him so he could feel your weight on him. You were with him. Body and soul. And it wasn't a dream. "Let's go to that tent before I have my way with you here and now." he muttered, getting up.

"Wait." you grabbed his hand. He turned to you, giving you a questioning look as he found you still kneeling on the grass. "Before we do anything. We both agree that we are not going to destroy the fold, right?"

Aleksander held his breath. He forgot how damn perfect you were. How you fit in and understood him in every way. And only the slight ounce of control he had left was keeping him from lunging at you right now as you kneeled in front of him with those beautiful, mesmerising eyes staring at him.

But after all, Aleksander was only human. A man whose cruel fate separated him from his beloved wife for many centuries…

He pulled you close to him in one swift motion. You crashed into his chest, completely unprepared for the sudden movement, but his intoxicating lips on yours compensated for your shock.

You moaned into his mouth as he pulled away from you so as not to lose his control completely.

"Saints, you have no idea how much I've missed you, my little moon."

"I'll take it as a yes." you replied, giggling as he put his arm around you. As you'd guessed, you fit perfectly with him under his cloak. You sighed, intoxicated by his scent.

"You know so well that I'll do anything for you. The fact that our plans coincide only proves that we belong to each other. And only to each other."

"Always, Sasha. I'm yours for eternity." you replied, smiling slightly as you turned to steal a glance at him.

"And I'm yours for the rest of our lives and beyond." he murmured, kissing your forehead.

You practically ran through the camp, ignoring Baghra's knowing, malicious look and the shocked expressions of Alina, Zoya, and Ivan (at which you giggled, causing Aleksander a small, tender smile) and Fedyor's smirk. You entered his tent, laughing as you started kissing while taking off each other's clothes.

"I hope you realize we don't leave this tent for at least a week?" he asked as he laid you down on the bed. However, the bastard didn't wait for your response, stealing a kiss from you.

"They'll be looking for you, Sasha." you mumbled between your kisses and grabbed his cheeks to make him focus on something other than your lips.

"What a pity I'll be too busy with my wife to notice anyone else but her." he lowered his head to your neck, making your hands tangle in his hair. You sighed, feeling his tongue on your skin just before he gently bit you.

"I thought we had a battle to win." he suddenly stopped all his movements. He intertwined your ringed hands and cupped your cheek with the other, forcing you to look into his eyes.

"My little moon, I'll postpone any goddamn war for you. There is nothing in this world more important to me than you and never will be." he promised, pressing his lips to yours.

You moaned, enjoying the long-forgotten feeling of his skin against yours as well as knowing that your love would never die.

[navybrat817]

A Little Push

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky doesn't think he deserves to be with you, but gets a little push to speak up when he sees your ex. Word Count: Over 5.1k Warnings: E.S.C, unprotected (v)aginal (s)ex (wrap it before you tap it), shower (s)ex, jealousy, (f)lirting, insecurities, slight feels (it's me), idiotic Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?) and an ex. A/N: For @drabblewithfrannybarnes and the gym prompt. I hope you like it! ❤️ Beta read by the wonderful @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. Moodboard by yours truly, banner by the lovely @sgt-seabass (and thank you!), and divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky wondered some days if he made the right choice by working for S.H.I.E.L.D.. While he didn’t consider himself to be completely standoffish as he recovered, no matter how much Sam tried to joke about that, he still had a difficult time getting along with some of the agents. It wasn’t for lack of trying. He attempted to strike up conversations with a few, but that only led to forced interactions and awkward silences.

He didn’t try much after that.

Maybe they didn’t trust him because of his past, even with the work he had done with the Avengers, even though he had no choice in his past actions. He wouldn’t hold that against them. He was even ready to accept that his circle of friends would remain small, which he didn’t mind.

But he hadn’t expected you to come along.

“You can sit with me if you’d like.”

At first, he thought you were talking to someone else until he realized your gaze was on him. He didn’t recognize you, but he remembered Steve saying that they were getting a transfer from another division. He hoped he wasn’t glaring or giving you an awkward stare, but your beautiful smile threw him for a loop. Unless he was with Steve and the others, no one asked him to sit with them.

But you did.

It took another moment for him to respond, but he took you up on your offer and joined you. He also picked up on the stares right away from the other agents, like they were jealous that he managed to get your attention. He didn’t blame them for wanting it.

Especially since the next smile you gave him made him fall in love a little more.

Maybe love at first sight does exist.

“Do you go by Bucky or James? I can call you Sarge if you want, Sergeant.”

You explained over breakfast that you transferred because you needed a change and were excited to take on some new tasks. He didn’t pick up on any bad intentions as you spoke with him. He found it easy to talk to you. You even got a couple of smiles out of him.

“Thanks for sitting with me. Do you want to have breakfast with me again tomorrow?”

Bucky accepted.

As the two of you grew closer, it became routine to grab breakfast together in the breakroom and chat quietly between reps when you worked out. He even shifted his schedule around so the two of you could exercise together. He looked forward to it.

And naturally on his path to continue making amends, he had to punish himself by thinking he wasn’t good enough for you. Because why would he be? You became an agent to help others and how many had he destroyed? Not by choice, never his choice, but he was still waging that war in his mind and heart.

“Will today finally be the day, Barnes?” Natasha asked as she finished her stretches.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky grumbled, his eyes flickering to the clock on the wall as he waited for you to enter the onsite gym.

“Yes, you do and let it be today, please. I can’t have Rogers winning the pool.”

“You’re taking bets, Romanoff?” he asked with a cold stare, as if the Black Widow would cower under his gaze. “Un-fucking-believable.”

He told Steve in confidence that he liked being around you. So, naturally, Sam and Natasha found out not long after that. Steve said more than once that Bucky wouldn’t be breaking any bylaws by dating you. Natasha added in passing that mixing business with pleasure didn’t seem to bother you as you had dated another agent sometime back before your transfer. An amicable breakup from what Sam heard.

For living in a world of spies and soldiers, no one could seem to keep their mouths shut.

“I’ll split the winnings with you,” she offered unapologetically. “You can use it to take her on a date. You do have something nice to wear that isn’t a Henley, right?”

The smartass remark he had on the tip of his tongue died when you walked through the door. Clad in your normal black tank top and leggings with your bag on your shoulder, he found himself staring the way he always did as you glided along the floor with confidence and a smile. A few heads turned to get a glimpse as you walked by.

But you directed your gaze at him.

“Hey, handsome,” you smiled, setting your bag and water down. You didn’t call anyone handsome or any other sort of nickname, except for him.

“Hi?”

Why did that come out as a question?

“Hopeless,” Natasha muttered softly enough for him to hear. “Hey.”

“Hey, Nat. How’s it going?”

His cheeks warmed as you began your stretches and chatted with the redhead, wanting nothing more than to put his hands on your hips and guide your body. He wanted to believe that you liked him enough for him to make a move. Why else would you keep getting breakfast with him?

And why else were you bending over right in front of him in a pair of leggings that looked like a second skin?

Fuck.

“Oh, I have your book in my bag,” you said, looking at him from between your legs. “Thanks for lending it to me.”

Thank fuck I’m upside down from your angle so you don’t see me staring at your ass.

Guilt crept in as he blinked. You were nothing but kind and accepting and here he was oogling over you. Why couldn’t he get it through his head that he was your friend and nothing more?

On the other hand, why couldn’t he get it through his head that he had the right to be happy?

“Don’t mention it,” he said.

“Do you mind spotting me?” you asked once you finished warming up. “Unless you plan to help Nat. I can wait.”

“Oh, no. I’m just here for entertainment,” she joked.

“Thanks,” you smiled, heading to the first machine with Bucky in tow. “Any plans this weekend?” you asked, checking the weight on the bar before you took a seat.

“No plans,” he said, taking his spot at the end of the bench so he could spot you. “Kind of a boring old man.”

“You’re not boring,” you said, winking as you laid back. “But I’ll give you old.”

“Rude,” he smiled as you giggled. “What about you?”

“Nope. No plans,” you answered, giving him a glance as you set your hands on the bar. “No plans at all.”

Are you giving me an opening?

“That’s too bad,” is what he said.

“Yeah, I guess it is,” you said with quiet disappointment.

Sorry, Nat. Not winning the pool today because I’m a fucking idiot.

Bucky kept stealing glances at you as the two of you went through your normal workout routine, unable to figure out how you managed to look beautiful while lifting weights. The fact of the matter is you looked beautiful to him no matter what you did. He fluctuated between his heart stopping and losing his breath whenever he saw you. Especially when you smiled at him.

And he wouldn’t take that leap.

“You know what sounds really nice? A massage,” you said, setting the weight down to grab your water. He focused on your mouth as you brought the bottle to your lips, his fingers flexing as you swallowed once. Twice.

Are you giving me another opening?

Before Bucky could think of a suave reply, the door opened. A tall, dark haired agent he didn’t recognize walked in and did a slow sweep of the gym. From the quick assessment, he gathered that the guy was in shape. He didn’t necessarily walk through like he owned the place, but it bordered on cockiness.

I don’t even know him, so why do I want to punch his face in?

“Wait. Is that Nate?” you asked, your gaze following the man as Natasha silently walked over to join you. “What’s he doing here?”

Nate?

“You know him?” Bucky asked as the guy, Nate apparently, stopped to chat with someone by the mirrors.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, setting your water down and wiping your hands on your thighs as you avoided his gaze. “He’s my ex-boyfriend.”

Ex-boyfriend?

“You two worked in the same division, didn’t you? Before you transferred?” Natasha asked. You nodded in reply. “It didn’t work out with you two, huh?”

“No, but it wasn’t a dramatic breakup or anything. No hard feelings,” you explained.

Bucky remembered Sam saying it was amicable, but he still felt the need to shield you away from your ex. Even if he hadn’t spotted you yet. Maybe he was ignoring you. That couldn’t be it. No one could ignore you.

Did you want him to notice you?

“That’s a shame,” Natasha said, swinging her gaze toward Bucky. “He’s cute.”

Traitor. Thought you were my friend.

“Yeah, he is,” you agreed.

Bucky grabbed the nearest barbell to get his head back into why he was in the gym in the first place, gritting his teeth so hard he was shocked they didn’t crack.

“And there’s this thing he used to do with his tongue that just…” you trailed off with a sigh.

The metal hand gripped the barbell tighter. Nate was an ex, not a current boyfriend. It didn’t work out for a reason.

“You need a moment?” the redhead asked.

“No, I just need to get laid,” you said, glancing at Bucky out of the corner of your eye.

If you need to get laid, I can help you with that. Not Nate or some other prick. They’re not worthy of touching you. Neither am I, but that’s not the fucking point. I can do things with my tongue that’ll make you see stars.

“Bucky?” you asked gently. “Are you okay?”

Far fucking from it.

“Yeah, I’m good. Why?”

You pointed to the barbell in his hands. “Because you just bent that in half.”

Glancing down at his hands, he saw that the stainless steel was indeed bent in half and ignored Natasha’s snort as he tried to fix it. “I was just testing the durability. It’s terrible. A health and safety hazard, really.”

“I didn’t realize your job involved quality assurance,” you teased as he set the piece of equipment down.

“It’s kind of a new hobby,” he said, a weird look crossing his face.

A new hobby? Really?

“Okay, Sarge,” you giggled.

Your laughter seemed to catch Nate’s attention since he immediately looked behind him. A look of realization crossed his features before he smiled. The look on his face made Bucky’s heart drop as he excused himself from the agent he was speaking to and made a beeline toward you. The man may not be your boyfriend anymore, but he still felt something for you.

Either that or the look of longing was easily faked.

“Hey!" Nate smiled as he stopped in front of you, opening his arms as he leaned in. "Good to see you."

“You, too. And you don’t want to do that,” you said, gesturing to yourself. “I’m all sweaty.”

“Never bothered me before,” he said, wrapping his arms around you. He met Bucky’s gaze over your shoulder with the smallest of smirks. “Smell just as good as I remember.”

“Don’t,” Natasha whispered to Bucky when the hug lingered for a few more seconds.

Bucky wasn’t planning on doing anything. Not right now, at least. Committing murder wasn’t on his “to do” list when he woke up today, but he was seconds away from snapping. Would you forgive him if he broke one of Nate’s bones?

“You must be Bucky,” Nate said once he released you.

He had to stop himself from shoving you behind his back. “You must be the ex,” he said, not bothering with any attempt to be friendly. “Why are you here?”

Nate either didn’t intimidate easily or he didn’t care. “You talked about me?” he teased, nudging you with his elbow.

“No, not really,” you smiled a little, raising an eyebrow at Bucky.

He tried to keep a straight face because he wasn’t jealous. He had no reason to be jealous. That certainly wasn’t the reason why his fingers began to twitch. Wasn’t the reason he wanted to knock Nate’s teeth in.

Not at all.

“To anwer your question, I accepted a transfer and was getting a look around the place. I was also here to exercise, but now I think I want to catch up,” he smiled, turning his attention back to you.

“You transferred here?” you asked in disbelief.

You don’t sound thrilled, which is a good sign, right?

“Yeah, I got promoted,” he explained, angling his body to put distance between you and Bucky. “You doing anything after this?”

“Me,” Bucky said before his brain caught up with his mouth.

Maybe you didn't hear me.

Your eyebrows shot up as you leaned around Nate to stare at Bucky. "I'm doing you?" you asked.

Fuck, you heard me.

"Yeah, Barnes. Is she doing you?" Natasha asked without a hint of humor in her tone as Nate glared over his shoulder.

"I mean," he cleared his throat as he tried to think of an excuse, which wasn't easy with three pairs of eyes on him. "She's hanging out with me. Movie night."

"It's not even nighttime," Nate said skeptically.

"It's an early movie night," he grumbled.

"Yeah, an early movie night," you agreed slowly. Bucky almost sighed in relief before you looked at Nate. "But we can catch up later, okay? Think my workout is over for now."

Bucky's mouth fell open when you went to grab your things. "But-"

"Movie night. I know. Thanks for your help," you smiled, but it seemed forced. "I'll see you later, Nat. And Nate."

"Later," Nate said, his gaze lingering as you headed toward the locker room. "She really is something, isn't she?"

"Yeah, she is," Bucky agreed, staring after you, too. He couldn't argue with that.

"It's really nice that you two are friends," Nate smiled, clapping Bucky on the shoulder as his blood boiled. "Enjoy your movie night."

Natasha stepped in front of Bucky before he could go after the prick. "Do not," she said as Nate headed toward another machine.

"I have to do something," Bucky said because he was close to losing it.

"You really want to do something?" she asked, tilting her head toward the locker room. "Go talk to her. Please."

"Fine. I will," Bucky said, stepping around Natasha as he made up his mind.

"I meant when she was done!" she called after him.

Bucky stalked toward the locker room and pushed the double doors open. He took a breath as he walked through the first row of lockers and spotted you sitting on the bench. Was he making a big mistake?

"You lost?" you asked, removing one of your shoes.

He crossed his arms and shook his head as you took off the other shoe. "You didn't do a cool down."

You met his eyes and smiled. "That's why you came in here?"

"Did you know Nate would be here?" he blurted out.

Smooth.

You blinked slowly at him before you removed your socks. "Nope. And why would it matter if I did? He still works for this organization. Besides, we broke up and moved on."

"If he moved on, why was he smiling at you like that?" he accused.

You stood up with a shrug. "Because we get along? He's a friendly guy. That's just how he is."

"I know how guys smile at girls they like," he said. He knew because he smiled at you that way. "He's still into you."

The frown you gave him made him want to kiss it away before you giggled. "He is not into me anymore."

"Are you two going to date again?" he asked, taking two steps forward. You were still out of his reach. "I know I don't have the right to ask, but I have to know."

Because you're not my girl.

“No, you don't," you confirmed, your gaze softening as you shook your head. "But no, I’m not going to date him again. He's my ex for a reason and that's that."

Bucky inhaled and exhaled slowly, able to breathe a little easier.

"Why? Would it bother you if I did? Because if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were jealous. Bending the bar? Your not-so-subtle excuse for me not to hang out with him? Following me in here?"

The words got stuck in his throat as you waited for an answer, an expectant look on your face. Why was it so hard to say that it would bother him? It shouldn't because if that made you happy, he'd respect that.

Was it wrong that he wanted you to be happy with him and not some other guy?

You hung your head for a split second before you turned back to your locker. "Look, are you done grilling me or are you sticking around?" you asked, pulling your top over your head. "Because I have to shower."

"You think I won't follow you and finish this conversation?"

Your bra came off next. He knew that because you tossed the garment at his face and he was too stunned to catch it. It took him a moment to realize that you were facing him again, your breasts on display as you placed your hands on your hips.

A gentleman would have looked away. A good man would have left. But he was something else entirely and he couldn't stop staring at the vision of perfection in front of him.

"You're free to do whatever you want," you said casually as you spun around and shimmied out of your leggings. His eyes followed the curves as your underwear came off next and it took everything in him not to throw you across the bench and fuck you until you screamed his name. "But I told you. I have to shower."

Bucky didn't speak as you grabbed your towel and shower bag. You didn't bother covering up as you sauntered away from him, like being naked around him was a perfectly normal thing. He wanted it to be a normal thing.

Was that an invitation? Should he take it? Or was it a test?

"Fuck it," he mumbled as he kicked off his shoes and stripped, leaving his clothes next to yours as he searched for you again. If you ended up screaming or punching him, he'd accept that punishment and beg your forgiveness later. He let this go on long enough.

He froze when he saw you under the spray of the water, his cock twitching with interest as he watched the droplets slide from your chest to the vee between your legs. You had your eyes closed and he wasn't sure if he should call out to get your attention. He didn't want to frighten you and make you fall.

You gasped when you opened your eyes, but didn't make a move to cover yourself. He imagined this is what some men saw when a siren lured them out to sea. Beauty that they weren't worthy of looking upon, but too far gone to care as the tide swept them away.

"I guess you really want to finish that conversation?" you asked, your gaze dropping from his face to his chest and a bit lower.

Under your gaze, he wasn't afraid of you looking upon his scars. "I was jealous. I am jealous. I hated seeing him touch you," he admitted.

He wanted to replace Nate's touch with his own.

"There's nothing to be jealous of," you said, swallowing as he moved forward.

"Can't help it," he said, not blinking as he moved closer. "You also said I could do whatever I wanted."

"I did," you nodded.

His wide shoulders blocked some of the spray as he stepped into the shower and backed you against the wall. "What if I said I wanted to do you?"

Very fucking eloquent.

"I'd say it's about fucking time since I've been trying to get your attention and it better not be a joke," you said, placing your hands on his shoulders as your gaze went to his chest again.

You actually want me. Fuck.

He grasped your chin and lifted your head. The corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to smile and his heart raced as his lips ghosted over yours. "You like me? And you want me to fuck you?"

He needed to hear you say it.

"I was hinting for you to ask me out this weekend. I thought it was obvious?" you asked, a small, vulnerable crack in your voice. "I like you, okay? I'm crazy about you. I have been since you sat down and had breakfast with me that first day and I-"

"I'm a fucking idiot," he whispered before his lips met yours.

His head spun as he kissed you unashamedly, unleashing the want he kept pent up for too long and showing no mercy as he swallowed down the moan you let out. His hands slid down to grip your ass, capturing another small sound in his mouth as he slipped his thigh between your legs. Now that it was out in the open, that you wanted him, he couldn't stop himself.

Unless you told him to.

"So, you like me, too?" you breathed out as he pressed kisses along your neck, your nails digging into his shoulders as he thrust his knee against your wetness.

Gonna lose my fucking mind when I'm inside you.

"So much that I wanted to break Nate's fingers. Or his face," he told you, nipping over your pulse, but careful not to leave a mark. "Want you to forget all about that thing he does with his fucking tongue."

"You up for the challenge?" you teased before he growled.

"Up for it?" he asked as he slid a hand up to your chest, his thumb brushing over your nipple as you whimpered for him. "I'm gonna ruin you. That's a fucking promise."

"Do it. Please," you begged, bringing a hand down to brush your fingers along his thick cock. "Ruin me."

You already looked overwhelmed with pleasure, your eyes half lidded and mouth parted as Bucky moved his knee away and brought one of your legs around his hip. He wanted to fall to his knees and get a taste, but he'd claim you later with his tongue. "Not letting you go if I have you," he warned you, helping you stroke him.

"You better not," you said.

Bucky could've put his fingers under the water, but he brought them to his mouth to wet them before he slipped it between your legs. "You'll be mine," he said as he teased your hole.

"I'm already yours," you gasped as he carefully pushed a finger in and thrust slowly.

"Are you?" he asked, brushing his lips against your jaw as he slid a second finger in. "Fuck, you're tight. You may kill me."

"Yes, I'm yours. And I won't kill you, but I'll make you sorry if you don't fuck me," you huffed impatiently.

He chuckled as he removed his fingers, missing the heat of your body. He understood not wanting to wait any longer. He fucked his own hand enough nights as he thought of you to know that it wasn't enough.

"What if someone walks in?" he questioned, sucking his fingers clean with an obscene groan.

I can convince you to take a day off just to eat you out, right?

"I don't care!" you cried, your voice echoing in the stall as he moved the tip of his cock along your folds. You canted your hips as you tried to take him in and, fuck, if that didn't feed his ego. "If you don't fuck me, I swear I'll- AHH!"

He groaned as he slid home in one thrust, his eyes fluttering shut as your velvety walls gripped him like your life depended on it. He took a deep breath so he didn't lose it on the second thrust. Your perfect pussy was his new home. He never wanted to leave.

"Fuck, baby, you're so needy. I think you want everyone to see that you're mine now," he groaned as he caressed your thigh and drove in deep. Your cunt welcomed each slide as he kept your hips still with his other hand. "Gonna fuck you so hard you won't walk for a week. The way I should've from the start."

"Don't hold back," you moaned, clenching lightly around him. "I can take it."

Bucky couldn't remember ever fucking someone so possessively. "Pussy's even better than I imagined. Made for me. Made for me to wreck."

"Fuck, yes," you cried in response. "Touched myself thinking of you fucking me."

"You fucked your perfect pussy thinking of me?" he asked, imagining your fingers deep inside you. "Moaned my name?"

"Yes," you replied, biting your lip. "Fingers aren't as big as you."

Fuck. There's only so much a man can take.

"Look so beautiful taking my cock. Gonna be so good to you," he grunted, his wet hair falling in front of his eyes. If he had to guess, he probably looked unhinged. Feral. Out of control. "Not letting you go."

Instead of looking afraid, you reached up and lightly threaded your fingers through his hair as your leg shook against his hip. "I won't let you."

He kissed you, almost delirious as the rush of pleasure began to take over. You took his hard, fast thrusts, the symphony of your cries and his moans adding to the sound of wet, slapping skin. Later, he'd make love to you, kiss over every square inch of your beautiful body. He'd tell how crazy he is about you. How you made him happy again.

For now, he needed you to scream his name for the whole gym to hear.

"I'm close, Bucky," you panted into his mouth. "Please."

He doubled his efforts, thrusting so hard he lost his breath with each snap of his hips. "If you're really mine, come. Come for me."

You nearly sobbed his name as you quivered around him, a wave of wetness coating his cock as he kept up his pace and fucked you through your orgasm. "Good girl," he praised as you went limp in his hold.

It was a beautiful sight. Your dazed expression, your cunt clenching with a fresh wave of wetness as you whined. A fucking vision.

"I'm gonna…" he warned, his muscles tensing up as he got closer to the edge.

"Come in me," you begged, tightening around him again. "Please, I need it."

Fuck.

Bucky spilled hot and thick inside you with a guttural moan as he let the ecstasy within him explode, relieved that you didn't make him leave the haven of your body. He was careful not to crush you against the wall as he tried to catch his breath and process that what just happened was real. It wasn't a dream or fantasy. He had you in his arms under the warm water.

Could've had this ages ago if I spoke up.

His lips found yours, his kiss softer than the previous ones. He wasn't sure how long he held you like that, but it was everything he dreamt of and everything he denied himself. He wouldn't do that again.

"You okay? Did I hurt you?"

"No," you smiled, your breathing still a bit tagged. "And I think I can still walk."

He growled playfully as he rolled his hips, thankful that he had the strength to keep holding you up. His stamina was good for some things. "Come to movie night and I'll make sure you don't walk. You did say you needed to get laid."

"I did say that," you smiled, nipping his bottom lip. "I'll do a movie night if you take me out on a real date."

"This weekend since neither of us have plans. I'd be a bad boyfriend if I didn't take care of you, right?" he asked, kissing the corner of your mouth to avoid your surprised gaze.

Pushed my luck this far. I can go a bit further.

"It's a date," you smiled.

Bucky smiled back as he reached over to shut the water off, wishing he could blame the warmth for the blush in his cheeks. "Sorry it took me so long to get my head out of my ass."

"I forgive you," you said, your nose nudging his.

"I just wanted you to have better," he whispered.

You deserve the best.

You blinked away the leftover pleasure that lingered in your eyes. "What? You're already the best guy I know, handsome. No one is better than you," you said, the sincerity in your eyes making his heart twist. "I know you'll be the best boyfriend for me."

Thank you.

"Well, as the best boyfriend, I think I owe you one more orgasm before we go," he smirked, his hands roaming your body. "If you're up for it."

"I'll take whatever you give me," you said before you smirked back. "But maybe I should thank Nate since he's the one who got your head out of your ass."

"Don't you fucking dare," he said, kissing you breathless before you could say his name again.

Bucky was your boyfriend now and the only name he wanted to tumble from your beautiful lips was his own. He'd do whatever he could to make that happen. And be the man you deserve.

Natasha watched from the corner of the gym as you and Bucky emerged from the locker room minutes later. You had stars in your eyes and Bucky looked over the moon. Your legs wobbled slightly and the soldier easily slid an arm around your waist to steady you and walk you out. He even threw Nate a smirk and a wink when he got a glimpse of the two of you.

The redhead messaged the group chat for the bet once the two of you were out of sight. "Locker room. I won."

"What? I was so close!" Steve messaged back.

"Cheater!" Sam sent. "I know you got her ex transferred here. Don't deny it."

"I did not get him transferred. I just knew and didn't tell them he'd be here today. I expect my payment at dinner tonight."

The redhead put her phone away as she tried not to smile. Bucky just needed a push and she wasn't afraid to play a little dirty. But she'd keep her word and split the winnings.

The two of you deserved a nice date, after all.

Oh, Bucky. Whatever will we do with you? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[undercoverpena]

i. to fix a porch

joel miller x f!reader | chapter one of honey stained hands

chapter summary: it’s why he allows himself the chance to look, to admire. His hand slides in yours all over again, as you offer your name—dutifully exchanged. and all he can think is, you’re a pretty thing. He’s seen pretty, laid with it lifetimes ago, but there’s something different in you.

wordcount: 3.5k warnings: typical canon-angst. my spelling. joel trying to fit in and be good for ellie. an: i am so nervous about this. i hope you like. huge thanks to @guyfieriii + @thetriumphantpanda for holding both my hands.

The world had gone to shit, but the world hadn’t gone to shit.

It still grew, expanded—and changed.

Just as it once had. The grass didn’t stop turning green. The trees didn’t stop rustling, the flowers didn’t stop pollinating between bones and disintegrating fabric.

Nature, in all its immensity, didn’t bow to the cordyceps that stole minds and whispered destruction along roads and grass. Nature didn’t allow the rot to take the seasons, as it had done with so many other things.

The end of times wasn’t allowed to touch the moon’s schedule. It didn’t have an impact on how the daylight grew shorter and the night span longer. It had no bearing on the way leaves turned golden, the dew appeared on tall grass, or how both danced under amber-rising and lemon-setting suns.

The outbreak took souls, but it didn’t rid the craved scents of stews and freshly baked apples—two aromas that flooded Jackson's roads.

Mostly, even if something else thrummed along the ground, and spoke in claimed lives, it couldn’t try and claim to have any effect on the way frost made the morning path glitter—or how it made the world still feel magical.

Fungus had stolen a lot. Had spread its poison across state lines and once happy towns. But it couldn’t thieve the natural beauty that shifted in three monthly turns.

He wakes in a sea of sweat, panic and desperation. Forehead clammy. Salt and pepper hair clinging in thin spider-leg lines against the creases of his frown.

Each morning, since Joel has been here, has followed the same pattern. The shadowy nightmares were still there, ever-present—swirling and twirling, not ready to stop their dance. Even if the sun is blasting through, informing them it’s morning—it’s the time their claws should retract and allow him to experience a new day.

They never really do. They remain, hanging in the edges of his thoughts, his eyes—even as sleeping thoughts diluted into the present day.

Just the same as he did yesterday and the day before, his closed fist rubs in gentle circles against his chest—right over his heart. Where it thumps and beats, hammering quickly. Fingers and palm attempting to soothe it, half-wishing he could weave under milk-white bone and release the guilt-wrapped tendrils around it.

It doesn’t matter what his routine involves, it’s all in vain.

Little to nothing alleviates it. Not the circles of his hand over the bobbled t-shirt he sleeps in or the way he wills himself to breathe, to fill his lungs—advice given against his will.

Joel has attempted a lot of things, but the tightness always remains. The imaginary vines forever constricting, all stemmed with thorns, digging in, tightening their hold as he struggled to gasp, never mind breathe. It’s like a fungus of its own, a thing poisoning him, ruining him, blackening what’s left of his soul.

All because he made a choice—one he’d make a thousand times (if given the chance).

Blinking, he slowly sits. Back aching, body groaning as the honeyed sun coats the place he calls his. It flutters over the set of drawers, the flannel draped over the handle of his closet, and the strings of the guitar, gifted by Tommy to keep him busy and out of trouble.

It’s a good place he’s found himself in. A normal place—one found in the centre of moving on and trying to live life. Something he gives enough of a shit not to let it be torn from him and a thing he worries is being tugged from his grip all the same.

One wrong move.

That’s what he hears, even if no one says it. It never leaves their lips, but instead is etched into the faces of everyone he has been introduced to. It was discernible on his sister-in-law's face when he and Ellie appeared; it was poorly concealed by his brother when he’d handed him the instrument.

So much so, that he’s become worried all of this—the safety, the future for Ellie—will be taken from him if he breathes wrong. If he makes eye contact a little too quickly, a little too sternly, too forcibly and not followed quickly enough by a half-smile.

He tries. Not for him, but for her. The same person he keeps his jeans close by and his t-shirt on for—the one that makes him sleep on the side so his good ear can hear a scream of his name—just in case. The same person who manages to shift off the worry, dusting him down without knowing the impact she has on him—the young person who forms him, shapes him into someone half-decent, who is willing to try, who is willing to do things with his hands that isn’t fighting or shooting.

The only time Ellie has shouted for him since being here, though, is for breakfast.

Now, the house is silent—too silent. A smile almost appearing all on its own. An image bubbling, appearing, blanketing over the nightmares that tried to linger. One of her, in her new bedroom—the one she keeps talking about painting—all asleep, mouth open, catching flies.

Joel snorts, swallowing it back. All of the darkness that is weaved inside of him. Focuses on the little flecks of dust that glitter in the glow of a new day, how they fall absently in the space between light and dark—making a choice, one he makes each day, to be here. To try.

His hand slides from his chest, landing on his wrist. Sighing, he closes his eyes and lets his thumb slide over the broken glass of his watch—the one he never removes—another thing he does daily. Another thing that has become a routine.

He knew what Jackson was when he arrived the second time. A communal, a place where everyone chips in.

Joel had expected something more to be requested from him. Almost braced to be told he would be stationed on the other side of the gate—in a more permanent role than others. But, he wasn’t.

If anything, he was given tasks.

Menial things, but tasks all the same.

Little jobs, all reminiscent of a handyman back before things to fungus and rot. Oddities, bits and bobs. Projects half-finished or never begun at all—assigned, handed to him, chosen for him because he’s there and capable. And not, as Tommy explains, is because no one trusts him.

The first had been his own porch. The wood split, cracked, creaking—an accident waiting to happen (a thing he’d muttered to Tommy when he’d first walked up the steps of it), more so as the days became shorter and the nights loomed closer.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to find a toolbox placed at his feet the next day. A smug look on his younger brother’s face: think it’s time y’fix y’damn porch, brother. A clap on the back to cement it, a promise silently exchanged—that he could ask more of him when he was done.

And Tommy did, just not how he expected.

His breath mists the same as Tommy’s when he sighs, the weather biting as the two hovered on his newly repaired porch: got something else for you to do.

Maybe he should have said something when the silence filled the air when Joel suggested after. That he’d be good on patrol, that he could help in ways that weren’t repairing porches, front of shops and whatever else he brought to his door. If not for the fact he was grateful for the chance, for her—for the girl who is slowly making friends, who is beginning to smile—he may have done. The old Joel would have. He’d have pointed out that his skin isn’t stained with scarlet, that his hands are worn, but not smeared with the guts of those who’d crossed him. That he’d hung up as much of the former demons as he could.

He suspected, deep down, that Tommy could still see them haunting him. Knew that they kept him awake when the world went silent—that Joel didn’t sleep until the moon was at its highest, and woke with them jeering at him, perched on his shoulders, poking holes into his soul.

Joel also presumed that Tommy could see the way guilt had looped itself inside of him, strangling, making truthfulness harder to spill. Even if Tommy had no idea. Even if Joel hadn’t whispered to even the animals, never mind a person, what happened before he and Ellie had arrived.

So, he doesn’t argue, not as he’s handed another task, and another, then another. Days seep into weeks, weeks ticking into another month. Each time, his jaw grits, and his head nods, all well-versed, practised, as he picks up his toolbox and heads where he’s needed.

Except, today, when he’d finished up the fence that contained the sheep, a request came from someone else—a person he had spotted, but never spoken to. They were weary, guarded—approaching with caution as though bracing for him to snap, to become the callous individual they’ve likely heard through the whispers of gossiped stories.

In time, they approach, asking, burying their hands into their pockets as they do, before they continue with their reasoning for the request—one not for themself, but another person in Jackson.

A person Joel realised was his neighbour.

He’d been a good neighbour once, almost a lifetime ago.

Had hoped that it would come to him when Tommy had introduced him to you the following morning after he and Ellie returned. Your hand in his, smaller, but warm, a smile that was inviting, but slid over to Ellie upon Tommy’s introduction.

You usually rose early, that he had learnt when he’d begun to watch the sunrise before the leaves not just changed, but began to litter the floor in an array of shades. A pattern of habits he had picked up when he’d descended his own staircase, finding you already passing his home or your lights were on, already busy ticking off the hours of your day.

Today, he’d spotted (thankfully) the latter. His coat was thrown on, boots stepped into, toolbox in hand before he closed his door behind him and headed over. Your name on the tip of his tongue, all heavy, thick—an array of unsorted letters he’s hoping will shift into something as he climbs the steps to your front door. The syllables there, desperate to form, but in no order when his hand lifts to knock.

Air is what greets him, as the door rips open before his knuckles can even make contact.

Now, he’s standing in front of you—again. Your eyes land on him, brushing over in thick strokes of warmth, and all he can focus on is how you don’t step back in fright or stand a little taller. If anything, you don’t react, don’t move, as though it’s normal he’s there standing, talking to you.

“Oh, hi? It’s Joel, isn’t it?”

It’s kind, sweet, your tone. Eyes wide in a way that reminds him of a surprised, small animal—except, you’re grinning, not spooked. No sign of fear or question sketched across your features, or into the rest of your face, not as he stands, hovering.

It’s why he allows himself the chance to look, to admire. His hand slides in yours all over again, as you offer your name—dutifully exchanged.

And all he can think is, you’re a pretty thing. He’s seen pretty, laid with it lifetimes ago, but there’s something different in you. Something that has remained, that has weathered the storm of whatever it is, and however you came to be. Your smile rises, sliding into your cheeks, as his brain snaps a Polaroid of it and stores it somewhere less dusty in his mind.

“I just have to nip out, do you need something?”

Your hand sliding a jacket—one he’d just noticed in your hand—around your frame. It buries you, smothering, hiding yourself into it as you pull it around, watching, studying him as he does the same to you.

Shaking his head, he glances at your porch. “No, ma’am. Jus’ here to fix your porch.”

Sighing, you roll your eyes. “I make one comment and… anyway, I don’t want to trouble you. You don’t have to.”

“Maybe I want to.”

Looking down, you stare around at the porch. Him waiting, watching. “Guess it’s lucky for you, I wasn’t planning on taking it with me.”

It tugs from him, not forcibly pulled, but rather rolling from his mouth willingly: a laugh. It’s gruff, covered in cobwebs and sheets. It’s different, laughing with an adult compared to a pun book in the hands of a child.

“Well, definitely makes my life a bit easier that you’re not.”

Smirking, you lick your lips—a thing he spots, and finds makes his cheeks burn. “Yeah, guessing that following me around the animal pen wouldn’t be your favourite thing… after the other day.”

His eyes narrow, attempting to follow—until it dawns. Until it slams into him.

“You saw.”

“I did. Roscoe is a very boisterous sheep, though. So, it’s more on him than you.”

Cursing under his breath, he dips his head. Trying to stifle the embarrassment, the one rising in him like a phoenix, swarming up.

“Anyway, do you need any tools…”

That’s when he notices how your voice dies, your smile fading. Your words all fall from existence as the warmth around the two of you suddenly chills, as though he’s been plunged into a snowstorm. Your eyes had dropped, landing on the box in his hand.

It’s long, too long.

Almost prolonged, the quietness shifting into awkwardness until you’re blinking, head lifting, chin rising, determined and full of insolence.

“I’ll be back soon, yeah?”

Nodding, he swallows. Ignoring, for your sake, that your voice cracks before you’re hurrying past him. Watching, and staring until you’re a blip, a little figure in the distance of the cold morning—unable to forget about it, the look, the one that unhooked something in him.

Because it made him question—made him want to ask.

His hand shifts around the handle of the toolbox, staring down at it—the one he suspects belongs to someone you knew, someone you were close to. One that is in the hands of someone you don’t know, someone you live next to, that you know nothing about.

Except stories.

And fuck, Joel knows the stories can’t be good.

Joel had maybe made an assumption that you’d never speak to him again.

Sarah’s voice, barely discernable, wafting around his mind, assumptions make an ass of you and me, dad. He blamed it on being bitter, tired—or grumpy, as Ellie liked to call him. The kind of qualities he’d rather be known for, than the ones he sees reflected in the eyes of the people living here, wondering the kind of man he was to go back out there and then return.

He’d made the assumption based on the way your eyes flicked to the toolbox when you’d eventually returned home—him halfway done, waving away your offer to help. You barely spoke, and skirted around him, only placing a glass of lemonade on the welcome mat as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

He drained the glass, and hated how good it tasted. Keeping in mind to leave the toolbox outside when he rapped his knuckles on your open door to bring the glass back in, inform you that he’s done. You call out to him, eventually coming into view—apron on, doused in flour, cheeks and smile smothered in it.

For a moment, he could almost forget an outbreak had even happened with the way you looked at him—the way you looked in general. Something out of one of those cooking shows that play at ridiculous hours of the night; a thing that’d had a street talking about with sweet you sounded.

“I bake—sometimes,” you announce, hands down your apron, leaving flour-finger strokes against the navy blue.

He could see that. Placing the glass on the side, thanking you—watching you glance around him, likely for that. He almost tells you, informs you it’s outside, left on your porch. But, he waves himself off as a beeping begins, that he’ll get out of your hair, because you’re busy—knowing deep down it’s the right thing to do.

That’s how he left it.

Nothing more, nothing less.

His thoughts sliding to you when he saw you talking to others; his mind unable to rid himself of the way you’d looked at the box he’d been given to be a helping hand.

So, it surprised him when he watched you climb the steps of his porch from outside Tommy’s. Something in his chest narrowing—different from the way it does when he wakes up in the morning. Observing how you’re nervously shaking your free hand, moving from one foot to the other—a thin t-shirt covering your frame (no coat or jacket on your arms) as you try to stand still in the chill at his dark doorstep.

It’s only as he nears that he sees what your other hand is holding. A bottle, the contents from appearing amber in shade. The hesitancy woven into your figure is more prominent as he reaches his own boundary, unsure whether to clear his throat—and only doing so when you knock.

“Heard he’s out fixing more porches.”

Turning, he finds you smirking. Spinning around on your heels, slowly taking a step down—still above him—before your hand gestures for him to take the bottle. “A thank you.”

Thank you, he thinks, staring at it. His thumb catches your fingers as he tries to ignore the twist and knot of his stomach when he eyes the label. It used to help, for all the wrong reasons. It’s why he’d tried not to drink since arriving here, still able to remember how it used to scratch an itch, how it smothered over scabs—ones that never healed.

It unlocks that part of him that worries that they’ll become inflamed again. All raw, hot to the touch.

“Y’didnt need to.”

“Well, it was alcohol or baked goods—and you strike me as a drinker over shortbread.”

Snorting, he lifted his head, swallowing. “I do like shortbread.”

Your face lights up—shimmers—under the slowly setting sun. A part of him wishing you’d brought him a tin of those instead.

Because the main reason he hadn’t been to the Tipsy Bison is that he preferred the version of him that didn’t drink. The one from before all of this happened—the one with a clearer mind. One that isn’t trying to run but rather settle and live—the one that comes out when he tastes something akin to what he shared with Tess.

The bottle in his hand demands his attention—a note attached to it that reads the same as your words. Gratitude humming, rolling from you, all in plenty. The entry at being neighbours suddenly ajar, the door taken from the hinges so it can never be closed again.

“Next time, then?”

You say it purposeful, full of genuine nature. And, it makes him roll his jaw, biting the inside of his cheek. Palm and fingers still clutching the bottle—unsure if he likes this. The neighbour thing—the pretty neighbour thing. Especially one who looks at him with a sweet smile and who makes lemonade just because.

“I should go, don’t want to interrupt your evening—”

“Well, the only thing you’re interrupting is whether or not I should open this now or wait.”

You stop moving at that, coming to a stop in front of him, smile broadening, almost turning into a smirk. “

Rubbing the back of his neck, he sighs. “Got another job in the morning. Be a lot on my own.”

“What problems to have, ay?”

He snorts.

But then, he finds you nodding, licking your lips. “How about this, for the safety of the porches of Jackson, I’ll help you with your problem.”

“And what’s my problem?”

“You don’t wanna drink alone—likely worried about what it means if you do.”

You say it nonchalantly, as though seeing through him was a relatively easy task. Your body is still not moving; the cold either not bothering you, or you are faking it all so well.

“Alright.”

“Alright,” you say, slightly more chipper than him.

CHAPTER TWO ->

[stolenres-if]

DEMO TBA (EDITING)

Genres: superhero, dark, fame

CW: violence, explicit language and themes, dark themes, immoral behavior and situations

After a villain almost decimated the world as you know it, you and four other people were chosen by the hands of fate to gain powerful abilities and become a member of Legion, humanity's only hope.

Because of that, you became celebrities in your own right. Red carpets, photoshoots, commercials for energy drinks and more. After a while it felt like the villain would never return and you'd be stuck being a celebrity for powers you don't even use.

Until the villain does return.

And you win.

Unfortunately, you paid the ultimate price: you died and became a martyr.

Or so...everyone thought.

Six years later, you wake up in the same spot you were in with no memory of the last near decade of your life. While only a night has gone by for you, for everyone else? A lifetime.

Everyone has moved on with their lives. The friends you considered family barely speak to each other, all of them haunted by everything that came after the fight. You have no recollection of anything…except something inside you knows your reappearance was no ordinary coincidence.

Especially when you begin to hear a voice in your head, commanding you, telling you to destroy everything in your path….

Stolen Resurrection is 18+ gritty IF that's a mixture of fame and super heroism. You are a member of the elite Legion, believed to be dead for half a decade until you wake up to a changed world six years later.

Customize your MC from personality, appearance, gender identity and their persona. Do they embrace the celebrity life or reject it? Do they love their position as someone forced to sacrifice their life for the good of the world or do they resent it?

Curate whether your MC will move on or stay stuck in the past. Choose how to approach every situation and every person from your past and present life.

Navigate a world in which you are famed for being a chosen one and choose how you approach that.

Wake up six years after people believing you dead. Deal with the aftermath of grief and loss you left in your wake.

Romance ROs with different personalities and different feelings/thoughts towards your 'resurrection' and everything else.

Character-driven narrative with an emphasis on the choices you make and the relationships you build.

Prepare and train for a villain who may or may not be using you as their puppet.

Die. And then come back to life.

THE EX FIANCÉ // THE SELLOUT: CATH HARRISON [M/F][RO]

Your ex and old Legion member, Cath has become the most prominent and beloved figure in New America. Once kind, charismatic, and a charmer, Cath is now the stoic poster child for the company that made Legion. So much so, that your old friends call them a sellout. Cal was proposing to you when everything went to hell all those years ago. When you return, you find them remarried. Cath has moved on...or have they?

THE OLD FRIEND // THE STRANGER: REA SANTOS [F][RO]

Once your closest friend and fellow Legion member, Rea has grown cold over the years, haunted by that fateful night. Even though she still has love for the team, she does her best to rebel as much as possible as revenge for the attack that took a life she can never get back. While she understands your disappearance and subsequent reappearance is not your fault, she can't help but blame you for not being around. Rea is a stranger to you now and whatever friendship you two had is successfully dead.

THE FORMER FAN // THE PRO: JAMES SATO [M][RO]

James, bright and wide-eyed, was once your biggest fan, gloating that he was going to apply to NAG Labs because of you. He also had a childish admiration for you that you found endearing at best and a nuisance at worse. Now, years later, James is somehow as old as you, has long moved on past his fan phase, and is the new head of the division that created you. Oddly enough, it feels weird without James Sato not following you around like a lost puppy. Have the roles reversed?

THE EX FLAME // THE HERMIT: NICO/NAOMI CARTER [M/F][RO]

Once the sunshine and comedic relief of the team, N has disappeared, becoming a shell of their former self. They do nothing else but stay in the bar, drinking their sorrows away. They are considered hostile and want nothing to do with the team or the Company since your death. N may have had feelings for you in the past, but you're not too sure. It's not as if you could ever pursue that years ago. Now? Well, it seems like it's all too late.

OTHER CHARACTERS

??? -- your hear them in your head. Is this the person who has trapped you all this time?

Ray Trent (m) -- your old teammate and close friend. No one speaks of Ray, and you wonder where's he gone and what he's been through that makes him such a sore topic for everyone.

Logan Kane (m) -- the new head of NAG and currently running for president of New America. The son of the now dead head that you were once close to. Logan doesn't trust you. Your reappearance has set him on edge.

Hello, if you'd like to know what happened and why this blog was deleted before. You can check here! Reblogs and everything else is appreciated! Thank you :)

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Duet of Fire and Fate

Part One | Series Masterlist

Summary: his music school having been challenged by Riverrun Conservatory, Aemond is given the opportunity to come face to face with their top musician | Word Count: 4.7k~ | Warnings: smut (not with the main female character), toxic relationship, semi-public sex

Nothing quite compared to the low hum, and delicate whine of a cello. It had been that way for some time, ever since he'd discovered it.

Aemond still remembers the look on his mother's face, her chocolate eyes wide with pride and joy, when her son who was still freshly mutilated, resulting in the loss of sight in his left eye, took an interest in playing classical music.

The cello had become more than just an instrument to Aemond; it was his refuge, his voice in a world that had grown suddenly more silent and unforgiving. The accident had not just taken half his sight but had cast a shadow over his once bright future. Music, however, brought light back into his life, offering a path forward that he had never anticipated.

The Targaryen name, synonymous with power and prestige in other realms, here lent an aura of intrigue and expectation to his performances. Yet, it was Aemond's own skill, the raw emotion he channelled through the strings of his cello, that captivated audiences. His music was a blend of classical elegance and a palpable intensity that seemed to stem from the very depths of his being.

And Aemond was nothing if not a perfectionist at heart.

He perfected everything, to the point of madness some felt. And if he had not invited a feeling of deep, primal intrigue from every performance he gave, then what was the point? This innocent hobby at first, honed by his parents and caregivers alike, was now a way of life. A career. Something to strive for.

As he became older, this competitive nature never wavered once. He embraced it like a challenge to be met. And the conductor of this prestigious school, Otto Hightower, both a friend of his father, Viserys, a business giant well-known across all of Westeros, and conveniently his grandfather, expected nothing short of the best from his prodigious grandson.

He was never self-conscious either, even if he was easily noticeable and stared upon everywhere he went. And one might expect little attention from the opposite sex in a world of classical music and elegant instruments, but for Aemond this could not have been less true.

He attracted in every show, not only with his talent but with his haunting appearance. The straight long scar through his left eye was struck in the middle by a pale blue pupil, his other seeing eye stark in comparison. Women would watch his slender fingers strike fear, passion and energy into their hearts, wishing the very same could grip at their skin.

To their frustrations, he never acted on this popularity.

Alys Rivers was the only woman he ever reciprocated affections of some kind for. At least two decades his senior, his family had been less than impressed at her presence in his life. But there was no choice on their part. Aemond had made his, and Alys Rivers, like it or not, was his muse. A classical music lover at heart. And a professional critic no less.

One might be forgiven for thinking they disliked each other, they rarely exhibited romance. She was more akin to his manager than anyone else, critiquing his manner of playing and giving advice where he didn't want it. And he rewarded her, away from the prying eyes of the public, with quick, angry sex, exerting what control he did have, into intimacy.

She, like him, had a haunting presence to her, but one less mysterious. More overtly seductive. And though sometimes it seemed to irk Aemond, some felt as if they were still acquainted by convenience if nothing else.

Aemond always arrived early to Kings Landing Music College. The stuffy, wood-panelled room gave some semblance of comfort. There was something about the acoustics, the closeness, that felt almost womb-like. Safe. Familiar.

Meticulously, tuning his cello, he half-listened to the skinny, pink-faced Blackwood, practicing at the same time, “sound like a fucking dying pig.”

“Half dying,” Aemond murmured, with a roll of his eyes.

Otto waltzed in, clad in black slacks and a loose forest-green jumper, “Blackwood, get your fucking instrument in tune please. Fucking Cole could do a better job in violas.”

Criston twirled two Timpani sticks between his fingers, giving a look of mock offence from across the room, “just because I'm over here doesn't mean I can't hear you-”

“Alright, alright, before we begin today’s practice, I have an announcement,” Otto declared, his voice commanding attention. The room quickly fell silent, the anticipation palpable in the air.

“We’ve been challenged to a competition by the Riverrun Conservatory,” Otto revealed, his eyes sweeping across the room, measuring the reaction to his words. The announcement ignited a buzz among the musicians, the rivalry between the schools notorious for its intensity. 

“This isn’t just any friendly showcase. It’s a direct confrontation on neutral ground at the upcoming city arts festival. We will be judged on technique, emotional expression, and the complexity of our performance.”

Aemond’s pulse quickened. Riverrun Conservatory had a formidable reputation, known for their strict discipline and innovative performances. The thought of competing against them stirred a mix of excitement and nerve.

Otto’s gaze swept over the room, lingering for a moment on Aemond, then moving on. “I want crispness, I want emotion, and above all, I want precision. We will begin selecting the repertoire tomorrow. Today, I want everyone to focus on their sections. I expect perfection and I will accept nothing less than your best.”

With a decisive turn, Otto left the rehearsal space, his footsteps echoing his determination. The room erupted into whispers and hurried discussions; the stakes had been set.

Blackwood sighed, stress gnawing and weighing on his face. “Fuck me, no pressure then.”

“Don't fucking shit yourself. It's only Riverrun,” a lanky guy mumbled behind his flute.

“Shut your fucking mouth!”

Aemond tuned his cello once more, a determined glint in his eye. He was eager to prove himself, not just as a formidable cellist, but as a key player in leading his school to victory. As the rehearsal began, the sounds of strings, woodwinds, and brass filled the room, each musician pouring their heart into the notes.

Aemond knew that every session, every note, would count. The festival was not just another performance; it was a proving ground. And he was ready to claim his place on it.

With his cello perched on his back as if it were an extension of himself, Aemond strode toward Otto’s office. The familiar weight of the instrument reassured him, steadying his nerves as he prepared to discuss the imminent arrival of their rivals from Riverrun Conservatory.

Upon reaching the heavy oak door, Aemond knocked with a confident rhythm and was quickly greeted by Otto, who peered out from behind a mountain of musical scores. His deep-set eyes and beard, more salt than pepper, gave him an air of aged wisdom.

"Aemond, what's the matter?" Otto asked, noticing the urgency in Aemond's posture.

Stepping inside, Aemond carefully leaned his cello against the wall. "I've heard that Riverrun will be arriving tomorrow to practise here, in preparation for the festival. They’ll be using some of our facilities. I wanted to discuss how we can use this to our advantage, especially since their star pianist is said to be among them."

Otto raised an eyebrow, a slight grin playing at the corners of his mouth. Perhaps he saw the cunning nature reflected in his grandson he perceived in himself.

"Indeed, they will be here. It’s a rare opportunity to observe them up close, to learn their strengths and possibly their weaknesses. We’ve managed to arrange different practice times to ensure there’s no direct overlap, but our paths will certainly cross."

Aemond nodded, his mind racing with possibilities. "If we could subtly observe their practice sessions, we might glean insights into their preparation and techniques. It could inform our strategy and help us focus our rehearsals where we need the most work."

Otto walked over to his desk and shuffled some papers, revealing a schedule. "Here are the timings. Riverrun’s sessions are slotted just after ours in the adjacent rooms. It’s crucial we keep our interactions professional, but keep your eyes and ears open. Understand how their pianist integrates with their ensemble— it’s not just about her solo performance."

"Should we consider adjusting our pieces or rehearsal focus based on what we learn?" Aemond asked, his voice low.

"Potentially," Otto responded, tapping his fingers on the desk. "But let’s not be hasty. First, observe. See if there’s a particular piece they struggle with or excel in. We’ll adjust our strategy based on solid evidence, not assumptions."

Aemond felt a surge of tactical excitement. "I’ll make sure our section leaders are discreet but observant. We can use this chance to refine our performance to outshine theirs."

"Exactly," Otto agreed, handing Aemond a copy of the schedule. "Use this opportunity wisely. We need every edge we can get against Riverrun. Remember, they are guests in our school, so maintain the highest standards of respect and professionalism at all times."

With a firm nod, Aemond picked up his cello, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. As he left Otto’s office, he knew the next few days could define the outcome of the festival. The challenge was daunting, but Aemond was ready to lead his school not just to compete, but to win.

Aemond was barely through the front door of his apartment before Alys was barraging him with questions. Her fine lips were lacquered with red, fingernails painted a charcoal black as she poured herself a coffee.

“I heard about the competition. Riverrun is notorious. Sure you can handle it?” She smirked behind the rim of her cup.

He sighed, setting down his cello, “yes, I can fucking handle it.” That was his only response before sinking into the sofa, laying his head flat back against the sofa, eyes shut, as if he wanted her to disappear.

He was somewhat ashamed to admit the way he tensed and then relaxed at the way her fingers expertly kneaded his shoulders, massaging the stress from him. But even more so as they trailed down, sharp nails ghosting over his neck had his lips parting and his trousers growing tight.

“Now, now. You know I only want you to do better,” she cooed, “and you will get better, with the right critique.”

He could hear her smile, her tone light and sensual as she trailed off.

Aemond turned his head and looked up at her where she was looming over him, her thumbs still pushing circles on his sore muscles.

“Critique?”

Alys’s lips curved up in a knowing smile, her gaze fixed on him with an intensity that seemed to pierce through his weariness. Her green, emerald like eyes, were like daggers, hooking and reeling him in somewhere dark.

"Of course, critique," she murmured, her voice a melodious blend of challenge and tease. "Every artist needs it, even the great Aemond Targaryen. Especially with Riverrun breathing down our necks."

She moved around the sofa with the grace of a cat, setting her coffee down on the table before moving her legs either side of him, brushing her clothed core beneath her skirt against his growing hardness. "I watch, I listen, and I provide feedback that no one else dares to give you."

Aemond sighed, shifting to look at her more directly. The red of her lips was stark against the softer hue of her face, a deliberate pop of colour that matched the sharpness in her words. "And how exactly does your 'feedback' help me tonight?" he asked, his tone a mix of scepticism and intrigue.

"It helps because it makes you think. It makes you feel. Isn't that what music is about?" Alys replied, her hands now moving down from his shoulders, her fingers tracing lines across his chest through his shirt. "Besides, seeing you tense up like that, only to melt under my touch—it tells me where you're holding back. Not just here," she said, pressing briefly into a particularly tight spot. Then, her touch sank to his belt, then drifting lower and stroking his growing erection, teasing his length slowly. 

"But here too."

Her approach was intoxicating, a dangerous mix of personal care and professional critique. "You're brilliant, Aemond, but even brilliance can be polished," she continued, leaning in to whisper against his ear. "Let me polish you, make you shine brighter. Let me push you to be the best, and then push a little harder."

Aemond felt the dual edges of her influence—the softness of her caress, the hard truth in her critique. It was a manipulation he allowed, perhaps even welcomed. Her presence was woven into his life, a thread that was both comforting and controlling. Sometimes too tight. 

With two needy hands on her buttocks, he rolled up her skirt around her hips, dipping between her welcoming thighs, his ego somewhat inflated to find she was wet already. Alys did little else in reaction than assisting to undo his belt, taking his hard length in her hand and seductively massaging from base to tip.

He pulled her forcefully against him, fingers dug into her pale skin as she hovered over him and sank slowly, splitting herself open on his cock with a practised moan. Her hips moved instinctually, stretching to accommodate his thickness over and over. 

Between grunts and curses, Aemond was rarely vocal. Sex was a way to dispel frustration and invite inspiration in his clear head afterwards. Alys could be anyone. But he had to admit, he found her interesting, if not for her advice.

Her manicured and rounded nails dug into his neck as Alys moved on him with vigour, one hand stealing between them to circle her bud to try and hurtle herself towards completion.

It had occurred to Aemond that she was similarly using him in the same way.

With a bruising grip around her waist, Aemond jutted up into her shakily, coming hard within Alys’ quivering walls in the aftermath of her orgasm. And once she gained her breath, she peeled his hands off her as if he were suffocating. His member slid out of her, softened and slick with her moisture.

Alys straightened, stepping back to observe him, her eyes assessing as she wiggled her skirt back down. "Tomorrow, I'll come to the rehearsal. I want to see how you handle yourself with Riverrun watching. I'll be watching too, taking notes." Her tone was playful yet serious, a reminder of her dual role in his life.

As she retreated to the kitchen, Aemond lay there, a part of him resenting the ease with which she shifted roles from lover to critic, yet another part eager to prove himself worthy of her praise, his heart going fast still in the aftermath of their hastened sex.

 He knew that Alys's critiques, though wrapped in seduction, were aimed at forging him into a sharper, more formidable musician. In the complex symphony of their relationship, her motives played out in chords, each note crafted to challenge and change him.

The next day dawned crisp and clear, the early morning sun casting long shadows over the grounds of the music school. The building was abuzz with the nervous energy of anticipation, the air vibrating with the undertones of an impending musical clash.

As he made his way through the corridors to the rehearsal room, he could hear the murmur of voices, the tuning of instruments, and the occasional burst of laughter or a sharp command. Today, the halls of his own school would play host not just to its students but also to their rivals from Riverrun Conservatory.

Aemond entered the rehearsal room to find it already half-filled with his peers, each one keenly aware of the significance of the day. The room was set up with chairs and stands arranged in a precise semi-circle, awaiting the arrival of the Riverrun musicians.

Before long, the members of Riverrun Conservatory began to filter in, their expressions a mix of confident smiles and cautious glances. The room's atmosphere thickened with the tangible sense of competition, each group eyeing the other, assessing and reassessing.

Amid this tense backdrop, Alys slipped into the room, a notepad clutched in her hand and a pen poised for action. Her presence was a sharp reminder to Aemond of the dual aspects of their relationship. She caught his eye and offered a slight nod, an unspoken signal that she was here in her professional capacity.

The rehearsal began with Otto taking the lead, his voice firm as he called for attention. "Let's begin with a warm-up. Remember, while we share our space today, let's show our guests the level of excellence we strive for."

Aemond took his place, settling his cello between his knees. His fingers danced over the strings, tuning with meticulous care, his gaze occasionally drifting to the Riverrun musicians who were setting up nearby. Among them, he noticed a young woman, stood between two other boys who looked over her at one another with smug smiles. They were most certainly either violinists or cellists. But the woman between them, he saw, had such delicate fingers, this had to be the pianist he had heard so much about.

All watched them perform with a sort of challenging, stoic expression, as if judging every movement, every chord and sound made. Every choice scrutinised. In the corner of his eye, between glances at the music, Aemond noticed Alys scribbling down notes.

And when their performance came to an end, Riverrun Conservatory clapped, alongside their conductor, Lyonel Strong. He was burly, red-cheeked, strict but well-meaning, as far as Aemond had heard. But the way he and Otto Hightower looked at one another was akin to some secret rivalry nobody else was privy to.

Alys slid up to Aemond’s side as he began to tidy his instrument away, her presence immediately electric. “See that man?” she whispered, nodding subtly towards Lyonel. “He conducts with his heart on his sleeve, not a metronome like Otto. That’s why they play with such passion. It’s infectious, captivating.”

Aemond nodded, absorbing her analysis. He knew of her critical acumen, but there was a personal edge to her voice now. “You sound almost admiring,” he observed, watching her closely.

Alys’s expression darkened slightly, her emerald eyes flitting back to Lyonel. “I might admire his style, but not the man. Not after everything.” She sighed, a sound more resigned than angry. “He might be the maestro of emotions, Aemond, but off that podium, he’s a different story.”

Aemond did not inquire further. If he was being truthful with himself, he didn't much care for Alys' personal grievances.

“Keep a close eye on their cellist,” Alys warned from the sidelines, watching Riverrun tune and start up their instruments for their own warm up.

As Riverrun began their performance, Aemond’s attention initially settled on the cellist, analysing his fluid technique and the rich emotion flowing from his strings. However, his focus soon drifted to the pianist, who was poised before her instrument like a painter in front of a blank canvas. Her movements were almost ethereal, feather-like, as her fingers danced across the keys, each note floating into the air with a delicate precision that seemed to transcend the mechanics of the piano itself.

The pianist's performance captivated Aemond, her connection with the music evident in the subtle sway of her body and the gentle closing of her eyes as she played. It was more than mere execution, it was an embodiment of the piece, a true manifestation of feeling and artistry.

Alys, standing beside Aemond, watched the pianist with a discerning eye. After a moment, she leaned closer to Aemond and whispered, "See how she plays? It’s like she’s not just striking notes, but weaving a spell. Each touch is thoughtful, precise yet so naturally expressive."

Aemond nodded, fully absorbed in the performance. He could see what Alys meant—the pianist wasn’t just playing, she was performing in a way that made the piano speak directly to the audience. It was an inspiring display of how technique served as the foundation for emotional expression.

"Her approach is impressive," Alys continued, her voice a mix of professional respect and genuine admiration. "That’s what we need to aim for, Aemond. It’s not just about the notes, but how you make them feel alive, how you connect them to the listener’s soul."

Watching the pianist, Aemond felt a surge of inspiration mixed with a competitive drive. He realised that this was the standard he needed to meet and exceed. The way the pianist’s performance resonated in the room, how it seemed to stir the hearts of all who listened, including his own—it set a clear benchmark.

As the piece drew to a close, and the final note lingered in the air, a hushed silence fell over the room before applause erupted. The pianist looked up, her expression serene, almost surprised by the intensity of the audience’s reaction.

Aemond clapped, his applause thoughtful, infused with a newfound respect and a burning motivation. He turned to Alys, a determined look in his eyes. "I see it now," he said. "But she's nothing special. Our pianist is just as good."

“Just as good isn't enough. We have to be better. We need to surpass them—to be so outstanding that Riverrun feels like just a prelude to our performance. They shouldn’t just be impressed by us; they should be overwhelmed."

Aemond’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he processed her words. He watched the pianist from Riverrun mingle with the crowd, her presence still resonating with the lingering notes of her performance.

The shy, timid prodigy. A story written a million times. He felt as if he saw right through her, and no way was that washing with him.

“Meet me in the supply room before lunch,” Alys whispered, turning on her heel before Aemond could reply. The swing of her hips as she moved towards the Riverrun musicians and indication of what she wanted from him. All she ever wanted from him.

Aemond merely watched on from the sidelines, arms crossed. Alys mingled with them all, shaking their hands and wishing them luck in the weeks of practice and competitiveness to come. And when she finally shook the hand of the pianist, his gaze flickered between his lover and the delicate frame of this stranger he had yet to know.

Everything about her was different to Alys. She wore sheer black tights, and sensible shoes. Her skirt was flowy and ended mid tight, covered only at the top by her high-necked top, also black. And it was here he recognised a similarity in her and Aemond's dress sense.

Alys on the other hand exuded sexuality. Tight fitting skirts and dresses, no tights and heels at least four inches high. And while Alys wore a sleek straight style, the pianist was loose and free, if not slightly frizzy.

He watched the two women talking animatedly. Alys no doubt congratulating her on how well she plays.

He'd never been in more need of a cigarette then right at this moment.

“I apologise for him, he’s usually more expressive on stage than off,” Alys joked lightly as they approached, teasing Aemond in her usual manner.

The pianist extended her hand to Aemond with a firm, confident grip that surprised him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve seen your performances online,” she stated, her tone straightforward, skipping the usual pleasantries. Her directness was refreshing yet unexpected.

Aemond took her hand, a bit taken aback by her assertiveness. “Thank you,” he responded, realising only after the words left his mouth that she hadn’t actually complimented his work, just acknowledged it. “Your performance today was quite remarkable.”

“Thank you,” she replied, nodding politely, her smile brief. There was no reciprocal flattery, no effusive praise—just a clear, concise acknowledgment.

Her straightforwardness intrigued Aemond. It was rare for him to encounter someone who didn’t engage in the typical exchange of mutual admiration among peers, especially when one had just praised the other. Her confidence and lack of concern for social niceties made him rethink the usual dance of compliments that often felt more obligatory than genuine.

Their exchange maintained a professional veneer, but Aemond felt a distinct chill in the air as the pianist held his gaze with an unyielding intensity.

“I'm interested. How do you prepare for a performance of this calibre?” She asked in a probing manner, clasping her hands behind her back. And when she swept her hair out her face, a dash of her perfume hit him, light and floral, he noted.

“I focus deeply on the composition's technical demands," he responded crisply, his voice carrying a cool, almost detached quality. "Emotional expression is secondary to flawless execution.”

She bit back a smile he noticed before she could hide it, “that is quite a disciplined approach.”

"It’s the only way to ensure a performance is beyond reproach," he stated flatly, eyes scanning the room. "Judges appreciate perfection.”

“And the audience?”

He shrugged, “whether they do or not, it doesn't change my approach.”

She nodded, leaving a long pause, as if laying a trap, “interesting,” she mused, "I always believed that connecting with the audience was the true measure of a performance’s success."

“Emotions are too subjective.”

Alys, sensing the growing tension, interjected with a light laugh. "Aemond here is all about the technicalities when it comes to music. He believes in precision over passion."

The pianist tilted her head slightly, considering his response with an analytical gaze before a playful glimmer appeared in her eyes. “Are all aspects of your life subject to such rules?” her tone light, but probing. “Musicians are usually branded as romantics, after all.”

Aemond's brow twitched, a subtle annoyance. “There is a time and a place. In a competition, it's about control. Discipline.”

She hummed, slightly amused, “how practical. Does it not get lonely, striving so often for perfection?”

He shrugs, “it doesn't matter. Wins are measurable, feelings not so.”

“Musicians are not remembered for their wins. They're remembered for the feelings they tease out of people.”

Aemond’s gaze held steady, impressed by her ability to intertwine light-hearted banter with serious debate. “Maybe so, but I’d rather be remembered for setting records than stirring hearts.”

There was a long pause, her eyes never leaving him as if trying to piece together a delicate and intricate puzzle. And she had to bite her lip to contain her smile, simmering frustration in his chest.

“Interesting,” she mused, releasing her lip from between her teeth.

She finally broke their intense gaze, stepping back slightly as she prepared to leave. "Thank you for the conversation, Aemond. It was... enlightening," she said, her tone serious and reflective. "I'll be interested to see how your focus on the technicalities plays out in the competition. Good luck."

With a formal nod, she turned and walked away, her demeanour composed and professional. Aemond watched her rejoin her group, the interaction leaving him with a lingering sense of disquiet. Her straightforward, no-nonsense approach had challenged his views subtly yet profoundly, pushing him to reconsider the balance between technique and emotion in his performances.

Something he'd considered very little.

And as he fucked out his frustrations with Alys in the supply room, pushing her front against the wall and plunging into the tight warmth and solitude she offered, the encounter had ignited a new sense of challenge within him, or perhaps it was a hint of doubt, unsettling the confidence he had always felt in his methodical approach to music.

The usual clarity with which he viewed his musical career was now clouded with questions, thanks to a simple yet impactful exchange. It was a confrontation of ideals that made him both wary and intrigued.

It was clear now that the competition had escalated to more than just notes and rhythms—it was a clash of philosophies, a duel of passion in dual meaning.

And he was prepared to meet it head on.

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blackswxnn @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @emmaisafictionwhore @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust @minholy223 @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @primonizzutto @qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince

[yandere-romanticaa]

A month has passed since a strange cult took you within its ranks. It wasn't necessarily by choice but it was something you needed to do in order to survive. Your entire village had been destroyed in a sudden onslaught of ferocious demons, massacring all of your friends and family.

You were left with nothing.

For days you had roamed the mountains and with a heavy heart had accepted the fact that you were going to die, be it from starvation, dehydration or some stray demon devouring you from head to toe.

Lord Douma had other things in store for you.

He was a strange one, the man who rescued you. He was oddly easy to amuse and absolutely everything you did was incredibly entertaining to him. One of his favorite past times were when he would simply stare at you as you talk about your life and perform everyday, mundane duties. At first you thought nothing of it - he saved your life, the least you could do was indulge him just a little bit.

Red flags started to show up soon though - the way he would move and carry himself, it simply was not natural. Whenever there was a meal, Douma would not even look at the food or even have a sip of water. You chalked it up to him having his own private meals and decided to think nothing of it.

You had managed to settle within a comfortable routine which just so happened to often cross paths with the great Lord himself. He seemed to greatly enjoy your presence and would have you with him from the moment the sun had risen until wee hours in the morning.

How was he never tired?

Suspicion slowly turned to fear as you noticed that some members of the cult were missing. No one knew what came of them or where they were last seen, as if some foul creature had spirited them away.

You brought up your concerns with Lord Douma but he just called you silly and told you not to worry about it. "Nothing bad will happen to you!" he'd say reassuringly but his words gave you shallow comfort.

Douma, for whatever reason, was also quite fond of physical touch and you were his favorite when it came to that. He was absolutely shameless and would explore your body however he saw fit. Amongst those odd trysts, you noticed that a powerful metallic smell would cling onto him and would never go away no matter how hard you washed his clothing.

No amount of praying could prepare you for the horror you'd encounter on one moonless evening.

You had woken up due to a strange noise and, against your better judgment, decided to investigate. With nothing but a single candle in your hand and a long but thin nightshirt covering your body, you ventures downwards the dark and creepy hallways. It felt as though the shadows themselves were out to get you because you'd flinch at every single sound no matter how miniscule. The closer you got to Lord Douma's chambers the stranger the noises got - giggling, slurping and crunching could be heard as a horrible stench filled the air, a smell so vile that it made you want to throw up your dinner. You'd often ask him what he liked to eat but naturally, Douma would just dodge your question or say something really silly. "It's easier if I eat alone!" he'd say as he caressed your hair. With each step you took the stench became stronger and stronger and Douma's words continued to ring inside your head like bells.

"You see, I'm a bit of a night owl! It's also not smart to come to my chambers without knocking first!~"

You should have listened to him and his thinly disguised warning.

Through the tiniest of cracks you saw Douma on the floor, covered in fresh blood. A wicked grin danced across his lips as he toyed with the severed limbs with the mauled corpse of a young woman, her eyes stricken with fear even in death.

It took you every ounce and willpower to not scream bloody murder.

With the way he was treating the corpse you'd think that Lord Douma was but a child with a precious toy. His light tone and playful gestures sent chills down your spine as you covered your mouth with your hand, a desperate attempt to conceal any potential noises that may escape you. You watched him for a few moments as you let it all sink in, not even realizing just how much your entire being trembled with fear. Just before you could make a break for it you heard Douma speak.

"I know you're there, watching me. I don't know who you are but I can smell you!"

Crap.

Dropping the candle to the floor you could do nothing but freeze as Douma continued to speak, total indifference lacing his voice.

"I would leave, if I were you. I am in a good mood tonight and shall play stupid so I won't turn around to see your face! Now, be a good little disciple and go back to bed!"

Squeaking like a helpless puppy, you ran away with your tail behind your legs, not realizing that Douma knew damn well that it was you. The demon could sense your presence across a giant mountain if need be and your sweet smell would invade his senses every time he would think about you. It was a shame that you saw him in such a state but he really did not want to kill you. He was content with playing dumb and hoped that it would be the same case for you as well.

As long as you kept your lips sealed, everything was going to be alright.

Part 2 here!

[rookthorne]

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞

You were the warmth and light to Bucky’s shadows and brooding nature — a match made in heaven, and it was a miracle that a certain someone realised as much.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✿ Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ✿ 2.5k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ✿ Fluff, mention of alcohol

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 ✿ My very first grumpy x sunshine fic, and it was hella fun! a huge thank you to all those who listened to me deliberate what the hell to do with it! ✿ A huge thank you to @mxaether for the fact checking and guidance - you were a huge help!

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ✿ Pour Some Sugar On Me by Def Leppard

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ✿ @buckybarnesevents Into an Alternate June-iverse 𝗖��� — Tattoo AU — Masterlist

𝐈𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐮𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The anniversary of 107th Ink was always going to be special, and this one perhaps was one of the biggest years – seven whole years since both Bucky and Stevie had walked through those doors with a dream, a dream that had flourished and blown up with their combined talents and charisma. 

In order to celebrate, 107th Ink had announced a surprise flash day. And, as anyone would have expected from the fastest growing tattoo parlour in the area, it was chaos – actually, chaotic was an understatement, and for this very reason, you had parked your car a block away from Bucky’s shop with a box of donuts in one hand and a bottle of Jack Daniels in the other. 

You would be a sight for sore, tired eyes, that was for sure.

Bucky’s Harley was parked on the verge, the shining red paint and reflective chrome shone in the light of the setting sun. The many rides you had taken with Bucky on that very bike came to the forefront of your mind, and you smiled fondly at the memories; the time he had taken you down the back roads for a picnic after you had finally convinced him to put his machine down, or that time that he took you down the highway, resting his hand on yours that had looped tightly around his middle. 

You and Bucky had been friends for years – he was certainly by far the gruffest and honest to god most intimidating man you had ever met, but somehow, he softened around you. Ever since Natasha had introduced you to him, you had felt an instant connection to the infamous brooding vet, and it left the two of you on a path you had no idea how to navigate. It was becoming difficult to ignore the butterflies that crowded your entire being when he flashed you a rare smile, or called you his Sunshine. 

But that was a thought for another day – Bucky needed his Jacks and Stevie would need his donuts, not to mention Nat and Peter squirrelling away what they could of either offering.

And, after your own intense and exhausting day with work and clients, you had to admit, it would be nice to see your friends. 

The door to the shop swung open with a clink of the bell, and you took in the scene. Bucky’s interior design choices screamed Rock’n’Roll with guitars lining the walls, all in various states of artistic liberty of designs and signatures. Def Leppard’s Pour Some Sugar On Me played quietly over the hustle and bustle, a constant background noise amongst the many conversations held between artists and clients you could only just hear. Soft lighting illuminated the entry and reception where black leather couches were placed cosily – no clients were lazing about so you suspected they were all in the booths. The shining tiled floor reflected the reds of the walls and the mahogany oak accents like it was freshly polished. 

Bucky’s standards of professionalism and cleanliness were high, and hell hath no fury for anyone that compromised them. 

“Hey, Sunshine!” A bright voice called from an open door – Peter’s booth, and you looked over to see the aforementioned excited apprentice poking his head out. “God, you’re a sight for sore eyes-” You stifled a laugh, smiling instead. “Bucky is just over there,” Peter said, gesturing towards a closed door. “He’ll be out soon, nervous client.”

“Thanks, Pete,” you said, and he grinned at you and the donuts in your hand before disappearing back into the booth. 

As expected, time passed slowly and you watched while a couple of clients milled out of the booths – Stevie’s, Nat’s and Peter’s. You caught sight of Stevie and Nat occasionally, and they spared you an excited wave or smile when they could – their gazes drifting to the treats you had brought with you. 

The sun had set by the time Bucky’s booth had any sign of movement. His door opened and a timid young woman appeared in the doorway – she was speaking over her shoulder and once she glanced towards the couches, you gave her a soft smile and she walked past you to Peter at the front desk to pay.

Peter greeted her happily and began the process of the transaction, but heavy boot falls in the booth made your gaze snap towards the source, smiling wide at finding Bucky leaning against the frame, arms crossed so his tattoos rippled and moved with the corded muscle. He was staring at you with a blank expression, null and void of any tells, though there was a glimmer of happiness in his eyes that filled your heart and fuelled the butterflies to a dull roar. 

“Hey.”

“Hey, you!” You rushed, getting to your feet just as the young woman left the shop. As soon as she was out the door, there was a collective exhale of breath in relief. “Tough day?”

“What gave it away, Sunny?” Steve groaned as he stood in the doorway of his own booth, rubbing his face and mussing his hair and neatly trimmed beard. “It seemed that flash day means all the tough clients come outta the woods at once.”

“Speak for yourself,” Nat piped up, stretching to the ceiling and cracking her back. The burgundy leather jacket she wore gleamed in the low light while it complemented her creeping neck tattoos. “I had all the sweet ones then.”

“Yeah, because you intimidate the shit out of ‘em, Nat,” Bucky said, a brow raised in challenge. Nat only shrugged, a coy grin on her blood red lips. 

“Today was fun though,” Peter yawned, and you watched as Bucky and Steve rolled their eyes in unison. 

“Trust the apprentice to be all rainbows and shit,” Bucky mumbled. “Let’s close up for the night. I wanna go home.”

Everyone left the reception in favour of returning to their booths, and you followed behind Bucky, bottle of Jacks in hand. The donuts lay on the table amongst the neatly stacked portfolios for later – that’s if Steve and Nat didn’t run off with them before you could walk out the door. 

“How are you feeling, Buck?” You asked, watching as he flexed his left arm and clenched his hand in a fist before releasing it with a wince. “Are you alright?”

Bucky looked over at you and nodded once. “‘M fine, sweetheart,” he said softly while he cleaned up the tray of ink caps and the rest of his station. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m good,” you said, maybe a little too quick, because Bucky’s gaze snapped up and he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “I’m being honest-”

Slowly, Bucky stepped around from his cart and came to stand right in front of you, his gaze heavy with that critical eye and his habit for problem solving. “No, you’re not, Sunshine.”

Damn it, you cursed in your head, and it must have traitorously flickered across your expression because Bucky hesitated only slightly before his arms suddenly enveloped you and pulled you against his chest. The sudden movement forced a quiet, “oof!” from your lips before you could bite it back – though the feeling of him holding you, as rare as it was, was never unwelcome. 

“I know you like hugs, sweetheart,” Bucky whispered, his voice just a low rumble in his chest. “Jus’ lemme hold you for a minute, alright?”

Your heart seized and tears burned in the corner of your eyes at his words. Bucky held you so tightly and you were forced to loop your arms around his middle while you rested your cheek on his shoulder – it was indescribable. 

Touch was not something Bucky gave freely – sure, it was his job to touch and manipulate and move clients, but it never meant anything more than him just doing his job. He never initiated a hug to Nat, Steve, or even Peter, it was something entirely off the table for him, though here he was, pushing past what he would normally be comfortable with and initiating such a tender embrace to you.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you mumbled. Bucky squeezed you tight for just a second in reply, and when he relaxed his hold, the vice in your chest had lessened significantly.

“Jus’ wanna take care of my girl, ‘s all,” Bucky said, so quietly you almost didn’t hear, but you stiffened. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” Bucky hastened, his voice suddenly sharp and he pulled away, leaving you standing by the chair, dumbfounded and in shock. “Forget I said anything, let’s get outta here, huh?”

“No, no wait,” you rushed forward, grabbing his arm while you felt your eyes shine with tears – from what: fear, shock, or happiness, you couldn’t tell. “What did you say?”

A long stretch of silence passed before Bucky met your pleading gaze, but he was frowning slightly, as if he was considering every outcome in the blink of an eye. It was unbearable, and you shook his arm slightly, ignoring the way the muscles didn’t budge under your grip. 

“I said I wanted to take care of my girl.”

The tension cracked and split like a whip had cleaved through it, and a heavy breath left your lips. “Your girl?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, nodding stiffly. 

“Are you-” You tried, but stopped. The sudden dryness in your mouth made it difficult to form the words. “Are you saying… what I think you’re saying?”

Bucky held your stare. “Yes.”

“Oh, my god,” you rushed, and you slammed into his chest to wrap your arms around his middle again – this time he was the one that let out a surprised “oof!” before he wrapped his arms around your shoulders. 

“Took you fuckin’ long enough!” Steve cried suddenly and you whirled around. Somehow, while engrossed in your panicked train of thought, and Bucky being stuck in his own version of panicking, Steve and Nat had quietly opened the door to eavesdrop. “Nat, you owe me fifty bucks.”

“Dammit,” Nat grumbled before her heels clicked on the floor, the sound muffling the further she walked away. 

The fact that they had placed bets on this didn’t leave you feeling surprised in the slightest, if you were honest – Nat had known something was up, naturally, and she made it a point to stare expectantly whenever you would become flustered by literally anything Bucky did: paying special attention to you, calling you Sunshine, or how he was fiercely protective of you, all of which you found out when you went out to coffee with her. She had snorted and laughed at the obviously hilarious expression of shock upon finding any of that out – you had thought you were subtle, dammit.

Stevie, well, he was Bucky’s best friend – you can only hide so much from the person you were with most, if not all of the working day. It also didn’t help Stevie was a nosy sonofabitch on the best of days. “Can’t make a plan without all the variables, Sunny,” Stevie would say smugly whenever you questioned him, a proud, knowing smirk on his lips and a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

You glanced up at Bucky to see him burning holes through the door to the back of his friends as they made a hasty retreat – there was no way he was clued in on that little game. 

“Hey, guys, wait up!” Peter yelled as the bell sounded, followed by his rushed footsteps. “See you tomorrow, Boss!” Bucky didn’t reply as the door closed behind Peter and the shop was silent again – just the two of you. 

The slight furrow in his brow and the pensive frown on his lips made your hands grow clammy with nervous sweat; you couldn’t tell what Bucky was thinking, and it was infuriating. 

Minutes stretched by, or seconds, you couldn’t tell – you were trapped in his gaze, lost in the thoughts racing through your mind, did he truly mean what he said?

You startled slightly when Bucky’s hand suddenly cupped your cheek, not having seen him move his arm. “So,” he said slowly. The softening of his eyes made your heart flutter – this was your Bucky, a gentle, soft soul that looked out for you. 

“Bucky?” You whispered. Bucky only hummed quietly, moving his hands to hold both of yours, the cold bite of his rings caused a shiver to crawl up your spine.

“What d’you say, Sunshine?” Bucky asked, still slow and thoughtful, like he was weighing every word. The tension grew to be unbearable and it was all you could do to keep your breathing even, you wished his intense gaze would waver, or he would look away – just for a damned second.

You licked your lips, shuffling your feet on the spot. “That depends on what you’re as-”

“Be my girl?”

Time stopped. Your heart stopped, ceasing its pounding rhythm for a millisecond before kick-starting thunderously. Sure, he had called you his girl more than once, but hearing him ask if you would be? You prayed to whoever would listen above that you would survive this, for you were floating on cloud nine and you did not want to come back down. 

“I-I,” you stumbled, growing even more flustered at the glint in his eyes – you couldn’t tell what he was feeling but you felt pinned, in the best possible way. “Yeah, yeah I want to be your Sunshine, Buck-”

Your stomach swooped at the sudden and entirely unexpected feeling of his lips on yours, and his hands – god, his hands, one moved to hold the side of your throat, the other cupped your face. He set the pace easily and you eagerly followed, you had been craving this for so long that it was almost unbelievable. 

To make doubly sure you weren’t dreaming, more than the desire to touch him, you ran your hands up his arms to rest them on his broad shoulders and you felt him smile into the kiss. “It’s real, sweetheart, ‘m here,” Bucky said against your lips, and you sighed happily. 

The warm smile Bucky gave you as he pulled away made you miss his touch, even though he had only taken a single step away. “I’ll finish cleanin’ up and then we can get outta here, we have a lot to celebrate, Sunshine, don’t we?”

The butterflies in your stomach became a frenzy at his words, and you nodded shyly. “They’re going to lose their minds, aren’t they?” You mused, sitting on the rolling stool while you waited for him to finish up. “Nat and the guys, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, zipping up his case. “Yeah, they will, the bastards. Bettin’ on their fuckin’ boss, I oughta fire all of ‘em.” You laughed heartily and Bucky smirked. 

Once Bucky’s station had been tidied and cleaned for the next day, he reached a hand out and you accepted it happily. “Let’s get outta here, I gotta treat my girl to a nice night, huh?”

“Only if we take your bike,” you said, squeezing Bucky’s hand and he looked over at you curiously. “I want to fly.”

Bucky only chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t have to tell me twice, sweetheart.”

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

[2smolbeans]

Yandere Diavolo x Innocent reader headcanons

Tags: Mindbreak, corruption, forced marriage, black mail, Mc's partner gets murdered, suicide mention, Mc goes to hell, manipulation, hostage keeping, minor world building mentions, Mc is gender neutral.

Diavolo knows how humans are. He's been there since their very creation. Humans are greedy, vicious, cruel little animals with a mind of their own. They were almost similar to demons- no, if anything - most, if not - all demons were once humans!

So, for being so cruel, so selfish. It was amazing how he stumbled upon a rare soul like you. So pure, innocent, kind..He was sure that you were predestined to go heaven once you had died. You'd make the perfect angel, after all!

Diavolo was enamored by you. How gentle you were to those who were rough with you, the way you would so gracefully own up to your mistakes - something most humans couldn't do! How you would always keep your head high whenever you were ruthlessly bullied by the world. The way you would kindly treat strangers who would be cast aside by society.

For once, he had met a human with diligence and self-control! It made you desirable and interesting - different from most humans. He needed you. You were one of a kind.

Diavolo became more curious about you with each passing day. He just had to see you. So, with a change of attire and appearance, he visited your work as a customer. Falling hard for you when you gifted him with your voice that spoke directly to him - giving him your undivided attention.

He needed more. It had been so long since he's seen such pure kind innocence directed towards him. So, of course, with his devil's charm, he tried to persuade you to be his partner.

But, unsurprisingly, you already had a partner. Of course, that was no problem for Diavolo- such a small obstacle was no path for this ancient demon!

So kindly getting rid of the waste of space that contributed no meaning to your life, Diavolo tried again. Sweetly feeding into your sins. Pride, greed, envy, and lust. Trying to get you to fall for him.

But it never worked since you were now too busy grieving for your previous partner.

He was running thin. He didn't want to force his love and affection onto you. He wanted you to swoon over him, for you to look at him without him having to force you. To have you all prettied up as his royal spouse. To have his innocent kind spouse dote on him so diligently.

So he was left no choice but to haunt you. Whispering in your ears about the unspoken knowledge, taunting you to the point of insanity, breaking you to the point of committing unforgivable sins.

So when you came to your senses, unable to cope with the reality, you ultimately killed yourself out of guilt.

Happily waiting for you in circles of hell, Diavolo came to collect you.

You were so scared, shivering from the torture you had to endure with all the other sinners. Don't worry, he'll take you away from the bad place. Only in one condition. No? That's okay. He'll happily drop you off back from where you came from!

Aww, you're clutching onto him so tightly.. I guess that means you took up his offer!

Sooner or later, you ended up as his royal spouse. Always satisfying his needs, making sure to please him with anything he wants.

You don't want to go back to the circles of hell after all. Not when Devildom is nice and safe, barely far away from limbo!

Diavolo found it admirable whenever he looked at you. Such an innocent and meek demon you were. With your cute little horns protruding out of your head and that slim tail you had from behind.

He was proud to call you his spouse. So proud that he always hosts a party dedicated to celebrating your marriage with him. It's only fair, you must be bored staying inside the castle by yourself waiting for him!

Plus, it's not like you're allowed to go out.. He can't risk his little spouse getting hurt!

Aren't you glad this is how things turned out?

And isn't it better that it'll be like this for all eternity?

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