#Alar skin

[dark-moonlust]

Bound by the Rose Mark

This commission is owned by Kate Hart. As the original writer, I strictly forbid any form of reproduction, replication, or translation of my stories without my explicit consent.

Pairing: beast oc (Alaric) x f!reader

Summary: This is a story with Beauty and the Beast vibes. You live in a grand castle with a beast named Alaric. One day, you accidentally touch him and a glowing rose tattoo appears on your skin. Alaric explains that the tattoo is a sign of a curse that binds the two of you together. You can't get more than a few steps away from him without feeling pain and arousal. Forced to stay close, you both succumb to your feelings and the deep connection between you.

Warnings: 18+, mid-eighteenth century story, true love curse, beauty and the beast vibes, magic tattoo bonding, virgin reader, oral (fem receiving), foreplay and stimulation, p in v sex, big 🍆, belly bulge, knotting, lots of 💦.

I completely forgot to post this commission! Enjoy!!

Château d'Azay-le-Rideau, France - 1750

“Make it stop!” you groaned, wide eyes on the Beast, who stood calmly by the fire, his large, furred form casting long shadows over the walls. “Please, just… make it stop!”

“I cannot do that.” Came his voice, steady and infuriatingly husky.

The moonlight shone through the castle's grand windows, pouring glittering beams across your body as you paced back and forth, the tap of your boots echoing on the sleek floor. Your fingers moved nervously against the mark on your wrist, the delicate rose pattern twisting and developing, shimmering softly against your skin. With each passing second, the flower vines extended further up your arm, emitting a sweet warmth.

It all began a year ago with a professional agreement. The Beast was Lord of the Castle and needed someone to govern it. You were that person. You lived in his huge fortress and worked as his chamberlain. But what began as a rigid work agreement quickly turned into closeness. 

In the past months, you’d grown used to his company, you were after all, alone in a huge castle with no one but a few servants to talk. He’d gifted you his enormous library, a beautiful haven of literature. He also spent time with you every day, taking you on walks to the gardens, organizing big dinners, music nights, and theatrical nights. You’d been foolish to allow yourself to get comfortable, to hover close enough and be tempted to touch him.

But his fur had appeared so silky and inviting. What was one touch?

You'd succumbed to the temptation and touched him, curved your small palm over his massive arm. 

A moment later, all order unraveled. 

A weird tingling sensation had begun to emerge from your wrist, and as you looked down, a red rose began to light softly, its delicate petals winding up your wrist, its thorny vines snaking out, tracing your skin with intricate detail. The tattoo was enchanted and even now— it continued to spread on your arm.

Oh, how foolish and naive you had been! To approach him so carelessly, hovering so close that his mere presence seemed to draw you in. It was foolish to give in to your curiosity, reaching out to touch him despite the warnings. And now, this—this thing—was strangely connecting you to him in ways you couldn't fathom.

The Beast—no, Alaric, as he was once known—kept staring at you like an idiot, his sharp features unreadable. He didn’t even look troubled. Why would he be? For once, he wasn’t the one in trouble. He rather enjoyed it, wicked Frenchman that he was. Yet as you glanced at him, you felt another spark, a liquid warmth in your belly. His form, massive and imposing, stood out against the moonlight, making the entire hall feel smaller, more intimate.

Alaric had been cursed long long ago, cursed to find misery, coldness and no love. His face was no longer that of a beautiful Prince but of a beast with horns, sharp teeth and lion’s mane. He was massive and muscled, with strong legs and a wolf-like tail. His clothing was still royal, tailored to fit his form. He looked as elegant and well-groomed as possible.  

With an exasperated groan, you stroked your wrist harder, the glow intensifying with each stroke of your fingers. "Damn! Why doesn't it stop?! Please, stop it!"

He spoke with a long sigh, his voice low and rumbling. "I told you I cannot do that."

"You can't or you won't?"

"It's the mark of the curse…" His glance swept across your wrist. "There is no undoing it."

Your heart sunk at his words. You were aware of his curse but had no idea it could be transmitted through touch. Damnation! And damn the warmth of the mark, affecting your whole body. It felt warm and wet between your thighs as if a fire was spreading beneath your skin, connecting you to him. Every pulse of fire reminded you of your error.

“I… I didn’t ask for this!” you protested, rubbing at the mark as if you could wipe it away with sheer willpower. “I was just—just curious! I did not want to be cursed.”

“You touched me, therefore now you will pay. You are bound to me.”

You shot him a sharp look, waving your pulsing wrist in the air. “You could have warned me that I’d get cursed just by touching you!”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “But I did warn you not to touch me, didn’t I? You were simply too curious.”

“I thought you were goading me, challenging me! You didn’t mention the part where I’d be magically tethered to you like a pet on a leash,” you snapped despite the lingering warmth in your chest. 

“You are wild and untamed. Always speaking back to me, always doing as you please. It’s your fault, little one.”

“Still…” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. “A little heads-up would’ve been nice.”

“Where would the fun in that be?”

“Oh, yes, this is so hilarious. I’m cursed with a pulsing tattoo— it glows like a freaking beacon by the way—and you’re not in the least concerned.”

“The mark will stop glowing once you accept it.”

“I’ll never accept it!”

Alaric sighed. “The curse cast upon me ensured I would never be loved. I was cursed to live as a beast, hated and feared... alone."

You gazed at him, the weight of his words hurting your heart. His formidable, imposing frame suddenly appeared fragile.

“However,” he continued, “there is a way… for the curse to wane. Not to break it entirely, but weaken its grasp. The curse weakens—forever— when I am touched by someone who genuinely loves me.”

“So… this mark…”

Alaric nodded. “It means you are the one fated to love me. And because of that, the curse has loosened its grip on me. Though I can never return to the man I once was, I can have love.”

Your eyes welled with emotion, but you refused to cry in front of him. “So… this is permanent?" 

Alaric hummed and stepped close, his towering frame suddenly feeling much too close. “I’m sorry… but you are now bonded to me, my thorny rose,” he purred. “Alas, you could have worse company, no? And the mark… I think it’s quite beautiful.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “Beautiful? It’s so big and so… damn hot!”

“That temper of yours…” he sighed softly, in a way a beast like him never would. “Of course it makes you hot. The closer we are, the more it will affect you. It’s a sign that our bond is… flourishing.”

You blinked, rubbing your thighs together at the effect of his deep voice, presence and scent. “Flourishing? My wrist isn’t a garden, Alaric. This is my skin. And I assure you, it’s not supposed to glow.”

“We are connected. The curse… it has tied our fates together. The more we fight it— both of us— the more painful it will become."

You swallowed hard. “And if I… don’t fight it? Will it stop and leave my skin?”

“No. Never, little one. The mark will just settle there, binding you to me, fully and irrevocably. But… I’m afraid we cannot stray far from one another without feeling pain.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

His lips curled, showing just the barest flash of sharp teeth. “Immensely.”

Stupefied, you spun around, intending to get some fresh air but the moment you moved away, a sudden, scorching pain went through your chest, making you gasp. He was there instantly, steadying you with a large, clawed hand. You curled into his body, sighing pleasantly at the feel of his fur against your skin. It felt so good, warm and inviting, his musky scent tantalizing your senses. You hadn’t realized it but your hands were buried in his forearms, holding him to you.

“Foolish one,” he muttered, his breath warm against your temples. “What did I just tell you?”

“Alaric…” you sighed, meeting his eyes with reluctant acceptance. “Make it stop, please, make this ache go away.”

A low chuckle escaped him as he rubbed your wrist, feeling the warmth pulsating beneath your skin and tracing the delicate rose mark. The rose's delicate vines had wrapped themselves around your forearm, growing faintly. You bit back a moan, despite everything, you felt the pull—the odd bond that bound you to him, pulling you nearer to him with each breath.

“Ah, yes… it can be intense. Every step you take away from me will only bring more pain, more desire pooling deep inside.”

“Deep inside?”

Alaric raised a brow, a glint in his eyes. “Hmm, deep inside your cunt. I can scent your sweet arousal. Always could scent your need for me.”

You looked away. His words made you wet. Tenderly, he turned your face back to him. There was no hiding your blush or emotions.

“The curse bound us together. Two halves meant to be one. And if we give in…” he trailed off, his huge palm framing your face. “Would it be that bad?”

The tension in the room shifted as he stood there, with you in his arms, the strange pull between you palpable. Were you truly the one for him? Your heart stuttered. The idea of being physically and emotionally bound to Alaric—a beast of both grace and power —was captivating.

And the more you thought about it, the more your heart and body betrayed you. Oh dear… Yes, you wanted him. You wanted him with every ounce of your soul. Right on cue, the tattoo—its once glowing petals and vines now settled into a permanent black design that curled up your forearm. Becoming a part of you.

You didn’t resist when Alaric scooped you up, carrying you through hallways to his private chamber— a huge, opulent bedroom with polished wood and velvet furnishings, tapestries hanging on the walls, and a stone fireplace crackling in the corner. The bed was the largest piece of furniture in the room; it had a dark purple canopy covered in silk and velvet covers making it appear incredibly soft and inviting.

Alaric lowered you on the plush bedding and he came to rest beside you, his body half-looming over you, massive yet tender and protective. His eyes, golden and intense, settled on you then down to the rose mark. His fingers, clawed but surprisingly gentle, traced the rose before his tongue brushed a petal of the tattoo, feather-light, sending a shiver of electricity racing up your spine.

You watched, breathless, as he nuzzled and licked every petal, every vine, every thorn, his muzzle soft against your skin. The heat of his breath warmed you as he worked his way up your forearm, his mouth following the intricate lines of the rose, savoring every inch of it. With each kiss, your pulse quickened, your body shamelessly hot, your pussy dripping slick.

“Alaric…” you said in a sultry voice you could hardly recognize.

“Easy. We’ll take it slow, my thorny rose.”

As he said that, his lips hovered just inches from your collarbone. His tongue darted out, tracing the delicate indentation at the base of your neck. A sweet gasp escaped you as he licked a slow, tortuous trail down the round tops of your breasts, pulled up by your corset and your bodice. The laces on your bodice came undone, the corset disposed of in seconds as he skillfully drew the fabric down your waist, exposing your breasts to the cool air and his hungry gaze.

Your body arched closer to his, your nipples hardening into tight, aching buds. His eyes locked onto yours before he bent down and let his tongue trace the underside of each mound. You whined, burning so fiercely with desire as he licked the around your areolas. Teasing and exploring. Never quite getting to your sensitive nipples.

“Alaric,” you warned, thrusting your chest to his mouth.

“How I love it when you call my name.”

And with that, he licked one tiny bud, causing your body to shiver with want. Your hands gripped his horns, keeping him in place as he lapped one nipple, sucking wetly, his saliva and scent mingling on your skin. He did the same with the other nipple, and your body melted into his, hips arching up, breasts thrust sweetly into his lips.

You were lost in passion and he was only touching you.

You craved more. You wanted to touch, feel, and own every part of him.

Boldly, your hands slid up to his jacket, tugging at the heavy fabric, feeling its weight between your fingertips. You dragged his jacket away and he helped you remove it along with his shirt, without quite taking his tongue and hands off your breasts. Furry broad shoulders were revealed and a powerful, sculpted chest and stomach.

Large hands encompassed your tits as he growled softly and angled his head, his tongue trailing the curve of your neck. His fingers pinched your nipples, careful of his claws. Your breath hitched and you tilted your head back, offering him more.

“Oh god… yesss,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Blindly, you brought his mouth to you, needing to feel his kiss. But he hesitated, pulling back slightly. His golden eyes met yours, darkened with desire but shadowed with worry.

“I’m afraid… of hurting you,” he drawled. “I have no lips and my teeth… they’re sharp. I don’t want to—”

“Use your tongue,” you whispered, breathless, gone was the shyness in you. “Please.”

For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, but then, as though unable to resist any longer, he surged forward. His mouth opened, and his tongue, hot and insistent, swept across your lips before plunging deeply. Deeper still. He tasted you, swallowed your breaths, and pressed his moist and burning tongue against yours, sending sparks of ecstasy shooting through you with each stroke. You gasped into his mouth, the sound drowned out by the sheer intensity of the kiss, your hands grabbing his shoulders.

The sound of fabric tearing and garments hitting the floor was the only indication of what was to come.

The flickering light in the room danced across your flesh, both naked and unashamed. His body enveloped yours, his weight pressing down on you, his thighs spreading your legs apart. The sheer size of him caused your pussy to clench. His shaft was a massive veined rod of flesh, long and thick, with a knot at the base. His cock throbbed and leaked moisture, and his balls thick and heavy, hung like ripe fruit.

You couldn't help but reach out, a little bashful as your fingers stroked the silky warmth of his shaft. It was both firm and tender, as hot as touching a blazing flame. Alaric snarled and watched your small hands. You trailed the protruding veins and bulbous head all the way down to the bulging sac. He growled, his entire body tense.

“Such soft gentle touches. But I can’t—little one. I need to taste you, have you.”

You opened your mouth to protest but whined instead when his tongue licked the delicate folds of your pussy. Your body ignited, waves of ecstasy crashing over you. Spine arching, you opened your legs obscenely wide, his head buried in between, wet tongue consuming your depths. He thrust his appendage inside, snarling primitively, and you sighed delightfully, your cunt pressing against his mouth as you shut your eyes tightly and surrendered to the passion.

“Mmmmm, so breathtaking,” he drawled, his tongue gracing your cunt. “I love the rose mark on your skin but even more so the petals on your wet cunt… so lovely and wet. I love to tease and lick them.”

Eyes holding your own, he hooked his large hands around your thighs, bringing them around his furred torso. His dick, massive and twitching, stroked against the wet petals of your cunt. He lubricated himself; you were soaked and ready to receive him. You wiggled and squirmed, impatiently attempting to guide him inside. Finally, with a gentle nudge, he growled, and the broad popped in.

Cupped your ass, he pushed inside, his cock gliding into you in one smooth thrust. You were incredibly tight, untouched and you gasped at the slight discomfort of the invasion. Despite his size, he somehow fit, his body seemingly designed to mold itself to yours. Your cunt was stretched wide, only his knot showing, and your belly bulged slightly, revealing the curve of his shaft beneath your skin.

Alaric caressed your belly lovingly as if marveling at the sight. “Yes, mine. It will be alright. I promise you. Does it hurt, little one?" 

You shook your head. “Not anymore. Please… hmmm—move. Need to feel you so desperately.”

“As you wish, my rose.”

His eyes never left yours as he thrust out of you, all the way out before slowly filling you up. This time there was no discomfort, only building intensity. His shaft slid in and out of you, the friction reigniting your desire. Your body flexed, your walls squeezing around his dick as he increased the pace. His thrusts became faster and more urgent, and you held him, rocking against him as his tongue stroked yours, making you dizzy with desire. 

Alaric was unstoppable, unrelenting and soon you were both shuddering in climax. He thrust one final time, bottomed out inside you till his swollen knot had popped inside. You whined, muscles contracting around him, your cunt snug around his knot, tying you together. You saw stars, thrashed wildly in little aftershocks as he released, a flood of cum filling you up. It didn’t help that he let out those delicious growls, tongue devouring your mouth.

Time seemed to stand still. You lay there, with him atop you, his dick still pulsing within you, his knot throbbing with a slow beat. It had been minutes and he was still spurting, though slower this time. You basked in the afterglow of your passion, felt so utterly at peace. Your bodies had become one and the tattoo on your wrist had never felt so right.

You were his, completely and utterly his.

“How are you feeling, my thorny rose?” he asked after he’d rolled over so you were draped over his chest, his knot still hard inside you.

“I feel loved,” you said as you rested over his chest feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath the fur. “I have never been kissed or loved by anyone like this before—have never felt anything like this before.”

“There is no going back now,” he said possessively. “You gave yourself to me. What I feel for you is raw, primal. It cannot be stopped or contained.”

You grinned. “So, what? I’m just stuck to you for the rest of eternity?”

“Figuratively and literally, I’m afraid,” he said, groaning at the feel of his knot tucked inside your warm cunt.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

Alaric’s eyes softened. “I will never be the charming Frenchman I once was. That man’s appearance is gone, replaced by this… beast.”

Smiling, you let your hand reach up to touch his face, tracing the firm lines of his jaw, his fur silky beneath your fingers. “The appearance might be gone,” you whispered, “but your heart isn’t. Besides, I think I’m past wishing for a handsome prince on a white horse. French or not.”

A low chuckle vibrated through his chest. “You’ve got a strange way of looking at things.”

“And you’ve got a strange way of doubting yourself,” you shot back teasingly. “You might not be the Prince you once were, but you’re more than enough for me.”

“Don’t you regret it?” he asked quietly after a few seconds. “Mating with me? That I’ll always be… like this?”

“Oh, I am surprised but this is so lovely,” you murmured, hands caressing his shoulder. “It’s so lovely because I always wanted you to be mine. I've always felt attracted to you but was frightened to admit it. I was also scared you would reject me heartlessly."

“Never. I could never do that.” He took your hand, kissed the rose tattoo on your wrist.

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling with love. “You are thoroughly mine, Alaric.“

For a moment, he stared at you and a soft, almost amused rumble escaped him. “You really are something,” he drawled, his free hand brushing the curve of your ass. “You’ve given me something I thought I could never have again." 

“I am yours,” you whispered. “I love you. All of you, my Beast.”

“I love you more, my thorny rose,” he said, his eyes dark with lust.

Smiling, you kissed and made love again —harder, hotter, and wetter.

THE END

[aklaustaleteller]

The Sweetest Heart

When Klaus ruins a good chat with a very sincere girl he's been obsessing over for some time now, he has some making up to do.

Warnings - slightly yandere!Klaus, if you squint, and a good ol' make-out session, which does lead tos omething more (no p in v!).

Word Count - 4.2k

Masterlist | Please reblog the work to share!

Long time no see, besties? I hope you didn't forget me!! I've been trying to get back into writing after a full month of practicals and exams, so this is indeed a word-vomit kind of fic (it is very fast paced!), hahah. I hope you'll be entertained regardless! <3

Klaus had had a long day. He felt like bashing his head against a wall or shoving his fist through someone's chest. But he did neither of those painful deeds and instead found himself headed to the Mystic Grill.

He decided to walk there at a rather slow pace, wanting to clear his head so that he'll be able to fully enjoy his drinks there.

The air was bitingly cold against wherever his skin was exposed, and it was so strong that it managed to sneak into and engulf him even inside his coat. But he didn't shiver, or even flinch – instead, he shut his eyes for a second or two, and tried to focus on what he could smell and feel.

Before he knew it, he could hear the low buzz of his destination – the frequent sounds of beer bottles clinking together, people talking each other's ears off after finally getting together after a while, and students trying to get a group project discussion done without having to repeat themselves five times because of the loud chatter.

He felt that he was smiling by the time he could smell the scent of ...well, alcohol and a variety of colognes. Some fried food and a lot of blood.

But when he walked through the door, and saw the true reason for his smile, he felt conscious enough to hide it or else seeming totally weird and out of it.

He bit his lip and walked over to the bar, mumbling his usual order to the tender before he sat on one of the stools. Slowly, he turned his neck to look behind him, and a gleaming smile found its way on his mouth when he realised that she had already been looking at him.

She'd been nodding to something her friend was saying, while looking at him. Klaus nodded lightly and slowly turned back around when she smiled back right away and turned away a little shyly.

Klaus' mind was usually always busy building strategies, making back up plans, being paranoid and trying to figure out who was betraying him. But for the past few weeks, she had taken up more than half of the space in his brain, and his heart had begun beating at a slightly faster rate – perhaps by a point five.

He had seen her hanging with Caroline and Bonnie, and quite often with Alaric Saltzman and Logan Fell. And each time that he'd approach any of her mates, she'd quickly back out and leave the space. Almost as if she didn't want to even be breathing the same air as him.

But all of the times that she was unaware of his looming presence, it was like she was the sweetest heart to be walking the earth.

So, perhaps she was afraid of him, Klaus had thought trying to come to a conclusion, remembering the sound of her escalated heart beats whenever he was around. But that wouldn't make sense as she had no reason to fear him, since as far as he knew, she didn't know anything about the inner-goings of her distant friend group.

Distant because he saw her with others more than he saw her with any of the Scooby-gang's members.

She'd be walking along with Caroline and Bonnie, and the moment she would see him around the corner, she would essentially scutter off. When he would interrupt her sessions with Alaric, she would scatter to gather her stuff and scurry off while making sure that she didn't brush against him as she passed him in the doorway.

And when he would crash her conversations with Logan at the bar, she would look quite pissed off, but still, she would be gone with the next gust of wind.

Sometimes Klaus’ wandering eyes would fixate on Y/n for a little too long and he would occasionally catch a boy gazing at her, or another one looking at her for a brief second before he would mutter something in his friend’s ear, something along the lines of, “she just needs to look at me once with a smile, and I’ll literally take her back to my house.”

He wasn’t sure then why his teeth would grit till he was pulled out of his rage by a hand on his shoulder, often of someone equally infuriating such as Damon or Alaric. 

He would just be quite outraged that the one girl he had his eyes on, he had to share with a couple others. And it didn’t even make sense, because no one even knew that he was even aware of her presence, let alone the fact that he would often be searching for her in places he knew she must be present. 

But maybe, it was her behaviour that had his interest piqued. He wanted to know many things about her, such as: why she avoided him, and why did he catch her hanging with the two older men so often. Maybe it was because he wanted her to be hanging out with him instead, maybe it was because he was curious and that was the most he had seen of her till date.

Since then, he had his eyes on her whenever she was around. And so far he had noticed a few other things such as, she only wore her prescribed glasses when she was alone, or attending a lecture, she had a sensitive skin that turned red if she rubbed it too harshly, and that she often read more than just one book at a time. 

A couple days prior, three to be exact, he was disappointedly walking out of Alaric's class. He had been hoping to crash one of her sessions again. But she hadn't been there – Klaus had even made sure to check if it was the usual time that she was there. The colour pink had washed over his cheeks in embarrassment, and he'd turned into the hallway that led to the library, giving himself another chance and hoping he'd catch her there.

He opened the gate just slightly ajar, enough for him to peak his head through. And just as he had hoped, she was standing right there, looking like a deer caught in headlights with her big eyes in the dim lighting of the library.

Biting back a smile, he walked inside, closing the door behind him.

"Hi," he mumbled, walking forward with his hands in his coat's pockets.

She looked around her to ensure that he was asking her. Still, she pointed at herself and whispered, "me?"

Klaus chuckled, then nodded.

She waved back at him then, and, "hi," she smiled.

"Uh, I've seen you around a couple times actually, but never caught your name," he whispered, sticking his hand out.

"Y/n," she nodded with a small laugh before wrapping her hand around his' easily, and Klaus couldn't ignore just how soft and warm it was. Or maybe he'd felt that about her laughter, he wasn't sure.

"I'm Klaus, it's nice to finally meet you," he smiled. "It wouldn't have taken this long if you hadn't been avoiding me," he shrugged.

She looked at the ground, embarrassed. "I wasn't avoiding you," she mumbled, turning to put a book back on the shelf. "I'm sorry that that's what it looked like."

The smile was still playing around on her mouth, but this one was covered in hues of truth that she was holding back.

"Oh? My eyes must have been deceiving me every time you ran off when I came around," he pointed out, amused.

"Well, I don't know," she exclaimed, "you just make me nervous!"

Klaus looked at her incredulously. "You didn't even know my name until a few minutes ago, and you say that I made you nervous? That doesn't make any sense, now does it?"

"I know! But --" she hesitated, "I don't know," she deflated like a balloon.

Klaus sighed, shrugging. "I -- are you nervous right now?" He could hear very well that she was, but he still wanted to hear what she had to say.

"I mean, kind of?" She trailed off. "But not as much as you usually do!"

"Alright, baby steps, perhaps." He laughed, and then harder when she doubled over and put her hand on his arm for support.

"Wait, am I holding you back?" He quickly asked.

"I mean, yes you are, but it's fine," she shrugged. "I don't want to go to class anyways," she said, grinning.

"I didn't take you for a bad student," he feigned being shocked.

"I'm not! It's just, I've already covered what he's going to teach in class today," she smiled, embarrassed again.

"Is that why I see you around Alaric so often?" Klaus gasped. "Are you trying to leave you batchmates behind?"

Y/n laughed as if he was talking crap after taking five shots.

"Well, I'd rather put it as, I want to learn everything in my lifetime, and right now, it means I know what's written in most textbooks, more well than my peers do," she shrugged.

Klaus nodded, as if saying, 'sure, why not!'. "And what about Logan?"

"You have quite a wandering eye, don't you?" She teased him first, but when Klaus gave her a look, she sighed.

"Well, I've been wanting to know more about Journalism, especially the things that people don't really tell you at face value, you know? I'm just taking advantage of my situation and running after Logan after any new thing I learn."

Klaus could already tell that this was a busy girl, who liked to make each second of her day count. And suddenly, he felt bad for chatting to her without any preset intentions.

And then, Y/n checked her wristwatch.

"I ...have to go," she said, as if it was the most embarrassing thing she'd ever had to say in her entire life.

"Oh, okay, yeah, of course!" Klaus face palmed himself in his mind for stumbling over his words so hard.

She lingered, and then passed him a quick smile. And she'd just reached the door's handle when he cleared his throat instantly.

"Y/n!" She turned, and saw that one of his hands was in the air, almost as if reaching out to her.

"I was thinking maybe we could get some coffee? Or whatever you like to drink, and you know... I'd like to get to know you," he finished off quite shyly, and pinched himself for it from inside his coat's pocket.

"I'd love to," she replied loudly. She knew that there was no one other than them in the room right now. "Find me when you get the chance," she said before leaving.

And it had been a full week since their first and last true encounter – and Klaus was just now seeing her again.

He felt bad, realising that she might have felt as if he'd somehow played her. But he'd had to go back to New Orleans to solve a matter suddenly, and the moment he'd stepped foot back in Mystic Falls, he'd walked straight to the Grill.

Even when he was away, he'd felt the urge to look at her, at the very least. And that had been when he'd truly known that he needed to just make her his’.

"Don’t you think our drinks might have gone bad by now?" Klaus heard her say before he saw her, sliding onto the seat right beside him.

"Oh, I had to leave town for a little bit," Klaus immediately answered, brushing his nose. "Spontaneously too," he added, then gulped dryly. 

She only nodded, before taking a sip of her coffee. The maroon colour on her lips was faint, like she had rubbed it to look more like a gradient, and he suddenly felt thirsty.

"Seems like you missed me," he shrugged with a smirk, looking at her from the corner of his eye as he took a gulp of his own drink.

She gasped, looking at him accusingly.

"No, I didn't!" She exclaimed, eyes wide.

"And who are you lying to, yourself or me?" Klaus raised a brow, placing his elbow on the bar and leaning his temple on his palm, looking at her with his full attention.

She had left the top two buttons of the cropped shirt open, and only because of the pendant that was leading his gaze further down, Klaus noticed the lace of her black bra peeking through. He was relieved to see that she didn’t notice, busy tucking her hair behind her ear.

"I- I'm not lying," she answered, caught a little off-guard. “I don’t care enough to lie,” she said, but without looking him in the eyes.

"Whatever you say," Klaus feigned nonchalance, and checked his wrist watch, hoping she'd say something that he could then tease her about.

But instead, he saw her sigh in his periphery.

"Okay," she mumbled, placing her empty glass on the bar and slid off the seat. Fixing the hem of her shirt, she walked back to her table, chewing the inside of her cheek.

Oh god, Klaus shouldn't have been so mean. He had forgotten just how gentle and sensitive her nature was. He face-palmed internally, mad that he had ruined such a good meeting.

Looking behind him with a deep frown, he was panicking how he could save the situation when he saw her hug all of her friends to her side, while fixing her tote on her other shoulder.

Her hair was tied in a neat bun, but wisps had still managed to escape. Gold hoops dangled from her ears, and his eyes travelled down the expanse of her neck.

Klaus blinked, and focused.

"I mean I do have to submit an essay tonight, and get some readings done before midnight," she spoke guiltily, curling in on herself under the upset gaze of the friends.

"I'm sorry, I'll make up soon," she pouted, letting a girl press a kiss on her cheek before she was rushing out of the bar, leaving behind a chatter and before Klaus could bury his face deep in his palms, the girls' eyes flashed to him for a brief second.

To be real, they weren't even close. Barely acquaintances, but for some reason, Klaus felt as though he was on the very edge of losing something ...exceptional. So he needed to do something, and do it quickly.

He had to reach her before she slammed the door on him. Finishing the last bit of his drink, he rushed back home, to ensure nothing would come up to interrupt him later in the night.

Klaus was well aware that Y/n lived with her parents, who truly loved her dearly. She was the only one so far who he had seen with a usual pair of parents, let alone with a close relationship with them as well. And he also knew that they would never expect their golden daughter to even be holding hands with a boy let alone being alone with a man in her room.

So he knew that he could shoot his shot tonight, and the both of them would come out the other side, uncaught. 

When the crickets had begun chirping, and the moon was the only source of light, Klaus made his way to her house. From outside he saw that her room was still lit up, albeit a little dimly. 

He climbed right up to her window, and was amazed to find her window open ajar, and the curtains that were usually covering it, were drawn just a little to the side – enough for him to peek inside. As the curtains bellowed because of the strong wind, Klaus felt as though he heard cello begin playing inside of his heart the moment he caught a glimpse of her. 

But then he waited, and realised that the music was coming from her laptop instead. Leaning in a little bit more, he saw that she was sitting on the floor, swamped amongst papers with the end of a pen caught between her teeth. 

As she was studying from a paper in front of her, and then shifting her attention back on her laptop to type something, Klaus felt the urge to free her bottom lip from where it was held by her canines. 

Unable to control himself any longer, but still having the mind to not startle her, Klaus knocked on the window. 

She looked up, still a little distracted because of her papers, but when she saw him sitting on her window sill, her eyes blew wide.

Her mouth dropped open but before she could’ve yelped, Klaus had his hand cupped in front of her mouth. “It’s me!” He whispered, his heart thudding as her round eyes stared back into his’. 

Her breathing calmed, and she let her figure slump back down. 

“Dear god, you scared the shit out of me,” she shook her head, eyes closed and her hand placed over her heart. 

“Don’t use bad words,” he teased, finally sitting down on the floor with her. 

He rested his back against the foot of her bed, and spread his legs in front of him, locking them at the ankles. 

“Wh- what the hell are you even doing here? Isn’t this trespassing?” She asked, and then squinted her eyes. “Should I scream right now?”

Laughter escaped him before he could control it. “Why are you so sweet, my love?” He asked her, simply smiling now.

She looked a little offended. 

“You can call it a trespass or a break in, if you want to. I think I’d call this apologising,” he shrugged.

A little puzzled, Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Apologising? …For?”

“For the way I spoke to you earlier,” he said, rolling his lips in. He needed to tread carefully here. 

Realisation seemed to dawn upon her then, and she skipped the ad that had interrupted the cello music to buy herself some time. “Yeah about that, um,” she swallowed, embarrassment creeping in. “You don’t need to apologise for that, um, I think I overreacted a little.”

This answer gave him the confidence that it would be way easier to make her his’, than he had originally thought. 

“No, I should’ve talked to you sweetly, that is what you deserve,” he started. “I was a twit for behaving like that, and I’m very sorry.”

At this point, her ears were burning red and she was chewing on the inside of her cheek again. “It’s okay, Klaus. I forgive you, really,” she smiled.

Silence overtook them for a while, and Klaus could sense her attention slipping back onto her papers. So he leaned in, and moved all of the papers aside. 

Y/n gasped, beginning to protest when Klaus shushed her with his finger on her lips. 

“I’d put them in an order,” she pouted, a small frown in between her brows. God she got upset and embarrassed way too easily, and each time Klaus felt like his heart was alive again.

Klaus trailed his finger down her chin, and then brought it back into his lap. “I don’t think I can hide this any longer, I uh,” he licked his lips, and took a small breath. “I really like you, Y/n.”

Her eyes widened, and gradually, a smile pulled the corners of her mouth upwards. “You do?” She asked while grinning, her excitement seeping into Klaus. 

He began smiling too. “Yeah,” he nodded. “I really fucking do.”

Y/n buried her face into her hands. “Oh god, I cannot believe this.”

Klaus was grinning now, and he shifted close enough to take hold of her wrists to pull them away. “Look at me, love,” he said softly. 

And Y/n did, her eyes shining like he had put stars in them and her face was so red he could feel warmth just by hovering his hands over her cheeks. 

“Do you feel the same?” He asked, looking into her eyes, and when she nodded furiously, Klaus bit his lip.

“I really really like you as well, Klaus,” she giggled, and Klaus went back to lean against the bed. 

He watched her for a few seconds, and she looked back into his eyes, her smile stretched from ear to ear. 

“Come closer now, would you?” He said with a teasing lilt in his voice, and he grabbed her hand when she got up on her knees to move towards him. 

And when she was sitting beside him, Klaus brushed the back of his hand against her cheek before cupping it in one hand. “Can I kiss you?” He asked, his voice raspier and quieter now that she was so close he could smell the cologne she had put on earlier in the evening.

Y/n nodded, eyes fluttering. “Please,” she told him softly, her breath just a little exhilarated

And overwhelmed by her answer, Klaus drew her in and smashed his mouth onto her. His entire body felt like it was on fire, and a rasp escaped his throat when Y/n placed a hand on his chest. 

“God, you taste so good,” he muttered against her mouth to let her take a couple of breaths before he was kissing her again, his fingers entangled in her hair with his palm placed on the edge of her jaw.  

Her hand travelled upwards, leaving goosebumps behind and travelled behind his neck to curl her fingers around the baby hairs on the nape of his neck. 

He bit down on her bottom lip before pushing his tongue into her mouth, and a whimper escaped her mouth. She let him take control, and Klaus began exploring her mouth. 

She backed away to catch her breath, but Klaus was quick to latch onto her neck. He left a trail of saliva along her jaw before marking spots on the span of her neck. She moaned, her breaths heavy and laced with want as Klaus sucked right above her collarbone. 

“Straddle me, sweetheart,” Klaus grunted against her skin, a particular type of high coursing through his body as he pressed his nose further into her skin.

She did just as he said and the moment he felt her heat radiate onto his boner, he knew he was gone for the night. 

“Klaus?” She called his name gently, and he looked up into her eyes right away. 

“I- I’m a virgin,” she told him, her breath shaky. 

“It’s okay sweetheart, we can go further another day, yes? Whenever you want to?” He told her, and she nodded so sweetly Klaus had to take a deep breath to ground himself. 

“But can I just kiss you a little longer, my love?” He asked, eyes then trailing over the hickeys he had given her. He would really need to jerk himself off the moment he reached his home.

“Uh huh,” she mumbled, her voice cracking. “Please.”

“God, you love to beg, don’t you?” He chuckled, tracing her jaw. “I’ll give you what you want, sweet girl. Whatever you want,” he whispered, and this time Y/n was the one to start the kiss. 

Their heads bobbed as they pressed themselves further into each other and it was only in a few seconds that Klaus felt movement against his crotch. 

He stopped to look down, and saw Y/n’s hips falter to a stop. “Did I do something wrong?” She asked him worriedly.

“Were you grinding on me, sweetheart?” 

“Y-yeah, I think so,” she muttered, hands beginning to fiddle. 

“You’ll be the death of me,” Klaus grunted before he drew her into a kiss again. And this time, one his hands remained tangled in her hair while the other one began to travel down her waist and on her hips.

Then he began to grind her onto him, and pushed himself up towards her clothed cunt. Slowly, he created a pace and it wasn’t long before she was increasing the pace herself. 

Small whimpers and moans began to escape her as Klaus continued kissing her. He himself felt getting closer and he had just been thinking of holding himself back when he heard her say his name. 

“Please, Klaus,” she whimpered again, and Klaus moved to press kisses and bites across her chest instead. 

“Yes, my love?” He asked her, still drawing her stuttering hips into a pace. 

“I think, I think I’m going to come,” she mumbled, and Klaus knew there was no stopping himself now. 

“Yeah, sweet girl? Come for me then, make me happy,” he rasped before nipping above her other collarbone. 

And right then, Y/n bit down on her bottom lip as her body began to shake. Stuttering against Klaus’ unforgiving pace, she fell into shambles on top of him. A lone tear slid out of one of her eyes, and Klaus eyes were glinting at this sight of her. 

He freed her bottom lip, and kissed her harshly one last time before he felt the knot in his belly break loose. God, he had made a mess of himself in front of this angel girl, and still he kept moving her hips until the both of them had ridden their highs. 

She pressed her face in his neck then, and wrapped her arms around his torso, still sitting on top of him. 

“God, I really fucking like you,” she said meekly, clutching him a little tighter. 

“I know my love,” Klaus smiled, brushing his hands through her hair, and inhaling the faint smell of vanilla. “I really like you as well, my love,” he said in a deep voice, and pressed a small kiss on her ear.

[doe-eyeddreamgirl]

YOU BELONG TO ME

Pairings: Humanity-less stefan x reader

“Ugh, would you just leave me alone already?”

It’s bold of you to talk to him like that. Stupid too, especially in the state he’s in.

Your boyfriend was someone you would describe as a saint. Kind, cute, caring. But without his humanity, he was the opposite. He was hostile to everyone, getting on your nerves, especially when he shoved Matt to the floor when he tried to give you your homework back. He caused a scene in the hallway, practically threatening to rip out Matt’s throat if he so much as looked at you again.

Ripper Stefan was violent and territorial. You didn’t know what that meant for you.

Stefan’s hand found your shoulder, pulling you to turn and look at him. He lowered his head, making fiery eye contact to get his point across.

“Let’s get one thing straight, you belong to me.”

Stefan’s words send a chill down your spine, your soft, cuddle boyfriend, who used to sing along to You Belong With Me, is nowhere to be found and you’re left with this possessive shell of him.

Right now, he didn’t love you, he just knew that he wanted you and he was damn sure he was gonna have you.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” you sneer. “I don’t belong to you, Stefan, so do me a favor and fuck off.”

You felt brave turning away from him, as if your words would sink into him, maybe make him feel something and switch a flip inside of him. Your words did flip a switch in him, just not the one you were hoping for.

Stefan’s large hand grasps as your arm. With an easy, singular tug, he pulls you back under him, forcing your back into the lockers behind you. They slam against your back, the sound overpowering your scared gasp.

“No, no. Don’t talk to me like that.” Stefan tsks, caging you between his arms. “You’re not in control here.”

Left defenseless, your eyes shoot around the halls, looking for someone, anyone, but the hall is empty.

Harshly, Stefan grips your chin. “Don’t do that,” he demands, tauntingly. “It’s just me and you, baby.”

The pet name falls off his lip in mockery. It makes you feel pathetic and despite what you tell yourself, you’re afraid. Stefan grins. “I can hear your heart racing.”

“Maybe because I’m fucking terrified,” you snap, voice low, trying to calm yourself. Stefan reaches out for a lock of your hair, twisting it around his finger before he lets it fall back into place.

“Good,” he whispers, an inch from your face. His eyes flicker over your lips for a split second his eyes meet yours and his lips twitch into a smirk as he fits his face into the crook of your neck. He inhales softly, and your foot bounces against the floor anxiously.

Stefan kisses at your neck with fake innocence, moving up to your jaw before focusing on your pulse point. His teeth scrap against your skin gently. Against your will, your eyes gloss over. You whimper. “Please don’t.”

“Do what, sugar?” he asks, “Bite you?” He jumps toward with his last remark, relishing in how you flinch.

You nod, fearfully, looking down at the floor rather than your scary boyfriend.

Stefan’s head cocks to the side ever so lightly, his eyes searching for your own. When they meet, you can see the familiar lustful haze in your boyfriend’s green eyes, but they’re darker than usual. For reasons unbeknownst to you, you refused to look away. Glaring at him through your eyebrows, Stefan cherishes your attention, licking his lips with excitement.

“Mr. Salvatore,” a voice calls from behind Stefan’s mean silhouette. “I think it’s time you get to class.”

You sigh with relief, your head falling back against the locker. “Ric.”

Stefan hardly looks away from you, barely sparing Alaric a glance as he eagerly tries to engage your intense eye contact. “In a minute.”

“No, now.”

“We’ll finish this later,” Stefan whispers in your ear, nipping at it as a threat disguised with playfulness as he pulls away.

If looks could kill, Alaric would be dead the second Stefan turned away from you, bumping his shoulder as he headed to class.

“Thank you,” you gush, hiding your face in your hands, desperate not to cry.

Alaric looks at you with sympathy. “Get to class,” he says. “We’ll deal with him after.”

in my tvd phase 🫀🫀

unedited

[0silver0dreams0]

"Whispers of Devotion"

Pt. IV

Yandere House of the dragon x ModernReborn!Reader

Summarized: As tensions escalate, (your name) finds herself caught between conflicting emotions and the manipulative forces around her. The arrival of Jacaerys and Aegon only deepens the complexity of her relationships, leaving her at a crossroads as secrets unravel.

Warning: Emotional manipulation, jealousy and possessiveness, conflict and tension, obsessive behaviour and emotional distress.

<< Pt. 3 — masterlist — Pt. 5 >> (Coming Soon)

The morning air in King’s Landing felt heavier than usual, thick with unspoken tension that settled over the Red Keep like an impending storm. You had barely touched your breakfast, though you felt the weight of your mother’s gaze on you with each passing moment. She had been distant since yesterday, you know that she will show her disapproval manifesting in subtle yet undeniable ways. The sharpness of her tone, the way she scrutinized your every movement—it was suffocating.

“Eat,” she instructed, her voice devoid of warmth as she took a sip of her cup. “You have a full day ahead of you.”

You picked up your spoon, but your appetite was nonexistent. Alicent exhaled sharply, her fingers tightening around the handle of her cup. “You have been neglecting your lessons,” she said coolly. “That ends today.”

Your stomach twisted. She had noticed. You had thought you were being careful, slipping away when you were certain no one was watching, but Alicent was always watching, your mother is always watching. Still, she did not push further—not yet, you know that now you will be punish again.

Across the table, Aemond sat with an eerie stillness, one hand curled around his cup, the other resting on the hilt of his sword. His eye was fixed on you, unwavering, unreadable. The way he watched you made your skin crawl, as if he know something forbidden and he were trying to decipher every hidden thought you held.

“Are you unwell, sister?” His voice was deceptively calm, yet there was an underlying current of something more—some rage or anger trying to be hidden.

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, forcing yourself to take a bite. The food tasted like ash in your mouth, he was suspecting something.

Alicent’s gaze flickered between the two of you before she sighed, setting her cup down with a quiet clink. “Aemond, you will escort your sister to her lessons, now on. Ensure she does not… wander.”

Your stomach dropped.

Aemond’s lips curled slightly—not a smile, but something close. “Of course, Mother.”

The rest of breakfast passed in stifling silence. When it was finally over, Aemond rose from his seat and extended a hand toward you. You hesitated, but under Alicent’s watchful eye, refusing was not an option. Reluctantly, you placed your hand in his, allowing him to pull you to your feet.

The moment you were alone in the corridors, Aemond’s grip tightened ever so slightly. Not painful, but firm. Possessive.

“You’ve been weird lately,” he murmured as you walked. “Your attitude has been strange, as if you were worried about something.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you replied, your voice carefully measured.

His thumb brushed against the inside of your wrist, almost absentmindedly, but the touch made your breath hitch. “Don’t lie to me.”

You swallowed, glancing away. “I wouldn’t.”

Aemond hummed, his grip finally loosening as he guided you toward the training yard. You exhaled slowly, relieved by the distance, only to realize he had not truly let you go—his presence loomed over you, a silent promise that he was watching. That he knew more than he was letting on.

You felt caged.

The feeling only worsened as the morning passed. Aemond was everywhere, an ever-present shadow at your side. His presence left you feeling intoxicated, not in the way Alaric did, with his soft whispers and stolen touches, but in a way that made your head pound. You needed space. You needed air.

And then, when you comeback of pray with you mother, you could feel the tension could not get any worse.

“Princess Rhaenyra has arrived with her family,” a voice announced.

Aemond stiffened beside you. Alicent, who had been standing nearby, inhaled sharply.

For the first time in years, Rhaenyra was here.

Your heartbeat roared in your ears, you don’t want that feeling comeback again, the feeling that Jacaerys made in you, you don’t know what it is, but you hate it.

Your mother turned to you, her expression unreadable, but there was something in her eyes—an unspoken warning, a command.

Your stomach twisted, shit just when you could walk in the gardens and have a little time for yourself, you know that you would have to conform with just go to the library and be in your chambers.

You were about to face the fact that you would have to sneak just for you to go to the gardens and have a walk.

When Rhaenyra and her family try to go towards you, you mother told you to go to your chamber and stay there, and for you to get ready for a trial.

The trial over the inheritance of House Velaryon dragged on for what felt like an eternity, with accusations and counterarguments thrown like daggers in the throne room. You stand there with an objection, you could feel everyone whispers, the tension looks and the unswerving feeling that everything would just get worse. The air was thick with tension, yet in the midst of it all, you had found a moment of fleeting warmth—a shared smile with Alaric.

Is smile just make things better, you know and he knows that after this, your mother and brothers will be busy with the “guests” and then, you could see each other in that special place of the two. Just that brief smile, makes you feel so much better.

It had been brief, special and barely noticeable to most, but not to Jacaerys.

Jacaerys, who saw that smile, just make him feel like as if you were a treasure slipping from his grasp, as if you were having an affair, betraying him. The moment your lips had curved, however slightly, his stomach twisted with something dark and jealousy. It was not just anger—it was possessiveness, rage, an aching need to claim what he believed know was his. The mere thought of someone else pulling a smile from you, someone who was not him, filled him with quiet rage.

He clenched his fists at his sides, trying to school his expression, but his mind was already spiraling. He needed to know what is happening between you and that knight. He needed to be sure that it was just is imagination. And so, when the trial ended and the crowd began to disperse, Jacaerys remained alert, waiting, for you to slip off of that room.

Then he saw it—you sneaking away, disappearing down one of the many corridors of the Keep. Alone.

His heart pounded. He followed you, carefully and quiet, just to be sure that you weren’t having an affair.

The gardens were quiet, hidden away from the prying eyes of court, and you and Alaric know that, as Jacaerys. Its just can’t possibly be what he is thinking, he has to be wrong, and when Jacaerys felt as if he had walked into lie, a scene he was never meant to witness and that was just his brain playing tricks on him.

There you were, standing close to Alaric, too close. His fingers brushed against yours, his voice low, intimate. Jacaerys’ nails dug into his palms as he watched Alaric lean in, whispering something that made your breath hitch and then laugh. And when things couldn’t get worse, when he couldn’t get even anger, then—

The bastard kissed your hand.

Jacaerys saw red.

It was too much. Too much to bear. He turned on his heel before he did something reckless, his blood boiling with every step he took away from that cursed sight. He needed to release this anger, to lash out, to make someone else feel the torment clawing at his chest.

And who better than Aemond to be honest?

Aemond stood in the training yard, sharpening the blade of his longsword, when Jacaerys approached. He did not acknowledge him at first, but Jacaerys had no intention of being ignored.

“You seem awfully calm, Aemond,” Jacaerys remarked, his tone laced with something cruel, something mocking.

Aemond’s eye flickered to him, unimpressed. “And?”

Jacaerys feigned a thoughtful hum, pacing idly. “I suppose I simply admire how unbothered you are. If I had a sister as precious as yours, I’d keep a closer watch on her.”

Aemond stilled.

Jacaerys smirked, reveling in the tension that thickened between them. “After all, she’s quite… sought after, isn’t she? And if you let me say, that knight is really devoted to her.”

The sharpening of Aemond’s sword ceased, the blade gleaming under the afternoon sun. Slowly, he rose to his feet, his expression unreadable, yet the air around him felt charged, dangerous.

Jacaerys tilted his head, taunting. “Or perhaps you truly don’t mind sharing.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened.

Jacaerys only smiled wider, masking his own torment behind the satisfaction of striking a nerve. If he had to suffer, he would make sure Aemond suffered too. It didn’t make him feel less anger but, he knows that if he do something on the matter (your name) will hate him, and he will never had a chance with her.

“Gods, I wish I could see my mother angry with my father, complaining about what happened and what Daemond did,” (your name) was lying down on the tree, with Alarics head in her lap. “I mean it was horrible and then in front of everyone, but Veamod must have thought a little, what did he thought would happen, that he would get away with it because my mother supports her.”

“Maybe he wasn’t thinking with his head” Alaric responds, joking about the situation, making you laugh a little “The gods will punish us for laughing, stop” Alaric looks up at you“What? It’s the truth” at that you just sight.

“Maybe a should go, it’s already the after noon, I should be in the library instead of being in the gardens” you said

"All right, I wish I could stay with you a bit longer," Alaric says with a sigh as he rises from the ground.

"So do I, but if my mother finds out I’m here, she’ll kill me," you reply, standing up and heading towards the library.

Just as you're about to leave, Alaric stops you.

"Princess, do take care on your way," he says. And before you can respond, he kisses you—slow and romantic. You feel his hands find your waist, and just as you're about to pull him closer, he pulls away, lifting your hand gently to his lips.

"Until tomorrow, my lady," he whispers, placing a soft kiss on your hand before walking away.

The afternoon sun filtered softly through the trees, casting long shadows across the Red Keep’s gardens as you walked aimlessly, trying to shake the heavy thoughts that had been clouding your mind since the moment you’d left the garden. Alaric’s kiss on your hand still lingered in your memory, though you knew better than to entertain such feelings. Still, your heart beat with the echo of something you couldn’t quite place. Being with him had been lovely, sweet even—but part of you had quietly hoped for something more, something far less innocent. The tenderness was beginning to bore you, and a growing restlessness twisted inside your chest. You needed space—quiet, something to ground you again.

You turned towards the library, hoping the comforting stillness of the shelves would offer some respite. The vast, echoing silence of the room wrapped around you like a familiar embrace, and for a while, you let the hours slip away in the pages of dusty tomes, the world outside forgotten.

But the peace didn’t last long.

You felt his presence before you saw him. Jacaerys Velaryon. He stood in the doorway, watching you, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. There was a softness in his gaze, an intensity that seemed to draw you in, though you couldn’t quite understand why. The way he looked at you felt different—like you were something precious, something worth holding onto.

"Busy as always, I see," Jacaerys said, his voice warm, inviting. He took a few steps forward, his eyes flicking over the book in your hands. "Perhaps a break is in order?"

You glanced up at him, momentarily caught off guard by his approach. "A break?" you repeated, your tone guarded, though your heart couldn’t help but skip a beat.

He nodded, his eyes lingering on you in a way that made you feel both seen and exposed. "Sometimes," he said, "we forget to take a moment for ourselves. The world moves so fast around here." He paused, as though choosing his words carefully. "But you deserve more than that."

You furrowed your brow, not sure what he was getting at, but you couldn’t deny the quiet pull in your chest. "More than what?"

"More than this life," Jacaerys said, stepping closer, though he kept his distance just enough to avoid making you feel trapped. "I’ve been watching you for a long time. I see the way you carry yourself, the way you think. You don’t belong in the shadows, hiding away from everyone."

His words were almost too soft, too intimate, and it made your stomach flutter with something you couldn’t name. You tried to ignore it, to brush it off, but there was a quiet sincerity in his voice that made it hard to do so.

"I’m fine," you said quickly, hoping to deflect his attention. "I just... needed some time alone."

Jacaerys smiled gently, his eyes never leaving you. "We all need time alone. But sometimes, it’s good to share those moments with someone who understands."

You hesitated, his gaze so steady and knowing that you almost wanted to look away. "And what makes you think you understand me?" you asked, half teasing, half unsure.

"Because," he said, stepping closer yet again, his presence growing more tangible, "I see the way you hide your heart, how you protect it from the world. I know what it’s like to be under pressure, to constantly be living for others, especially when you’re not allowed to just... breathe. It’s a heavy thing to carry, and I can tell it weighs on you."

The words hit you like a blow to the chest. You felt your pulse quicken, your throat tightening, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. The way he saw through you, so effortlessly, filled you with an overwhelming mix of anger and something else—something softer that you couldn’t shake. You didn’t want to acknowledge the pressure your mother put on you, didn’t want to admit how suffocating it felt, and certainly didn’t want him to know.

"Stop," you snapped, your voice sharp, a defensive edge creeping in. "You don’t know anything about me."

Jacaerys held his hands up in mock surrender, but the look in his eyes didn’t change. "I only know what I see, (your name). You don’t have to hide it. You don’t have to keep pretending everything is fine when it’s not. I’m not here to judge you, I’m here because I want to be someone who understands."

Your heart beat in your ears, your frustration bubbling to the surface. "I don’t need you to understand," you said through gritted teeth, fighting the rising heat of emotion in your chest. "I don’t need anyone."

Jacaerys’ smile faltered, though he quickly recovered. "Perhaps you don’t need anyone. But you deserve someone who doesn’t try to change you, someone who can see you for who you really are, without the masks. Without the walls."

The raw honesty in his words stirred something deep within you. You felt your chest tighten with a mixture of anger, guilt, and confusion. The last thing you wanted was for him to see how much his words hurt. You hated how he was able to unravel you so easily, even when you tried to push him away.

"You don’t know what it’s like," you muttered, your voice softer now, a hint of vulnerability creeping in.

Jacaerys took another step forward, his gaze never leaving you. "I think I might, more than you realize. And if you’ll let me, I’ll be here for you. Not to change anything, but just to listen. To be the one who doesn’t judge, and doesn’t expect anything but your truth."

The warmth of his words wrapped around you, and though every part of you screamed to push him away, another part—the part you didn’t want to acknowledge—longed for his closeness. You hated the way he made you feel, but at the same time, you couldn't ignore the pull, the strange mix of emotions that made your heart beat a little faster every time he spoke.

But you couldn't let it happen. Not like this.

"I don’t need you," you repeated, though you weren’t sure you believed it.

Jacaerys smiled, a soft, understanding expression that only made you feel more conflicted. "I know," he said, his voice gentle. "But I’ll still be here, whenever you need me."

And with that, he turned, leaving you standing alone in the library once more, your thoughts swirling, your heart a tangled mess of confusion, anger, and something far deeper than you were willing to admit.

The sky had begun its descent into twilight, the orange and violet hues bleeding into the horizon as Aemond stormed through the corridors of the Red Keep. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, his jaw clenched as his singular eye burned with unspoken rage. He had seen enough. The stolen glances, the briefest of touches, the way Alaric had dared to look at (your name) as if he had a right. As if he were anything more than a mere knight.

He found Alaric near the training yard, leaning idly against a stone pillar. The moment their gazes met, the air between them thickened, the tension almost suffocating. Alaric straightened, his expression unreadable, but Aemond did not give him the chance to speak.

“What is it that you think you are to her?” Aemond’s voice was low, almost deceptively calm, yet the fury within it was unmistakable.

Alaric’s brows furrowed slightly. “I don’t know what you mean, my prince.”

The lie barely left his lips before Aemond lunged. His hand shot forward, grabbing the knight by the collar and slamming him against the cold stone wall. The impact reverberated through the corridor, but Alaric did not cry out—he merely stared at Aemond, his jaw tightening as he struggled to remain composed.

“Do not play the fool with me,” Aemond hissed, his grip tightening as his eye burned into Alaric’s. “I have seen the way you look at her. The way you speak to her.”

Alaric met his glare head-on, his breathing controlled despite the pressure against his throat. “She is a princess,” he said evenly. “I afford her the same respect as any—”

Aemond cut him off by pressing him harder against the wall. “Do not insult my intelligence.” His voice dipped into something colder, more dangerous. “You are nothing. A mere knight, easily replaced. If I so wished, I could have you removed from the Keep by dawn, and no one would dare question it.”

Alaric remained silent, his expression unreadable, but Aemond could see the slight tension in his jaw, the faintest flicker of defiance in his eyes. It only served to fuel his fury.

“You will stay away from her,” Aemond continued, his tone a quiet promise of violence. “You have no right to speak to her, to look at her, to even think of her. She is my sister. Not yours. Not anyone’s.”

The words hung heavily between them before Aemond finally released his grip, stepping back with a sharp breath. Alaric did not move, did not speak. He merely watched as Aemond turned on his heel and strode away, his anger far from abated.

He needed more. He needed confirmation.

Without hesitation, he made his way to (your name)’s chambers.

The corridors were quieter now, the castle settling into the lull of the evening. When he reached her door, he did not hesitate to push it open. (Your name) was on her bed, seemingly lost in thought, her fingers absentmindedly toying with the fabric of her sleeve. At the intrusion, she looked up, her eyes widening slightly.

“Aemond?” she asked, shifting slightly, the flickering candlelight casting soft shadows across her face.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with deliberate care. “Tell me,” he said, his voice softer than it had been with Alaric, yet laced with something unspoken. “Is there something I should know?”

(Your name) frowned slightly. “I don’t understand.”

Aemond moved toward her, his eye studying every flicker of her expression. He sat on the edge of her bed, the proximity intimate yet not overstepping. “You’ve been distant,” he murmured. “Sneaking away. Keeping secrets.”

“There are no secrets,” she said quickly, but Aemond caught the way her fingers twitched, the way her gaze shifted for just a fraction of a second before meeting his again. It was enough.

He exhaled sharply, though he kept his expression composed. “You should be careful,” he said, his voice lowering. “Of whom you trust.”

(Your name) hesitated. “I don’t—”

“You are a princess,” Aemond interrupted smoothly, his tone gentle but firm. “People will seek to take advantage of that. To get close to you for their own gain.”

Her lips parted slightly, but she found herself unable to form a response. There was something unsettling about the way he spoke, the way he looked at her—not with anger, not with direct accusation, but with an unwavering, possessive certainty. As if he already knew the answer to his unspoken question, yet was allowing her to pretend otherwise.

For now.

Aemond reached out, the movement slow, calculated. His fingers brushed against hers briefly before he stood, his presence lingering even as he turned toward the door.

“Sleep well, sister.” His voice was quiet, almost tender, but as he stepped out into the dimly lit hall, his expression darkened once more.

The suspicion had taken root, and you know that your brother was not one to ignore such things.

The library was quiet—almost sacred in its stillness—as you pushed open the heavy doors, your footsteps muffled against the stone floor. Alaric was already there when you arrived. He stood by the tall windows at the far end of the library, sunlight carving soft gold into his features. His arms were crossed, posture relaxed, but his eyes lit up the moment they found you—like they always did.

You paused for a breath, brushing invisible dust off your skirts before approaching. The air was thick with old parchment and the faint scent of leather bindings. You’d already eaten, sat through your morning lessons, and for once, had managed to slip away without your mother—or Aemond—shadowing your every step. This was your moment of freedom, your secret hour.

And it used to feel like a thrill.

Alaric turned toward you with that boyish, confident smile he wore so well. “There you are,” he murmured, crossing the room to meet you halfway. “I thought you’d changed your mind.”

“You know I wouldn’t,” you said, lips curving faintly.

He reached for your hand, bringing it to his lips with exaggerated reverence. “Forgive me. I forget how committed you are to our scandal.”

You laughed softly, and for a moment, it did feel nice. Familiar. Easy. He leaned in, still holding your hand, but you pulled it back gently and moved to sit at the reading table instead. He followed, lowering himself beside you, elbow resting on the wood, head tilted with quiet admiration.

“I was worried,” he said, voice lower now. “Thought Aemond might’ve chained you to your mother’s skirts.”

You gave a tired little sigh, closing the book you'd brought. “He’s been watching me. Closely. I think he suspects something.”

Alaric’s brow furrowed. “Let him. He may have an eye, but he doesn’t have you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Gods, you sound like a fool from a minstrel’s song.”

“Maybe I am,” he grinned. “But if the song is about you, then I’ll gladly play the part.”

You stared at him, unimpressed. His grin only widened, pleased with himself.

Then he leaned closer, the heat of his breath brushing your cheek. “You’re the only thing that makes this place bearable. Every time you walk into a room, I forget where I am. I—”

You didn’t want to hear the rest.

You leaned in abruptly, aiming to kiss him—to shut him up the way you always did when his words started to feel more like rehearsed lines than true feelings. But this time, before your lips could meet his, he stopped you.

His hand came up, gently pressing two fingers under your chin to keep your face just inches away.

“Wait,” he said softly, almost laughing. “I want to talk to you first.”

You blinked, a flicker of annoyance tightening in your chest. “Talk?” you echoed, your tone flat.

“Yes.” His expression shifted, lips twitching with nerves. “About us. About Aemond. About how we keep doing this and what it even means anymore.”

You looked at him, and something inside you stilled.

At first, being with him had made everything brighter. The secrecy, the danger, the stolen glances across the hall. He had felt like your escape from everything—your mother’s expectations, Aemond’s possessiveness, the suffocating castle walls.

But lately?

Lately, every whispered word sounded the same. Every touch, every smile, every poetic line… predictable. Routine.

You pulled back slowly, pretending to study the spines of the books behind him just to avoid his gaze. “No more talking,” you said, not unkindly—but not tender, either.

He frowned. “(Your name)…”

You didn’t want to explain. Maybe you didn’t even know how. The truth was, you were confused. At first, being with him had thrilled you, like fire licking under your skin. But now, the adrenaline had faded. The passion that once burned bright now felt like flickering embers.

And you didn’t understand why.

You’d never been in a real relationship before. Was this normal? Did all couples feel this shift from euphoria to silence?

Or was it just you?

Maybe you were broken. Or maybe you were just starting to realise something worse: You were getting bored of Alaric.

And that scared you.

Because if even this—this secret, forbidden romance—wasn’t enough to make you feel alive…

Alaric sat there for a moment, his gaze softening as he watched you carefully. He’d noticed, of course—how the spark in your eyes had dulled over the past few weeks, how the enthusiasm that once met his every touch seemed to fade like the twilight.

He couldn’t ignore it. Not anymore.

But, as always, he chose not to dwell on it. He’d always been good at pretending, at convincing himself that things were just a phase, something that would pass. Perhaps you were tired, or perhaps it was the tension with your family that was wearing you thin. He would give you time, like he always did.

"You're quiet today," he remarked, trying to sound casual, though the undercurrent of concern was evident. He tilted his head slightly, a gentle smile curving his lips as he reached for your hand again, hoping to catch your attention, hoping to draw you back into the game.

But you didn’t meet him halfway this time. Instead, you stared ahead, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the table. It was as though you were a million miles away, and Alaric’s smile faltered ever so slightly.

He took a breath, suppressing the gnawing feeling in his chest. He wouldn’t ask you about it—he wouldn’t push. Not yet.

The silence stretched between you, thick and almost suffocating, before he leaned in again, close enough that his breath stirred your hair. "You know," he began softly, his voice low and intimate, "we could leave all this behind. Just you and me, no one else. No games, no spying, just... us."

You turned your head slowly to meet his gaze. There was something in his eyes—something earnest, but it didn’t stir the same fluttering excitement it once had. His words, once so sweet and thrilling, now felt like a dull echo.

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “And where would we go?” you asked, your voice quiet.

"Anywhere," he said without hesitation. "Anywhere you want. We could disappear, (your name). Just leave all this behind and start anew."

You stared at him, unsure of how to answer. The idea of running away, of leaving everything behind, used to fill you with a thrilling sense of possibility. But now?

Now, it felt like a fantasy. A dream that had lost its lustre.

Alaric's smile remained, though there was a hint of worry in his eyes. “What do you say?”

You wanted to give him an answer. You wanted to feel that rush again—the one that had once made your heart race when you were with him. But you were tired of pretending, tired of this game.

Instead, you leaned back in your chair, folding your arms across your chest as you glanced away. “I don’t know, Alaric. I really don’t.”

He didn’t push. He didn’t ask for more. He simply nodded, though his eyes remained on you a little longer than usual, as though searching for something—something he was afraid he might not find.

The moment lingered. You were both trapped in it, suspended between the past and whatever this was now. Neither of you spoke for a while, and in the heavy silence, it felt like everything was shifting, but neither of you was sure how to move with it.

Alaric paused, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he noticed the distant look in your eyes. “I’ll wait for you, (your name). As long as it takes. You’ll come around. I know you will.”

For a moment, you almost wanted to believe him. You almost wanted to let yourself be swept away by the conviction in his voice, the promise of escape. But you couldn’t. Not now. Not when everything had started to feel so... shallow.

You looked at him, not meeting his gaze, and in a flat tone, you asked, “And how exactly are we supposed to leave? With what money, Alaric?”

His smile remained, though the glint in his eyes shifted, as if he’d been waiting for this question. “We’ll take whatever we need. A few jewels here and there. Your family has more than enough.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of your jewels—the ones that had always held such significance. You knew exactly what he meant. He wasn’t just talking about Targaryen treasures, but the jewels of House Hightower too. The gems that were as much a part of your family's influence as your own.

“No,” you snapped before you could stop yourself. “Not the jewels. You can’t seriously expect me to steal from my own family. They’re worth more than you realise.”

Alaric’s expression shifted just slightly, a small frown pulling at his lips. “It’s not stealing,” he said softly, almost too calmly. “It’s survival. We’d be taking what’s ours to begin with.”

You stared at him, your chest tight. “It’s not ours,” you bit out, the words sharp and cold. “Those jewels belong to my family, to House Targaryen and Hightower... You can’t just—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head, frustration building inside you.

His voice was soft but persistent. “You know we could use them. They’ve been in your family for years, passed down through generations. The Hightowers would never miss a few, and your family… well, it’s time for you to make your own choices, (your name).”

You shook your head, backing away from him. “No. This is wrong.”

Alaric reached for your hand again, but you pulled it away, standing up abruptly. “You’ve crossed a line, Alaric,” you said, your voice colder than you intended. “You can’t ask me to do this. Not for your... fantasies.”

He stood as well, taking a step toward you, his eyes filled with that unrelenting determination. “It’s not a fantasy, (your name). It’s real. This could be our future, but only if you stop holding on to the past.”

You stared at him, emotions swirling inside you, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. “I don’t care about the future,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Not when it means giving up everything I’ve known.”

There was a long pause, and Alaric’s eyes flickered with something close to regret, but he didn’t say anything. You could see the conflict in his expression—like he wanted to reach out, to explain, to make you understand. But you were already too far gone.

Finally, after a long silence, he spoke again. “I’ll wait for you, (your name). I’ll wait as long as it takes. But don’t shut me out.”

You turned, ready to leave, when the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoed in the corridor. The door to the library creaked open, and there, standing in the doorway, was Aemond.

He froze the moment he saw you, his sharp gaze flicking between you and Alaric. His lips pressed into a thin line, and the room fell into a tense silence.

Alaric didn’t move, but his posture subtly shifted, a quiet awareness settling between the three of you.

Aemond’s voice was low, but there was no mistaking the authority in it. “What’s going on here?”

You felt your heart race, and for a brief moment, you considered telling him the truth, but you knew it wouldn’t end well. You didn’t want Aemond to know. Not yet. Not when things were still fragile and confused.

Before you could answer, Aemond’s eyes turned icy. He didn’t wait for a response. In a flash, he crossed the room, his hand seizing your arm with a firm, possessive grip. His fingers dug into your skin, and you winced, surprised by the force, but his anger was unmistakable.

Without a word, Aemond began to drag you towards the door, his steps hard and fast, making it clear that he was beyond furious. You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened. There was no escape now.

"Let go of me!" you hissed, but his face remained unreadable, his expression cold and calculating.

He didn’t respond, only pulled you out of the library and down the corridor, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the tense silence. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his body taut with frustration.

"Tell me," Aemond’s voice was harsh, demanding, and he gave you another sharp tug, forcing you to walk faster. "What the hell is going on between you and him?"

You felt your stomach tighten. You didn’t want to lie, but you couldn’t tell him the truth—not when everything was so messy.

"I told you, it’s nothing," you said quickly, avoiding his eyes as you struggled against his hold. "There’s nothing going on, Aemond. You’re overreacting."

Aemond stopped abruptly, his grip tightening around your arm until you were forced to face him. His eyes were sharp, like a predator closing in on its prey. "Don’t lie to me," he snapped, his voice low and dangerous. "I can see it in your eyes. What’s really going on between you two?"

You could feel the pressure building inside you, the lie ready to slip from your lips, but Aemond wasn’t letting you off so easily. He stepped closer, his voice barely a whisper. "Tell me the truth."

You swallowed hard, your mind racing for a way to escape the conversation, but there was no way out. The lie bubbled to the surface, almost involuntarily.

"He’s just a friend," you said quickly, your tone far firmer than you felt. "Only a friend, Aemond."

Aemond’s eyes narrowed even further, still not satisfied with your response. He stepped closer again, his grip now possessive, not just angry. "You expect me to believe that?"

You hesitated, biting your lip, the words feeling heavy in your throat. "Yes. He’s my friend," you repeated, this time with a little more certainty, though the knot in your stomach was growing tighter.

Aemond shook his head, but the suspicion in his eyes didn’t fade. "A friend?" He sneered. "I’ve watched you two, (your name). There’s something more between you. I know it."

You felt your chest tighten, the weight of the conversation bearing down on you. Aemond’s grip remained tight on your arm, pulling you closer to him. "Why can’t you just tell me the truth?"

For a moment, you met his gaze, the truth threatening to spill out, but then you remembered everything you’d been hiding.

You couldn’t give in to him.

"I can’t talk to you the way I talk to Alaric," you said, your voice quieter but firm. "He’s my friend. The only one who’s ever been there for me. The only one who truly listens. I can’t talk to you like that."

Aemond’s jaw clenched at your words. "So, that’s it then? He’s your only true friend?" His voice was dangerously calm, but you could feel the storm brewing beneath the surface.

You nodded, your chest tight with a mix of emotions. "Yes. He’s my friend, Aemond. And that’s all."

Aemond stood there for a moment, his gaze boring into yours. His grip softened for a second, but you could feel his anger rising again, his suspicions not at all quelled.

He stepped back with a sigh, his expression unreadable for a moment. "I don’t like this, (your name). I can see the truth beneath your words, even if you won’t say it."

You felt a flicker of guilt, but you refused to let it show. You couldn’t afford to show weakness—not now, not in front of him.

Aemond didn’t speak for a moment, his eyes lingering on you. Then, with a sharp motion, he pulled you along again, his grip still firm but colder now. "We’re leaving."

You didn’t argue. You couldn’t. Aemond didn’t wait for any more words. He dragged you down the hall, the weight of his presence suffocating, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife.

Aemond didn’t stop as he marched down the hall, his grip on your arm firm and unyielding, dragging you behind him with a force that was unmistakably possessive. Every step he took made it clear he didn’t care for how you felt about it. He wasn’t being gentle, wasn’t even looking at you—just dragging you as if you were an object he could claim, like a sister. He had made his intentions clear before. You didn’t belong to anyone.

You tried to pull your arm from his grip again, but he only tightened it further, his face set in a cold, unrelenting expression. "Stop resisting," Aemond muttered, his voice ice-cold, the bitterness dripping from every word.

The moment you reached the intersection of the corridor, a voice broke through the silence. It was Daemond’s, sharp and full of reproach.

“Aemond!” Daemond called out, his tone heavy with disapproval. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Rhaenyra appeared beside him, her gaze already flicking between you and Aemond, her brows furrowing at the sight of her brother dragging you down the hall like this. She didn’t speak immediately, but her stance was protective, and her eyes weren’t kind.

Aemond didn’t even glance at them as he continued walking, his grip still unyielding. “I’m taking her where she belongs,” he muttered dismissively, not bothering to hide his irritation. “She’s my sister. You don’t need to involve yourselves.”

Daemond stepped forward, his eyes narrowing in anger. “Your sister?” he repeated with a snarl. “You’re treating her like some prize, Aemond. Let her go.”

You flinched slightly at the words, but still, you stayed silent. You wanted to say something, anything, but the tension in the air made it impossible to know what. It was like everything had shifted in the last few moments. Aemond’s hold felt suffocating.

Rhaenyra, usually so composed, stepped closer as well, her expression tense. “Aemond, this isn’t right. Let her go.”

Aemond stopped in his tracks then, his eyes flashing with irritation. He turned, narrowing his gaze at Daemond and Rhaenyra. “I’m not letting her go, Rhaenyra,” he snapped, the venom in his tone unmistakable. “She’s my sister, and I’ll make sure she knows her place.”

Daemond didn’t back down. “Not like this. You can’t force her to do what you want.”

Rhaenyra, who had been silent until now, spoke up with a note of concern, but still with that same underlying firmness. “Aemond, let her go. You can’t just drag her around like this.”

For a brief moment, Aemond hesitated. His gaze flickered, and for the first time, there was a hint of something close to doubt in his eyes. But just as quickly, he shook it off and released his grip on your arm with a growl of frustration. He turned sharply, not meeting anyone’s gaze, his back stiff and tense.

As Aemond walked away, Daemond moved in closer, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Are you alright?”

You nodded stiffly, the feeling of his touch somewhat comforting, though the lingering tension in your chest didn’t ease. “I’m fine.”

Rhaenyra stepped forward, her expression softening as she looked at you. “(Your name), we need to talk. Aemond—”

You cut her off before she could finish. “No. Leave me alone,” you said firmly, not bothering to hide the irritation in your voice. You needed space. You needed silence. You didn’t want to talk to any of them.

But Rhaenyra didn’t take the hint. She stepped even closer, her gaze intense, trying to read your expression. “We can’t just ignore what’s happening between you and Aemond. I’m worried about you.”

You clenched your fists, feeling the anger rise within you. “I don’t need you to worry about me,” you snapped, your voice sharp.

Rhaenyra’s eyes softened, but she pressed on, her voice more insistent now. “I know you’re upset, but this… what’s going on with Alaric—”

At the mention of his name, something inside you snapped. You turned to face her fully, your eyes narrowing with a flash of anger. “Don’t mention him!” you shouted, your voice louder than intended. The sudden outburst made Rhaenyra step back in surprise, but you didn’t care. You were done with pretending you were okay.

Rhaenyra blinked, taken aback by your reaction, but she pressed on. “(Your name), I just want to understand—”

“I said leave me alone!” you snapped again, cutting her off completely. “I don’t owe you any explanations. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to talk about him or any of you.”

For a moment, the hallway was dead silent, save for the sound of your heavy breathing. Daemond and Rhaenyra exchanged a look, clearly taken aback by your sudden outburst, but neither of them pushed you further.

Daemond's expression softened, her voice much quieter this time. “We just want to help, (your name),” he said, his tone almost pleading.

But you couldn’t do it anymore. You couldn’t pretend that you were part of their world, couldn’t pretend that everything was fine.

“I don’t need help,” you muttered under your breath, turning away from them, your heart pounding in your chest. "Just leave me alone."

As Rhaenyra and Daemond called after you, their voices full of concern and reproach, you didn’t stop. You didn’t even turn your head. Every word they spoke fell on deaf ears as you walked faster, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the hall. The anger that burned in you was too much to ignore. You needed to get away from them, away from everything.

Rhaenyra’s voice called out one last time, but you didn’t react. You couldn’t. The thought of speaking to her, of explaining anything to her, was unbearable.

“(Your name), please,” Rhaenyra’s voice softened as she reached out, but you were already too far down the corridor.

Ignoring her, you quickened your pace, the sharp click of your shoes against the stone floor the only sound you could focus on. Your chest was tight, a storm of emotions swirling inside you. You didn’t want their pity. You didn’t need their concern.

Finally, you reached the main door and pushed it open, slipping out into the cool night air. You didn’t look back, and you didn’t care if they followed. You were done with their questions.

Later in the night, you stood in the shadowed courtyard where you and Alaric often met, your heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and frustration. It had been a while since you’d seen him, and the thought of speaking to him, of finding some semblance of normalcy in the chaos of the day, was a relief.

You waited, pacing slightly, glancing at the empty spaces around you. The moonlight cast a pale glow over the stone, and everything felt still, quiet.

Minutes passed.

You checked the time, then looked up at the sky. Where was he? Had something happened? The weight of disappointment pressed down on your chest, but you pushed it aside. He would come. He had to.

Just as you were about to turn and leave, you heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching. You quickly turned, hopeful, but instead of Alaric, it was Jacaerys who emerged from the shadows.

He paused when he saw you, his expression unreadable. “(Your name),” he said softly, but his tone held a certain caution.

Your stomach dropped. “What are you doing here, Jacaerys?”

He took a step forward, his eyes scanning your face for any signs of distress. “I was looking for you,” he said, his voice betraying a hint of concern. “Aemond told me you were out here alone. Are you all right?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, though the frustration was clear in your voice. “You expect me to believe that?”

He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “No,” he said quietly, his gaze narrowing. “But it’s worth a try, isn't it?”

You didn’t want to explain, not now, not to him. But before you could speak, he took another step toward you. “Why didn’t you meet with Alaric?” he asked, his voice softer now, but the suspicion was still there.

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. “Alaric? What-- Who are you talking about?”

“You know who,” Jacaerys replied quickly, his voice holding a hint of frustration. “I just... want to know why. Why didn’t you meet him?”

You glared at him, wanting to brush past the question, wanting to get away, but you knew you couldn’t avoid him now. Not when he was standing there, blocking the way.

“I don’t owe you any explanations, Jacaerys,” you said, your voice more forceful than intended. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

But before you could move, Jacaerys stepped forward, catching you by the waist. His grip was firm, pulling you back when you tried to move away. You looked up at him, irritated. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Talking to you,” he replied, his voice quieter now, but still determined. “Why aren’t you with Alaric? Why the sudden distance?”

Your heart hammered in your chest. “He didn’t come,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper, the weight of your words making everything feel heavier. “He didn’t show up. I don’t know why.”

Jacaerys’ expression shifted, his jaw tightening. “You think he really cares for you?” he asked, a note of bitterness in his voice. “You’re just a distraction to him, (your name). That’s all you’ll ever be. He’ll leave you once he gets what he wants, and then you’ll be alone again. Is that what you want?”

You recoiled slightly, the sting of his words hitting harder than you expected. “You don’t know anything about him,” you snapped back, trying to pull away from him again. “You have no idea what’s going on.”

He tightened his hold on you, his voice lower now, sharper. “You’re fooling yourself if you think Alaric’s any different from the rest of them. You’re just another game to him. And once it’s over, he’ll drop you.”

“That’s not true,” you argued, the anger rising in your chest. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

Jacaerys’ eyes flared with frustration. “I’m just trying to protect you, (your name),” he said, his tone almost desperate. “Can’t you see that? You deserve better than him, and I don’t want to watch you fall for someone who’s only going to hurt you.”

The words rang in your ears, but you pushed them away. “I don’t need you to protect me, Jacaerys,” you shot back, finally managing to break free from his grip. “And I don’t need your opinions on my life.”

The silence that followed was thick, both of you standing there, breathing heavily. Then, without warning, Jacaerys closed the space between you again, his hands firm in your waist. This kiss was different—heated, almost angry, as if he was trying to prove something. You didn’t pull away this time; instead, you kissed him back, your hands going against his cheeks.

His hands were firm on your waist, pulling you closer, while your hands instinctively cupped his cheeks, the intensity of the kiss building between you. It was full of frustration, desperation, and a mix of emotions neither of you could control. And then both opposing hands going to places where they shouldn't go, forbidden places that you wouldn't even be allowed to go. But just as quickly as it started, it was broken—by the sound of footsteps behind you.

You turned, your heart sinking when you saw Aegon standing there, his expression a mixture of amusement and disbelief.

Aegon’s lips curled into a smirk as he crossed his arms. “Well, well, looks like someone’s found a new hobby,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re in trouble, (your name). Big trouble.”

You froze, the weight of his words hitting you like a punch to the stomach. Before you could react, Aegon chuckled to himself and turned away, walking off without a second glance.

You rushed after him, desperation in your voice. “Aegon, please—don’t say anything. Please.”

Jacaerys stepped forward, attempting to stop you, but you pushed past him, heading straight for Aegon. You couldn’t let him get away. You needed him to stay quiet.

You rushed after him, desperation in your voice. “Aegon, please—don’t say anything. Please.”

Aegon just threw a glance over his shoulder, his smirk widening. “You’re already in enough trouble, (your name). And you know it.”

You stood there, stunned, watching him disappear into the shadows, your mind racing. Shit, now you are completely fucked.

Pt. 5 >> (Coming Soon)

Author’s note: Hello, how are you all doing first of all? Now, I’m here with a long chapter, to be honest. I hope you liked it, and please let me know how you feel about everything, whether you like it or not, so I can know what you think about how things are going. Take care, bye!

Taglist: @ursinaw @dakota-rain666 @laura-naruto-fan1998 @pookiedragonfire @jjggdfvvy @maryldrsstuff @1soultaken @ceramic-raven @eissaaaa @moodyblueberrytree @xadaboo @labryel @zoeyburton @hopingtoclearmedschool

[csuitebitches]

How to Wake Up Early

I always wanted to be one of those girls who would wake up early, go for a run and be super productive with their mornings. The issue is - i really love sleep. Every time i would start a routine, i would eventually fail. I would wake up to turn the alarm off, think to myself “5 mins more” and boom- it’s suddenly 8:30 am and i need to leave for work in less than 1 hour.

Two videos on YouTube really changed my mind. One was Andrew Huberman’s, and the other was Jihyo, a k-pop star.

I came across Andrew Huberman’s video about dopamine, and somehow, it helped me to understand why the difficulty waking up early is so important. Now I’m no expert of neuroscience, but let me explain to the best of my abilities.

Dopamine is essentially the build up to the reward; it is not the reward. It is the satisfaction and happiness you feel (when your body releases), after you have achieved something that was painful/ required you to struggle a bit. In order to receive this reward, you have to feel pain, because pain and satisfaction are directly related to each other. Satisfaction without pain is useless and does nothing for you essentially.

That got me wondering: for me, waking up early is difficult. It’s painful. I dont want to do it. But if I do it, its my first win of the day. It’s the first challenge I have overcome of that day, and I always do feel amazing after. The dopamine release after the struggle of waking up and winning the battle of not going back to sleep is definitely there. I feel more confident because a) I have done the “right” thing b) selfishly, i can do something so simple that a lot of people struggle with c) it weirdly makes me feel more confident and like I’m doing the first step of being an adult right.

Jihyo’s video was quite random - she did some show where it shows her daily life when she’s not working. Parts of it made me feel like she’s unable to just relax with herself (probably because her body and mind are so used to chaos, performing, her girl group living together for so many years) so she busies herself a lot. I took the positives from the video; she’s extremely disciplined which I admired, she gets her chores done, she’s good at ensuring that her space is truly her space.

So I decided to build a relatively foolproof routine; but mind you, it does require quite a bit of willpower.

I’ve developed a habit of waking of waking up at 5 am. I head straight for a 30-45 minute meditation and then at least an hour long workout. I stack my habits that way; right after meditation, I put on my running shoes. I used to really struggle with waking up, even if I had to wake up late. This is the strategy that worked me, see if it works for you.

1. Reset your space the night before

This makes you feel less stressed in the morning and also genuinely makes you feel like you have your shit together. Put your clothes away, keep your bag in its place, clean up your desk, reorganise your make up and skin care products. You’re going to go to sleep and wake up to a clean space.

Make sure you define both your bedtime and wake up time. My bedtime is 9:30 pm - so i manage my chores, reading, dinner, everything around that.

2. Early dinner

I’ve noticed that early dinners help me sleep better. I’ve built the habit of casually walking for 25-30 minutes post dinner (not right after eating, after about 15 mins). I’m not walking fast to a point where I’m sweating and puffing, I’m casually strolling outside. During this time, I don’t listen to music, interact with anyone or my phone. I use this time to connect with myself and think about whatever I feel like.

3. No devices before sleeping

I don’t want to stimulate myself before sleeping, so I prefer reading before bed. If you don’t like reading, you can instead do your skincare, maybe revise some physical study notes, etc.

4. Using Alarmy app

This app is torture and I swear by it. This little thing makes you a solve a challenge of your choice in order to make the alarm stop, like math problems, puzzles, etc. I chose 5 math problems.

5. Keep your phone across the room

Don’t charge it near your reach. Keep it as away from you as possible.

6. Stand for two minutes after shutting off the alarm

Don’t allow yourself to snooze, or go back to bed. This is the part that really requires you to tell yourself: “i am not going back to sleep. I’m going to wake up and do the things I have to do for my own benefit.” Remember - the states of heaven and hell are not outside of you, they’re inside you. They are mental states. You have to fight with your lazy demon and tell him/her/whoever that NO; we are NOT going back to bed.

I charge my phone across the room so that forces me to walk first thing in the morning. To stop myself from going back to sleep, after i have shut the alarm off, i just stand for 2 minutes. I dont sit, or go back to bed. I stand and tell myself, we’re doing this. We’re going to wake up and have an amazing day.

Your mind is like a child with tantrums and mood swings. Your rational self has to discipline your mind the way a parent would to a child.

7. Turn a small light on

Not something that is jarring or overwhelming, but enough to help you start waking up. I turn my phone’s flashlight on and keep it on my desk.

8. Be consistent, even on weekends

The biggest mistake you can make is not being consistent. Your body doesnt recognise weekends, your mind does. Your body doesn’t know that tomorrow is Monday, so its time to wake up early. By staying consistent (yes, I wake up at 5 am on weekends too), it allows my body to develop its own body clock and not wrecking the system I’ve kept in place.

What do I do if I have a late night?

It really depends. Let’s say I come home relatively early (+2 hours around my bedtime) around 11 pm, and im in bed by 11:30. I’ll wake up somewhere close to 5 am, like 6 am instead. The next day I ensure I’m in bed by the bedtime I’ve kept for myself and wake up at 5 am again.

If I come home really late, like 3 am - i keep my alarm exactly 8 hours from that time. I need to get sleep, but oversleeping is an issue and that wont allow me to wake up early the next day. I want to get enough sleep where im rested for the day, but not excessively. Unfortunately, sleeping so late would definitely mean that i wont be able to fall asleep at my dot 9:30 pm bedtime, but i turn the lights off and get ready to sleep by then anyway, and mentally prepare for my 5 am wake up call.

[merakilii]

Thinking about knight Simon, who was assigned to protect you by King Price. He barely talks to you and only does his duty. until he spends more time with you, and his cold heart thaws. he would kill for you, die for you. But a man like him, deep in the dirt, hands stained with blood, can't be with a woman like you, a beautiful bird who deserves it all.

18+ // mdi

The castle stood as a monolith against the storm-ridden sky, its spires piercing the low-hanging clouds like the jagged teeth of some ancient beast. The air was thick with the scent of rain and damp earth, the kind of weather that made the stones weep and the shadows stretch long and hungry across the courtyards. Simon Riley stood at the edge of the royal gardens, his silhouette a dark contrast to the pale, trembling blooms that clung to life despite the season’s cruelty. His visor was off, his face obscured by the thin black scarf that he wore like a second skin, a barrier between him and the world. The scarf did little to hide the scars that marred his face, but it was enough to keep the whispers at bay. He was a ghost, a shadow, a man who had long since traded his humanity for the weight of his armour and the cold steel of his blade.

You were there, as you often were, walking the garden paths with a book in hand, your voice soft but steady as you read aloud. It was a habit you had picked up, one that Simon had initially found peculiar. Why would you share your thoughts with him, a man who had no use for poetry or prose? Yet, over time, he had come to anticipate these moments, the way your words wove through the silence like a thread of gold. He didn’t respond, of course, he rarely did, but he listened. He always listened.

Today, however, the peace was shattered by the arrival of a prince from a neighbouring kingdom. Simon had seen him from afar, a figure of gilded arrogance striding through the castle gates with a retinue of knights and advisors trailing behind him like obedient hounds. He had come to ask for your hand in marriage. Simon had known it the moment he laid eyes on him. There was a certain kind of man who wore his ambition like a crown, and he was no exception.

Simon’s jaw tightened beneath the scarf as he watched the prince kneel before the king in the grand hall, his voice dripping with honeyed words and false humility. The king listened with a measured expression, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as he considered the proposal. Simon stood at the edge of the room but his eyes never left Prince Alaric. He saw the way the prince’s gaze flicked toward you, the way his lips curled into a smile that was more predatory than charming. It made Simon’s blood boil, though he would never admit it. Not even to himself.

When the audience was over, Simon followed you to your study, his steps silent but deliberate. You were quiet, fidgeting with your necklace as you walked, your brow furrowed in thought. Simon could see the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers trembled slightly against the cool chain. He wanted to say something, to offer some semblance of comfort, but the words stuck in his throat like shards of glass. Instead, he stayed a few paces behind you.

It wasn’t until you the dim room that you finally broke the silence. “What do you think of him?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Simon stiffened, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword. “He’s a fool,” he said, a deep rumble that shakes your heart in the rare moments you hear it. “He thinks he can win you with pretty words and empty promises.”

You turned to look at him, and for a moment, the world stilled. Your eyes, those damned eyes, searched his face as if they could peel back the layers of scarred flesh and hardened resolve to find the man he had buried long ago. Your gaze was a blade against his throat. He wanted to look away but he was rooted to the spot, a prisoner of your quiet curiosity.

“And what would it take to win me, Sir Simon?”

Your voice was light, almost playful, but beneath the surface, there was something deeper, something that made his chest ache with a longing he refused to name.

He turned his face away, his gaze fixed on the horizon out the open window where the storm clouds churned like a cauldron of ink.

“A man who would lay down his life for you,” he said at last. “A man who would burn the world to ash if it meant keeping you safe.”

You didn’t respond, but he could feel your eyes on him, studying him in a way that made his skin prickle with unease. It was a feeling he hated, one that made him want to retreat into the darkness where he belonged. But he couldn’t. Not when it came from you.

Simon’s breath caught in his throat as he stole a glance at you, his heart pounding like a war drum in his chest. You were bathed in the pale, silver light of the storm, your features carved from moonlight. Your hair caught the wind, strands of it dancing around your face like a halo, and your lips, parted slightly as if you were about to speak. But you didn’t. You just looked at him.

You were everything he was not. You deserved the best, a man who could offer you the world on a silver platter. Not him. Never him. He was a broken thing, a weapon forged in the fires of war and tempered in blood. He had no right to even look at you, let alone dream of you. And yet, here he was, standing in your presence like a moth drawn to a flame, knowing full well that he would burn.

He couldn’t have you. He knew that. He had always known that. But gods, how he wanted to. The desire was a living serpent that hissed and writhed with every breath he took. He wanted to reach out and touch you, to feel the warmth of your skin beneath his calloused hands. He wanted to trace the delicate curve of your jaw, to brush his thumb over the softness of your lips, to see if they were as sweet as they looked.

But it wasn’t just that. It was more. So much more. He wanted to pull you into the shadows, to press you against the cold stone wall of the castle and claim your mouth with his own. He wanted to taste you, to devour you, to lose himself in the heat of your body and the sound of your breath catching in your throat. He wanted to hear you say his name, not as your knight, but as something more. Something forbidden. Something sinful.

He wanted to worship you, to kneel before you like a sinner at the altar, to press his mouth to every inch of you until you were trembling beneath him.

He wanted to strip you bare, to peel away the layers of silk and lace. He wanted to run his hands over your body, to feel the way you shivered beneath his touch, to hear the soft, desperate sounds you would make as he explored every inch of you. He wanted to bury his face between your thighs, to taste the sweetness of your desire, to make you cry out his name as he brought you to the edge of pleasure and then pushed you over.

But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Because you were not his to take. You were a princess, a jewel, a treasure that he could never possess. And so, he stood there, his fists clenched at his sides, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself back. He would protect you, he would serve you, he would die for you if he had to. But he would never have you. And that knowledge was a knife in his chest, twisting deeper with every breath he took.

The wind picked up, carrying with it the scent of rain and the faintest hint of your perfume, something sweet and floral, like the gardens in spring. Simon closed his eyes, letting the scent wash over him, committing it to memory. This was all he could have. These stolen moments, these fleeting glimpses of you. It would have to be enough.

When he opened his eyes again, you were still looking at him, your expression unreadable. He wanted to ask you what you were thinking, what you saw when you looked at him. But he didn’t. Instead, he gave you a curt nod and turned away, his boots thudding against the wooden planks as he walked out of the study.

As the first drops of rain began to fall, Simon Riley disappeared into the castle, leaving you standing there, bathed in moonlight, perfect and untouchable.

[fidesvirtusobsession]

Echoes of a Thousand Nights

Prologue || Chapter 1

(Yandere Vampire x AFAB reader)

Description: For centuries, Alaric has walked the earth, bound by the cruel hand of fate. A vampire of old blood, he has seen empires fall, lovers turn to dust, and the world reshape itself around him. Yet, through the endless nights, one thing remains constant—her. The woman who haunts his past lives, slipping through his fingers with every rebirth. She never remembers, never knows who he is, yet he finds her, lifetime after lifetime, only to lose her again.Now, in the present day, her scent resurfaces in the most unlikely of places—an underground auction house where humans are sold like cattle. But Alaric will not let fate steal her away this time. This time, he will keep her.

The grand doors of the manor creaked as they slowly opened, revealing the hollow echoes of a home that had not seen true life in centuries. Alaric stood motionless for a moment in the doorway, his dark eyes scanning the expansive foyer. The scent of dust and forgotten time clung to the air like a memory too painful to shake.

The chandeliers above hung with the weight of years, their crystals catching the faintest light, though it hardly seemed to touch the shadows below. The marble floors were cold beneath his boots, and the towering columns that lined the entrance seemed to stretch endlessly toward the high ceiling, suffocating in their grandeur. The manor had once been alive, brimming with laughter, with voices, with love. Now, it was little more than a mausoleum to his regret.

As he stepped deeper into the hall, his gaze inevitably flicked toward the walls. Portraits—framed, gilded, and lifeless—lined the corridor. Each one was a woman. His heart tightened, and a bitter ache settled within him.

He paused before the first portrait, the face of a noblewoman from the 1600s, her dark eyes staring back at him, frozen in time. Alaric could still remember her, though he’d forgotten her name. She had been kind, once, a fleeting spark in his centuries of darkness. Yet, her love had been shallow, a mere distraction to fill the void until she faded into nothingness, like the others.

The next portrait was a woman from the 1800s, a beauty captured in delicate oils, her skin glowing with a youth that had long since been stolen by time. She had loved him in the way all human women loved—fervently and without knowledge of the monster he truly was. She had been one of many.

But they all felt like cuts on his heart.

He moved through the hallway, each portrait a scar, each one a reminder of the countless women who had tried to love him, each one a failed attempt at filling the space left by her. The witch. The healer. His beloved. Her.

The walls were a testament to his inability to hold onto anyone. For every lifetime he had spent without her, another woman had tried to weave herself into his existence, and yet none could replace her. Not even for a moment. Her absence was a wound that never healed.

As he reached the end of the hall, a larger portrait hung before him, the figure draped in deep blues and greens, her face almost haunting in its resemblance to the woman he had known and loved so many lifetimes ago. The colors bled into the canvas like an unfinished painting, a reflection of what had been left unsaid. Her face, youthful and radiant, was framed by curls that had once brushed his chest as she laughed against him. The memories washed over him, raw and painful.

He stared at the portrait for a long time, his chest tight with emotion. Why had he never been able to keep her?

His hand, instinctively, reached out as if to touch the glass, but he stopped short, fingers hovering. His breath slowed as he gazed into the eyes of the painting, the eyes that reminded him of a time long past.

“Soon,” he murmured under his breath, the words barely a whisper in the vast emptiness of the hall. “Soon, I will see you again, and this time…”

His words trailed off into the silence of the manor, the weight of his own regret hanging in the air like a tangible thing.

He turned away from the portrait and ascended the grand staircase, each step feeling heavier than the last. The manor, a cold and lifeless shell, was his prison. His eternal prison. And she was the key.

And yet, even as he ascended, Alaric couldn’t shake the thought that perhaps the key would remain out of his reach forever, lost to the flow of time and fate.

Alaric’s boots echoed across the marble floors, each step slow, deliberate. He had lingered too long in the hall of portraits. The candlelight flickered across the faces that haunted him—each one a version of her, frozen in time. His gaze lingered on the last painting: her in the 1960s, barefoot, smiling freely in the sun, hair wild as she leaned out of a painted van. The memory tightened in his chest.

With a quiet breath, he turned away, retreating into the dimly lit corridors of the manor. Servants moved soundlessly around him, dusting chandeliers, adjusting the heavy velvet curtains. Some nodded respectfully as he passed, though none dared disturb him. They had learned long ago when his thoughts were elsewhere.

As he neared his study, the weight of the past pressed heavier on his shoulders. It had been too long.

He had spent centuries following her thread through time, always finding her in some form—sometimes younger, sometimes older, but always unmistakably her. And yet, this time… nothing. No whisper of her scent. No trace of her soul.

Has something happened?

A frown deepened the lines on his face. The world was cruel, and she had lived through so many tragedies. The Industrial Revolution, the plague, the wars—each life had been short, fleeting. What if this time, there was no version of her to find? What if he had lost her before he even had the chance?

The thought sent a cold, unwelcome chill through his ancient bones.

Alaric pushed open the door to his study. The fire was already burning, casting flickering shadows along the bookshelves. A glass of wine sat untouched on the desk, left there by a servant who knew his habits too well. He barely glanced at it as he leaned against the desk, fingers pressing into the polished wood.

He had spent lifetimes waiting.

But for the first time in centuries, he feared he might be waiting for nothing.

Alaric sat in the dim glow of the study, a glass of untouched wine resting in his hand. The manor was silent, save for the crackling of the fireplace, the flames casting flickering shadows against the walls. But even in the stillness, the past refused to let him rest.

It started as a whisper. A voice, distant yet familiar.

"Alaric, you’re not even listening, are you?"

His grip on the glass tightened. He exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed on the fire, yet his mind was no longer in the present. The warmth of the flames could not chase away the chill of memory.

He saw her then—his her—standing barefoot in a forest clearing, her hair tangled from the wind, arms full of herbs. The memory was sharp, painfully vivid. She had been laughing at him, scolding him for hovering while she foraged.

"You act like I’ll break if I step on a root the wrong way," she had teased, tucking a wildflower behind her ear.

He had wanted to tell her then, wanted to warn her—she would break. The world would break her, over and over again, and he would be left to pick up the shattered pieces, if there was anything left to find.

Alaric closed his eyes, willing the vision away. But the past did not relent.

The scent of burning wood filled his senses, and suddenly he was standing in the middle of a ruined village. Smoke curled into the night sky, the air thick with the stench of charred flesh. He could still hear the screams, the sickening crackle of fire consuming wood, cloth, skin.

"The witch has been dealt with, Lord Alaric."

His fangs had torn into the man before the words had fully left his lips.

He could still feel the blood on his hands. The rage. The despair. The unbearable silence after he had burned the village to the ground, but no matter how much he destroyed, she did not return to him.

Alaric inhaled sharply, jerking himself back to the present. The glass in his hand had cracked, deep fissures splintering through the crystal. A single drop of wine trailed down his fingers, dark as blood.

He stared at it, at the trembling of his own hand.

Centuries had passed. Empires had fallen, new worlds had risen. And yet, the past clung to him, unshakable.

Some nights, he wondered if he would ever truly be free of it.

But deep down, he knew the truth.

Not until he found her again.

The fire crackled softly in the dimly lit study, but Alaric barely registered the sound. His thoughts were tangled in the past, the weight of centuries pressing heavy against his chest. He stared at the untouched glass of wine on his desk, fingers drumming idly against the polished wood.

Then, the door burst open.

A gust of air rushed into the room as one of his servants stumbled inside, breathless. His usually composed staff never entered unannounced—unless it was urgent.

Alaric’s golden eyes flicked up, sharp as a blade.

The servant clutched his side, struggling to speak through ragged breaths. “M-My lord… the auction house—”

A flicker of irritation crossed Alaric’s features. “I’m well aware of such places. What of it?” His voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it. Auction houses weren’t uncommon in the underground—humans sold like cattle, destined to be nothing more than blood bags. He had no interest in such barbaric dealings.

The servant shook his head, still panting. “No, my lord… It’s not just any auction.” He swallowed hard, then met Alaric’s gaze with wide, frantic eyes.

“I think… I think we found her scent.”

Alaric went still.

For a moment, the only sound was the distant ticking of the grandfather clock.

His fingers tightened against the desk’s edge. “…Say that again.”

The servant hesitated, as if fearing his own words. “I caught her scent. It’s faint, but unmistakable. She’s there.”

Alaric’s breath left him in a slow exhale. He had searched for years, for lifetimes, following the lingering traces of her soul through time itself. And now, after so long… she was close enough for him to grasp.

His expression darkened.

A soul like hers—beautiful, radiant, and unknowingly tied to him—was in an auction house?

Sold like cattle?

His jaw tightened, fingers curling into a fist. The fire behind him flared, shadows stretching ominously against the walls.

"Where?" His voice was low, steady, but it carried the weight of a storm.

The servant flinched but quickly answered, “The underground sector, my lord. Tonight.”

Alaric didn’t hesitate.

He was going to bring her home.

Taglist: @yune1337 @mybones537

[fandoms--fluff]

Mission

Female vampire reader x Hope Mikaelson

Summary: You and Hope are assigned to go to Mystic Falls high to get rid of a monster while hiding your relationship from the super squad and basically the whole school.

Warnings: swearing, killing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"...So, in conclusion, one of the teachers at Mystic Falls high is a werewolf, or a creature that fits those perimeters" Alaric concludes to you and the rest of the super squad. Though you may or may not have zoned out half way through him talking.

You twirl a section of your hair between your fingers as you continue not paying attention to what the others are saying until you feel a kick to your ankle.

"Hey!" I look up. "What was that for?" I drop my hand from my hair. "Well, you didn't hear us the first couple times" Lizzie shrugs, she's the obvious one who kicked you.

I roll my eyes, "Well, I'm paying attention now. What?" I look around at everyone.

Alaric sighs, "i was saying how you and Hope are to go to the high school to figure out the werewolf teacher problem." Alaric crosses his arms, irritated.

"Oh, so kill the teacher. Now that I can get behind" I perk up slightly in the uncomfortable chair. "Now-That's not exactly, uh-" he falters. "Do you want the problem dealt with or not, old man?" I cross my arms, cutting him off. "Yes? Great, good job everyone, I'm starving" I don't give Alaric time to answer before getting up and start to walk away from the group.

"We can do that?" Lizzie asks, standing up as well, following you to the door that leads out of the office. Alaric sighs, dismissing everyone else from the meeting, knowing nothing else is going to get done now.

After you leave the room, you hear footsteps approaching you as you walk to the kitchen. "Hey, Hope" I say, not bothering to turn around as I open the fridge.

"How'd you know it was me?" She asks, her eyebrows slightly scrunched up. She leans against the closest kitchen prep island.

I turn around, an apple in my hand, closing the fridge door. "My secret powers" you smirk, raising a brow. "Uh huh" Hope playfully rolls her eyes.

"Nah, I could smell you" you say before biting into the apple. Hope falters, not expecting that response. "Do I smell bad or something?" She leans over and sniffs at her armpits.

You swallow the apple. "No, I've just gotten used to what your personal scent is I guess? If I were to give it a name. I dunno. But it's not a bad smell" You shrug before taking another bite.

"Oh, okay" She brushes it off, not knowing if she should be flattered or offended by that. Maybe flattered?

She pushes herself off the island before coming over to you and wrapping her arms around your torso from behind. "How much of the meeting did you actually listen to?" Hope lays her chin on your shoulder.

You pause, about to take another bite. "Would you believe me if I said the whole thing?" You ask, unconvincingly. "Nope" Hope immediately says. Which in all fairness, she isn't wrong about this.

"Okay, so it may have been the first minute and a half and the last part" I confess before continuing to eat the apple.

"That's what I thought. But on the bright side, we'll have some time together not needing to hide our relationship" Hope leans closer and kisses the crevice of your neck a couple times.

You lean into the kisses she places on your skin. Though, it's short lasting as your ears perk up at the sound of someone nearing the kitchen. "Quick, someone's coming" you whisper urgently.

Hope quickly releases her hold from you and goes back over to her old position leaning against the prep island. At the same time, you shake off the feeling from before and bring the apple back up to your mouth.

The person in question is Josie. She enters the kitchen, faltering shortly once she sees you guys in there already before perking back up.

"Hey you two." She says before going over to the cabinet and grabbing a Tylenol bottle. "Something wrong?" Hope asks the siphoner.

Josie shrugs as she opens the bottle, "Just cramps" she answers. "What are you two doing. Other than eating an apple" She turns back around from putting away the pill bottle. "Some talking" Hope answers for the both of you nonchalantly, not letting anything slip that had actually happened with her answer.

"Cramps?" You ask Josie. "Yeah, I'm on my period" She answers before swallowing the pill with some water. "Oh, those" You nod while throwing the apple core into the compost bin.

"Right, you don't get them, huh?" Josie points in understanding.

"Yeah, one of the joys and perks of being a vampire" you nod, hopping up on the island beside where hope is standing with a soft smile.

"What time are you guys going tomorrow again?" Josie asks while putting the glass she used in the sink. "We're leaving at 8 in the morning." Hope answers.

Your eyes basically bulge out, "We're at what time now?!"

Josie and Hope both chuckle at your reaction. "Well, I'll let you explain that, good night" Josie walks out of the kitchen. "Night" Hope answers as you're still gobsmacked about the early time you guys have to leave. Not just wake up at, but leave at.

"You okay there, babe?" Hope chuckles. I slowly turn to face her. "No, why so early? Are they wanting to torture us?" You tell her.

"I think Dr. Saltzman just wants us to leave at a time so we'll get there in time before the bell rings for school to start. So we're on time." Hope latches onto your hand after you jump down from the island.

"That is so gonna suck" You groan as we head out of the kitchen. "I'll make sure you get up bright and early. You groan again, making hope laugh.

You guys make your way up the dorm hall where your rooms are located right next to each other. You say good night before separating into your own rooms.

It's the next day and you don't know how, but you're sitting in the driver seat of the car and parked in front of Mystic Falls High. The whole morning is a blur of yawns and Hope quite literally dragging you out of bed.

"Were at literal hell" You shake your head slowly in disbelief at being at the school. "It won't be so bad" Hope nudges you before opening the door and getting out of the car.

You groan before taking the keys out of the ignition and leaving the car as well. You click the button, locking the car as you walk over to Hope. "Where's your bag?" She asks, not seeing one slung over your shoulder in your hands. "Good question. Oh well. We both know if I don't do any work at our actual school then I'm not gonna do any here" You tell her.

Hope nods her head in reply of knowing your antics and that you're right. "And yet you get good grades. How's that possible?" She asks as you guys walk into the building.

All you do is wink in return before turning back to look around the halls and the teens littering the halls. You scrunch your face up in discomfort and annoyance of being around so many people.

"I don't even want to know" Hope gives up and puts that away to ask about later while you guys aren't around hundreds of other people.

"Okay, so we're looking for a wolfy teacher. All we got to do is see which one of the old bores give Taylor Lautner vibes" You talk to Hope. "Please tell me you're kidding" Hope looks at you with an incredulous face.

You look to her with a shit eating grin. "Aaand, you're not" She tries not to laugh.

"Do we really need to go to class?" You groan, not liking the idea of sitting in a classroom in a school that reeks of teenagers going through puberty.

"Yes, if we want to get a feel of which teacher is the you know what, then we have to go to classes." Hope sneakily grabs your arm and drags you into the classroom, the number of which she recognized from the time table given to her from Alaric.

"Ugh, kill me now" You groan loud enough so that only Hope can hear as you guys sit at the lab desk beside each other. "What class is this specifically? Please don't tell me it's biology."

Hope looks away, trying not to make eye contact with you. "It's fucking bio, isn't it?" You ground out. Hope slowly turns back to you, "..yeah" She let's out.

"Fine, okay, but if I start to fall asleep, make sure the teacher doesn't see" You tell her. "Easy enough" Hope nods. I lean against her side, laying my head against her shoulder.

From behind us, two boys wolf whistle. "Oh fuck off you twats" you look over to them, making them flinch with the boom of your voice. In the process you also startle Hope by accident.

You realize and look back over to her. "Sorry, I should've given you warning" You apologize. "It's okay. Try not to do that when the teacher's in the room though" She smiles. "Good idea, don't need them all on my case. There's no way I want lectures from stupid human teachers" I say.

Hope nudges you in your side. "What? it's the truth" you say, putting on a 'nice' smile. "Uh huh" Hope says, holding back another chuckle.

As class starts and the teacher drones on, it's clear that the old lady is definitely not a werewolf. You almost drift off into sleep but startle yourself back awake before you almost hit the table surface.

Before you know it, the bell rings, signaling class is over. Looking over, you see Hope putting away a pen in her pencil case. "Did you seriously take notes?" You say, seeing the notebook page covered in what you have to assume the lady was teaching during the class.

"Yeah, it was really interesting actually" Hope closes her notebook. "Well, good for you, babe" I pat her shoulder while getting off the stool chair.

While leaving the classroom, you watch as a man walks by with a crazed look. You notice the brief case and put it together that he must be the werewolf teacher. "I think we found our..guy..." You look over to where Hope was just standing beside you. "Where did you go" you groan and start to sense out where your girlfriend is.

You soon find yourself in the girls bathroom. Hope is with another girl in front of the bathroom mirror. The girl hands her a headband accessory before saying bye and leaving out the door behind you. "What was that about?" You ask as Hope put the headband that apparently has cat ears on them on her head.

"That girl pulled me here and gave me some makeup tips and this headband. I think it's cute" Hope turns to you with a smile on her face.

"Huh. And while I think your adorable with that on, I think I found our teacher werewolf. He was going down the hallway with the yellow walls." I tell her.

"The English wing? Let's go" She follows you out the bathroom. "How do you know it'd the English wing?" You ask her as you guys turn down the hallway.

"It's on the time table sheet Doctor Saltzman gave us." You shoot her a confused look. "That he gave me" Hope re-iterates. "Ah, makes sense, I would've thrown it out."

"Exactly" Hope grasps onto your hand, happy she can do it here without anyone hounding you guys about your relationship.

While you make your way down the hallway, you listen in on what's happening in the classrooms. Soon, I pause. There's a rustling sound in the janitors closet. There are groans and something that sounds like a jar crashed against the ground by being knocked over.

Hope follows your gaze to the janitors closet and walks behind you as you go closer. You reach out to the handle to open the door. "Please don't be teens making out, please" you whisper so only you and Hope can hear.

You grasp on the handle and swing the door open. What's displayed is the same man from before, clearly agitated and rowdy. He's got a wild look in his eyes from the full moon being later tonight. "Oh thank fuck. It's just you, Wolfy" I let out a sigh of relief.

"How are we going to do this? Without causing a huge disturbance." Hope asks from behind you. "Like this. Duck!" Hope follows your orders immediately.

As soon as the werewolf is about to attack you, you claw your own fingers into the back of his neck and throw him over to the lockers across the hall. Before the werewolf hits the lockers, you vamp over and hold him by his throat and squeeze. Hard.

The next minute, the head de-taches from the body, successfully decapitating him. Hope shudders as pulls a grossed out face as you do so, the body dropping to the ground in a thud.

"Well, at least no one else will have to suffer through his classes anymore" You shrug your shoulders and tilt your head while holding out the head to look at it better. "Now, for this" You pull out a syringe from your pocket and jab it into the gums above the sharp fangs. slowly pulling back the suction tube, the venom fills the syringe bottle.

"Why do you need werewolf venom?" Hope stands back up, inching away from the body.

"For the next time the dumbass vampire boy jock jackasses annoy me" You answer simply. "Okay, should've guessed that" Hope places her hands on her hips.

"That was fun. Time to burn a body" You lift the body over one of your shoulders with the head still in your hand. With your free hand, you grab onto Hope's shoulder and vamp the two of you into the forest beside the school.

Once you find a clearing, you stop. "Sorry for the non warning" You tell her, dropping the body and head unceremoniously on the dirt. "It's okay. Good thing is, no one saw what happened. Incendia." Hope sets the body and head on fire with the spell.

"As well as we only had to go to one boring class. I say we skip the rest of the day and play hooky" You tell her, smirking as the body burns to ashes.

"That actually sounds like fun" Hope sighs and leans into you. You kiss the side of her head before trekking back to your car in the school parking lot.

[a-writer-on-elm-street]

Can I please ask for a smut Damon request using this picture. Imagine distracting Damon whilst he’s concentrating on a phone call to ric and he punishes you for being a naughty girl for interrupting his call and pins you to the bed . Sorry I’m just a very naughty minded girl when it comes to Damon 😜

Apologise

a/n: thank you so much for the request i loved writing this!! hope you enjoy! <3 (also, i'm so sorry it took so long)

pairing: damon x fem!reader

warnings: smut, fingering, unprotected sex

word count: 644

You chuckle against Damon's skin, your lips dragging along his stomach as he squirms beneath you, his phone pressed to his ear.

You can hear Alaric's muffled voice coming through the speaker as you hook your fingers under the waistband of Damon's jeans, prompting him to curse at you under his breath.

But he doesn't make a move to stop you, only attempting to stifle a groan as he keeps his phone to his ear.

And you find yourself stifling a laugh when you hear Alaric ask if everything's okay.

"Yeah, Ric," Damon says, his voice strained as he squirms beneath you. "Everything's great. Nothing wrong here."

You find it all the more amusing by how hard he's trying to cover, despite the fact that he's practically groaning into the phone, one of his hands absentmindedly playing with your hair.

Once you manage to pull his pants off along with his boxers, you waste no time in wrapping your hand around his length, eliciting a startled sigh from him, his hips jerking into you from the contact.

"Are you sure you're okay?" You hear Ric ask him, and it makes you chuckle.

Damon glares at you as he speaks.

"Yeah, Ric, everything's fine." He assures him again, readjusting himself slightly beneath you. "But you know what, I uh─I might have to call you back."

Before you're even able to wrap your lips around him, he's threading a hand into your hair, pulling you up so that you're face to face with him now.

"Were you not aware that I was on a call?" He asks, pressing his mouth into a line as he looks at you.

"I was aware."

"Hm." He hums, twirling a finger through your hair. "What am I gonna do with you?"

Before you have a chance to offer him any suggestions, he's flipping you onto your back, his fingers snaking around your throat as he hovers over you.

"As much as I loved your hand around my dick." He smirks, his free hand trailing down your body. "You really shouldn't interrupt my calls like that."

"What're you gonna do about it?"

He doesn't offer you an answer, and instead you feel his fingers slide beneath the waistband of your jeans.

"Now, you've been a bad bad girl," he tuts, pressing a finger against you through the fabric of your panties. "And bad girls get punished."

You laugh. "And how is this a punishment?"

"Oh, you'll see." He smirks, sliding his hand inside your panties, his fingers swirling around your clit.

You sigh, throwing your head back into the pillows when he pushes a finger inside of you.

Except, he doesn't move, instead choosing to remain painfully still, a wicked smirk on his face as he looks down at you.

"Damon," you whine, looking down to where his hand had disappeared in your jeans. "Come on."

"What? I'm not doing anything."

"Exactly, you're not doing anything."

"What would you like me to do?" He asks, a knowing grin on his face as he moves his hand ever so slightly against you. "You want me to fuck you?"

"Yes," you sigh, nodding your head at him.

"Apologise."

"What?"

He smirks. "You interrupted my call. Apologise."

You continue to resist, shifting uncomfortably beneath him, but he won't let up.

"If you apologise," he says, slipping his hand out of your jeans now. "Then I'll give you what you want."

"Okay, I'm sorry," you finally say, giving in.

"That's right."

And with that, he's flipping you over onto your front, his hands already tugging your jeans off. And within seconds, he's inside you, already moving at a brutal pace as he holds you up, rough fingers digging into your ass.

"God," you moan, your mouth twisting into a smile as he fucks you. "I'm so so sorry. So sorry."

"And I forgive you."

[Main Masterlist]

[a-shade-of-blue]

New Vetted Gaza Fundraisers from Palestinians that reached out to me (1-5 March)

5 March

Hassan Muhammad Harb/ Hassan Harb (@hassanmohameedharb99): Hassan is 25 years old who graduated with a degree in nursing. He cannot find a job and he wishes to leave Gaza. Their house has been destroyed. (https://gofund.me/c7b68f1e) (#281 on @/gazavetters vetted list) (€627 raised of €10K goal)

Ali, Aref Abu Maraq (@gazaali, @aligaza-1): This is a family with at least 2 children. Their house has been destroyed and they are fundraising to buy basic needs and rebuild their lives. (https://gofund.me/d1855ac6) (Vetted by association! They are a friend of @/nohagaza (Vetted by association through @/mahagaza5// @/mahagaza1 (#366 on @/gazavetters vetted list)) (€481 raised of €30K goal)

4 March

Kholoud Al-Hanawi, Yazan Alwan (@khloud-hinawi, @khloud-family2): Kholoud and Ahmed have 2 children: Yazan (9) and Zeina (2) and they are suffering from a skin disease called Plaque Ichthyosis Psoriasis. They fear the disease will cause cancer. (https://gofund.me/296e65a5) (Shared by @/90-ghost) (€777 raised of €20K goal) (IG post on their situation)

3 March

Mena (@menamenair): Mena has 2 brothers and two sisters. She is a university student studying to be a nurse. Their house has been destroyed. She is fundraising to pay for her education and the fees accumulated through online learning. (https://chuffed.org/project/123007-you-can-save-menas-dream) (Vetted by association! Mena is a sister of Hamad @/hamad7448 (Vetted by association through @/sfaamq10 (shared by 90-ghost). She is also a friend of @/sfaamq10) ($160 Raised of $30,000)

2 March

Niha Mahmoud/ Nuha Mahmoud (@nohagaza): Nuha is a 19-year-old university student. She wishes to evacuate Gaza and continue her studies abroad. (https://gofund.me/6c75e14f) (Vetted by association! Noha is a friend of @/mahagaza5// @/mahagaza1 (#366 on @/gazavetters vetted list)) ($462 USD raised of $40K goal)

1 March

Muhammad Jihad Abu Al-Hatal (@mohammedhatl-blog): Muhammad had a 2-year-old child and a pair of twins who were born in th emiddle of the genocide. One of the twins had died. They are fundraising to evacuate and purchase basic needs. (https://gogetfunding.com/help-al-hatal-family-reach-safety-and-rebuild-their-lives/) (#522 on Butterfly Effect Project Vetted list)

You can enter my freshwater pearl necklace raffle if you donate to fundraisers with their campaign progress highlighted in red!

Click here for my Google Doc with my complete masterlist of all the Palestinian gfm asks I've received

Info on how gfm campaigns are vetted:  See here, here, here, here and here.

See post here for other verified ways to send aid to Gaza.

Mutual Aid Funds: The Sameer Project: North and Central Gaza aid/ Refaat Alareer Camp Aid/ South Gaza Aid

Daily Clicks on Arab.org. Every click made is registered in their system and generates donation from sponsors/advertisers.

See links below for my Masterlists of Vetted Fundraisers from the Palestinians who sent me asks for if you want to help more people! As well as resources for palestinian students if you are a palestinian student!

Masterlists of Vetted Fundraisers

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 13 - 25 July.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 26 -29 July.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 30 July - 1 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 2 - 5 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 6 - 10 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 11 - 14 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 15 - 18 August

Click here for my Masterlist for fundrasiers from 19 - 21 August

Click here for my Masterlist for fundrasiers from 22 - 24 August

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 25 - 28 August

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 29 August - 1 September

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 2 - 5 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 6-10 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 11-14 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 15-18 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 19-22 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 23-26 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 27-30 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 1-4 October.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 5-9 October.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 10-14 October.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 15-21 October.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 22-26 October.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 27 October - 2 November.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 3-12 November.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 13-22 November.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 23-28 November.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 29 November - 5 December.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 6-11 December.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 12-17 December.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 18-26 December.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 27 December - 6 January

Click here for Masterlist for fundraisers from 7-12 January

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 13-27 January

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 28 January - 12 February

Resources for Palestinian Students!

Initiatives and resources to support Palestinian students, academics and universities:

This is a list of initiatives and resources for Gazan students seeking to complete their studies, including initiatives, resources, training and scholarships. See list here.

Scholarships for Displaced Palestinian students:

Putting this here for the palestinians who follow me: If you are a displaced Palestinian student looking to fund your education, this document lists the scholarships available around the world for displaced Palestinian students.

[scarareg]

Things I believe about Jaehaerys, Alysanne and their children (tw:mention of SA):

This is a super unpopular opinion, but to me Aemon and Baelon felt like they were secretly a couple, at least at some point of their lives. Maybe after getting married they were loyal to their partners, or have an open marriage, I don't really know. But while reading about them, it always felt kinda gay

Due to her upbringing and the fact her mom protected her so much as a child, Alysanne is painfully oblivious about a lot of stuff. Like, she not being aware of the First Night right still being practiced. She also does not know that people can be LGBTQ+ , to her everyone is straight. This explains why she did not know Rhaena is a lesbian or Vaegon is aroace. It never even crossed her mind the possibility of he could be gay, which I think it would be the first thing a mother would assume when she notices her son is not interested in women

Jaehaerys maritally raped Alysanne

Alysanne cheated on Jaehaerys with Alaric Stark

Jaehaerys constantly cheated on Alysanne with lots of women

Jaehaerys used the right of the First Night at least once

Alyssa was jealous of Vaegon, because she wanted to do things considered "for men" and she was not allowed to participate. Vaegon was a guy who could have done all the activities she could not, and yet he chose not to, which irked her

Jaehaerys molested at least 3 of his daughters: Saera, Viserra and Gael

After getting pregnant for the 10 time, something in Alysanne broke and this is why she is taking her frustrations on her daughters

Alysanne disliked Viserra and arranged her marriage out of spite. The reasons why Alysanne did not like her daughter may be: A-Out of jealousy. Like when some mothers instead of getting mad at their partners for sexually abusing their children, they take their side and then victim blame the children. B-Alysanne was projecting her relationship with Jay onto Baelor and Alyssa, so Viserra "getting in their way" made her a target of her mom's anger for "breaking the illusion". C-Alysanne had blue eyes and honey-blonde hair, meanwhile Viserra looked every bit Valyrian, with purple eyes, silver hair, white skin and she is described as "a grace that was somehow eerie and unsettling in one so young" , and she wanted to be a queen, so Alysanne did not like the idea of a "younger and more beautiful" girl taking her place, just like Cersei. D-Alysanne was taking out her frustrations on Saera in Viserra. Maybe it was a mix of all of them

Viserra was not planning on "having a last night of fun" the night she died, she was trying to escape

Furthermore, all the people who tried to help Viserra escape were silenced

The younger children did not have dragons because it was a way for Jaehaerys to exert control over them, especially the women, so they could not run away. Vaegon is the only man who has not dragon because he was brave enough to stand up to both of his parents in front of the court and he is also really intelligent. Jaehaerys probably did not feel comfortable giving him such a weapon, because if there was one of his sons who could become a threat to Jay, it would be Vaegon

Gael's baby's father was Jaehaerys

At the end of her life, Alysanne secretly regretted and resented her marriage with Jaehaerys

In his last months of life, Jaehaerys felt guilt over how he had treated his daughters

[svltzmans]

take it out on me - h.m.

a/n: hi! i'm trying to get back into writing longer stuff that's not in headcanon format so let's see how that goes (also this was a requested prompt and 🫣🥵)

warnings: smut (18+), dirty talk, slight nipple play? minor overstimulation? hope is stressed :(, but not for long lmao, i accidentally deleted this whole thing and had to write it again, so sorry for any mistakes :(

hope's stress-filled lifestyle was getting to her, and she knew it.

being both a full time student and monster hunter wasn't exactly the easiest thing, but she thought she would be able to handle it with ease.

that was, until, malivore decided to bombard the salvatore school with creatures during the week of final exams.

hope was constantly getting pulled away from her studies by alaric, and although she knew she was protecting herself and those she loved, she couldn't help but be annoyed.

performing well in school had always been important to hope, and not being able to prepare had her brain in shambles.

when hope finally does get to sit down to study, she just can't focus. she has too many things to think about, and she just can't seem to organize herself.

closing her book in dismay, she throws herself onto her bed and stares at the ceiling.

she decides that if she's not going to be studying, she might as well have company. picking up her phone for the first time in what feels like hours, she sends a text to her girlfriend.

exams are stressing me out and i think i'd feel better with you here.

hope stares blankly for a few minutes, awaiting a response, until she hears the door to her bedroom open.

"hey beautiful," y/n says, plopping down on the bed next to hope.

"couldn't even get a text back?" hope teases, giving y/n a quick peck on the lips.

"i was a little busy running over here."

hope can't help but laugh, admiring the girl in front of her. she was wearing an oversized sweatshirt and joggers that made her look undeniably adorable.

when y/n speaks again, there's concern in her voice.

"so, stressed about your exams, huh?"

"i just can't focus on reading my textbooks. dr. saltzman has me running around what feels like the whole world, and i'm just exhausted."

y/n's heart twinges hearing the pain in hope's voice. she rests her hand on her girlfriend's leg, hoping to provide some comfort.

"he relies on you too much. i know you're like, a powerful force and he's just an old man, but..."

before y/n can finish her sentence, hope is laughing harder than she has in days.

"you always know how to make me feel better," hope smiles, looking into y/n's eyes.

"actually, speaking of that," y/n pauses. "i had an idea."

y/n stands up, never breaking eye contact with hope. hope stares up at her, confusion in her eyes, but her questions are answered when y/n takes her hoodie off, her joggers following shortly after.

hope is speechless when she sees her girlfriend in a set of deep red lace. the color compliments y/n's skin perfectly, the material extenuating hope's favorite parts of her.

"god, y/n," hope chokes out. "what's this all about?"

"i thought i could, help with the stress," y/n seduces, wrapping her legs around hope's waist and resting her hand on her girlfriend's face. "maybe you could take it out on me, huh?"

the second y/n finishes speaking, hope pulls her into a passionate kiss, y/n's hands still resting on her face.

"i knew you'd like this surprise," y/n teases in between kisses.

"you're so beautiful," hope responds, holding y/n's waist tightly.

"take it off, hope."

without another word, hope makes quick work of taking off y/n's lace bra and underwear, throwing them across her bedroom before doing the same to her own.

unable to help herself, hope cups y/n's chest, running her fingers lightly across her nipples. y/n lets out a guttural moan, her fingers in hope's hair.

"fuck, hope," y/n slurs before giving hope a gentle push, encouraging her to lay on her back.

"i'm gonna fuck you until you can't think of anything else but me, nevermind stress about anything," y/n whispers, lightly kissing hope's neck.

y/n continues kissing down hope's body until she lands at her inner thighs, peppering them in soft pecks.

"please, don't tease y/n. need this so bad," hope whimpers, trying to raise her hips enough to ride y/n's face.

"oh i know you need this, hope. you're so wet for me already," y/n coos, just barely running her finger up hope's pussy.

"please baby, want it so bad," hope moans, her desperation growing by the second.

"want what, pretty girl? you gotta tell me what you want, or i can't give it to you." y/n knows that bringing hope to the brink of insanity makes the entire experience more gratifying.

"i need you to eat me out, y/n," hope begs.

satisfied by hope's response, y/n's tongue finally makes contact with her, sending hope into a state of ecstacy immediately.

hope feels like she can't contain herself, not even attempting to keep her voice down. she pulls y/n closer by her hair, unable to get enough of her.

hope's moans only motivate y/n, her pace quickening with every noise out of hope's mouth.

"can't be stressed if you're busy cumming on my face, pretty girl," y/n teases, hearing hope only get louder at the sound of her words.

"you just, you feel so good y/n," hope writhes as she speaks, her voice shaking.

y/n is relentless, not wasting a second. she knows how badly hope needs this. how badly hope needs her.

luckily for hope, the feeling was mutual.

y/n was in awe of the way hope looked under her, the desperation and need vibrant in her eyes.

without hesitation, y/n thrusts a finger into hope, earning a near-scream from her girlfriend.

"oh god y/n, more," she whines, trying to coax the girl into adding another finger.

when she does, the combination of y/n's fingers and mouth are almost too much for hope, sensitivity coursing through her body.

"need to cum baby, can't take any more," hope whines, struggling to form a full sentence.

"then cum for me, beautiful. let it all out," y/n talks hope through her orgasm, enjoying every second of her reaction.

hope somewhat collapses, her legs lightly shaking and her cheeks flushed.

"i don't think i'm stressed anymore," hope laughs, y/n soon joining her.

"always here to help."

[unicorn360draws]

DP X MARVEL

Danny Phantom is the only reason Peter Parker still exists. Dr. Strange's spell went sour and the universe tried to Blip Peter again. At first he'd tried to hide it from his college roommate, on Daniel Fenton, but it gets difficult when your arm crumbles in front of the man during breakfast. After that, and a reveal or two of men who were teen heroes, Danny finds a way to stop the process by using his Kingly abilities. It causes him to look more eldricth than human at times, but that's okay if he can keep Peter together. Don't think about Peter wracked with guilt as his best friend is outcast at school because of his looks and unsettling nature.

.

It's an average Wednesday when Vlad attacks. He'd been ramping up the schemes still Danny left Amity Park (posing his family, Tucker, and Sam in the Nasty Burger explosion and refusing to be like Dan), desperation and Obsession forcing Vlad to unimaginable lengths. He attacks Danny in his room while Peter is at class. The first sign that something is wrong is that Peter's pinkie started to disintegrate mid lecture. It only happens when Danny loses focus and hasn't been a problem for a few months now. Peter excuses himself, clutching his hand and cheek (where more dust has started to crust) and rushes to the courtyard. He follows the sounds of fighting and destruction, alar,s blaring for a campus wide evacuation.

They're using the alien invasion alarms, guess,

"Ghost King fighting his ex-Godfather doesn't really have a tone to play yet.

Peter rushes to Danny's side and tries to assist, not just because he is relieved to see Danny's eyes find him and feel the pinkie finger come back, but because they're all either really has left now. They have been fighting crime for 6 months now, and they know how the other moves. Peter ducks when Danny dives. Danny clings to Peter when he webs them away from a hot pink ectoblast. The fight goes on for an hour, with Vlad getting more and more desperate for some kind of win. Then he pulls out the weapon. Danny doesn't recognize it, not at first anyway, only that it's being pointed at Peter and Peter is fighting one of the clones and Danny can't lose anyone else and Danny will heal but Peter might not and-

The blast hits Danny in the shoulder as he pushes Peter out of the way. He didn't recognize the gun. He should have recognized the gun but Vlad had updated the Plamius Maximus since they last fought. Danny shrugged off the lightning like tingling sensation but choked as his transformation failed to return. He pushes himself onto his elbows as he hears the coughing. Peter is on his knees, hacking painfully.

Danny pales. The Plasmius Maximus takes away Danny's ghost powers. The same powers that kept Peter alive. The green underlayer of Peter's skin peels away to ash and Danny can do nothing. He screams at Vlad to reverse it, but the man Danny once knew is gone, an Obsession driven ghost in his place. Danny struggles to push himself up and towards Peter, clawing at the ground as he reaches for his roommate. Peter turns to Danny, cheek flaking off to reveal the campus scenery behind him.

"It's okay Danny. It's okay. It's not your fault. Please don't blame yourself."

With one last push, Danny lunges for Peter as the man disappears in a cloud of dust, like the other victims of the Blip. Danny had seen his teachers and neighbors get Blipped, but he'd had his family and friends. He'd had the abilities to help Amity Park through the five tough years when 2/3 of the population was blipped. That had been hard, losing Peter? Losing Peter hurt like seeing Dan, like losing his family again, like saying goodbye to Dani, like being vivisected. Peter was Danny's heart, the only one left in the empty organ. The ash floats around Danny's empty arms as he closes them around the empty air, swirling the gray flecks into the air again.

Danny wails.

And the whole campus feels it. Vlad feels it tearing apart his core. Danny stands, still without his ghostly powers. Vlad looks up to the boy, the halfa, and sees the King. The Ghost King waves Vlad's existence away like a fly, and he's ended.

Danny is The Ghost King, the Ruler of the Infinite Realms. Death itself. He holds the strings of souls long gone. He knows by using this kind of power, he'll never have a normal life. He'll have to be active in the Infinite Realms. He'll be forced to take the Crown of Fire and the Ring of Rage, and then he'll slowly lose himself.

For Peter, he will do it. For Peter, he would take on the world. For Peter, Danny will use this power to bring him back.

[klausysworld]

(Just a short one again guys 😖😖)

Consequences

Summary: Klaus takes an interest in someone trying to be involved…somehow she still ends up in the centre of a war between him and Stefan.

Y/N had caught his eye on his first day, she kept out of the supernatural drama mostly although she still knew what was happening.

Whilst in Alaric's body he had met her in the school, she wasn't listening to word out of his mouth, just staring out the window and clicking her pen for a thousandth time. She was at the Salvatore's too, just sat listening but she didn't play a part, Elena and Damon were quick to tell her she couldn't come to the dance; it wasn't worth the risk.

It caught his attention that even Damon cared about her safety.

But there was nothing special about her, she was perfectly ordinary and perhaps that had become special in its self. Mystic Falls was so full of twists that a little normality was savoured.

Klaus fell into that too, the simplicity of her. She became the easiest person to talk to and she made an effort to pretend he was normal too.

He made sure not to pull her into everything. Let her be on the outside looking in. Unfortunately nobody could truly be safe if they were in the know.

Stefan had picked up on Klaus's little crush and decided it was perfect. Stealing his family wasn't enough and he needed to punish Damon and Elena for betraying him too.

None of them thought he'd kill her though.

Klaus had arrived at the Salvatore's, Elena waiting by the road outside to walk in with him to trade Rebekah's body for Jeremey’s safety.

"I think Damon might be in but he'll probably just be upstairs. Rebekah's in the basement, I'll show you to her." She explained nervously as she pushed the front door open, leading him inside but the dread hit her fast. A gag made her lurch at the strong scent of blood and Klaus's vampiric features couldn't help but show.

Bodies littered the floor, Klaus stepped ahead of Elena, carefully manoeuvring over and around and around the lifeless beings. Y/N was sat upright, blood drenching her clothes and dripping from her lips down. Damon had his head in his hands before hearing their arrival and looking up, expression dropping at the shear horror on Elena's face.

"What happened?" She breathed, too scared to get any closer than the doorway. Klaus didn't need the answer, it was already obvious.

"Stefan turned her." Damon confirmed, a sense of shame over his features. "She's...a ripper." He mumbled, a sigh leaving his lips.

"Oh my god." Elena gasped, her eyes tearing. "What're we gonna do? How- how many people has she even-" She stopped herself from asking but Y/N wasn't stupid.

"Killed?" Y/N finished, voice somehow monotone and broken at the same time.

"Doesn't matter." Klaus shut it down, getting to the couch and crouching down in front of her. His hand reached to wipe the blood from her chin, a soft sound leaving him as he slid his sleeve over her skin gently. "They don't matter now." He muttered, ignoring the way Damon stared. Klaus started to move to pick her up but Damon shook his head.

"She doesn't have a daylight ring yet."

"Bonnie-" Elena started but Damon beat her to the idea.

"Won't let her have one if she's dangerous. She'll take one look at her like this and-"

"Thats enough!" Klaus commanded, his jaw clenching as he tried to think of what to do. "These bodies need to go." He snapped, pulling her to him. "Where can we go?" He questioned, standing up with her being barely responsive.

"Just any room, it doesn't matter." Damon ran his fingers through her hair and stood up, wondering where to begin with cleaning the mess up.

Y/N stared aimlessly into his chest even once he sat her down in a clean bed, clearly an empty spare room of the house.

"Feel alright, love?" He murmured as he pulled her top over her head, not even glancing at her skin. Klaus knew she'd be overstimulated at the transition, he didn't need her feeling sexualised and taken advantage of too but he also couldn't let her continue to soak in blood.

He stripped her to just her underwear before helping her under the covers, pulling them tight around her as if to act as some security.

"I'm still so hungry" Y/N whispered, her voice but a rasp.

"I know." Klaus frowned, a lump forming in his throat. "It gets easier." They both knew that wasn't true, but he didn't know what else to say.

Eventually she succumbed to sleep and the second the sun was down Klaus moved her to his house, stacking the wardrobe and getting a witch arranged for the next day.

She seemed almost emotionless but Klaus could tell she hadn't quite turned it off. There was still the sadness swimming amongst those eyes opposed to the emptiness Stefan's eyes held.

Klaus helped the ring onto her finger, looking down at her with a heavy weight of guilt on his shoulders. He felt it was his fault, for involving himself with her and for allowing Stefan to use that. Knowing that for the Salvatore her death was nothing but a chess move made his patience tick.

"Alright, love. I want you to drink half and stop before having the rest okay?" Klaus practically mothered her as he passed a blood bag into her awaiting hands. The need to look after her after causing her death was killing him. And watching her tear the plastic to shreds and lick the material clean of blood made his heart clench uncomfortably. "That's enough." He whispered as if it wasn't demolished and she was clawing at him for another one.

It was impossible to keep her under control in that town. People were always bleeding, always looking for vampires. Klaus ended up keeping her in the house, convincing her not to leave by hiding blood vials for her to sniff out.

But it wasn't enough.

She was starting to lose her sanity being locked away from what was once a normal, peaceful enough life.

Finally she understood why Stefan killed her, because she started to feel that need for revenge too. She wasn't in her right mind when she did it, she didn't want to hurt anybody but his heart was in her hand before her senses could come back.

Klaus was bursting through the doors, ignoring how Damon's body sunk into grey and Elena screamed. She'd done what he'd been considering for a long time but hadn't found the consequences worth it.

Now he's have to deal with them, for her. Even if it meant burning the town to the ground.

[rdmasevi]

His Eyes, Not Alaric’s

Title: His Eyes, Not Alaric’s”: A Vampire Diaries fanfiction

Pairing: Klaus (in Alaric’s body) x Reader Fem

Genre: Supernatural Mystery | Slow-Burn Tension | Canon Divergence

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, Possession, Power imbalance, Psychological tension & manipulation, Mild suggestive themes, Emotional vulnerability.

Summary: The night before the school dance, you’re pulled into the latest Salvatore crisis. When “Alaric” shows up at the Boarding House, something in you twists with unease—his voice is too smooth, his smile too sharp and you’re the only one who notices.

You should have noticed it sooner.

It wasn’t the way he walked—Alaric had always carried himself with a quiet confidence. And it wasn’t the way he spoke, either, though the words felt just a little too smooth, too measured. But it was the eyes. That was what gave it away.

They weren’t his.

You had come to the Salvatore Boarding House that afternoon because Damon said there was trouble, and when wasn’t there? Something about Elena going to the dance, Stefan losing his mind, Bonnie needing to lie, and some ancient vampire threat hanging over everyone’s heads. Business as usual in Mystic Falls.

You didn’t belong in the center of the storm, but Damon pulled you in anyway—he always did.

“We need eyes on Elena,” he said, tossing you a skeptical look. “You’ve got a calm face. And no one thinks you’re dangerous. That’s perfect.”

“Flattering,” you muttered, but you stayed.

And then “Alaric” walked in.

At first, you smiled. Reflex, muscle memory. Alaric was the safe adult in the room most of the time. The protector. The one with bourbon and quiet advice.

But today, he smiled at you like a stranger who already knew what you looked like when you screamed.

“Good to see you again,” he said smoothly, crossing the room.

“Hey, Ric,” you replied. You tried to keep it light, casual. But something prickled down your spine.

His gaze settled on you just a little too long.

“You’re Y/N,” he said. Not a question.

You blinked. “Yeah. You know that.”

He just smiled.

And you knew.

You didn’t say it. Not out loud. Not yet. But your heart kicked into gear like a warning bell in your chest.

That’s not Alaric.

Damon and Stefan argued in the background, too caught up in their plans and paranoia to notice how you’d gone still. How “Alaric” didn’t look at anyone else like he looked at you—like you were the real secret in the room.

Later, when the others left to check on Elena’s outfit or Bonnie’s cover story, you lingered near the library, feeling his eyes on your back before he even stepped through the doorway.

“I thought I was subtle,” he said softly.

You turned, heartbeat in your throat.

“You’re not Alaric,” you whispered.

“No,” he agreed, voice a velvet hum. “But I’m impressed. You noticed.”

“Klaus.”

He smiled like he’d just won something. “In the flesh… more or less.”

You swallowed hard, bracing yourself against the fireplace. “Are you going to kill me?”

He tilted his head, amused. “Not unless you give me a reason.”

“That’s not very comforting.”

He took a slow step closer. “I didn’t come here to comfort you, love.”

Your pulse stuttered.

“I was curious,” he continued. “I’ve watched them from the outside. Damon, Stefan, the doppelgänger. But you... you’re not a player on the board, are you? Just a piece someone forgot to move.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And yet, here you are. Cornering the forgotten piece.”

Klaus chuckled. “You’ve got fire. I like that.”

He reached out then, not quite touching, just brushing a finger against the edge of the bookshelf near your shoulder. You felt the presence of him like a tide against your skin.

“I could take you apart,” he said softly. “Find out what makes you so bold.”

“Try it,” you breathed, voice low. “And I’ll make sure the real Alaric haunts you when he gets his body back.”

That stopped him.

And then… he laughed.

Full and real.

“God, you’re delightful.”

You didn’t relax, but something in you eased. You could see it then—behind the cold calculation, the ancient cruelty—there was something starved in him. A craving not just for power, but for something deeper. Real. Maybe even connection.

Maybe… he was lonely.

“I’ll see you at the dance,” he said finally, stepping back. “Save me a dance, won’t you?”

You didn’t answer.

But you didn’t look away, either.

And Klaus Mikaelson, wearing another man’s face, smiled at you like that meant everything.

My main masterlist

[aylacavebear]

Bloodlines & Fate Chapter 11

Being Touched should have been a blessing—a mark of honor in your lineage, celebrated by your pack since childhood. But to you, it's always made you feel like an outsider, never really fitting in anywhere. Yeah, you had your best friend Jess, but for you, something always felt like it was missing. The land your pack runs on during the full moons brings you a sense of peace you don't fully understand, at first.

Paring: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader/You

Word Count: 9410

Warning: Angst, Fluff, Dean getting memories, Reader taking care of Dean, Longing.

A/N: Professor Robert Zimmerman is based off of The Doctor from Star Trek Voyager, as I absolutely love that character. Alaric Saltzman is from The Vampire Diaries.

A/N: It's my first attempt with an A/B/O fic, be gentle, please. I hope you like it. Not sure how many chapters this will be yet.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 11

The change came like a storm. Bones cracked, muscles twisted, fur rushed over skin. But none of it mattered. None of it was strange. None of it hurt. This was right. This was how things were meant to be.

But… his human was silent. Gone.

For the first time, the wolf was alone in the mind. No arguing, no resistance, no voice controlling what they did. Just the wind in his fur, the earth beneath his paws, the steady rhythm of his own breath. The pack ran with him, their voices lifting in song, echoing through the night.

He should have felt free. Should have reveled in the primal joy of running with his pack, in the unity thrumming through their bond. Instead, there was an ache. Deep and gnawing. A weight pressing against his ribs that had nothing to do with the moon above.

Something was missing. Someone.

The pull was there. Faint, but unbreakable. A thread winding through his ribs, tightening with every step. It tugged at his chest, drawing him away from the others. None followed. They had learned to give Dean his space when he needed it, unaware that Dean was nothing more than a distant hum in the back of the mind. Sleeping.

His paws carried him across the land, through the trees of the forest, the ferns of the underbrush, and the shifting shadows. His focus was elsewhere. Without his human’s doubts clouding his senses, his instincts were sharpened, more demanding than ever. The pull grew stronger, relentless, pulling him away, pulling him toward—

Her.

There was no scent trail to follow. No song to guide him. Nothing tangible to explain why every fiber of his being strained onward. 

Only her.

Finally, he stopped.

A fence loomed just beyond the trees, a divider of two lands, two packs. She was on the other side. Somewhere beyond his reach.

The wolf lingered in the shadows, ears twitching, nose lifting, searching for a scent he knew he wouldn’t find. He walked through the trees, keeping the fence to his right as he explored. The forest was dense, but he followed that thread. The pull to her, wherever she was on the other side.

He knew she was over there. He didn’t feel threatened. No need for aggression or possessiveness. This felt different—like there was no threat he’d lose her to another alpha. 

When he came to a place where the moonlight pierced the canopy, spilling over the earth below, he stopped. Lowered onto his haunches, settling into the shadows of the forest.

The sight before him was both familiar and unknown, beautiful yet unsettling in a way he couldn’t name. A towering, half-rotted tree stump stood more than twenty feet away, remnants of its ancient form stretching high into the night. Around it, tufts of grass, ferns, and delicate flowers blanketed the forest floor, untouched and thriving. But it was more than that. More than the way the earth cradled this place, sheltering it like something sacred.

It was a feeling. 

Like something would happen here. Like something was meant to happen here. He didn’t know why—only that this place was where he was supposed to be.

His paws shifted against the dirt, ears flicking as he breathed deep, but there was no scent other than the forest. No sign that she had ever been here. Still, his instincts whispered that she would come. Someday. Maybe not tonight. Maybe not for many moons. But she would find this place. Find him. And when she did, he would be waiting.

A breeze whispered through the trees, stirring the flowers, making them sway as if they, too, were waiting. The moonlight shifted through the canopy above, casting shadows that stretched and danced before retreating once more. 

His ear twitched at the distant sound of howls. His pack sang, but he wasn’t in the mood. Not tonight. He wanted to be by her side. Let her know she wasn’t alone. That she had him.

But she did not call to him.

She did not come.

The moon dipped lower in the sky, marking the approach of morning. He lowered his head, the weight in his chest twisted, sharp and aching. With one last glance toward the land beyond the fence, he rose to his paws and turned away, making the long trek back to his pack. 

He kept his longing buried deep, hidden from his scent. His pack couldn’t know where he’d gone. It was forbidden, even if that was where she was.

—----------------------------

Dean woke with a start. His heart pounded against his chest, breath coming in short, ragged bursts, sweat cooling on his skin. The remnants of his dream clung to him like fog, thick and disorienting, refusing to let go. For a moment, he wasn’t quite sure where he was. His vision was still blurry and unfocused, the dark room around him unfamiliar, his mind caught somewhere between the past and the present. 

Then, warmth.

The soft press of a body against his. The steady rise and fall of your breath. And your scent—deep, grounding—flooded his senses, wrenching him back to reality before his instincts could take over.

His muscles remained taut, tension coiled in his shoulders, but he forced himself to breathe. Slow. Deep. His wolf stirred uneasily within him, a low, uncertain hum in the back of his mind, but he ignored it, shifting instead, pressing closer to you.

His nose brushed the crown of your head as he inhaled, letting the familiarity of you settle him. It felt easier this morning, the way it soothed him.

“Mmm… you okay, Dean?” you murmured. 

Your voice was thick with sleep, and the lazy way you nuzzled deeper against him made his chest tighten. You didn’t open your eyes, but something felt… off.

He exhaled shakily, his arm tightening around you, his body trembling slightly from his dream. “Yeah. I’m okay,” he breathed, but his voice was hoarse, like the words barely made it out. His muscles still hadn’t fully relaxed. His mind still felt… foggy. 

And his wolf? His wolf felt just as disoriented.

You stirred slightly, blinking up at him, taking him in—the dampness of sweat on his skin, the faint tremor in his limbs, the underlying unrest radiating from him in waves. “Dean, what’s wrong?” you asked softly, your eyes searching his face as if the answer was hidden there somewhere.

He swallowed, averting his gaze. The words caught in his throat, something he wouldn’t—couldn’t—share with anyone. Your expression softened. “Hey,” you coaxed gently, reaching up to cup his cheek, your thumb stroking soothing circles over his skin. “Talk to me.” 

He stayed quiet for a long moment, jaw tight. It all sounded stupid in his head—like a child afraid of a nightmare. He was a grown man. An Alpha. Dreams shouldn’t be affecting him like this. “Just a bad dream,”  he muttered, still not meeting your eyes.

You studied him, searching his face, before letting out a quiet sigh.

“Dean,” you murmured, voice steady but impossibly soft. “When you claim me, I’m gonna need you, and your wolf with what I’m going to go through. Please… let me be here for the two of you.”

Dean grumbled something under his breath that you didn’t quite catch before he buried his nose in the crook of your neck. So, you did the only thing you could do at the moment. You held him close, letting him take whatever time he needed, hoping he would talk to you.

That was when you noticed your claim mark on him. You leaned a little closer, soothing it over with your tongue, sending a shiver through his body. His grip on you firmed, just a little tighter—like if he held on long enough, he wouldn’t have to say the words aloud.

For several long moments, that was how the two of you stayed—him nuzzling into your neck, you soothing his mark with your tongue. You could feel the tension slowly ease from his body, the way it had trembled before finally stopped, and with a slow exhale against your skin, he relaxed.

“It’s stupid,” he mumbled, voice rough against your skin.

You nuzzled your cheek against his as you began purring softly, a different sort of instinct taking over. “If it’s bothering you, it’s not stupid. That makes it important to me,” you told him gently.

Why does she always seem to know just what to say? Even with his wolf tangled in unease, it still huffed in amusement, ‘She’s our mate.’ 

He was still reluctant, but he finally pulled away, resting his head on the pillow as the morning light slowly peeked its way through the window. “It was a dream, but it was like a memory,” he mumbled, his voice quiet, rough—like a child still shaken from a nightmare he couldn’t quite shake.

You had prepared for this. A week before you’d even brought up claiming him, you’d gone to Professor Saltzman, needing answers. He’d explained how important memories would surface in dreams, while everything else would come to Dean while he was awake, slipping into his thoughts like echoes of a life he hadn’t lived—at least, not until now. Then there was the aftercare. 

You needed to make sure he processed the dream, that he didn’t shove it down like something insignificant. He had to feel it. Work through it. Beyond that, there were the physical symptoms—making sure to keep him hydrated and well-fed was the easy part. It was the rarer symptoms you were worried about. There was the possibility that Dean would be too dizzy or light-headed to be able to walk around much. Or that being too far away from you, the source of your scent, could make him anxious or uneasy. And the headaches, which you had a bottle of Excedrine waiting in the bathroom cabinet.

Dean’s voice pulled you from your thoughts as he started recounting the dream, his words slow and measured. Luckily, he added how things felt—not just what he saw, but the way it settled into him, heavy and lingering. His gaze stayed on the ceiling, but his arm never left you, holding you close like he needed the contact to stay grounded. Absentmindedly, he lifted his other hand, rubbing his temple as a dull throb took root behind his eyes.

You felt it—not physically, but in a way that had no real words. It was like sensing a shift in the wind, or the way you could tell rain was coming before it fell. It was just there. 

“Lemme get you something for that,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his cheek before slipping out of bed. Dean watched you go, brow furrowed like he wasn’t even sure what you meant—until you were gone, and the weight in his head became more noticeable.

His focus shifted to the sight of you, the sway of your hips as you disappeared into the bathroom. Catching sight of you in the mirror, his lips parted, tongue swiping over them instinctively as his gaze lingered. Your hair still mussed from sleep, bare skin bathed in the soft lighting from the bathroom, the soft ease in the way you moved.

The way you were just doing things, taking care of him. Dean’s lips quirked into that familiar boyish grin. He hadn’t even told you his head hurt, but now you were pressing two pills with a glass of water into his hands with that sweet, soft smile on your lips.

At least he took them without an argument while you stood by the side of the bed, almost like a mother hen. He was far more distracted by the way you stood there, utterly unbothered by his gaze roaming over you. But then, the heat of his gaze crawled over your skin, sending a flush to your cheeks—a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the morning sun.

Dean couldn’t help himself. You were beautiful—beyond just the way you looked, beyond anything that words could pin down. You were his. And for the first time in his life, his wolf felt the exact same thing he did, no conflict, no pull in different directions, but together. 

It was good. God, it was good. 

But it was disorienting as hell.

You caught it, even in the faintest flicker—the way his eyelids dipped for a split second, uncontrolled. His eyes glossed over before he blinked hard, trying to push through it, leaning heavier against the headboard. He still didn’t look right, or feel right. 

Then came the small shake of his head, the slight furrow of his brows as if he was trying to clear away a fog he didn’t understand. That was it. That was the sign you’d been watching for. You exhaled a quiet sigh.

“I was worried about that happening,” you told him with a frown, slipping on a shirt, then a pair of shorts. “Stay here. Don’t get out of bed. I’m gonna go make you something to eat.”

And just like that, you were gone.

Dean let his head fall back, eyes shutting against the dull throb behind them. His vision pulsed in and out of focus, the headache settling like a weighted fog. He ran a hand through his hair, wishing he’d read more of the files back at Saltzman’s office. He’d known there would be an adjustment period, but this? This was worse than any hangover he’d ever had.

Then, his wolf whined. 

The sound hit him sharp and sudden—so sudden that for a second, he wasn’t sure if it had been in his head or if it had actually— 

“What’s wrong?” Your voice cut through the haze, laced with something sharp and worried as you hovered in the doorway. And then you were at his side, sitting on the bed, hands skimming over him like you expected to find something wrong. 

Had the sounds actually come out? Dean blinked up at you, brow knitting. “Uh… headache, and I feel a little dizzy, but it’s not so bad now.” He hesitated before adding, “Why?”

You frowned, gaze searching his, but didn’t answer him right away. You hadn’t even been gone long—barely long enough to pull a few things from the fridge—when that whine had hit you. It pierced something in your chest, knotting and twisting at your gut so badly you had gripped your stomach. But looking at him now? He looked okay. 

Still, you weren’t taking any chances. “Let’s get you in at least some boxers,” you said, already moving, finding them among the scattered clothes. “Then I’ll help you get downstairs. If it’s what I think it is, I’ll need to stay close to you.”

Dean’s confusion didn’t fade, and he swore his wolf seemed just as lost. “Care to share?” he asked just as you handed him the fabric.

As he slipped them on, you explained everything Saltzam had told you—about the symptoms, the adjustment period, the way his body and mind would be catching up with the bond over the next several days, maybe even a full week.

By the time you finished, Dean was already making a mental note to text Sam. If he was gonna be stuck like this for a while, at your cabin, he was gonna need a few more things.

Getting him downstairs was slow work. Between the walls, the railing on the stairs, and you, he managed, though the dizziness flared every time he wasn’t touching something solid. You felt it too—the faint, restless pull anytime there was space between you. You hated seeing him unsteady like this, but he wasn’t fighting you. He was trusting you.

By the time you settled him into a chair, pulled close to the stove for easy access, Dean was quiet. Too quiet. His mind was still buzzing with what you’d told him. But his wolf? 

His wolf was purring.

Purring with pride, with something warm and deep and wholly content. You’d researched this. You’d prepared, for him. You were taking care of him, of them. 

Dean was floored. Speechless. And utterly in awe of you. 

You handed him a cup of hot coffee, giving him that small, reassuring smile. “I like hearing you purr,” you murmured, going back to the task of making him breakfast.

He nearly choked on the sip of coffee he’d taken, not even realizing the sound wasn’t just in his head, as he now questioned the whine from earlier. “Did… did that uh… that whine… Was that why, you uh… you came back?” Dean asked hesitantly, more focused on the cup in his hand than on you.

You hummed softly, cracking eggs into the pan, the scent of butter and bacon already filling the kitchen. “Yeah,” you admitted, glancing over to him. “It felt like someone punched me in the chest and stabbed me in the stomach at the same time.”

Dean frowned, running his thumb over the rim of his coffee mug. That didn’t sit right with him—not because he doubted you, but because the idea of his wolf projecting emotions outside himself, loud enough for you to not only hear them, but feel it, was a whole new level of strange. He’d spent his entire life with his wolf as something internal, instinctive. But this? It was like the damn thing had a voice now.

Another soft rumble slipped from his throat, and he stiffened. You turned fully toward him this time, head tilting, a knowing gleam in your eyes. “Dean.”

“What?” he grumbled, shifting in his seat.

“You’re purring again.” Heat crept up his neck, but he couldn’t even bring himself to deny it. He just shook his head, muttering, “God, this is weird.” He let out a huff, rubbing the back of his neck, but the sound didn’t stop—not entirely. It settled in his chest, deep and steady. The way his wolf’s emotions mixed with his own, he understood it. 

You grinned, setting two plates down at the table. Over-easy eggs, thick slices of bacon, toast with butter. Simple, but comforting. “I know it feels weird, but it’s normal. I promise. And, I like hearing it.” You then helped him move to sit at the table, keeping him steady with your hand on his chest, his arm over your shoulders.

Once settled, Dean picked up his fork, but before he dug in, something flashed through his mind—familiar yet distant, like a memory stirring from the depths of his wolf.

It wasn’t clear at first. Just warmth. The feeling of something solid and comforting. Then came the scent of old leather and firewood, the weight of a thick blanket pulled over his shoulders. He must’ve been young, maybe six or seven, curled up on the couch after sneaking out to watch the pack elders talk. He’d drifted off before he got caught, only to wake up to Bobby pressing a cup of hot cocoa into his hands with a gruff, “You got ears for a reason, boy—use ‘em next time.”

Dean blinked, the memory dissolving like mist, but something about it lingered. The phantom weight of the blanket still clung to his shoulders, and for half a second, he could swear he smelled old leather and firewood, warm and grounding. That same warmth settled in his chest as he took a bite of food, the taste grounding him.

“You okay?” you asked softly, studying him.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “Just… remembering stuff.” “If you want to talk about anything, I’m here,” you offered with a reassuring smile.

You sat beside him, letting him have the space to process while still staying close to him. Dean took another bite, savoring the simple meal, feeling the way it soothed something raw inside him. He’d had breakfast a thousand times before, but this? Sitting here, with you, his wolf right there at the surface, with him? It was dizzying.

The rest of the morning passed in a slow, easy rhythm. After eating, you took care of clean up while he drank another cup of coffee, mostly just watching you. Memories from his wolf came and went, the fog in his mind still there, but as long as you were close, it never got overwhelming.

You guided him to the couch once the kitchen was clean, setting him up with a cup of water before pulling a blanket over him. When they came, you stayed close to him, almost able to feel that something was just a little off, even if you couldn’t see his face with how the two of you were cuddling. Hours passed like that—quiet conversation, the occasional purr slipping past his lips or rumbling in his chest. It was the quiet whines when you had to walk into another room for something that always felt the same—that ache in your chest, the twist in your gut, and the need to go comfort them. 

It wasn’t the same feeling you would have if you were normal. If you were normal, it would have been a mutual claiming the night before. You shook the thought away, forcing yourself to focus on the moment. This was how it had to be. How it was meant to be. Even if something inside you ached for more.

Every so often, another memory surfaced—a childhood run through the trees with Sam at his side, the feel of John’s firm hand on his shoulder as he taught him about cars, the warmth of Mary’s voice singing softly when he was sick. Some of them he shared with you as your fingers absentmindedly teased through his hair, his head resting on your shoulder.

Each one felt clearer, sharper than before. Like the bond was untangling parts of himself he hadn’t fully understood. All while weaving them together in an entirely new way.

And through it all, you were there. His rock. His peace. His home.

By the time late afternoon rolled around, Dean wasn’t just getting used to it—he was settling into it. The way his wolf’s memories surfaced—the images, feelings, and scents—playing through his mind as if they were his own. And in a way, they were his. At least his wolf felt content within him. Emotions and thoughts weaving together as Dean got back pieces of his life he hadn’t realized he missed.

He’d almost forgotten to call his brother with everything going on. The two of you laughed, finding out he was just next door, hanging out with Jess in her cabin. Sam took down the list of things Dean had asked him to pick up, letting him know he’d stop by later on that evening to drop them off.

Dean yawned halfway through another movie, shifting against you so his head rested on your thigh, his body stretching out along the couch. It was just after noon, the sun high in the sky, but here, in the quiet sanctuary of your cabin, time felt slower—softer. Before he even realized it, sleep took him under, your scent wrapping around him like a lullaby.

—------------------------

Another full moon. Another shift. 

Six months after presentation, his wolf had full control. This was his time. Almost ten hours where he existed unchained—where the body and mind were fully his own. 

Tonight, though, the air was different. Charged. 

He didn’t linger with his pack. Tonight, he made a beeline straight for that place. His paws kicking up damp earth as he raced toward the place that called to him—had been calling to him for months. His heart pounded harder the closer he got, anticipation coursing hot through his veins. 

Then, he was there.

But still, he remained in the shadows, watching. He’d come here nearly every night of the full moon, but hadn’t always stayed. Tonight though? Tonight, something was different. 

A scent—so faint, like a whisper through the trees, but unmistakable. Her. She was closer.

His muscles coiled, every instinct screaming at him to move, to close the distance. But his paws were rooted to the earth, as if some unseen force held him back.

Then, he heard it. 

She was singing.

The sound hit him like a strike to the chest. Raw. Aching. Beautiful. She was in human form—he could tell with how the notes resinated off the forest, speaking a language she didn’t understand. 

But he did.

Loneliness. Longing. The deep, unwavering love she had for her pack. But there was so much more. Her love for her best friend. Then, there was the pain of never feeling her wolf. 

He not only heard it, he felt it.

If he could have cried, he would have. Instead, he stood there, helpless, every instinct warring against the barriers between them. He wanted to find a way past that damned fence, to reach her, to tell her she wasn’t alone.

But he couldn’t. And then, her song faded into the night. He tilted his head to the moon, answering her in the only way he could, with a howl of his own. “I’m here. You’re not alone.”

But she wouldn’t understand, and that was the most heartbreaking part of it all. 

His ears twitched, listening, straining for any sign of her. But all he heard was the soft crunch of footsteps retreating into the woods.

She had left.

The next two nights were the same, but after that, over the next year, there was nothing. 

He spent his days fighting with his human, desperate, frustrated. He couldn’t make him understand, not when all he could push through the barrier between them were fractured emotions. But gods, he tried.He wanted nothing to do with other omegas. They weren’t her. Not like his human did.

He couldn’t make his human understand. She was out there, so damned close yet so far away. It was infuriating. His anger, frustration, and helplessness—it all bled into his human, spilling out in fists and arguments at school.

Then, on a night when he thought he might go mad from the silence—

Her song filled the air again.

It hit him like a tidal wave. Her scent moved with it, twining through the air, sinking deep into his bones. Rain-soaked earth. Vanilla. Something purely, unmistakably hers. Cinnamon.

A purr rumbled through his chest before he could stop it.

And again, he answered, his howl splitting the night. “You’re not alone. I’m here.” 

But again, only silence followed. Only the soft sound of her footsteps as she walked away from wherever she’d been hiding among the trees.

Four years. Four long, grueling years of silence. Some full moons, he went to that spot and sang a sad song for only the moon. Others, he ran with his pack, trying to lose himself in the rhythm, pushing away the ache that never eased. The tension between him and his human worsened after each full moon. 

His ears twitched. The sounds of the forest were always the same—an owl in the distance, creatures scurrying through the underbrush, the faint rustling of leaves. But then, a new sound. Footsteps. Soft, careful, deliberate. His head snapped up, eyes locking onto that ancient stump in the clearing.

Then, her song rang into the night. 

That melody from what felt like a lifetime ago. The sound of her voice hit him like a lightning strike, sinking deep into his bones. She was here, in the place he had been drawn to since his first shift. So close.

And like he’d done every time before, he howled his reply. “You’re not alone. I’m here.”

Like before, he waited to hear the retreat of her footsteps, but they never came. Instead, they moved closer, his entire body tensing with anticipation. It was the breeze that came from her direction, bringing her scent with it. Rain-soaked earth, vanilla, and something entirely her. Cinnamon. It was stronger. She was closer.

She wasn’t leaving. 

He rose to his feet, staying in the shadows, watching where the sound of her footsteps came from. Slowly, she came into view, half-lit by the moon. He swallowed hard. Even in her human form, she was breathtaking.

When she spoke, the sound was as beautiful as her song, but her words confused him. All he could do was whimper, a quiet plea. He didn’t want her to leave. He wanted to be near her. If only he could make her understand.

But, she stayed, even came closer. 

Tentatively, he moved, matching her steps, unable to look away as she emerged fully into the moonlight. And there, beneath her skin, he saw her, locked away within her, like his human within him.

Her wolf. 

Like a ghost walking in tandem, or a double exposure photograph, her wolf walked with her—black as the midnight sky, eyes as deep and dark as the ocean. 

She was his everything.

—---------------------

Dean had been whimpering in his sleep. You weren’t entirely sure how to soothe him, so you just kept running your fingers through his hair, down his shoulder, over his arm. Slow, steady strokes, hoping the touch would ground him. His breath hitched, his brow furrowing, muscles tensing beneath your fingertips.

What was he dreaming about?

His hand twitched where it rested on your knee, then lifted slightly, pawing the air like he was reaching for something—or someone. His lips parted, a soft, broken sound escaping before he finally stilled, his breathing evening out again.

You exhaled, relaxing back against the cushion of the couch, fingers still idly tracing over his arm. The movie had long since faded into the background, nothing more than distant noise. Your focus was entirely on him—on the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his features softened in his sleep. 

Your eyes drifted to the mark on his neck, still healing from when you’d claimed him the night before. A small smile to your lips. That bond—the one that tethered him to you—was what was allowing this. Letting him become one with his wolf, rather than just something to fight with in his head.

Then, with a quiet inhale, Dean stirred. His fingers brushing against your skin, a soft, unconscious touch. Slowly, heavy-lidded eyes blinked open, green still clouded with sleep but searching, flickering over your face like he was seeing you for the first time. There was something different in his gaze.

Something deeper. Something that stole your breath from your lungs.

His lips parted like he was about to say something, but he hesitated, his brows knitting together slightly. He just looked at you, a quiet intensity in his gaze, like he was trying to fit words to something too vast, too consuming to be spoken aloud.

He’d been speechless that first day nearly three months ago. But now? After that dream—after seeing you through his wolf’s eyes—language felt almost meaningless.

So, he didn’t try. He just moved, shifting upright before pulling you into him, wrapping his arms around you like he needed you closer, needed you real. His breath was warm against your hair when he finally whispered, “I love you.”

The words were thick with emotion, not nearly enough to contain the weight of everything inside him, but it was all he had.

You stilled, fingers curling slightly where they had rested against his back. He’d never said that before. It wasn’t just the words. The weight behind them held something deeper.

The words settled over you, sinking in slowly, a warmth unfurling in your chest that you weren’t sure how to name. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

But then, you pulled back just enough to look at him, taking in the way his gaze searched yours, the faint crease in his brow like he was bracing himself. Your lips parted, breath hitching slightly before you finally managed, “Dean…”

The sound of his name made something flicker in his expression—something raw, something vulnerable. But before either of you could say more, his stomach grumbled, breaking the moment.

You blinked, then let out a breathy laugh, the tension easing just enough for you to shift back, cupping his cheek briefly before nudging him toward the armrest. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get you something to eat.”

He huffed, rubbing a hand over his face as he sat back. “Yeah, alright. But I’m still not moving too fast, so don’t rush me.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, standing before offering him a hand up. “I wasn’t planning on it, Speed Racer.”

Dean took your hand, letting you steady him as he stood. He still wobbled slightly, his grip tightening around yours, and you gave him a knowing look. “Still dizzy?”

He exhaled sharply. “Yeah. Feels like I’ve been on a boat all day.”

“Could last a while,” you reminded him as you guided him toward the kitchen. “Depending on how stubborn you are about letting it happen.” Dean shot you a pointed look, muttering something about “not that stubborn,” but you just hummed, unconvinced, as you opened the fridge.

With it still a couple of hours until dinner, you pulled out the pie from the day before, glancing at him as he lowered himself into a chair. His eyes were distant again, like he was still caught in whatever he’d dreamed about.

After a moment, you set a plate in front of him, then sat down across from him. “Do you want to talk about it?” Dean hesitated, rolling his shoulders slightly, before dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah. I think—I think I need to.” His voice was quieter now, thoughtful. “I saw things. Remembered things.” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “My wolf’s memories. It wasn’t just a dream.”

You nodded, not pushing, just waiting. He’d tell you when he was ready. For now, you went back over to the freezer, pulling out a roast to prepare for dinner while he ate his slice of pie, piecing things together in his mind. 

The ‘dream’ had shaken Dean more than he wanted to admit just yet. It was a hell of a lot to take in. The emotions alone had his mind reeling. He let out a shaky breath just as you set a glass of water on the table for him.

“You need to stay hydrated,” you said, pressing a quick kiss on the top of his head.

You thought about the book you were going to write, making mental notes of all the little things that had happened since that morning—things others probably had no knowledge of. Then, tucking them away in your mind, you focused on slicing carrots, potatoes, and onions to add to the roast.

Dean groaned. “Carrots? Really?” He knew he was whining like a pup, but he wasn’t a fan of ‘healthy’ stuff like his brother was.

You glanced over your shoulder, amusement flickering in your eyes. You could have pointed out just how much he sounded like a fussy pup, but honestly? A part of you found it endearing in a way you couldn’t quite put into words. You bit back a smile, turning back to your task.

“All I ask is that you try them. You’re a grown man. I’m not going to force-feed you,” you teased, your voice light but knowing. It was a trick you had learned from Beverly all those years ago, the kind that worked on stubborn pups who turned their noses up at anything remotely healthy.

Dean shot you a skeptical look, shoveling another bite of pie into his mouth. Not even his mom had been able to cook carrots in a way that didn’t still taste like carrots. He watched as you prepped the roasting pan, seasoned everything with practiced ease. And… grabbed the honey? His brows knit together, his curiosity pulled him from his seat. 

“What are you…” he trailed off, eyes narrowing as he watched you coat the entire roast, seasonings and all, in a layer of honey. Then, drizzled it sparingly over the potatoes, carrots, and onions that were all around the chunk of meat in the middle.

You glanced at him, raising a brow as you capped the honey. “Never had a roast like this before, huh?” 

Dean shook his head, still watching you like he wasn’t entirely sure whether to be intrigued or horrified.

You chuckled, covering the roasting pan and sliding it into the preheated oven. “Guess you’ll just have to trust me.” 

His curiosity had officially been piqued. You made a mental note of that—just another thing you were learning about him.

“Do you want to watch another movie or tell me about the dream you had?” you asked softly, turning to face him.

Your question pulled him from his mental debate over how you had used honey on dinner. 

Your voice was gentle, giving him an out if he needed it. Dean appreciated that. He swallowed, his fingers tapping idly against the counter supporting him. He wanted to tell you—hell, he needed to—but the words sat heavy in his chest, tangled in a way that made them hard to pull free.

“Movie?” he said instead, hesitantly. It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. He just wasn’t ready yet.

Dean knew you had other things the two of you could do, like board and card games, but with the fog in his mind, he couldn’t concentrate on anything for very long.

You didn’t press. “Movie it is,” you said with a small smile, helping him back to the living room. 

As he settled onto the couch, the dizziness subsiding along with some of the fog in his mind, he watched you scan the shelves. His eyes followed the careful way you moved, the easy familiarity in how you sifted through the movies. He liked that. Liked how comfortable you were, how natural all of this felt. His wolf rumbled in agreement, pushing closer, making its presence known in a way that sent a shiver down his spine.

He exhaled through his nose, your words from earlier replaying in his mind. Instead of pushing his wolf and its feelings away, Dean embraced them, letting his wolf stretch in his body, his own fingers flexing.

“Got any action movies?” he asked, taking slow, deep breaths, the sensation strange but manageable.

You hummed in thought, fingers trailing over the cases before plucking one free. “How about Young Guns?” You glanced back at him, gauging his reaction. “It’s action, kinda Western—you like Westerns, right?”

Dean huffed, the corner of his mouth tugging upward despite himself. “Damn right, I do.” You grinned, slipping the disc into the player and settling beside him as the movie started. He put his arm over your shoulders, pulling you to snuggle into his side, and you let him. His wolf guided him, and this time, he didn’t fight the instincts that coursed through him.

For a while, Dean focused on the film, letting himself get lost in the gunfights, the sharp drawl of the cowboy accents, the reckless loyalty of the gang. But his wolf was more focused on you. Calm within him, just under his skin.

It wasn’t just the lingering weight of the dream—though that still sat at the back of his mind—it was you. The warmth of you against him, the steady rhythm of your breathing, the faint scent of honey and spices still clinging to your skin from earlier. It was different than before, more potent. His wolf leaned into it, its instincts threading deeper into his awareness, merging with his own in a way that made his pulse quicken.

Dean clenched his jaw, shifting slightly. He wasn’t used to this. Wasn’t used to feeling his wolf so much, like it was pressing up against the inside of his ribs. It wasn’t demanding or aggressive—just present, threading through his awareness like the slow seep of warmth from a hot drink on a winter’s day.

It wasn’t bad, not exactly—just… new.

Then, halfway through the movie, the scent of dinner began to drift in from the kitchen.

It hit like a damn freight train.

The rich aroma of slow-roasted meat, the sweetness of hone caramelizing over time, the earthiness of seasoned vegetables—it all wrapped around him, sinking into his senses, pulling a grumble from his stomach, even after the slice of pie he’d had earlier. His wolf perked up instantly, sharp and alert, fully fixated on the meal cooking just a room away.

Dean swallowed hard.

His stomach growled again, a low, insistent sound, but it wasn’t just hunger clawing at him. It was the feeling behind it—the way his wolf recognized the meal as something made for him, something meant to nourish, to provide. 

He turned slightly, glancing down at you, your head resting against his chest. You were still focused on the movie, but he swore there was the faintest hint of a knowing smile on your lips.

You’d done this on purpose.

You knew how to get him to eat the damn carrots without forcing it, just like you knew when to push him and when to let him sit with his thoughts. He wasn’t sure how you did it—how you always seemed to know—but it settled something deep in his chest.

His wolf purred, the sound a gentle rumble in his chest.

Dean paid attention to his wolf, pulling you just a little closer. If he was being honest, this was one thing he and his wolf could agree on—being proud of you, of what you were doing for them. 

Maybe merging with it wasn’t such a bad thing, he thought to himself. Not if it meant more moments like this.

He let himself sink into the warmth of your embrace, losing track of time as the movie played on. When the timer dinged in the kitchen as the credits began rolling, you stirred against him, stretching with a soft yawn. “Lemme pull dinner out. Then, I’ll help you to the kitchen,” you murmured, your voice drowsy but content.

Dean’s first instinct was to wave you off, to let you rest while he handled the rest of dinner. But his wolf stirred, disagreeing. Don’t. The resistance irritated him at first—until he actually looked at you. Not tired. Relaxed. His wolf knew, and as Dean let himself settle again, he could feel that knowing. A quiet certainty. He was beginning to recognize it.

You returned a moment later, helping him to his feet and guiding him to the kitchen. He let you, more out of curiosity than necessity, watching you as you moved through the space with effortless ease. There was something grounding about it, something steady in the way you plated the food with careful precision.

The scent had hit him first—the moment you pulled the lid off the roasting pan. The honey-glaze, the slow-roasted meat, and the rich spices teased his senses. It wrapped around him, familiar and new all at once, making his stomach tighten with more than just hunger. There was comfort there. But what really got him was the anticipation on how these carrots were going to taste.

Dean swallowed, shifting in his seat as you set a plate in front of him, the warmth of the dish seeping through the ceramic. His wolf all but hummed, a quiet rumble of satisfaction curling in his chest. This was meant for him—made for him. He could feel it, the unspoken care in every detail.

You sat down across from him with your own plate, offering a small smile before digging in, giving him space to process. However, you did eye him discreetly, curious as to how he’d react to the carrots. The concept worked on pups, so you figured it would work on adults too, in much the same way.

He picked up his fork, stabbing a chunk of carrot. It wasn’t mushy, offering just enough resistance to make him pause. Huh. He popped it into his mouth—and froze.

It was… sweet. But not too sweet. Tender while still firm. It melted on his tongue in a way he hadn’t expected, the honey balancing out the natural earthiness. His brows shot up as he chewed, surprised despite himself.

The giggle that slipped past your lips pulled his gaze to meet yours. To him, you looked like an amused parent who had just tricked their pup into enjoying something healthy. There was no stopping the slight tug at the corners of his lips, his wolf’s amusement slipping out, and he let it.

“Alright,” he admitted, gruff but good-natured. “I’ll give you this one.”

Dean cut himself a bite of meat. The flavors hit him in waves—savory, sweet, decadent. His wolf pressed close, instincts flaring in quiet approval, and Dean didn’t even try to fight it. He let his wolf stretch beneath his skin, their edges blurring. Not quite merged, but no longer quite separate either. Still an odd sensation, but he was done resisting.

Halfway through the meal, he found himself glancing up at you, his thoughts shifting. “You wanna know about the dream?” he asked, voice low but steady.

You met his gaze, setting your fork down carefully. “Only if you’re ready,”  you said, giving him that same out you knew he might need.

Dean exhaled, rolling his shoulders, his fingers tightening slightly around his fork. “It was of that first night,” he began, his voice quiet again. His gaze was on you, but far away, letting it play out in front of him. “But… it was that whole time before he met you, too.”

You stayed quiet, still giving him the space he needed so he could put words to the emotions you saw swirling in his eyes. Important memories came in dreams, you mentally reminded yourself. 

“He saw you, your wolf,” he whispered. “Like a ghost walking in you.” There was so much, but that had been what stood out the most to him, your wolf. Your breath hitched, and you swallowed hard, lips parting slightly. But you stayed quiet, taking steadying breaths to try to calm your racing heart. None of which was lost on him.

His eyes refocused on you and whispered, “She’s beautiful, like you.”

You fought back tears as the emotions tightened around your chest like a vice, but one slipped down your cheek without permission. You couldn’t hold his gaze anymore, quickly wiping away the tear and attempting to pull yourself together. He got to see a part of you that you had never even been able to feel, and you weren’t entirely sure how to process it, but it hurt.

If he was capable, he would have gone over and pulled you into his arms, but the last thing he needed was to have you end up helping him up off the floor due to the dizziness. So, instead, he reached across the small table and took your hand in his.

For a few moments, he didn’t speak, letting his wolf guide him. 

“He’s always known it was you,” Dean explained softly, his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles against your skin. “Ever since the first night I shifted after I presented alpha.” His voice was steady, weighted with something old, something certain. “When he’d answer you, he was telling you that he was there. That you weren’t alone.”

Something inside you broke. The kind of break that wasn’t jagged or painful—but the kind that let the light in.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, silent and unstoppable. Dean and his wolf worked together as he carefully braced against the table, shifting to sit beside you. Then, his arms were around you, strong and sure, pulling you close. He whispered comforting words, softly stroking your hair with one hand, the other on the small of your back, grounding you. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled against his shoulder, voice thick, the words almost swallowed by quiet sobs. You weren’t even sure where the emotions were coming from or why they had spilled over all of a sudden. It had just hit you, out of the blue. Or had it pulled to the surface things you had chosen not to face over the years, a loneliness that no one had truly ever been able to fill?

Dean could smell it in your scent, but with your mutation, his scent couldn’t calm you. So, he allowed his wolf further to the front, mixing with his consciousness, guiding him, so close they nearly blurred into one. A soft rumble in his chest vibrated into you. 

He was purring, again. He didn’t fight against it. This time, he leaned into it.

Slowly, your tears subsided, and your breathing evened out, the tension in your muscles easing as you relaxed against him.

Merging isn’t so bad, Dean thought to himself when you finally looked up at him, and he smiled softly down at you. He cupped your cheek, his thumb wiping away another stray tear. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he told you softly. “You’re here now, with me.” You didn’t have to explain why you were apologizing—he already knew. You saw it in his eyes, the quiet understanding, the way both he and his wolf held no resentment for the years that had passed, for the distance that had once been between you. With a shaky breath, you managed a small smile, then leaned in, pressing a feather-light kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Thanks, for understanding,” you murmured.

Dean exhaled softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead, giving you one last gentle squeeze before returning to his seat. It’d been easy to comfort you when he worked with his wolf. Easier than he ever thought it could be. The cabin felt different now—lighter, softer. Falling into conversation was simple, laughing about things from the movies, his sweet compliments about dinner, and the way you would just look at him, like you were seeing something in him no one else ever had.

You did see something in him—the way he was sharing control with his wolf, how they worked together, and how a softness finally found his eyes as the tension eased from his features. 

Dinner wound down with an ease neither of you rushed to disturb. Dean nursed a beer as you started cleaning up, the last of the golden daylight spilling through the kitchen windows. You’d barely tucked away the leftovers when the front door swung open, Jess and Sam’s voices carrying through the cabin.

“In the kitchen!” you called, not looking up from your task.

Sam was the first to step inside, eyes sweeping over Dean as the scents of dinner lingered thick in the air. “Man, if Jess hadn’t already fed me, I’d be all over whatever you made,” he said, amusement tugging at his voice.

Jess beelined for you, looping her arms around your waist as you washed another plate. “Tell me you saved me some?” she teased, resting her head on your shoulder.

You giggled, nudging her lightly. “If Dean doesn’t finish it off tomorrow.”

“Bet he only ate the meat,” Sam quipped, setting down the bag of supplies Dean had asked him for earlier.

Dean took a swig of his beer, shooting his brother a look, but you beat him to it. 

“He ate the potatoes and the carrots,” you informed Sam, matter-of-factly.

Sam’s brows shot up. “How?”

Dean exhaled sharply through his nose—somewhere between irritation and resignation—as your laughter bubbled through the kitchen, warm and easy. Jess smirked, licking her lips as she answered for you. “She uses honey or maple syrup on them when she does a roast.”

Sam huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Too bad Mom never knew that tick.” Dean muttered something under his breath and tipped his beer back, but he didn’t argue. Because, well—Sam wasn’t wrong.

“We’re not staying long,” Jess murmured, her chin still resting on your shoulder. “Just wanted to drop off Dean’s bag.” With her still holding onto you, you managed to dry your hands. “We’ll hang out soon—”

“None of that,” she scolded, voice firm but gentle. “Don’t rush this. I’ll be here when he can walk on his own two feet again.” You knew she was teasing Dean—at least a little—but also that she wasn’t going anywhere. Even if it took him a month to figure out how to merge with his wolf. 

“Thanks,” you whispered, leaning back into her embrace, covering her hand with yours.

“What are sisters for?” she murmured, squeezing you once before finally letting go.

The brothers watched, momentarily caught in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Pack members were close by nature, but this—this was something deeper. It was like the bond they had with each other, something that existed beyond blood or name. It wasn’t just Winter or Winchester or even how the packs had merged. The four of you simply fit, like a pack of your own, bound by something older, something unspoken. Jess had never shied away from your scent, had never hesitated to be close, and that meant something. The two of you had just been connected from the day she was born—like the day the brothers met the two of you, and the day Dean’s wolf had shifted for the first time. 

Jess was the first to pull them all from the quiet moment, ever the one to break the spell before it could settle too deeply.

“Well,” she sighed dramatically, stepping back from you with a teasing smirk. “We should probably head out before these lovebirds start making eyes at each other.” Sam huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he pulled his keys from his pocket. “Yeah, can’t be third and fourth wheeling all night.” Dean scoffed, shooting his brother a look, but he didn’t bother arguing. Not when he knew those two had already done far more than he and you had. 

Jess squeezed your hand once before stepping away, wiggling her fingers in a little wave. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” “Pretty sure that doesn’t leave much off the table,” you quipped, making her cackle as she disappeared out the door with Sam.

The quiet didn’t rush in; it settled, comfortably. The hum of the refrigerator, the distant chirp of night insects through the open window—soft, ambient sounds that made the space feel warmer, more yours. Dean leaned back in his chair, watching you for a long moment before he finished his beer.

“You tired?” His voice was low, rough in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion.

You glanced at him, shaking your head. “Not yet.” Dean exhaled, slow, watching as you wiped down the stove and counters. You felt his eyes on you, but not in a bad way. It was just different—not just adoration, but understanding. A deep, bone-deep knowing.

His wolf had always been there, waiting. Pacing beneath his skin, a presence he’d tried to keep at arm’s length, control rather than embrace. But tonight, there was no struggle, no tension. It wasn’t separate from him anymore, wasn’t something he had to manage. It was him. Fully, completely.

The steady pulse in his chest, the way his body leaned forward instinctively in his chair, toward yours, how he could feel his muscles relax just with your presence. The pull that had always been there—only now he was finally letting himself accept it.

“I like this,” he admitted, voice softer now, honest in a way that felt like a secret meant only for you. “Not fighting it. Feels… right.”

It was the soft smile tugging at your lips when you turned around that hitched his breath. His words sent something warm curling in your chest, knowing he meant more than just his wolf—he meant you. Meant this. 

“Yeah,” you murmured, stepping closer to him, reaching out and taking his hand. “It does.”

And for the first time, Dean let himself believe it.

He let you help him upstairs, though he barely needed to lean on you at all now. Not when he had finally stopped fighting—both with and against his wolf. He wasn’t losing himself by embracing it. He was becoming whole. 

Instincts he’d been afraid of for far too long settled into place, no longer something to suppress but something to trust. And somehow, being with you now, seeing the world through his wolf’s eyes, it all just made sense. Like the pieces of a puzzle finally snapping together. 

Even knowing you couldn’t feel the bond between the two of you, couldn’t scent him or the emotions woven in it, he knew. 

Your heart belonged to him. Just as his had always belonged to you.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 12

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