#all her brothers were free of their shackles

[eriochromatic]

Maybe the poison drips through

Succession 4x10 “With Open Eyes”

[dunmesh]

this panel from the world guide of falin being surrounded by other girls while laios is all alone kills me because. that's it. that's the key difference in their journeys.

as laios states himself, he left the village in order to create a home for him and falin elsewhere. a home that won't collapse due to others' hatred and fears like their old home did, a home where they are loved and accepted unconditionally. but as he soon found out, even before earning money, or having walls surrounding him and a roof above his head- what he so earnestly desired was to meet other people who will accept him for who he is as well. instead, he kept being tormented by those around him, shunned and sneered at. his loneliness quickly became all-consuming until he truly had nothing left except for the monsters in the pages of his book, but even that became a target of mockery and destroyed. that's why ever since the day he left the village, he never felt that he truly made the right choice. so he kept running away: unable to resist and unable to accpet.

and an ocean away from him there was his sister, who never managed to fully fit in herself. but unlike him, she met a person who became a home to her and learned what a true friendship was for the first time in her life. and laios clearly realizes that too when he finally sees falin and marcille together, he can tell his sister obtained the greatest treasure there is on her own- the exact thing he never managed to find anywhere himself, thus coming back empty-handed to the sister he left the village for.

but when you read this part of the manga, laios's focus is on falin's loneliness, not his own. he talks about how it hurts thinking about all those moments she had to spend alone because he wasn't there for her, so it almost sounds like he's the one who couldn't bear her suffering and therefore decided to not let her go again. but we do get a glimpse of their first meeting after that almost-decade long separation in the manga, and then we see more of that in the world guide and daydream hour- and it becomes abundantly clear that it was falin who was trying to protect and save him from this pit of loneliness and depression he was in.

so instead of just doing his best to atone for leaving her behind in the village and making sure she is never lonely again, it might also be that laios was desperately clinging to the one person in the world he felt that accepted and loved him unconditionally. those words he used to describe his motivation to stay by falin's side are the exact words she would've used as well; she couldn't bear leaving him behind in this state. in a sense, they were each other's shackles.

but then she did. she died for him and their friends, and ironically enough, it was by leaving him alone like this that he was finally able to stand on his own and put his full trust in others. to have the courage to reveal who he is and give others the opportunity to accept him after such a long time of hiding. it was a long journey, but his hiding finally came to an end when he faced the others after shedding his monster form. and i love that the person who was falin's "home" all those years away from laios, marcille, became just as meaningful to him during their time separated from falin- the first one to find him and show him that he isn't alone anymore. just as he did for her.

so at the end of the story when falin talks about all the places she would like to go, it's not just that she wants to pursue her own dreams- but that she actually feels free to do so and go anywhere she desires. and one of the main reasons for that is that her brother finally found new people he wants to be with; his own home.

[daycourtofficial]

The shadow man’s secrets

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 3.5k | warnings: mentions of shackles and kidnapping

Summary: based on this request - the spymaster of the Night Court is harboring a secret and Nesta Archeron is determined to figure out what it is. What happens when she discovers the secret isn’t a what but rather a whom?

A/N: thank you to this request!! It’s late but this fic was so fun (wanted it done for Halloween but 🤡) Happy free day for @sjmromanceweek!

Something was going on with Azriel. The other members of the Inner Circle might not have noticed, but Nesta sure did. The shadowsinger always kept things close to his vest, his personal life a secret to his whole family. Nesta was certain he had an entire life they had no idea about. 

But something had happened recently and Nesta couldn’t quite pinpoint what it meant. 

Nesta had run into Azriel the other morning as if he were just coming back into the house, even though she knew he had spent the night at the House of Wind. It left her so confused, she spent the rest of the day confused and stuck in her own head. 

These days he seemed to have less shadows following him about, the light allowing Nesta to see more of his face. The bags beneath his eyes had lessened and he seemed brighter. Azriel had even been a bit more vocal at family gatherings. 

She hadn’t said anything when she saw him, merely nodded at him in greeting before he disappeared once more. She had turned the brief interaction over and over in her mind, searching for any detail she may have missed. 

“He’s seeing someone.”

Cassian choked on his smoothie, a chunk of banana getting caught in his throat. The mated pair had been enjoying a quiet breakfast until the realization hit Nesta hard and fast.

Yes. He was seeing someone. Someone he cared about. 

“You can’t be serious. We’ve talked about this.” Cassian looked down at the smoothie he spilt on himself, dabbing at his shirt with a towel as he spoke. The topic had come up before, but Nesta hadn’t felt so resolute and convinced as she did now.

“Cassian, I’m sure of it.”

“Have you seen this mysterious fae?”

“No, but-“

“Nesta,” he sighed, throwing the towel onto the counter, “Azriel’s love life has been a mystery to all of us for a long time. Believe me, if he’s keeping secrets, I want to be the first to know.”

Nesta let the words hang in the air, taking a bite of her bowl of oats. She watched Cassian’s face for a moment, an idea forming. 

“Let’s find out.”

The couple made a plan they felt quite proud of: they’d covertly ask Rhys about Azriel’s upcoming schedule, and on the nights he was staying at the House of Wind, they would stay up and follow him out.

It sounded so easy, surely within a night or two they would catch where he snuck off to, finding him with a lover, putting an end to Nesta’s curiosity.

Cassian was quite proud of himself when asking Rhysand about their brother’s schedule. He had been debating all sorts of reasons as to why he should know Azriel’s whereabouts from planning a surprise for him to wanting to make him a nice meal. He knew Rhys would see through those reasons, so he went for a much simpler reason.

The two were lounging lazily in Rhys’s office, the deep purple curtains blowing softly in the breeze. Rhys had hummed after Cassian asked about Azriel’s schedule, finally looking up at his brother before Cassian quickly sputtered out.

“You know, so Nes and I can have alone time.”

Rhys tilted his head, analyzing Cassian’s face as he took the question in. He leaned back in his chair, a slight creak as his weight shifted.

“Since when have the two of you ever cared about having an audience?”

Cassian rubbed his sweaty palms against his thighs, anticipating the question. He leaned in conspiratorially, dropping his voice as if Azriel would hear. “Well, we were talking and we felt a bit bad after everything at Solstice, ya know? We’ve been trying to be more delicate.”

Rhys rubbed his eyes, clearly not swayed on the reason, but not sure if he cared enough to know the full truth. “He’ll be gone Saturday through Tuesday, otherwise he has no commitments that aren’t small and local.”

The two continued on their ‘meeting’ - mostly drinking while Rhys reviewed mind numbing documents. It was rare Cassian got to spend time alone with Rhysand these days. Nyx and Feyre kept his brother’s attention nearly every moment of the day.

He didn’t harbor any ill will about it, but the crackling fire and silence transported Cassian back to a much younger body. One with less scars and aches, less sure of himself. How every evening of his youth was accompanied by Rhys and Azriel, the three complaining about whatever fresh new horrors training had laid upon them that day.

Had Az felt this distance with Rhys or even Cassian? Sure, he lived in the House of Wind with him, but the general hardly saw him. Guilt flooded his chest, trying to remember the last time he devoted any attention to Azriel directly. 

Cassian spent the rest of his afternoon in Rhys’s office, thoughts far away from the brother before him. 

-

For the rest of the week, Cassian went out of his way to seek out Az. He found him for meals, looking for him to do work together, asking to go on flights together. The sudden clinginess had met little resistance from Azriel, just confusion from the shadowsinger. 

During the night, Cassian would leave his brother, and he and Nesta waited, lurking the halls of the House of Wind to see what they would find. 

The first three nights were unsuccessful, the mated pair falling asleep in the hallway during their shifts before giving up and retreating to their beds. It felt odd staying up so late with little results, but the pair were determined to catch Azriel.

On the fourth and groggy night, the pair had changed to watching in shifts. Nesta took the first watch and would wake Cassian to take the second watch. Cassian agreed easily, exhaustion overtaking his body quickly after the extra training he had been doing with Azriel.

Cassian hadn’t slept for that long when he felt Nesta tugging the bond intently. He reluctantly got up, letting the bond drag him through the halls of the house. He finally found his mate standing at the balcony doors, urging him to hurry up.

“He just took off - we have to follow him.”

Guilt stirred in Cassian’s chest, an unpleasant pang creeping back in that he had a hand in his brother’s loneliness. He didn’t want to follow his brother, and wanted to afford him some privacy in the company he kept these days. 

But the general scooped up his mate anyway, wings taking off, slicing through air currents. Cassian’s wings flapped slowly in the wind, trying to stay as silent as possible as the two flew over Velaris. His hands gripped tighter around Nesta as the air got colder, the altitude rising to hide between the clouds.

They followed Azriel to the outskirts of Velaris, watched him land at the gate to a small, quaint home. It was charming - a white house with wood trim, a round door, and a small garden in the front. Cassian glided in the air, watching Azriel walk into the home before he closed the door behind him.

After a moment, the pair made their descent, landing softly on the ground. After setting Nesta down, the two slunk through the night, making little disturbance as they made it to the front door.

Nesta pressed her long ear to the door, listening for any movement before gently reaching her hand out and twisting the knob. It moved with ease, a quiet one could only find in the dead of night.

The mated pair crept in, slowly shutting the door behind them before gazing at each other, a silent now what? exchanged in their glances.

They both took in the dark house, scanning across the bookshelves that littered the common room. Books were strewn about the place. Papers were scattered everywhere. Mugs sat out on the tables, lonely tea bags left in the bottoms of them.

This was certainly not Azriel’s home, Cassian thought. Azriel’s room was incredibly bare boned, not even appearing to be lived in. But this place, with a worn couch and still warm fireplace, called out a level of domesticity Nesta doesn’t think she’s ever had.

Cassian began tracing his thumb across the spines of books, none of the titles familiar to him. He was just about to sit on the couch when Nesta pulled him away, dragging him to a staircase. He wanted to stop the madness, guilt sinking into his gut at the invasion of privacy, continuing on in spite of what he knew was wrong. 

The hallway was small, Cassian’s wings tucking in tight to squeeze through. Paintings hung on the walls, but it was too dark to make out the subjects. At the top of the stairs was a hallway which had three doors coming off of it. Cassian pointed his finger at the doors, moving his hand between them in decision. Muttering something under his breath, his finger landed on the door in the middle. The two began making their way to the door, until they heard shuffling from behind it.

The two quickly changed direction and moved into the closest room, closing the door quickly behind them. Cassian’s wings barely fit through the door, but he managed somehow, turning to gaze at the door, half wondering how he’s going to get out. Nesta’s hand on his arm made him still, the soft dig of her nails an unwelcome feeling for the first time.

Cassian turned, taking in the room they chose. Just as cozy as the rest of the house, the room was filled with knick knacks and trinkets, the place seeming well loved. He wasn’t certain what had stopped Nesta until his eyes landed on the bed, finding a female’s form covered by a large comforter.

The female slumbered, her breathing heavy as Nesta watched her. Her mind whirled, doubt creeping in that they had gotten this all wrong. Azriel had a girlfriend and that was that.

Nesta knew Azriel was a bit odd, always keeping secrets. A secret girlfriend shouldn’t surprise her, but the air still held a note of sinister to it.

She began turning away, pushing Cassian to go back to the door, when the female shifted, her foot moving out from the blanket and Nesta’s blood ran cold.

“Cass.”

A faebane shackle laid across her ankle.

She turned to Cassian, pointing her index finger at the shackle but it was too late. Something cold wrapped around her shoulder, a deep voice in her ear whispering, “what are you doing?”

Nesta let out a scream from deep in her soul before turning to find the shadowsinger behind her. He was towering over her, and it was then Nesta understood the icy rage so many had described him having. His shadows were slithering all around him in agitation, his stare making Nesta’s stomach plummet. She shot out a fist, instinct kicking in before Azriel caught her hand, holding it tight.

Hazel eyes had targeted onto hers, his hand holding tight around her fist as she tried to push him off her.

“Let her go, Az.” Cassian’s jaw clenched, preparing to fight his brother. Cassian was shocked at this secret life his brother had. He knew that the shadowsinger had an unsavory job, but he never thought his brother could resort to this.

“Not before she tells me what the two of you are doing here.”

“What we are doing here? You’ve kidnapped someone, Az!” Her free hand flung out to the direction of the female on the bed, surely drugged by how the rocuse hadn’t woken her. Azriel’s eyes followed Nesta’s hand, his jaw ticking at having been caught. 

“She’s none of your business.” Any warmth Azriel had shown Nesta was gone from his voice, a cold timber that nearly made Nesta collapse.

Cassian put an arm around Nesta’s shoulders, trying to pull her away from Azriel. “Brother, what are you doing? Why is she-“

“She’s none of your concern.” Azriel’s voice was clipped, sharp with agitation. He stepped toward them, his shadows peering over his shoulder making him seem a foot taller. “Now, why are you two here?”

Cassian growled at his brother, forming a shield in front of Nesta. His blood was roaring, Illyrian drive revving up in preparation for anything. Azriel stood his ground, a menacing shadow towering over Cassian. 

The general looked back at the bed, the split second he spent watching the steady rise and fall of the female’s breathing lasting almost a lifetime.

A hundred possibilities moved through Cassian’s mine, a slideshow of what ifs and regrets. He knew the best course of action now was to flee, to run, to get Rhysand. If Azriel had gone rogue, truly going off the deep end, were Cassian and Nesta enough to fight him?

He didn’t wait to find out. Cassian turned his back on his brother before grabbing Nesta’s waist. He carried her to the balcony in a sprint, crashing through the doors before taking to the skies with Nesta in his arms.

“Cassian, we have to go back! We have to save her.” Nesta’s words were accented with her fist making contact with Cassian’s shoulder.

“Nesta, if what we saw was real, we have to tell Rhys. We can’t fight this by ourselves.”

The General had never flown so fast before, yelling for Rhys in his mind only to get no response. The pair landed on a balcony outside the River House that Cassian knew led directly into Rhys’s study. After setting Nesta down, he opened the door, stopping as he saw both of his brothers already conversing.

“Cassian,” Rhys purred, irritation twinkling in his eye the only hint at his annoyance. “How lovely for you two to join us.”

Nesta wasted no time as she stormed in, squaring up to Azriel. The shadowsinger still towered over her, but she did not back down. 

“I trusted you.”

Her finger jabbed into his chest. It didn’t do anything other than pain Nesta’s finger, but she did it again to drive the point home.

“I trusted you with my friends, the priestesses, my sisters! I trusted you!” Each word was emphasized with a jab of her finger into his chest. He snarled back at the accusations, but remained quiet.

“Was this because of Solstice?” Cassian chimed in from behind his mate. “Certainly there were better options than this!”

“Do you find me so inloveable I’d resort to- what exactly?” 

“Sit down, all three of you.” A High Lord’s command had the three fae tensing. They all sat promptly, Nesta moving her chair closer to Cassian.

“Rhys, look into my mind, you have to know what I saw.”

Rhys held up a hand, his jaw setting in annoyance.

“I was woken up by Azriel, something that hasn’t happened in centuries. Now, I want to hear from all of you what happened.”

Cassian and Nesta began speaking at the same time, their words jumbled on top of each other. Rhys sighed before he looked to Azriel. “You woke me up, I’ll hear your side first.”

“This situation is no one’s concern.”

Rhys raised his eyebrows. “Well, if there’s no concern, why did you wake me?”

Azriel opened his mouth, only to be interrupted by Nesta. “None of our concern? You had a female hostage, Azriel!”

Azriel bared his teeth at his sister in law, “she is not some female and she is not your concern.”

Cadsian and Rhys stared in shock at Azriel’s outburst, neither brother getting a word in before three light taps hit the wood of the door. All four fae turned as the door opened, a female in her pajamas coming into view.

“Um, hi.”

All heads turned to the doorway to find Feyre escorting a female in. Hair unbound, she wore a long shirt and nothing else, exposing her legs to the cold air. 

Azriel stood quickly, knocking his chair back to get to the door in three quick strides. He reached out his hands, gently placing them on her shoulders. The female raised her hands, rubbing his in a soothing motion.

“You don’t have to.”

Azriel was met with a glare before a soft “I know” could be heard if Nesta strained her ears just enough.

“It’s nice to meet you all, despite the strange circumstances.”

Cassian looked on in confusion, each moment curiouser than the last. Nesta watched the reactions of everyone around her - Azriel stood in the doorway next to a confused Feyre, and Rhys sat back in his chair, arms crossed at the chest.

“None of you know me, but it feels like I know all of you from how much Azriel speaks of you.”

Azriel cut in, his hands going back onto her shoulders, his wings wrapping around her in a possessive stance. Shadows circled the pair incessantly, twitching in agitation, huddling close to both as if protecting them.

“She is my mate.”

The room was completely quiet at the revelation, no one moving to break the spell of the atmosphere. Azriel’s shadows swirled around the room, whether fighting or dancing, Nesta couldn’t tell.

“I think you killed them.” A soft giggle came from her, unable to help herself as she saw the most famous family in the Night Court at an utter loss for words.

“Hush, you.” Azriel gently squeezed her arm, watching the faces of his family. They all stared back, jaws practically hanging off the hinges. It was Cassian who spoke up first, his hand scratching the back of his head.

“Then why was she chained to your bed?”

A sad smile graced her lips, the endearingly sleepy look gone. “Oh, um, it’s quite a story. My brother could wield the shadows, but when he died a few years ago, his shadows just flocked to me.”

Cassian looked more closely, and could tell a slight difference in the shadows in the room. He didn’t think much of them initially, assuming they were just Azriel’s, but now he could make out two distinct groupings of darkness: one pool was erratic, moving with no plotted course, the other seemed to follow them, trying to corral them closer.

It was truly a sight to see. He was mesmerized by them, like a child watching fish pass by in a tank.

“Then why the shackles?”

“Oh!” Nesta wanted to roll her eyes, not expecting Azriel’s mate to cause her such anguish in such a short span of time. “I’ve been having issues lately where I shadow walk while dreaming. It’s really not ideal.” Hands moved to her bag, pulling out a set of keys that jangled as they came free. “Azriel thought of it - but he ensures I always have a set of keys nearby should I need to escape.”

”And why have you been a secret from us?”

“My fault, again. I don’t have the best hold on my shadows and they like to tell me everything so I’ve basically been a homebody unless Azriel’s around.”

They stared blankly, the three fae still not quite wrapping their heads around her existence.

“It’s just really difficult taking in all the new information all the time like how my High Lord is smiling and how he has his shoes off beneath the desk and how Nesta’s nails are digging into her palms-“

“I think that’s enough, dear.”

Azriel ran a soothing hand down his mate’s hair, the action soothing her shadows.

“But I promise he’s not hiding me against my will. In fact, that’s my house you two broke into.”

The color drained from Cassian’s face as he leaned forward, “I’m so-“

Her hand waved him off. “Azriel warned me his family was nosey. I figured it was only a matter of time until he found out how nosey you lot were.”

Cassian looked sheepish, leaning back in his seat, avoiding the gaze of both of his brothers.

“Will we see you again?” Nesta sounded almost sheepish, insecure. She didn’t want to convey how badly she wanted to know Azriel’s mate. She always held a soft spot for the shadowsinger, and she wanted to probe more answers out of her.

Azriel and his mate shared a glance between each other, the adoration shining in their shared look. It was enough for Nesta’s hackles to fall back down and be satiated.

For now.

“I’m sure you will.” Despite the hour, despite the fact they broke into her home, she was all smiles and brightness.

“Now, I’d like to escort my mate back to bed. Surely the two of you-“ Azriel pointed fingers at his brothers, “should do the same.”

Azriel led his mate to the balcony before gently picking her up, carrying her off into the night. The three fae sat in silence, watching his form get smaller and smaller. The doors stayed open, the soft wingbeats and giggles carried through the house on the wind.

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[klausysworld]

reader and klaus just had an massive argument and he kicks her out the house and invites cami over , reader ends up getting attacked badly in the middle of the night by one of klaus enemies and she calls him and he ignores all the calls until he listens to the voicemail in the morning only to find yn but it’s too late

The Ache Of Agony

Everything had been blown out of proportion. Y/N was a mess of tears and yelling whilst Klaus's paranoia was flaring. Within seconds Klaus had stopped thinking with his heart, looking at her like an enemy instead of his lover. Something to fight not fight for.

He had to get her out of that house before he hurt her; killed her.

However even once she was gone his mind was spinning. She hadn't meant to but she had caused a small sum of pain to him, put his family in danger and for that his mind told him to make her hurt.

Which was how Camille ended up at his house, lashes batting prettily as she sat beside him, leaning into him gradually. One of his hands was tense against the back of her neck, his body unsure how to respond between the battle of his head and heart as his lips neared the blonde's.

Their mouths finally met with a lack of passion on his end meanwhile she relished in finally having what she desired. His eyes only closed for a second before they were open, the look in them distant as he pulled away and let her rest her forehead against his.

The buzz of his phone vibrated against the table making him glance to see Y/N's name. Guilt crawled up his throat like a thousand tiny legs and he felt his arm reach out to grab the device but Cami's beat him to it. She clicked the button on the side and turned the phone face-down, pushing it to be forgotten.

Camille didn't stay as long as she'd hoped, Klaus couldn't go through with what his irrational mind had originally conjured up and he wound up back alone on the couch with his head in his hands.

Drink and drugs filled his body in an attempt to gorget his mistakes but in doing so he forgot her. The phone call and the dozen more that followed.

Morning had long passed before Klaus woke up face down, fully clothed against his bed. Elijah had been the one to drag Klaus downstairs, lecturing about his behaviour. One brief mention of Y/N's name was enough to spark a memory, the faint vision of his phone lighting up for the tenth time whilst his head was spinning a hundred different ways.

Klaus stood up fast, too fast. His body ached to throw up as the blood rushed up but he fought against it and ran for his phone, ignoring Elijah's impatient calling.

"No, no, no, no." He muttered, panic finally setting in as he clicked on the list of voicemails left from her only to be flooded with pure and utter dread when the haunting echo of her screams left the speaker.

Elijah's voice died down and the brother stood in a deathly silence as he pressed the next one. The familiar voice of a couple witches they had been antagonised by were laughing, mocking Y/N's agony as they tortured those cries from her one smiling lips.

"We need Davina, now." Klaus announced though the crack in his voice wasn't missed and Elijah was moving immediately.

Y/N had been looked at fondly by the vampires of New Orleans, wolves too via Hayley. There wasn't a bad word to say about her, so when hearing she was missing and most likely stung up in stitches, everyone was there to bring her home.

Five broken barriers and a covens worth of witches later and they finally had her within reach and yet nobody moved to pull her free of those chains.

Not when her throat was already slit, her body torn open down to her navel. Blood painting her skin, dripping down to the floor in a platter of abstract.

Klaus's heart ached so much he'd rather have had it torn out a hundred times over.

His steps were hollow against the ground as his trembling hands raised to tear apart the shackles that held her wrists up, dangling her from the ceiling like a butcher would a pig.

His arms caught her body with a broken cry, knees giving out but he didn't dare let her touch the floor. She was still warm against him, although that could have just been the blood, still her limbs were still soft and he could still curl her body against his and pretend for just a second longer that she was alive and snuggled up to him in bed like she should have been that night before.

Rebekah's hand touched his shoulder but the whimper that left his throat made Elijah pull her away. "Not yet." He uttered, his own voice struggling to maintain the usual stoicism it held. The other vampires hung their heads in grief, listening to the sobs Klaus Mikaelson whilst Marcel encouraged them to step away and let the family grieve.

Only a few had began to move when a sharp gasp reached each corner of the room.

A sound of terror leaving both Klaus and Y/N when her body lurched to some sort of life. She pushed him off, screaming with fear and confusion. Klaus's hands flew up in an attempt to show no harm and the other vampires were forcefully removed from the building to give her a moment.

Eventually her mind recognised her wrists were free, her insides were intact and the physical torture was gone; only psychological left.

Coming to the realisation she was a vampire hit her too hard after everything else she had gone through in the past hours. All her senses were running too high, causing her to spiral erratically.

Nobody could touch her, talking to her was proving just as difficult and it was eating Klaus up.

Hours dragged by but every minute was another minute closer to truly losing her forever. Klaus was given a glimpse of what her death would do to him and he knew that he couldn't let her go. He would give anything to go back and just let her yell at him, to have just forgiven her and make it up to each other. Or to at least have been the one to leave so that she could have remained safe at home. Instead he threw her out to fend for herself, an angel in a land of monsters.

Exhaustion wrapped its way back around Y/N as her end started to sink in. As her last grains of strength crumbled down the drain, Klaus was finally able to get close enough to hold her red-stained hand. He could feel her inner conflict to pull away or accept his comfort, she was scared and he understood that but he couldn't hold her lifeless body for the second time in 24 hours.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered, careful not to speak too loud and irritate her heightened senses. Y/N's eyes were full of such a sadness he had never seen in her before. "Please let me bring you home, if you won't transition, at least be somewhere safe? Somewhere that's not here." He pleaded with her, hoping that of he got her home he could sway her decision.

Lucky for him, she didn't want to see that room for a minute longer than necessary. She couldn't have those walls be the last walls she ever see.

Being back in their bed, her bloody body staining the sheets as she shook worse than a leave on an autumn's night, was so much better than that floor.

The gentle touch of his fingertips on the side of her arm was the most amount of comfort she would accept so it was what he would give. The mere mention of turning shut her down but when her skin started greying, desiccating, Klaus couldn't just watch.

She whimpered a cry when the beautiful taste slipped down her throat, her vision blocked by tears as the hunger vampires had always described to her devoured her whole.

Klaus was finally able to get his arms around her as he felt her submit to the urges and drain blood bag after blood bag that he handed to her.

Klaus had to push the guilt down, he would have to survive her resentment, he would live with her hating him just so long as he never had to hear or see her in that kind of pain again.

He would never be the cause of that, not ever again.

[crescenthistory]

May I request C6 with Regulus? I’m in some desperate need of Reggie comforting reader 😭😭😭

there are sosososo many different ways to interpret this prompt, and somehow i chose? perhaps the darkest one? so sorry, you are really going to need that comforting now... thanks for requesting lmao xx

Prompt: C.6 "I don't know, it just happened"

Words: 5.5k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, blood racism, internalised blood racism, hate crime/minor assault, emotional breakdown, mutual self-hatred, regulus has not left the black family, alluded black brothers drama, undecided side regulus, perhaps a bit cliche/romanticising, established relationship, your dad is dead (long ago, mentioned), heavy hurt/comfort, happy ending

Notes: lol i am not okay

It was a rare occurrence that Regulus Black felt light these days, in any meaning of the word. 

His feet felt shackled as he trekked through the Hogwarts halls he felt were increasingly unwelcoming to him. His consciousness weighed him down like a thousand bricks as he knew he had to either take a stance against his parents or become complacent in a hope of survival. He knew he had to do the former; he had no idea how to stop himself from the latter. Trapped, cornered, cowardly – heavy.

Yet, when walking the final few metres to your dormitory that he knew housed your soft self now that you were done with tutoring first years, he felt undeservingly light. A sensation only you could inspire in him these days.

While conversations were growing tenser and tenser between you the more Regulus struggled with freeing himself from his family, your love for him had yet to falter. He knew he was only biding his time, but until then he could not help revelling in it, albeit guilt ridden. 

He does not knock before entering, just carefully pushes the ajar door further open. You had told him off for knocking so primly every time – “you’re always welcome here, Reggie” – and he wanted nothing more than to please you.

“Amour?” he called out as he closed the door softly behind him, looking around the dorm for a trace of you, or at least one of your dorm mates.

None to be found.

He dropped his bookbag by the end of your bed, reaching up to scratch the back of his head as he looked around. Some of that heaviness began returning to his limbs at your absence, his hope of slipping away from the world with you for the next few hours dissolving.

Then, he heard the water running from the adjunct bathroom. A sigh of relief escaped him, though his body remained tense, and he made his way over. He could hear the water splashing from the sink and he carefully knocked on the door with one knuckle.

“Amour?” he tried again.

This time he technically got a response of sorts, though nowhere near the one he had been hoping for. All movement behind the door stilled. The water was still running in a steady stream, but whatever you had been doing with it, you had stopped. Regulus could almost picture you standing like a deer in headlights – his brows furrowed unhappily at the thought.

“Are you alright, love?” 

Finally, your voice answered, but the fragility of it rattled him. “Oh, um, hi Reggie, I– I’m alright, be with you in a minute, yeah?”

You seemed distressed. Regulus did not care for it at all.

“Could I come in, amour?” He spoke to the door as if it was not there, as if he was looking you in the eyes, willing you to let him in.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you murmured, but he just barely caught it through the wood.

Regulus seemed to have met a divulge where he had to make a choice – a relatively minor one, but it felt important nonetheless.

A large, painful part of his mind was screaming at him to leave you alone. She doesn’t want you, she’s finally seen you for what you are. Scum staining the story of her life. It is this voice that rules most of his actions, the voice keeping him and Sirius apart, the voice tying him to something he does not feel comfortable with. 

Then there is another, burning hot part that aches to reach for you. The part that knows you better than the first thinks he deserves, the part that can tell by the tone of your voice, by a jerk of your finger, exactly how you are feeling and, hopefully, what you need. This part is one Regulus takes a great deal of pride in, this part feels good. Though it scares him and the first part tries to quell it, he holds it near his heart.

And it is this part that opens his mouth and says, “Could I come in anyway?”

A minute. A hesitation. A sigh.

“Yes,” you whispered.

His hand is tentative as it grips the doorhandle to the bathroom, as if it has become a part of your body from him talking to it, deserving of that same care he attempts to show you. He twists it and pushes it open.

The bathroom is swept in darkness – a conscious choice on your part, seeing as you would have to magically blow out the candles that lined the walls. He could still see you, leaning against the counter with the sink, face turned slightly away from him.

“Hi, my love,” you greeted, trying to seem casual as if he had just walked into your dorm under usual circumstances. With your hand awkwardly angled so that he only saw the inside of your palm, you adjusted the faucet. “How was practise?”

Regulus ignored your small-talk, walking up to stand beside you, body angled fully towards you as you began scrubbing at your hands once more. With the light trickling in through the open door, he swore the water looked pinkish. His breath hitched, eyes flickering all over you and the room to make sense of whatever was happening.

“Amour, what’s wrong?” His voice was rawer than he was comfortable with.

“Oh, it’s nothing, really.” You were getting a hang of the bright and airy tone of voice you were going for, but it was too late for that. “Just a long day, you know? Do you want to go get the bed ready so we can relax?”

The voices were warring in Regulus’ head at the rejection of his presence, but once more the part he could only describe as lovesick took a step closer to you, so your bodies were just barely touching. “Y/N,” was all he said.

Your ministrations grew more desperate, scrubbing water up and down your hands and forearms, breath laboured. He lifted a hand to brush against your face – when you flinched, his heart broke. 

She’s scared of you.

No, she’s just scared.

He let his hand ever so slowly land on the cheek furthest away from him, cradling your jaw with the kind of light touch reserved for baby birds and broken children. He found the skin there soft and wet, and he swore he could cut himself on the shards of his broken heart.

He guided your head to turn towards him, his grip loose so that you could stop him if you wanted. Once your face was opposite his, Regulus fought every instinct in his body that told him to study you, search your face for the spawn of your pain. Instead, he closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against yours. Giving you space, privacy even, giving you the moment you clearly needed – but sparing you from doing it alone

Your hands slowed down in their scrubbing, and with his free hand reaching out blindly, he turned off the faucet. Your breath stuttered where it spilled over his lips.

“Do you reckon you want to sit down? Talk about it?” Regulus whispered, eyes still closed.

He felt you nod against his skin, grabbing a hand towel as you walked backwards the few steps needed before you could sit down on the toilet lid. Regulus followed you, eyes opening and attempting to adjust to this darker corner of the bathroom. He sat down on his knees between your legs, painful tiles be damned, and looked up at you intently. 

In front of him sat the light of his life, visibly sullied. Your face was red and he could make out the tear tracks and smudged mascara underneath your eyes. You clutched the towel, hands buried within it and out of sight.

“Amour,” he whispered dumbly, unsure of what else to say, as he carefully brought his hands up to wipe at your tears. 

You mumbled his name and it almost sounded like a sob. 

Your hands were writhing in your lap around the towel, and he reached down to take it and help you dry yourself when you jerked your hands closer to you, towel still in grasp. “No,” you whispered.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you lied through your teeth. “I’ve just had a bad day and– and felt anxious. Couldn't help but cry over it. I don’t know, it just happened.” 

Regulus gave you a sad smile, squeezing the still-wet skin on your forearms. “Uh-huh. And you felt like taking it out on your hands?”

A sob finally tore through your body properly and you brought your hands up – still in the towel – to cover your face. You leaned forward and cried into it, and Regulus immediately opened his arms to hold your shaking frame. Your towel and face were smushed into the crook of his neck and he drew big circles on your back with one hand, the other securely holding the back of your head. 

He was broken, at a loss for words, trying to recall any and every memory he could find of witnessing others comforting, not trusting his own instincts. Through them all, out flashed a memory of Sirius humming to him when he had nightmares as a child, how the vibrations soothed through him until he could finally fall asleep again, in his big brother’s bed this time. Without any distinct melody or song in mind, Regulus began to hum as he swayed you just ever so slightly back and forth, hoping to bring you some semblance of safety.

Your gasps lessened until the bathroom was near-quiet again, but he did not stop his movements with you or the humming. Your heart blossomed from his efforts and broke at what you knew was to come.

You lowered your hands from your face, letting them fall into your lap with their towel. Your face was now in direct contact with the soft skin of his neck and you took the opportunity to press a soft kiss there.

“Can I please do something to help you?” he whispered into your hair.

“You are.”

He breathed in slowly. He is. “With your hands, I mean. Are you hurt?”

Tears slipped quietly down the expanse of Regulus’ neck, trailing down underneath his shirt. You tried to nuzzle deeper into him.

“I–” you stop, seemingly changing your mind. “I’m alright, I just need to… to remove magical ink from them and I can’t get it off.”

Regulus fought back the that’s all? that was creeping up his throat. He knows at least two spells that work for most permanent inks and can brew a potion for it within the hour if those don't work. 

Your head squeezed against his shoulder as he nodded his head, still stroking your back. “No problem, beautiful, I can fix that.”

“No,” you whispered once more, seeming to shrink in his grasp. “I have to.”

He helped ease you out from his neck so that you were face to face once more, his hands coming up to brush over the sides of your arms. The look in your eyes was one he struggled to decipher, apart from the shine of anxiety. 

“Why do you have to? Let me help you, amour.”

You took another shuddering breath, brazing yourself for impact. “You can’t see,” you whispered finally, fighting the quiver of your lips.

“I… I don’t understand.”

“You can’t see them, Reg, I’m sorry.”

“Did someone do something to you?” It was the only explanation he could conjure up for why any permanent ink would make you this distraught – and why you would hide from him like this.

You searched his face carefully, faintly nodding in a way that made him think it was a response to your own thoughts and not his question. Like you decided on something. 

“Someone wrote something. I just want it gone.”

Regulus’ stomach churned. He regretted the harsh tone of his voice as he demanded, “Who?”

“It’s not important.” 

“It is to me. Please. Who?”

You pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth, gnawing at it as you realised he would find out. Someone would tell him, even if you refused to show him. He would know. You tasted blood in your mouth.

With his eyes adjusted to the dark, Regulus saw the faint red on your lips as well and immediately reached out to gently pull your lip free from its torment. His fingertips lingered on your lips until he replaced them with his own with a short, tentative kiss. If you were to have blood in your mouth, he would too.

Lips still against yours he whispered again, more pleadingly this time, “Who?”

You let your walls crumble. This sweet, caring boy was in your grasp for now and you could not help but let him care while he still wanted to. “Mulciber,” you whispered back.

Regulus pulled back enough to meet your gaze, confusion filling his. “Why Mulciber? What would he have to write on you?” 

Up until now he had half-thought that some of your first year tutees had pranked you in some ungraceful manner. He was certain he had never seen you and Mulciber even talk before, let alone have an altercation that could involve magical ink. He was one of the more brutal Slytherins, but he had never had any reason to talk to you, and he knew that you were someone Regulus cared for. What he had hoped would let him in on your pain only confused him further away from any answer.

“Regulus, please,” you begged, ignorant to his confusion. Tears were once more filling your eyes and he wished for nothing but to stop them.

“Okay, okay,” he whispered, hoping to convince your tears to stay where they are. “You– you don’t have to explain it, love. I can just remove it for you.”

“Could you teach me instead?” Your lip was back between your teeth, lightening in colour underneath the force it was exerted to.

“I’m afraid you wouldn’t be able to remove something from your hands yourself, you need them for the spell.” Regulus hoped his gaze seemed sympathetic.

You squeezed your eyes shut, moving your head slightly to your side. Regulus recognised your breathing pattern to follow a technique you had taught him to calm down the first time he had a panic attack around you. Afterwards, you didn't mention it, only giving him space to talk about what he was comfortable with, comfort at the ready.

His own breath was bated as he watched you make your decision. A definite tear slid down the cheek closest to him, in a hauntingly cinematic manner. At last, your eyes slowly fluttered open and you looked back into his eyes with the most devastating expression. Slipping a hand slowly out from your towel – out of Regulus’ line of sight – you brought it up to his cheek to bring his face closer to yours.

The kiss was searing, filled with a love and devotion he was not prepared for in a situation like this. He was enveloped by the smell of you, and though you still tasted of copper, your lips were painfully soft and he let himself fall deeper into you. When you pulled away, you pressed a lingering kiss to the side of his mouth.

“I love you,” you whispered. Regulus hated how it sounded like you were saying goodbye. 

His brows were furrowed as he looked at you, and he hoped it looked like confusion and nothing more sinister. “I love you too, amour. You know.”

“I’ll let you remove it, if you want.”

“Please.”

Your gaze fell to your lap and remained there as you let both hands out of the towel, placing them palm-down on your thighs. Regulus had begun reaching for his wand in a holster on his belt, ready to rid you of the source of your discontent, but he was frozen still when his own eyes finally took in your hands and the two bold, dark words written on each one.

MUD on the left. BLOOD on the right.

Mudblood. 

Regulus’ blood had run cold in his veins and he found himself having to adopt your breathing technique. His vision blurred as the two words seemed to grow larger, which seemed impossible considering they were written to take up as much space as possible. The handwriting was shaky, as if there had been a struggle when they were written. There were some light bruises already forming around your wrists and upper arms that further proved his fear. Mudblood. With red streaks over both works, likely from how hard you had been trying to wash them, all but scraping them off. Mudblood. The word was choking him. His hand that had remained still midair by his belt began to tremble.

He was knocked out of his trance as he saw a single tear splatter across the lettering on your right hand. 

Regulus moved his gaze back up to yours to find it was still trained on your hands, eyes glossy and unseeing.

“I–” he tried, but his voice broke off. “I don't understand. Y/N, I don’t understand.”

You seemed to flinch a little at the sound of your name, but other than that you made no sign that you heard him.

“Amour,” he rectified. “Why would… what is this?”

You moved your right hand over your left, starting to scratch at the word scribbled there, nails digging deep. Regulus’ hands flew up to stop your ministrations at the sight of the worsening redness, but your whole body physically flinched away from him in a way he was sure must hurt.

Regulus was lost.

“I don’t understand. Why would Mulciber write that? You’re not a–” He cut himself off, scared of what word would slip off his tongue. “You’re not muggleborn.”

Finally, you looked up and met his eyes. Your fearful, heartbroken expression seemed to soften at the sight of him and you gave him the saddest smile that did not reach your eyes. “I’m sorry,” was all you could whisper.

Realisation dawned on him. 

“Your father…?” 

His half-blood best friend turned lover, who he already had not dared tell his parents about, living with her muggle mother after her wizard father passed away. It was a convenient story in times of tension and division. Death is an easy excuse, hard to verify.

Although, clearly, someone had now, and the truth had come out.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered once more through a sob. Your shoulders were hunched and knees drawn close to your body. You looked like you wanted to disappear. 

It took him a greater amount of strength than he was proud of to push the shock and confusion from the forefront of his mind and pull back up the memories of how to comfort. To focus on those and not the million of questions running through his head.

What does this mean? Why didn't you tell him? Have you been hiding from everyone, or just him? How have you been carrying something so scary and he was none the wiser? Is there an award for shittest boyfriend at Hogwarts that he can be looking forward to?

Regulus reached out for you and pulled you slowly into another hug, arms circling securely around your back. Your body stilled in his grasp, apart from the small heaves for air in between your sobs.

“What are you doing?” Your whisper was muffled into his shirt. Your frail voice and tense limbs cut him deeper than any spell could.

“I'm comforting you, sweet girl,” he mumbled into your hair. “Or at least trying to.”

“Why?” you asked miserably. 

Regulus pulled back just far enough to see your face, making sure his arms were still holding you with love, drawing patterns across your back.

"Because I love you," he whispered intently. His eyes tried his hardest to lock on yours, but you still would not meet his gaze. "Because there is nothing to be sorry for."

Your expression grew incredulous, bordering on angry – if it was with him, yourself or the world he was uncertain. "I've lied to you. I've deceived you into a relationship you wouldn’t have agreed to had you known, I– I’ve put you in an impossible position–” You had to cut yourself off as another sob tore through your body. “I’m so sorry.”

Regulus shuffled impossibly closer to you and brought his hands up to cup your cheeks, thumbs stroking slowly across your cheekbones. He felt his own eyes fill with tears at the sight in front of him, anxiety rising at his chest as he struggled to find the words he knew the situation called for.

This was all unknown territory for Regulus. The two of you had had as few conversations about blood status as possible, both weary about the growing tension at school and in the wider wizarding society. You had held him the one time he dared cry in front of you over a particularly harsh letter from his mother. You had whispered sweet nothings about you're not them and I will always love you, but he thought they were just that – nothings. In turn, you had mentioned your parents and cried over your father a handful of times, but never divulged too much. He had weaved his way through comments from other pureblood students at school regarding his relationship with a half-blood, but most pureblood families have lapses with a half-blood here or there that he could usually throw back in their faces to silence them. No one dared push it further than that. When Andromeda left the family for Ted, he almost had to confront it all, confront what he now knew to be lies that had been spewed to him all his life, but even then, he managed to avoid it as he instead received the beating of his life for not alerting the family about the signs he must have seen at school. He let himself simmer with that pain instead of looking inwards, instead of seeking help. He figured he didn’t have to, not just yet.

That time had evidently passed, as he now held a sobbing and defiled sun in his hands.

No, this was uncharted territory for him entirely – but he could not afford to let it stay like that.

“My love, Y/N,” he said with a surprisingly steady voice, never letting his gaze stray from you. “Please, please listen to me. Please hear me. You are everything; it is you, you are everything. You could be muggleborn, muggle, werewolf, siren or fae. It would not change anything.”

Your eyes met his, red rimmed and glossy, confused and bewildered. This time it was your turn to whisper, “I don’t understand.”

“It is difficult–” Regulus’ voice broke as the first few tears slipped down his face. “It is all so difficult right now, I feel lost and… scared and I don’t know what to do.” The words almost clogged in his throat, like barbed wire to admit, but he knew he had to. “I should have told you all of that already, I should have shared with you so you could feel safe to share with me. I haven’t known what to do, how to do it. The one thing I do know is that I love you and I need you to be safe and I need you to be here with me. I have not been deceived, for I would always choose you.”

Your eyes were wide, but you were not crying at the moment, gaze flitting all across his face, as if to ensure he wasn’t lying, hanging onto his every word. It was the motivation he needed to continue.

“You are not allowed to be sorry, amour, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” A small sob escaped him and his heart flipped when your right hand came forth to just barely touch his shoulder. “I should have been here for you, you shouldn’t have to hide. You should never have had to question my love for you, my loyalty. It will always lay with you, I swear it. Gods–” a heaved breath “– I’m terrible at this, you know I’m terrible, but I’ve been trying so hard for you and I will continue to. Just please let me. Let me and I will try.”

“Regulus…” you whispered, hand creeping from the brush against his shoulder to settle on the side of his neck. 

He looked at you, ready to take any reaction you would give him, to tell him off for his horrible apology, for making things about him, for not being enough. Your mouth opened and closed as if you couldn’t settle on the words. Instead you let out a small breath and pulled him back into you in a tight embrace.

It took him not even a second to hold you in return with passion, hands appraising as they swept up into your hair and around your waist. 

“Do you mean it?” you whimpered into him and he let his forehead fall to your shoulder as he cried.

“Of course, I mean it. Of course, of course.” He kept muttering it into you as he held you tighter and tighter.

His body was filled with an entirely new set of fear. A warm one that spread through his blood at the thought of what you had to face. Mulciber already knew and had taken action on that knowledge seemingly without hesitation. Regulus had heard what was being said amongst the Sacred 28, he knew to what degrees the hatred was building. His entire body was built on fear as he held what he now realised could be disturbingly fragile.

That is, until you whimpered another question into his hold and his body ached with a love so deep he had never thought it possible.

“Do you still love me?”

He had already said so, but he would happily say it again, over and over, damning himself for allowing you to wonder. “Yes, amour, always. Always.” 

Regulus took your face in one of his hands again, cradling you as he brought his forehead back to yours. Angling his face forward, he pressed what he hoped was a sweet kiss to your lips. It was wet, metallic and everything he needed. 

“I’m sorry for lying,” you whispered. He shook his head against yours.

“No, I’m sorry for stalling.”

A beat of silence. “Stalling what?” He thought you knew, but he tried to have no qualms about being explicit about it.

“Leaving.” He said it simply, hoping it would will it to be.

This time it was your turn to shake your head. “Can you leave, though? Safely? They’re becoming more and more fanatical, Reg, what if they hurt you? I’ve seen the letters.”

The fact that you have experienced what can only be classified as a hate crime, yet you have the goodness in your heart to worry about him in this way only makes him more certain of his choice.

“I have to, my love. I have to. It’s time.” He took a deep breath. “I will… I will ask Sirius for help.” 

You looked into his eyes, vision blurry from your proximity. “I’m scared for you, but I’m so proud of you at the same time.”

“The feeling is entirely mutual.” Regulus tried to huff out a small laugh, but it just came out teary. “Will you please come with me?”

“To Sirius?”

“Yes.”

“Of course.”

His hand on your squeeze pressed further into you, reverent. “We can ask for help for us both. They practically wanted Ted dead when they disowned Andromeda, and she was not even the sole heir. I’m so sorry for putting you in that situation, I–”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you assured, voice more stable and beautifully soft. “You are everything to me too, you know.”

“I’m scared,” Regulus whimpered. It’s the first time he can remember saying that out loud to someone since he was 6.

“I’m scared, too. But less so, now that I know I still have you. I couldn’t handle losing you, Reg.” Your eyes teared up again and he leaned up to kiss the corners of your eyes sweetly, collecting the tears before they had a chance to spill.

“You have me, you have me,” he whispered almost feverishly against your skin. “And I’ve got you.”

You sighed, the closest to contently you think you can get at this moment. “Will you please help me?” you whispered as you looked down at your hands.

Regulus shook himself out of his mini spiral, shook off that first voice in his head that reared its head once more and over and over, shook off anything that was not you. He mumbled an of course against your cheek before he kissed it, taking your hands in one of his. 

Unsheathing his wand he never managed to retrieve the first time around, he took one last look at the ugly markings on your hands – the hate was precisely that, ugly, and it had no place on your skin. Starting with the left – MUD – he tried the first spell he knew, and it did nothing. The bile rose in his throat as he went to try the next, fearing the worst, but by the grace of a nonexistent god, the letters finally melted away. He repeated the process on the other one.

You tried to pull your hands out of his grasp at that, but his hold tightened. He healed the viscous red streaks and peeling skin from where you had scratched at them, a cold sensation soothing over your skin as he moved his wand. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes at the gentleness, but you found yourself beginning to become completely dehydrated.

Regulus brought your hands up to his lips while he put his wand away to grasp at them with both hands. He kissed the spots he had just cleared up. Long, lingering kisses in the middle of your hand, followed by soft butterfly kisses all over it. His fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing tightly, giving the flesh new sensations to remember instead.

“You’re so good to me,” you whispered, almost like a revelation. You had loved him and you had trusted him, you had just not trusted that it would be forever, that it would be more than any loyalty to his family. You were ashamed at the thought now, as you looked at the boy on his knees in front of you, crying from loving you, kissing away your pain. It filled you with something you had not believed this day would hold for you – hope.

“I’m not,” he whispered, letting your hands settle together in your lap. “But I hope to be. I want to be. I will be.”

You smiled wetly at him and leaned forward to kiss him once more. Originally intended as a peck, the kiss grew deeper, a slow passion as you held his lips between yours, feeling the love seep through the thin skin. He continued pressing kisses all over your face, much like your hands. Any teary or red skin had his lips faintly brushing over it, taking his time to dote on you. You let your breath calm down in the meantime, panic and tension slipping away from you to be replaced by a deep exhaustion as you leaned into him.

He noticed – he had to notice, swore he always would from now on.

“Are you ready to lay down in bed, amour. Face the light?” He smiled sheepishly at the poor attempt at a joke. You seemed surprised as you looked around, almost like you had forgotten you were in a shadowy dorm bathroom.

“Only if you will lay with me.” Your tone was nearing teasing, though not quite there. He was determined to achieve it within the hour.

“I promise,” he whispered, kissing you one last time before helping you up.

And he would go on to help you to bed and hold you tight for as long as you would let him. He would listen to you cry and laugh and worry without a second thought. He would take you with him to ask Sirius for help on escaping and keeping you safe and he would devote himself to being better. He would do anything for you – because you were, after all, everything.

[siriuslyobsessedwithfiction]

Friendly reminder this is the "found family" Nyx will grow up with.

Feyre: His mother who made "the found family" hate his aunt Nesta for "always sneering" and "letting her hunt", even though she tried to hunt and wasn't good at it, did all the housework, suffered years of physical abuse so she wouldn't have to. All the while excusing his other aunt Elain sitting on her ass because she was polite about it. His mother Feyre who threw hysterics because his aunt Nesta hung out in slums. His mother who didn't care there were slums in Valaris, poverty in Hewn City and Illyria while she built her fifth mansion, opened an art studio and occasionally spared some charity. His mother who locked his aunt Nesta away with a creepy man she repeatedly tried to get away from, who berated her, verbally and physically assaulted her, had sex with her at the time she felt completely unloved and used sex as a coping mechanism.

Rhysand: His father who is President Snow from Hunger Games to Illyria, Hewn City and probably every other Court. His father who claims to be the most powerful high lord in one sentence and whines how change takes time and he can't do anything about it in the next. His father who enforces segregation between Hewn City and Valaris, doesn't enforce the law to stop femicide, mutilation and rape of female Illyrians, lets children live in poverty and war camps. His father Rhysand who repeatedly threatened to kill his aunt Nesta over everything. His father who drugged and assaulted his mother. His father who took his mother's bodily autonomy, hid from his mother that pregnancy would kill her and didn't take the risk to allow her to shift into Illyrian form to save her life. His father who made a stupid pact to die with his mother. His father who orphaned him.

Cassian: His uncle who saw that Azriel was romantically interested in Mor, felt jealous over it, and agreed to have sex with her knowing it would hurt Azriel. His uncle Cassian who gifted his one night stand lingerie in front of everybody, including his mate. His uncle Cassian who didn't respect his mate's boundaries, threw a tantrum when she refused his present after he gifted his one night stand lingerie and nobody gifted her anything during the celebration. His uncle Cassian who always made it about himself at the time when his mate was at her lowest and told her that he hated being shackled to her, told her he didn't understand why her sisters loved her, controlled her diet, had sex with her at the time she used sex as a coping mechanism, took her on hikes until she collapsed at the time she was suicidal, laughed at her when she fell down the stairs and had to crawl back up injured, never defended her when his brother threatened to kill her, always hypersexualized her, never told her he loved her. And never apologized for any of this shit.

Mor: Who didn't emphasize with his aunt Nesta even though she was also going through trauma of being physically and sexually abused. Mor who wanted to throw his aunt Nesta to the same people who abused her. Mor who doesn't try to make Hewn City and Valaris a better place and unite them. Mor who hid from his mother Feyre that the pregnancy would kill her.

Amren: Who was bitchy to his aunt Nesta for no valid reason and advised Cassian to break her and then offer a helping hand. Which he did. Amren who is always dismissive of his aunt Nesta and commands her around even though she has done more than she has. Amren who also hid from Feyre that the pregnancy would kill her.

Every time I remember this is Nyx's family, Meet the Grahams starts playing in my head.

Edit: Since it went over some people's head, I'll clarify that I fear Nyx will grow up to be a hypocritical arsehole like the rest of them while they groom him to be Rhysand Number 2. I sincerely hope the kid will somehow break free from their influence and learn to think for himself.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Hiii!! Can I make a request? Its kinda long tho so I totally understand if you don't wanna write it !! :)

so basically what I had in mind is rhys' sister!reader x az, she got kidnapped by hybern on the day rhys's mother died and everyone had thought his sister died too but she didn't she was kidnapped and her memories were erased. After the war with hybern the ic runs into her and shes all bloody and injured because turns out she was fighting hybern soldiers as well because she finally saw an opportunity to be free. As soon as rhys saw her he recognises her but before he could even utter a word, she faints, so they take her to night court and nurses her back to health. When she wakes up she gets really emotional when she sees rhys because she feels like she should know him but she doesn't cuz she doesn't have any memories, later they get helion to fix her memories and there's a very emotional brother sister reunion. Az finds out he's her mate but he doesn't tell her and rhys is very protective of reader cuz he just got her back so he forbids az from dating her or anything, but she doesn't know that so she thinks az doesn't like her back so she's devastated over that. I didn't think of what would happen after that so you can come up with the rest but pleeeeeaaasee give az and reader a happy ending. Also can you include that reader had dreams of az the way rhys had dreams of feyre? 🥹

Thank you and I hope you have a good day!! <33

I switched it ever so slightly, hope you’ll still enjoy it!🤍🫧Part II

Lost and found

It’s your hair he sees first. There’s something in the onyx gleam that screams familiar. That is different from any other shade of black. Rhys’s mother always said that they bore all shades of the night sky in their hair. As a gift from the gods. It wasn’t pitch black, no. There was depth. Stars even. They gleamed. You gleamed. He nearly sank to his knees once you turned your bloodied face towards him. It felt as if looking in the mirror. He had pictured you in his head. Had made Feyre paint you. Paint you how he imagined you would have looked all grown up. If you had that chance if you were still with him. His little northern star. And you were here now. In front of him. Sward in hand as if you weren’t sure if you were supposed to stab him or leave him be. Shaking and so frail. Line Feyre was. Just like Rhys had found his mate. Broken and confused. Unsure of anything. Jumpy and scared. “Yn”, it’s a whisper but from the way your body shivers Rhys knows that the name speaks to you. Does his voice speak to you? Do you even remember? “I just want to be free”, you mutter, “Help me get free”. Rhys watches your body sag and his legs move forward before he can even think. Arms reaching for your body. Desperate to break your fall. To save you from this at least in hopes this would somehow make a difference.

Rhys sits by your side from the moment Madja lets him in. She’s doubtful about you waking up soon. Even more doubtful if it’s good for Rhys to be there. And a part of him knows it too but he can’t help it. It’s as if he’s pulled to you. By the need to see you. To know that he hasn’t just imagined you. Your eyes flutter open after a week of nothing but shallow breathing. Your body feels heavy and achy. The walls surrounding you are unfamiliar. But there are no shackles. No ropes. You’re in a big bed. With silk sheets around you. And then your eyes land on a male sitting in the chair. He’s watching you. But watching you as if observing a wild animal that might flee after a move too sudden.

“How are you feeling?”, he speaks up and his voice alone scratches something deep inside your brain. Something you should know. But you don’t. You can’t reach. “I’m Rhys. You’re in my court. You’re safe”, he continues, leaning in slightly, moving to reach for your hand that you quickly pull closer to your chest. You see the hurt flash in his eyes. But it disappears almost immediately. He bares your features. His eyes are your eyes and that’s enough to make your heart pick up. Is he family? A far down-the-line relative?

“You look at me like you know me…”, you mutter, feeling your eyes burn, “but i don’t know you”. Rhys takes a shaky breath and you could swear his hands are trembling. But he smiles regardless, “That’s okay, we have time”. You watch him for a moment, a stranger in front of you. They said that you had no one. There was no one out there for you. “What if I don’t want to know you?”, that’s a blow that leaves a permanent mark on his face, the frown line between his eyebrows. “That’s okay too. I won’t force you”, Rhys’s voice grows shaky, “All you need to know is that you are safe. I and my people will keep you safe. You told me that you wanted to be free. You’re free now”. He stands up quietly. Pushing the chair to the side. You catch a glimpse of a female standing at the door as he moves to leave the room. The door isn’t fully closed when a sob slips past his lips. She embraces him and it’s all muffled by the closed door.

“She’s wiped clean”, Helion’s words send another blow at Rhys’s chest. “There might be bits of her past there but… this will have to be gradual Rhys, if it all was taken from her, getting all the memories back might fry her brain out”, Helion crosses his arms over his chest watching you in one of his gardens. Hand outstretched to one of his Pegasus. He remembered the little girl. Sat on his knee. Mischievous little thing, he had called you. Now it felt like looking at a ghost. “But is there even a slither of hope?”, Rhys asks, desperately trying to cling to the future where you would recognize him. Helion sighed, “Take this advice from me, someone older than you”, turning to face Rhys, whose troubled face had grown ashy over the past month. “Creat memories with her from now. Build her up from nothing and that alone might make her remember” But how could he? How could anyone just wipe out the grief and terror? The feeling of losing someone and then finding them back once more.

Azriel had sunk to his knees in the room you had laid unconscious for a week. He knew you were mates even then. Both young and careless. He remembered your first kiss. Rushed and messy in one of Rhys’s father’s stables. You had pulled him out. Had been his haven ever since your mother had taken both him and Cass in. Losing you had messed with his head. He had mourned you just the same. Had closed off his heart for anyone. Meaningless fling got easier with time but he still caught himself thinking of you. Calling out your name. Leaving the females snarling at him.

Azriel thought that glimpses of cells. Of you locked up. Scared and crying were nothing but a fickle of imagination. He saw you drawing night skies. He saw you kill. But now he knew that it had been your unconsciousness calling to him. Zaps of bond binding you both connecting momentarily. He hated himself. He hated that he did nothing. That he had let go. Had given up. But they had found the body. Berried someone. Someone who wasn’t you. Azriel only visited once. That one time and then he erased himself out of the equation. Because maybe it was better that way. Because he wasn’t worthy of your love. He couldn’t protect you after all.

Rhys was happy with that choice too. It was petty but he didn’t want to share you with anyone. Not that he had you. Any part of you. Because nothing changed. He talked. Told you stories but you just shook your head. You didn’t know him. You didn’t trust him. And nothing he did made any breakthrough.

It was the night Azriel had accidentally walked into the study where you and Rhys were. Ready to drop off the reports he had written for the week’s work. His black shirt is slightly unbuttoned. Sleeves rolled up. Your eyes had drifted away from the painting towards the man standing in the hallway. Man your eyes always seemed to find. Man who had been avoiding you ever since you got here. It painted you slightly. It was the only person you seemed to want to reach but he was the only one keeping the furthest away.

Your eyes landed on his arms. The dim light dancing on the black ink snaking up his left arm. The book you held slipped past your fingers. Clattering to the floor with a thud. “Y/n, dear, is everything alright?”, Rhys was in front of you in an instant. Worried face searching yours. “Your left shoulder”, you muttered, pointing at Azriel. He halted in his movement. The handful of papers stuck midair. “Show me your left shoulder”, you muttered.

Azriel’s eyes looked up at you, “What for?”, it was colder. He was protecting whatever was there. Holding onto the last part of you he had. You stepped past Rhys. “I know that… pattern”, you muttered. “It’s old Illyrian”, Rhys cut in but Azriel only lifted his hand. “Please, I…”, the fuzziness around you ripped as you reached for your dress, yanking the sleeve off, bearing your shoulders to Azriel. His jaw clenched, as he looked away for a moment. And then he ripped his shirt open. And there it was. The same pattern all across his shoulder as well.

Taking a shaky breath you let your head fall into your hands, “You chose it…” A light sob slipped past Azriel’s lips, “I did”, he nodded watching you. “Because you were a bitch about it”, turning to Rhys you pointed a finger at him. “You matted my baby sister behind my back?”, Rhys hissed, the jumble of emotions was making everyone drown. “Mom knew about it, she approved”, you whispered, “Where’s Mom?” Your eyes looked up at Rhys. He slowly shook his head. Another wave of flashes floats through you. You reached back in a frantic breath, “Where are my wings?” An angry tear slipped down Rhys’s face. “Where are they? Where is she?”, you looked among them. Feeling panic slowly drowning you. “Come here”, Azriel pulled at your head, bringing your face to his chest. “No, don’t smother me”, you pushed against him, but Azriel held on tight, holding your shaking form, feeling the burning gaze of his high lord, “I’ve got you. It will settle. Just breathe with me”.

[isas-identity]

Sudden rant but in light of the latest comic that went out: see this is why i felt so uncomfortable with the fandom's opinions about Hyuna after weige came out

People either went "omg she loved him all along see guys she loves him!" or "she could never be free from the shackles of the man she absolutely hated fuck this" like ????

Hyuna's feelings for Luka were obviously a mixed bag. Like guys... you can absolutely love and yet hate a person at the same time. Like yes, if he hadn't killed her brother maybe their relationship would've blossomed into something beautiful (though we still don't know if it was an accident or not, it doesn't change the fact he never showed regret about it) but it did not, and though she herself KNOWS she should hate him, she can't make herself do it. She knows the shit he's been through, she KNOWS death doesn't mean the same to him as it does to her.

She knows there's good in him somewhere and she can't blame him because after all, their entire situation is not on him, it's the alien's who put them in this awful situation.

And yes Luka is a simp. But that doesn't change her suffering or the lack of emotional maturity from Luka's side.

Also she's not a helpless victim, she takes her own decisions and acts the way she sees fit according to her own feelings, so jumping to "she was never free after all!!" when she herself took the choice to protect him, always felt condescending.

Whether she chooses to forgive him or not, or whether she loves him or not, it is on herself to make the best choice to thread through those feelings and only when she is sincere with herself will she be free.

Of course we got the answer to that part, and that is that she does absolutely still hates him, but still absolutely loves him, and will fuck him up for that. which, you know, fair.

Hyuna's not a princes or a pitiable victim, she's a petty ass phoenix who's risen to take out the unjust system that has made them this way who chose to die because fuck you Luka, and Luka's not an uwu baby who's done nothing wrong, he's an emotionally stunted 30 year old man who's committed murder multiple times, you can find one of those in every corner nowadays (without the murderer part of course).

Anyways i loved this comic, and i loved Weige, they gave me more perspective on these two and made me invested and yes now i absolutely ship them and love them both.

[agendabymooner]

SOMETHING DESIRED !!! TOTO W. X FEM!READER (18+)

summary: "don't mix business with pleasure" they said, but who were they to stop her and toto from wanting each other?

content warning: smut under the cut (minors dni!), based on a request from my ask, use of explicit language, rbr test driver!horner!reader (christian's sister), forbidden love trope-ish, porn with plot, unprotected sex (plz don't do that), office sex, lowk filthy, size kink (heavy on this), choking, dacryphilia

song rec: now by trouble maker

note: this is the closest thing you'll ever have to a fic where a horner and a wolff banged. enjoy xx

something sinful (smut) masterlist

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

if you’d like to get on one of my taglists, check this post out

she wanted him. and he wanted her too. he just refused to let his desires give in to save face.

and she hated it so much. she hated that she saw him as someone else’s younger sister and nothing else. 

she hated that she was even related to christian horner of all people. she usually didn’t care about christian— she had no reason to dislike him as he’d been nothing but a caring brother. she just hated that toto wolff saw her as nothing but an extension to christian’s surname. 

she supposed that’s what would happen as she entered the motorsports industry later than he did. it wasn’t her fault that christian was twenty years older than her.

it wasn’t his fault either. but to be told that you were off limits to every single man in the grid and every team? she loathed her brother so much.

because amongst those men that christian horner had warned, the mercedes amg team principal became the subject of her interest— and her desire for him grew as her brother and toto wolff became friends outside of their teams. 

“you don’t have to mix business with pleasure,” she almost scoffed when christian told her about his friendship with toto.

how hypocritical, she thought, because even i’m not allowed to see drivers or staff outside of business hours for ‘pleasurable’ reasons. 

at the age of 30, many would’ve expected her to be shackled to some man outside of the industry— probably married to him with a child. 

yet here she was, a single woman whose title as a test driver for red bull racing expired a few weeks ago. she appreciated the opportunity given by her brother— the team principal, really. but the longer she worked for his team the longer his big brother act would prevent her from wanting anyone. 

and if christian told her that she couldn’t have anyone, then he too couldn’t have her intelligence that helped bring his team to success.

and when the rumours of her contract’s expiration went around the pit lane— every team scouted her. after all, this horner was an important asset to red bull’s success for this season and the season ahead of them.

she could’ve accepted scuderia ferrari’s offer. amongst the desperate teams that rolled the red carpet for her, the scarlet team offered her a large sum of money. they wanted her knowledge in car development as much as they wanted her expertise in driving. 

yet she didn’t choose the money. instead, she found herself sitting across from the mercedes team principal. why?

“you’ve been looking well,” toto started, his eyes trained on her as he spoke, “did your brother’s team stress you out that much?” 

“being in that team is stressful, alright,” she scoffed, earning a deep chuckle from toto as she continued, “30 years old and i’m still being treated like i’m sixteen. all they wanted was my brain— yet my brother kept me on a tight leash as if i didn’t know any better outside this industry.” 

“so now you’ve decided to let your contract expire,” toto said with a nod of understanding. “he can’t do so much about it. you’re a free woman.”

“i’ve always been,” she gave him a grim smile and quipped, “all the men in our business just refused to believe that because of who my brother was.”

“you were a younger woman,” toto said with a gulp, “it was only right of christian to protect you like he did.”

“and five years later, i’ve grown,” she bit back.

“you are still his younger sister,” toto reasoned. he knew where the younger horner was getting at here. 

there was an unspoken agreement between the two that they wanted each other. they’ve agreed on it during dinners, during their family vacations and during those days when toto wolff was invited into christian’s home and she was there too.

they’ve always agreed on it. yet toto was letting her down like this— like the agreement should remain unspoken and unheard of. 

“are you seriously going to let his stupid mouth and his whole big brother act dictate what you want, toto?” she asked with a hint of irritation in her tone. “i’m not christian— and he’s not me because he doesn’t know how much you fucking want me. and i do. i do understand.” 

“i allowed myself a couple of months— months to decide on whether or not i was going to stay in his team,” she continued. “i could’ve signed before the season was over but i didn’t. because this gives me the chance to work with your team— to work with you.”

“this,” she pointed at the contract in front of her. “gives me the chance to make you realize that i’m not just an extension to your friend’s name. that your feelings for me shouldn’t be deterred by your friendship with my brother— who i want nothing to do with because it’s not his life that’s being put on hold. it’s mine.”

she let out a heavy sigh and chuckled humourlessly. “but i suppose we shouldn’t mix business with pleasure.”

he merely stared at her as she stood up. she flashed him a smile as if she hadn’t just gone off and berated him for listening too much to christian. 

then she said, “i’ll come back next week. i’m expecting the contract agreement to be modified by then so we can finalize the deal.”

yeah, who the fuck was christian for him to dictate who she wanted and who toto wanted? 

the door slammed shut as she turned around, the gap between her and toto was little to nothing as his breath fanned across her face. he dipped his head and captured her lips in a lustful kiss. 

she almost moaned at the feeling of his tongue tangling with hers. her body burned in desire as she craved for more. 

toto wanted more too, and she could tell that by the way he ravaged her without hesitation. 

his office at the factory was filled with nothing but silent screams and sounds of low growl and skin slapping. everybody had left hours before she arrived at the factory. 

thankfully the mercedes staff wouldn’t have to hear their employer fucking the most scouted talent at the pit lane right now— and even if they did, it was in their best interest to keep their mouth shut about it. 

but toto and the woman couldn’t find themselves to care at the moment, both were too drawn to each other as toto’s cock thrusted into her deeply. 

she held into the leather couch and cried quietly, tears threatening to fall from the pleasure that she felt when his cock continued to rub against the sensitive spot that nestled inside her cunt. 

“fuck, schatz,” toto hissed from behind her, pulling her back against his chest as he wrapped his hand around her neck and squeezed it lightly. she gasped, catching the last of her breath before he let go and kept his hand around her. 

then his other hand took hers and placed her palm flat against her stomach, making her squirm and moan. “do you feel that, liebling? that’s my cock. such a filthy girl- wanting a big cock inside this little pussy of hers,” he chuckled darkly as he continued to fuck her.

she loved the feeling of it— his cock buried in her cunt while he manhandled her body. the constant protrusion in her stomach drove her wild. she had always known that toto was taller and bigger than most— she just hadn’t expected to crave for more when she felt her lower stomach bulging as he fucked her. 

“so desperate f’me,” he muttered, bottoming out inside of her as she whined. her whining subsided when he squeezed her throat again.

“ah shit~” she gasped breathlessly, feeling the pressure around her neck increasing as her eyes rolled back in pleasure. 

“so fucking tight,” toto grunted in her ear, nipping on it as he continued to fuck her relentlessly. “is this what i’ve been missing out on, then? your desperation for me and for my cock, hm?”

and when his grip loosened, she let out a sigh and quietly whimpered, “yes— wanted your cock so bad, toto.”

“you’ve got it now, schatz,” he muttered, moaning at her walls throbbing around him as he continued, “i fucked my cock at the thought of you, you know? wanted to fuck you so bad as much as you wanted me.”

“stroked my cock when you wore those short dresses,” he taunted, earning a whimper from her as she continued to listen to his filthy words, “wishing it’s your hands. i could just hear your voice telling me how your hands couldn’t even wrap themselves around my cock- you are so small in comparison to me— i can’t believe this cunt of yours could even fit all of me.”

“toto, i- i,” she whined, “‘m- ah, hah~ ‘m gonna cum.”

“i know, liebling,” his thrusting became frantic as he chased his high and hers. “i can feel your cunt around me— you’re about to cum aren’t you?”

“mhm— toto pleaseee~” she cried out, “please cum inside me.”

“yeah? you want me to cum inside you?” he hummed in pleasure, “do you want me to fuck this pussy of yours ‘til you’re full of my cum?” 

“ye- yes, yes!” she exclaimed, mewling as she continued to plead, “‘s so- so good. so fucking good— please fill me up!” 

“how bad do you want it?” he could feel himself nearing his orgasm as well, but he couldn’t help himself. “tell me. how bad do you want it, liebling?”

“soooo bad~ god! toto,” she sobbed.

“it’s just me, liebling, there’s no need to call me god,” he chuckled one last time as he groaned loudly, feeling her spongy walls clenching around him as she let out a loud whine. “fuuuuck~ schatz, i’m gonna— oh fuck!” 

his cock twitched against her walls and painted them white, his thrusting slowing down as he let out a long sigh. 

pulling out of her, toto sat on the couch and observed her tear stained face with a smile. his large hand pulled her body on his lap, hearing her breath quiver as she gathered her composure.

“this better not be the last time, toto,” she whispered in his ear, wrapping her arms around his neck with a soft sigh. 

he chuckled quietly, “you’re working alongside me now, schatz. and you’re stuck with me outside of work. i know this isn’t the last time.” 

don’t mix business with pleasure? sure. 

after all, business brought stress. pleasure took the stress away. 

toto knew that she’d be able to handle both. he was nothing but proud of her. he couldn’t believe that this resilient woman finally became his. 

he wouldn’t let go of her that easily. not when he finally had her.

♡ moony’s reminder 🅶 (general): @hiraethrhapsody @avaleineandafryingpan @topguncultleader @enhacolor

♡   moony’s reminder 🅴 (explicit edition): @glitterf1

[jellyfishsthings]

WARNINGS: sorry this is quite small , so they do have a reunion but I have kind of left their relationship as it was. Angry reader, lovestruck Five. Reader can read minds and direct thoughts...

part 1, part 3

He was laying in stacks of hay. His mind was spinning and a memory resurfaced behind his eyes.

Soft fingers trailed his arms. Deep watchful eyes stared back at him and their foreheads touched. The only thing that covered them was a light gray sheet. His arms were tightly wound around her, his hands either buried in her hair or trailing the arch of her back. They were talking about everything and nothing. She could talk his ears off and he wouldn't care. The sun rays warmed their skins and Five watched as the sunlight adored his wife.

The memory was gone as fast as it appeared to him. The happiness that flowed through his veins left a sour taste in his body. He could hear his siblings arguing around him. He could feel the blood staining his hands hours later after he fled the commission… again. Only this time he took the board with him.

Hoards of assassins appeared in front of the small shed they hid, trying to form some kind of plan. Was she out there?

His hands shook as he tried to keep up his cold uninterested facade. Trying to seem distant when in reality he was frightened to his core. The Handler was standing opposite of him. Sporting that creepy, horrible smile that put him on edge. Next to her is standing Lila, Diego's crazy friend from the asylum. And on the other side, a young woman sat kneeling on the ground. Her hair was cut short just above her shoulders, not in their usual length. Her cheeks were hollow and her eyes red, hunted in a faraway look. His wife, his beautiful, strong wife, sat with her hands shackled barely sparing him a glance.

“I believe that you remember her, Five.”

Diego looked at him dazzled, trying to place the pieces of the puzzle together. But Five only had eyes for her.

“She hasn't been of any use to us.”

Her words barely registered to him. She looked broken and yet strong. She held her head high, proudly showing the bruises that adorned her beautiful face. He could feel his heart shatter in his chest because somewhere deep down he knew that he was the reason for the bruises, of the broken look in her eyes. He wanted to destroy the Handler and anyone else who dared to lay a finger on her. Don't.

Her soft voice echoed in his head. She had read his thoughts and probably anyone else's thoughts in the vicinity. Her plan formed into his head and they fell into their familiar rhythm. But something was different. Nothing would be the same. Because even if by law she was his and him hers…. he had lost her, simply as that. Rather was when Vanya showed she was glowing all around and everyone was stunned. But not her, she took the opportunity and struck the Handler behind the neck while rushing towards him and his brother. He worked quickly on her bindings, setting her free. She smiled at him and the breath was cleaned out of him.

That was when she slapped him.

“What the hell?”

She quickly grabbed rocks close to her and started throwing them at him.

“Would you stop? I swear to God-”

“You pretentious fuck. How could you? You, hypocrite. Why must you always plague me?”

“I'm sorry. Please just-”

“He is sorry, he says. Do you ever mean what comes out of your atrocious mouth?”

“Please, sweetheart. Can you -”

“What was that? Huh? You have the audacity to talk to me? After everything you have done?”

Five felt a weird mix of love and irritation. He had missed her. And her yelling at him was a familiar scene. There was something comforting to it, besides the rocks that he dogged. He could hear the faint sound of his brother laughing somewhere behind him as he watched the presumable love of Five's life, giving him an earful.

Suddenly, everything was put to a stop as a scream sounded, and they ran towards the barn, where Lila was fighting with his siblings. And just as he was about to put an end to it, she grabbed the black lathered briefcase, their one way out of this hellhole, and disappeared into a vibrant bright blue light. He quickly grabbed hold of each of his family, and while they argued around him, he drew on his powers, reading himself and the others along him into another time jump. He looked at his wife's face and her eyes and found the remaining strength he needed to gather. Her terrified look was the last thing he saw as blinding light engulfed them. Everything could go wrong, but as long as he was by his side, he felt invincible.

words: 700 - something

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Search and Rescue

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by anonymous

Synopsis: Sam and Dean’s 6 year old little sister gets kidnapped by demons

“Hey N/N, we’re back!”

Dean’s words echoed through the empty motel room, and no answer came.

“Y/N? Honey, where are you?” Sam asked, doing a quick scan of the room. “She’s not here.”

“What?” Dean demanded, dropping his duffel bag and double-checking the small room.

“Dean, over here.” Sam’s eye had caught sight of something strange by the window.

Dean stepped up beside him and gritted his teeth.

“Sulfur.”

“What now?” Sam asked. “We’ve been gone for hours, who knows how long she’s been missing?” The boys almost never left you alone in a motel, but they’d just left for the morning to interview some survivors of what looked like a haunting.

“Now we find those demons and bring her back,” Dean growled, snatching up the demon knife and his bag before heading out to Baby.

“So no plan? Great,” Sam huffed, but followed his brother regardless.

…

Meanwhile, you were in the next state over from your brothers, having been grabbed from your bed and thrown into the back of a van. You were currently chained up in a dark room, and you couldn’t make out more than a few feet in front of you. Your shackles were connected by a short chain to the ground, so you couldn’t take more than one step before they stopped you. You sat on the floor, your wrists raw from your attempts to free them. You gave up pretty quickly, it hurt too much and you were just too scared of what the demons would do if they saw you trying to escape.

One of them had already hit you, and you still didn’t know what they wanted. All you knew was that you had never been this far away from Sam and Dean, and you didn’t know what to do.

…

Two weeks. It took two weeks before the boys finally caught a break, and they were able to track demon activity that was mere hours from where you’d been taken.

Dean had never driven Baby so fast in his life.

Neither brother was willing to bring up the biggest likelihood; that you were already dead. After all, if the demons had kept you alive this long, why hadn’t they tried to contact the brothers for an exchange or something?

But this logical path was not one either boy was willing to go down, not yet or ever.

…

“I spot six, but there could be more inside,” Sam reported as he watched the warehouse for demon activity.

“Alright, let’s go,” Dean said, opening his door.

“Hold on, Dean we need a plan,” Sam insisted.

“I have a plan,” Dean replied before stepping out of the car and slamming his door shut.

“Get her back.”

…

You were used to hearing screams from where you sat in your little prison. The only difference this time was, that these weren’t your own.

You found the strength to lift your head wearily when the door to your prison scraped open, but you turned away instantly when the light from the other side nearly blinded you.

Involuntary whimpers escaped your lips when you heard the scratch of footsteps against the stone floor, getting inevitably closer. You cried out hands grabbed the sides of your face, and you struggled to get away.

“Hey, hey, Y/N it’s me!”

You froze, instantly recognizing the voice. Also, you noticed that the hands on you weren’t rough; he was cradling your face.

You blinked your eyes open, squinting against the light to see your big brother Sam.

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. All you could do was cry in relief as Sam picked the lock on your chains. The moment you were free, Sam had you in his arms, rubbing your back and whispering soothing reassurances in your ear.

“Y/N.” You looked up to see Dean standing in the doorway, relief lightening his features before he stiffened again. “C’mon, Sam we’ve got to get her out of here, there might be more.” Dean crouched a bit to look at you. “Baby, can you walk? We gotta go.”

You shook your head with a whimper, clinging onto Sam for all you were worth.

“It’s ok, I’ve got her,” Sam reached a hand to his belt to grab the demon knife. “You take this, lead us out of here.”

The three of you reached the Impala with minimal disruption, and you clung to Sam the whole way.

Sam didn’t bother trying to put you in the back seat, he just got into the passenger’s seat and sat you on his lap.

Dean started the car without a word, glancing anxiously around for any more demons as he sped off.

“Is she ok?” Dean demanded once he was sure you weren’t being followed.

“Give her a minute,” Sam said quietly, still trying to sooth you as you trembled in his arms.

“Sam, I need to know if she’s hurt,” Dean said as he white-knuckled the steering wheel, glancing at you every few seconds.

“Sweetheart,” Sam spoke softly as he pulled you back slightly so he could look at you. “Did they hurt you?”

You squirmed in his arms, trying to get closer to him. You nodded, and he relented, letting you squeeze closer to him.

“Where?” Dean asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

You didn’t respond.

“Honey, you can talk to me,” Sam said.

“I didn’t,” you mumbled.

“What?” Sam asked.

“I didn’t talk,” you said, and you started to shake even more in Sam’s arms. His heart broke at the sound of your cries as you struggled to speak. “They-they tried to make me-make me talk, but I didn’t.”

Sam’s haunted eyes met Dean’s. Their six-year-old little sister was tortured by demons for information, and she didn’t give in to protect them. Guilt didn’t even begin to describe what the brothers were feeling.

“What did they do?” Dean was struggling to get control of himself.

“They had a big knife,” you whimpered. You didn’t say anything more, and the brothers didn’t try to make you.

Sam carried you inside when you got to the motel, and Dean instructed Sam to find you some food while he checked your wounds. The last thing Sam wanted to do was leave your side again, but one look at your malnourished frame convinced him.

Dean peeled your sweat-soaked, torn, bloody clothes from your skin. He wet a washcloth with warm water and started to clean the blood off of you with a gentle touch, paying close attention to when you flinched or whimpered.

As soon as you were relatively clean, Dean grabbed disinfectant from the first aid kid and went to work on the many cuts scattered across your body. He was struggling to contain his rage with every new cut he found, but he knew that he had to to keep from scaring you even further.

You didn’t say a word while Dean worked, you just watched him with wide eyes, as if you still couldn’t believe he was there.

“Baby I’m so sorry,” Dean said finally. “We never should’ve left you alone.”

You seemed to mull his words over for a moment before disregarding them. You hadn’t even thought for a moment to blame your big brothers for the scary demons hurting you.

“De, did I miss Sammy’s birthday?” You asked instead, and Dean looked taken aback.

“Uh…no kiddo, it’s in a couple of days.”

“Can we get him a pie?” You asked hopefully.

Dean just nodded, unsure of how to deal with the change in conversation. The motel room once again fell silent as Dean carefully stitched up a couple of your worse cuts. He hated himself the whole time, especially when he saw how hard you tried—in vain—to keep from crying.

“All done,” he finally breathed, and he couldn’t tell who was more relieved; you or him. He helped you get changed into some clean clothes before letting you get settled in his lap. He held you close, just as unwilling as you were to let go.

He hadn’t even noticed that he’d started humming until he saw that you had stopped crying, soothed by the sound.

“I’m never gonna let anyone hurt you again,” Dean promised.

“I know,” you said with so much confidence that it reassured Dean almost as much as you.

“Hey guys,” Sam greeted quietly as he returned to the motel room. “How we doing?”

“I’m sleepy,” you mumbled.

“Do you think you can eat some of this before you sleep?” Sam asked, pulling out a takeout container of soup.

You nodded and let Sam carry you to the table before taking the spoon he offered.

“We should try to get her strength back up,” Sam said to Dean as the two watched you.

“With that?” Dean scoffed. “Get her some meat.”

“I wanted to start off with something light, since we don’t know when the last time she ate was,” Sam argued. That shut Dean up, as he imagined you locked in that tiny little room, starving.

“Can I go to sleep now?” You asked, and Sam stepped up and was surprised to see that you’d eaten nearly half of the soup.

“You bet, honey. You did good,” he praised, lifting you into his arms and carrying you to his bed.

You were asleep within minutes, and Dean settled himself on the very edge his own bed so that he could still be close to you and Sam.

“She asked if she missed your birthday,” Dean said quietly as he watched your stomach move up and down with your breaths. “She wants to get a pie.”

Sam smiled at you, brushing your hair out of your face.

“She always did love birthdays.”

“We can never slip up like that again,” Dean’s tone was suddenly serious. “She deserves so much better.”

“I know,” Sam kept his eyes on you, unable to look at his brother. Both boys were blaming themselves.

“Hey,” Dean sat up when he saw you start to twitch. “Is she—“

“No,” you whimpered, and your body started to squirm. “No, don’t!”

“Sweetheart, hey,” Sam reached his hand up and shook your shoulder. “Kid wake up.”

“No!” You cried, awakening with a start that almost had you falling off the bed. Sam held you in his arms to keep you steady.

“Easy, it’s ok honey. N/N I’m right here, I’m here.”

“Sammy?” You whimpered as you relaxed against his hold.

“Yeah, it’s me. Shh, it’s ok,” he soothed, rubbing your back as you began to cry.

“Here.” Dean reached for you, and Sam reluctantly gave you up to your oldest brother. “Hey, you’re ok baby, it’s Dean. How about you go back to sleep, ok? Me and Sammy are gonna chase away the bad dreams for you, how does that sound?”

You nodded, sniffling.

“Yeah, good.” Dean cradled your head in his hand, holding you close. “If you have another nightmare, I’m gonna be right here for you.”

“Ok,” you sniffled, relaxing once again. It only took a few short minutes before you were asleep in Dean’s arms, and the brothers relaxed at the peaceful cadence of your breaths.

“She’s ok,” Dean breathed, and Sam didn’t know who he was trying to reassure. Sam just nodded.

“She will be.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl

[hrts4nagi]

she's the man!

pairing :: itoshi rin x f!reader

synopsis :: hiori y/n is devastated after the news of the girls soccer team being cut from the sport program and unable to join the boys team. to rub more salt on the wound, she just broke off with her long-time boyfriend. devising a plan, she disguises herself as her twin brother to take his place at blue lock academy, an all-male prep school.

what she doesn’t expect is falling in love with the academy’s star player.

012.

wc: 731

skincare after practice was the best. the sprawled sheet mask laid on your face, sighing in relief at the cooling sensation it provided along with a slight rose scent. rin gets up, presumably heading to the gym with the attire he had on. you glanced at the clock, it was reading 5:54. you scan the room and notice the yoga mat tucked away in the corner. 

 “oh you bring you own mat to the gym? you're very thorough.”

“they say they sanitize them but i highly doubt it.”

“that’s fair, better be safe than sorry!”

absentmindedly, the ravenette goes to grab his yoga mat, still facing you. what the two of you failed to notice was the hairy eight-legged creature nestled on top of the mat, slowly crawling up his arm. rin fans his shirt. “hey, it's a little hot in here. did you turn off the fan?” 

“huh? no i don't think so,” turning to the fan to adjust the setting the color drains from your face, eyes landing on the spider nearly on rin’s shoulder.

“what the fuck? what is that?” you yell pointing at rin’s arm.

“what are you talking about,” it was at the moment rin finally discovered the creature on his arm. the fuzzy legs were all that he felt even under his compression shirt. he shakes his arm furiously to get the tarantula off of him. seeing it was no use, rin  resulted in swatting the spider off.  unfortunately for you, it flies across the room right onto your cleats, dead center.

“oh my god! not my cleats!” you whine.

who would've thought that the ever-so composed itoshi rin would be here on the top of your bed, screaming in fear. the two of you seeked shelter from the creature, watching in horror as it roamed your dorm as if it lived there. he shudders at the fact, continuously swiping at his arm as if the spider still resided there. 

“rin, get it!”

“hard pass. that is the one thing i absolutely refuse to touch!”

“but you’re the guy!”

he raises his eyebrow.

“the bigger guy!”

you swear this is the most emotion you’ve seen rin express. sure, you were freaking out but you swear you hear him start to whimper in fear of the spider as pleas escape from his lips. both of you jump onto rin’s bed to build distance away from the spider. screams continue to fill the room as the two of you are seemingly playing the floor is lava. to your absolute horror, you lose track of the spider. at this realization, you let out a scream you didn’t even think you were capable of. you were positive the two of you were about to earn yourselves a noise complaint. 

“where did it go?” you yelp, tears forming in your eyes.

rin deadpans for a second. “fuck if i know!”

as a last resort, you and rin clutch onto each other as if it were life or death as you both continue to cry out in terror. you close your eyes as an attempt to repent for everything that led up to this situation. it was as if the universe was giving you a taste of your own medicine from your wrongdoings. 

when you thought all hope was lost, a knock comes to your door. somehow, you manage to yell out a come in. low and behold, bachira opens the door.

“hey guys! have you seen bartholomew?” he notices the position the two of you are in and raises an eyebrow.

you point continuously at the floor which he follows finding the spider and picking it up. “oh nice! thanks for finding him guys!” he shuts the door and all is well. peace is finally restored. 

silence fills the dorm as the two of you let out a shared sigh of relief, finally free from the shackles of the  creature. making eye contact with rin and eyes widening at the fact that you two are way too close for comfort. you shove him off you as he does the same. you begin to start bursting in laughter about the situation. 

“never mention this. what happened in this room stays in this room.” rin glares, making his way to the door. “im going to take a shower, a long one.”

you mimic a zipper on your mouth as a response. 

navigation ::

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[seancekitsch]

The Sword and the Quill: Chapter Three

Pairing: Gwayne Hightower x Reader

In the weeks leading up to little Daeron's departure to Oldtown, Queen Alicent finds herself trying to entertain the unmarried ladies of court. As one of her ladies in waiting, you agree to an anonymous penpal in one of the men at court, and end up spilling your heart to him. He is your perfect match, your equal. The only issue? The Queen's brother Gwayne Hightower will not stop teasing you as you try to uncover who responds to your letters.

My Daring Unfamiliar,

Quite coy of me to evade you? And what of your clever ways of evading me? I find myself no closer to figuring out your identity, though I feel more drawn to you than before. I too am glad you are not betrothed, as a vibrant woman such as yourself you should not find yourself shackled to one of the stuffy men of King’s Landing probably twice your age. It does seem to be their proclivity, as loathsome as it is. I am glad for your friendship, even if I do not know who you are. Even if I feel I will waste away and die without knowing who you are. To think, am I on your list? Are you on mine? I will admit I have my list narrowed down to six women, those that I think daring and smart enough to be you. Perhaps after this letter I will narrow it down even farther. I find I will be searching for your frazzled hair and short temper now that I know what to look for in this humidity. Of course I only jest. I am certain that what you think is unkempt is only marred because one is always critical of the face in the mirror, I am certain such wit and a sharp mind is accompanied by beauty to match.

How is it that a lady of noble birth would ever want to visit a place like Lys? Do you not know of its reputation? Of the pleasure gardens and pillow houses? Of the pirates that lurk there from the triarchy? I have not been there myself, but I do have a few of their coin, of which were taken off of a triarchy pirate. A gift, for you, is one of them I have sealed with this letter. You are an even bigger mystery to me now, knowing that a place such as Lys piques your interest so. But to answer your other questions, I have been to Dorne and Oldtown. Dorne is interesting, some parts a vast desert and others a beautiful oasis. Their wines and silks are the loveliest in all of Westeros, their people far less concerned with the pretenses that we are. Can you believe that I was asked to dance with a man’s wife openly? Such things could never occur here, although I will say that I did very much enjoy that everyone spoke plainly of their intentions and emotions. It was freeing to have that, and the courts proved all too constricting to me every day after. These letters to you are the closest I have had to that feeling since my travel there, and I appreciate you doubly for it. I am glad that I have found someone that I may converse openly with, ignoring status or titles or circumstances.

I will also say that the Queen is correct, Oldtown is maybe the most beautiful city in the kingdoms united. There is nothing more lush than its gardens, more splendid than its chateaus filled with artifacts and scrolls dating back to the conqueror, nothing more breathtaking than the flame at the top of the citadel.

I fear that you will find me boring, if I now admit my love of tourneys. I find the spectacle magnificent, and the skill and prowess on display to be a display of the strength of our shared kingdoms and crown. Perhaps I will find you and make it all the less boring for you. I do hope that my eyes will find yours amidst the crowd, and your countenance will make itself known to me immediately through some supernatural knowing. I will be searching for you in every row of the stands, praying to the seven that it will be easy. More importantly, tell me your favorite song, and I shall learn to play it for you. Or even, you may tell me your favorite poem and I shall transcribe it to song for you, a new creation of art for my Unfamiliar.

I do hope that I have discovered you by the next feast, so that I can ask you to dance properly, and that we may converse without the guise of the quills. So that I may grasp your hand to know that you are real. I assure you that I will be a spoiled man if I am to watch you dance circles around me, and a man utterly ruined if I get to steal more than one dance.

Your letters have cooled a part of me too warm, warmed a part of me too cool.

Truly,

Your Unfamiliar.

You look down at the golden ribbon tied into your sleeves for the day, your mind thinking only of the fact that he had underlined Your in his signing off. He considers himself yours. More, you think of the Lyseni coin that he had tucked into the parchment, a golden oval with the portrait of a naked woman engraved into it. An obscene gift for a lady of the court, but one you cherish because it is from your unfamiliar. Yours yours yours. It now lies in your jewelry box, a dingy coin amongst your finest of necklaces and rings. You have narrowed your list down. It is for certain not Darklyn or Beesbury. The names left are Lord Rowan, Ser Loras Florent, Ser Gwayne Hightower. You have picked out these ribbons for Lord Rowan, as a subtle sign of acknowledgment of his house colors, strikingly different from your own. You do not exactly wish it to be any of the men on your list, however. Lord Rowan is a complete stranger to you, Ser Loras you know to frequent married women’s beds, and Ser Gwayne… infuriates you. All of these men handsome and on parchment suitable matches, yet picturing any of them on the other side of the quill feels wrong. So you are hedging your bets in the days leading up to the tourney by attempting to garner the attention of the complete stranger. Maybe he is well traveled and sharp and charming like your unfamiliar.

Although you admit, the first day you did not see Lord Rowan anywhere within the Red Keep. Nor the day after that or yesterday. And now, the morning of the tourney, you hope that whatever hole he has crawled into he has emerged from so you can look into his eyes and figure out if he is yours. It’s silly, to think that you could tell, but maybe you can? Maybe this is like one of the fairytales you were told when you were young.

Only, it’s not Lord Rowan that you find in the hallways.

“Oh, please don’t tell me this is a new look for you,” Gwayne’s voice calls from the other end of the hall. How is it that the Red Keep is so large, yet Gwayne Hightower is inescapable?

“And if it is?” you call back. Gwayne closes the distance between you, his armor clanking the entire time. He is dressed and ready for his tilt in the tourney already.

“I’d say Lord Rowan is remiss for ignoring your efforts, but I’d also say you are wasting your time,” Gwayne smiles widely. He knows something. Your fingers start to fiddle with one of the ribbons, knowing you could easily pull them all out. It’s horrible, that for as rude you and Gwayne may be to each other sometimes, you can see that he’s not trying to humiliate you right now.

“Why?” you ask, pouting in frustration.

“Because he found out that he’s been writing to Lady Caswell, and now they are courting.”

Oh. That is a very good reason, indeed. You yank at the ribbon you’d been toying with, then the next one and the next one until your hands are full of the little ribbons, and hastily you look for somewhere to toss them, but there is none.

“Thank you for informing me,” you say, trying to steady your voice as much as possible.

“It seems you are no closer to finding out who writes you than I am.”

“I keep a list of his qualities to try to narrow it down.”

“As do I with my lady.”

“May I see your list?”

“Would you tell me who is on your list, if I did?”

“No.”

“Then my answer is the same.”

You are once again at an impasse with Gwayne Hightower, two immovable objects in the tide. 

“I hope you find your woman without the issue I face, I guess,” you offer, not exactly meaning it but not trying to be mean. If this is as trying for you, it has to be for every unwed person in the castle too. As much as your love for the Hightower family finds its limits at the brother, you still wish to carry on the tenants of this experiment for at least your friend.

“Then I shall see upon you at the tourney,” Gwayne says, and then tilts his head “Though I rather see you in different colors.”

“And what colors would you wish?” you ask, though you regret the words as they die on your tongue. He looks you up and down, and then scoffs.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Hours later, at the tourney, you are sat three seats away from Queen Alicent Hightower. You are dressed in the deep burgundy and blue color of your house and idly snapping your fingers closed on each of the elder Targaryen children’s hands; your fake predator of a hand keeping little Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena preoccupied for now. You wish that games like these could entertain you equally, but instead all runs through your mind is your Unfamiliar. Is he here, indeed? You hate that you have to be here, but yet you find your head almost whipping around in search. You told your Unfamiliar that you’d be searching for him; and you are. But with every turn of your head you seem to recognize and be bored of everyone. Bringing a favor to this event even feels silly at this point. You do not feel the spark you had hoped for. In fact, nothing draws anything besides boredom from you until late in the day.  

That is when Gwayne Hightower atop a horse galavants across the royal box and back again. Despite your ebbing annoyance from him earlier, you find yourself tensing in your seat. If not on your own, then on his sister’s behalf. You remember what she told you about the last tourney that Gwayne had attended in King’s Landing. To be almost killed by Daemon Targaryen himself, maybe the only person in all of Westeros you found truly and deeply loathsome and terrifying, is a memory that clearly stains the Queen’s outlook on this tourney. You tense and worry and stop your little game with the children in rapt attention, for her. 

His armor glimmers in the sunlight, blight enough to blind. His smile, though obscured by the helm, is similarly blinding. You’re certain he remembers his brush with death at the hands of the Rogue Prince, but his demeanor would say otherwise. He is the definition of confident bravado. This man looks foreign to the uncertain and studious man you spoke with the other day in the library. 

Lord Manderly has his horse trot and dance as he crosses the pitch, not yet a knight but clearly already presenting the same qualities as any of the rest of them. Soon, you are certain, he will be laughing and chasing women around with the rest of them. The northern stoicism does not seem to carry to this man, as he laughs and points into the crowd, at friends and serving people and women he may ask for favor. 

Both men cross back and forth, searching the crowds, their jousting lances upturned to the heavens as they circle, the crowd growing ever the more excited. 

You clutch your favor, unwilling to let it leave your grasp as a pit forms in your stomach every time Gwayne passes by the royal box. You look down the row of chairs to Alicent, who is already looking at you; her hands frustratedly pick at one another, her nails already rimmed with crimson. You offer her a weak smile, hoping it is enough to reassure her as the thought dawns on you: she has not seen her brother fight since that day. Sparring and training were nothing like this. And though Lord Manderly is no Daemon Targaryen, Alicent is really and truly afraid. You reach your free hand over the children’s heads, and her fingertips copy the gesture to brush against yours, your comfort not lost on her. It is moments like this where you feel truly wanted and needed here, and you could not imagine yourself traveling anywhere else. The love and friendship of the queen is almost enough. 

But her eyes snap away from your gaze, and your attention follows. 

There, resting at the railing, is Ser Gwayne Hightower’s jousting lance pointed at you. 

Shit.

Does he mean to humiliate you? A jape for your attitude towards him earlier? A way to twist and soil your efforts to find your letter writer?

You grimace at him, unsure of what to say as little Aegon fiddles with one of the ribbons on your favor. 

“My Lady, may your favor give me some of that fiery personality of yours. Perhaps your boldness will inspire the courage to win,” His smile is wide as he talks, as if he is holding back a laugh. You wish to snarl at him, hurl insult after insult, but his sister watches with rapt attention. 

“Perhaps you are already too bold, Ser,” you retort, but Aegon tugs harder on your favor. 

“My Lady, I will name you Queen of Love and Beauty if I win,” he presses, eyes darting to his sister before back to yours. It feels conspiratorial. 

“You wish me to have a line of suitors? How kind, Ser Gwayne.”

“I wish to repay a favor you’ve given me,” he explains, and begrudgingly you pull the favor from the little prince’s grasp to wrap it around the lance, the wine red and blue ribbons with embroidered grape leaves easily sliding down to where the base flares out, cementing itself on his weapon. The entire act feels intimate and strange, your handmade favor never having been given, and your eyes never truly meeting his for this long at once. Even from a distance, you can see the shining hazel. 

“You’d better win, I worked hard on that embroidery,” is all you offer, but anything else would feel far too tender, far too genial for the tense at best relationship between you. 

With that, Gwayne winks at you and has his horse trot off, proudly lifting his lance with your favor up to the entire crowd. The pit in your stomach deepens, realizing that if your Unfamiliar is truly here today, you now appear unavailable to him all because of Gwayne Hightower. You could hate him for this. 

But all you can do is sigh as you lean back into your chair, now completely ruined for the entire event. You chew your bottom lip as the dread settles in you, your hopes for the day dashed and taken away by your dearest friend’s brother. 

“Why do you look sour?” Aegon, who now has nothing to keep him idle, asks, “I’d name you Love and Beauty too.”

You roll your eyes as you give the prince a cheeky smile.

“I’m too old for you, little princeling. Move along.”

He sneers at you, but there’s no malice in the little boys face, and he turns back to his siblings to talk to them. Alicent looks over their heads at you, a curious and accusatory look on her face. You’d called her brother a brute, a ruffian, every rude name in the book but here you were giving him your favor with little protest as he talks of naming you Queen of Love and Beauty. Surely, she knows of her brother’s reputation, but you are the big question mark in this situation. 

“When did your loathing of my brother subside?” She asks, finally no longer picking at her hands as this now occupies her. 

“It did not,” you explain, “I merely helped him find a book the other day. He thinks this will repay me for my efforts.”

Alicent’s lips turn upward, a ghost of a laugh in the form of a sigh leaves her. She shakes her head, and finally her gaze breaks yours, casting her eyes to her brother on the field below. 

“Whatever he was looking for must have been very important,” The Queen mutters, and that ends the conversation. 

Gwayne and Lord Manderly line up, opposite sides of their tilt barrier on opposite sides of the list. Otto Hightower speaks, as Viserys’ voice does not find him lately. The King is weakening, today a rare public outing. You are certain that sooner rather than later, Alicent will take the reins and you will be her unofficial hand. 

“Let the final tilt begin!”

Needing no further encouragement, the men urge their horses forward, lances tilted forward and favors blowing in the wind. Gwayne’s lance finds purchase, easily shattering the wooden shield of Lord Manderly, the force of it pushing the northern lord backwards off his horse. However, this is the gruesome part. The moment Lord Manderly hits the ground, a squire brings forth his sword. Gwayne slows his horse, and jumps from the saddle with ease. He passes his shield and lance to his own squire, and reaches for his own sword. The two men run towards each other and finally you find yourself cringing in your seat. The memories of the Hightower Knight covered in blood flash through your mind as if they were yesterday. You grab the material of your skirt, white-knuckling the fabric to the point that you’re certain you’re ruining it.

You worry for Alicent, worry for the outcome of the tourney, worry for the fate of the favor you spent time making, and finally you let yourself admit that you do indeed worry for Gwayne Hightower. As much as he vexes you, you do not want him harmed. Being pompous is not a crime punishable by cracked ribs or bloodied eyes. Damning yourself and your superstitions, you allow yourself to pretend that your favor grants him some kind of protection spell. 

Gwayne’s sword clashes loudly against Lord Manderly’s, sparks flying as metals meet. He dodges and parries easily, and it becomes clear to you that he is the stronger fighter. It calms you, but only slightly. One wrong move could still give Manderly an advantage. But he disarms Manderly at the last moment, the sword flying through the air as Gwayne kicks the man down, his own blade pointed towards the mans face. 

He wins. Gwayne wins. 

You let out a breath, loud and relieved, no longer really caring about your appearances. Alicent too, untended her shoulders, and ushers for wine to be brought from your serving girl. The girls pour into both of your goblets seconds later, and both of you drink deeply. You look over to Alicent, whose other hand holds her seven pointed star in silent prayer, a torn up thumb rubbing meaningful circles across the points. 

“This fear does not become thee,” you remark playfully, smiling at her, “He is fine, you may celebrate.”

“And you may…” but her words die on her lips, now forming into a bigger smile than before as her attention drifts from you. Gwayne rides towards your box, lance back in hand as well as a crown of flowers.

He stops just ahead of you, his horse’s shoulder just against the box. You rise, and lean over to the edge of the railing, to the winning knight. 

“I chose the flowers, I do hope they bring joy to you even if I may not,” he tells you, and you cannot sense a jape in his voice. 

“Thank you, Ser Gwayne, I will wear them with honor,” you tell him, and duck your head down so he may place the ring of flowers, with a trail of flowers downward in the back, onto your head gracefully. His fingers, though gloved, are gentle against your head, his touch soft and careful. 

You rise up, the smile on your face not exactly facetious. As a child you did once dream of this very thing; maybe with a different circumstance, but you did wish this. That is, before you knew how much you disliked tourneys in practice. 

“My Queen of Love and Beauty!” He cries out, and the entire stadium cheers. 

It’s hours later that you finally get to return to your chambers and remove the crown to inspect it further. The ring itself is Mountain Larkspur, a fully poisonous plant. The thought makes you laugh, that Gwayne would pick such a toxic bloom for his Queen of Love and Beauty. But it is to be said that the Larkspur signify lightheartedness, humor, and an open heart. The trail of flowers that rested on the back of your head are Grape Hyacinths, which based on your family, should be a compliment to their legacy. But these flowers signify sincerity, and you’ve been to enough weddings to recognize them. They are more a mauve than a blue like the Larkspur, and those wealthy in the knowledge of bouquet language would know that they symbolize a desire for forgiveness. 

Curious, you think, that Gwayne would go out of his way to mention that he had chosen these flowers. Were they truly and truce between you? Was he trying to tell you something without saying it?

You push through thoughts from your mind, deciding not to dwell on them, lest they give you a headache. 

The quill in your hand touches the paper, releases, touches again. 

It’s quickly that you realize you will not get any writing done, even here at your library desk. You sigh as you push yourself up from your chair, hastily packing everything into your bag as if it pains you to do so. 

It is quick, the trip back to your chambers to change into your simplest dress and cloak, and back out into the hallways, and into the labyrinth of Maegor’s tunnels you had found years ago when Aemond was still just a wish. You pull the cloak closer to you by the strap of your bag, wrapping yourself in a bundle by candlelight as you walk the barely worn path, your candle the only light as you navigate past each stone. It took turning and and faith to get you towards the edge, and for the last twenty feet you blew out the candle for fear of getting caught, but finally the moonlight would hit your face. The tunnels set you out at a district of King’s Landing littered with taverns and food stalls. The food stalls you never saw, for you only come here when you need to write and use some ale in your belly to make the words move more easily. Sure, you could ask a serving girl to fetch you a flagon, but for some reason that did not work the way that writing in a dingy corner with the smallfolk does. Perhaps it is their songs, their open way of speaking, their camaraderie that inspires and spurs you on. 

You enter The Roost, the favorite of these taverns for you. 

“Girlie!” the barkeep calls as you enter, and you shush him as you rush towards the bar to order. As far as the owners of this tavern know, you are a well paying woman attempting to cover up an affair. While they are discreet, they do not hide their fondness of you or your coin. 

“Keep the ale flowing,” you tell the burly man, fatherly and kind, “I’ll be at my back booth.”

“Will do, girlie,” he responds, and you move to the other room behind the bar, a room with two long tables and six small alcoves each dotted with wooden half circle booths. The tavern is busy, but you move through the crowd deftly, easily reaching your little bench and placing your belonging down. You settle in easily, your parchments and your quill and ink easily spread out across the table and one of the barmaids brings you a large flagon of ale. 

You tip the rim of the drink into your lips and drink heartily, careful not to tip your head back too far or else your hood will tip off from your hair and expose you. 

Your quill hits the parchment more easily now. 

My Dearest Unfamiliar,

How dramatic! To think that you will die if you do not know my identity. Though I will not ease your pain, I will give no name in this letter. I find myself narrowing the list of who you may be: an unmarried man, a sensitive yet playful man, well traveled and well read, the best of all things. With words that compliment me, flattery flushing my own face as I read your letters. There are far and few men in the Red Keep that match that distraction. There are three men now on my list after this tourney, and I do hope that I have determined you right. Are you searching for a wife from these letters, I wonder? an a man not yet betrothed, it cannot be distant from your mind. I will have you know that I did not see you during the tourney, or at least I do not think I did. I tried hard to look for you, I looked at every man, but I was not sure what countenance to look for. I will say myself, I am not certain I want a courtship from this, but I do find myself more interested in the idea and the affection that comes from it with each of your letters. You are warming a heart usually icy, My Unfamiliar. Is it too forward to say that when and if I find your identity, I wish to kiss you? It will not be my first kiss, I admit, but I would want to bestow one upon you. Even if you did not want to court me, if only just to thank you for being a just and honest companion for me. I am not saying that I am hoping, but I am hopeful.

I will have you know, My Unfamiliar, that I have read A Caution for Young Girls by the Corinne Wylde, and read it well. The legends of Lys will not make me balk or shy away. I am, as I have said, interested in seeing the world warts and all. I want to see everything that the world can show me. I will say, I do appreciate your gift of the Lysine coin. It is exhilarating to hold something of value to a life so far from my own, to treasure it as if I would a jewel.

Would that I should thrive in a place like Dorne? To speak freely and open tongued. You make it sound such a lively place compared to this. How I wish to experience their wines in a setting where I can speak like the Dornish. Perhaps though, and most likely, if I may be granted leave from court, I will see how grand and lovely Oldtown is. I would love to spend an afternoon perusing the scrolls or reading inscriptions on artifacts just as much as I would enjoy any grand view or adventure.

I will tell you that I do not find you boring for enjoying tourneys, especially because I did not find myself as bored as usual at this one. Though I will say my amusement came from looking for you, I guess I can admire what a tourney is supposed to represent.I am saddened, though, that I could not recognize you immediately. I was hoping some sort of spell could overtake me and cast mine eyes only to yours. I however, just saw many faces in the crowd, and narrowed my list no further.

I find though, that I would appreciate any piece of art you would offer. I am a lover of the arts and a purveyor of understanding them. Jenny of Oldstones is a song I find myself drifting towards often, the lyrics catching me. How beautiful, a woman dancing with the ghosts of the past? How often do we all do the same? Is our love fated by stars, written into the histories? Or is love as fleeting as a ghost on the wind?

For the next feast, I shall try to come up with some coded word. Something we shall say to each other so we will know who we are. I fear giving a dance to just anyone, lest they try to court me and take me away from whatever is between us.

Yours as well;

Your Unfamiliar

The letter is, plainly, too forward. You do not care, though, as you finish off your ale and motion for another one. It’s only now that you look upon the tavern’s rooms, surveying the guests and all their revelry. Your eyes scan, casual and unassuming, until you fall upon a crop of auburn hair. Could it be? You look the the hazel eyes attached, surely, it’s him. But is it? No, it cannot be. The man makes no move towards you, no stern recognition in his gaze, just a simple gaze upon you as you stare back. And the spell is broken as another ale is set before you.

It cannot be him, you think to yourself.

[neteyamssock]

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !! 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝓶𝓮 𝓪𝓷 𝓮𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓽𝔂

★ ˙🧷 ̟ pairing: neteyam x fem!reader

★ ˙🧷 ̟ summary: when you thought nothing could be more devastating than his death.

★ ˙🧷 ̟ wordcount: 0.6k (a drabble)

★ ˙🧷 ̟ content warning/tags: agedup! characters, established relationship, major character death, angst, a lil plot bunny (about tsaheylu), implied attempted su!cide (just implied, but be warned), unexpected pregnancy, grief, mourning.

★ ˙🧷 ̟ text divider credit to @/enchanthings

MASTERLIST

When Neteyam returned to Eywa’s embrace, as his mate, you felt the world had turned gray. The tsawke no longer shines, the eclipse had become a lot colder without his presence by your sides. Oftentimes, you would wake up with your face full of tears, not even remembering what you have dreamt before. You’d sit alone in the shore of awa’atlu, hoping that after blinking he’d still be standing in the water, playing with Tuk and Kiri. You’d sing his songchord every morning, savoring the bittersweet taste in your tongue as you call his name. 

Neytiri understood your pain, as she would join you in singing his song. A mother and a wife who both lost a big chunk of their heart. She’d lull you back to sleep every time you wake up in distress, calling for Neteyam’s name, begging him to stay. She’d cry with you, and you’d look at her face that resembles him so much, and you’d cry even further.

Everyone is mourning in their own ways, even those who loves to laugh and too innocent for this world had turned silent, crying when she misses her older brother.  At times, you’d wake up and ask yourself, why still go on? Why keep living when your lifeline had already left you behind? What’s the point of deluding yourself that you can keep going, when’s he’s the only reason you’re fighting? 

You thought nothing could be more devastating than this. Waking up knowing the space beside you will no longer be warm, no arms to hold your waist, no lips to whisper sweet nothings to your ears as you bask in bliss. You thought nothing could destroy you how his passing had shattered you to pieces.

“You’re with a child,”

The sinking feeling in your stomach became an abyss that swallowed you whole. Just when you’re about to be free, he shackled you to life of pain once again.

“N-no! It can’t b-be! Please tell me its not true!” You let out a wail, pain tearing through you as you call for him. Neytiri cried with you, hugging you as you flail in disbelief. She’s trying to calm you down, but how can you? How can you calm down knowing that another child in his world would live without a father? How can you calm down knowing that he’ll never be there to teach your child the way of the world?

How can you care for another life when you’re barely able to stop the crumbling of your own?

“They said that pregnant na’vis will always be in constant pain, and the only way to ease the pain is to have tsaheylu.’Teyam, I’m scared…”

“I’d always be there, yawne. You do not have to be afraid.”

“Liar…he’s a liar, LIAR!” You screamed as you continued hitting your stomach. You want it out. It cannot live. It cannot!

“______ please, stop! Please, i’m begging you!” 

He said he’ll always be there with you every step of the way. He said he’d never abandon you. He said not even death could take him away from you. When he was kissing you he’d whisper that he’ll do everything to be with you forever, that he will never make you experience pain and sadness. But he’s simply a liar. He abandoned you. He made you feel pain worse than death. All of the things he said were lies. He left you to deal with the world of pain, leaving you alone in this dark world. 

And now, he even left you a child. How cruel, Neteyam. How cruel of you.

Why did you leave me alone? How can you do this to me? Don’t you love me? When you promised me an eternity you didn’t say you wouldn’t be there with me. When you promised me a big family, you said you’d build them with me.

But now i’m alone. With this child you left behind.

Just when I was about to follow you, you gave me another reason to stay living in this world of agony. 

[poselysscripts]

Art by SARDINE! on twitter

Note: Helloooo, been a while, got a job, got fired halfway through writing this…. Yeah, life. This is highly self indulgent, highly inspired by my own struggle when I still had my job. Very short as well. I'm posting it here a few days after releasing it on AO3, don't think it did very well, not sure if I like it that much either (I feel like I write better than this usually, pff) but here you go. Anyways, fuck capitalism, have a good read!

You come back from work, exhausted, depressed. All you need, to be buried in your boyfriend's arms.  Leon X GN!Reader

My brother in Christ had today been a hard day…. you had taken this job because you needed it to survive the bullshit that is capitalistic society.

You’d worked there for a few months, and things had been okay for the most part, it wasn’t even that hard of a job. You could consider yourself lucky. But lately… Jesus… You don’t know what it was but, you were getting tired, anxious. Was your life all it was supposed to be? Didn’t you have any other purpose that could animate your life? Or was it just supposed to be, wake up, work, wait at the end of the month to get your pay, spend it on rent, food and things that could potentially give you the serotonin you lacked, for only a few moments. Then repeat.

Really? You desperately wished for something, anything, to free you from the shackles of this reality. But well once again, you needed the pay, and truly, whatever self worth you had left couldn’t just let you depend fully on your boyfriend. He could afford his rent and yours, could spare a few dollars on a Sanrio blindbox, a game on steam you’ve wanted to play for ages, or the third volume from this one manga you haven’t even begun quite yet, but according to what you’ve seen on tiktok, should be worth the read. Leon was a godsend. You don’t even know how you scored him, but well he doesn’t even know how he scored you either. 

How could you be attracted to him? tragic past, tragic life, tragic mental state. Even his flirting was tragic! (According to Chris that is, but well, he wasn't one to talk either). And then there was you, constantly asking yourself what you could have possibly done to make him fall in love with you. You were so anxious, an overthinker, always trying to get in the minds of the people around you, instead of just, asking. But oh no! what if you asked, and then people hate you? You didn't talk very much either during gatherings, you were awkward, painfully so. But so was Leon actually, according to Claire (Chris's sister, Leon's.... friend? Been a while since you last saw her around), a few of his coworkers agreed too, mostly Ingrid and Helena. 

 You loved him deeply, and he did too, but the one thing you just absolutely couldn't let yourself do was, be fully dependent on him, as much as he told you that you could always quit and he’d take care of you, you had your mind set. You were not gonna depend on a man. As wonderful as it sounded, there was always this part of your mind that kept telling you, ‘What if you break up? Then what?’, ‘What if you rely on him too much?’. And somewhere deep in your mind, you just wanted to prove that you could take care of yourself.

“Baby? You okay?” damnit, you loved his voice, you wish he talked more, wish he were the one yapping away at his interests or about his day. But he was the listener in the relationship.

You hum in response looking at the time on your phone, jesus you’d been staring into space, thinking, for an hour. God, today truly was rough if you’d been dissociating on the couch ever since you came back from work. You didn’t even hear him coming in. And ever since that one time he scared you half to death, he made some noise, or just gave a greeting when coming in.

“hm…. yeah, I’m fine”, you were not fine.

“I called you twice, are you sure?” Oh damn you really were not fine… The blond comes sitting next to you on the couch, expectantly waiting for you to spit it out. He could see it on your face, something was bothering you, he’d never force you to say anything, but if he could help you in any way…

That was the problem with Leon, always helping everyone, he’d give, and give and give, until he had nothing left. Always the saviour, never the saved.

He was working on it ever since you forced him into seeing a therapist. But habits die hard, like the ember liquid he’d down from a shot glass every night. Or how he’d stop just a second too long if he saw a dark haired woman dressed in red in the crowd. He was working on it.

Aquamarine eyes pierce your soul, and you break. Letting yourself fall face first on his chest, arms around his waist. Instinctively a calloused hand comes combing your hair, while the other sets on the small of your back.

“Just wanna stay like this for a while…. please” the end of your sentence breaks, and his hand travels up under your shirt, tracing your spine with the tip of his fingers. Up, and down. Soothing. After a moment of silence, he whispers, scared to break your state of calmness, “Want to talk about it?” . You take a moment, inhaling his scent. “I don’t know… Just a hard day ” but usually a hard day doesn’t make you spiral like this, trapped in the depths of your mind. But today it did.

You take another breath “I just- I don’t really know what happened, I’m just tired, and, like, is this, all I was made for? Is there more I just haven’t found yet? Am I gonna be stuck doing this for god knows how long? What the fuck am I supposed to do? I-“ and it all came spilling out, although a bit muffled from being against Leon’s chest, but it still did.

It left you dizzy, and left Leon to debate on the right words to use. Thing was that he knew all too well what you were feeling. Ever since he was a kid, he knew what he wanted to be, until at 21 it was ripped from him, now he had only one option, he didn’t ask himself those questions too often, he’d been doing this for so long, what was even the point anymore? And in a way, he was still saving lives, it just cost him all that he had been. Rookie cop ebbed away along with Raccoon City. But he couldn't tell you this, Classified, all of it, classified, unless he wanted to put a target on your back. He hated keeping it all from you, but did he have a choice? When did he ever have a choice? 

“You’ll figure it out, sweetheart, I know how this feels, you'll make it” he settled for this, albeit awkward, unsure if it was the right thing to say. But for now, it was enough, and you were too tired to keep talking about this, and anyway, the way he held you, and when you looked up, the way he gazed at you, he just wasn’t good with words, but it was enough, in the comfort of his strong arms, he understood you.

Divider by @uzmacchiato, image found on pinterest!

[profound-imagination]

Before You Go - Fenrys Moonbeam

A/N: I’m so freaking proud of this fic I hope you love it! Also I’ve tried my hand at a lil smut so please feel free to give constructive criticism!

T/W: Maeve, Smut, Vision of Maeve & Fenrys, Angst, Death - I think that’s it! Let me know if I’ve missed any!

W/C: 5K

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

100 Years Ago:

“You did what?!” You seethed at the White Wolf who was looking anywhere but at you. “I swore a blood oath…to Maeve.” The words hit you like a physical blow and tears lined your eyes. “Why…why would you do that?” You asked, swallowing the lump in your throat. He looked at you then, his face shuttering as he took in your unshed tears. “For Connall, the things she makes him do, Y/N, I can’t, I can’t allow it.” You sighed, heart breaking as you looked at the Male in front of you, your mate. Not that he knew, if he did he hadn’t told you, just like how you hadn’t told him. “He’ll resent you for taking his place, Fen, he came to visit, while you were gone with your elite force, he seemed happy.”

You’d grown up with the twins, your parents serving under theirs but there was always something about Fenrys, something that pulled you in. They were five years older than you and you’d put it down to a school girl crush. Connall hated it. He didn’t speak to you for 2 years after he confessed his feelings for you on your 18th birthday. You had just looked helplessly at his twin and he had known then, had understood there was something unspoken between you and his brother. It infuriated him. Connall had always felt lesser than his twin, who was favoured by their father and now by you, it seemed. “I can’t let her have him like that, Connall deserves a true and pure love, not this.” You scoffed, “What, so it’s better for you to be her whore instead?” You spat, his eyes hardening at your words, “Tell me, will you be allowed to leave her chambers? To be the warrior you always wanted to be or will you be leashed to her bed like the dog that you are?”

Anger rolled off of him in waves as he took a step back from you, “That’s enough.” He said quietly but you were so past trying to understand his reasoning. “Maybe he loves her, Fen? Did you think of that?” He scoffed this time, “Even if he does, she doesn’t and won’t ever love him back, she’s incapable of it.” You put your hands on your hips, “So what now? You’ve come to say goodbye? Tell me I’ll never see you again?” His face softened as your voice cracked. “You’ll see me again, but yes, I came to say goodbye.” Anger was still coursing through your veins as you said, “You better go then, your shackles on her bed are waiting. Goodbye, Fenrys.” You turned and walked away, you didn’t look back.

85 Years Ago:

The first ten years without the twins, without Fenrys, had been hard. You’d lost your parents to one of Maeve’s many wars, the twins' parents only just making it back themselves. They had taken you in, despite the fact you were an adult and your own parents had left you more than enough. It was like their mother knew this would be the final blow for you and she refused to let you fall into your despair. She’d moved you into Fenrys’ room, “So you’re here when he comes back,” she had said, “A mate's presence heals most things, even if they're not physically here.” You didn’t know how she knew nor did you ask at the time as you crawled into his bed and slept for days.

Fenrys sent everything he was feeling down the mating bond unknowingly. You could stop him from feeling your feelings which you’d been actively doing since it snapped for you but you couldn’t block his. The hatred, the anger, the sadness, the submission, the pleasure. It made you physically sick. Sometimes, when his emotions were particularly high, you saw it all as well, through his eyes. You’d never forget that first time.

Maeve on top of him, her naked form grinding in his lap. “What’s the matter little pup?” She taunted from above him, “Performance nerves?” He was panicking, you could feel the panic coursing through him, the dread that if he didn’t perform she’d bring Connall in here instead. She scraped her nails down his chest, “You really are pretty for a dog, Fenrys.” She crooned, rolling her hips again, “I can help you enjoy it and perhaps eventually you’ll learn to enjoy it on your own.” She leant forward and kissed up his neck, her canines scraping as she went, disgust shot through him as one hand wrapped around his throat and the other slid towards his cock. “Enjoy it.” She whispered seductively in his ear, “You want me, Fenrys, you want this.” She sucked on his earlobe and the disgust started to dissipate, replaced by lust. “You want to fuck me, to satisfy me.” She continued as his cock stiffened in her hand. She dragged herself up his body, until she had a leg on either side of his head. “Go ahead pup,” she crooned, “eat.”

You witnessed the whole thing. She had ridden him until she was satisfied and when he was spent she sent him away like he was nothing. The last thing you saw when Fenrys opened her chamber door was Connall on the other side, betrayal like nothing you’d ever seen written across his face. You’d thrown up until your body had given out and you moved out of his room and his parents house the next day.

This went on for ten years until you’d had enough, you couldn’t take it anymore, feeling what he was feeling, witnessing it. You had amassed the funds your parents had left you and ventured to Doranelle, for an audience with the Queen. You smoothed down the skirts of your dress as you waited to be called into her throne room. Fenrys was here and nearby, you could feel the bond coming to life and singing that its counterpart was close. A guard approached and nodded for you to follow him, so you took a deep breath and did just that. It’s for the twins, you told yourself over and over again as you rounded the corner and took in Maeve sitting upon her stone throne, two wolves sat either side, one white, one black, both of their ears shot up and their eyes widened as they took you in. A white tailed hawk sat above her right shoulder, a massive Osprey sat above her left. In one of the alcoves close to the throne stood the biggest male you had ever seen and another male with golden hair and tattoos.

“You asked for an audience?” Maeve asked, her voice sounded bored and uninterested. You bowed as low as you could before speaking, “Yes your majesty, thank you for granting my wish.” You said, your voice sounding stronger than you felt, she waved a hand for you to continue. “I have come to ask if you will allow me to buy the wolves out of their servitude? They are needed at home but of course majesty I understand they are of great importance to you so I offer all that I have, including myself, in their stead.” Maeve tilted her head in consideration. Connall was staring at his queen, but Fenrys, Fenrys was staring at you, a sadness in his eyes, a desperation telling you to take back your offer and run.

Maeve tipped her head back and laughed, she laughed like you had told the best joke she had ever heard and as quickly as she laughed, it ended. The Fae Queen leveled you with a look, “No.” You stepped forward, Connall bared his teeth and let out a warning growl that shocked you to your very core. “But, I-“ the Queen cut you off, “I said no, like you pointed out, girl, they are of great importance to me and this one,” she said, placing a hand on Fenrys’ head, “He pleases me ever so well, so no, girl, I’ll keep them both, leave.” Your mouth dropped open and Maeve sighed, “Lorcan, see our guest out.” The giant of a male stepped towards you and Fenrys whined his protest, “Hush, pup, get upstairs.” Maeve commanded and you were escorted out with a feeling in the pit of your stomach that you’d made everything worse for him.

A knock woke you from a fitful sleep. You hadn’t even made it to your bed, you had passed out drunk on the sofa and you winced as the wine bottle rolled off of you and smashed on the floor. You’d deal with that in the morning you decided as you stumbled to the door and flung it open. A fae male with long silver hair and face tattoos stood on the other side, along with the golden haired male from earlier. “So she’s sent you to kill me then?” You asked as you turned and walked into the kitchen, leaving the door open for them to follow. “Drink?” You asked, pouring yourself a whisky and sliding the bottle and two glasses over to the other side of the table where they now stood. “I won’t fight you for my life,” you told them, “There’s nothing left of it anyway.” You said gesturing around the house.

The silver haired one snorted as he took in your home, “Wow, you really aren’t doing well without him are you?” The golden haired one hissed as he elbowed his friend, “Rowan!” He scolded. “I’m sorry, Y/N, I’m Gavriel and this is Rowan, we aren’t here to kill you, we’re here to help, sort of.” You raised an eyebrow, “Help? With what?” You questioned, “You feel him don’t you?” Rowan asked, “We can teach you to block him out, so you don’t feel him if you’re too much of a coward to tell him he’s your mate.” You crossed your arms over your chest, “You’re an asshole.” You told Rowan, Gavriel nodded his agreement, “An asshole I might be, but I’m trying to help you, do you know what she would’ve done if she realised what you were to him, to both of them?” You shrugged, “It isn’t fair that they are chained to her like that, it’s not fair to any of you, loyalty should be earned, not taken.” Gavriel sighed, “Let us help you.”

So you learned from them, well, from Rowan mostly, over an exhausting couple of days. Gavriel kept himself busy fixing whatever needed fixing in the house and tidying up so you had somewhere presentable to live. “Oh and one more thing,” Rowan said as they turned to leave that evening. He turned, producing a letter out of his satchel and you instantly recognised the scrawl on the envelope. “Keep those shields up, Y/N.” He said before walking out the door. Gavriel smiled kindly at you, “For what it’s worth, I think he regrets it, leaving you, everyday.” You sighed, “I was so mean the last time I spoke to him, I was angry and I didn’t mean any of it.” You said quietly, “I think he knows that too,” Gavriel said, “but I’ll make sure to tell him.”

You smiled at him softly, “Why did you both come to help me?” You questioned, Gavriel glanced outside and then back to you, “Rowan’s pregnant mate was murdered & I walked away from my mate and child because of the fear of Maeve, we don’t want the same for Fenrys, we’re quite keen on the pups and somethings Y/N, somethings are worth fighting for.” With that, he took your hand, kissed your knuckles and left.

You slid down the front door, pulled your knees to your chest and ripped open the letter Rowan had given you. There was such anger in Connall’s words, at you, at his brother. But there was also sorrow and a plea for you to never step foot in Doranelle again.

You spent the following weeks wondering if you’d be betrayed, but no one ever came for you.

50 Years Ago:

Gasping quietly you dropped the dishes you were washing in the sink with a splash, the bubbles splattering up your apron. You threw open the door to Rowan and the tall male you hadn’t met yet. “What happened?!” You snapped as you took in Fenrys hanging between them. “Move!” The tall male hissed as they shoved past you, “Clear the table!” Rowan commanded, panic seized you as you swept the table with your arm. “What happened?!” You snapped again and Fenrys groaned as they placed him more gently than you’d expected on the table. “He’s been testing the leash, stupid boy.” Your eyes snapped to the tall male, “Sorry, who the hell are you?” He didn’t even look at you as he grunted, “Lorcan.” You looked back down at Fenrys, “She did this to him?” Rowan looked at Lorcan who shook his head but Rowan answered you anyway, “Connall did.” Anger flooded through you, “Connall?!” Fenrys let out a wet, labored cough, “No,” he croaked. “She commanded it,” Lorcan drawled, “But he didn’t seem to hesitate or fight it.”

You watched quietly as the two warriors worked on Fenrys. Your entire body was tense. Fenrys had passed out 30 minutes ago, a blessing you supposed, that he couldn’t feel what they were doing as they were putting him back together. A shadow outside the window caught your eye and you stalked out the door. “You’ve got some nerve.” You spat at the Black Wolf who was sitting at the tree line of your property. “How dare you turn up here?!” With a flash the Black Wolf was a Male prowling towards you. “He’s my brother, I need to know if he’s okay.” You scoffed, “You did this to him!” You exclaimed, stepping up to him. “I didn’t have a choice!” You rolled your eyes, “They said you didn’t even hesitate or try to fight the order!” You watched Connall’s eyes shoot over your shoulder and then back to you. You felt Rowan at your back. “Are you here for you or for her?” He asked, his voice tight. “For him.” Connall snapped. Rowan nodded and beckoned him to follow. You huffed and followed the two males into your home, the tang of blood in the air.

They’d moved him to your bed when they’d patched him up. You had sat next to the bed, back rigid. Your eyes watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. Around 3am his eyes cracked open, finding you instantly in the darkness, “Am I dead? Is this heaven?” He rasped. You rolled your eyes, “No, you aren’t dead, they brought you here.” He nodded weakly. “Where are they?” He croaked, you handed him a glass of water, “Lorcan and Connall went back, Rowan’s flapping about outside.” You told him and he huffed a laugh then winced. “Stop it.” You scolded him.

You’d brought him some food and stuck your head out the door to let Rowan know he was awake before returning to Fenrys. “How are you feeling?” You asked, “Why are you doing this? Helping?” He asked at the same time. “Because it’s you and I’m an idiot.” You muttered quietly. “It was stupid of you to come to Doranelle.” He said, “I’m not sorry.” You snapped. “Your brother nearly killed you today, he didn’t think twice about it, he just obeyed.” Your voice cracked and tears welled up in your eyes. Fenrys sighed, “It’s the blood oath, he didn’t have a choice.” You gave him a scathing look, “Get some rest.” You said, voice sharp and you turned to leave. “Hey?” You turned to face him, he held his hand out towards you, “Come here?” He asked, patting the space next to him. The bond was screaming at you to do so, to join him, to not leave him injured and alone in your room so you caved and crawled in next to him. “You know I love you right?” He asked into the darkness of the room. “Yeah, I know.” You answer, heart cracking because you knew he didn’t mean it how your entire soul craved him to mean it.

Now:

“What are you doing here?!” You span at the sound of his voice. “Fighting? We got the call.” You gestured at the battlefield that surrounded you. “You can’t be here!” He snarled, “Well I am! You snarled back. “Pup! We’ve got to go, you can fight with your girlfriend later!” Rowan shouted as he landed next to you, “Hi, Y/N.” You smiled at him, “Aedion is injured, get up to the battlements and see where you can help.” Rowan told you, you nodded at him and took off, Fenrys shouting after you.

You clung onto Aedion, tears in your eyes as Gavriel stepped through the gate. You’d grown to love Gavriel, he’d visited you every time he traveled past your home over the years, always stopping in for a cup of tea, you had your suspicions that he was reporting back to Fenrys but he’d become your friend either way. “Let him go, Aedion.” He fought against you, “He’s doing this for you, the only thing he feels he can do for you.” So the two of you watched as the Lion of Doranelle stood his ground as the gate shut him out.

It was over. It was won. You’d watched from the battlements as Fenrys delivered the killing blow to the tyrant Queen. Had watched them morn Gavriel from the outside while you quietly mourned the Wolf that was no longer with you. Aelin had approached you in the garden one evening, as you sat amongst the flowers, watching the sun disappear, talking to Connall as if he could hear you. “You’re staying.” A fact, a demand from your Queen, not a question. You looked up at her and she smiled, “Rowan’s not so good with the secrets.” You laughed as he huffed behind his wife. “He’ll need you.” You gave her a kind smile, “I doubt that, but if it’s what you wish for, your majesty, I will stay.” She gave you a look that said she knew she was right and turned to leave, “Actually, with your permission, there’s something I’d like to do.” Tears welled in Aelin’s eyes as you told her what you wanted, Rowan approached and smiled and put a hand on your shoulder, “I think that’s a wonderful idea.” He said, Aelin nodded her agreement.

Fenrys found you a week later. “What are you doing out here?” He asked, approaching you in the Royal Graveyard of Terrasen. You were knelt in the dirt, hands covered in it. Flowers surround you, Zinnias for remembrance and goodness, Yellow Carnations for friendship and gratitude, Violets for faithfulness and devotion, Anemones for protection and sacrifice and Daffodils for rebirth and hope. “He mentioned you had become friends over the years…” he trailed off, realising that it wasn’t Gavriel’s grave you were kneeling in front of. You looked at him over your shoulder, and then moved aside to reveal a gravestone, that simply read:

Connall Moonbeam

Brother

Friend

Beloved

Black Wolf of Doranelle

A raw, broken sound left Fenrys as he crashed to his knees at the sight of his brother's grave and you were there, next to him, holding him. “I thought it would be nice if we had somewhere we could talk to him.” You told him quietly as he sobbed into his hands. “He visits me in my dreams, the first time was the night he died. He came to me and told me what had happened. That you needed me. I set off the next day to find Aelin, to help however I could.” Fenrys fell into you, sobbing into your neck. “He kept me safe, when I slept rough, he’d tell me to wake up, to move.” You kept talking as Fenrys calmed slowly, “He had things left to say to me, we both cried as he told me he’d loved me once but he knew, had always known I’d belonged to his brother, that I had to find you, that you’d need me, that after everything, he’d get me to you safely, the last thing he could do for you.” You ran a calming hand down his back, “He had a message for you, he said he loves you, more than anything, he forgives you for everything and he’s sorry for his part, he said that it was meant for you, the dagger, but it was too far and he couldn’t allow it.” Tears were running down your face by the time you finished speaking. “If I could change it, if I could take his place so he could be here with you, I would, in a heartbeat, Fen.”

Fenrys remained quiet for a long time after you had told him everything. He clutched your hand like it was his tether to the earth. Finally he looked up at you, his onyx eyes meeting yours and you saw the exact moment he felt it too, the bond. You watched it wash over him, watched him figure out what it was he was feeling. “You…you’re…” you nodded at him, “Yes, I am.” He blinked, “How long have you known?” He croaked and you let out a humorless laugh, “A long time, Fen.” “How long?” He repeated, “Since before you swore the blood oath.” You admitted, “You’ve known for over 100 years that we’re mates and you never said anything?!” You opened your mouth to reply just as Rowan and Aelin approached, “We’ve all known Boyo, it was fairly obvious.” Aelin elbowed her husband. “You’ve done a wonderful job on Connall’s grave, Y/N.” She said, “I’m sorry I never got to know him.” She said to Fenrys, wrapping him in her arms. “He’d have loved you.” Fenrys mumbled and you and Rowan laughed your agreement.

Over the following weeks Fenrys started coming around more and more. Getting to know you again he’d said. You’d cried as Aedion swore his oath, took his birthright and Fenrys had laughed at you, wiped your tears and held your hand for the rest of the ceremony. “Dance with me?” He asked as the Coronation Ball went on and on. You smiled up at him and took his had, allowing him to lead you to the dance floor and into the first dance. Your body fit against his in the best of ways and from what you felt, he knew it too. It was on your third dance that he seemed to throw caution to the wind and his hand left your waist to cup your face as he brought his lips down to yours. It was like the world had gone silent. He pulled you impossibly closer to him as his kisses descended down your neck. “Let’s get out of here.” He spoke against your neck, “Please?” You begged him. He smirked at you as he pulled you towards the doors.

The two of you only made it a few corridors at a time before you were swept up in kisses and touches again. By the time you were halfway to his room, you realised, he was carrying you, your legs wrapped around his waist, dress up around your hips, his hands on your ass, groaning at the feel of it, of the feel of your teeth against his neck. “Fuck it.” He growled three corridors away from his room as he pinned you against the wall with his hips and pulling the top of your dress down. He groaned as he took in the sight before him and ground his hips into yours causing you to moan. He lowered his head, kisses starting at your neck, trailing down to your chest where he worshiped each breast and nipple, the sensations causing you to writhe against him.

“Can you be quiet for me?” He asked, pulling away from your chest. You nodded eagerly as he sank to his knees, anticipation tightening in your stomach as he threw your legs over his shoulders, his head disappearing under the skirts of your dress. Kisses began traveling up your legs, “No underwear?” He mumbled more to himself than to you as his mouth neared to where you wanted it the most. His tongue licked a broad stripe and you jerked at the sensation, letting out a loud moan. “What did I say about being quiet?” He teased as he head appeared from under your skirts before going right back to where it was before. Your fingers scrambled for something to grab onto and settled for the of your dress that was covering his head as he sucked on your clit, waves of pleasure zinging up and down your spine.

“Please, please, please” you were begging as that familiar coil started to tighten in your stomach. “Please what?” He asked against your clit, the words vibrating beautifully. “Tell me what you want love?” He asked, nipping at your thigh. “Make me cum, Fen, please I’m so close.” You whimpered as he started his minstrations again. Two calloused fingers pushed into you and you threw your head back into the wall, his lips still sucking at you. “Plea-“ your begging was cut off as his fingers curled and hit that perfect spot and the coil in your stomach snapped and you and the world fell apart as your orgasam ripped through you. He kept going, drawing it out as long as he could.

His smirk was feline when he emerged from your dress and set your shaking legs back on the ground. You threw yourself at him so hard he stumbled back into the opposite wall as he caught you. You began attacking his neck with kisses, teeth scraping along his throat as you pulled his shirt out of his trousers and tried to undo the buttons. “Take me to bed. Now.” You breathed against his ear and he froze. Completely froze. His arms dropped away from you and his whole body was ridgid. You pulled away from him, realising quickly what had happened and your heart threatened to disintegrate at that haunted look in his eyes.

“Fenrys?” It was like he couldn’t hear you. Whatever memory of Maeve he was reliving had trapped him and you weren’t sure how to get to him. You had just began to panic when Chaol and Yerene walked down the hallway, “Get Aelin, now!” You snapped at Chaol as Yerene stepped towards him. “Don’t!” She stopped dead and looked at you. “I don’t know what he’s reliving and how he’ll be when he comes out of it, you’re with child.” You said more gently and she nodded in understanding, “Go with Chaol, bring Rowan too!” She nodded as she ran to catch up with her husband. “Fen, please, come back to me.”

Footsteps rushed down the hallway and then Aelin was there, Rowan next to her. Lorcan behind him. Chaol and Yerene behind him. You knew you didn’t fit this picture, this group. So you watched, back against the wall Fenrys had just had you against as the Queen of Terrasen pulled your mate back after you had failed to do so. His eyes cleared and darted around the hallway, he smiled down at Aelin and Rowan clapped him on the shoulder. Lorcan, Chaol and Yerene departed back to the ball as the Queen and King spoke with their Emissary, their friend & you turned and fled. You had done that to him, you were no better than Maeve.

“I don’t know how to do this.” You sobbed, “I don’t know how to be what he needs.” The gravestone didn’t answer. “I wish you were here, Con.” You told him, “It’s not right without you and I keep messing everything up.” You let out some more sobs as Fenrys’ haunted face flashed through your memories again. Twigs breaking behind Connall’s grave had your head shooting up & there he was, your White Wolf. “I’m sorry, Fen, so unbelievably sorry.” You told him as he prowled over to you.

He approached, studying you and your tears, then licked a great stripe right up the side of your face, which caused you to snort in disgust and then laugh. Fenrys huffed out a sound that you assumed was as close to a laugh as he could do as a wolf and then he curled himself around your back, and a contented rumble left his chest as you leant back on him. “I’m sorry I put you back there, I’ll be more careful with my words next time.” You said quietly. He huffed again, nuzzling his face into your side, a feeling of warmth, thanks and understanding filled your chest and you knew it was him. “Can we stay out here with Connall tonight?” You asked, he nodded and put his head down on a massive paw, leaving the other for you as you curled up into his fur. “I love you, Fen.” You mumbled sleepily, “I have for most of my life.” You felt the moment he shifted, arms wrapping around you and pulling you into his chest, “I love you too.” He said, kissing the top of your head.

Connall Moonbeam smiled down at the sight of his twin brother and his best friend, curled up together by a grave that he was not in. It didn’t matter, they had honored him with it anyway. They continued to honor and remember him for the rest of their lives, especially on the day their son was born and they gave him the name Connall Gavriel Moonbeam. Gavriel clapped a hand on his shoulder as he walked away from him, into the arms of the mate he’d been missing for so long. Connall smiled down at his brother and his family one last time and followed Gavriel and his mate into the light, there would be no more dream visits, he had nothing more to offer his friend, besides, he’d see them both again some day.