black-dhalias

[black-dhalias]

How about Kotetsu x Gender Neutral! Reader where he told them he still wishes that people acknowledge his efforts, even though saving people is still his first priority. They reassure him that he will always be their hero as they seen how hard he tries & they never want him to stop doing what's right! They admire him & told him that he inspired them to be a hero like Mr Legend to him. They also bought his hero cards with his original & current designs too. Is this ok?

My Hero

Kotetsu X GN!Reader

Warnings: violence, blood, almost dying, some language. An 'age gap', y/n is in their 20s vs Kotetsu is 38.

Ngl this request completely kickstarted my urge to get into writing again, after a hiatus that lasted months. So it may have gotten a little more detailed than the original request(and by detailed I mean that I got super carried away like 7K words carried away), but I hope you like it!

Kotetsu T. Kaburagi had always been good at saving people. It came with the job—and the powers—but it wasn’t until he met you that he realized how powerless he could feel outside of a fight.

You were fast. Not just in speed, but in everything—thought, speech, the way you moved like the world never quite caught up. A NEXT with the alter ego Shockwave, although he knew you by Y/N. You are in your twenties with a kinetic energy that made people stop and stare, even when you weren’t glowing. Kotetsu was well past that kind of attention, these days. His joints ached more often than he’d admit, and he had to squint at his phone sometimes to read the messages without his glasses.

He felt the years between you like a physical thing, especially when you smiled at him. Not polite. Not hero-to-hero. Just... warm.

Too warm.

“I don’t get it,” he muttered, sitting with a half-empty can of coffee on the edge of the training deck.

Barnaby glanced over. “You don’t get a lot of things.”

Kotetsu sighed, rubbed the back of his neck. “How do you even tell if someone’s just being nice, or if they—y’know—like you?”

“You could try asking.”

He scoffed. “Right. ‘Hey, I know I’m like ten years older and might’ve pulled my back last week, but are you flirting with me?’ That won’t get me slapped at all.”

Barnaby raised a brow. “You like them.”

“Of course I like them. They’re smart and brave and... and they believe in making the right choice.” Kotetsu paused, voice dropping. “I just don’t know what I’d look like beside them. Like some washed-up has-been hero?”

“More like a reliable partner,” Barnaby said. “But that’s your call.”

You found Kotetsu alone later, half-bent over a vending machine like he was losing a war with it.

“Need a hand?” you offered, already pulling your glove off to short-circuit the stuck machine with a controlled spark.

The can thudded free.

Kotetsu blinked. “You’re scary good at that.”

“I’m good at a lot of things,” you said with a grin that made his brain short-circuit a little. “But you’re not bad yourself, old man.”

He laughed, but the phrase caught—old man—and his smile faltered.

You noticed. “Hey. I was kidding. That didn’t bug you, did it?”

“A little,” he admitted. “Not because of the words. Just… I know there’s an age gap. And I don’t wanna misread anything. Or make you uncomfortable.”

Your expression softened.

“Kotetsu,” you said gently, stepping closer. “You’re one of the most genuine people I’ve ever met. You never pretend, even when it’d be easier. That matters more to me than any number.”

He blinked. “So you...?”

You nudged the can into his hand. “I like you, idiot.”

His power flared for exactly one second—just enough to trip over his own feet in shock.

You caught him before he hit the ground. “Still a hero,” you teased.

Breathless and red-faced, he looked up at you and smiled like a man who just realized maybe he could still catch up.

Even if it took a second or two longer.

You often felt like there was extensive uncertainty in that department, but things came to a swift beginning—he was your friend, best friend in the league.

He gave you advice and often spent hours together, and when your feelings became real. It left you at an impasse. You’d never ask though.

Not when it meant that he might not feel the same. It wasn't just light banter or some flirting, you saw him and knew. Almost instantly. That he was it.

He was the one.

You were training, lifting heavy and hoping your body didn’t collapse under the weight. As the distance became longer, the weights and time became heavier. The bar presses down on your shoulders, back straight as you bend into a squat—a stream of sweat beads down your cheek and your teeth clench together.

A rush of exhaustion hits fast and your eyes widen, only the weight doesn’t come instead it lifts off your shoulders entirely. Clicking back into place, you lean over onto yourself—exhaling heavily and then standing upright.

“What’s up Kotetsu?” His arms have crossed over his chest, compared to some he is average stature, but to you— he feels massive. Your eyes trailing up to look at him, a knot forming in your stomach and in your throat.

“We gotta talk?” Your teeth bite the inside of your cheek, eyes drifting down to the ground.

“About???” You drag the word, wiping the sweat and hoping that it’d be about training.

“Where’d ya go, kid?” Your lip twitches at the stupid nickname, that ball of nerves in your throat is threatening to choke you. He leans his back onto the machine, arms still crossed as you shrug.

“I’ve been here the whole time…” You pause, “training…” But you know that’s the not the answer he is looking for, not even close. A loud sigh leaves your lips.

“See that, I can tell somethings up. But you’re just gone…” You too feel the miles of distance, it felt like it happened overnight, but still when you find it in yourself to look up at Kotetsu. Your thoughts stumble.

“I’m right here.” You assert, of course you know that’s not the truth—that you are trying to put miles and miles of distance to protect yourself. Afraid. Kotetsu already had his one true love, and you would never try be anything close to that. Hell, he even has a daughter. The age difference is there, something that seems to even bother him. But if you're honest with yourself, you just don’t know if you could say it outloud.

“You’re not though. I look forward to our Thursday night outs and every other day, movie night. I love that you always burn the popcorn. But it’s always changing, here and there. I know I’m no—” He runs a hand through his hair, making a funny face. "It's hard to read when it keeps changing."

“Look, I’m no good at this, I haven’t even thought about it before now. But you can’t just stop, because I don’t want you to stop. To ya know—” His words seem to be falling off his tongue, and you can hardly stop your head from spinning. Is your heart supposed to be in your throat? Choking you? Drowning out every other noise, except for your heartbeat?

“Kotetsu…” His name coming out of your mouth silences him, he goes completely still and slumps onto himself. “You’re rambling.” You half smile, partially genuine and partially forced—god, he means the world to you and he doesn’t even know it.

“I know. I know, but I just don’t know how to explain it. I like knowing you’ll be there every night, and most of those nights, all I want is to hold you.” You had wanted to hear those words before, pleaded with the fates to give you the chance to hear them. You had completely given up hope of ever hearing them, settling in with the thought you’d only ever be his friend. It’s almost too good to be true.

“Prove it, Kotetsu.” You swallow, turning so that you’re facing him, eyes upcast to meet his. Warm and brown, and full of life. “Because I’ve spent a long time trying not to cross any lines, terrified I’d do the wrong thing and you’d be gone." You whisper that last bit, you wish you could scream, but a whisper will do.

Turns out, kissing Kotetsu was almost as good as cuddling up to watch a movie, or show. It was quiet and calm, needy, but too much.

It was warm, and all those good feelings people talk about—and it was right.

You didn’t mean to fall for him.

Honestly, you thought it would just be admiration. Respect, even. Kotetsu was a legend, after all—one of the few heroes who never let the spotlight change him. Rough around the edges, sure. Loud, disorganized, sometimes a walking disaster. But he cared. He saw people. He saw you.

Even when you were still getting your footing in the hero world, he never treated you like a kid. He'd wait when you were figuring something out, even if it meant getting singed a little in the crossfire. He listened. He laughed at your bad jokes. He believed in you when you weren’t sure if you deserved it.

So maybe falling wasn’t the surprise.

Maybe the surprise was how hard it hit you.

You knew he felt the age thing. You could see it in the way he’d hesitate after a compliment, or change the subject when someone mentioned “the old days.” Like he thought he had to be the past, and you were the future.

That brings you to where you are now, beside him on the edge of the rooftop, the city below scattered in golds and soft blues. He was fiddling with the tab on his can, trying too hard not to look nervous.

“So,” you said, letting your knee brush his. “You gonna tell me what you were actually thinking back at the vending machine?”

Kotetsu scratched his cheek. “That obvious, huh?”

You nodded. “You get this scrunched-up look when you're trying not to talk.”

He huffed a laugh. “Can’t hide anything from you, huh?”

“You’re not that sneaky.”

A beat of quiet.

“I was thinking I didn’t expect you to like someone like me,” he said, voice low. “Not just the age thing. I’ve got a kid. I’ve got baggage. I’m not exactly... a shiny new hero.”

Your chest tightened.

You turned to him fully. “I don’t want shiny. I want real.”

He looked up at you, surprise flickering behind his eyes.

“I want someone who fights even when it’s hard. Who looks out for everyone else before himself. Someone who’s got a big, dumb heart and laughs too loud and makes terrible coffee.

He blinked. “My coffee’s not that bad.”

You leaned in, resting your head lightly on his shoulder. “It is. But I’d still drink it every morning if it meant being with you.”

Kotetsu went still. You could feel the tension humming off him like electricity.

Then, slowly—like the moment needed to breathe—he let his head rest gently against yours.

“You’re gonna break my heart, y’know that?” he whispered.

You smiled. “Only if you run from me.”

He didn’t run.

Didn’t even flinch.

Instead, his hand found yours—calloused, warm, a little unsure.

And he held on.

Sternbild had seen the fair share of heroes and all of them seemed above reprise. It felt as though there should be no crime or violence, a picturesque city of cooperation. Yet whether there are heroes, there is always crime.

When you first came to Sternbild, you felt like the whole world was against you in the big city. No one really gave you a handbook on how to be a big-time hero.

You were able to implant thoughts and impulses, not exactly mind control, but potent enough to be effective. You can even put in place triggers to make thoughts up here during certain points under certain circumstances. But it means one thing for certain you’ll always be up close and personal.

Sure, your training took you far, but not nearly far enough for it to matter and a violent fight a lot of people and most of the sponsors thought you were powerful, but not enough to be assigned into the big leagues.

When it all came down to it, you stood out enough— got quite a few high profile saves and Hero TV couldn’t sign you faster. That’s also when Kotetsu first noticed you…he couldn’t explain the connection or interest, it made no sense.

Kotetsu thought for a very long time that he was content, that he had everything he wanted in life and more. At all hours, Kotetsu was in awe of you and everything that you had accomplished—so much so that he couldn’t even put it into words.

There’s a shift on the couch as Kotetsu shifts himself closer, his arm wrapping around the top of your shoulder. The TV playing in the back ground, but you can tell something is wrong with him. Although you’re not able to see into his mind, but he has not spoken a word—leaving you in the dark.

You were looking for the right moment to ask him about it, but when he’s quiet like this, your mind begins to wander. When he’d go quiet, it’s been half the night worried terrified of losing him to whatever you might have done. Then other times you would go down the rabbit hole of thinking that you’re no more than a distraction—you know Kotetsu has already had his one true, but Kotetsu is that to you.

He was the one that made the world go round.

You lean onto his shoulder, the sensation of his palm is warm on your bicep. His fingers flex to grass you a little tighter and a heavy sigh escapes your lips.

“What’s going on?” Your eyes go wide and you glance over, only able to manage that much for a few moments.

“Nothing.”

“Cmon, I know there’s—” You interrupt him, spitting the words out as quickly as you can manage.

“I’m just worried about you…” Kotetsu’s eyes seem to shift, his attention moving completely to you—the tv off in a few seconds. “You just seem so—I don’t know. Withdrawn.” Your concern is real, even from his word he seemed withdrawn and it left you feeling more insecure. “Sometimes I worry you think I can’t handle the truth.”

That seems to trigger something because Kotetsu shifts until you were facing each other his palms warm resting on your waist, and you are all too aware of the sensation of how close. The way he circles your skin with his thumb, even through the shirt he is comforting.

“No.” He drags the word, “No. Nothing like that at all—I just…” He sighs, “I didn’t realize you thought…” It’s as if he is talking to himself, but you remain close to him and observant. Watching the way he exists in front of you, seemed to be so present in this conversation.

Kotetsu was always difficult to read, so good at putting on a performance. So it made it hard to know the truth. “I’m not really a hero anymore.” His admission is shocking you expected it to be the pressure or anything else. “You’re even outselling me on cards in your first six months than I have in five years, even in our duo pack… People are only buying it for you…” You place your hand on his arms, keeping yourself attentive to his expressions. “People come to our panels to see you.”

Your own thumb runs along his arms, trying to imagine a more peaceful moments. You sigh: “Now it’s a good card…” Your eyes can see the way he gains light, his expression softening at what you imagine is your card illustration. There’s a flush of pink under his cheeks: “A great card even.” He adds a little laugh out, but there is a great deal of sadness in that laugh too. “But all I wanted to be was a hero, to mean something to someone.”

You smile up at him softly, reaching up to trace the stubble of his chin with your thumb. “You’re my hero.”

His eyes soften as he draws you closer, “I know. I know, but that’s what you’re supposed to say.”

You hush him with your eyes, a look that silences him. “No. I really mean it. You inspired me in so many different ways.” You feel the breath hitch in his chest, smiling at him. “Even before I came to Sternbild. But when I got here, I collected every one of your cards, you were always so strong. So good.” You smile up at him, trying to share your joy and warmth with him.

You rest your hand over his heart with a smile, recalling every card you ever found. “You’re a good hero. A great hero.” Mocking how he spoke about your card, “You’re my hero.”

Kotetsu smiles, finally finding it in himself to breathe again. Leaning his head forward until your foreheads touch, his hands wrapping themselves around yours—bringing you close. “That's probably the sweetest thing anyone’s said to me.”

You shut your eyes, smiling lightly at the confession. That’s the thing about Kotetsu, he always does the right thing. No matter what.

Kotetsu had faced mad men, killer robots, even his own mortality.

But nothing made his palms sweat like this.

He sat across from Kaede at their favorite little soba place, a quiet corner booth by the window. She was home from school for the weekend, already halfway through her bowl and telling him about some new internship like it was no big deal.

She was growing up too fast. Smarter than him. Stronger, probably. And somehow still patient enough to humor her mess of a dad.

He should just say it.

But every time he opened his mouth, it felt like a noodle was stuck in his throat.

“So,” Kaede said, finally eyeing him with suspicion. “You’re doing the thing.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where you fidget like you’re hiding something. Spill it.”

Kotetsu rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, okay. Jeez. Can’t put anything past you.”

Kaede grinned. “Nope.”

He took a breath. “So, uh... I’ve been seeing someone.”

Her chopsticks froze mid-air.

“You what?”

“Not—like—not a lot yet. It’s new,” he stammered. “But it’s serious. Or, I think it could be. I just didn’t wanna drop it on you out of nowhere.”

Kaede blinked, then set her bowl down. “Wait. Like dating? You’re dating someone?”

He nodded.

She stared.

Then leaned in, eyes narrowing. “Who is it?”

He hesitated.

“…You know Shockwave, right?”

Her jaw dropped.

“You’re dating Shockwave?” she repeated, voice climbing.

Kotetsu flinched. “Is that—okay? I mean, I know they’re a bit younger and all, but—”

“Dad,” Kaede interrupted, wide-eyed. “That’s not why I’m freaking out.”

“…It’s not?”

She shook her head, slowly breaking into a smile.

“I love Shockwave! They’re so cool! Oh my god, does this mean I’m going to have to start pretending not to know when they’re flirting with you in the kitchen?”

Kotetsu groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Kaede—”

She was laughing now, full and bright.

“I’m happy for you, really,” she said, more softly this time. “You deserve someone who makes you feel seen. And safe. And a little less like a disaster.”

He peeked at her through his fingers. “Thanks, kiddo.”

Kaede reached across the table and squeezed his wrist. “You think you’re old and rusty, but you’re still you. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

His heart cracked a little at that—right down the middle in the best possible way.

“…So you’re okay with it?” he asked, still a little breathless.

Kaede grinned. “Only if I get to tease you both endlessly.”

“Deal.”

The alert came through during dinner.

Kaede had insisted on staying over—partly to keep the mood light after the conversation the night before, and partly to help her dad reorganize the disaster that was his living room.

They’d just finished teasing each other over burnt gyoza when the HeroTV emergency broadcast lit up Kotetsu’s phone.

A rogue NEXT. Downtown. Civilian casualties reported.

Your name listed on the active response team.

Kotetsu felt his stomach clench.

The news station cut to aerial footage before HeroTV could sanitize it. The city skyline blurred behind you as you chased the NEXT across the rooftop grid—blindingly fast, like lightning barely tethered to a human form.

You were holding your own.

Until you weren’t.

Kotetsu watched it happen in one gut-wrenching second.

The enemy pulled a fake-out—redirected a collapsing beam mid-air with their telekinesis, fast enough that you didn’t see it coming. The metal crashed down across your back, and the feed flickered with static and screams.

Your body hit the rooftop.

Hard.

“Kae—Kaede, give me the remote!” Kotetsu’s voice cracked as he fumbled to turn up the volume. “Where’s their vitals? Where the hell’s the status—?!”

Kaede’s eyes were wide, frozen to the screen. “Oh my god. Dad—”

Kotetsu’s hands were already trembling. “Why weren’t they with backup? Where’s the rest of the team—?!”

A second camera cut in, shakier—closer. You were down, unmoving, but alive. The rubble around you glowed faintly from your residual energy, flickering like a dying ember. Blood stained the side of your uniform. Too much blood.

And still, you tried to get up.

Kotetsu stood so fast he knocked his chair over. “I have to go. I have to—”

Kaede grabbed his arm.

He stopped. Looked down at her.

“You can’t,” she whispered. “You’re not cleared. You’ll just slow them down. You know that.

He wanted to scream. Wanted to tear through the screen and grab you and carry you somewhere safe.

But he couldn’t.

He could only watch.

His heart split in two.

“Please,” he whispered—to no one, to whatever gods might still be listening. “Please, don’t take them from me.”

Kaede leaned against him, quietly, her hand still on his sleeve.

Neither of them said anything for a long time.

It was Kaede who looked up at him after a few minutes, "You gotta go to them." Her voice seems to not reach him, as she tugs at his sleeve. "Go to them." She says it with more force.

Kotetsu meets his daughter's eye, before nodding. Not needing another word or explanation as he stormed towards the door, out of the tower and through the streets.

Even when his ability failed.

Even when no one moved, and he had to push through as he ran.

Kotetsu never stopped.

He arrived just as the medics did, colliding roughly with the barrier as he slipped on his mask and hopped the barricade.

Nothing mattered, other than you. Not even the numerous camera clicks, the live footage of him breaking rank and rushing to your side.

You were unconscious. Hands slick with blood, but you were alive and that's all that counted as the medics finally made it through.

•

•

Beeping.

Distant, rhythmic, too slow to be yours.

You cracked your eyes open to sterile white light and the low hum of machines. The ceiling above you was unfamiliar, but the tightness in your chest and the searing ache in your side were not.

You remembered the fight. The beam. The blood.

And his name in your throat as everything went dark.

“Back with us?” a nurse asked gently, glancing up from her chart. “Don’t try to move too fast. You’ve got three broken ribs and a punctured lung. Could’ve been worse.”

Could’ve been worse—but it wasn’t good. You weren’t wired to sit still. The idea of lying here while people were still out there, still getting hurt.

No.

You shifted, trying to sit up.

Pain lanced through your torso. You hissed, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Stop that,” the nurse warned. “You’re stable, not invincible.”

“Have to move,” you gritted out. “I need to—”

“You need to stay in bed.”

You ignored her.

She moved to gently restrain you, but you shoved her hand away—weak, but stubborn. “I’m not—I'm not broken. I just need to breathe—”

“Y/N, stop.”

The voice came from the doorway.

Your breath hitched.

Kotetsu.

He looked like hell. His jacket was half off, tie undone, eyes dark with worry and exhaustion. There was dried blood on the edge of his sleeve—your blood, maybe—and his jaw clenched when he saw you halfway out of the bed, pale and trembling and still trying to fight.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said again, stepping forward. Softer now, but firmer. “Not like this.”

You stared at him—chest tight, pain forgotten for a second. “I have to do something.”

“You did. You lived.”

You looked away, hands fisting in the sheets. “It’s not enough.”

Kotetsu crouched beside your bed, voice quiet but charged. “It is to me.”

That landed like a punch to the ribs—almost worse than the real ones.

You blinked fast. “I thought I was gonna die out there.”

“So did I,” he whispered. “And I couldn’t do a damn thing but watch.”

Silence.

The kind that makes the world feel too loud around it.

His hand found yours, warm and shaking. “You scared the hell out of me.”

You finally looked at him—and everything cracked.

The fear. The pressure. The guilt.

“I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

He smiled faintly, painfully. “I want to see you any way, as long as it means I still get to see you.”

Your shoulders sagged, tears burning at the corners of your eyes.

He squeezed your hand gently. “Stay. Just for now. Let me be scared and hold your hand through it.”

You closed your eyes.

And, for the first time since you woke up, you stopped trying to leave.

You woke to the sound of his snoring.

Soft. Steady. Just loud enough to make your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with the bruises.

Kotetsu was slumped in a visitor chair, head tilted back against the edge of your bed, one hand still wrapped around yours. His hat was gone. So were his glasses. His coat had been draped over you at some point—probably when the nurses weren’t looking.

He looked exhausted.

And he hadn’t let go.

You watched him in silence for a moment, heart full and heavy. You could feel the tremor in your chest start to rise again—less pain, more emotion. You almost didn’t notice the soft murmur of the television on the far wall.

It was a news report. HeroTV recap. Volume low, captions scrolling. A familiar drone of polished voices and commercial gloss.

“...unexpected collapse mid-chase left the young NEXT hospitalized after sustaining serious injuries…”

“...concern growing over lack of oversight—especially with veterans like Kotetsu T. Kaburagi breaking protocol to rush the scene…”

You blinked. Sat up slightly.

The anchor’s voice didn’t change. Calm. Detached. Clinical.

“While Kaburagi is no longer an active lead on many high-risk missions, his arrival at the scene sparked debate online—some calling it heroic, others asking why a man in his forties is romantically linked to someone over a decade younger…”

Your blood went cold.

“One user wrote, ‘Why is a washed-up hero playing white knight for their new intern?’ Another added, ‘He’s old enough to be their dad—this feels more sad than sweet.’”

You didn’t realize your grip on his hand had tightened until he stirred.

“Hm?” he mumbled, voice groggy. “Hey—hey, you’re awake…”

You looked at him, wide-eyed.

“Kotetsu,” you whispered. “They’re talking about us.”

He blinked. Sat up. Turned toward the TV.

The color drained from his face.

He reached for the remote. You stopped him.

“I heard it.”

He hesitated. “It’s just noise. People always talk.”

You shook your head. “They’re saying you’re pathetic. That you’re… clinging to something you shouldn’t have.”

His expression twisted—like he wanted to argue, to fight, but didn’t know how to swing without hitting something that wasn’t there.

“I don’t care what they think,” you added quickly. “But I care if you do.”

He looked at you—really looked at you—and something in his shoulders collapsed.

“I knew this would happen,” he said quietly. “I knew the second they saw us, they’d twist it. Make me into some desperate old man chasing something too good for him.”

Your breath caught. “You think I’m too good for you?”

“I think you deserve someone who doesn’t come with baggage and a reputation people can tear down in one headline.”

You let that sit in the air for a beat.

“Funny. I thought I deserved someone who shows up when I’m dying under a building and doesn’t let go.”

He looked stunned.

You sat up, still weak, but steady. “They can say whatever they want. But I know you. And I love you. All of you. Even the parts that flinch when people talk.”

His eyes glistened.

“I’m not leaving,” you said firmly. “So unless you want to run…”

He shook his head before you could finish. “No. Never.”

You reached out, resting your palm against his cheek. “Then let them talk.”

The lights were too bright.

Kotetsu had done hundreds of press conferences before. After missions, after accidents, after funerals. But this one felt different—more like standing trial than giving answers.

He sat center panel, flanked by PR staff and a moderator, the HeroTV logo shining like an accusation behind him.

“Mr. Kaburagi,” one reporter began, not even bothering to smile. “Some are calling your decision to leave your post and rush to the scene impulsive—reckless, even. Do you consider your personal relationship with Shockwave a conflict of interest?”

Kotetsu exhaled slowly. “I responded to a priority call. I didn’t even know they were involved until I got the footage—”

“But you left the tower without clearance.”

“I’d do it again,” he said without missing a beat.

That caused a ripple through the crowd.

Another reporter jumped in. “Isn’t it irresponsible, though? You’re in your forties. A veteran hero. Shouldn’t you be setting an example, not chasing after someone half your age because you’re emotionally compromised?”

He flinched—just for a second. But they saw it.

“Would you have done the same for anyone else?” someone else called. “Or was it because you’re trying to relive your glory days through someone younger, faster—”

That’s when the back door of the conference room slammed open.

You.

Still in recovery gear. A bandage visible under the collar of your coat. Eyes blazing.

The room went dead silent.

You stormed up to the edge of the panel. “Say that again.”

The reporter blinked. “Excuse me—?”

“I said say that again. About him. Right to my face this time.”

PR staff started to rise from their seats. Someone whispered into a headset. But Kotetsu didn’t move. He couldn’t. He was frozen—half in awe, half in fear of what you were about to do.

You stepped in front of the panel, between him and the press.

“You want to ask about recklessness? Let’s talk about mine. I jumped headfirst into a fight with incomplete intel because I knew people were in danger. I would’ve bled out under that building if he hadn’t fought tooth and nail just to make sure I lived. He ran 10 blocks with no abilities, just to help a fellow hero."

Cameras clicked like gunfire.

“He didn’t show up because he was ‘emotionally compromised,’” you snapped. “He showed up because he’s a hero. One of the only ones left who gives a damn about more than ratings and contracts.”

Murmurs spread. You didn’t stop.

“You want to question the age gap? Fine. Go ahead. But don’t act like he’s some old man trying to relive the past. He’s better than half of us in the field. He’s smarter, tougher, and he cares more than anyone I’ve ever met. That’s why I love him.”

The room exploded.

Gasps. Flashes. A chorus of whispers.

Kotetsu’s breath caught.

“I love him,” you said again—softer this time. “Not in spite of who he is. Because of it.”

And then you turned toward him, eyes locking on his like there was no one else in the room.

“And if anyone else has a problem with that… They can talk to me directly.”

Dead silence.

One person clapped. Then another. Then more.

It wasn’t everyone. But it was enough to shake the room.

Kotetsu stood slowly, stepping beside you. He didn’t speak. Just took your hand—deliberate, steady—and laced his fingers through yours for the world to see.

And for once, the world listened.

The room reeked of polished wood, synthetic calm, and corporate panic.

Three executives sat across from you, smiles just a little too tight, voices just a little too rehearsed. The head of PR kept folding and unfolding her hands, like she wanted to be holding a leash. Probably yours.

You weren’t giving her the chance.

“We appreciate your passion,” she said, with that faux-empathetic tone that made your skin crawl. “Truly. And your loyalty to Mr. Kaburagi is admirable. But we need to think long-term. About optics.”

You leaned back in the chair, bandages pulling slightly under your clothes. “Right. Because optics are what matter most after someone nearly died.”

“We’re not minimizing what happened,” one of the producers said quickly. “But there’s been… backlash. Social media is split. Sponsors are nervous. And the age-gap narrative has become—well, distracting.”

You stared at him.

“‘Narrative?’” you echoed. “I nearly bled out doing my job, and you’re worried about a narrative?”

The PR woman cleared her throat. “All we’re asking is a small clarification. A joint statement. Reframe the story. Maybe suggest that emotions were high. That your words came from adrenaline, not commitment. You don’t even have to walk it back entirely—just... soften it.”

Your blood boiled.

You stood, slowly. “Let me make this easy for you.”

All three of them leaned in slightly.

“If you think for one second I’m going to stand in front of a camera and pretend that what I said about Kotetsu was anything but true, you’ve picked the wrong hero.”

“Shockwave—”

“No. Shut up and listen.”

That worked.

“I’m not here for fake ratings and glossy smiles. I’m here to do my job. And part of that job—the most important part—is protecting people. That includes him. So if this network wants to twist what we are into something shameful just to make nervous old men in suits feel comfortable, then I’ll walk.”

They went dead still.

You took a step closer.

“I’ll walk,” you repeated, calm but lethal. “Out of HeroTV. Out of your contracts. Out of your entire goddamn system. I’ve had cameras in my face since I was seventeen—I won’t let you weaponize them against someone I love.”

PR looked pale. One of the execs looked like he was about to faint.

“I’ve got enough injuries to prove I don’t bluff,” you added. “So try me.”

Then you turned, walked out, and didn’t look back.

Kotetsu was watching the footage on a tablet in the Tower lounge, Kaede beside him, both of them slack-jawed in silence as your voice cut through the speaker like a lightning strike.

“She really said that,” Kaede whispered, somewhere between horrified and awed.

Kotetsu didn’t speak.

Didn’t blink.

Just smiled, slow and stunned, like someone who’d just realized the person they loved had set the world on fire for them—and would do it again.

The city always looked softer from above. Like maybe it wasn’t all fire and chaos when you weren’t right in it. Like maybe you could forget how ugly people could be, even for just a second.

Kotetsu stood at the edge of the rooftop, hat in hand, watching the street lights flicker like stars too stubborn to stay in the sky.

He’d just seen the HeroTV statement go live.

“We at HeroTV stand firmly behind both Shockwave and Kotetsu T. Kaburagi. The strength they bring—individually and together—is an example of the very best of what our heroes represent: loyalty, courage, and the power to protect not only lives, but each other.”

It wasn’t perfect. Carefully worded. Safe. But public. And that made it real.

He didn’t know how you’d pulled it off. Didn’t know how you’d scared executives into defending a man they used to call a relic.

But he knew one thing: it was you.

And it terrified him.

Footsteps behind him. Light. Familiar.

You stopped beside him, bandages still peeking out from under your collar, posture relaxed like this was just another night.

He glanced over. “You see the statement?”

You nodded. “They folded after I left. I told them I meant every word.”

“Did you… threaten them?”

“Maybe.”

“…Did it work?”

You smirked. “What do you think?”

He huffed a laugh. Looking back at the skyline.

“You said you’d walk. Really walk. Were you serious?”

You didn’t even blink. “Yes.”

Silence.

The kind that doesn’t echo, just sinks.

He looked down, jaw tightening. “Damn…”

You turned to him. “What?”

He shook his head, tried to keep it light. “I just—I guess I thought, deep down, that this would be the line. That if it came down to it… you’d pick your career. Your future.”

You stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Kotetsu.”

“I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen people run before. I’m used to being the one who—”

“Kotetsu,” you cut in, firmer now.

He met your eyes.

“I didn’t even hesitate.” You stepped closer, voice low, intense. “Not for one second. I’d burn it all down if it meant you got to breathe easy. You think I’d trade you for a camera crew and a paycheck?”

He tried to smile, but it faltered.

You reached up and rested a hand on his chest. “You’ve been told you’re disposable so many times, you started to believe it. But I don’t. I never did.”

His throat worked silently, and his eyes dropped to the hand on his chest like he couldn’t quite believe it was real.

You added, softer now, “You’re not a footnote in my story, Kotetsu. You’re the reason I’m still in it.”

And finally, something inside him cracked.

He pulled you in gently, holding you like he was afraid you’d still disappear. “You scare the hell outta me, y’know that?”

You smiled into his shoulder. “You love it.”

He did.

God help him—he really, really did.

The tower’s lounge buzzed with quiet energy—TV murmuring in the background, energy drinks stacked like neon totems on the table, the sharp scent of takeout hanging in the air.

Everyone was pretending they weren’t waiting.

You sat beside Kotetsu on the couch, arm resting lightly against his. The team had gathered for a "debrief," but so far, all they'd done was rewatch the press conference and trade half-glances over greasy noodles.

Fire Emblem was the one who finally broke.

“So,” he said, dramatically crossing one leg over the other, “Are we going to talk about the literal soap opera that just played out live on national television, or are we still pretending?”

Blue Rose’s eyes flicked from her cup to you, sharp and curious. “You two looked pretty comfortable on that stage.”

Origami Cyclone nodded from the corner. “There’s been… speculation.”

Sky High blinked, chip in hand. “Wait, you’re dating?”

Everyone turned to him.

“You didn’t know?” Rock Bison muttered.

Sky High looked confused. “I thought it was just HeroTV trying to spice up the ratings again—”

Kotetsu sighed. “It’s not a PR stunt.”

The room stilled.

All eyes on him now.

You watched his jaw twitch slightly as he sat forward, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s real.”

He didn’t look at them.

He looked at you.

And that glance—soft, steady, full of something that didn’t need to be spoken—answered everything.

No flashy declarations. No overcompensating.

The room fell silent.

Then Fire Emblem smiled, wide and wicked. “Well, it’s about damn time. I was starting to think you two were going to keep orbiting each other forever.”

Blue Rose scoffed. “You knew before I did?”

“I see things,” Fire Emblem replied, flipping his hair. “It’s a gift.”

Origami Cyclone offered a quiet bow of approval. “We’re happy for you.”

Sky High held up his drink. “To unexpected but welcome developments!”

Rock Bison slapped Kotetsu on the back hard enough to rattle his bones. “Look at you, old man! Still got some fight in you after all.”

Kotetsu just laughed, cheeks a little red, eyes still on you.

You leaned in close and said, low so only he could hear: “They’re never gonna let you live this down.”

He shrugged. “Worth it.”

You grinned. “You’re damn right it is.”

The first time you stood on a rooftop again, your lungs clenched like they remembered the last time.

Sirens howled below. Wind tugged at your coat. You could see the distance—the edge of the building, the exact place you’d fallen. Your ribs didn’t hurt anymore, not physically. But your chest? It squeezed with every heartbeat.

The call had come fast: NEXT suspect with volatile powers, two hostages, barricaded inside an industrial plant. You and Kotetsu were closest. Backup was ten minutes out. The kind of call you used to answer on instinct.

But now you hesitated.

Your hands trembled slightly as you crouched by the skylight. Breath shallow. Vision blurring, just for a second. You could feel the phantom weight of the beam that hit you. Smell the blood. Hear your own gasp echo.

“Hey.”

Kotetsu’s voice, quiet beside you.

You looked up—he was watching you, brows furrowed, worry barely hidden.

“I’ve got you,” he said, voice low and firm. “You don’t have to prove anything.”

“I’m not trying to prove anything,” you murmured.

“Then what?”

You hesitated. Then: “I just don’t want to freeze when it matters.”

“You won’t,” he said without missing a beat. “Because you’ve already been through the worst—and you didn’t break. You’re here. You’re breathing. You’re still fighting.”

You stared at him.

Then nodded. Once.

“Let’s move,” you said.

It didn’t go perfectly.

The suspect was erratic, his power unstable, crackling with kinetic pulses that shattered windows as you moved in. The air stung with static. For one terrifying moment, he locked onto you—eyes wild, hand raised—and you froze.

Just a second.

But it was enough.

Kotetsu moved fast, intercepting the blast with his shield gauntlet, taking the brunt of the hit as you rolled clear.

And that snapped everything back.

You surged up, focused, controlled.

Your power wrapped around the suspect like steel wire, locking him down mid-strike. Dropped him to the ground. Cuffed him.

Done.

The hostages were safe. The suspect contained.

You stood over the scene, chest heaving, hand scraped raw—and alive.

And this time, you were still standing.

The lights were back. So were the reporters.

But this time, the only thing buzzing in your chest was fire.

You stood at the podium beside Kotetsu, mic angled toward you, cameras flashing. One reporter called out: “Shockwave, this was your first return to active duty since the incident. There were concerns you might not be ready—”

You cut in smoothly. “I was ready. I am ready.”

Another question: “There’s been a lot of talk about the emotional impact of what happened. Was there any hesitation returning to the field?”

You looked out over the sea of faces. Then turned—just slightly—to Kotetsu, who gave you that same soft look he always did when he was proud of you.

You faced the crowd again.

“There was fear,” you said honestly. “But I didn’t go back out there alone.”

“I’m stronger because of him. Because Kotetsu never let me forget what I’m capable of—even when I doubted it myself. That’s why I came back. And that’s why I’ll keep showing up.”

Flashbulbs popped. Whispers spread.

You didn’t care.

You turned to Kotetsu, just for a second. He was smiling—soft, amazed, maybe a little misty.

This time, it wasn’t a rescue.

It was a comeback.

Together.

[black-dhalias]

Could you write something where Adrian goes into a Spirit-induced depressive episode after a long day of tutoring Lissa? He’ll turn to Gaurdian!Reader for comfort since she quickly noticed his change in demeanor. Maybe he’ll use compulsion to drink her blood in his room though she’ll be willing soon enough. I actually wanted to base this off the dorm scene Rose and Adrian had but couldn’t find the right words to describe my request.

Intentionally Close

Adrian Ivashkov X F!Reader Warnings: mentions of depression, blood, minor swearing.

AN: Sorry this took forever, it got buried in my drafts and I’ve been cleaning it out. And saw this! I went a little different than the scene with Rose, it’s been a while since I read the books, but I like how this turned out! I hope you enjoy!

You knew better than to get close to Adrian Ivashkov—not only of his reputation, but also his intensities. That’s the right word—he was a devil in disguise, one of the worst if you’re honest.

He dangled himself on a line, and you were a fool for your own lack of inhibition. Time spent with him was like waiting for the ticking time bomb to finally go off, and it did manage to mount eventually. The tension had become thick, and while you had thought you’d be the one to pull the trigger.

It was Adrian. He had spent the day watching you closely, every inhale and exhale—the subtle rise and fall of your chest. He watched your lips as they spoke, only sometimes he didn’t even know what words you had said.

For every time you considered him mildly attractive, he found you absolutely ravishing. Completely consuming his every thought. You made him both strong and weak, his little dhamphir. He quite liked the way your visits went, the comfort that came from being so close. Not too close, but painfully so that he could just shift slightly and touch you. Brush his arm against yours. Let his fingers slightly bump into your hand, an accidental touch. Sometimes he was even certain that you were chasing him with just as much vigor.

Around and around, a never ending cycle between the two of you. A game of cat and mouse.

Coming home that night was like dragging himself through cement, he felt overwhelmed and a tad off. Lissa had excelled today, but it meant more taxing training and more work from Adrian. A longer day than he had planned. It took nearly every ounce of his being to keep himself upright, but coming into the room to find you in his bed.

Boots neatly tucked by the door were the dead giveaway that you were there, but seeing on top of his blankets. Your eyes trained on the stake twisting about your fingers, a part of Adrian seems to snap into place.

His room is quiet when he steps inside, almost too quiet, like the air itself is holding its breath. Adrian stands at the edge of the bed, his usual cocky mask missing-no smirk, no careless charm. Just him. Bare, beautiful, and broken in a way few ever get to see.

You look up when you hear the door close, his eyes catching yours in the dim light. There's something haunted behind the green—something that doesn't quite match the silk shirt rumpled on his shoulders or the expensive scent that still clings to him.

"You came," he says, quietly. Like he didn't think you would.

You cross the room, with both caution and reverence. "You said you needed me."

His throat works as he swallows, gaze dropping to the floor. "I hate needing anyone."

But you're already kneeling in front of him, lifting his chin so he has to look at you. "But you do."

He closes his eyes. "It's not just hunger," he murmurs. "It's you. It's always you."

The silence stretches between you, heavy with things unspoken. Then, carefully, he touches your arm, fingers trembling just enough for you to teel it.

"I can't ask this of you," he says, voice raw. "Not again. Not when it... takes something from you."

You tilt your head, exposing your neck without a word.

His breath catches. "Don’t—" he whispers. "Don't make this easy. I don't deserve easy."

But he leans in anyway, helpless against the pull.

When his lips press against your skin, it's not a kiss-it's a confession. The sting of his fangs is sharp, but what follows is deeper: warmth, longing, guilt wrapped in intimacy.

His hands are shaking as he drinks, holding you like you're something fragile, something sacred.

You feel the way he tries to pull back, to stop himself-but he lingers, and you know it's not just about the blood.

When he finally withdraws, he presses his forehead to your shoulder, breathing hard. "I'm sorry," he says, so softly you almost miss it. "You make me feel human again... and I don't know if I can live with that."

You feel the way he tries to pull back, to stop himself-but he lingers, and you know it's not just about the blood.

When he finally withdraws, he presses his forehead to your shoulder, breathing hard. "I'm sorry," he says, so softly you almost miss it. "You make me feel human... and I don't know if I can live with that."

You touch his hair, smoothing it gently. "Then don't live with it," you whisper. "Just... feel it. With me."

He doesn't reply—but the way he holds you tighter says everything.

You don't stay in Adrian's room long after. Once his breathing evens out and the trembling in his hands fades, you quietly gather yourself. He doesn't ask you to stay. He just watches you with those tired, stormy eyes, like he's already bracing for the weight of the silence you're both about to carry.

By the time you slip out into the hall, the guilt is clinging to your skin like smoke.

You don't make it ten steps before you hear your name.

"Hey!" Rose's voice, sharp and familiar, cuts through the quiet. She's leaning against the wall outside the lounge with Lissa beside her, arms crossed and eyes narrod with suspicion.

"Where the hell have you been?"

Your heart stumbles in your chest. Lissa watches you with that Spirit-user intuition-soft, silent, but all-seeing. Rose, of course, doesn't wait for an answer.

"You weren't in your room. We thought maybe something happened."

"Nothing happened," you say quickly, too quickly.

"I just... needed some air."

Rose lifts a brow. "In Adrian's wing of the dorms?"

You force a shrug, keek. s your face neutral. "I just... needed some air."

Rose lifts a brow. "In Adrian's wing of the dorms?"

You force a shrug, keeping your face neutral. "I ran into him. We talked for a bit. That's all."

Lissa tilts her head. "You look pale."

"I'm always pale," you say with a faint smile, hoping the joke deflects enough. "Maybe I'm coming down with something."

Rose doesn't buy it. She never does. "You weren't with him again were vou?" Her tone is laced with a venom you didn’t understand, there was no way she know, but Rose was guarded now. Protective. And you know she's not just talking about conversations.

You pause for half a heartbeat too long.

"No," you lie, soft and practiced. "It's not like that."

Lissa's eyes soften, but not with belief—more like disappointment. Or maybe she just senses the ache you're carrying, the residue of something deeper.

They don't push, not today. Maybe because know, deep down, that if they asked again, the truth might unravel something none of you are ready to face.

You walk with them back to the dorms, your fingers brushing the side of your neck where his bite is already fading. But the memory lingers— his voice, his guilt, the way he held you like you were the only thing anchoring him to this world.

You lied to protect him.

But part of you wonders if you're just protecting yourself.

•

•

•

The door to your room closes with a soft click, and the silence that follows is deafening.

You lean against it for a moment, eyes shut, willing your heart to stop pounding. But it doesn't. It won't. Not with the taste of Adrian's voice still echoing in your mind. "You make me feel human again."

You should feel needed. Wanted. Loved.

Instead, you feel... hollow.

Crossing to the mirror, you tug down your collar and study the faint bruising left behind. It's already healing-fast, like always-but your skin remembers. Your body always remembers. Not just the bite, but everything that came with it: the way he clung to you lik you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart. The way it hurt, not physically-but emotionally. Spirit doesn't just drink blood. It drinks pieces of you.

You press your fingers lightly to the spot, then pull your hand back like it burned.

You told them it was nothing.

Rose would call you out. Lissa would look at you like she knew, like she felt it all through the threads of Spirit. But you couldn't tell them. Not just because of Adrian—but because admitting it would make it real.

And you don't know if you're strong enough to carry what that means.

So instead, you do what you've been doing every time it happens: you bury it. You climb into bed without turning on the :. You wrap your arms around yourself, clutching the pillow like it might anchor you.

And in the dark, you whisper the truth to no one but the silence:

"I want to be there for him."

But there's no one to answer back. No one to reassure you that being there isn't slowly breaking you apart too.

So you close your eyes and pretend the ache in your chest is just exhaustion. Not love. Not guilt.

Just tired bones.

Tomorrow, you'll smile. You'll laugh when Rose teases you and nod when Lissa asks if everything's okay.

You've gotten good at pretending.

•

•

•

You stop showing up at the court garden where you used to cross paths by accident-on-purpose.

You don't linger in the lounges near the Moroi dorms. And when your friends make jokes about Adrian, you laugh too easily-too forced.

Adrian notices.

He's not as careless as people think. Behind the sarcasm and the lazy elegance, he sees everything. Especially when it comes to you.

So one night-when the silence gets too loud and the ache of your absence starts crawling under his skin—he finds you.

You're in the training gym after hours, long after even Rose has called it a night. Your punches are sharp and angry—powerful in ways no one, but him understood. Not entirely. He leans against the doorway. Arms crossed.

"You always fight like that when you're trying not to feel something," he says softly.

You don't stop. Don't even turn around.

"Don't you have a bottle to chase or a party to crash?" you reply, biting.

He pushes off the wall, walking toward you slowly. "I'd rather chase the one person who actually means something."

You freeze—just for a second-but it's enough.

He sees it.

You lower your fists and finally look at him.

There's a wall in your eyes now. Not anger. Not coldness. Just distance. The kind that wasn't there before.

"You said you hated needing people," you say, voice barely above a whisper. "I think I started hating it too."

Adrian stops in front of you, hands shoved in his coat pockets like he doesn't trust them not to reach for you. "I never wanted to make you feel that way."

"You didn't mean to," you say. "But you did."

The words hang heavy between you.

He looks down, swallowing hard. "Is it the bite?"

"It's not just the bite," you say. "It's what it means. What it takes from me every time. You ask like you're giving me a choice, but we both know I could never say no to you."

He flinches—actually flinched.

"I thought maybe being with you would make me stronger," you continue, "but lately, I'm starting to feel like I'm disappearing."

Adrian steps closer, and this time, he does reach out—gently. Hesitantly. His hand brushes your arm, but you don't lean in.

"You're the only thing that keeps me grounded," he says quietly. "But if holding onto me is making you lose yourself... I'd rather let go."

There's a rawness in his voice that cracks something inside you. You shake your head. "I don't want to lose you."

"But I can't lose you either," he says. "And I will, if this keeps being something you survive instead of something you choose—then you’ll lose yourself... I'd rather let go."

For once, there's no charm in his voice. No wit.

Just a scared, hurting boy who's finally realized that love isn't just about needing-it's about giving. About not asking someone to bleed just so you can feel whole.

•

•

•

It's late when you find him again.

His room is dark, the curtains drawn tight like he's trying to shut out the world. You don't knock—you just open the door and step inside. Adrian is on the couch, half-sunken into it, staring blankly at a canvas that hasn't been touched in days.

He looks up slowly, eyes tired, like he wasn't expecting anyone. Especially not you.

But the moment he sees you, everything stills.

His breath. His sadness. Like for a second, you've pulled him back from the edge again.

You close the door behind you.

"I've been thinking," you say softly, stepping toward him. "About what you said. About what I said.” He says nothing. Just watches you, eyes flicking to the way your hands tremble slightly at your sides.

"I didn't come here to survive this," you whisper. "I came because I choose this. I choose you."

Adrian stands slowly, like he's afraid to move too fast and shatter the moment. "You don't have to _"

"I want to," you cut in. "But only if we stop pretending this doesn't mean something. I need it to be real. Not just hunger. Not guilt. Us."

The words hang in the space between you, and then carefully he steps closer.

When he cups your face, it's not with urgency or hunger. It's reverent, as if he is beneath the heavens itself.

His forehead presses against yours, and you feel the way he's shaking. "I don't deserve this," he breathes.

"Maybe not," you whisper. "But I do. I deserve to choose this."

You tilt your head, exposing your neck--not out of obligation, not because he needs it—but as a gift.

One last time.

Adrian's lips tremble against your skin. And when he bites, it's different this time.

It's not desperation. It's not the darkness. It's love.

The pull of Spirit is still there-electric and intimate-but you feel it in your chest, not just your blood. It doesn't drain you. It connects you.

And when he pulls away, there are tears in his eyes. "You didn't disappear," he says, voice cracking."You came back."

You touch his face, smiling through your own tears. "| never left. I just needed to remember who I was. And that I'm not afraid of what you need... not if it's with me.”

He leans into your touch like it's the only thing keeping him grounded.

And for the first time in a long time, the ache between you isn't pain.

It's love—loud and honest. With a choice only you could make.

[black-dhalias]

I’d like to request something based on Théoden’s travel from Rohan to Helms Deep. A love triangle with fem Elf!reader, Legolas and Aragorn had already been present. What I was thinking is during the chaos of battle, she gets her belt stuck on a Warg’s saddle (it wouldn’t be Aragorn going over to cliff this time), Legolas and Aragorn wouldn’t notice until it’s too late. But the Orc had grabbed hold of the necklace that Legolas had given her. Put as much angst and hurt/comfort as you’d like!

Symphony of Hearts

Legolas X elf!Reader!love triangle X Aragorn

Warnings: violence, angst, some graphic descriptions.

If there is one thing you’re certain of, it’s that joining this company was a mistake. What once was a quiet affair had become all too blatant—Legolas had loved you since you were children, but Aragorn loved you from the moment you met.

There are two emotions that never quite aligned, the simple love shared with Legolas and the pining that came with falling for Aragorn. And truthfully, neither ever forced a decision. However, by joining the company, the close proximity of the trio had left you listening to endless questions of choosing.

And how could you? When it meant you’d lose the other entirely, they made that abundantly clear when a quiet bickering turned into a silent treatment between them one evening.

No one gave you a manual when deciding, or a peek into the future other than the knowledge that there’s people who depend on you. There’s always been people, and glancing at Legolas you recall all of the people you have helped with him.

You battled beside him with Tauriel in the Battle of the Seven Armies—and following him was easy as breathing. He was like a breath of fresh air, always there, but it was always give some and take some. There was a balance, not that you minded much.

But with Aragorn, there was devotion beyond all else. There was no need for anything other than him—you hardly knew air once he was within sight. You didn’t need to give anything, he was more than willing to take on every burden.

However, as the days continued on and the journey grew heavier—you found yourself riding at the front of the march to Helms Deep. Your body ached in ways you could not explain, and the least of your worries was which of the two would stay at your side.

You didn’t have time to think of that.

In truth you couldn’t help the way your mind began to wander, thoughts of the nights before coming to mind. Their memory seeming to haunt you.

The sun had just begun its descent, casting long, golden beams across the verdant fields of Rivendell. The cool breeze stirred the trees, carrying with it the scent of pine and wildflowers—a scent you had always associated with peace and home. You stood in the center of the practice ring, your boots digging into the soft earth beneath you, and before you, Legolas, your oldest friend, readied himself.

You hadn’t seen Legolas for many years, not in the way you’d once known him as a child. You had both been inseparable once, growing up together in the lush woods of Mirkwood. You had laughed under the stars, trained side by side with swords and bows, and shared secrets that only the two of you would understand.

But time had changed things. The world had changed. And now, after years apart, you found yourself standing across from him, just as you had when you were both young, but this time the stakes were higher—war loomed, and the weight of destiny hung in the air.

He smiled at you, that familiar glint of mischief in his bright eyes, but there was something deeper there too, something that spoke of the years he had spent away from home, of the battles fought and the losses endured. The years had made him into the warrior he was today—strong, precise, and relentless.

“I’ll warn you, Y/N,” Legolas teased, his voice as light as it had always been, “I’ve improved since last we sparred.”

You met his playful gaze with a raised brow. “You’ve always been a little full of yourself, Legolas,” you replied with a smirk. “Let’s see if your arrogance can match your skill.”

Legolas grinned, clearly delighted by the familiar banter. He was poised, his twin blades glinting in the fading sunlight as he waited for your move.

You didn’t disappoint. With a quick fluid motion, you darted forward, your twin short swords slicing through the air, meeting his blades with a sharp clang. The sound of steel against steel echoed, but you both moved effortlessly, almost as though you were one—two friends, two warriors, locked in an ancient dance.

Legolas’ eyes gleamed, his steps graceful as he countered your moves with precision, always just a step ahead. His blade clashed with yours, and for a moment, you were transported back to the time when you were both young, training beneath the canopy of trees in Mirkwood, full of dreams and promises.

But now, the sparring was different. There was a weight to each movement, an intensity you hadn’t expected. You couldn’t help but notice how his eyes lingered on you for just a heartbeat longer than they used to, how the tension between your blades seemed to carry more than just friendly competition.

You were no longer just the childhood friend. He was no longer the mischievous boy you had once known. Time had forged him into something else—something more.

With a swift movement, you broke away, taking a few steps back, eyes narrowing. Legolas followed suit, but there was something else now, something unspoken in the way his eyes traced over you. The smile was gone, replaced by something deeper, more contemplative.

“Something on your mind?” you asked, trying to keep your voice light, though you, too, felt the change in the air.

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve always wondered…” he began softly, his voice almost wistful, “what it would be like if things had stayed the same. If we were still the children we once were, running through the forests, careless and free.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t expected him to say this. You had spent so many years wondering if he still thought of those moments with the same fondness you did.

“I think about those days often,” you said, your voice quiet. “But we are not children anymore, Legolas. The world has changed, and so have we.”

He stepped closer, his gaze intense, his eyes searching yours. “Not all change is for the worse, (Y/N). Not all of it.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a shift in the air, a pull between you that you hadn’t felt in years. The silence between you seemed to stretch for longer than it should have, the weight of his unspoken words hanging in the space.

You had always been close, yes—but this? This was different. There was something deeper, a longing in his gaze that you hadn’t seen before, not even when you were younger.

And just as you opened your mouth to speak, a voice from the edge of the training ring interrupted, pulling both your attention away.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Aragorn’s voice was low, almost too quiet, as he stepped into view, his gaze fixed on you and Legolas. He had been watching you for a while now, though neither of you had noticed him. “The bond you two share.”

Legolas turned his head, his expression unreadable, but you could see the flicker of something, something that betrayed his calm composure. His relationship with Aragorn had always been one of mutual respect, but this moment—this felt different.

“Aragorn,” Legolas greeted him, though there was an edge to his voice, a subtle shift in his usual demeanor.

Aragorn’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before returning to Legolas, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were weighing something. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Y/N lately,” he said, his voice even, but there was something in it—something more. Something heavier.

You caught the shift in Aragorn’s eyes. There was a weight in them that hadn't been there before, something deep, something conflicted. You knew Aragorn well enough to recognize it: a subtle flash of realization.

You and Legolas had always been close, but Aragorn was seeing something now that he hadn’t before. And as you glanced between them—between the quiet tension in Aragorn’s gaze and the understanding that passed between you and Legolas—you realized that something had shifted. Something had changed in Aragorn’s heart, though he hadn’t yet come to terms with it.

Legolas caught your eye for a brief second, his expression softening. “We were just reminiscing,” he said, his voice calm again, though you could hear the undercurrent of something more.

Aragorn’s gaze lingered on you, then shifted to Legolas. His eyes flicked between you both for a heartbeat, and in that brief moment, something clicked within him. The realization settled in his chest like a stone, heavy and undeniable. He had been too focused on his duties, too involved in the weight of his responsibilities, but now it was clear.

The tension in the air thickened, and Aragorn’s gaze softened, but not with the warmth you were used to. This was different—a quiet, internal battle playing out behind his eyes, and though he didn’t speak it aloud, you knew.

He loved you.

It was in the way he looked at you now, in the way his eyes followed your every movement. You weren’t just a companion. You were something more. Something he hadn’t allowed himself to see until now.

The moment passed, and Aragorn gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod, his expression carefully neutral. But you saw the flicker in his eyes—the silent acknowledgment that he was beginning to understand his own heart.

And as you returned your attention to Legolas, who stood by, his expression softening with something that wasn’t quite friendship, you realized the delicate balance between all three of you had shifted—irreparably.

The weight of love, of history, of unspoken feelings, hung heavy in the air.

And none of you knew where it would lead, but in that quiet, fleeting moment, you all knew this was only the beginning.

You were distracted, the memories seemed to haunt you in more ways than one—even as the orcs descended, as the attacks came and went. As you cut them down, and dealt blow after blow. None of it mattered.

Because one second you were defending the people, trying to take out an orc, and the next your wrist was tangled up.

Eyes widening, fingers scrambling, but it was too late because before you know it—you are flying off the edge of the cliff.

The world goes black the moment you hit the water.

One second you were sprinting toward the orc on the cliffside, your blood singing with the rush of battle, and the next—well, the earth is gone beneath your feet.

You don’t scream.

The fall is silent, almost peaceful, and then—impact. Cold. Darkness.

Your lungs burn. Limbs heavy. Everything fades except the weight in your chest—not water, but memory.

You see Aragorn first. His weathered hands tying a bandage around your forearm after you went and got yourself injured. You tended to do that, act first and think later.

"You should be more careful," he murmured, eyes downcast.

"And miss your tender touch?" you teased. But the way his gaze lifted to yours—soft, uncertain, lingering—it wasn’t a jest anymore.

He didn’t kiss you. He wanted to. You can see that now in the darkness.

Then the memory shifts. You can feel the echoes of your life trying to pull you to the surface, but you remain still, floating.

Legolas, beside you on a high branch, both of you wordless as the moon filtered through the leaves.

He didn’t speak often of love, but he didn’t have to. It was in the brush of his shoulder, the way his bow always found your enemies first.

"I would follow you beyond the sea," he said once, not looking at you. "If you asked it."

You hadn’t answered. You didn’t know how.

Your eyes snap open. Breath floods your lungs like fire.

You’re not dead. You’re on a riverbank—muddy, shivering, alone.

No sword. No bow. No Aragorn. No Legolas.

You sit up slowly, body aching. Every movement feels like dragging yourself through more than just mud—through memory. Through guilt.

Somewhere out there, they must think you’re gone. And yet you survived.

Now comes the hardest part.

Finding your way back.

And choosing—if you still can.

The forest is dense, the shadows deep. You move silently between the trees, every step forward bringing another memory. Another fracture in your heart.

You walk alone now—but you haven't been alone, not truly, in months.

The wind howled across the plains. You stood outside the Golden Hall, your cloak flapping wildly, fingers still stained from the skirmish that day.

Inside, Aragorn leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, watching you.

"You move like the wind," he said, stepping closer. His eyes searched yours. "But I feel it pull me with it. Every time you go."

You smiled, but the ache was sharp. "And yet, it is Legolas who follows."

He didn’t flinch. He only said, "Yes. He always will. But I would wait."

You wanted to say something more. You didn’t. The wind took it.

•

You stumble now on a tree root, nearly falling again. The irony bites, but you catch yourself. You always do.

Your path turns toward Helms Deep, and the trees whisper as you pass—strange and watchful. You half expect to see Legolas emerge from the gloom, bow ready, smile soft.

But there’s only silence.

Until your memory speaks again.

Night fell gently in that elven realm. You sat beside Legolas near a silver stream, both of you barefoot, toes brushing the water.

"You are not like them," he said. "You do not belong to time the same way."

"Neither do you," you replied, leaning back on your hands, watching the stars blink alive.

"But I have never feared it. Not until I met you."

You turned your head then. His face was close. He didn’t kiss you—but his hand found yours, and it stayed there, warm, grounding.

He never asked for more. He just gave.

The path ahead forks—one toward Helm’s Deep, the other toward the river that leads back to Gondor. You pause.

They could be either place.

You close your eyes, breathing in the wind, the trees, the memory of two men whose hearts you still carry—one a king, bound to duty and shadow, the other a prince of starlight, silent and enduring.

The path doesn’t matter anymore.

You will find them.

Or they will find you.

•

•

You smell fire before you see it—smoke on the breeze, faint and familiar. Someone camps nearby.

You crouch low, slipping through underbrush like a ghost.

And then you hear it. A voice.

"I told you she would live."

Your heart stops.

Legolas.

A second voice, quieter, ragged with disbelief: "But she fell."

Aragorn.

You rise slowly. Your steps are silent—but the moment you emerge into the clearing, both men turn, and for the first time in weeks—perhaps ever—their eyes hold nothing but you.

Aragorn rises first. He looks older. His expression crumbles and reforms all in a breath.

Legolas doesn’t move. But his gaze pierces through you, as if to be sure you're real.

You say nothing.

Neither do they.

Until Aragorn whispers, "We mourned you." He let himself feel your loss, the weight burdening his shoulders.

And Legolas, "I never did." He knew you would return, or at least hoped enough. That was Legolas, he bottled it up.

Choose Aragorn…

The moon hung high above Helms Deep, its firey glow casting long shadows across the quiet path. There is not gentleness to the defensive walls, long overbearing shadows and echoes of people along the way. The world felt suspended in time, almost as if the very land itself were holding its breath.

You and Legolas had always shared a bond, one born of shared history and countless memories, but something in the air had shifted. It wasn’t just the training anymore. There was more between you two—something deeper.

And then there was Aragorn.

You hadn’t missed the subtle tension between him and Legolas, nor the quiet change in Aragorn's gaze when he had watched you and Legolas spar some time ago. It was impossible to ignore how his eyes lingered on you longer than usual, how his demeanor had shifted so subtly, yet so definitively. Something had changed in him, and it had made your heart ache in ways you hadn’t expected.

You hadn’t expected this… feeling.

You had spent the evening alone, trying to sort through your emotions, but the quiet, the stillness, only made your thoughts spiral more. Trying to clean yourself of the trauma, of falling off a cliff. Finally, you decided to take a walk—although you weren’t ready to face what secrets Helms Deep had to offer—and as you made your way through the stone—you found yourself outside. The cool night air wrapped around you like a cloak, and you took a deep breath, letting the fresh scent of pine soothe your troubled mind.

And that was when you saw him.

Aragorn.

He was standing at the edge of the courtyard, his back to you, staring out at the moonlit landscape. The battles to come hang on the air, a stillness to the world around them. His stance was rigid, as though lost in thought, his cloak rustling softly in the breeze.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to approach him, but the pull to speak with him was too strong. You knew that something had changed—had been changing—and you needed to understand what it meant, for both of you.

“Aragorn?” you called quietly, your voice breaking the stillness.

He turned slowly, his dark eyes meeting yours. For a moment, his expression was unreadable, but you could see the weight behind his gaze. The internal struggle that had been brewing since earlier in the day was written all over him.

“You’re out late,” you remarked, trying to keep the mood light, though you could sense the heaviness in the air between you.

Aragorn didn’t immediately respond, and for a long moment, the two of you stood in silence. Then, his voice came, low and heavy with something you couldn’t quite place.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said quietly. “Too many thoughts. Too many things I’ve been avoiding.”

You took a step closer, your heart racing in your chest. “What things?”

He took a slow breath, his eyes not meeting yours now, as though he couldn’t bring himself to face you directly. “I’ve spent so much time focusing on the battles ahead. The task at hand. The lives we must save. But…” His words trailed off, his hands clenching at his sides.

“But what?” you pressed, stepping a little closer.

He turned to face you fully, his eyes meeting yours now, dark and full of unspoken emotion. There was no more hiding behind his usual calm demeanor. In the moonlight, you saw it—his vulnerability. The walls he had carefully built around himself for so long were crumbling, and in that moment, you could see the man behind the ranger. The man who had always been there, but who had never allowed himself to truly be seen.

“I’ve been fooling myself for too long,” he said, his voice quiet but raw. “Focusing on everything and everyone else. And all the while, I’ve been…” He paused, as if searching for the words, his breath shaky. “I’ve been denying something that has been so clear to me. To my heart.”

Your pulse quickened. His words hung heavy between you, and you felt a stirring deep inside you, a mix of hope and fear.

Aragorn took another step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Y/N, I’ve spent so many years with you by my side. Fighting side by side, protecting those who cannot protect themselves. But I’ve come to realize… it’s you that I’ve been protecting the most. It’s you who I…” He faltered for a moment, his eyes glistening with something that wasn’t just the reflection of the moonlight. It was something deeper. Something far more personal.

Your breath caught in your throat. “Aragorn…” you whispered.

“I love you,” he said, his voice barely audible, yet each word was carved into the silence like a truth he could no longer keep hidden. “I’ve always loved you, Y/N. But I was too blind to see it. Too afraid to admit it… to you, to myself.”

The world seemed to stop. The sounds of the night faded into nothing. All that remained was his confession, hanging between you like a weight, grounding you in that moment.

Your heart hammered in your chest, the truth of his words settling into your bones. You hadn’t dared to hope for this—hadn’t dared to believe that Aragorn, the man who carried the weight of Middle-earth on his shoulders, could feel the same way. But now, in the quiet of the night, it was undeniable.

You took a step toward him, reaching out to place a hand gently on his chest. The warmth of his body beneath your touch made your heart race even faster, but the tenderness in his eyes, the vulnerability, made it all feel so real.

“I didn’t know…” you began softly, your voice trembling. “I didn’t know you felt this way. I thought… I thought I was just a friend to you, Aragorn. A comrade. A companion.”

He shook his head slowly, his hand reaching up to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. “You are so much more than that to me. You always have been. But I was a fool to let fear keep me from saying it. Fear of the battles ahead. Fear of the war. But in truth, the greatest fear I have now is losing you… before I ever had the chance to tell you what you mean to me.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, your emotions rising up to overwhelm you. Aragorn, the king-to-be, the ranger, the protector—had never been so open, so vulnerable before. And now, standing before you, admitting his love, he had never seemed more human.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I thought I was the only one who felt this way.”

Aragorn’s eyes softened, his hand gently cupping your face. “You are never alone, Y/N. Not in this.”

The distance between you closed in an instant, and before you could stop yourself, you kissed him—a soft, lingering kiss that held the weight of everything unsaid, of every moment that had led to this one. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. The kiss deepened, but it wasn’t just passion—it was everything: the years of friendship, the battles fought, the distance between you finally vanishing.

When you pulled away, breathless and shaky, you looked into his eyes, the uncertainty finally gone. “What now?” you asked softly.

Aragorn smiled, his thumb brushing over your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. “Now, we face everything together. Whatever comes, whatever the future holds.”

You nodded, knowing in that moment that whatever battles lay ahead—whether on the fields of war or within your hearts—you would face them side by side. Together.

The And for the first time in a long time, the world felt a little less heavy.

Choose Legolas…

The moon hung high above Helms Deep, its firey glow casting long shadows across the quiet path. There is not gentleness to the defensive walls, long overbearing shadows and echoes of people along the way. The world felt suspended in time, almost as if the very land itself were holding its breath.

You and Legolas had been inseparable since childhood, both of you the sons and daughters of Mirkwood, growing up together under the canopy of trees. Your bond was forged through shared experiences, and despite the distance and time that had passed, it had never weakened. But now, as adults, there was an undeniable pull between you—a pull that went beyond mere friendship.

The training sessions, the quiet moments in the forests, even the small glances shared across the campfire… everything had changed, and yet neither of you had spoken of it. Not aloud, at least.

Tonight, however, something felt different.

You had found yourself near what used to be the training grounds, as if drawn here by some invisible thread, and there he was—Legolas. He was standing by the fountain, his eyes focused on the water as he traced the surface with a delicate hand, lost in thought. His usual playful demeanor was gone; there was something more serious about him tonight, something that reflected his inner turmoil. He hadn’t noticed you at first, but you could sense the weight of his thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, you finally took a step forward, breaking the silence that had stretched between you both. “Legolas.”

He turned toward the sound of your voice, a soft smile curving on his lips as his blue eyes locked with yours. “Y/N,” he greeted, his voice warm but tinged with a quiet sadness. “I didn’t expect to find anyone out here at this hour.”

“You’re always out here,” you said, smiling faintly. “I thought maybe I would find you.”

He raised an eyebrow playfully, his expression softening. “And why is that?”

You paused for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts. The words you had been holding in for so long were suddenly rushing to the surface, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. You had always been able to talk to Legolas, but this—this was different. This was something more.

“You’ve been different lately,” you said softly, taking a step closer to him. “I’ve noticed it. It’s like you’ve been carrying something, something you’re not telling anyone.”

Legolas’s smile faded slightly, and he lowered his gaze, his fingers trailing across the stone of the fountain. “It’s nothing, Y/N,” he replied, his voice distant, guarded. “There are many burdens on my mind. The journey ahead, the war, you falling off a cliff… all of it.”

You could tell he was trying to deflect, but you knew him better than anyone. You had seen his strength, his bravery, but you had also seen the quieter side of him—the side that was vulnerable, that carried the weight of his responsibilities on his shoulders.

“It’s not just the war, is it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “There’s more to it, Legolas. I know you.”

He met your gaze, his eyes darkening with a mix of emotions—confusion, sadness, and something else. Something that made your heart ache.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you filled with unspoken words and memories. Then, finally, you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Legolas…” you began, your voice shaking slightly. “I’ve spent so many years beside you, and I’ve always felt that connection, that bond. But lately… lately, I’ve realized something. Something I can’t ignore anymore.”

Legolas looked at you, his brow furrowing slightly, as though he were trying to read the emotions behind your words. “What is it, Y/N?” he asked, his voice soft, his gaze intense.

You took a step closer to him, feeling the rush of emotions swirl inside you—love, fear, longing. You had always been by his side, always supporting him, but now, in this moment, you could no longer pretend that your feelings were anything less than deep.

“I love you, Legolas,” you confessed, the words spilling from your lips before you could stop them. “I’ve always loved you, in a way that goes beyond friendship. I don’t know when it started, but it’s always been there, and I can’t pretend it’s not anymore.”

There it was—the truth, hanging in the air between you. You held your breath, waiting for his response, unsure of what would come next.

Legolas’s expression softened, a mixture of surprise and something deeper that you couldn’t quite place. He seemed to struggle with his words for a moment, as if trying to process the weight of what you had just said.

“I…” he began, his voice catching slightly. “I didn’t know.”

You nodded, your heart sinking. You knew he hadn’t expected this—hadn’t seen it coming. You had kept your feelings hidden for so long, not wanting to risk the precious bond you had built over the years.

“I didn’t want to ruin what we have,” you said quietly, your voice trembling. “But I can’t keep it inside any longer.”

Legolas took a slow step toward you, his face softening as he reached for your hand, his fingers gently brushing over yours. “You never could ruin what we have, Y/N.” He said, his voice low but filled with warmth. “Our bond is not something so easily broken. But…” He paused, his gaze searching yours. “I’ve been a fool, too. I’ve been blind to what was right in front of me.”

Your breath caught in your throat as he stepped even closer, his presence overwhelming you with both comfort and uncertainty.

“I care for you more than words can express,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I never thought it could be more than that. I never allowed myself to see it. To see you, the way I should have.”

The ache in your chest lessened, replaced by something warmer, something that wrapped around your heart like a delicate, fragile thread. You stepped closer to him, feeling the distance between you shrink.

“So… what now?” you asked, your voice soft, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Legolas smiled, a slow, tender smile that was both a promise and a question all at once. “Now… we figure it out, together.”

And with that, the distance between you both disappeared as he leaned forward, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle, tentative kiss. It was everything you had longed for—sweet, filled with the years of friendship and love, and yet, new and fresh, like the beginning of something both familiar and unknown.

When you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Together,” you whispered.

“Together,” Legolas echoed softly, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close as the world around you seemed to fade away.

For the first time in so long, you felt complete—like the universe had finally aligned, and the love you had kept buried deep inside had finally found its place. And in the quiet of the night, beneath the stars, you knew that this was only the beginning of something beautiful.

[black-dhalias]

[black-dhalias]

As I Am

Emmett Cullen X Rosalie Hale X Poly!Reader

Was definitely surprised to get two requests for this over the last few months, so I figured I should post them back to back.

There is no such thing as an easy life, but you always felt that you were under the spectrum of simple: not because you had money, but because your family had a position. People flocked to the family step, believing that if they curry favor then they suddenly hold the same position, but that is not how it works. It has never worked like that. You know who is there as a friend, and those who are phonies. No matter what, you will never accept strangers into your way of life-- they can bring as many gifts, propose in the most extravagant ways, but you will never see them as equals. No way to forget what you already know-- that they are just there to earn the right to be a part of your world.

“Y/N?” You glance upwards, placing your spoon onto the table as you smile up at your father.

“Yes?” There is a moment of hesitation, you watch his eyes flicker upwards and then back towards you-- the apple of his eye and only daughter. Yes, he has three sons who are all very successful in there fields, but it is you who brings him joy.

“Since you turned seventeen-” Your eyebrows furrowed together as you breathe in deeply, completely sure of one thing as your corset tightens as your lungs expand-- that he wants you to do the one thing you don’t want to do. “It is time for you to marry.” With that, you stand abruptly, dress moving and swishing with your movement as he places both hands on the table.

“You cannot expect-” He cuts you off, silencing you with his dark gaze-- disappointed, angry, emotions that you had never seen him express towards you. Then you are gone, unable to speak or force the words out of your throat. Unable to face him, so you disappear into the courtyard and into the night.

Bella stares at you with perplexion as you whisper out the words, it has been well over four hundred years—you were born in the early 16th century, in the center of Italian society. With time, you were able to move forward with your new immortal life, however, there will always be pain. You never got to apologize, or see your father again. You never saw your brothers. After that night, all you knew was the Volturi and their cruelty.

“Demetri was drawn to my gift.” You pause, trying to find the right words to explain what happened to you. How it changed you into the person you are today. “When I entered the courtyard, I thought about the possibility of marriage—I thought I wasn’t ready to give up my freedom, but I wanted to make my father proud. I was about to re-enter my house when I was grabbed, I couldn’t scream or breathe.” You purse your lips together tightly, trying to imagine a darker time in your existence than those first hundred years.

“Bella, I spent two decades trapped with the Volturi--just two… But I spent the next century rampaging through Europe and then the Americas. I wish I could say I didn’t remember, but I do--” You pause, your eyes flashing darkly as memories of your Ripper years invade your mind. “I was a Ripper. I didn’t kill to feed, I killed to kill. The hunt was fun, and the blood was just blood.” You shrug, even heavily pregnant—you can see Bella shifting as you speak hushly.

“I was worse than James.” You the knowing look in her eyes as she recalls one of the scariest moments, the fear. The way you knew how he thought, because it was you. It made sense.

“And we never thought twice.” Her sweet voice is soft, tender and loving—more kind than she’s with anyone else, but you aren’t just anyone.

“I’m not telling this to scare you, but you need to know what you’re getting yourself into. The risk that comes from being a vampire and the truth that you might not be epic like everyone else.” You pause, your gift is not unique but it does harness enough power. It’s a form of manipulation, you can say anything and it just sounds so true. So convincing, as long as you touch them. Your white gloved hands look so pristine against the dark blue of your pants. “You could be a Ripper. You could be anything, and I can’t let you believe that this is going to be easy.” Rosalie keeps you close, chin resting on your shoulder as your voice trails off and leaves Bella sullen, Edward will probably smack you upside the head later for scaring her, but it's the truth.

There’s comfort as you walk away from Bella, following the gentle tugs of Rosalie as she takes you towards the bedroom. She doesn’t say a word because that’s a part of the agreement, no one gets to say a word about the pain or the bad things you’ve done. You three decided that a long time ago, before Bella and before Forks.

Even as the door shuts, the click that eases your mind as she finally meets your eye. You imagine she had beautiful eyes as a human, violet as she called them, but you imagine them as gems. Too rare to be labeled with such an average color, because it's Rosalie. Your Rose. She smiles, you see the ghost of your past and the guilt rises until you are forced to look away.

Yet she does not keep your eyes linger on the floor for long as she lifts your chin so you look her in the eye, to her--you are beautiful. Her smile is not so sad, but it has warmed and that warmth attracts your hands to her waist. Beautiful. You trace her hips, fingers trailing as you imagine loving a more beautiful creature.

The innocence of touch.

You had thought it would be easy to forget the way her touch felt, to wallow in your self-pity a few minutes more, but she doesn’t let you. She never has. Her thumbs rest on the highest point of your cheeks and it silences the voices, and you cave. Your eyes shutting tightly as you learn into her touch, grabbing her tight and pulling her close. She sets you on fire, and you try to remember what it feels like to cry because that’s what you would be doing right now.

“I love you, Y/N.” She makes all the voices go quiet, “Us finding you was never a mistake.”

Your chest heaves, but it is. You are tainted, burned and scarred, skin raised from the abuse of your existence. Every fiber of your essence is stained red, it bleeds into your palms and now you’re this. The silent stoic. Rose is frigid. And Emmett, he’s just the purest form of all the good in the world. What a group you make… Such a broken mismatch trio, but it worked--they made you feel something.

Emmett’s arms sneak around the pair, his grasp is tight as he buries his face in your hair--pressing a kiss to the top of your head and then leaning over to press a kiss to Rose’s. “If I had known you both would be in your feels before I got back, I wouldn’t have left at all.” His voice is not judgemental or harsh, but it flows off his tongue and lulls your fear. It tucks it all away into a box and the lightness to his tone.

“Y/N told Bella.” He breathes out an ‘oh’: these are his girls, his beautiful and amazing wonders that sit before him every day. The ones that choose him everyday despite them being two gorgeous creatures that could run off together, but they don’t.

“I had to. She has to know.” Ripper’s aren’t rare at all, usually the Volturi takes care of them, but sometimes they don't. Sometimes they just let things fall as they do, and hope they don’t take it too far.

“Well we love you as you are.” Emmett doesn’t hesitate, and you smile reciting the mantra back.

“As I am.”

[black-dhalias]

The Bear, the Rose, and the Song

Rosalie Hale X Emmett Cullen X Poly!Reader

Includes SMUT towards the end

Nothing quite like an evening at the mountain peak, especially with such a wonderful woman at your side. You glance over, noting the perfection that is your wife—nothing quite like it at all.

The way she tucked her legs up under her as she leaned into your side, her left hand twisting circles in your hair. Her right hand intertwined with yours. In the sunrise, you both shimmered, but she seemed to shine—her eyes shut as the sunlight brushes her cheeks. Is this heaven?

Your hum, seemed to call to her as she glances in your direction. Nothing short of perfection. "Are you ready to head back?" You shook your head, adamant that you want to stay—your cheek against her hair, enjoying the dance of sun off the blonde curls.

"I could stay like this forever..." She smiles, you hum again and return the gesture—your fingers tightening their grasp as she slides closer.

A scream cuts through the silence, splitting the mountains in two as a breeze shifts the air. The thick scent of blood that sings like a song you once sang.

"Y/N?" You look back, realizing you had stood and were now at the cliffs edge—you swallow, there is concern in those amber eyes. An emotion that often clings to her, she worries too much, but now—in this moment, you can't explain the song. You tug her hand, eyes shifting in the direction of the scent—begging her listen, pleading her to hear your pleas.

Rosalie always understood, but now, she hesitates. You were older and more compassionate, you had more control—more experience. You were simply a better person.

In this moment, you felt different.

She notes the purse of your lips, the way your eyes shifted ever so slightly. She notes the way you tugged her hand again, this time more forcefully. Ready to take the leap, with or without her, and she'd never let you jump alone.

That was the day you found Emmett, you can recall the bloodlust with a perfect clarity, until you saw the way Rosalie looked at him. Even in that moment, even knowing the song his blood sang—you were content in waiting back.

Watching as her gentle fingers brushed his curls and whispered comforts as she carried him. Now as you watch them, you smile fondly at the pair—embracing the chaos of their many personalities left you whole in ways you did not understand.

Ways you felt you did not deserve.

"Y/N!" Emmett makes grabby hands in your direction, the way Rose was tucked in his chest already as he lounged across the bed.

You smile, notating the way he seemed to brighten with the gesture. The way his blood once sang, now it was simply him. Rosalie, she was your lover, a mate, and Emmett was your singer. A connection that could hardly be matched, except by a mate. It seemed perfect when you all connected, falling into rhythm like a symphony.

.

.

.

"So Y/N can't talk?" Bella asked Edward, as he explained his family dynamic—one of the elder Cullens, you didn't go to school like the rest despite being similar in age.

"More like doesn't. Y/N wasn't changed by Carlisle and only joined him a few months after he left the Volturi—a lot of their human memories are fuzzy, but they were maimed in an experimental procedure." Bella's eyebrows furrowed, trying to imagine why you wouldn't speak—you seemed so sweet, but never spoke a word.

"Ho-?" The word didn't even finish before Edward interrupted her.

"Someone crudely removed their vocal cords among other things, so when they turned. They healed, but—" Edward inhales, glancing over at Bella in the passenger seat.

"But they never quite recovered. Y/N is roughly 200, but only found Rosalie in 1933 and Emmett 2 years later. She spent her first 100 years alone and unheard, Rose helped her find a voice again." Bella notes his smile at his adopted siblings.

"They still don't talk?" He shakes his head.

"But they sing."

Rosalie could hear the velvety sound of your voice, it seemed to carry warmth and comfort. Every word echoes off the walls of the cottage as the rain patters on top of the porch roof—you spoke next to nothing, but your voice seemed to bury itself in song.

There were no reservations, the piano seemed to harmonize with the rain. Rosalie leaned her head onto the doorframe, just listening as everything poured out of your soul.

You never let Rosalie walk alone, every strain and stress was your burden to share. Your love was never questionable to her, held no strings or stipulations—she never had to earn it.

She felt Emmett’s presence, close, but too close. His eyes shimmering a brilliant red, you were quick to bring him here. The little getaway cabin where you spent many years with Rosalie, enjoying her without the shame. “Have they always talked?”

He couldn’t remember ever hearing you say a word, but he remembered your face with perfect detail. The way you smiled. How Rosalie gravitated to you.

“It’s complicated.” She smiles softly, never looking away. “They’ll sing everything you’ll ever need to hear.” You use ASL mostly, Rosalie had taken it upon herself to learn years ago, but you kept to yourself.

Emmett had found this new life complicated, it felt intricate and challenging, but these two women. You and Rose. It didn’t seem impossible.

“It’s about you isn’t it?” She hmmms, you smile through the lyrics—playing out the notes. Emmett gestures, “The song. It’s about you.” Rosalie’s expression is soft as she looks at you.

“Maybe it’s about you too.”

Looking back, you’re almost certain that was the moment Emmett realized he would never be alone again. That he would always have someone on his side, no matter what.

Introspectively, you knew from the first minute, he was simply meant to be in your life. The same with Rosalie, she had been changed with the intent of being for Edward (a perverted thought that bothered you even now), but once you saw her. Heard those screams—not even Carlisle could deny it.

You didn’t move for three days as she begged you for death, and the silence that followed her change. “I’m so sorry he did this to you.” she recalls the whisper as she met your eye, “I never would have wanted this for you.”

It was the first and only time you ever spoke to her, your voice was soft and tender—it felt broken, she could feel the broken in your tone. Now she understands you more, loves you deeper than then.

“Rose?” Emmett looks up at her, before glancing at you across the room. There’s something so curious about quiet need held within his eyes. “Y/N?” You look back, practically coming to them instantly—you bent to their needs at all hours.

Emmett folded your hand in his and then hers, the dynamic felt natural as he summoned some courage. “I want to go with the others to school, with you Rose.” You smile, not feeling at all bothered that he felt ready to explore himself more. To venture away from the home the three of you built—in these four walls, it was just the three of you.

You nod, folding your other hand over his with eagerness—you place it over your heart, knowing you wouldn’t join them.

“I don’t want you to feel left—” You don’t even let him finish as you shake your head, moving your joined hands over his own heart. “But—” You lean up to give him a quick kiss, “Thank you. For always loving me.”

You feel Rosalie snake her arm around you, enjoying the way she leans down to kiss the top of your head. Was Emmett always this sentimental, no, but he always meant it.

••SMUT BELOW••

Rosalie laid out beneath you, lips hovering above her clit as your tongue rolled across the sensitive point. Your thumbs rolled circles in her thighs as your face buried itself in between, the soft pull of her fingers in your hair encouraged you. Her back arches as her body shivers beneath your mouth, she tasted like perfection.

The soft moans you elicited from her etch into your brain, as you pull away—her legs draped across shoulders and grin as you lick your lips. Even without needing breath, her chest heaves—the soft mounds of flesh grabbing your attention as they rise and fall in perfect harmony.

"Do you like what you see?" It felt like a dare, and she swears your eyes seem to come alight as you drop her legs and drag yourself upwards between them. Your bare stomach pressed against hers as you hover above: "Cmon love, I'm not going to break." You lower yourself, keeping your eyes locked on her—memorizing the face she makes as your lips lock over her nipple, tongue flicking as you grasp the other. Her eyes close, lips parting to let out another moan.

Letting go of her breast, you let your fingers drag across her soft skin—not an imperfection in sight. Without a second to breathe, you palm her mound with your hand—resting your middle finger just above the clit. Giving it just enough of a touch, to remind her exactly what it means to be yours. "Please..." You comply with the plea, sliding your finger downwards to touch her entrance before sliding inside.

Rosalie didn't shy away from moaning your name as you work her entrance, pacing yourself as you begin to kiss the other breast before bringing your lips up to kiss. Hoping she can taste herself on you.

You start slow with only a single finger, only entering half an inch before removing. After a minute, you place a second finger—driving it deeper as her lips part. Sweet noises bringing your closer as you increase your pace, working your thumb along her clit as you drive three fingers into her.

Large hands reach around your chest as the mattress shifts under Emmett's added weight. He palms your breasts in his hands, thumb and forefingers rolling your nipples. "I go out hunting, and almost miss all the fun." His tone is light as you smile at him, retracting your fingers and bringing them to his lips. He wraps his mouth around them, before smiling—looking down at Rosalie who was still breathless. "Oh Rose, you taste wonderful." He leans down to place a kiss between her thighs, never breaking eye contact as she bends to them both.

They were safe. They were warm and good, and everything icy about her melted beneath their fingertips.

Emmett wraps his hand around yours as he brings it back to her pussy, "I love when you do that.”

Your legs on either side of her thighs, one hand bracing while the other works Rosalie. You feel Emmett lay down on the end of the bed before his lips kiss your entrance. You shiver in anticipation, feeling him grasp your hips and pull you lower as his tongue moves through your folds and onto your clit with precision.

Rosalie came quickly again, her insides quivering as kisses you deeply enjoying the way your moans feel against her lips. She could feel your pleasure in every hesitation when his tongue hit the right spot. You felt warm like the world was on fire, as you remove your fingers from Rosalie and bury them in her hair.

Skin to skin, and you still attempted to bring her closer. Her breasts against yours, you felt high as you came. Breathing heavily as Emmett enjoyed every drop of your climax, loving your taste as he slid out from under you.

The mattress shifts as he lays beside you both, spooning your forms as Rosalie moves to lay inbetween. Her facing Emmett as you spoon her from behind—you can think of no better place than behind Rosalie Hale.

“Remember our first?” The memory lights up your mind as you recall your first time with the pair. You’d been with Rosalie before, but with them both, everything felt like it clicked into place.

Emmett was gentle with his touch, hesitant to get close to either of you knowing your past. But he wasn’t them, and as you guided his hands to grip onto Rosalie’s hips—you felt his confidence growing.

You smile up at him, sitting up with your head resting against your fist. Giving a soft nod, Emmett cannot explain how it feels to love you both.

It felt like a warm spring after a cold winter. A soft autumn breeze to cool the summer sun. It was the lull of water against the sand, or the roar of the falls against the rocks.

Emmett didn’t have many words and was never one for poetry, but that seemed to be a good start.

[black-dhalias]

Inheritance

Aemond Targaryen X Velaryon!Mixed!Reader

You were starved of both ocean and sky, born a Velaryon who could not reside at Driftmark and a Targaryen whose dragon egg did not hatch. By some miracle you had found sanity within Kings Landing—the whispers were loud, but your name eased off their lips once you came into yourself. The eyes and beauty of your mother, but the skin and curls of your father.

Similar to your cousins, Rhaena and Baela—you were clearly the only of your siblings to be true born.

“Aemond…” You note how when you say his name, his jaw tightens. “Do not make me say it…” He doesn’t speak, he simply looks further than you could see. You’re losing him to his own mind.

“Aemond! You are every bit as sweet as you are bitter, I do not—” The words get all caught up in your throat, “No. I will not let you believe otherwise.” Something in that moment left Aemond still, but his gaze seems closer. As if he could still see you.

“I may be of my mother, but even more than that, I am yours. What can they say of that desire? That need?”

“You are meant to marry Lord Stark…” Every word is forced, like it had been locked up in a box and your closeness had set them free.

“To the seven hells with marriage. I speak only of my heart, which has been taken with you for many moons.” You had gotten so close to him that he wasn’t sure he knew how to breathe properly. Your hands ran up to his neck, fingers resting upon his shoulders. “Let me hold you. On the eve of this wedding, let me feel you beneath my touch.”

If it were anyone else, Aemond would have taken them there—innocent or not, but this was you.

Y/N Velaryon. 

“If I am to have you, it will only be as my wife.”

.

.

.

You were young and naive then, to marry Aemond was one of the worst mistakes you could make. He was as much intoxicating as a glass of wine, a bitter taste upon your tongue. He was the one thing you should not have, and yet you did exactly as you should not.

Deep in your womb, you carried his child but the sorrow of your loss burns deeper. Lucerys was gone. You had no explanation as to how it happened, only that he fell in Shipbreaker Bay. The same place that Aemond just so happened to be—a coincidence you could not blindly ignore.

“Y/N.” You turn your eyes to his voice, knowing that your next words would be the last you’d share with him. “My love.”

You were a prisoner of war, with child and no dragon to carry you to dragonstone.

“Do not flatter me with kindness, I fear that I know what you have done…” You purse your lips, a tightness existing with your chest you could not fathom. “I wish I did not, but I do…” Meeting his eye did not seem possible—a marriage you hoped would mend the broken pieces between your family and his, it shattered. So quickly, slipping right through your hands.

The swell of your belly was clearer as you stood, finally finding the courage to look at him which made you more certain. “I stood aside as Aegon took my mother’s birthright. I thought, perhaps peace is still possible.” You were not idle in your words, you spoke against usurping when you could. No one listened to the 2nd born daughter, but you did as you could.

“But to kill my brother, Aemond, that’s an unforgivable act.”

He does not defend himself, knowing it would only push you further from him. You already exist so far. “He is hardly your brother.”

You leave the shared room without as much as another word, making a slow trek through the halls.

.

.

.

Ser Erryk Cargyll came to your room in the quiet of the night obscured by a cloak of black. Shrouding your face and silvery hair beneath the shadow it casts, and until you are through the gates—you are unable to breath, it felt as though every step left you a second away from collapsing.

You were afraid.

“We’ll make it to dragonstone before daybreak.” The boat rocked with the waves, it seemed to rest and roll in the gentlest of ways—the trip was kind to you.

“Why did you come back?” You seem him adjust, the way he seems uncomfortable under your gaze.

“Her majesty was distraught knowing you were stuck in Kings Landing.”

“Thank you, Ser Erryk.” He kept quiet, knowing you recalled the last meeting you shared. The quiet silence after you confessed your fear to him, when Viserys death was certain. Those words rested upon his shoulders for many moons, you were kind to him and he felt guilt knowing he left you.

.

.

.

Dragonstone was quiet, it seemed no one was within its walls—the unrest ran deeper than you expected. Even here. “Your highness.” Set Erryk bows and leaves you to your rooms, tucked away from prying eyes. Where you inhale deeply, even as the tears begin to fall—like a weight both relieved itself and landed back upon your shoulders.

“Your highness, the council is meeting.” You nod, unable to recall how much time has passed since arrived.

“Has my mother returned?” The lady shakes her head, to which you nod and rise from your chair. Adorned in your house colors, you make your way to the council room.

. . .

“Lady Y/N of house Velaryon.” You did not wait for them to finish announcing to enter the room, your presence seeming to shock the men within the room.

“Your highness, we did not expect you to make the trip to dragonstone in your condition.” You did not crack a smile, but instead take your place at the table.

“My condition is of no concern to you, but I ask, what is the state of this council that you would meet without the presence of the Queen, or the Prince royal?”

“Our forces require direction, and even with their unplanned absence, direction must still be taken.”

“If you’re not careful, one might think you see yourself above your Queen.”

None said a word, as you overlooked them even this close to labor—you encouraged a deep respect from the Lords, you knew why. You were true born—a sea of fire and stone.

Labor came quick in the night, dragon stone echoes your cries as you bare down with hands tight on the bedframe. You sent away your ladies and the nurses, their hands left unease as you recall your aunts passing. Your grandmother. Your mother.

The women who passed too quick as they took up the battle of baring a babe.

No husband. You think back to when he would smile at you, the way it sent a shockwave from head to toe. He used to love you more than power.

No mother. She mourned Lucerys still, absent from court and no way to tell her.

You feel another wave of pain run through your body, pressure building in your core as grit your teeth.

“Nurse!” Your voice quakes, it seems shattered by the pain. “Please! I think it’s time!” They seemed to manifest, figures appearing at your side as one of the older ladies lays hands upon your shoulders. Her eyes meeting yours.

“Milady, this is going to hurt, you will bleed and cry, and scream. And that is fine.” You nod, another wave of pain running through your muscles as they contract. “But I won’t leave your side, I will carry you through, so for now—just breathe.” She wipes away the sweat, “Prepare to push.” You nod again, inhaling deeply and note the way your breath feels as it leaves your lips.

Finding comfort in a stranger. “Her highness is ready.” No husband. No mother. Just you, a bed, and nurses. The nurse guides your hands to the frame, and you trust her—feeling her hand rest just beneath your belly button. The other on your back, as another nurse rests a cold cloth against your face.

“Now, when I say push. I need you to give it everything.” You exhale, putting your weight into the bed—centering your feet. Saying a word a quick prayer. You feel it start in your abdomen and spread, that wave of pain. “Now.” You release a guttural scream, one that comes from the deepest parts of your soul.

“Very good.” You lean forward, head against the wooden pillar—“Prepare.” Your face contorts as you feel the relief fade into pain once more, “Now.”

Aemond takes your hand quietly as the party fades off in the distance, the affair had become very real as he spins you into his arms.

“Perhaps as your husband, I would dance with you until dawn?” It was playful as he begins to sway, the music seeming to be hushed by the walls.

“Perhaps as your wife, I would never leave your side?” He smiles down at you, as you were the only person who always saw him.

“Perhaps as your husband, I would shower you in all the love you deserve?” You return the smile.

“As your wife, I’ll kiss you like this.” You lean up to meet his lips, one that grows deeper as his shock wears off. Neither ended the gesture for a minute, and neither said a word as Aemond left quickly. Your eyes widening as you realized you were alone.

It wasn’t until that night, in the darkest time, when a knock came from the door. It echoed as the palace slept.

“Aemond?” You look at the man beside him, “What?”

“Marry me?” Your eyes widen, a priest and a ring—one that shines in the warm light of candles. “If I am to have only one—” he takes your hand and slides the ring onto your finger. “Then I shall have you before I cannot.”

You brush the outside of your finger along the small and supple cheek of your babe, their sweet eyes still shut as the lull of their breath calms your soul. Something so small, and precious—“Laenor.”

A boy. An heir. You hum a soft song, as you take on the name of your son. His silvery tendrils of his hair giving away his heritage—another Targaryen prince.

“Sweet girl.” Your eyes shift upwards, smiling at your grandmother who enters the room with a steadfast gentleness. “Why did you not call on me?”

You glance down: “He came so quick.” The bed dips as she eases beside you, looking at him. “How perfect is he?”

“That he is.” She holds out her hands, and you pass the sweet child to her without fear. “What is his name?” You watch as she cuddles him into her, with the knowledge that this is her blood before her.

You smile: “Laenor.” Her eyes widen before settling back on the babe, your son.

“A strong name. Just as his grandsire.”

•

•

•

“To claim a dragon requires more than blood.” You hear the echo of your mother’s voice, “It requires sheer will.”

You imagined the day you faced a dragon, you would be claiming Seasmoke, but face to face with Vahaemion—the ancient beast of caverns. She hid deep in the mountains many years ago, and recently was spotted nearby.

You never thought you would take the leap, but you did, staring down the beast—you keep yourself upright.

“Lykiri…” She was once ridden, A Targaryen war dragon— “Lykiri Vahaemion.” She growls, but bends to the will of words. Lowering her head but never quite relaxing.

You do not hesitate, “Dohaeras.” You hold out your hand, “Lykiri.”

Sir Criston Cole sees a dragon breech the sky—l sporting a rider of silver hair. The dragon is large as well, with scales the color of soot. His eyes widen, one notable trait being the silvery purple scales that shimmer across the dragons chest—Vehaemion.

A bell rings out as you circle Kings Landing, your eyes set upon the balcony of your shared room. Knowing he would rise to see the commotion, called upon as a protector.

He sees you, instantly drawn as he makes contact and for a moment, you think he smiles. Upon neutral soil, you wait upon the cliffs edge for his arrival. Knowing it is time to face your sin.

“I always knew you’d claim a dragon.” His voice is as you remember, although it used to sound sweeter. “You and I are alike in that way.”

“I had hoped you’d ask of our son.” Your face remains stone, Aemond has trouble reading your expression.

His face brightens in a way that you do not appreciate, “A son?”

“He’s healthy. A beautiful boy.” You add quietly, knowing just as well that he would not care if it were a girl. “The Aemond I loved would have asked.”

“Laenor.” But he knows that, know you enough to know that is his name. He did shy from the idea, did not seem phased. For a moment you saw, Aemond. “Come home, Y/N?”

You shake your head, “Aemond I can’t. You’ve spilled too much blood. My blood.” Your grandmother. Your brother. There is too much.

“Y/N.” And for a moment, you let yourself enjoy the way he says your name. “It’s war.” Even now he admits it, he’d be on his knees if you asked. You are strong, look strong—dragon rider suits you. For a minute, you kiss him and let yourself have a moment with your husband. With the first and only love you’ve had. Just this moment.

You pull away, “you’re right. It is war.” You mount your dragon, leaving a part of you to die in that mountain. Knowing the next time you saw Aemond, you would be on opposite sides of the field.

[black-dhalias]

My Brother's Wife

Mary Stuart X F!Valois!Reader Warnings: mild violence, mentions of death/dying, murder, marital affairs

SMUT includes sexual depictions, nudity.

You duck out of the way of the wine glass that was thrown in your direction, as your brother reacts to your quip regarding his endeavors. Your laugh soars through the room, as he desperately tries to gather his clothes from the bedroom floor—the girl's eyes widen with shock at your exploits. If he wasn't smiling, she might have actually thought he was upset at you.

"Francis! We're supposed to be in the courtyard, greeting Queen Mary!" You toss the girl her dress, which she readily grasps and begins dressing quickly as your eyes turn back to Francis. He may be your twin, the perfect heir, but he seemed to be actively working against this marriage.

"What if I don't want to get married, Y/N?" You shrug, dumping the leftover wine from the second glass and pouring yourself a glass. You look up, downing the glass in one fell swoop—rolling your eyes in the process.

"Well, let's see—you get to marry a Queen. You get her nation. Her armies. Her resources" You count off on your fingers. "I'm sure she's beautiful." You pause, looking at your last finger, tutting a little. "Oh, and get this, you get a say in who you marry." Your mouth forms into a 'o', before you continue in your fun and pour yourself another glass. Francis sighs, pulling on the vest that goes over the white undershirt as finally smiles at the sister.

He holds out his arms, and your smile drops for a second before you take a final sip and set the wine glass onto the table and walk into his embrace. He holds you tight, kissing the top of your head.

"I surprisingly missed this." You pull away, straightening his collar so that it's not nearly as lopsided. "I missed you, Y/N."

"Trust me, I'm sure you're the only one." You tut a little, popping your lips and you head towards the door. Then look back, your smile is not as goofy as before, more sincere. "I missed you too."

Your father had sent you away to 'woo' Russia, hoping to close the deal with the great tsar's, but there was some tiny plot holes in that endeavor. Russia was in a state of terror, the tsar had instituted complete military control over the nobles and suddenly leaving was the only option. It was stupid of Henry to send you there, Catherine nearly had his head when she found out—but your mission almost succeeded. Had potential.

Leaving Francis's chambers, you head in the direction of the courtyard—a sense of bewilderment at how different everything seems now, it just doesn't seem like home anymore. You missed your family, well correction—you missed Francis and mother—you missed Bash and Claude, although you hadn't seen either since your return.

In fact, as your steps echo off the stone floors, you think about how Henry will probably send you off to another palace soon enough. He wants you married, desperate to capture control across Europe—if England's perverse Henry the Eighth was still alive, your so called father would probably sell you off as one of his many wives.

Henry wanted power and his many daughters would supply that to him through marriages, royal marriages that built alliances across the continent. You coming back was an unfortunate and unplanned detriment to his need for power. You spot mother moving in the direction of the courtyard—“mother!” You shout, her smile brightening as she spots you moving towards her. She embraces you warmly which contrasts her usually cold exterior, but you’re her daughter—in all your faults, you were still good like Francis.

Catherine’s hands rest on either side of your face, “I missed you sweet girl.” You are her dearest, her sweet Y/N. Not arrogant like Lisa, or reckless like Claude—her perfect angel. You smile brightly, cheeks squished between her hands before she lets you go.

You almost wished that you were here the entire time, instead of a world away—in an unfamiliar country, with unfamiliar people. However, in many ways, you respect yourself for managing so well in Russia. You were spoken of highly there, respected for the rooms you commanded and the time you spent with high ranked nobles. Not just anyone could do that, and you pride yourself on that ability—to command attention, it made for interesting fun.

Catherine's expression falls as she hears the bells, the sound of the arrival— "Now we must go greet the Queen of Scots." Her tone is exactly as you imagined it, distaste—in all honesty, mother never was good about hiding her feelings. She seemed easy to read to those who know her, and maybe that's where you get it from—your mother. Like you, she commanded rooms and respect.

"If we must..." You see the beam of pride as she turns, heading out of the main door where Henry is already there. At his side, his mistress Diane—you tighten your shoulders at the image of his whore, god you can hardly believe she's kept his attention after all these years. And while you love Bash, you absolutely hate his wretched mother.

However, as you watch the Queen of Scots leave the carriage, you are not greeted with the same girl as before. She is much taller, and older, and more beautiful than you would expect of a Scot.

.

.

.

You watch Mary from the other side of the grand room, your eyes following every movement as she catches your eye briefly. Your heartbeat picks up as you realize she is stunning in that black dress—absolutely the most beautiful thing in this room. Everytime she spins, her eyes would meet your intent gaze and the world would spin out of focus for her. And for a second, she would forget how to breathe.

Yet the poor fool stumbles through the steps and you smirk a little, and unexpectedly watch as the Queen excuses herself. Yet the smirk wears off the moment she turns her attention towards you, and your stomach does a little flip.

The world could disappear for all you care, no amount of suitors could compare to the woman walking towards you. There is urgency as she brushes past you, eye contact not breaking until you get a flash of her raven hair.

Gods I'm done for, you think to yourself as you turn on your heel and follow after her—watching as the skirt of her dress ripples. You speed up, closing the distance—feeling every breath you inhale. Palms sweating as you see her turn the corner.

You barely reach out your hand, and what were you supposed to do? What was supposed to happen then?

You were always going to grab her wrist, pulling her into your arms before pinning her to the wall. Your lips on hers, urgency in her touch as she grabs the base of your corset to pull you close.

Her lips taste of raspberries and vanilla, the sweet taste becoming an addiction as you pour all your affections into your touch. One hand resting on the base of her neck, thumb running along the lower part of her jaw. The skin is just as soft as you imagined, absolutely flawless. While your other hand is firmly holding onto her hip.

You half expected her to push you away, but for her, your lips are just as addictive—they taste of wine, and the way your eyes closed. She had your face memorized, every curve and feature. Your eyelashes, how they brush the top of your cheeks... Mary can feel your hand reaching for the handle, to push it in and let you into one of the unused chambers. You separate yourself for a second, shutting the door, which gives you a second to examine Mary's expression.

Her big round brown eyes, the way she seems to be reaching out to you as you approach—her hands melding into your own as you turn her, so that her back is pressing into your chest. One arm encircling her waist, while your other hand brushes the hair away from her shoulder to kiss the flesh there right where shoulder turns into the neck.

The urgency returns as her arm reaches behind to tangle in your hair, but also pull you much closer than before. She deepens the sensation, tilting her head to expose more skin—the little sounds she makes, every inhale and exhale. You bite down, not hard, and the gasp she makes is like music to your ears—a smile dances your lips; may candle light be the only way you ever see Mary.

Your fingers work the laces of her corset, cheek resting against her hair—lips resting just above her ear, as you whisper. "Tell me how much you want this?" Was she expecting you to turn the other cheek when she tried to kiss your cheek earlier today, but instead kissed the corner of your lip? Did she think you would not notice the way she seemed to always try to catch your eye?

Did she think you would not notice the way Francis looked at her, but she, in all her jealousy, could only ever look at you?

Your fingers drag the strings, taking your time—enjoying the sensation of her corset loosening and her body falling into you. The ribbons loop around your fingers as you feel the hunger returning, apexing just as the corset drops—completely forgotten. Unneeded.

When you drop her onto the mattress, you stand completely upright and recall one truth. A single, and perfect thought—Mary is the most radiant woman you ever seen, and as she beacons you close.

“I’ve never wanted anyone like this.” Her words do not echo, they are a breathless whisper shared and it sends a wave of pleasure to your core.

Her beauty is proof that angels must exist, and as you kiss the supple curve of her breast—her body becomes your place of worship. Fingers dragging along her arms and then torso, as your lips find a home pressing kisses to her thighs. Bathing in her warmth, body curving beneath, but it only draws you closer.

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Should you have stopped it there? Ended this runaway affair long before anyone caught on—probably, but you were never good at cards. You always raised the stakes, and dared yourself closer to the sun.

No one caught onto the glances, or the rendezvous—because who would think twice of the princess and her brothers wife? It was easy to imagine a much more kosher meeting, than to think it was even a thought.

Even as tensions rose between Catholics and Protestants, as the world of French Court became ever more complicated—you never hesitated to be at her side. The doting sister in law, mother hated it.

“Y/N?” You perk at mother’s tone, hmming as you shut the book in front of you. Your morning routine of breakfast had become tedious, but she insisted you come today. “You need to end your affair with Mary.”

“Affair?”

“Don’t bother denying. I’ve known of your preferences since you were six, but others are beginning to question your marriage prospects.” You take a bite, rolling your eyes at that matter—you had hoped with fathers untimely death, that your marriage requirement died with him.

“I’d wager everyone is none the wiser. That you simply hate that it’s Mary.”

“So you won’t even deny it?”

“You said yourself, don’t bother denying—so I’m not.”

“Mary is dangerous.”

“Mother, they say the same for you.”

“She will be the death of your brother and the undoing of France?!” You push away your plate roughly, “I will not let her have you too!”

“It is much too early to be dealing with your mood swings.” You give a smile, pushing away from the table and beginning to walk towards the door. “I tolerate your outbursts, but blind accusations, I refuse to acknowledge them any more.”

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“I have no intention of marrying a daughter, let alone the twin sister to the King of France—to a Bourbon prince.”

This had once been a quiet conversation shared between yourself and Mary in the dark of a corridor, although your thoughts lingered on her warmth rather than words. It was a good thought, a lot of pretty words that could help the country.

“It’s more of a prospect, one that could bring Catholics and Protestants closer than before.” Mary asserted, you see your mother’s eyes shift around the room, guaranteeing that no one else could hear.

“It’s a way to keep your urges at bay.”

“Mother—it was my idea. A good prospect and a good match for France.” She glares at you, and for the first time, you truly feel she might mean it.

“Oh sweet girl, if only you understood… All Mary wants is for you to be whisked away.” And in the same breath, you mean it too—glaring at her.

“Actually it would keep me close as Conde plans to remain in French Court.” Every time you glanced at Mary, you’d note the way the necklace compliments her neck—then you’d note the frown your mother wore. The crease in her brow.

“Would it make a difference if I said I loved him?” Her hands embrace your face, running her fingers along your cheeks—her lips seemed to smile but you saw through it. Could hear it as she began to speak.

“My dear—if I believed you capable of loving him, let alone a man—” She leans forward to whisper in your ear. Her tone biting. “I’d have married you off the minute you chose to bed her.”

[black-dhalias]

To the Horizon

Haldir X F!Reader — Lord of the Rings

There is a moment when the sun is not visible, where light brushes the heavens horizon and mountains crest dark shadows over mist. A moment easily unseen, and rarely enjoyed. In that hour, a daughter is born. Conceived in the Lonely Mountain— carried across Middle Earth, born in the Woodland Palace to Elondiel. Wife of Thorin Oakensheild, daughter of Lord Thranduil, and mother to last heir of Erebor. Lady Y/N, of wood and stone.

Elondiel loved only one, waiting for Y/N to come of age so that she may finally sail to the undying lands. Thranduil had long sailed, Y/N the heir to two realms—carrying the fate of many as they awaited. That day came and went, and Y/N began to follow in their uncle’s footsteps—crossing lands and meeting strangers. They wanted to understand all of Middle Earth, but time was not on their side, and soon the throne of elves and dwarves called for their rightful Queen. A call Y/N answered swiftly.

Legolas returned with you, if only for a few years, to ease the transition and advise his niece. He felt responsible, had he wanted the throne—then you never would have to rule over both realms. But he didn’t. So heavy is the crown atop your head.

Soon it was only you, a quiet and hefty silence as you sat within the woodland realm. No one to listen. A lonely soul, plagued with only stories of your families lineage and triumphs—and no one to share the burden.

“I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!” Echoes of shouts vibrate the walls of Rivendell, your cloak resting easy on your shoulders as you and your party make their way to the council. Legolas had written to say he would attend on behalf of elves, but you worried— you needed to see the ring for yourself. To know exactly what kind of world you inherited. “NEVER TRUST AN ELF!” How original? You think quietly to yourself as the shouts grow closer, echoing less, but instead becoming much louder.

But chaos dies as another pipes up, one smaller and unfamiliar— young, that would be the word you would use. You walk in silently, not needing grandeur, but watching as all eyes turned to the small hobbit. As your uncle joins the party, he spots you amongst soldiers. Curious, and curiouser.

You smile at the hobbit— “Master Frodo Baggins. I don’t believe we’ve met.” Elrond raises his brow, leaning into his podium at the head of the council. “I’m Y/N, my parents and your uncle lead a great quest together. It would be an honor to uphold that alliance, and join your company.” There’s a whisper amongst the guards that harsh with a glance, you had decided long before arrival.

It is time to live up to your bloodline.

“Y/N, you can’t just join a quest.” You ignore Aragorn as the rest of the fellowship rest together.

“And yet, I did.” You deadpan, sorting your arrows into your quiver—preparing new feathers to go at the end of the shafts.

“Because who’s going to tell the Queen of Erebor AND the woodland.. NO!” His voice raises at the end as you rest the quiver on your thigh and look up at him with a bitter edge.

“Obviously the should be King of Gondor is trying!” You spot Legolas rolling his eyes, he’d already had this same argument and lost just Aragorn is going to lose now.

“That’s low.” You glare at Gimili who chooses now to speak up, as he gives a throaty chuckle. But he silenced himself, knowing full well you still had not forgiven him for his earlier comment about elves. You were half elf yourself, and were a testament of love between elves and dwarves.

“Shut it, Gimili.” You look back at Aragorn, “If I am to have a realm to look after, then I must help. At least for the better half of the journey.” You pause, “do something other than wait in those halls of stone.” So many hid away from Sauron, but your world needs some willing to stand and you are one of those. Have been for a long time.

The world has grown much harsher than the stories your mother told you, and much darker than she probably could have imagined. “Believe me Aragorn. If they were going to budge, I’d have convinced them myself.” Legolas smirks from his small perch, “But remember who their parents and grandparents are, probably the most stubborn people to ever walk middle earth.” To which you roll your eyes.

“Says the ellon who is related to two of those stubborn people.” His cheeks rise as you sling your quiver over your back, having finished another small batch of arrows.

He tsks, “Aaaa but see that’s only half, of what makes up a whole you.” Legolas does, however, finally look at Aragorn with a shrug. “Might as well keep moving, not like they’re turning back now.” Aragorn sighs with defeat, it makes sense that you and Legolas are cut from the same cloth— stubborn is apart of their threading. In their DNA.

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The image of Gandalf falling to his death burns into your memory, you hoped for a moment that the Wizard would live. But you did not see him rise from the shadow. That is when the fear set in, when you could not look away from Uncle without worrying he would be gone the second you did so. Worried that the last of your family would die before the end of this journey, but for now, as Lothlorien grows closer. You ache for sweet peace, to sleep without that fear. Maybe this was a mistake, but you must continue onward because the fellowship will continue.

“Haldir…” You whisper, watching as he corners the poor dwarf and hobbit—you met him twice before, once in Lothlorien with Legolas and once when he escorted Celebron to your coronation.

“Y/N.” You silence his taunts to Gimili, because with you in his sight he could not think of anything witty. You make it impossible to think at all if he were completely honest with himself. There is something that is both enchanting and discouraging about your aura, it is one that is both gentle and regal. You carry a name that weighs heavily on his mind when the tightness in his chest arises. He may be the Marchwarden, but he is not anything close to exemplary—nothing special that deserves such kindness from the likes of you.

For you, Haldir represents something very different than how he perceives himself. While he bowed his head in respect, unlike most ellons who ran out of fear. He seemed to draw closer the more he knew about you.

“Tonight is quite special, as we welcome my niece to the throne.” You smile up at your uncle as you stand to the side, eyes shift to you, but you ignore them. “She rises as a new dawn for elves and dwarves alike, a united rule—a great queen.” Words, that’s all they are, but they are kind at least. Unlike the words some spit in your direction, but the weight of the woodland crown reminds you of the truth— that you are above such words. You must be.

But the truth is, rumors slipped away the closer the throne got because you were meant to be above it all. You told yourself their lies did not matter until that was exactly what happened, their lies began to mean nothing. Legolas raises his glass, "To our queen, may the company you keep be sweet, but the wine sweeter." This was the uncle many did not see, the one who lifted his glass high and downed the wine quickly. No longer burdened with the future on his shoulders, you hear he seems lighter than he was before.

You bring the wine to your lips, but never let them part—before setting the glass on the table, still filled, but your lips tinted red.

"Malady Y/N..." Haldir leans in to kiss the top of your knuckles, his warm palm still wrapped around your fingertips as he smiles at you. "Congratulations."

"Haldir, no need for formalities. We are friends." As you speak though, he adjusts your hand to rest it on his arm. Pulling you close as he guides you through the party.

"The greatest of friends, but tonight, you are Queen alone." His eyes dance, glittering in the starlight—The Woodland Realm never seemed so bright. To him, or to you. "Although despite the never ending wine, your glass never empties?" It's not so much a question, because you know he noticed your like of appetite.

"I haven't eaten all day." Your breath falters, "A sip would probably send me to the floor." An exaggeration, but not by much— you really aren't sure why your stomach seemed to be in knots. You've wanted this your whole life, you loved adventure, but you loved this world too.

"A sip?" He grabs a tray of pastries, fluffy breads with soft jams and cheeses— arms still intertwined, you leave the main room quickly. Laughing as he speaks, "Well can't have that." Only you. He was the collected and cold marchwarden, but you made him giddy. You caused butterflies in his chest and hope to take root in his thoughts, for once he is able to imagine a future beyond Lothlorien. While he made you calm, he took every anxiety and turned it to mush before your eyes. He fixed problems that you didn't know there was an answer to. He made life simple.

You bite down on a raspberry tart, enjoying the sour and sweet bursts. The crust flaky and melting on your tongue—and Haldir simply smiles. "Why are you so kind to me?"

"Because you were kind first." Even before he was marchwarden, you treated him as an equal—someone with value. Not every royal saw them as the same, but you did. You did not care about the color of his cloak or the tone of his hair, his rank or his wealth. You didn't care about status at all. That was what made you so good, and so intriguing. His smile almost falters, but instead it just softens: "You were kind when I was nothing."

You lift his chin, keeping his icy orbs on you—trying to imagine a deeper shade to fall into, but you can't. You'd drown in those eyes if that was possible. "You were never nothing."

You stay to the back of the party, waiting until everyone has passed to smile at Haldir. Happy to see someone you are so familiar with. If you're honest, it's been a long journey. "Dearest Y/N." He whispers, embraces you close to his body, chin resting on top of your head. You shut your eyes, pushing the air out of your lungs, but intake sharply as your hand grabs at your wound harder. You weren't expecting it to hurt so bad.

His brow creases as he scans over your form, trying to find the source of your pain and even when he does. His expression remains even, and controlled. It's like every amount of history melted away and left the marchwarden in front of you. Your eyes grow heavy, but you force yourself to stay upright—just trying to get a read on him, but it's pointless because he's already tucking his arm under your armpits. Taking on most of your weight as you breathe deeply, he moves without words—this is the coldest he's ever been with you.

But he's not wrong to rush you to the medical wing, because by the time you're there—you're struggling to see the world clear. Everything blurring together as you lean into him, his words getting lost in the haze. It's like a slow fade that speeds up, colors blend until only the blue of his eyes are clear. How are they so clear?

You hear bits though, shards of conversation. "High priority..." "slash..." "Lost a lot of blood..." But it all goes dark eventually, and you let your body slip into the mattress. The thing is, it's a cold table you lay on—you were never on a mattress. There was never anything soft beneath you besides the palms of Haldir's hand when he lifted you onto the wood.

You had half expected for the darkness to pass quickly, and it did, but you did not wake. Instead, you remain still on the table with only memories to keep you company.

Legolas glances down at you as the Realm of Light comes into view, the way your eyes light up as the adventure draws to a close. You hadn't been this far from the Woodland realm before, the furthest you've ever been being the Lonely Mountain. Your mother had just set sail, her heart too broken to remain in MiddleEarth so it was just you and your uncle Legolas. With them gone, he had taken it upon himself to prepare you for your future, the next thousand years you would spend ruling the elves and dwarves. Before that, he wanted you to see the beauty of the world that is kissed by sunrises and sunsets.

Then it begins to shift, not just watching, but it feels as though you are reliving the past. Is it the past? Maybe you had been dreaming up until now, maybe none of it happened yet? Maybe you imagined the future? You glance down at your hands, wiggling your fingers to see them move as you command. You feel your heart pound in your chest— the overlay of purple flowers in full bloom, spread across the bottom branches of the trees. You don't remember ever leaving the Fellowship, but you also clearly remember living this memory before. But it washes over you, embracing every limb and facet of your being as you smile.

At first, Legolas is the one leading you into the hall of light, guards surrounding on both sides. Upon reaching the hall, all of them part off to leave you at the forefront—you are the one that matters right now. Lady Galadriel smiles, you've seen many portraits of her, but none of them could ever compare to her beauty. You bow your head: "Milady."

In return, as you life your head, she bows to you, as does Lord Celeborn. "Lady Y/N of the Greenwood and The Lonely Mountain." Your title has changed, but you shake off the pinch and continue to live out the past. No the present.... This, you just want to feel like you used to feel. How you felt when you first met him. 

Lady Galadriel tilts her head, watching you curiously—but words never leave her lips. Instead, she gestures to the ellon to her right with a smile. "I'm sure you are tired from you journey." You nod, but never dare look away from him—it's a wonder to re-live falling in love. To feel as you felt then. "Haldir will show you the way, he will also be your guard for your time here." Hmmmm, but you do not fight—too curious and too, well you don't know the word. Just that you want to know more.

Oddly enough, he doesn't say a word as he walks in front of you--hands tucked behind his back and posture much stiffer than you would like. You had spent far too long wondering if people would treat you differently, and the truth is, they do. You will always be treated differently, and you'll just have to come to terms with that. The silence drags almost as long as the halls, your throat goes dry until the words just spill off of your tongue. 

"You could say something... Anything... Honestly, I'm neither mute or too tired, and a little conversation would be nice." He doesn't say anything, but you see his fingers flex into his palm and you sigh loudly. It's the same story, even here—and your uncle Legolas hadn't even had time to say a word. People just naturally care too much about the title and think it means more than it does, that it changes a person, but it's all very isolating. 

You remember then very clearly, the way he seemed to hide the smile with a cough. But his eyes find yours, and your return the smile.

When you awoke, your body could not move—stuck, but you could feel the soft grasp of a hand wrapped around your own. The sensation was innocent, and you drifted off under the protection of Haldir because it couldn’t have been anyone else.

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No one said a word as darkness descended upon Helm's Deep, in that silence, you feel Haldir's fingers wrap around your own. You had not counted on him arriving, thought that he would be safe in the Realm of Light, but you were thankful for the comfort.

The Marchwarden of Lothlorien had gained many things in the last few years, your comforting touch was by far the most valuable. You made every day worth existing, and every moment more enticing. You were as steady as the woodland realm and as mighty as the lonely mountain—you were neither entirely dwarf nor elf, but you were perfect.

“If tonight is my last, I am grateful to have spent it with you.”

“If tonight’s my last, then—” You pull him into you, he’s much taller but it doesn’t take much to bring him close. “Then I want you to know I choose you. Under every moon and star, no one in middle earth compares Haldir.”

Something in the way his eyes shift, you note the shimmer of light as the stars burn above. All of the fear, the desperation and love—above all else, you love Haldir.

Your other hand finds itself embracing his cheek as you bring him to your lips, letting all of the love pour through you. Desperate to keep him there—knowing you love him so. He speaks through the kiss, foreheads together as he pulls you close.

“If tonight is my last, know a day with you is more than a hundred centuries without. Your name on my last breath.”

“If tonight is my last, know it’s always been you.”

I’ll let you decide what happens next, if they live or die—this is where this ends.

•Much love, Ellie•

[black-dhalias]

Undead Bridal Humor

Elijah Mikaelson X Ex!Reader Warnings: mentions of blood, semi-dying (turned vampire)

The universe must despise you... Absolutely loathe, because how else could you explain this? There really wasn't a warning, a 'hey, by the way my family and I are vampires, and my sadistic brother is pissed that I like you', but you sure wish you knew. Wish you would have walked into that ballroom--then you would have saved yourself from such a fate... You look back, and all you remember of your time with the Mikaelson's was the destruction that followed in their path.

Elijah admittedly, was drawn to you from the moment he saw you--his family had travelled to France, settling in with unknowing nobility. At first, he only ever knew you as the brightest of stars and suns, unbeknownst to him--your older brother had already declared himself the Sun King. It makes sense, to think that you would align with such a familial term.

You were undoubtedly, a sun and star in the bleak world of French Court, and Elijah was completely taken by every aspect of you. No matter how he spun the story, or tried to ignore your obvious charms--you worked your way into his life with ease. Barely batting an eye, and how could he object? What more was he supposed to do? Send you away? Say no to your quest to know him, to grow close to him?

In many ways, you were sought after my global suitors—to have the hand of the elusive French Princess is an aim of many. And yet, you were enamored by the charms of Elijah Mikaelson and his mysterious family. They showed up, and unlike everyone here, who held status and name—they somehow got it all, with only their arrival. Currying favor with your brother, and in many ways, intriguing your interest.

Your brother wastes no time taking your hand, Versailles was meant to be the new palace and as you glance around the ballroom. An expansive room that has never been seen like this—you were awe of your brothers vision. With a smile, you follow his lead to the center of the room—per your brothers promise, you were to have the first dance with him, when this room was complete.

Louis always made good on his promises to you. Only to you.

However, with the final flourish of violins, you lower your head into a bow and then smile up at your brother. He returns your smile, but his eyes travel to a figure behind you to which you turn around. Only to be greeted by the enticing gaze of Elijah Mikaelson; curiously, he does not seem to create any measurable distance as he smiles at you. However, he does turn his eyes to your brother and all you can do is watch how his lips seem to move.

"Your majesty, with your permission, I'd be honored to ask the princess for a dance?" You practically swoon as he speaks, and when your brother doesn't answer right away--you turn your head slightly to catch his eye, giving him a tight smile and eyeing him as if to say 'don't you ruin this'. How could you not be interested in him? He asked your brother for permission to ask you, many would skip over the asking you part and just believe that you are simply your brother's property.

"If it is alright with her, then you have my blessing." Energy pulses into your feet, and for a second, you are jittery with excitement. Barely able to sit still as Elijah holds out his hand, and you take it without hesitation. Allowing yourself the freedom to dance, to not feel as though you are waiting in the wings. Waiting for a marriage. Waiting for your brother's decide your partner. Waiting for your love life to be for the good of France. Even when Louis assured you he would never do that, how could you believe him when anyone else would? Any other king would marry you off to the highest bidder without a second thought.

Now you focus only at the tantalizing expression of Elijah, loving the way his hair curls and the brown hues of his eyes. Then the energy shifts, it is not as lively or jumpy, it is slow--it is quiet. And you would stay in this moment forever, basking in the way his eyes look at you with the upmost care. He seems to hold tenderness in his palms, to the point that they warm your bitter heart.

You had given up the notion of falling in love, until that moment. So much so, that you remember it vividly and painfully. If you knew then, what you know now--maybe you wouldn't be living through another century in bitterness.

You bring the wine glass to your lips, glaring at the Salvatore brothers' who just happened to walk into Mystic Falls and ruin a good thing with their presence. You were here for a couple years before they got here, chasing down another lead on the Mikaelson's, but once you got here—you decided maybe it was time to get over it. Maybe you needed to move forward with your life.

"Hey Princess..." If blood pressure affected you, the sound of Damon's voice would send you into a heart attack. From the day you met, he absolutely drove you insane with his incessant talking and flirting, and him. You reopen your eyes and give him a tight smile, recalling how Stefan and Damon were idiots and it was Caroline who figured out you were vampire. Apparently she researched Versaille for a project, and recognized you in several of the portraits. Since then, Damon has not walked, but run with the nickname and it drives you insane.

"Yes, Damon?" He gives you that signature smile that drives the girls wild, but call you cruel, it does nothing to break away the stone.

"You know your my favorite French Princess?"

"I'm the only one willing to tolerate your presence, but please continue-" He wants something, you know that with absolute certainty, but now you want to know what. Call you curious, but these Salvatore's know how to get around and have some fun.

"We have a bit of a-vampire problem, they kidnapped Elena and we could use a third hand?" He quirks a brow, you find the proposal intriguing and you know they're just using you for your age. You have a hundred years on them, and that might make a difference depending on what vampire kidnapped the poor human, Katherine doppelgänger.

You shrug your shoulders, down the rest of your wine and stand up from the bar stool. "Why not? Might as well do something, I was bored anyways." Damon's smile widens and you pop your lips, as he gestures to the door—bowing mockingly, although it doesn't bother you as much as it used to.

"This way, milady." Dying the first time around, on that alter, was enough to send anyone over the edge. Your brothers' thought you dead, you were brought to your chambers and when you woke—you were alone, with only a dainty ring on your finger as a reminder of your old life.

At first, you thought the ring was a final gift from Louis, you never took it off, but one day you did and connected the dots between the sun and the ring. Which means it was from Elijah, a token and reminder of the betrayal. You twist the ring around, you wished you could wear it on any other finger, but it was perfectly fit to your ring finger alone. It was simple, but intricate—how you often would describe Elijah. It was cruel.

A final parting gift for his now wife… The same one he hasn’t seen since that moment, and left an unending bitter vengeance within you. So much so, that you would do anything to bring him just as much misery. You lost you brothers. Your home. Your status and wealth, and you lost him—in one fell swoop.

The manor in of itself is nothing short of disappointing, you half expected the Americas to be filled with palaces and chateaus. The grandeur of the American dream was sought after, but instead, these buildings are rickety and decayed. They are no Versailles.

Chasing palaces in a country of manors did nothing to sate the ambitions of settlers—you remember the move clearly, recalling the mortality of ship dwellers. Remember their vigor and will, they were survivors never meant to survive; again, your immortality became evident. It became impossible. To know you had the cure to all diseases, and yet unable to share knowing that this is your curse to bare alone.

Elijah made that clear.

“I’ll go around the back.” You whisper, having long forgotten of your thoughts and memories—given the Salvatore brother reputation, you hardly doubt they’ll manage to sneak up on the vampires.

Honestly, it’s better to have a plan C in case their plan A and B fail miserably. Which they usually do, because they’re the Salvatore brothers.

.

.

.

Pinned to the wall by the wood, you lean into your chair—rolling the stake in your palm. Your ghosts seem to have risen to the surface once more, a veil of white linen reminds you his betrayal. Elijah Mikaelson… You were certain you had seen the last of him all those years ago, recall the very moment when that became certain.

“Dearest husband…” You him seeing his eyes reopen and dart wildly, before settling on you completely. “I think it’s about time we talk.” Your lip quirks a little, the wood scratching at the inside of your hand.

There is a heavy silence as he sits across from you, watching you with a curious glance.

“Y/N.”

“You used to call me Princess…” You hmm, “However, your brother stole that from me. Just as you stole my future.”

“Y/N. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Oh no, you simply lied. So much so, that when your brother turned me. You left, like a coward.”

“What was I supposed to do? Hope you forgave me? For lying? For watching?”

“Yes?!” You shout incredulously, finally raising your voice for the first time since the conversation began. Your cheeks flushed with frustration and blinded by the emotions. “It would have been nice to not wake up alone, and scared.” You shrug, raising your eyebrows as you do so. “My brothers never even got to bury me, as a catholic? Do you know how difficult a pill that was to swallow?”

“You were my greatest love.”

“Was… That’s probably the most honest thing you’ve ever said.”

“That’s not what I meant.” You shake your head, just watching him—just wishing you understood what was happening in his head because nothing made much sense.

“But it is. You knew he turned me and instead of staying, you left me to figure it all out on my own.” You gesture your hands wide: “Do you know how many servants I tore through before I even understood what happened?”

“I’m sorry Y/N. If I could go back, I would do anything to change what happened. I never would have asked you to dance.” You fly off your chair, jaw clenched and eyes daggered on him.

“There it is! See, still just a coward. Meeting you, loving you—it was the single greatest feeling of that time. And once again, instead of facing the truth, that you ran away and apologizing.” You shrug, “You admit you would just erase it all.”

Something about that makes it hurt even more for you, the fact that Elijah didn’t see you as you saw him. He refused to see you as the great love you saw him as. He just simply couldn’t.

“I should have looked for you.” You let him loose, putting on your jacket that you had taken off earlier. A feeling of distaste having grown in the pit of your stomach as he makes his assertion.

“I wish I hadn’t looked for you at all. Then I wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t have had to see you.” Sure, you’d been here longer than the Salvatore brothers and longer than Elena Gilbert, but truthfully, you never would have crossed the sea if you weren’t seeking him out. Never would have made it this far.

“Cmon Y/N… What did you expect me to do?”

“Stay. I expected ‘till death do us part’ to mean something.” You say it simply, walking out of the house and hoping that if you kept walking. Eventually you would run out of land, and just disappear.

Only Elijah didn’t let you have a moment of peace, and from then on, he was everywhere you were. So long as no one else could see him.

“Damon. Have a drink with me.”

“Whatever you say your highness.” You roll your eyes, but pour him a drink—knowing that the Original wouldn’t dare come to bother you while the Salvatore was near.

It was also nice change of pace, knowing that your amicable relationship with Damon irritated him so.

“Ya know why I help you Salvatore’s? It’s because love got us into this mess in the first place.” Damon takes a long drink, raising his eyebrow as you give a dry chuckle. Knowing that Elijah is listening, you continue. “I was changed on my wedding day, right after the ‘I do’s’. By my husbands maniac brother no less.”

You spot him, his reflection in a glass bottle on the wall—so close you can see the memories you see going through his mind. See the regret.

“Sounds like a great wedding gift.”

“Sometimes. Other times, not so great. Ya know what he said, long live the happy couple… His jealousy and insecurity is why he turned me, but the worst part, my so called husband left.” Damon makes a face, and you smile—taking a drink yourself.

“Honestly good riddance. You look better single anyways, Princess.” There it is, the spark of jealousy in Elijah’s eye. The resolve breaking as Damon gives that smirk that sends all the girls over the edge.

“Who knew Damon had a thing?”

“I have lots of things.”

“I know. It’s just more fun pretending I don’t.”

By the time you look back up at the glass, Elijah is gone and you are left with a little more satisfaction than intended. Smiling a little as you feel Damon move closer, and for a moment, you are just two people at a bar.

.

.

.

“Y/N. Is this how we’re going to act? Like children poking each other with sticks?” You laugh as Elijah enters your room without warning, and without care. He’s been doing that a lot lately.

“No I poked you with a stick. You stabbed me in the back with a knife, when I was on an alter in a white dress.”

“I get you are angry, but there’s no reason—”

“Oh there’s plenty of reason, is the undead bridal humor just not your cup of tea?” You purse your lips and give a shrug, “I mean that’s too bad, because it’s all I’ve got to say to you.”

“You had plenty to say to the Salvatore.”

“No shit. It’s called mutual benefit, something you don’t understand since the only one who ever seems to benefit is Klaus.”

“Enough! Klaus has nothing to do with this.” You feel your whole body course with anger, practically seething as you shove Elijah away.

“He has everything to do with this—” You gesture between the two of you, sneering. “Because you would have chosen me. And that’s why he did it, because you can’t live with yourself. Forcing me into this, was his way of guilting you into leaving. Benefiting him, and him alone.” You shrug, “And you let him.”

“I couldn’t…” You raise your eyebrow, staring him down and wondering what he could say. What excuse can he make up to rationalize everything that happened all those years ago. “I couldn’t stand knowing I put you into such a vulnerable position. Klaus never would have— I never wanted to take anything from you.”

“You took so much more by leaving.”

“I won’t deny I regret that, but—”

“But I still wish we never met.”

Silence.

“That’s why it doesn’t matter what I do with Damon. Or anyone. And for the first time in a hundred years, I feel content with that.” You feel more free, getting to say your piece to the Original. You had thought you’d take him back, or fall back under that spell. “So I think it’s best if you go.”

[black-dhalias]

Hello? Are you willing to write about Jasper Hale x human female reader where they keep having inappropriate thoughts about each other and Edward cannot stand it any longer? It is completely okay if you are not interested in writing such a thing. Have a nice day :)

Lacks Control

Jasper Hale X Human!F!Reader Warnings: contains/mentions sexual content, light swearing

In most ways, you thought similarly to most humans and thought you understood how the world worked. You knew that there were balances in place, checks that keep the universe from overreaching a little too far. You believed in energies, and how people interact with each other often impacts what they receive unto themselves. You were absolutely sure that you understood yourself, but that was a year ago--before the Cullens arrived in Juneau, Alaska. Your home.

It was before Jasper arrived.

Now, a year later, you could hardly believe how different things have become; in many ways, you don't see the world in the same way. You see the world as brighter, and intense, and more mysterious than its made out to be. You glance at the alarm clock, shocked to see only minutes left--the night got away from you faster than you expected. It felt like you had just laid down, and now slanted morning light is streaming in from the partially open window—unbelievable.

You hardly understood what you heard that night, and if they wouldn't have reacted so brashly—you probably would have written it off, and left without another thought.

However, upon hearing Rosalie, Emmett, and Bella talking about Jasper's control—you almost left right there, but no—they kept talking. They said too much to just write off, and when they turned that corner to see you pale white pressed against the wall. They realized just how much you had heard, and its not like they could just make you forget—so there. That's how you found out the newest members of Juneau community were vampires, and that humans knowing their secret is not exactly accepted.

Despite Jasper being the topic of conversation that night, his control specifically, you almost forgot it entirely every time you saw him. Admittedly, Jasper was terrifying and in the right lighting, his scars were very visible even to a human. His eyes were often dark, and his expression stoic and tight. Most of the time, you tried to avoid him entirely, but being near him was exhilarating. It felt like gravity pressing against you, everything impossible, felt possible.

Now that left you in a precarious position, with an undeniable attraction to probably the most lethal Cullen.

Maybe that's a bit of an understatement, half the time you were in the same room with him—all you could think about was the possibility of undressing him. Images of your fingers dragging down his body, and it wasn't like you had to use your imagination—you had caught him changing once and that was it. All the fuel your mind needed to keep you interested, practically drooling at the thought.

"Darling?" You hmm, sitting up straight in your seat, you mentally curse yourself for letting your mind wander so far. Remember that whole thing about how you thought you were normal before, now you know you think differently because who else loses time like this? Who else could go from their home, all the way to their University; just thinking, just itching to think about him.

Once more, his eyes were in that in-between shade—not exactly amber, but not bright either like his unofficial siblings. You were shocked at the beginning of the semester when he walked into this class, because what was a vampire doing at the University of Southeast Alaska? No reason, but Jasper must had his because it takes a real psychopath to spend their time in an Animal Physiology class. Yet Jasper fit right in, and you have to admit the company is much nicer than others might think.

However, it was also incredibly distracting and in some distasteful ways, you spent the better half of class time enamored by him. His thick southern drawl, the way his blonde curls moved when he spoke, but especially with his hands. God, what else can those hands do? Per usual though, you feel warmth spread to your cheeks and look at your hands, you really need to get a handle on yourself if you plan on passing this class.

"Yes?" You ask, practically cursing the very ground you walk as you pretend to scribble down some notes on the cellular makeup of artic mammals—only it wasn't information the professor was saying, but rather verbatim notes of the last line you wrote. In fact, it is the same thing you've written at least ten times on the paper, but you just couldn't help your wandering mind.

"Class ended five minutes ago..." You perk, eyes widening as you look around the room and see that no one else is here. Just you... slowly, your eyes turn to Jasper. And him. Just you and him.

Perhaps his words shouldn’t have affected your demeanor, or maybe it had more to do with being alone with him, but something inside you snapped. Not only did you clearly feel an urge to take his face in between your palms and kiss him—you also had the inherent urge to bury your face into your arms and hope you got sucked away.

“Fantastic…” You kind of murmur into your skin, before sitting up with a sharp inhale and glancing over at the smirking Texan. His accent always seemed so out of place in Alaska, his honey like drawl always stood out when he spoke. It’s what got your attention in the first place, you couldn’t help yourself when you heard it.

You shut your notebook, sliding it into your bag with your laptop and pens—zipping it before Jasper tossed it over his shoulder. This was the routine, he showed up and you spent more than half of class imagining a million different ways you could take him on the desk.

Was that wrong? You hardly think it’s a good thing, but when you glance over at him. The way he held open your doors, and always close enough to catch you if your feet bumped each other. How could you not have those kinds of thoughts?

“Carlisle and Esme are still asking when you’re coming over again?” You hmm, before looking forward again—processing what he said, it just always takes a second.

“Oh yeah, we can head there now. I don’t have anything to do today.” If you weren’t too busy trying to ignore the throb of your chest, you would have seen the smile. The one that Jasper only reserved for you.

“Well then, after you…” Jasper holds open the door, letting you pass before leading you towards his car.

The Cullens were happy when you came around, Alice had told Jasper that he’d find someone eventually. She knew you were coming, but no one knew the effect it would have on him. The way he seemed to control himself, he didn’t feel like a runaway train anymore. The way Jasper seemed to smile more often, especially when he spoke of you.

“Y/N!” Esme exclaims as you enter the Cullen home, embracing you close as she smiles brightly. She always seemed so excited to see you, more than the others—what you didn’t know, was she had wished more than anything for Jasper to have someone. They all had their person, and well, finding you just fit into the puzzle so well. “Oh it’s so good to see you.”

You follow after her, Jasper watching as you go before heading into the living room. While he knew you’d be preoccupied for the time being, he couldn’t help, but sit in a spot where he could see you.

Today you seemed extra beautiful, not just beautiful—ravishing. You weren’t doing anything different, but something about the way you were looking at him earlier. If he were human, his heart would have been racing and his breath caught up.

What did you look like naked? The thought caught him off guard, it piqued his interest as he admired you from afar. Jasper did his best to not rush into things, to let you take the lead when it came to your relationship.

Did you have any birthmarks? He wondered how long it would take to count every freckle and mark upon your skin, if he could kiss each and every one. He’d even been in the room with you before, when you decided to stay over and you changed into some of his clothes. But still, he couldn’t bring himself to look.

You could feel his eyes on you, even from across the room. Even as Esme spoke to you so earnestly about something, you glanced over.

Jasper seemed to be looking at you, but also into you—you could feel the intensity. The sensation of him, again thoughts from class came to mind.

What would it feel like to be between a wall and his body? You purse your lips, trying not to linger on the thought—but they seem to always come in twos. And if you were, what would he do? God you wanted to know so bad… To feel what it felt like to be under him, pleading with him to take you right there.

“That’s it!” Jasper moves quickly as Edward appears at the bottom of the stairs, “You two need to go!” It wasn’t angry, but Jasper was at your side.

“Edward?! What’s wrong?”

“These two! They need to go, I can’t take another minute of them having mind sex.”

Your eyes widen, looking over at Jasper who seems to be looking everywhere except at you.

“You could just—not read our minds?” Edward shakes his head at your assertion, pushing you both towards the door.

“Nope. Your thoughts are too loud to just ignore.”

“I-” Edward gives a final shove out the door, as you bump into Jasper. Feeling his hand brace against your waist, steadying you as the mind reader gives a smile.

“Go to their house. And, think whatever thoughts you want. Just not here.” The door shuts and you look over at Jasper, then away as quickly as possible. Cheeks flushed warm.

Perhaps you should have saw that coming, Edward practically avoided you like a plague when you were over.

“So mind sex, huh?” You groan, glancing up at Jasper—the playfulness of his tone suppressing the obvious curiosity you note in his eyes.

“It takes two…” His smile broadens as he unlocks the car door, “Two people.”

.

.

.

“Whatever you say, darlin’…”

[black-dhalias]

Hiii I really appreciate ur writing and I would like to make a request for a reader and bash from reign smut where u use the quote “ are u a virgin? But how?” And “ are u scared?”

Little Bird

Bash De Poitiers X F!Reader

Warning: SMUT, language, mentions of arranged marriages

History is not written by the forgotten because history is only written by the heroes, the survivors, the victors. In a world full of royals, kings and queens and countries-- only the strongest will be remembered. All others will fall.

You are far from the young girl who visited the French Court those years ago; now, you are a queen and while country thrives under your rule, you are known as ruthless. You move with purpose, your own guards not far behind you as you walk towards the throne room-- ignoring the whispers of the familiar walls. The memories that cling to every crevice of this palace. When you left, you left suddenly in the night, having received a letter from your mother-- dead. Your father was dead and so was your brother, and you were now queen and immediately required back in Genovia. 

You slip between the halls, your hand tugging Bash along with you, as you look back and smile. Perhaps too much of your time centers around your time with the bastard son of King Henry, but something about him is too interesting to ignore. While Mary Queen of Scots is constantly surrounded by her ladies, the princess of Genovia is often feels ignored by her French allies. Not even first in line to your throne, it seems as though King Henry views you as dead weight, but not Bash.

With him at your side, you felt as though you had a friend in this court of lies and deception, and villains. "Sebastian-- c'mon." You whisper shout, urging him to move faster and keep up with you as you slip into one of the secret passages. Once the door slips closed behind you, Bash holds your hand a little tighter as if to keep you from slipping away into the dark tunnels. Outside of Nostradamus, you are most familiar with the French palaces secret tunnels and Bash knew if you disappeared, you'd get away from him. But the his slight pull was a shock, one you were unprepared for and moved backwards into him.

You try not to show the fear that bubbles inside of your chest, being back here seems to bring back every thought. Every struggle. The pain and the happiness, and it makes it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand. However, when the throne room doors open and you see him immediately. No amount of preempted focus could have brought you back because he is exactly how you remember. Only now, he is married and you are queen, which change everything, but looking at him... You feel as though nothing has changed, not him, not you, and not your feelings for him.

There is a shocking hmph as you bump into his chest, but you do not move and neither does he; instead, you feel his hand slip down to rest on your waist while the other rests on your neck. Through the darkness you see his eyes shut, the warmth of his hands and then there is his lips. Soft and sweet, and just as warm as you had imagined; although you know this is far from okay, so what? It feels right enough.

However, you bring yourself back to reality as quickly as you can manage and smile at the newly crowned King Francis. "Sorry I couldn't make it to the coronation-- long may you reign." He nods and gives a little smile, coming down from the throne and you see your guards tense up at the sudden movement. "Oh please, I don't think he wants one of his first acts as King to be starting a war." Neither of them relax despite your whisper to them, but you accept the embrace of Francis and pull away smiling.

"Well you made it now." You nod, giving a little shrug.

"I felt as though us both being relatively new to our thrones, we should talk about continuing the French and Genovian alliance." Scanning your eyes across the throne room, you see Mary—you see Catherine and others you recognize, but it's all a cover so you have an excuse to look at him again. He stands at the right hand side of the King's throne, the King's deputy, which makes sense. You make a note of the woman to his right though. Pretty little thing.

Where you were, Bash always seemed to find his way to your side—whether riding, walking through the grounds, or dancing as you are now. Being a princess means suitors, which pleases your mother, but displeases you: "So Princess, what do you think about French weather being from such a cold land?" You raise an eyebrow as he spins you, and with as much grace as you can muster, you come back to him and give a rather forced smile.

Perhaps petty, you begin to lead, which gives him a little shock-- his footing begins to slip up and he stumbles to keep up with you: "Well, for your information, Genovia is south of France, so I'd say your weather is quite cold, you..." Maybe for the best, Bash is tapping on the counts shoulder and he happily hands you off to Bash. You puff out a breath, irritation still bubbling in your stomach and begging to be released.

"Ignore them..." You bite the inside of your cheek as Bash twirls you around the floor, completely at ease and you follow his steps effortlessly. Familiar with how he moves, how he dances; you'd say you were pretty familiar with everything about him.

"How do they expect to court me, if they don't even know where my country is? Honestly, it's just disgraceful." He gives a little laugh, twirling you quickly before bringing you back in, but this time much closer.

"Well the longer I have you here, the better." His comment, rather than comfort, strikes a little nerve.

"You know, I've had a thought. Why don't you marry me?" You two haven't really spoken about the idea, having mutually decided it just would not work out, but now... now you think otherwise.

Francis nods approvingly, "I think that is a fitting thought." He holds out his arm to you, "Shall we?" You finally find clarity in the fact that Bash is now married and nod, taking Francis's arm. As he guides, you pass by Bash and you pause slightly, biting your lip before smiling at him.

"Congratulations on your marriage, Sebastian." Unlike everyone else, you called him by his name to irritate him and at some point, he began to find it endearing. You see the familiarity in those eyes, but it is only a second as he gives a tight smile and Francis continues to lead you towards one of the studies. You always thought that when you returned, he'd still be there waiting and maybe, just maybe—you could finally have that wedding.

Some part of you is angry at yourself for saying anything at all, and Francis must have noticed because he speaks up. "Don't be too hard on him, or yourself, I'll explain in more detail later, but he didn't have a choice in marrying Kenna." So that's her name, Kenna... That's one of Queen Mary's ladies, although she has grown quite a bit. So have you...

"Well when is a marriage ever a choice in French court." You try to make light of it, your own suffering, joking although there is a bitter truth to the comment. When you get inside of the small room, Francis and you spend quite a while discussing the politics of trade and possibility, but then conversation shifts to your marriage.

"A little bird told me you have a marriage alliance of your own blooming, with my distant Italian relatives.” Your smile tightens and Francis’ brow furrows, your reaction seeming to confuse the new King. “Not a marriage I assume.”

“A necessary one.” You pinch the top of the figures that represent a horse, and glance down at the map. Before placing the horse just east of Genovia, on the Italian border. “There’s an Italian stronghold near this border, there’s been attacks on farms from Italian peasants. If I marry an Italian, specifically a member of this family—then I stand a chance at protecting them.” You swallow, “Just another reason to bolster a French alliance, you’ll learn quickly that only displays of power can protect your country.”

Francis nods, smiling sadly at his old friend—someone he cared for deeply all those years ago. “Well, do not worry—France is not an enemy of Genovia, and under my rule, you have no need to question our honesty.” Gratefulness fills the pit of your stomach, the one that had only seemed to grow as you stayed in French Court. Every hour chipped away at your inner self.

Negotiations with Francis went quick, the grimey politics melted away as you simply spoke with your friend. It made it better, and much simpler meeting than these tended to be amongst royal agreements. He asked for very few things, but mainly that despite you being a protestant nation—you remain loyal to France and Scotland, rather than England.

It was easy to agree to such a simple request.

However, the walk to your rooms is not as long as it once was—Kings and Queens are housed exuberantly, but you used to live so far from it all. You miss those days sometimes. These walls hold so many stories. You were almost unaware of the steps following you, or how his hand felt on your waist as it pulled you in. Or how familiar his sterling eyes were as you looked up at him. While you think of pulling away completely, you are not able to bring yourself to do so.

"You are more beautiful than I remember." Only the walls do not speak, and neither do you. Not even as he runs his hand along your cheek. You are frozen, recalling every memory and knowing that the familiarity is built into his touch. "I did not believe God chose Kings and Queens until I saw you in the throne room." Even standing next to his wife, his next words are bittersweet. "Y/N, you are an angel amongst mortals." Something snaps back into place as you push him away, shaking your head.

"No. Absolutely not. Sebastian, you are married and I do not have time for petty affairs." You reconcile your dignity and stiffen your lip, you are Queen. By your own birthright, and loss.

"Admit it, you feel it too." He steps towards you, and you go back, never breaking eye contact. Knowing that the way he seemed to flinch, your movement to get away hurt him. It hurt you too. "You're more than a petty affair to me, Y/N. You've never been anything less."

You fold your arms over themselves, shaking your head. "I am a reigning Queen... Chosen by God, and revered by my people. You said so yourself." The last bit is more pointed. "I am not an affair, or a passing moment." You pause. "Not even for you."

With that, you leave him alone in the hall and retreat to your room. To wonder what would have been, what could still be, and how it's a terrible idea to linger on the past.

The next days are long, you can hardly wait to go home. You missed the grandeur of French Court a long time ago, but now it does not feel like home. It is too much.

You bid farewell to Francis and Mary, "I believe next year, we'll be travelling to see you." You smile, knowing all eyes are on the future. A wedding.

"Perhaps sooner." Just as you step into the carriage, you glance up at the balcony to see Sebastian. To see him watching you. Your soft smile sends his heart into a flurry of confusion and certainty. Even when the carriage leaves his view, he knows one thing: he would do anything to be your husband.

A warm summer breeze touches your cheeks, it dusts your nose and your smile grows. To be married, it seems so much more distant than it should. You should be giddy, but your future King Consort is nowhere near the one you imagine.

"One more night..." You wonder if you could run now, turn your back on the wedding and just leave. Find another way to protect your country against all odds.

You breathe out deeply, grasp the handles of the balcony doors and shut them tight. Ignoring the arrival of the French convoy, knowing that it would not just be the King and Queen of France in attendance.

Francis had tried to convince Bash to not come, to not torture himself further with the image of you marrying another. To not let him torture you. But the bastard was insistent, so much so that Francis knew it was going to come to something.

"I object..." He murmurs under his breath, it seemed to repeat over—"Wait!" He hardly remembers shouting, just that he did and all eyes turned to him. Yours wide as he moves closer. "Y/N..." He swallows. "You can't marry him." What was supposed to be your husband curses, eyes narrow and harsh. Only they do not scare Sebastian in the slightest. "You know as well as I do. We were as good as promised to each other before your brother died." There is much truth in those words, your parents had come around to the idea and so had your brother. It seemed simple, a way to keep France close and to give you this last thing.

"Silence!" The Italian is seething, chest rounding and cheeks turned a flustered and bright red.

You turn your eyes to him, "Do not command him, as that is as certain as commanding me. I am neither soldier, nor Italian. And neither is he." You pause. "This is my palace." You look at Bash, exhaling and he continues.

"I had not told you, but our fathers had contracts prepared and signed... Two kings... It took a while, but I found the original." His eyes turn to the Italian. Your eyes wide, as you hold out your hand for the parchment. "If this document is verified, then it means you can't marry him. Because you have to marry me."

.

.

.

It was enough to stop the ceremony, no one could condone a marriage without verifying if the will of two kings would be defied. Even dead kings have power.

You pace the hall outside of Sebastian’s chambers, every step echoes, but you do not care. An inner turmoil having found itself rooted in the pit of your stomach, to love Sebastian had been as easy as breathing. You knew him as well as you knew yourself.

“Y/N?” You jump, grasping your shaking palms together as you tuck them behind your back. Trying to seem unassuming, as if you hadn’t been at his door for some time. Only as he takes in your nerves, the way your eyes flit about—Sebastian is very aware, and smirks. The kind of smirk that used to tell you that he knew. “I was just about to go find you.”

Honestly, you believe that to be true, he seemed determined when he opened his chambers door. The way he closed the distance in two long strides, his arm snaked around your waist and pressing himself as close as possible.

So close you forgot how to breathe, wondering if you needed breath at all. Without air, your words were strained—the warmth of his hand trailing up your arm was distracting. “You could have warned me.”

“I planned to, only you never gave me a chance.” You recall sending your younger sister greeting the French carriage, shutting your door tight to keep all temptation locked away.

“I guess—” The words trail off your tongue as he begins pulling you into his chambers, and this time you do not resist. Temptation or not, Sebastian has always been just out of reach. Suddenly, he’s as close skin to skin can allow.

Breathless, you kiss him—not soft or tenderly, but desperate to know what it’s like to taste him again. To feel his lips on yours. Sharing kisses used to be frequent, but it had been so long and you had wondered if they’d taste the same.

They did. His lips were as familiar as his touch. The caress of his fingers against your body had all, but left you breathless—there was no space for air between you, nothing more than clothes.

Even those were falling away, you don’t remember his shirt disappearing or when your robe hit the floor. You don’t recall anything other than his lips, his determination to kiss every bit of skin that became visible.

“Perfection…” He hums the word as he braces you on the bed, admiring you—your bare chest and soft eyes, the way your gaze seemed to draw him in. “Absolute…” Sebastian comes closer, leaning over you, warmth surrounding. His face framed by the fire’s light. “Perfection.”

As his hands begin to run along your waist, your back arches and he lingers there—holding you close, his head bent over as he begins to kiss your neck. Letting his lips travel down as you bend into his grip, a soft moan escapes your lips.

“Don’t—” You pant, a shiver going down your body as he kisses the spot above your breast. “Don’t stop.” If your eyes were not shut, head tilted back, you wonder if you could see the ghost of his smile just as well as you feel it against you.

Sebastian pauses, “Are you—”, his lips seeming to stop as he spoke. “Are you still a virgin?” You sit up, his question taking you aback; however, comfortable you are with him. You didn’t expect him to ask so boldly.

You want this, you know that for certain—you’ve wanted him ever since you were young. Those eyes haunted your dreams, knew your own just as well as the sky knows the stars.

“Would you stop if I said yes?”

“Only if you asked… But how?” You bring yourself close, leaning forward to wrap your arms around his neck. Lips hovering above his own.

“Then it doesn’t matter if I am. Just don’t stop.” That was enough for Bash as he regained his vigor, kissing your earnestly and desperately.

You could hardly imagine anything more perfect than the way he held you. The way he embraced you. The way, you moan his name—leaning back as he lowers you onto him.

His movements slow, careful and steady, most of your weight being held in his arms as he begins to move.

“Just don’t stop.” You whisper, leaning against his body—your lips resting beside his ear, you felt his grasp tighten as he began to move more rhythmically.

AN: I definitely don’t do smut typically, don’t get me wrong. I do read it, but I am not skilled at writing it. So it’s more sensual than sexual, maybe I’ll get better in the future. But I hope you like this.

[black-dhalias]

Hi!! I absolutely love your writing✨✨

I was wondering if you’d write a Ethari x Reader (pronouns are she/her) x Runaan where it takes place in the time of the assassination of King Harrow.

Ethari and reader witnesses the assassins flowers sink one by one leading down to Rayla and Runaan.

Days later, it depends on how many days Runaan was in the dungeon before he got trapped in a coin. They witness Runaan’s flower sink and are of course struck by grief.

If it’s not a bother could you write days later after Runaan’s "death" the time where Callum and Rayla goes to their house.

Reader is reading a book while Ethari is crafting weapons and he witnesses Rayla from the reflection and you know what happens next.

If you don’t want to write this it’s completely fine! Once again, I love your writing!!✨🤍🌙

Floating Flowers

Poly!Runaan X Reader X Poly!Ethari

Warnings: angst, kinda sad ngl, mentions of death and some descriptions of violence

One does not love without sacrifice, and one does not truly want to take the risk unless they know it's worth it. With all that at stake, it does not make sense to ever really let someone in. To love, is to let your heart beat in time with another—with many, and in so few words, all of it can disappear.

In a blink.

In an instant.

Within a single breath.

All love causes is pain. You thought you knew the worst of it, felt the bitter edge of loss, but you were so wrong. You had it all figured out only a year ago. You had Runaan... A voice of reason and rock. You had Raela... In all her stubbornness and sweet personality. You have Ethari... As your warmth, and your light. You loved all three extensively, dove head first into the chasm of love—hopeful and invested. They gave you purpose and warmth, and that's all you ever wanted.

You thought the price of love was worth all the pain, but now as you fold your arms over your knotted up stomach. You could barely tear your eyes away from Runaan and Rayla prepare for the mission. The one to avenge all of Xadia, but it was not worth it to you. Nothing in all of the realms was worth the price of watching them walk out of this village.

Soon it would be just you and Ethari—you begged for a minute longer as Runaan's palm embraces your cheek, "Goodbye my love." The words taste acidic, another minute of him would never be enough. You'd plead for hour after hour, for every second was worth a thousand pleas.

While Runaan notes your rigid form, the distant look in your eyes—he knows that he cannot stay. "It is not good bye..." He whispers quietly, "I will always return to you both." Your lips press into that all too familiar line, shaking your head as you part from him completely.

Hating the distance, but knowing you must let him go.

"Do not make us promises you cannot keep." Your words are dark, striking cold fear into Ethari—the sensation of pain mirrors into him.

Hesitantly, Ethari embraces Runaan and Rayla throws herself into your arms. You told Runaan she was not ready, that you were not ready to let her go into a battle she may not return from.

She's the closest you ever came to a child, you are certain that she'll be the only child you ever have. All her life was spent under your careful gaze, and embraced tightly in your arms. Your cheek rests atop her hair, and even when your eyes mist over—you do not let yourself cry.

"I love you Rayla... All the way to the moon." You insisted she was more like you, more like Ethari, but Runaan was certain. And when he was certain, there was no reason to try to talk sense into him.

When you finally gather enough strength to look up at Runaan, Rayla at his side and Ethari's palm on the small of your back. Runaan gives a tight smile, one he only gives when he is not sure.

"I love you..." You don't know if you'd forgive yourself if he didn't hear it at least once more, you see the softness of his eyes. "Both of you, and we expect you home before 30 nights have passed."

Soon enough, they disappear and leave only floating flowers in their wake. No one moved from the fountain, too many souls rest upon the surface—hardly a ripple as the air catches deep in your throat.

When the day came to pass, the crowd was thick with anxiety without a word of comfort to be shared. No one could say anything at all. Ethari held you close, unable to stop the tightening of his grip as each flower sunk to rest on the bottom. The ripples were jarring, the water stirred with grief.

The cries were haunting, even when no one knew who would come next... The tears remained locked up. And with each sunken flower, you felt a wave of guilt and relief because you wished it to be anyone else. Until it was only them.

All you had was the hope that they had succeeded, and were already halfway home right now. It is all that you have left.

"Come to bed starlight." Ethari's sweet nickname sounded so soft, you could hardly enjoy the comfort, but it was there nonetheless. "I miss your warmth..." You tear your eyes rom the water, and stare into his. You wonder if he knows how much you adore him, how safe and welcoming his arms had become since they found you. "I miss sharing a bed..." You hardly slept since they left, leaving Ethari to an empty home most days. Ethari and Runaan had saved you all those years ago, brought you back from the edge of the universe—a startouch elf who could hardly bring themselves to love. To care.

"Just tonight..." You take his outstretched hand, his hope brought you optimism. Gave you hope. That meant something to you.

"I miss you too."

In the quiet and dark, you lay entangled in your husband—embraced tightly in the linens and his arms. The shadows crest through the window, a moonlit night, but you struggle to see through the light. Almost certain that there is—not evil, but nothing good coming your way.

Ethari's arms tighten around and bring you closer than before, chin nuzzled into your neck. His hair is soft against your arm, there is so much on your mind and sleep seems distant.

The way his eyes are shut so lightly, lashes brushing his cheeks and while not a smile—his face is not contorted with nightmares. To be honest, this is the first time since Runaan left that you've seen Ethari sleep so peacefully. While you could not bring yourself to sleep, you were never too far away as to not soothe away the nightmares when they came to him. He truly is the last testament of your sanity. As light as you can manage, you brush your thumb along the highest point of his cheek.

"If you wanted me awake, you should have just asked." Sleep clouds his visit, but he sees you so clearly against the sharp contrast of night. A vision of pure, unscathed—starlight.

He tilts his head up so that he is looking at you, a look of pure admiration. "Have I told you how beautiful you are, starlight?" You find it in yourself to smile.

"More often with every passing day." He returns your smile, Ethari always was the one who stood in awe of you even when you doubted yourself. Your good nature seemed to move in step with his own, but something about the stars that danced in your eyes—you often seemed otherworldly to him.

"Good, I will never allow you to forget." And you know that he's telling the truth, you believe every word. "They'll come home to us. I know they will." Yet you are not as sure, humans are too unforgivable. Too dangerous and unpredictable. You hate them, and fear what else they are capable of taking away from you.

Neither of you say another word, finding comfort in each other. Letting the comfort exist in this singular moment, tomorrow you will face more fear and anxiety. Tonight, you find peace in Ethari's arms.

"Hope for the both of us, my love. I can only hope it's enough."

Only when you watched Runaan's flower sink so suddenly, when the ripples began to shatter the surface of the water. Your entire world seemed to shatter with your reflection. It felt like the world was on fire, and completely still; all at once, you had little left. Stones burn your knees in scrapes as you cry out for him, even the slam of the door is not enough to rouse you from your torture.

The way Ethari saw you and then saw the flower in the bottom of the pool. The heave as he sees the sunken hope. It was always a fool's mission, but the sensation of your crying form within his own arms is enough to send him into tears. The way your hands grip him without remorse—screaming at the universe that they can't have them.

Runaan is gone.

It hits Ethari like the whole of Xadia was put directly on his shoulders, their husband is dead.

He's gone, and he isn't coming back.

Ethari attempted to focus on the task at hand, the tools and weapons atop his desk never seemed so far from him. It felt as though he was staring at a puzzle he was no longer capable of understanding, but he did his best to keep himself occupied when the silence of the house threatened to consume.

Is this grief? Or is this the new normal?

Where you used to find comfort in Ethari, he could only ever reach you when the books were far from your grasp. A cycle of three titles, meticulously memorizing each page because it reminded you of Runaan. The nights when you would stay up with Runaan when the nightmares were too much, and you would read to him until he lulled off to sleep.

Neither really said a word, silent and long days until the time came to crawl into bed. Only then, arms around each other and duvets tightly enveloping both forms—did the tears freely flow. Did the pain finally mount and the length of the universe seemed to weigh heavy on you both.

However, by the time morning breaks, the silence returns and the image of a sunken flower haunts your vision. Ethari closes his eyes, adjusting himself and returns his gaze to his work. Only something catches his eye, a glimpse—nothing short of a miracle, one that causes his expression to falter.

Rayla...

Unable to turn for a moment, he pauses before walking out the door. Knowing that she would follow, unable to break your heart anymore than it has been already.

"Rayla. Before you left, I told Runaan that you were to goodhearted for the work of an assassin. Y/N told him too." He pauses, glancing into the reflection once more. "So I know you did not betray them out of malice. But that doesn't matter. They're gone. He's gone. Because you abandoned them." His words are harsh, not loud, but there is a sharpness as he recalls your cries from the night before.

Even when she disappeared from the reflection, Ethari was already back inside of the home. You had not moved from your position, and for a moment, Ethari wishes you could have seen her. Known she was alright, even if she cannot come home.

He exhales deeply, gathering what he needs before leaving once more to find her. "This will only break the spell for a moment, but I couldn't bear to let you leave without seeing you one last time." Ethari had to know, to hear her out, and find some comfort in her words. "But I don't understand, Rayla. How could you abandon them?"

She looked the same, different and more worn in others, but he saw her as she was. "I failed them. it was my fault we were discovered, btu I didn't run away." She pauses. "Ethari, we found something. Callum, show him."

"Oh uh..." Ethari turns his attention to the human, smiling a little. "I'm Rayla's earthblood elf friend. Trees to meet you."

"Trees to meet you, too."

"Don't humor him. We found the dragon prince."

"The egg wasn't destroyed."

"And I knew that if we could get him home to his mother, there could be peace."

"It's a miracle. I can't believe it." Ethari's eyes darken, recalling the letter he received from Ibis not too long ago. "But, Rayla, you need to know. The Dragon Queen is dying. Since the death of her mate, she's fallen very ill."

"We have to get to her. It's the only way." Ethari pauses, as he watches Rayla's eyes trail to the home. "Where is Y/N? Can I see them?" Looking through the window to spot you, to catch your gaze.

Rayla is struck by confusion at your still form—you were never that still. Never so quiet. Her eyes wander the way you seem awake, locked in on the book and every so often she’d catch Ethari glance over with concern.

Ethari watches Rayla, as she looks at you—“When we met Y/N, they were deeply wounded by abandonment. Alone and on the cusp of giving up.” His eyes are sad, she notes how he casts you loving glances in between the concern. “Runaan is dead. You exiled. Something in them finally snapped.”

“Will they ever be the same?”

“No Rayla. I don’t think that they will, they might recover, but Y/N has faced great losses…More than most, it’s why they loved you so dear. Because you’ve lost a lot too.”

Ethari whistles: "You can ride faster than you can walk. I'll see a message to the Dragon Queen. If she knows her little one still lives, perhaps she'll hold on."

"Ethari, can I ever come home again?"

"I don't know." His eyes are sad, he knows the devastation you felt when the rumors spread. When the word shifted to call Rayla a betrayer and to ghost her. You fought against it, but soon even you could not fight the thought. Consider the possibility that there might have been some truth to the village's words. "It's a real moon opal..." He holds it out to her. "When I gave its match to Runaan, I told him, "My love will be with you even when the moon is not."

Rayla looks through the window once more and then back at Ethari: "Good bye, Rayla."

Ethari came into the home with a purpose as he gathered another arrow, preparing it to be fired and for the first time since, you looked up at him. Eyes wandering to the message, to the way he seemed certain.

Something in the way he moved, it reminded you of who he once was. "What are you doing?" He meets your eyes, seeing the whole universe fall together in a dance as you rise to your feet.

"I have found us hope." Still, even now, he is holding onto the hope that he can somehow fix this. Change the way things are and you trust him.

"Runaan, the last time I made you one of these, it carried a message of death. but this arrow will carry a message of life. Regina Draconis!" While you do not understand completely, you understand enough to know that Ethari is still fighting for you. Still fighting for your future, the one you will share together. And you trust him.

Long before you loved Ethari and Runaan, before the turn of the century—eons before written history began. There was you and your brother, Aarravos. It was all you knew, and it was all you thought you needed. Masters of the primal energies—the epitome of Star Touch Elf perfection. There was no beauty like yours, and no power that tasted as sweet as the power you possessed.

However, it was never enough for Aarravos and soon enough, you had lost him completely. Your entire existence seemed to erase itself with his loss, the universe seemed so much smaller. It seemed so much more void. No longer did stars shine for you, and soon enough, you saw only the darkness. A never ending abyss of despair, and confusion. You no longer knew what your purpose was beyond the world you were building with your brother. It meant nothing without someone to share the success with.

You lean into the darkness, you found comfort in the silence—perhaps comfort is the wrong word. You found silence in the darkness, your bottomless pit of despair was less violent and loud. Your wandering felt less aimless when you accepted the loneliness. You were not at peace, but the numbness felt bitterly better than the pain of loss.

The greatest of your sins was never looking for him, for you assumed he had simply left you to your misery. Had finally had enough, and so you left him to his adventures—you imagined he must have left you willingly, no one could against the power you wielded.

Seven centuries, long and painful blistering years, in that time you only heard whispers of your brothers antics. Until you heard nothing at all.

Soon enough the sadness no longer touched you, or perhaps you wore it proudly—you rarely missed the brother that had left you alone. If he cared, he would have taken you with him.

A crest of moonlight breaks over the treetops and reflects off the waterfalls, the crisp blue hue brings a soft smile to your lip. Knelt before the basin, you submerge your palms into the clear water and bring it to your lips. The water is not bitter or heavy with minerals, you finish what is in your palm and remove the canteen from your hip. Using one hand, you pinch the lid and the other you submerge the object and wait for the bubbles to stop.

Crack!, you stiffen—eyes flickering to the left side, someone or something is near. The forest has gone quiet, and it leaves you to think that it is a someone. You hum, shifting your leg out from under you and leaning onto it—knife on your hip, another on your chest and ankle. You cap the canteen and tie it off to your belt, swallowing as you place the final knot. Only to hear the rustling once more.

Trying your best not to move, to hush your body and heighten your senses—your fingers curl tightly around the blade, clutching onto it just as the pair of elves break the clearing. You turn quickly, drawing your weapon and posing it high—“If you’re here to start something, it’s probably best you leave.” Before, with Aarravos, you were the voice of reason—diplomatic and poise, but now it is different. It is just you. Their eyes widen significantly, as startled by you as you are by them.

One is smaller physically, but his hair is much longer—he seems more muscular, less lean. While the other seems to be just as imposing, but not physically—there is knowledge behind those eyes. He is the first one to speak, “You’re a Startouch elf.” You nod, posing your weapon higher. “Fascinating.”

However, when your weapon does not drop it is the other who steps protectively in front of the scholar—his expression less than kind. “Startouch or not, please drop your knife. We never meant you any harm.

.

.

.

“We never looked back. It was just the three of us against all of Xadia.”

[black-dhalias]

Only In Silence

Raine Whispers X EmperorsCoven!Reader

Mentions of dying, some violence

There is a distinct difference for Raine when it comes to their love interests—Eda was the old friend that gave Raine consistency. You were the kind of interest that took over every sense and enamored them, you made them too stunned to speak on more than one occasion. And all you had to do was walk into the same room as them, and boom!—Raine would begin to stumble over their words until you either left, or they finally gave up on talking at all. The fact you even existed was enough to send them into a panic, because who let you exist at all? Something so perfect?

The Bard sits on the picnic table, violin in hand as they begin to play a soft tune—it is only for them, or at least they thought they were alone. Instead they find themselves in your presence without knowing, you adore music. Especially from the Bards, sticking close, but there's one thing that keeps you from ever joining their coven. One reason. You aren’t good at music based magic, because your hands eternally shake from nerve damage. The memories of then seem so far away, you don't even remember how it happened--the blurriness is something you've just accepted.

Instead, you became adept at illusion magic—specifically shadow magic, dark illusions that dance from your finger tips and shape the world around you. Beautiful illusions that both haunt and entrance. Raine leans into the music, unaware of your approach and your intent gaze. The way you seem to study their movements, seeing the way they bring the world to life—the way music embraces the universe in a hug right before your eyes. They are perfect.

You see the way the music crests over their cheeks, their eyes shut behind their round glasses and you bring yourself closer. Just wanting to know more about Raine, to see the music from their perspective. They were a bard, and you were a wild witch, one that had yet to choose a coven yet--nervous to make such a decision.

You brush your thumb against your middle finger and watch the shadows extend towards Raine--their embrace is gentle as you begin to make them dance. The darkness twirls and dances with the notes of their violin, a song of shadowed whispers. You smile, melting into the music and resting on the bench beside them. However, as you join them, they realize that they are no longer alone and their eyes open. And there you are... At first, their bright green eyes are wide and remind you of an animal caught in a net, but the creases smooth as they realize what you are doing.

From the corner of their eye, they see the dancing shadows and let the music shift from neutral tones into something different. One that sings as you smile, and they smile back—your shadows are not terrifying to them, but a welcomed beauty. Just as you are. When the world seemed to grow dark, you did not shrink away from the shadows and instead chose to embrace the dark. Nothing on the great wide plains of the Boiling Isles scared you, and Raine found that amazing because the idea of being near you—terrified them.

You were the kind of witch that embraced the world, understanding that when you enjoy the sunshine—you must also embrace the shadows that come from that light. Raine feels the build of the music as your shadows are puppetted from the palm of your hand, and they remember every moment spent with you.

They reminisce about your time together often, because it is easy to miss someone who is no longer familiar. Raine lives in the moments when they were close to you, before you disappeared into the oblivion of your shadows—that's what they tell themselves happened. Too scared to admit any alternatives. Raine climbed through the ranks of the Bard Coven, and life happened so quickly that they had less time to remember.

That was until they were forced to see you once more, and face the truth—that they had driven you into the darkness.

Raine lets the music come to a gentle halt, the notes carry until they dissipate into the air as if they were never there at all. However, you are a very real reminder that you had listened to them play, and you danced in your own way to their music. You even seemed to enjoy it. They always seemed to like the way your eyes lit up, as if there was a song hidden behind the eyes that enchanted them.

Little by little, Raine gathers some confidence and uses the fact that you hadn't run off as the final push to remain courageous. They set aside the violin and fold their hands into their lap, playing with their fingers before they begin to speak.

"I forget how much you love music." Their voice alternates pitches as they gather some more courage and continue. "At least, I figured you enjoyed it since you are here." You smile, and that did it, their cheeks blistered a vibrant red.

"Mostly because it's you. But I do love music." You are confidence incarnate, you speak with such assurance and your words are always steady. That kind of energy is not something that can be faked, or taken, especially when your aura is so bright. No one would expect it, but it is there and Raine has seen firsthand just how powerful it can be.

"Me?" You nod, your lips pressing together as you tilt your hand, trying to will them to understand what you mean without a word. And they do, but they don't believe it for one second. A witch like you, now that just really cannot be true in the slightest. "I don't think—" Yet your eyes tell a different story and Raine finds themselves looking at their hands rather than you.

However, you do not let that last long because you reach out and lift their chin so their eyes are level with yours. "Don't sell yourself short, Raine." How could they not? You were the exact opposite of them, almost entirely contradictory to their very core, and you were all consuming. You see it though, the shaking confidence under their soft exterior. "You do such amazing things." With kindness, every word is laced with golden honey and it is not painfully sweet. It is simply kind.

"Says you." They whisper, and you watch a conflict form as they scoot closer to you. Your lips pull upwards into a soft smile, scooting closer to them. Enough that the gap between you two is nonexistent, and the outer parts of your legs are pressed together.

"Says me." Voices echo across the green, and a group of witches shout your name as they spot you with the bard. "Meet me later, at the cafe near the markets?" You request quietly, not wanting to part, but you see them edging closer and don't want to bring unnecessary anxiety to Raine. Or have the two worlds meet, the clash could obliterate you—it could change everything.

Raine nods, and as soon as your smile brightens, they lose sight because you've lent in to press a kiss to their cheek. You don't say anything else as you walk away to the group, but Raine feels warmth spread from the spot you kissed. They reach up to brush their fingertips against the spot, feeling a flutter in their chest as the memory surges back over and over.

When your friends asked who that was, you hushed them and just smiled because sometimes you enjoyed your little secret crush. You liked having those feelings all to yourself, and you couldn't wait to see them later tonight. You imagined you'd finally have the courage to admit the long standing feelings, explain the reason you were so captivated by their music and brought to near tears at the notion of joining any other coven. You know that doesn't make sense, but it does to you—because Raine doesn't expect perfection from you, they just expect you to exist and that was enough.

With a smile, you speak quietly as they talk about their plan to join the Emperor's Coven and that wonders that will be bestowed upon them. They imagine great wealth and privilege, but you do not imagine yourself in the throws of gold and prodigies. You imagine yourself beside Raine, but you suck at Bard magic—you clench your hands into fists as the tremors increase. But given a second, they fall away and you swallow, just focusing on your smile.

"So Y/N..." You look up and see all of their eyes on you, with the knowledge that you are only hours away from a very different reality. Maybe you don't have to care about Bard magic at all, so long as you just get the sigil.

"Soooooo?" You repeat, your lips forming a thin line as you walk side by side with them. Wondering what they even asked?

"When we try out tomorrow? Are you coming with us?" You hesitant and see the disappointment in their eyes, and it hurts, but you don't know.

"Maybe... I have a couple things to think about..." They sigh and you shrug your shoulders, holding your hands up in defense.

"Oh my titannnnnn, you really are the worst." Their words are defeating as they walk off ahead of you, to the point that you just slow down and then stop entirely. You hate to disappoint people, especially your friends, but when are you ever going to put yourself first?

Raine walks through the streets as they empty, almost everyone having cleared from the markets entirely—the Boiling Isles are consistent in their people. Some are scared to be out after sunset, and others only ever come out when the shadows are at their longest point and stretch through the alleys. Your image keeps Raine moving forward, a pep in their step as they of all the great things you represent. They were almost certain they were going to tell you how they feel, it was the only thing that made sense. And to an extent, they were certain you felt similarly. Just the thought makes their heart pound furiously in their chest.

The feeling does not last long as a group of hooded witches move towards Raine, their hands clench into a fist as the group does not seem to be moving quickly. And instead, it felt like they were waiting for Raine to pass through. That instinct was correct, as Raine feels hands grasp their biceps and pin them in place.

"You can't go see Y/N." Its haunting, the way the voice echoes off the stone and buildings. And even as other's pass by, no one says a word in the Bard's defense. Instead, they just pass by and continue on their way.

"I don't think that concerns you." They have no idea where the confidence comes from, but the audacity of anyone to say otherwise.

However, the grip on their arms tighten and Raine hunches over when the first hit collides with their stomach. Titan, that is a miserable feeling. They groan, forced back into standing up straight position and looks their attackers on. Raine doesn't recognize them though, seems they are intent on them not meeting you.

"I don't think you understand." Another hit, Raine doubles over and for a second, they see stars. "You will go home, and you will not tell Y/N a word of this." Another hit. "You'll be the reason they screw up their life." The hands on their biceps drop, and Raine folds in on themselves and hits the pathway. Feeling the kicks, before they disappear and the hooded figures become just that.

Had Raine been smarter, they would have went straight home, it might have saved them a little heartbreak. However, instead they head in the direction of the cafe—but when they see you, sitting at the table alone. A rush of guilt overwhelms the witch, as they realize they might be taking something away from you. Not that they didn't care. Not that they were unsure of their feelings, or that you didn't enamor them completely. You were perfect, and powerful... And while Raine was good, they don't know if they are powerful? If they match the energy that you give off day to day, and they never want to hold you back... Raine watches you for another minute, they can see the rush of emotion as a thought hits you—they wonder if you've realized that they're not coming? Your eyes get sad and dazed, and then your expression hardens and its like they see the shadows bend to your emotions. Raine digs their fingernails into their palm, and breathes out a shaking breath—they care too much, to take anything away. You don’t sit there for a moment longer, Raine forces themself to watch you walk away and when they no longer can see you—Raine pulls the white cloak over their head and walks in the opposite direction. You were everything Raine wished they could be and so letting you go was the only logical option, it made sense. No matter how twisted it might sound.

You, however, did not fair well after being stood up by the famed Raine Whispers. You were so certain of your feelings, trusting in your heart entirely, and you were wrong. That was the worst part, to feel betrayed by your own heart. In that moment, you felt the shadows become less rigid in your palms and they writhed with the pain you felt. You do not shed a tear, do not allow yourself to stoop to that level.

When you stood on the edge of the stadium, where you'll officially audition for the Emperor's Coven—you hesitate, seeing those vibrant eyes stare back at you. Only they are not there, and you do not care what they think anymore. A witch's duel decides whether you make the final cut, or not— And you have no idea who is going to be on the other side of the arena. Only that you're going to do whatever it takes to win, your hearts not going to rule you this time.

Raine sits in the stands, the ones who try out for the Emperor's Coven are the best of the best—beyond powerful. They don't like them very much, but they at least respect the power that these witches hold. Matches went by quickly, until it came down to the last one. Their breath hitches in their throat as they see you stride to the ring, not daring to step beyond the line just yet. Then across from you, is the witch that attacked them; however, in the way you hesitate that tells them that you know your opponent. The witch parallel to you does not hesitate in the same way, instead they smirk and Raine is able to see the way your eyes darken.

They watch you step into the ring, fingers poised, they can see the twitch in your index finger—familiar with the way your illusions conjure without incantation. They wouldn't be surprised if you won long before really showing off, titan really tortures them with your memory.

You almost thought about walking out of the duel when you realized the witch you'd be fighting was one of your childhood friends, someone you admired—now it is you or them. And after losing Raine, you weren't losing this duel.

At first, you do not move even as your opponent conjures a ring of abomination goop—you pop your lips, watching the goop mold into abominations. "Useless." You taunt, popping your lips as you raise your hand. "My turn though." With a flex of your fingers, the shadow of your opponent comes to life and twists around them. And where Raine expected the illusion to break with the contact, they see the other witch struggle against the bonds.

They lean forward in anticipation, in only a matter of days—you managed to weaponize your illusions. Although Raine isn't even sure how that's possible. However, the shadow does break eventually as you relax your hand—your opponent dusts off their shirt, sneering. Yet you do not seem affected by their ill will, you seemed above it all. An unwavering force of nature, the only reason why Raine even came to these stupid tryouts.

"Is that all you've got!?" The other witches voice is staggering, if it had form—Raine imagines that it would be stumbling across the ring, barely even able to reach your ears.

Both your hands twitch, waiting—you are patient and your opponent is not, they seem impulsive which explains why they attacked Raine last night. They rush and Raine knows, that is the moment when they decided they were going to lose. If they had just waited you out, or hesitated just a little, then they stood a chance. Rushing up on the attack, it opened them up to whatever hell you had planned.

Your hands fly into the air, drawing shadows from the crowd—bleeding the arena of all darkness and watching it snake quickly to your opponent. It wraps around them, engulfing the witch completely and yet despite obviously winning—you do not let up. Your gaze is downcast, eyes resembling the very darkness you control so expertly.

In that moment, Raine no longer recognizes you anymore.

In most cases, Raine would be comfortable leaving their past in the past. Happy to not have to worry about any of it anymore, but you are someone that Raine has yet to move past. A rigid thought and cruel reminder of what it means to sacrifice everything, for someone else. They let you go, and now they imagine that the lines have been drawn too deep and too long to ever be crossed again. They imagine that you are long gone, just a memory.

You had won your duel and took your place in the Emperor’s Coven—you were the fear factor, the one they sent when witches needed to be controlled. You were an all-powerful, silencing shadow and void that consumed free will when you arrived. You became terror incarnate.

When Raine catches themselves thinking of you, they revert to the hate they have for what the Coven has turned you into and in part, the blame shifts to them. Had they chosen differently, been braver—maybe you never would have become this.

Yet now, you walk into rooms and where you used to be the friendly face to most—witches scurried away after curt hello’s, and you had no smiles to give them in return. A glare here. A tense nod there. Sometimes when you were giving a thinly veiled threat, some could see the remnants of a smirk. The ghost of excitement and enjoyment, but it never lasted more than a second.

The Boiling Isles had become the center of your isolation—a burning urge to be alone because no wants you nearby. Where you went, fear simply followed in your wake. Others in the Emperor's Coven were jealous of Belos' trust in you. So in the end, that's what it came down to—did they fear or hate you?

In some ways, that's the way you liked it.

The lonely nights were a comfort, and when others cried for their losses. You simply enjoyed the solace in your lack of the things that other people treasured. Too many years of disappointments had left you callous and cruel, like a true shadow.

You lean heavily on the rails of the stairway, cloaked in your shadowy minions—watching below as guards pass by. Eyes judging the expressions of strangers, most of their names were simply unknown.

'Y/N... Come to me...' You do not respond, simply adjust your posture and head to the throne room. For actions speak louder than words when it comes to the emperor.

"Sir." You assert, hands tucked behind your back and head bowed in reverence. If one saw you now, they would be certain that the shadows had cut your face in half.

'I am sending you on a special mission.' You nod, the code is simple—it is your job to make someone go away. 'Lillith...' Before, you qualified her as one of your only friends, but betrayal remains once loyalty is broken.

You nod.

Only for the first time, as you leave the throne room and listen to the thud of the doors closing behind you—there is a semblance of doubt.

What is Belos up to?

The answers did not come and as you watch your prey—hidden in the shadows that have never left the bitter taste of betrayal. You hesitate. Lillith was never jealous, a bit of a kiss up, but you liked her. And when she had to make the choice, she chose the one that protected the greatest bond she had—her sister. You couldn't blame her for that. Couldn't fault her.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek and turn away. The Isles had one thing wrong. You were not a monster.

'Why does Lillith still live?' You bow your head in respect.

"I trust your vision for the Isles... But I fear we must contain ourselves; Lillith knows many and for Unity Day to work—we must placate." He believed it, for you had given him no reason to doubt. However, the seed of your own doubt had been planted.

As your pen hovers above the parchment, the letters seem to wrap themselves in thread and tie themselves all up in knots. You can hardly seem to come up with the right words. 'Unity Day will be the end of the Boiling Isles.' Tremors apparent, you fold it into a neat little square and pass it along to the shadowy bird. With hope, it'll find its way to the leader of the Bard Coven.

The minty haired bard had little give left at the council—few were forward thinking and the other half had some of the worst personalities. They were hardly representative of the people, but after a long day of deliberation, no decisions had been made. Raine had reached a bit of a limit, and the quiet of his rooms after such a long council meeting—it was reassuring.

Raine could hear the slight tap before they saw the bird, the small sound echoes in the silence. Only in silence did noises echo like that. And as soon as the window is open, the bird had dropped the paper into their palm and disappeared in a puff. Gone.

While not the message they hoped for, the cryptic note reassured them of one thing: you were still very much in there. That was all they needed to know to get them moving and planning, because Raine trusted you. Even if no one else would.

How much time had passed? More than enough for Raine to have begun planning, but no whispers had come your way. It was quiet. That same quiet was filled with orders to force witches into covens, and kill if they did not comply. I her did you go wrong?

You knew it was coming, that the bad was beginning to bleed into the Boiling Isles, but it should not have gotten this far. You let it get this far.

You approach their rooms with care, sheltered the nighttime darkness and the long shadows of the halls. Lights few and far between the further you were from the center. Raine was the only good one you knew of, despite it all—even you know that much.

“Y/N?” Raine had not said your name out loud in a decade, the gentle hum of their voice made your name sound like a song. You glance around, no one is near—so when they prop open their door enough for you to slip inside, you do so quickly.

Heart racing, it pounds heavy in your chest—stomach tucked right up there with it, all twisted up in a knot. Even with your expression so calm, they could see the conflict existing within your eyes—it baffles Raine.

How dark you seemed, but you were beginning to seem warmer and now this visit, has them certain that you are still good. "We need to talk." Raine nods, a twinge of fear or maybe nerves in the way they keep their distance. You weren't sure what it was.

Because the truth is, this is the first time you have spoken to them since that day. Sometimes they still wonder if things would be different if they would have showed up? Could have prevented the way your eyes lost a lot of what used to make them so bright.

"I figured." You nod, just watching them, they seem the same, limber and full of life. That same energy in their steps, like music constantly existed beneath their feet. The ghost of a smile, and red warmth to their cheeks.

"Yes, well Unity Day is a trap; our sigils bind us to our coven, to the magic shared between us—it's like a lock and a transmitter all at once. When the Unity spell is active, our magic isn't going to get stronger—Belos plans to absorb all the magic through the Coven heads." You speak quick and hushed, even in privacy, you fear the prying ears of strangers. Never lingering on any one syllable for too long. "Raine, I could be executed for even sduggesting any of this to you. Let alone telling you it all." Their green eyes widen exponentially more than before, you see the way they adjust—shifting theier weight.

You used to know them so well, knew every movement and reaction. You don't know them anymore.

"No one will know. I would never do that to you." You believe them, and in that moment of trust, Raine sees more of you. The old you and the new you aren't so different at all. The way your eyes soften for them, the way the corner of your lips twitches and then shift your gaze to the floor.

"Belos is counting us not being able to band together." While the covens aren't exactly at war, or in poor connection—animosity always exists when there is a divide amongst witches. "He put his money on me not saying anything." His good little soldier. A bubble of shame, because as you avert your eyes the thought of this all being Raine's fault crosses your mind.

But now you know, the choice was yours to make alone.

You were the one who joined the Emperor's Coven to prove a point to yourself, and only partially was that about Raine.

"I could have told him that he bet wrong." You were their crush, this force of nature. You were not the first to notice Raine but were the first to choose them. The way they say it, the sweet words that roll of their tongue like honey so smooth. They would bet on you making the right choice.

"Yeah..." You know the memories are right there in the back of your mind. Close enough to touch. To see.

"So, what's the plan?" There is a pep in their step, Raine seems so full of hope, and you question if you made the right choice putting them in danger once again.

You felt the potent taste of fear, strong and undoubtedly nothing you expected to pain you so much. It's been a long time since you had Raine at your side, but this is first time you're afraid to lose them. The feeling from before are more loud than quiet, more colorful, and more tender. You feel their thumb brush over your coven sigil, "I don't like that you're going up their alone." You smile, your sweet Bard...

Perhaps forgiveness was easier to attain than you thought possible. To hold it against them, it would be a crime to turn your cheek to their kindness. To their devotion. Their love. Especially when meeting their eyes is inherently what brings you peace.

"Not alone. Eda will be up there, and Darius... And you won't be far." Even you know that does little to comfort them. "I'll be okay." You smile once again and let yourself drift close, letting them guide you into their arms.

[black-dhalias]

What are the fandoms you’re most motivated to write for at the moment?

Tiger and Bunny — any character tbh

TVD, and the Originals— any character tbh

Bonded by Thorns — tbh don’t know if there’s a base, but I’d do it

Harry Potter — marauders mostly

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

Just in a bit of a slump at the moment, this last year has been extremely difficult for me when it comes to writing. I have so many things that are written on paper, but I can’t seem to find the motivation to type it out.

[black-dhalias]

Promise Me

Johanna Mason X F!Reader

Warnings: Death, cursing, normal hunger games warnings, and brief mention of suicide.

Nothing about Y/N ever screamed ordinary to Johanna—you were every bit exciting and amazing from the day she met you until the day Snow stole you away. You were the kind of summer sunshine that brightened everyone you met in Seven, and Johanna was far from that. She was rigid and harsh, like salt into a wound. And for some reason, you were glued to her side.

“Joooooooooooo—” You drag out the nickname, throwing yourself across the lounge in the living room. You were going crazy watching her get ready for the tour, bored out of your mind—but you were here. Hardly left this house since Johanna came home.

She hmmms, turning in your direction and smiling as she spots your smile—you were the only reason she had left to smile. The Games had taken just about everything from her, but as you pout and reach out for her. Johanna is a fool for you, an absolute idiot. The cameras would be here shortly, but you did more than preoccupy her—you kept her sane.

“Yes Y/N?” You continue to reach out, gesturing her close and watch as she finally lets her resolve call and gives in. Something about how your palm melts around her fingers as she lets you pull her close, warmly smiling throughout the entire motion. That feeling just gives her a sense of belonging, of importance—that she wouldn’t trade for anything else.

“Is there something you need?” You feel the hum of her breath as she lays spooned against your chest. You know she’s smiling, even if you can’t see it.

“Nothing more than this.”

.

.

.

Johanna had walked into Victor’s Village like it was any other day, the Games had ended—her tributes dead, and the idea of holding you was just about the only thing on her mind.

First, she imagined herself walking in and you’re there to greet her. You don’t even wait for her to toss away her things before you have embraced her close. Your face buried in her shoulder, everything would slip through her fingers until they were free enough to hold you back.

Second, by the time you let go—Johanna would be relieved, the hate would melt away and that would be enough. You would smile at her, not happy or sad—but that soft and warm smile because you knew what she felt. Knew what she had seen.

Third, you would lead her to the living room where fresh tea and bread would be waiting. A soft spreadable cheese still cool, because you wanted everything to be perfect.

Fourth, she’d sit there all night with you in her arms. Trying to imagine anyone else, and unable—knowing that you were the one made for her. A perfect incarnation of sunshine, and even when she burdened you with her Games. You were always there when she woke up in the morning.

Five, every year was the same thing… Johanna liked that she knew what to expect from you at every turn. The simplicity of knowing where your head is at. It made up for the unpredictability of the Games themselves. Took her far away from those thoughts.

Si-, the door is ajar—Johanna hesitates on the porch, something about the rush of blood to her head makes the world sit sideways. On edge. Like she’s trying to walk through the portal.

You never leave the door open.

Seven, she finds the courage to place her hand against the rough edge of the door. One slip and her fingers would be splintered, it was as if someone had forced their way in. Breaking the trim. There is no rush of fresh bread, or sweet candles you burned so often. There was no you at all. Just a long empty hall. One that is too quiet.

Ei-eight, Johanna knows what’s coming before she even turns the corner… something about the thick metallic smell had a mist already formed in her eyes. She couldn’t even feel her hands that guided her through the home, but there you were.

Nine. She stares at the note as if it could burst into flames, willing it to—Snow. It was easy to decipher the meaning. She got nine years with Y/N. Her perfect match. And Snow gave her nine chances to accept his offer, and she refused them all. Too loyal to her Y/N…

Johanna saw her fair share of dead bodies in the arena, but when the note slips out of her fingers. Her body had gone into autopilot, rushing your form that is hidden by the coffee table.

“Y/N!” Her knees ache as they hit hardwood, the heavy pound of her heart is all she hears as she tries to find a pulse. To will your heart into a steady beat, but it is already gone. And all Johanna could do was sit there and know. “Please don’t-” The words broke off, because they didn’t matter.

You were already gone.

Johanna sat there for the rest of the night, wishing for any sign of life. She could barely stand it when the peacekeepers finally came for your body.

The rumors said you did it to yourself, downed a bottle of pills, but Johanna knew better than that. Knew the edge to her voice was warranted as she tried to silence ever lie, because you wouldn’t.

You didn’t.

Snow just made it seem like you did. That Johanna had finally told you one too many stories, put one too many burdens on you.

She had nine chances, and chose you all nine times… and inadvertently, ended it all.

.

.

.

In District Thirteen, Johanna still found herself seeing you as she did in the Capitol. You were smiling again, the morphine induced visions seemed more joyous than those made by torture. You laid with her, and smiled—made the worst of the dreams disappear.

Even when the morphine wore off, you were still there and Johanna appreciated the memories. Sometimes, if she let herself forget about your death—she would almost believe you were still alive. That it was really you watching over her. Just like you promised you would.

Watching the wedding, something in Johanna felt emptier wondering if she would have married you? She would have asked eventually, no one got her the way you did. You knew when she was upset, or sad, or happy by the smallest twitch in her expression.

Would you wear a dress? Would it be white? Would you kiss her in front of no one, with no family or would your friends be there? Would you have lived through the games? The revolution?

Katniss is next to her, but Johanna’s mind is far off—wondering where you are. How you are? Did you finally figure out what’s after death? Will you still be waiting for her?

“Her name was Y/N…” It was unprovoked, but it was the first time Johanna had managed to speak your name out loud. She couldn’t bare to say a syllable after you died, it was like sending shockwaves through her whole body. Every. Single. Time.

“What?”

“The girl I love. Her name is Y/N.” Johanna briefly sees a flash of your eyes from memory, the brightness shining through even though it is only a thought.

Katniss could hear the echo of what Johanna had said during the Quell: “There’s no one left I love.”

“Snow killed her a year after I won. She was just about the only person I cared about, someone ought to know that much.” She pauses, the words caught in her throat as she looks over at Katniss.

“He has to pay for what he’s done.”

[black-dhalias]

To Belong

Leah Clearwater X Vampire!Reader

It wasn’t supposed to be like this—you were a lover of the arts and prospective ballerina. You were an artist. A performer and perfectionist. A lover, not really a fighter at all. You were graceful and kind, and you were good. You had a million and one dreams, and a future with so many hopes.

And in a flash, you had none of it.

When you felt the venom pound through your veins, you had hoped for death. The flurry of red hair was all you could remember of those last moments, that, and that you were going to be late for your audition.

“Smell this.” You do and pass the short along, the humans scent clings to it and now to you—without a doubt, all you knew these last months was orders. Do as your told and make it to the next day. You only knew bloodlust, no more dreams to keep your sanity together.

Everything was different, even the temporary sun of Seattle seemed to sing a different song. You had no dance left in you at all. Yet despite the subtle knowledge that you’re going to die before the end of this, you continue to follow the rules.

You just can’t bring yourself to care at all, you already lost everything—Riley made sure you knew that much. In the end, there’s nothing left of your life to return to. You move with the others—you don’t belong here though. You never belonged with them. You stop, the moment Riley separates from the group—the moment you heard the onslaught of growls. You stop completely in your tracks.

You don’t want to die.

You back into the rocks and drop down, knowing only one thing—that this is not your fight. “My name is Y/N.” You close your eyes. “I’m 18 years old.” Knees brace against your chest. “I was a ballet dancer. I died.” The sound of shattering bodies makes you squint harder, every sound sends a ricochet through you.

Make it go away.

“My name is Y/N. I died, and I just want to go home.” It has to go away, you don’t want this. You wish they would have just killed you.

“Hi Y/N.” You look up at the man with golden blonde hair and striking gold eyes. You would be crying, you want to cry. You don’t move, preparing yourself to die.

“I’m sorry—I-I don’t—” You shake your head, “I can’t—I don’t want to do this.” You are pleading with the gods more than him, wishing they’ll have mercy on you when it’s all done. You used to believe in god.

“Shhhh….” He soothes, “it’s okay… We won’t hurt you…” you follow him hesitantly, anxious to even be walking… You are their enemy, but they do not attack—they watch you with feverish pity, you hat their pity even more.

You did not expect the wolves, but in spite of your fear—you cannot look away from one of the smaller gray wolves. And if you weren’t on edge. You would almost say that they were watching you.

It all came down to a trade, Bree died and you lived—the insistence of the Cullens had saved you. Even though you came here to kill their human, they defended you. One of them even argued it had to be you. They were convincing enough.

Days turned to weeks and then weeks into months—the diet came easier than it sounded. Your eyes had begun to shift to a deep shade of gold. You almost hated yourself a little less. You put on a smile and walk in the direction of the stairs before stopping at the sight of—well you’ve never met her. Yet those eyes are familiar. Hair cropped short and dark, lips full and god those eyes.

“Sorry, I had to meet you.” Her apology is confusing, you tilt your head as you stop yourself from moving. You want to be close, but something in the way she is away—it makes you think that she doesn’t want you close.

“I know you.”

“Yeah we met once.” You nod, finally taking. A step forward and she steps back to match.

“The battle…” She nods, arms around her torso. “You were the little wolf.” This time she hesitates and does not move as you take another step down.

“Like I said, I had to meet you just once.” She swallows, studying how you move and every facet of your appearance. It’s a little like seeing the sun after years of being in the dark. Leah did not know what it meant to long for something, not in this way, until she had spent months battling every instinct. While a part of her is drawn to you, the other half is furious at the universe.

If she would have gone to Seattle a day before you were turned, bumped into you just once. Leah would have been there, but now you are a vampire. You were everything she was supposed to hate. And despite you being a stranger and a bloodsucker—she hates you less than most.

“I’m Y/N—” Leah knew your name, she had obsessed over you for months—hours googling you. Your missing persons report and family posts, they were shocking and painful. They were full of blistered memories from people who knew you better, but they pained Leah.

“Leah.” You smile and Leah loses herself for a moment, had tried to tell herself that she would feel nothing because you weren’t human. But she feels every second of your presence. In another universe. But Leah was certain the moment you smiled, that even in this universe—she chooses you.

“Well Leah, we have officially met now.” Yeah and now she doesn’t know what to say, and she rocks onto the balls of her feet. You can hear how hard her heart pounds, racing. “I do have to go right now, but I can give you my number?” Leah nods, takes it down and follows you out of the house. You don’t seem like a vampire at all, you seem oddly human.

“Bye Leah.” Then you are gone and Leah is on the porch, in quiet and calm.

“Bye.”

How long are you supposed to wait? When is it appropriate for Leah to hit send on a message? She had rewrote it a hundred times already. An hour. Leah hits send… Oh, god it was too quick. She begins to panic, rolling over in bed.

‘Hey! I was just about to text you!’

Her lips form into a smile, all of these good things and at the same time, the worry mounts once more. What is she supposed to say?

‘Yeah. I didn’t want to bother you since you rushed out.’

Read, god she really hopes you feel anxious too, terrified that she is reading too much into this. Terrified of even thinking about the one thing that she knows for certain—that she is already caught up in you.

You smile at your phone, leaning into the couch.

‘You don’t bother me at all.’

You type it all so fast and hit send. You almost don’t hate yourself as you go back and forth with her.

‘Good lol. So what’re you up to?’

That was the beginning of one long conversation—no one ever said good night or good morning, everything just continued. Over and over, on the daily. Leah had wrecked her sleep schedule just to see your name grace her screen.

It made everyday worth while.

It was late, your voice echoes over speaker… Leah was hushed, her voice groggy as she tells you about her day.

“Leah?” She hmmms and you continue. “Get some rest. We-”

Leah interjects: “Just talk—I just—”

“Okay.” You rummage through the shelves as quickly as possible, and return to the. All before she even knows you are gone.

“Mr and Mrs Dursley of Number 4 Privot drive, we’re proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.” You hear her laugh on the other end of the call, sleep intertwined with the sound.

“Harry Potter, really?” You kind of chuckle, pausing as you listen.

“I never read it.” You were so odd with how you said it, like it was the simplest thing in the world. She never questioned it further and as your voice lulled her to sleep—you can help your smile.

Seth tosses a cream colored envelope in her direction as they sit at the table, his other hand holding the muffin he’s devouring. While the letter itself is unexpected, the scent on it is familiar and known. She tears into the envelope quickly, watching an invitation fall out with messy writing in the corner.

Her eyes draw to the signature first— Y/N.

Leah wonders if you know what you do to her head, the mess you have caused and the inhibitions you have broken. Nothing about you was simple, and it drove her wild. She had only been talking to you actively for a month, but it was like she had known you for years.

Hey Leah!

Not sure if you’ll come, but I really could use some company at this wedding. And I’d rather it be you.

Love Y/N

It was that easy. Leah suddenly was invited to a wedding for people she barely tolerates and she’ll be there with a smile. She hadn’t seen you since you gave her your phone number, and since then—you had consumed her every waking thought.

“So you’re going?” Leah glances up at Seth, shrugging her shoulders—trying to seem nonchalant.

“Yeah, I guess.” Seth rolls his eyes, taking another bite of his muffin.

“Ya know, you imprinted on her. It’s okay to, ya know—be excited about getting to go with her.” Leah again shrugs, really looking at the way your writing jumps out. Your name. “You’re impossible, Leah.”

.

.

Leah tucks her hair behind her ears, trying her best to not to look as giddy as she feels. She had ruined her sleep to talk to you, and spent half her day waiting for your name to brighten up her phone.

‘I’m here’—Leah hits send, almost instantly the message is read and she smiles. Watching those three little dots…. Anticipation…. They disappear, and her heart drops.

“Leah!” She looks up and spots you at the top of the stairs—stunning. This definitely beats phone calls and text messages, because you just exist and Leah is absolutely enamored. “Oh I’m glad you made it!” You were halfway down the stairs before Leah could bring herself to even notice how beautiful you looked. Your hair done up, and eyes glittering the brightest shade of gold—like rich caramel, or amber. Or how you were wearing slacks with a vibrant maroon button down, and somehow was both feminine and masculine. Lips shaded a brilliant red.

“I see now why you had me wear maroon—” The way your expression seems to lift, eyes brightening… Leah is certain that you would be blushing.

“I thought the color would suit you.”

“Or you just wanted us to match?” You again, get that look as she points out exactly what you were thinking. You liked Leah, a lot more than anticipated and enjoyed the closeness.

“The color does look nice on you. I wouldn’t peg you as someone to like dresses.” She kind of half shrugs, again trying to seem as nonchalant as she can be. However, unconsciously—as she rocks on her heels, you note the way the dress moves just a little. You wonder if she’d make your heart race? Would she? Could she?

You don’t know where the confidence comes from—where you found the nerve to grab her hand as you lead her into the wedding. You knew next to no one here, besides her and the Cullens; everyone else was a stranger. Sure you knew Seth’s voice from the times he’d interrupt Leah on the phone. Sure you knew of people, but you didn’t know any of them.

Which made it that much easier, because she was pretty much the only person you needed nowadays. At first, Leah is hesitant to accept the way your hand felt—it was cold, but it was not uncomfortable. It was firm, but again, not uncomfortable. Nothing about you made her uncomfortable at all.

Being near you was as easy as breathing for Leah.

The Cullens took you in, and protected you when the Volturi wanted nothing more than to kill you. They gave you a home when you were certain you had nothing left to have.

“We’re outnumbered.” You tense up, you aren’t a newborn anymore, but you are close enough and you draw in on that strength.

“By a lot.” For family right? That’s what this is all about, and even as you stand adjacent to Alice—you wonder where you would be without them? Dead. That’s the only answer.

“I won’t let them hurt my family.” You tighten your stance, preparing yourself all at once for the oncoming assault.

“Neither will I.” It’s the four of you versus everyone else, just you against the wolves and it seems like every time you are certain you can breathe. Another wolf takes their place.

Even when the others arrive, you are left pinned—hands barred on either side of a wolves jaw. Screaming for help. You turn your head to the side, saving yourself from the teeth—hair tangling with the dirt. You hear a growl, eyes opening to see Leah moving quickly. For a moment, you are back at the battle field. The moment that changed everything, and gave you a second chance.

Once Leah is in front of you, the wolves redirect their attacks—avoiding you at every turn.

Leah’s body is wrapped almost entirely around you, spooning you close as her arms lazily hang over your shoulders. Her cheek pressing against the side of your head. Something about the way her heart beats, it soothes your soul.

“Why’d they stop attacking me?” Every muscle in her body seems to tense, just slightly, but enough for you to notice the change.

“Because I’d kick all their butts before they got to you.” You smile lightly, enjoying the sound of her voice as she smiles back—laughing just a little. But the way the sound catches in her throat, it tells you that there’s more to it.

“Cute, but really? Why? It made no sense, one second I was a prime rib and the next—it was like they were avoiding me.”

“Are you really questioning why they didn’t want to kill you anymore?” You kind of shifts your body so that you are facing her, still leaning into her—her fingers ghosting over your face to brush the hair out of your face.

“Yeah because I think there’s something you’re not telling me.” Leah purses her lips, you can see the thoughts physically forming in her head—like she’s trying to come up with a good story. You see her kind of give in, face relaxing as she sighs—tightening her grasp on you.

Nervous, you try to soothe her worries—laying across her chest, head tucked into the spot between her neck and shoulder. Arms wound around her as you listen to the lull of her heart. Even with the way the air catches in her throat, the sudden shift in her demeanor.

“I imprinted.” Your brow contorts, only hearing of imprinting one time before—sacred. That’s how Edward described it. “And if they hurt you, they would have broken everything we believe in.” Leah’s throat tightens, she had wondered many times of things would be different? What would have happened if you were human? Would she care more? Would she know you?

“Do you love me?” It was that simple, you didn’t ask the big questions or the complicated ones. Your eyes were wide and for a moment she just studied your expression, it was a half as second.

“Imprint or not, I’d love you either way.” Maybe it would have taken longer, but it didn’t matter because she has you now. Your sweet smile, it’s all Leah needs to know that much. She would have found you eventually.

“Good.” You hum out the word, smiling as you lean in to place a soft kiss on her lips.