#and i know that he KNOWS i'm writing these letters with her but refuses to acknowledge it because he's trying to paint that she and i

[zara-renata]

So I had one holiday prompt that I couldn't include in the big holiday prompt fic I posted last week, and I also have been receiving some really sweet and cute ideas that weren't exactly requests, but the ideas were so nice that I wanted to write something for them. I've gathered them into one story that I hope isn't disappointing. I had intended to do separate, cute little drabbles, but I had a bad day the other day and somehow uh, really dark angst happened, and then I used the ideas people sent for the comfort half of the fic? So please forgive me for just... taking it as dark as you can go before including the sweet, cute ideas that people requested. I hope you like the result anyway, although please read the content warnings. Several of the people who sent requests/ideas apologized for doing so, as if sending the ideas was 'too much', but you don't have to apologize for sending asks. My requests are open, and I like seeing everyone's ideas even if I don't end up being able to write for them, or if I tweak them a little to make them work for the story that comes out of my brain despite my best laid plans to stick to an outline.

The river | ao3 | masterlist

It's Christmas Eve, you're at the end of your rope after an absolutely awful year, and you decide to end it all after pushing everyone in your life away. Sylus pulls you from the brink and convinces you to keep going.

Sylus x fem reader, Sylus x mc, hurt/comfort, angst, grief, banter, fluff. CW: attempted suicide, depressed thoughts, NSFW, Sylus penetrating reader (this is not sex ed, do not follow these idiots' example, no discussion of condom or birth control, this is fantasy and we're not going to worry about that in the fic)

Ask #1 You asked to keep sending silly little ideas for you to write so I thought I'd give my own request! After Caleb and Gran (supposedly) die it's pretty much canon that MC refuses help from their friends and isolates themself in certain ways. I always imagine MC sometimes sees Sylus as "the only one they have left" since he is the only one who goes out of his way to check up on MC. But MC kinda grows to resent this and has a moment when their drunk/really going through it and basically ask Sylus why he doesn't leave them be so they can just rot away in peace. Sorry if this is too lengthy or I'm overstepping! Brain worms are getting to me

Ask #2 Okay, so random thoughts here, but do you know that superstition that’s like, “the places where you have moles on your body show where your lover kissed you in a past life”? But like… can you imagine what it would be like if MC had a mole in the exact spot where Sylus bit her during Abyssal Mark (cus I have one there lol) and then that superstition randomly gets brought up, only for MC to show him that mole and Sylus is just s h o o k??? N e way that’s my random thoughts lol (sorry if this is a lot 💀)

Ask #3 I love the way you write the MC and I find myself relating to them at least 99% of the time. Sometimes I just imagine them giving Sylus one of those "Do you like me? Circle yes or no!" Love letters to Sylus because they are terrified of rejection -> i wrote the MC in this story really, really depressed, so if this didn't hit the spot for you in terms of fear of rejection, let me know, and I can include your prompt in another story idea I had before this one that's a lot lighter and sweeter before I got hit by the angst truck that this fic turned out to be. just let me know!

Ask #4 the last holiday prompt! -> idk if anyone sent it yet but from the xmas prompt list, i would love to see what you do with number 8 -> I'm so sorry that this is what I did with it, I hope you like it anyway😭

Thank you everyone who has sent me ideas! If you've sent me a request and I haven't answered it yet, it's because I'm still intending to do something with it.

Here you are. Again.

At the end of a long day. A long week. A long year. 

A long rope.

It’s the dark, this time of year. 

Maybe. 

You’re restless. You’ve passed through the Deepspace Hunters Association doors for the last time this year. Empty days of leave stretch before you.

Normally, it would still be light out, leaving this early. But not now, this deep into the year—it’s already full night, as you leave work early.

The bright lights of the building pour over your upturned face as you look back, just once. You don’t know what for. You’ve successfully severed most of the ties you had built before.

Before everything.

Tara, Xavier. After Caleb, Josephine—they reached out, over and over, and you bit their outstretched hands with your sharp, sharp teeth. 

You snapped enough times that they keep their distance, now. 

They’re still kind. 

Tara still comes, sits on your desk, shares tidbits of gossip during the workday. But she no longer invites you along to karaoke, to after-work drinks with other coworkers.

You and Xav work in sync, as you eliminate wanderers. He walks you to your door at the end of the day. But he no longer offers to lend you books. No longer invites you to the bookstore, or to try new restaurants.

You watch his broad back as he walks away from you, down your apartment building’s hallway. He feels as far away as a star in the velvet night sky.

It’s not their fault. You did this.

You wanted this.

You turn away from the warm light beaming from the Association as you leave early, the Christmas lights glittering in the windows, the holiday party you’re skipping still in full swing in the open, sleek company restaurant area on the ground floor. A division-wide shindig, to celebrate the end of the year, the holidays.

The night is cold. Fairy lights, nets of bright pinpricks in the dark night, cover the trees lining the sidewalk. Decorative light displays stretch across the busy road at periodic intervals, over the canals that parallel the streets, the gondolas and tour-boats festive under their own lights, red ribbons flapping in the cold winter wind.

You think about how they never recovered a body.

Only Josephine’s ashes fill an urn, sitting in a cold niche of a quiet columbarium. Caleb’s urn is empty.

You start walking, fast, along the busy sidewalk. People are out shopping, scurrying to tie up last minute errands before the city shuts down for the holiday tomorrow.

You want to unzip your coat. Unzip your uniform. Unzip your skin, your ribcage. Leave all these pieces of yourself behind, for others to puzzle over. To sweep up with the rest of the refuse left over from festive party goers on the street. You want to dissipate in the cold winter air like your breath with each cursed inhale, exhale.

You settle for beginning to jog to the metro station, your feet carrying you faster, faster, your boots heavy on the sidewalk. You see it lit in the distance, but you can’t stand the thought of being underground right now. Buried alive, with all the other people. You sprint past it. 

You’re graceful enough to duck and weave, not disturb anyone else, until the crowds thin.

You’re running, running, the city is streaming past, like the tears from your eyes. Wet from the cold, because you haven’t cried since waking up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s silver chain glittering in the firelight on the walk up to your grandmother’s burning house.

Tears won’t bring a body back.

You don’t know how much longer you can stand this.

The days, one after another. Alarm, moving through the dark to get to work. Moving through the dark to get back to your apartment at the end of the day.

The pain—your only constant, now. The only thing you expect, have to look forward to, day after blurred day. 

An echoing emptiness, like an urn without ashes. An emptiness that feels so full that your skin could burst with it.

You think about your apartment. The festive city outside its windows. The half-opened bottle of wine in the fridge, the only thing in it.

You veer from your neighborhood. Keep running. You’re sweating under your winter coat, your heavy Hunter uniform. It doesn’t matter.

You run, and run, and run, until you run out of streets, sidewalk.

Just the river, wide and black. There is a bridge, soaring over the water, in the distance. Its lights reflected in the water, along with the urban nightscape. Stars above, stars below.

You could drown in them.

You look at the bridge.

You could drown in it all.

There’s no one left, after all.

Who will miss you?

You slow. Stop.

Your breath is heavy in the quiet air. Fairy lights sparkle here, too. Pretty swooping light displays top each lamppost along the river path. 

You would have gone to identify the body, as you did with Gran. She didn’t look like herself. Not even a sleeping version of herself. They did their best, reconstructing her face. But it wasn’t the stitches, the bruising. It was that she simply wasn’t there anymore. Like a stranger’s body on display. An empty house after the residents have been forced to flee in a night of unimaginable violence. 

But running your hands through her hair, one last time. It soothed something in you. Enough that you could breathe in the cold mortuary air. Could nod. Could watch as they covered her again. As they escorted you out into the bustling hospital hallways, to stand under cold fluorescent lights. To stare vacantly at the wall, until you felt a strange, familiar feeling. You looked up, saw Zayne watching you, at the end of the long hallway. You stared at him, memorizing his beautiful face. His dark hair. His severe, cold loveliness. You let yourself look one last time, and he let you. Through the people filling the hallway, each walking with purpose, they were a blur and he was  across the world, across time, a part of your past that should never have reappeared in your present. It hurt too much, to look at his beautiful, distant face. He left you behind, once. He should have stayed gone. You can’t stand to experience the loss again, the loss you felt every time he listened to your heart, expressionless, a stranger with a beautiful, familiar face from your past, a past in which Caleb was still alive. 

You looked at Zayne one last time, across a bustling hallway in a place full of life, of death, and he let you. You then turned, headed to the reception desk. You switched doctors, hospitals.

You blocked his number, so you’ll never know if he sent you a text, tried to call and ask why, after. He let you walk out. Which is as it should be.

You wanted this.

The water churns under the whipping wind, the fast current. It looks so cold. Cold enough to numb. Cold enough to finally put out the fire that’s been burning in you, ever since you woke up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s necklace shimmering in the flames.

You think of running your hands through his hair. Something the fire robbed you of—it would have been your first time, your last time. He would pat your head. Call you pipsqueak. Ignore your protests to not mess up your hair, to not treat you like a little kid. But he would always duck out of the way anytime you tried to return the favor, tease him, tousle his hair. His pretty brunette hair that always looked so soft. Now you’ll never know how soft it really was.

You look at the water. You look at the bridge. The car headlights meteors streaking along their guardrail-gated orbit.

You think about going home. Waking up tomorrow, Christmas Day. The silence. You think about going back to work. Killing wanderer after wanderer. Wondering which one will be the one to finally kill you.

The days blur. The constant emptiness echoing inside your apartment, inside your ribcage.

You look at the water. You look at the bridge. You imagine running your hands through Caleb’s hair for the first, the last time. A tender goodbye you’ll never have, because they never found his body.

There’s no one left to miss you.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You fish it out.

Rafayel no longer calls, or texts you words. He just sends photos, every once in a while. Mundane details of everyday life, rendered extraordinary through his artist’s eye. Paintings he’s working on. A foreign landscape. Leaves glistening with dew. The moon, waxing full.

You haven’t answered in months. You look at each one, tuck your phone back in your pocket.

You look back at the water. Think about taking a photo of the reflected stars, the thin crescent moon in the black waves, think of sending him one last response. But even you’re not that cruel. You don’t want him to realize later, that he was the last one to say anything to you.

You don’t open his text. You block his number. Tuck the phone back into your pocket.

You start to walk toward the bridge. As you walk, you keep your eyes on the path, its edges. Decorative, smooth stones line the walkway along the river embankment. You pick them up, here and there, as you walk. Slip them into your coat pockets.

Eventually you run out of room in your coat pockets, add more to your pants pockets. 

You turn your eyes back to the bridge, looming now.

You think of your empty fridge. Josephine’s empty face. An empty urn.

You’re ready to scoop out what’s left of you, leave it behind on the sidewalk, smoldering as the cold night finally smothers the endless fire, the only thing left inside you. Maybe it will warm someone else, in passing. A last good deed, from you to someone in the world.

A metal staircase, leading up, up, into the black sky, mirroring the dark river, your heavy boots echoing. The cars are loud. If you close your eyes, they could be the rushing waves of an ocean, instead of a river of traffic, above a river of water.

You keep your eyes open. You’re not going to pretend that you’re not doing what you’re doing, now. You’re not at the ocean, its pure salt air drifting through your hair, now whipping around your face. You’re on a busy, exhaust- and oil-stained commuter bridge on the night before Christmas, having cut your ties with everyone you have always known never wanted or needed you in the first place. What’s the difference if a wanderer kills you tomorrow, or if something kills you today? Just empty time, blurry days, photo frames without pictures.

The guardrail isn’t so high as one would guess. It’s an easy step up. An easy step over. You stand, looking back over the city where you were raised. The city that contains all the past versions of yourself, from the moment you were pulled screaming into life from a mother whose face you’ll never know, through to now, an empty shell of a person. If your fellow hunters could see inside you, they’d mistake you for a wanderer and put you down, like the scientists who experimented on you, your own grandmother, did years ago.

Since learning that Gran was one of the people who fucked with your heart, you have often resented that she and her colleagues weren’t successful in finishing the job years ago, when they had the chance.

But now you wonder, standing over a dark, freezing river that reflects what’s inside you now, maybe they did finish it. You just didn’t realize it. Not till tonight, as you look down in the mirror of the rushing water, far below.

Even now, the tears won’t come.

What use are tears, when they can’t bring a body back. When they can’t wash it clean. When they can’t lovingly touch it, one last time, soft strands of hair under your fingers.

Your tears, your heart, your suffering, your existence—useless, for the entirety of a life you can only half remember.

You wonder if it’s the dark, tonight. Why tonight, and not yesterday? Why not six months ago? 

Because it took that long to sever the ties binding you here?

Now you are assured, no one will miss you. It will take days before anyone even notices your absence because of your holiday leave.

You hope that they’ll assume it was a wanderer. Bad luck. Wrong time, wrong place. A modest little plaque on the wall of heroes, even though you know you’re no hero.

In the end, it doesn’t matter why it’s tonight, and not any other night.

No need to be dramatic, pretending there’s meaning in the meaningless.

You put your hands on the guardrail, the metal colder than your freezing hands. You lift a heavy booted foot. Take a deep breath. 

It’s so cold. It will be over before you know it. You’ve read that from this height, it’s the impact, and not the drowning.

You’ve always had dreams of flying. 

You lift your other foot, arms thrown wide for balance, just for a moment. The world feels so big, here at the end. The stars above, the stars below, the doubled crescent moon. You’re ready to drown in it all.

You only have one hope.

I don’t want to be reborn.

You breathe, empty your mind of Tara’s earnest smile, Xavier’s soft laughter, Zayne’s steady hands, Rafayel’s flashing violet eyes. Josephine’s empty face. Caleb’s soft, untouchable hair.

You let yourself fall.

You’re flying. Your heart is soaring. Your heart is seizing. The relief, the terror, mingle. You can’t scream, even if you wanted to.

You’re flying and it’s everything you ever dreamt, until it’s not.

Your body jerks, abruptly. Your hair whips down, lashes your face. You grunt with the impact against… nothing. You’re suspended over the water, drifting in the air. The wind tugs at your stone-weighted coat.

You twist away from the water, craning your neck to look up, up, back at the bridge.

You have withstood the uselessness of tears for almost a year now. But now, you want to cry so badly the pain of the need steals your breath.

You knew he was cruel. You knew he was merciless. You knew that he hated you. You just didn’t realize how much, until now.

You hang suspended over a dark, rushing river, wrapped in scarlet and ink tendrils, looking up into the sneering face of the one person you refused to think about as you made your final decision tonight, at the end of your desolate, half-remembered life.

His evol begins to lift you, away from the merciful impact, the numbing water. You, your past, your heart, the memories and despair and stones filling your pockets seem weightless, wrapped in his power.

His usual mask of bored indifference is gone. He is finally showing you his true face, what he must always feel when he looks at you—fury and disgust.

He says nothing, as he pulls you from the depths, back into the world. As he sets you gently back on your heavy feet on the sidewalk in front of him. His evol evaporates, winter breath in the wind.

He looks at your face with his wine-dark eyes. Looks at the water. Flicks his gaze back to your face.

You will not cry in front of this man. This man who hates you so much he won’t even let you seek the peace of death. Death, which has always been too good for you, but not for the people you loved the most.

You clench your jaw as the fire re-ignites in your chest. The flames you had tried so hard to scoop out, to leave behind.

You don’t want to feel this much anymore.

If you speak, you know you’ll cry. You can’t stand it.

Maybe, with enough repetition, he’ll get bored. He gets bored so easily, after all.

You turn, try to launch yourself over the guardrail again.

This time, it’s not his evol, but his arms that wrap around you, pull you back from the fall.

You struggle, throwing your elbows, kicking, throwing your head back, hoping to catch his perfect nose, break it under the hardness of your stupid, useless skull.

He says nothing, just holds you tighter, wraps one arm around your waist, the other over your chest, his big hand cradling the side of your face, pressing your head back into his own chest, as he hunches over you, an immovable wall of warmth. As you fight to break free of his hold, you are wrapped in his scent—cloves, gun oil. 

Sylus.

Eventually, you tire yourself out—despite all of your strength, it is no match for his. He holds you against himself easily, as you pant, lungs burning with the effort, the sweat warm once again under your Hunter’s uniform. You become aware of a whimpering, the keening of a wounded animal.

It’s coming from your throat. Your eyes burn. You go limp in his arms.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. A voice like warm liquor in your veins. You think he’ll let you go. You prepare, hoping you can get to the guardrail again. Maybe this time he won't be so fast. But instead of releasing you, getting away from you as fast as he can, the arm around your waist moves up, cradling your upper back. He scoops his other arm under your legs, holds you against himself like you’re a delicate princess, if you were anyone else. But because it’s you, he’s probably just holding you like a useless sack of shit that would be too annoying to drop. He begins to walk, his stride steady, brisk.

He looks down into your face. “I bought a dress for you. Silk. A design like stars over a flowing river. That’s the only river you’re allowed in tonight, kitten.”

You stare at him. His breath puffs white in the cold air. The face of disgusted fury is replaced by his usual bored mask.

Why is he doing this to you? He wanted to kill you, just a few months ago. Why not let you do the job for him?

He is the only person in your life who didn’t take the hint. Who kept showing up, after you made it clear that you didn’t want their presence anymore. That you couldn’t handle the ties, because ties become nooses, snapping your neck when the other person leaves you behind.

When he showed up where you were, in a ‘coincidental’ meeting on the street, on a jog, you would turn, move in the other direction. He would match your stride, doggedly pestering you with questions, asking you about your evening or weekend plans, telling you silly stories from the N109 Zone, Luke and Kieran’s latest antics. Sometimes he’d just walk in contemplative silence, thumbs hooked through his belt loops, or jog quietly next to you, never losing his breath, never complaining about the pace.

When you would routinely see him at various restaurants you were headed to in order to pick up takeout, you’d leave your food, immediately turning and hurrying away. When the same food was delivered to your door half an hour later, you’d refuse to answer, letting the confused and irritated delivery man leave. A half hour after that, the same man would be back, yell through the door that he had instructions to leave the food even if no one answered, and then he’d make good on his promise. You were faced with the choice of either letting the food go to waste, or eating it guiltily at your kitchen island.

No matter how many times you told the delivery person of the almost daily packages you received with no return address that you didn’t want to accept delivery, they would always insist that their instructions were to deliver regardless of recipient response. You were welcome to bin the items after receipt, but if you didn’t accept, the packages would just pile so high outside of your door that you couldn’t reach your apartment anymore.

You would accept, and then donate whatever exquisite item was inside to women’s shelters, children’s homes, university museums, soup kitchens, fundraiser auctions. No matter how clear it was that you wouldn’t accept anything from him, Sylus never stopped sending you gifts.

When you were sick, he’d show up personally, barge into your apartment when you were too tired to look at the doorbell camera before answering, a duffel bag gripped in his big hand filled with fever reducing medicine, homemade soup from his home chef, painkillers, hot water bottles, cooling pads, muscle pads, vitamins. He’d lounge on your couch, manspreading, insisting that he wouldn’t leave until he saw you swallow the pills and drink a gigantic glass of water.

He’d wait until you lay back down on your messy bed, until you fell asleep. He’d be gone when you woke again, but your apartment would be clean and your fridge and freezer would be stuffed full of healthy pre-prepared food.

You were half-convinced he was just buttering, fattening his prey before getting bored and mercifully ending its life.

Tonight, you are now fully convinced.

“Did your tongue freeze in your mouth?” he asks, descending the stairs you had just walked up, thinking it was your last time ascending them. “Do you need mouth-to-mouth to warm it up again?”

You scowl at him, at how appealing the idea of Sylus’s tongue in your mouth is, even now. You hate yourself, your traitorous body for being drawn to him, even now. “What’s the point of talking, when you never listen?” you grind out, your throat sore. You hadn’t realized how much your animal wailing had wrecked your throat. At least the tears are no longer so close to the surface that they’re threatening to spill.

“I listen to every word out of your beautiful mouth,” he counters serenely, with that same inexplicable kindness that makes your heart hurt. So at odds with how you know he must really feel about you. “I just listen to more than your mouth in order to hear what you’re really saying.”

“What?” You stare at his beautiful face, the way the lamplight illuminates its sharp features for a brief moment, before the night swallows it again as he moves between lampposts on his way… somewhere. Back the way you just came from.

He spares you a glance. “Your mouth says one thing, while the rest of you is screaming something else.”

You feel the blood draining from your face. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

One corner of his beautiful mouth lifts. “Don’t play dumb, kitten. You’re too smart for it to be convincing.”

You were just falling into the river. You were just about to be free. How did you get here again? In this man’s arms, his smug, roguish smile filling you with the unease of being seen. 

“I mean, it wouldn’t kill you to be a little more honest about the fact that you want people to fight for you, right?”

You begin to struggle again, shame lancing through you, making your body unbearable to be in. You know it’s weak, to have wanted so desperately that the people you were carving from your life would see what you were doing and stop you, place their hands over yours holding the cleaver, gently push it down, down, until it dropped from your grasp—how desperately you wanted them to step into your space, hold you tightly, just like this man who sees right through you is holding you now. You wanted Tara to keep inviting you out with your ridiculous colleagues, to sing your heart out at shitty karaoke clubs, to forcibly drag you to sleepovers and arcade nights. You wanted Xavier to push himself into your apartment, try to bake something horrible in your oven, sheepishly offer to go to the bakery with you instead when the fire alarm inevitably went off. You wanted Zayne to walk through the crowd to reach you at the other end of the hallway after you identified Josephine’s body, to ask to take your hand, to ask how you were doing, even though you knew you wouldn’t have been able to answer. You wanted Rafayel to keep inventing excuses for you to visit his studio, to keep insisting that he needed you to accompany him to expositions and fancy lunches as his bodyguard. 

But none of them did in the end, and that’s okay. You kept pushing them away, because your terror of their leaving was apparently bigger than your need for their presence in your life, and at least if they were already gone, as they inevitably would be, you’d finally be free. 

But the last person you would want to see this utterly humiliating need inside you, exposing you like this, is the one looking down at you right now with deceptively soft, all-seeing eyes.

You know the feeling, this need, of pulling away and pulling away and then being heartbroken when people finally let you is weak, and pathetic.

You may experience weak and pathetic feelings, but you’re not weak or pathetic. Not at your core. You were prepared to do what was necessary, to save yourself from the pain of your emptiness, the fire raging inside your chest. You weren’t asking anything of anyone. You were doing it all on your own. 

Not a burden. 

Never a fucking burden. 

You clench your teeth, buck in Sylus’s arms.

He just holds you tightly, a straightjacket for the insanity that you’re feeling, the insanity of this man, out of all the people in your life, stripping you of your masks, flaying you so that all of your most tender, shameful parts are exposed to both him and yourself.

“Stop that. You’re just going to tire yourself further, when I need you tonight.”

Of course. The quid pro quo. He helped you with the auction, the Aether Core. Now you owe him. He doesn’t give a fuck if you live or die—he just can’t let one of his assets destroy itself before it fulfills his purpose.

You go limp in his arms. Turn your head away from him.

He continues his train of thought. “No, it wouldn’t kill you to tell the truth to your friends, so you decided to take matters into your own hands, huh? Telling the people in your life that you actually need them wouldn’t kill you, so why bother, right, when you can just jump off of a fucking bridge?” His voice sounds like the night you met him. Controlled anger. Disgust. Accusation.

Then there’s something wrong with her.

You thought you had killed everything inside of you already. The yearning for human connection. The kindness of a friend. Family holding you in their arms. You thought you had scooped out most of it, even as some of it rekindled when he pulled you back from the fall.

But the way you’re hurting now, at the memory of his hate, the reminder that the people you love won’t fight for you even if it would be fighting against you, and that this man, for all of his false generosity, never cared for you from the beginning, that his gifts and his visits were all what you knew them to be, all along—a bored predator toying with its prey before using it and consuming it. 

You let your thoughts drift back to the bridge, push your pain away. Feed it to the fire. When he’s done with you, maybe you won’t even have to jump.

“Just shut up, Sylus. I’ll help you with your problem tonight. Just promise me you’ll toss me over yourself, when you’re done with me,” you tell the night, because you still can’t bring yourself to look at him.

He stops walking. The wind is so cold against your face. You wish he’d snap your neck, right now. You’re so fucking tired.

“Look at me.” His voice is low. Menacing.

You watch the water. Wonder how long it would take if you just walked out into it, without jumping. Just walk in with your stone-weighted coat and let the cold paralyze you, the current pull you under.

“Look at me, my heart,” he whispers. The change in his tone, his bizarre endearment, has you turning your head, looking up into his face. “That is one promise I can never make you.” He looks like he’s in pain. You don’t know why. He leans down, rests his forehead against yours, hunching his big shoulders, lifting your body in his arms so he can meet you. His breath is warm against your lips. “Please don’t talk to me like that.”

You want to snort. It’s rich, coming from him—the same man who is telling you not to tell him to shut up, after all the things he said to you as he starved you, strangled you.

“Please don’t tell me to kill you. To hurt you. That hurts me.”

You stare up into his face. See the sincerity in his eyes. The wind whips your hair. He wasn’t upset that you told him to shut up, but that you asked him to kill you? “What does it matter? Aren’t you going to, in the end?”

“Why would I stop you tonight, if I wanted you to die?”

Of course he won’t answer outright. When has Sylus Qin ever answered a direct question?

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. Why bother stopping me, unless you just need to use me and then be done with me? I can’t be that irreplaceable. Just get someone else to put on the dress, and let me get on with my fucking life. Someone who you can train to say just the right things, at just the right time, who’ll look good in whatever fancy shit you want to put her in. There’s gotta be easier idiots than me to serve your purpose.”

He closes his eyes, breathes in the cold night air. When he opens them, you have to look away. You can’t handle whatever is in them. “I know I hurt you, when we first met. That I said cruel things to you. I’m sorry.”

You laugh, even as your heart wrenches at this strange apology. Of course he doesn’t explain what offended him so much about your existence at the beginning. Why he treated you exactly how you deserved. Probably just whatever he saw when he used his Aether Core on you. He saw the echoing chambers of your empty, fucked up heart and was enraged that it was you, and not someone worthy, who would absorb the Aether Core. “There’s never been any need to varnish the truth, Sylus. You almost choked me to death the day we met. You should have fucking finished what you started,” you sneer. “Why does no one ever finish what they start?” You think of Josephine, her researcher cronies. Think of Caleb, his promise to return, the last text he ever sent you. Your fucking parents, who you will never know.

You don’t expect an answer.

And yet, you’re surprised when Sylus wordlessly releases his hold on you. Lets you slip from his arms, sets you back on your feet. You settle in your heavy boots, the weight of your coat, the stones in your pockets, grounding you to the earth.

The lamplight shines in his silver-sheened, wind-tousled hair. His cheeks are red from the cold.

Of course. Of course.

No tool is irreplaceable.

You’re not irreplaceable.

You finally said the right thing, to push him away.

This is it. This is it. This is it. 

Your mind returns to the bridge. Your hand is holding the cleaver, dripping with the blood from the last unwelcome tether to your life.

You try to memorize his face, just as you did Zayne’s, but for some reason looking at Sylus’s face hurts you so much more despite having known him for so little time. Just a sigh, in the timeline of your life. The warm glow of his irises. The softness of his lower lip. The pride in his shoulders, his nose. 

Maybe you didn’t want to think of him before jumping because you had fallen in love with him, despite the fact that any affection he offered was counterfeit—the steady way he breathed next to you on a jog, the way he spread out on your couch, his dry humor, his intelligence, his piercing gaze, his kindness that was actually more cruel than if he had just tossed you out and never bothered to look for you again after the auction.

You knew it was fake. You knew it was calculated. You knew that the reality was, because he had told you from the very beginning—

Don’t tell me that you like me. Is this all so you can get my attention?

Clearly you’ve read too many fairytales.

And yet you had believed, in the bright moments of receiving his kind attention, in the fairytale. Just for a heartbeat. A raindrop, splattering on the ground.

You thought that you couldn’t bear to see what it looks like when Sylus finally tires of you pushing him away, and stops reaching out, as everyone else has. 

But with just a few words, you’ve finally managed to do it. He set the burden of you down, and now he’ll walk away, replace you with some other beautiful, breathing tool.

You learn in this moment that you actually can bear it. You can bear anything, as long as you know that very soon, you won’t have to bear anything at all.

“You wanted the truth?” you say, suddenly, the relief flooding through you that the worst has happened, that you’re now actually free. You think of the fabric of the dress, liquid stars over a night river, and wonder whose body it will caress, with Sylus’s big hand on her waist, his gentle fingers drifting across her collarbone, his forehead pressed against hers, for whatever ruse he needs to run tonight, on Christmas Eve.

He grows still. Watches you carefully, as if searching your face for a trick. You look back at him steadily, scooping everything inside you out, letting it splatter onto the sidewalk, here along this dark riverbank.

“Will you give it to me?” he finally asks.

“As a parting thank you gift, for cutting me loose.” You nod. Take a shuddering breath of the frigid air. “Here is me telling you the truth: you should treat the woman who ends up wearing the dress you got with more gentleness than you did me at the beginning. You could have the world eating out of the palm of your hand, if you skip the cruelty at the beginning and just treat people the way you treated me in the last few months. She’ll do anything for you, I think, if you do. Because somehow you made me love you, despite our beginning. I could bear to cut everyone else loose but you.” You laugh, and the sound is like icicles snapping, shattering on the ground. “Thank you for doing it for me, instead. It’s probably the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

You smile at him. 

You don’t know why you’re surprised that he just frowns deeply, brow furrowing. 

Well. That’s okay. You never expected him to be pleased to see your face, smiling or not.

“Good luck, Sylus.”

You turn, begin to walk back the way you came, for the second time tonight. Your thoughts are already at the bridge. You’ve been falling for months now. Soon you’ll finally hit the crystal water and shatter. 

You hope you won’t be reborn.

“You said you love me.” His deep, low voice is carried by the wind.

You stop, turn your head. “Stupid, huh?” you ask, wondering if he wants to pour salt into the wound you just willingly exposed to him.

“Why would you love someone who treated you the way I did?”

You turn fully, face him across the night, one last time. “You’re so fucking funny. I’ve always appreciated men who can make me laugh.” You shrug. “And I’m a pathetic fool. You pretended to be kind, and I lapped it up like the thirsty dog I am.”

He tilts his head, takes a step towards you. “That’s all?”

You take a step back. You don’t need him and his pretty face, his delicious scent any closer to torment you.

You offer him more truth. “Of course not.”

“What else?”

You sigh. “What does it matter? We’ll never see each other again.”

He shakes his head. “Indulge me.”

So salt, it is. You press your fingers into the most tender part of yourself, peel yourself wide open. “Your cleverness. How sweet you can be when you want something—strangely pliant, for such a big, powerful man. The self confidence you have. I could say, do anything and you did so well pretending to never be embarrassed of me. You made me believe, very briefly, that you really wanted to be with me, do anything, go anywhere, just because I was there. It’s quite impressive, really. I can see why you’re so good at business. You’re competent. You’re beautiful to look at.” You pause, shake your head in turn. “But you already know all that. You know why you’re loveable. You made me feel cherished in a way that no one ever has, even as I was pushing you away. But honestly, those are just parts of you. They don’t fully cover what it is about you that makes my heart ache when I look at you. I love you because you’re you. Even hearing your name makes my heart race. Seeing your shoes in my foyer, because they were on your feet. The curve of your wrist, because it belongs to you. I know it’s pathetic, and stupid.” You shrug again. “Can’t help it, though.”

He stares at you. 

You prod him. “Is that enough?”

“How can you ask if that’s enough, when it’s everything?”

You look at him in confusion. “Huh?”

He takes a step towards you, frowning. “Are you only telling me all this because you think I’ve finally given up and allowed you to push me away, because I set you back on your feet?”

You take a step back, as he takes another step forward.“What do you mean ‘I think’ you’ve given up?” You squint at him.

“Did you only tell me all this because you’re going straight back to the bridge to try again?”

You take another step back at the intensity of his face, his question. “What does it matter? You don’t have to worry about what happens to me after this.”

He takes two steps. “You tell me you love everything about me, and then you plan to fuck off and leave me alone again?”

Okay, this was a mistake. You don’t know why he’s mad, but he’s mad again. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t know what else to say. You’ve been sorry your whole life. This is yet another miscalculation. You should have just left. What did you think would happen if you told him how you feel? That he’d be happy about your pathetic heart bleeding pitifully for him?

He strides over to you, his long legs outpacing your own. “If you’re sorry, don’t fucking do it.”

“What?”

He looks down into your face, so close you can smell him again, you can see the fine lines around his eyes as he frowns. “If you’re really sorry for loving me, for ever meeting me—which are the only things you have to be sorry for, then make it up to me by staying. Don’t leave me. Don’t push me away anymore. Just stay, and love me.”

You huff. “Are you really that desperate for help tonight?”

He lifts his hands, places his palms on your cheeks, his long fingers dipping into your hair. “No, I’m desperate for you tonight. It’s Christmas—I don’t give a shit about the holidays, but I know you do. I want to spend it with you. You made me watch you jump off of a goddamned bridge. What would have happened if I hadn’t already been on my way to you?” He sounds so upset. You’ve never seen him like this. The fear is naked on his lovely face.

“What the fuck are you talking about? What does it matter? You said you could get someone else for the dress, for tonight.” You’re so confused. Why is he acting like this?

“I didn’t say any of that. You suggested that I replace you with someone else, I set you on the ground to make sure you were looking at my face, that you were listening to my words when I told you that you’re irreplaceable. That no one else will do. That after watching you almost die, I can’t continue being cautious and trying not to frighten you away anymore.”

“You… what?” 

“You love me. Right? You weren’t lying?” he looks uncertain, like he can’t quite believe it.

You can’t bring yourself to lie. The truth is out. You’re witnessing the fallout. There’s no point in backpedaling. “Yeah.”

He nods, once, decisively. “Okay. That’s enough.”

You sigh in relief. Maybe he’ll let you go, finally, finally.

He checks his chunky watch, the platinum flashing in the lamplight. “There’s still time.”

“Time for what?”

“For my plans tonight. Come.” He closes the distance, sweeps you into his arms again, cradles your body against him like something fragile.

“What plans? Listen—” you start to argue.

“No. Now it’s my turn to speak, and for you to listen.” he squeezes you tightly. “Today was the last day you spend alone. If you can’t live for yourself, then you can live for me, until you remember why you want to live for yourself again. No matter what you say, or what you do to get rid of me, it’s not going to work.”

You can’t even process what is happening. “What are you—?” you begin, but he cuts you off again.

His voice is strained, rough. “You love me. So you have to take responsibility. You have to stay.”

You don’t know what to say. 

I’m desperate for you tonight.

You can’t believe this. He hates you. He has hated you from the beginning. He was so kind to you because he wanted to use you for something he never bothered explaining to you. He needs you for your resonance, your amplification of his powers.

You’re irreplaceable. No one else will do.

Because of your resonance?

I don’t give a shit about the holidays, but I know you do.

He carries you along the wind-swept riverbank, through the frigid night. Stars above, stars below.

You made me watch you jump off a goddamned bridge.

You didn’t think anyone was left to care.

You were so careful, severing ties like arteries, so that you wouldn’t leave the world with more pain than you found it. It was already bleeding so much.

You just were so tired of bleeding with it.

As if sensing the turn of your thoughts, Sylus carries you to the edge of the river’ embankment, where the concrete falls away, drops into the water.

He sets you down again, but doesn’t let you go. His big hands slide down the outside of your coat, dip into your pockets.

He pulls out a smooth stone. Turns it in his hands.

“I’ll never understand how someone so light can weigh so heavily in me,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “But you’re a weight I’ll carry for as long as you let me.”

His ember eyes flick back to yours. He hands you the stone.

“This is your conviction that the world won’t miss you, if you’re gone. You will hold it in your hand, one last time. And then you will throw it in the water.” He wraps your cold fingers around the stone. Somehow, his fingers are still warm.

You grasp it, look up into his face. You see yourself in them. It hurts, to be seen so clearly. You’re so ashamed. “How did you know?”

He closes his eyes, shakes his head a little. Opens them. “I looked into your soul, the day we met. I know you’re too soft-hearted in this life to kill yourself if you thought it would hurt someone else. You don’t carry that spite, anymore.”

In this life.

Anymore.

You can’t bring yourself to ask him what he means. You only know that once again, Sylus Qin has seen inside you, has seen you, in a way no one else ever has.

“But I don’t think anyone would miss me. I made sure of it.”

He huffs. “You’re a fool, if you actually believe that. The people you’ve pushed away still love you. But if you can’t believe that yet, then you can’t pretend to yourself that you’re disposable anymore, if for no other reason than I’m standing here now, telling you that I would miss you.”

You think of Tara, sitting on your desk, nudging a steaming latte she got for you on her way to work toward you, asking if you’ve heard the latest about Simone and Andrew.

You think of Xavier, walking you to your door at the end of a nasty wanderer encounter, reaching out, brushing a bit of mud off your cheek, then smearing it across his own cheek. See, we match now.

You think of Zayne, waiting across a busy hallway, patient, letting you choose to approach him, and respecting you by letting you walk away.

You think of Raf, the beauty he shares with you with every photo, the funny strings of emoji that don’t demand an answer.

“How do you know, that they would miss me?” you ask Sylus quietly.

“I’ve been watching you for a long time, sweetie. Do you think I haven’t seen your friends’ faces when you walk away from them?”

You clutch the stone in your hand. “I don’t think I can change my thoughts, my conviction, just like that.”

“You love me, so you have to try. Throw it. Every time you try to drag it back up, I’ll remind you that you threw it away, and you can let it stay at the bottom of the river.” He reaches up, caresses your cheek with his fingertips.

You want to cry. You want to cry, because you’re so afraid. If you let yourself believe that people love you, you have to stay, for them. You have to feel, every day, the weight of grief, of existence, the pain of being alive, of being inside yourself, your body. The hollowness will return, even with your friends, even with Sylus filling most of it.

It’s like he can read your thoughts as his eyes devour your face, as his fingers tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “I won’t let you pretend, anymore. You love me, and I will not survive if you aren’t here with me. So you have to stay. We don’t have to accept that life is a curse. We can fight back. Make it something better.”

“I’m scared,” you say.

His eyes are so tender, as he watches your mouth form your biggest truth, set it free in the night. “I will protect you, until you can protect yourself again. There’s nothing to be afraid of, if we’re together.”

You want to believe him. Your heart beats painfully behind your ribs. The moon is a sharp crescent in the sky. 

But you’re a weight I’ll carry for as long as you let me.

“You’ll really stay?”

He finally smiles, a faint Sylus smile that feels like a grin. “I told you. Today was the last day you’ll ever be alone. You can’t get rid of me now, no matter what you do, or say.”

You turn, holding the stone in your cold hands. You think of all the lies you’ve been telling yourself, about your friends, your place in their lives, because you were so tired of living with an unnameable grief, one you carried inside you long before Caleb and Josephine died, but whose loss compounded, made unbearable the original sorrow.

And I will not survive if you aren’t here with me.

You don’t know why he feels this way. Does he love you too? He hasn’t said so. Can he even love you, in the way you love him?

Does it matter? 

It’s enough, that he says he’ll stay. That he wants you to stay alive. That he’ll help remind you, when the whispers drift back in your mind, telling you that you’re just a burden, that no one actually loves you, would miss you when you’re gone. When the hollowness echoes so loudly it’s all you can hear.

You lean back, lift the stone, throw it as hard as you can, as far as you can, into the rushing river.

You don’t hear its splash over the wind.

You turn back to Sylus.

He dips into your pocket again. Pulls out another stone. “Your guilt, for having lived. For having been born.”

You take it from him. Let your mind drift. Feel along the contours of your memories, the jagged, missing pieces, all the way back to when it fades to black. You throw the stone.

You don’t see it sink to the riverbed.

He dips into your pocket again. “Your shame, for needing others. For being human, and imperfect. For not being able to do it all alone. For wanting to be loved.”

You take the stone. “Is it really okay?” you ask, helplessly. There’s no point pretending everything he is saying isn’t true. “To want these things, when I haven’t earned them?”

He steps closer to you. Places his hands on your shoulders, draws you in. “There is no okay, or not okay. There is no crime and punishment, no transgression, no sin. How can it be shameful, to want what you were born to want? Why does love have to be earned, instead of just given?”

You lean into him, press your face into his chest, his thick wool coat soft against your skin.

“I don’t know.”

He reaches into your pocket, places a stone in your other hand. “One for your shame, one for the idea that love must be earned. Throw them.”

You lean back again, and it’s already too far away from him. But you throw each stone, and they disappear under the cold water.

“That’s enough, for now. We’ll take the rest home.” He draws you back into his arms. Lifts you without effort, stone-filled pockets and all. The weight of all of you.  “When you have thoughts of shame, of guilt, of not being loved, we’ll come back. You’ll throw them again. Until they’re all gone. We’ll gather other stones, when other feelings make life unbearable. I’ll come with you, as many times as you need.”

Sylus carries you along the path back to the road that snakes along the river. His motorcycle gleams under a bright lamppost.

He settles a helmet on your head, checks to make sure it’s secure. Puts his own on. You sit behind him, cling to him. Rest your head against his broad back, close your eyes. The motorcycle is loud, and he drives it carefully through the busy, holiday bustling streets, until he reaches your apartment building. He holds your hand as he leads you through the front doors, as he stands quietly beside you in the elevator, his red, warm eyes never leaving your face in the elevator mirrors. He leads you to your front door, waits patiently while you unlock it with your cold finger.

In the hallway, he kneels at your feet, unlaces your tall boots while you look down at him, the soft fall of his silver hair, his big, nimble fingers working the laces.

He then removes his own boots. His coat. He’s wearing a garishly bright Christmas sweater, with prancing reindeer. He hangs his coat on a peg in the wall. He turns, slowly unzips yours. Eyes flicking between the zipper and your face. He gently lifts it from your body, again like it’s weightless, even though it’s still filled with stones. He pulls it from your arms, hangs it next to his.

He pulls you further into your place.

The first thing you notice is the warmth. It’s so warm, like someone came in while you were gone and turned on the heating.

The next thing you notice is the Christmas tree. The one you didn’t get this year, because the thought of the holidays without Caleb and your grandmother was unbearable.

Beautifully, tastefully decorated. Silver and gold, twinkling lights. Its pine scent fills your place.

Sylus moves to a record player on one of the cabinets along your living room wall. A record player that wasn’t here before you went to work today. He fiddles with the arm, and suddenly Joni Mitchell’s River fills your house.

It’s coming on Christmas

They’re cutting down trees

They're putting up reindeer

And singing songs of joy and peace

Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on

He walks back to you. “Is this okay?”

I wish I had a river so long

I would teach my feet to fly

Whoa I wish I had a river I could skate away on

The music flows around you, paralyzing you. You stare into his face, into the warm glow of his eyes. How could you have missed this? The way he’s looking at you now? Through all the long months since the auction?

He tried hard to help me

You know, he put me at ease

And he loved me so naughty

Made me weak in the knees

Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on

The words wash over you, through you. The scent of pine warms you, memories without form filling you with the sense of home, safety, love.

I made my baby cry

I'm so hard to handle

I'm selfish and I'm sad

Now I've gone and lost the best baby

That I ever had

Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on

He takes your hands in his, thumbs across your skin. “Is it too much?”

You think of how cold it was, standing on the guardrail of the bridge. 

You were running toward the bridge, while Sylus was filling your home with warmth.

What would have happened if I hadn’t already been on my way to you?

You think of him spreading out on your couch, as a fever raged through your body. You think of your freezer, filled with food. You think of the takeout boxes, still steaming, sitting in front of your closed door.

You think of him hanging delicate ornaments on a fragrant tree. 

I made my baby cry

You shake your head, the enormity of what almost happened filling you. The enormity of the choice you made, that you enacted, until Sylus pulled you back from the rushing dark.

You start to shake.

“Kitten?”

“It’s not too much,” you say, teeth chattering. “It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

He stares down at you, seems to make a decision. “Shower. Now.”

You nod, moving away from him, but he follows. 

Inside your small bathroom, he takes up the entire space. He peels off your hunter’s uniform, tosses it beyond the open bathroom door. His gaze flicks from your undershirt, your underwear, to your face. “Do you want me to leave?”

You think of the dark water, an impact that never came. Sylus plugging in the record player, choosing a record with one of your favorite Christmas songs on it. Placing it delicately on the turntable.

“No. You promised you’d never leave me alone again.”

He smiles a little. “I mean, leave the bathroom.”

“No. You promised you’d never leave me alone again,” you repeat.

He stares into your eyes. Nods. Lifts your undershirt. He reaches behind you, unhooks your bra with the same agility that he unlaced your boots. He lifts it from your body, watches you as he lifts it to his nose, inhales.

You shiver.

He tosses the bra behind him. Kneels. Pulls your underwear from your hips, down your legs. You step out of them. He stands again.

He leans over, his ridiculous, festive sweater soft against your cheek, as he reaches past you to turn on the shower faucet. As he messes with the knobs until steam begins to fill the small space. He nudges you forward, past the sliding glass door and into the small shower cabin, letting the hot water pour over you. You turn, watch him through the clear glass. He picks up your underwear, watches you as he lifts it to his nose, inhales as he did with your bra. His eyes close for a moment, and then open. He tucks the little slip of fabric into his pants pocket, sits on the closed toilet, rests his elbows on his knees, and continues to watch you.

You let the hot water flow over your tired, cold body. You stare at Sylus’s face, let it fill your vision, blot out the rushing river, the impact that never came, the idea of everything you would have missed, if he hadn’t pulled you out. Everything you would have missed, in such a short amount of time. What else would you miss, if he hadn’t caught you? If he could give you so much within an hour, how much would you have missed in a day? In a week?

What have you been fighting, this whole time? 

Just yourself. 

You think of the stones at the bottom of the riverbed, instead of your body. Your conviction that you’re not loved, your guilt, your shame, instead of you.

You stare at the man who handed you each one, and told you to get rid of them, instead of yourself. The man sitting in your tiny bathroom, filling it with his big body, his even bigger presence, staring at you, staring at him.

You stop shaking.

Reach for the body wash, lather your hands. Run your hands along your body, under your armpits. He frowns, eyes on your hands. You palm your breasts, dip between your legs.

He lowers his head, eyes still on your hands, rests his full lips on his long steepled fingers.

You finish lathering your body, let the water wash it away. He’s too far away, even this close, on the other side of the glass.

As you turn off the water, he stands, lifts one of your towels from the rack. Holds it out for you. You step into it, him, let him wrap it around you. He turns you both, so that you’re looking in the bathroom mirror, which is mostly fogged.

“Better?” he asks.

You nod, soaking in his warmth at your back, the steam of the bathroom. 

You have a question, a question you can’t bring yourself to say out loud yet.

You reach out with one hand. Trace a finger through the fogged mirror.

Sylus watches you, resting his chin on your shoulder. 

Letters, a question.

Do you like me? Circle yes or no

Sylus smiles again, lifts an eyebrow. He reaches out, takes your hand in his. He circles no with your finger.

You frown, heart sinking, but Sylus just whispers, “Patience, kitten,” and flattens your palm across like. Guides your finger again, just above the erased like, drags it through the moisture in an elegant script.

love

He then gently sets your hand down. Lifts his own, circles with one long finger, yes.

He watches your reaction in the mirror.

You had no idea.

This whole time, you had no idea, even though he was showing you, with every ‘chance’ encounter, his pestering you with questions about work, life, his silly stories about the N109 Zone. His packages at your door. Fever medication, a big glass of water shoved into your hands.

You think of the rushing water, what almost happened. What you almost missed.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me believe you still hated me?”

He looks down at you now, away from your reflection in the mirror. His eyes trail your face, down your curved neck. He palms the back of your neck, his thumb drifting along the side, over a mole there.

“Have you heard of the myth that where we have moles is where someone kissed us in a past life?”

Even if so much has changed between you in just the last few hours, you’re reassured that Sylus Qin still can’t answer a straightforward question with a straightforward answer.

You shake your head. “No, I had never heard of that.”

Sylus smiles, and it looks a little sad. He leans down, presses the softest of kisses against your skin, the mole there. “Like most human legends, it’s a pretty lie. Not quite true.”

You laugh. “I could have guessed as much.” You tilt your neck, enjoying the press of his warm lips on your skin for the first time.

He opens his mouth, runs his teeth over where he just kissed you. Bites, gently.

You shiver again. Press your neck into, instead of away from his teeth.

He bites harder.

You gasp.

“I was afraid I’d frighten you with the enormity of my feelings for you, when in your mind, we’d only just met,” he murmurs against your neck, his saliva, the indentation of his teeth hot on your skin.

He bites again, presses himself into your ass through the towel. You realize he’s hard.

You forget about the last part of his sentence. Had you not only just met?

You lift your hands, let the towel unfurl from around your body, let it drop to the floor.

You almost died tonight.

What have you been fighting this whole time?

Just yourself. 

He tried hard to help me

You know, he put me at ease

You turn in his arms. He’s breathing hard, cheeks pink.

“You love me?”

He closes his eyes. Opens them. Shakes his head. “Love isn’t intense enough.”

“Adore me?” You lift your arms, wrap them around his neck. Pull his face closer to your own.

He shakes his head again. “Still not enough.”

“You won’t survive without me?” You lift on your toes, his soft sweater almost unbearable against your sensitive nipples.

He nods. “You’re getting closer. Can’t breathe without you. When I saw you jump…” He swallows, thickly. “You might as well have pulled me down with you, beloved. If it ever gets to be too much again, take me with you. I’ll never leave you alone again. Promise me the same,” he demands, big, calloused hands running up your naked sides, the fabric of his dark jeans rough against your body, where your thighs meet, as he helplessly nudges against you again with his hips, his hard dick behind his zipper.

I'm so hard to handle

I'm selfish and I'm sad

“I wouldn’t have known, unless you told me,” you breathe against his lips. “Promise that you’ll tell me how you’re feeling from now on, and I’ll promise to take you with me if I can’t leave the stones in the riverbed, even with you here.”

His voice is deep, rough like the fabric of his pants against your sensitive skin. “Deal.” He closes the distance, presses his soft lips to yours. Licks into your mouth.

And he loved me so naughty

Made me weak in the knees

His hands drift down your sides as his tongue dips into your throat, as he swallows your noises of pleasure, just from kissing him, his hands on you. He grips your ass, urges your legs around his waist. He carries you out of the tiny, steaming bathroom, manages not to knock you against the doorway, or into any furniture on the way to your bedroom, even as he continues to kiss you, as your hands in his soft hair probably block his peripheral view. He lays you down on your bed, the puff of your duvet. It’s so warm in your place that you’re not even shivering. You watch as he pulls his cheerful sweater and undershirt over his head, tosses them to the floor. As he unzips himself, hastily yanks down his pants and boxers, his socks. He blankets you with his big body.

You wrap your arms around him, pull him tightly to you, arch your breasts into his chest. He leans down, runs his nose along your cheek, inhales the scent of your hair at your temple. You just feel each other, for a long stretch of time. His soft chest hair against your skin, the silken skin of his dick between your thighs where he just leisurely rubs himself against you, as your palms run down the muscles of his back, the line of his spine. You’ve refused to think of him like this, ever since he wrapped his hand around your throat. You couldn’t bear his beauty, through all the long months that followed. You fled, every time your heart raced at the flash of silver as he approached you, met you where you were, over and over and over.

But now he says he has loved you, through it all. That he’ll never leave you alone again.

You let yourself feel him, under your hands, under your tongue, as you lick into his ear, feel him shiver. As you squeeze your thighs together, offering him a tight, snug space for him to keep pleasuring himself, as you feel your own wetness begin to coat your inner thighs, his cock, the longer you feel him on top of you, inhale the scent of his skin, the ever-present gun oil, the cloves, his clean sweat underneath it all.

After a lifetime, or only a few minutes, he leans down, says softly into your ear. “I want you. Tell me you want me too.”

“Can’t you tell?” you ask, bucking a little, squeezing him with your legs again.

He makes a low, pleasured sound in his throat. “I want to hear you say it. You’ve gone through a lot tonight. I need to know you actually want this. That you’re not just—” his breath hitches, as you move your hips again, as his dick slips between your wet, soft places. “That you’re not too tired to say otherwise, not thinking straight.”

“Use your Aether Core on me. Then you’ll know that my body is telling you what my mouth would, if I said the words.” You smile at him, teasing. 

I wish I had a river so long

I would teach my feet to fly

You had wanted to fly. You had settled for flying for a brief moment, before shattering. 

But Sylus is offering you constant flight, under, over, along his crow’s wings.

You think of the rushing water. The tide of cars behind you, the wind whipping your hair. You almost missed this. You don’t want to waste any more time.

He lowers his forehead to yours, breathes, speaks against your saliva-slick lips with his own. “I don’t want to use my Aether Core on you. I want the words in your mouth, in your heart. I want your free will, your freely given consent. I almost lost you because I tried to force you, at the beginning. You believed I hated you, this whole time. Don’t ask me to force you again, my heart.”

You understand. You accept his request, his demand. “I want you, Sylus.”

He exhales, shifts above you, slips his wet cock between your legs, slides into your body with gentle, firm, graceful waves of his hips.

You whine, the feeling of fullness layering into the pleasure of the warmth of his skin, the taste of his tongue. For once, the feelings inside you threatening to burst out of your skin are so good, instead of painful, so pleasurable, that you can barely stand it. 

He kisses you, his velvet tongue big, heavy in your mouth. You suck, whine again as he lifts a hand, palms your breast, begins to thrust into you.

You are filled with him. His warmth. The size of him.

You widen your legs, wrap them around his thick ass. Urge him with your own body to move faster, to fuck you harder. He gives you everything you want. Just the pressure of his body against yours has you coming, the release bright, sudden—you shake with it.

Your pleasure seems to trigger his. He grunts, roots into you, buries his teeth in your neck, bites where he bit you before, over the mole on your neck. The sting makes you clench, and he whimpers, groans, comes with a jerk of his hips.

He slows, still filling you, still pleasuring you, as he lifts his head to look into your eyes.

You stare at each other, breath mingling, warm between you. 

You smile at him. 

He smiles at you. Nudges your nose with his.

“Can we do that again?” you ask.

He laughs, low and surprised. “Yeah,” he says, kissing you softly. “Just tell me, and I’m yours, anytime, anyplace.”

“I’m telling you.” You move your hips, feel his cum drip drown your ass. Feel him gasp at your movement.

“Now?” He’s surprised again.

“Problem?” you grin at him. 

“Fuck no.” He kisses you, hard. Slips out of you. Flips you over, lifts your hips with one big hand, pressing his other between your shoulder blades.

He presses his cock back between your legs, the slide easy and wet, and fucks you until you come again, until he blankets your back with his sweat-slicked, matted-hair chest.

“Was that enough, your highness?” he teases.

“I’m telling you,” you pant, wondering what he’ll do. 

“As you wish,” he murmurs, before flipping you again. Before watching your face as he slowly, leisurely works himself, his cum into you, makes you come again. 

In the morning, the sky through your windows is heavy, dark, gray. You wake slowly. Turn your head, find Sylus’s sleeping face next to yours on the pillow. He’s lying on his stomach. You take in the dark sweep of his lashes, his generous mouth, slightly parted.

You slip out of the bed, use the bathroom. You wander into the living room, gaze at the Christmas tree, its twinkling lights.

It’s Christmas.

Caleb and your grandmother are dead. 

But you’re still alive.

Your body aches from Sylus’s efforts, but it feels good. For once, it feels good to be inside your body. To breathe deeply.

You think of riverstones, sinking deep in the riverbed.

You know that the feelings tied to them will try to rise, clawing to the surface again.

We’ll gather other stones, when your feelings make life unbearable. I’ll come with you, as many times as you need.

Your eyes drift to the top of the Christmas tree. It’s empty.

“I thought we should finish it together.” Sylus’s warm arms wrap around you from behind. He leans over your shoulder, kisses your cheek softly. “Do you want to do the honors?”

You smile, wrapping your hands over his forearms around your waist. “You’re taller.”

“Use me as much as you like, kitten.” He turns, grabs a pretty golden glass tree-topper from your kitchen table, hands it to you. He lifts you up onto one shoulder, easily, and you fit it gently over the highest point of the tree. He holds you against him, as he lowers you. You slide along his body, until he sets you gently on your feet again.

You both stand, admiring it for a moment. It’s beautiful, like the rest of the decorations.

You hug him, look up into his face.

“Merry Christmas, Sylus.”

He smiles down at you, ruby eyes twinkling with reflected light from the tree. 

You would have missed this moment, and all the moments like it, if Sylus hadn’t stopped you last night. You shudder, hug him more tightly. 

You know your feelings will return. That no one person can solve a lifetime of wounds. But you promised him that you’d try. That you’d stay. You can only do your best.

You hear your phone vibrating, reluctantly pull away from him, head to your coat in the hallway where you thought you left it last night, but Sylus stops you. He points at your kitchen island. Your phone is lying on the counter. You look at him in confusion, but go to check it.

You’re shocked at how many missed texts you have.

From Tara.

Xavier.

Your eyes widen.

Zayne, who you thought you had blocked, months ago.

Rafayel, who you’re sure you blocked last night.

Each one is a response from a text you never sent. Telling them Merry Christmas. Telling them you love them. Telling them you hope to spend time with them soon.

None of them shame you, call you out on your behavior of the last year. Even Zayne simply suggests that you try a new bakery, that you’ve been in his thoughts, that he’s relieved you felt comfortable enough to reach out. Rafayel sends a bunch of firework emojis, suggests blowing shit up on the beach for New Year’s.

You turn to Sylus.

He looks steadily back at you, silver hair sleep-tousled, wine-bright eyes glowing.

Your eyes feel hot, and you realize you’re crying, the tears fat on your cheeks, dripping down your neck. 

This is the first time you’ve cried since you woke up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s necklace bright in the reflected fire.

Sylus walks over to you. Leans down, licks the tears from your cheeks with his warm tongue, one after the other. He kisses you, ignoring your suddenly snotty nose, your morning breath.

“If it’s too much, we can take it slow. We can throw more stones in the river. But please answer your friends. You need them. And you’re a fool, if you can’t see that they need you too, if that makes you feel better about your own need.”

You continue to cry as you wrap your arms around Sylus’s neck. As he gently sways with you, to music that isn’t playing. He hums, and you think it’s Joni Mitchell’s The River, but you can’t be sure. You smile against his chest.

A thought occurs to you.

“Last night, you said there was still time. That you had plans for us, a pretty dress for me. What did we miss?”

Sylus sighs, holds you closer against himself. “Don’t worry about it.”

You stop, look up into his face. “What did you have planned, Sylus? Are you sorry we missed it?”

He smiles at you. “Oh yes, so sorry I got to spend all night fucking you instead of going to a holiday concert featuring the organ.” His voice drips sarcasm. “But we can go tonight, if you’d like to make it up to me.”

You laugh, bury your face back into his chest. “And here I had planned to suck your cock while watching a black and white Christmas film marathon tonight,” you say forlornly. You smile into his chest as he chokes. “Oh well, the concert it is.”

He just laughs, rich and deep, and continues to sway you slowly in your living room.

“Merry Christmas, my heart,” Sylus says against your hair, in your pine scented apartment, as snow begins to fall outside your windows, as your phone continues to vibrate, filled with the love of your friends.

Here you are. Again.

You’re so grateful, to be here, again.

[anastacialy]

y'know, i keep making a habit of swinging my bat at hornets nests, but i have to say i'm getting so, so tired of people complaining about shows not making perfect sense when they aren't even close to done. we're four episodes into this season of doctor who. we're four episodes into this season of bridgerton. and yet in both fandoms i keep seeing people whine that such and such didn't make sense or it wasn't explained all the way and by god you guys i think maybe explanations might come later in the season. this is something most viewers will recognize as being called a 'plot.'

[fideidefenswhore]

[Henry] had asked Lady Shelton whether Mary [was] persisting in her obstinancy. Hearing that she was, Henry became certain that she was being encouraged by secret communication from Katharine. Lady Shelton thought the only possible messenger was Mary's chamber woman. In this she was correct. The maid had been smuggling letters in and out. She was dismissed, as was Mary's confessor, to be replaced by one whom Chapuys characterised as 'Lutheran'.

The King’s Pearl: Henry VIII & His Daughter Mary, Melita Thomas

[pynkhues]

Me after my sister asks me to draft a new legal letter to her ex-husband for her lawyers to approve.

[starcchild]

((if my brain wasn't completely shut off right now I would love to ramble about how absolutely debilitating Carter's fear of abandonment is, but alas my brain is. not wanting to cooperate

[afro-hispwriter]

My Dornish Love

Aemond Targaryen x Martell!reader

Warnings- arranged marriages, heavy implications of masturbation

Wc- 2.3k

I don’t intend for this to be the only part, but we’ll see.

part 2

-

A marriage proposal between Martells and Targaryens isn’t unheard of. But the Martells always refuse in the end. They were far too stubborn and prideful the council members would think. 

There was a war coming, and everyone knew. The greens need all the support they can get. And having Dorne on their side can turn things around heavily. Dorne may not have large numbers of fighters, but their skills make up for it. 

When Qoren Martell received a letter from Queen Alicent in hopes that he would accept a marriage between his eldest daughter and her second son. Everyone expected the prince to decline, but he surprised everyone by agreeing. It was a tour for her to get to know the Prince but it was clear the decision had already been made regardless.

When you, the princess, found out. You were furious.

“I don’t understand, we have never accepted anything that would mean having Dorne become part of the kingdoms.” You paced in front of your father.

“And it is time to change that.” He says and you huff. 

“You know why they’re doing this, the Targaryens are on the brink of yet another war and they are making sure to bring everyone into it.” 

“We don’t know that.” 

“Yes we do, and you’re putting me in it.” When he didn’t respond you turned away to start walking away.

“Its simply a tour to see if you are compatible, Y/n. You and your brothers will be sailing for Kings Landing in two days, be ready.” 

-

Those two days came by quickly. Your handmaidens had some of your things packed for those three weeks and the ship loaders were finishing up. 

“What if I don’t like him?” You ask your father as both of you wait on the docks.

“Then you don’t marry him.”

“Im sure the decision is already made. This tour is just a formality.” You cross your arms. “You won’t even be there.”

“Your brothers will be there in my place.”

“What if he is cruel? Targaryen men are said to be cruel.” 

“Then I'm sure his death will be deemed a mere accident.” His voice almost had an amusing tone. A shipmaster called out that everything was ready. Qoren grabbed you by your arms and turned you to face him. “Write to me.”

“I will.” Your lip quivered and he kissed your forehead before grabbing your hand to guide you to a boat. Your brothers, Ryon and Deziel jumped in after you.

“Don’t miss us too much,” Deziel says waving at the man and Ryon rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t destroy Kings Landing,” Qoren says and walks away with his hands behind his back.

-

Aemond knew this conversation would come. This is what he was waiting for. He would do his duty, and he hoped the Dornish woman would agree. 

“I'm sure you hear how unprincipled the women of Dorne are, brother.” Aegon laughed next to Aemond. “They are wild in the brothels now imagine the princess herself.” Aemond continued to ignore him and paid attention to his book. “But I'm sure you know enough thanks to me.” Aemond tightened his hand on the book. “But I never see you have fun so you might have to rely on your betrothed.” 

Aemond slammed the book shut and stood up. 

“They will be here soon.” He says and starts walking out of the library. 

“The ship was only recently spotted and even then they are still a few days out. Don’t get your cock in a bunch.” Aegon mumbled the last bit into his cup. “Or maybe you can’t wait to stick-.” He was cut off by the library door slamming shut. 

-

Once the ship flying the flag of House Martell was seen on the Blackwater. The people of King's Landing were eager to see the Princes’ and the Princess themselves as most of them had only seen Dornish merchants.

The royal family went by carriage. Alicent gave her children one of her talks about being on their best behavior. It was mostly pointed at Aegon who sat there bored, Helaena sat fiddling with a bracelet, while Aemond looked out the windows. The carriage stopped just a few feet from the docks and a queen's guard member opened the door. Alicent stepped out first, followed by Helaena, then Aemond, and finally Aegon. 

A few ships had already docked. Mostly merchants were eager to set up their shops or make deliveries. The ship said to be carrying the princess and the princes docked and a plank was lowered. A herald of Dorne stepped out first and looked at the family. 

“Prince Ryon, Prince Deziel, and Princess Y/n Martell of Dorne!” People cheered loudly and clapped as they watched the three of you step off the boat. 

You grab Deziel’s hand and he helps you step off. The guards stepped off after and cleared a path. Ryon and Deziel kept their hands on the hilds of their swords as they began walking.

“I see the Queen and her children,” Ryon says and juts his chin over the hill. You looked over and saw the red-headed woman and the three silver-headed princes and princess. 

You looped yours and Deziel’s arms together and Ryon led you up the steps. You instantly saw the man who is your betrothed. He stood tall by his family, hands behind his back and a stoic look on his face. 

“The terrible, Prince Aemond,” Deziel whispers in your ear and you roll your eyes.

“Stop, I'm sure they are just rumors.” 

“Sure.” 

Ryon opened his arms with a smile.

“Your grace, how well it is to see you.” He says and grabs Alicents hands with care and brings them up to his plump lips. 

“Prince Ryon, the last time I saw you, you were a child.” She says with a slight blush. 

“Yes, well as you see. I have grown quite a bit.” If you knew your brother, you were sure he gave the queen a wink and his charming smile that makes so many women and men fall at his feet. Alicents face went redder and Ryon squeezed her hands before releasing them. “As much as I enjoy your presence, your grace, I was hoping to see the Hand. Speak to him about my sister and your second son.” Ryon flashed a look at Aemond.

“My father has other matters but I assure you, the Princess will be taken care of.” Ryon looked around before nodding.

“My brother will ride with all of you to the Keep as well. I still have other matters to deal with for my father.” 

“Of course.” The Queen says then looks at Aemond. “Aemond.” She gave him a tight-lipped smile and he knew what that meant. He stepped forward, his long legs had him in front of you. 

“Princess, I'm glad you are here.” His voice was cold but his face was neutral. He grabbed your hand and kissed it softly. You squint your eyes at him before smiling brightly.

“Prince Aemond, it is lovely to meet you.” 

“Hmm.” He dropped your hand and held his own back behind him. He stared at you, mostly taking you in while trying not to linger on your cleavage. Did you have a belly piercing? 

“Oh darling you should cover up a bit, someone brings the princess something to cover up.” Alicent urged and you instantly frowned.

“No it's alright your grace, I wear clothes like this all the time.” She gave you a tight-lipped smile before nodding.

“Well we best get back, you must be exhausted.” Alicent walked back to the carriage and Aemond stayed by you.

“Apologies about her, she is very modest.” He says and you shrug.

“Well, she is going to have to get used to it.” You say to him softly so nobody can hear. You received no response making you roll your eyes. 

“Let's get you home Princess.” You frowned.

Home?

-

When you sat next to Aemond in the carriage, your perfume hit his nostrils. You smelled heavenly, like fruit with a twinge of the salty sea. Nobody spoke on the road back to the Keep. 

But you and Deziel admired the outside. You had never been to Kings Landing so it was all new territory for you. It made you nervous. 

The horses stopped in front of the Keep and the door popped open. The Queen and Helaena left first, then Aegon, followed by Deziel, and finally you and Aemond. The castle was huge, you and Deziel started at it in awe. 

“It's quite ugly.” He says quietly you gasp and slapped his arm. 

“Deziel! Don’t say things like that.” Everyone looked at you in confusion so you just smiled reassuringly.  

“Our handmaiden, Thea.” Alicent beckoned over one of the servants. She was a pretty girl, with brown hair, fair skin, and green eyes. “I have assigned her to your service, she will lead you to your temporary chambers until a decision is made. Your brother as well will be shown his way.”

“Thank you, your grace.” She squeezes your bicep before leaving to go inside.

“Princess, would you like me to show you your room? I'm sure you are tired.” Thea asks and you nod.

“Lead the way.” She gives you a big smile before turning around. You start to follow her and you see Deziel had already been led away. You locked eyes with Aemond who stood by the horses now, watching you. “I will see you later, Prince Aemond.” 

-

“Your things will be brought up shortly princess, would you like me to draw you a bath in the meantime?” Thea asks and points to the small tub in your new room. 

“Yes and if you have any salts that would be greatly appreciated.” They did a small bow before leaving. You were finally alone, even if it were for a couple of minutes. Your new room was only a bit bigger than the one back in Dorne but extremely boring. 

You took the liberty of stepping onto the balcony to see where you would be living. The view was beautiful. Birds flew and you could see how tiny the small folk looked. 

It all still looked so sad, maybe it was the time of day but it made you miss Dorne all the same. They came in with some help to fill up the tub with warm water. She then dumped some soothing salts into the water.  

“Would you like help in undressing princess?” She asks and you shake your head. 

“No, that's quite alright, I will send for you once I'm ready.” She bowed and left. You hovered your hand over the water, letting the steam hit it. You slipped the material of your dress down your shoulder and it pooled at your feet. You kicked your flats off so they clattered on the floor. You grabbed the edges of the tub and slowly settled into the water. 

The warm water was welcoming after being at sea for over a week. You could have slept in it if it weren’t for a knock on the door. 

“Come in!” You yelled out and the door creaked open and you heard footsteps.

“Princess?” It was none other than your betrothed.

“Over here, Aemond.” You say and turn your head to face the panels that cover the tub from sight. 

“I wondered-.” Aemond rounded the corner and the second he locked eyes on your state, his long legs had him behind the panels again. 

“My apologies, I will leave you to your business.” He said and there was a slight shake to his voice.

“Cut the shit Aemond.” You say and he freezes. “Come back, I want to talk to you.” He didn’t move but you could see the top of his head. “I want to see the face of a man I might marry when I talk to him.”

“You’re not decent princess.”

“Oh stop being so honorable for 5 minutes please.” He heard the water move around. Aemond sighed before rounding the corner and revealing himself again. His breath hitched when he saw your figure, you sat facing him and the lack of bubbles gave him a clear view of your breasts. “Soak it in my prince, who knows how long it will be before you see me like this again.” 

Aemonds face turned pink at your words and suddenly his boots were the most interesting thing in the world.

“You stand strong but standing in the presence of a naked woman you shrink.” His fists squeezed. “Would you like to feel the touch of a woman?”

“What did you want to talk about my lady?” He says harshly, making you smirk. 

“I want to talk about our potential betrothal. Regardless of our choice, its clear this is dire enough that we need to get married but I will ask you , Aemond.” He looked up, this time his eye solely on your face. “Will you sleep with anyone else?”

“No, I will remain faithful to you during this as long as I receive the same from you. This isn’t Dorne.”

“I am aware, Aemond.” You frown. “I would like to get to know you though, maybe something good can come out of this.” His jaw tightened but it then relaxed.

“Of course, my lady.” 

“Y/n.” You say. “Call me by my name Aemond, we are going to get very close.”

“As you wish.” Aemonds hands went behind his back. 

“As much as I enjoy having you here, I'm sure they are close to bringing my things, so I can either make room in this tub for you or you best be on your way.” You say and grab the bar of soap and washcloth. “Or you can watch and just hide.” There was an amusing look on your face. 

He let out a ‘Hmm’ and gave you a small smile. 

“Another time, Y/n.” Your name rolled off his tongue so fluently. Aemond walked away until he made it to the door and shut it behind him. 

“You will be the death of me Aemond Targaryen.” And your hand dips into the water to find a home in between your legs.

-

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated, they help me keep going!

[vir-bellanaris]

The ending was fine, but what really bothered me what the fact that Lavellan is, once again, cast aside in second position. Solas calls her "vhenan", writes her letters, says his feelings for her will never change etc... and continues destroying her world because he's sad over another woman. At the end, it's Mythal who changes his mind, not Lavellan.

And once again, it's Lavellan who takes agency, who shows interest, by insisting to go with him, by starting the kiss, by touching his back while he simply stands there, hands crossed without even looking at her. I don't know, I'm glad they're finally together, but it really felt like Lavellan is the one who's pining over this relationship, not Solas.

Mythal is essentially Solas' creator. She "pulled him from the Fade" and gave him a purpose, even if it was one that twisted his nature. He was bound to her service. I don't believe at all they were romantically involved, despite speculation in and out of the Veilguard game. Mythal herself consistently treats him as an "old friend" and even as a child, despite their ages being the same.

Their affection for each other runs deep. And is an ancient bond. Lavellan doesn't have that rapport with him, no matter how much they love each other.

At the end of Trespasser Solas refuses to allow Lavellan to follow, not wanting her to see what he becomes. And I think we the player saw what he became, he tried to become more the Dread Wolf than Solas.

You cannot get the happy ending without the Inquisitor, so I would say they are in fact very important. When Solas says "thank you" during that final scene he is addressing directly the Inquisitor. (Unless Lavellan kisses him then he says "Thank you, Rook")

Solas loves Lavellan. She is his heart. For the past decade or more he has denied his heart and tried to harden it against those who care for him. He "killed" Mythal when even she tried to dissuade him from his course.

It took Rook, Mythal AND the Inquisitor together to convince him to stop.

As for the animations of the final scene. I couldn't be more pleased. They kissed. Despite Solas just having an emotional breakdown, demon blood in his mouth, and probably a concussion. Yes, Lavellan was the one to reach out but I wasn't expecting any different.

He doesn't want to subject her to the "terrible" place he is going to atone for what he has done. She was the one who stepped forward and this time insisted she go with him. And he gave her zero argument, just one warning it won't be easy for them

I wish he had reached for her hand there at the end. But as she touched his shoulder it was his magic that enveloped her as well, making sure to take her with him to where his destination lies.

Also adding onto this because the way he looks at Lavellan in this game is more meaningful to me than any touch they could've animated. I mean cmon...look at this and tell me he isn't deeply in love with her.

I mean PLEASE

And in the kiss animation you can see his mouth moving as he kisses her back eeeeeeeeee okay...I'm done.

[therandompagesblog]

SKZ Pack Chapter 1

Trigger Warnings: None

Weeks had gone by and it was nearly December. The wolves had changed in who they were. Jeongin became a tougher alpha and spent many weeks training to his full potential, but he also learned to be a better mate to Y/N. He was still making it up to her. Seungmin was still as cocky as ever and spent more time researching the dark side of werewolf lore in case they ended up in a tragic situation again. Felix was sensitive if not more sensitive after what happened and felt more protective of all the wolves so he offered to take part in more training, unlike Jisung who became glued to the side of Y/N. Jisung was far too in love with Y/N and loved to express that as he helped her around the house. Jisung made sure to always tell her she looked beautiful and made a point to kiss her scar first before her lips. Changbin was now on a course to look after werewolves as his sister Jaehee realised how useless Changbin was at saving his own omega. Changbin wasn't great but he could now stitch a minor cut. Minho on the other hand grew colder, he was hurting the most out of all of them. He still did his usual stuff but stayed out of debates and never gave his opinion. Him and Y/N were still not alright. They never spoke to each other unless it was a 'good morning' or a 'thank you'. Minho lost a lot of trust with Y/N and some of the others, but her words cut deep and he wasn't on the path of forgiveness yet. Hyunjin had gone back to his cold self and spent time in his art room, but still made time for Y/N.Chan had woken up but was bedridden as his ribs were still not healing but he was fine. He was pissed for the first twenty-four hours when he found out about Y/N's mission of death, but he got over it, knowing she was fine. He was happier when she came in to look after him, he appreciated her omegaing him but he knew it was tiring her out because she too was slowly healing.

Then there was Y/N she healed eventually but was still bandaged up. Spiritually she was damaged and Hyunjin's soul was trying to repair hers but it was too exhausting for him so she asked him to stop. Y/N wasn't as active as she had liked to be but still made a point to get up and see her wolves, despite Jisung being stuck to her. Not one of them had asked her about that night and it almost became a taboo subject. It was almost silently forbidden to be discussed. Y/N wanted to bring it up to apologise but when she did they would wave her off and tell her it's fine. Still, she knew Minho and Jeongin were the two she massively owed an apology to, but getting them alone was going to be harder. Minho was going to be her biggest challenge but she was going to start off strong by writing him a letter in case he refused to hear her apology and then giving him the flowers. By flowers, she meant the ones she picked from the garden and put into the vase after she turfed out the others. When Y/N came back into the kitchen she saw Minho prepping dinner. He was aware she walked into the kitchen and usually, he doesn't speak unless she speaks first. Y/N had to admit she felt incredibly nervous speaking to him and it was mainly because she hated hearing what she had done wrong. Y/N knew and understood her actions but hearing them made her slightly uncomfortable and defensive. "Minho?" Y/N called as she stood there awkwardly watching him. "Hmm?" Minho acknowledged her but did not look at her so Y/N decided he was comfortable with whatever she was going to say. "I wanted to say I'm sorry okay? Just hear me out and don't say anything. I only want you to listen." Y/N waited for him but he said nothing, making her roll her eyes. "I am sorry for not being grateful for your efforts. I know you worked hard to help and you did more than what I realised and I appreciate that. I guess I wanted to help and, anyway that's not the point. Forget that part. The main thing I wanted to apologise was for using your insecurity against you. I know it was low and I didn't mean it. I'm not good at apologies so I picked some flowers and wrote a letter of apology which I want you to read."

Y/N almost cursed herself at her botched apology. She completely messed it up but there was nothing she could do now except leave the letter on the table and leave him alone, which she did. Y/N left the kitchen and was about to head up to see Chan when Changbin entered the room in his medical clothes. Y/N greeted the beta with a gentle hug which Changbin was grateful for. Y/N knew Changbin wasn't really enjoying the hospital work and studying with his sister, he would rather be at the gym and then play his x-box. Changbin threw his bag down and kicked on his shoes while holding Y/N as he nuzzled her face against his, before pecking her lips. "Shall we go nurse Channie?" Y/N giggled as she kissed him again. "Let me unwind baby and then I'll come right up," Changbin whispered. Y/N nodded and headed up to see Chan who was idly staring up at the ceiling. It made Y/N laugh at how bored he looked. He was completely fed up with being stuck in the bedroom but his right leg was struggling to heal. "Felix said he might take my stitches out soon," Y/N said as she walked over to him and sat on his bed. Chan smiled up at her as he reached for her hand to hold. He loved it when she came to visit him. Admittedly, Chan sometimes got lonely since he was cooped up in the same four walls. "I want to tell you something and I don't want you to take it the wrong way baby. You know I love you." Chan said softly. "Oh no. Uh. Uh. Whatever it is Mr alpha I ain't doing it." Y/N answered as she bopped his nose like a child. "I'm being serious, baby," Chan said causing Y/N to frown. Why was he being so serious? "I know you are feeling incredibly anxious because you are feeling unclaimed and I know I haven't claimed you fully because I wanted to wait until you could trust me and your body was fully healed, but I know at the moment I'm not going to be in any position to do a while and I don't want you to feel unstable in my pack. We all love you, despite the conflicts we do. Which is why I had a chat with Jeongin and I want him to claim you." Chan stated. "No. Jeongin is fuming with me and besides I am completely fine. I'm not feeling anxious, or disconnected in any way. I want to wait. I want you, besides you could lay there." Y/N hinted with a smirk as she pulled his duvet cover down. Chan rolled his eyes nonchalantly. "Baby. Jeongin is over it, if anything it's Minho that's going to take a while. He accepts what you have said but he doesn't forgive easily. Besides Jeongin wants to ease your anxiety." Chan cooed. "I want you Channie to be the first. I don't care how long we have to wait for your leg to get better. Besides Seungmin can keep up." Y/N stated. "My love. What did I do to deserve you." Chan cooed, his heart swelling with pride. As much as he wanted to be the first his mark was already there and she needed to feel settled. "Ya, let's play doctors and nurses," Changbin shouted as he kicked the door open. "Fuck sake," Chan muttered.

Taglist for the iconic readers

@galaxy4489 @mbioooo0000 @jisungs-iced-americano @maybeimmia @hwangrfrnd@wolfo2027 @kayleefriedchicken @leamueller920 @borahae-reads @jennibahng @cookiesandcreammy @leezanetheofficial @jutdwae-flower @danceonmyheyday @jc003 @hpnsfwaddict @linocz @itzreetal987 @skzdreamer13 @reallychaoticwoo @liv1sworld @upsidedownchaire @jutdwae-flower @danceonmyheyday @jc003 @hpnsfwaddict @skzdreamer13 o @ihttinniee @kingdomofpentagon @pixie0627 @tsunderelino @notevenheretbh1 @catlove83 @h0rnyp0t @hash2013 @hyunmikim @emi-han @iknow-uknow-leeknow @jigglypuff3000 @aalexyuuuhm @reallychaoticwoo @missseoulite @ihrtlix @estella-novella @xxeiraxx

[wholoveseggs]

would you ever do a story like Y/N is at a bar and some guy wont stop flirting with her and Elijah sees it and gets mad?

Insatiable

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

You are at the club with the Mikaelsons, and your husband Elijah gets a little jealous when someone else hits on you.

♡♡ Thank you for the request sweet @nerdygamer829! I love writing possessive Elijah, and I would love to party with the Mikaelsons ♡♡

♡♡ Working on another fic i'll be posting tomorrow! Its a sweet domestic Elijah one ~xoxo ♡♡

3.9k words - Warnings: smuttt, possesive!elijah, dom!elijah, lots of drinking, drunk mikaelsons, drunk reader, public sex, rough sex, fingering, grinding, slight humiliation, exhibitionism, biting, blood drinking && dancing...

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @spideysbabe @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

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@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer

Partying with the Mikaelsons was always a dangerous game, but one you would play on the regular. They were a fun group who could be a little wild in their partying ways, and if you weren't careful you would end up getting swept away with the craziness of the night.

Rebekah had convinced you to come out with them to a popular nightclub that was filled with sweaty bodies and the smell of alcohol and cheap perfume. She had been a bit mopey for a couple of days, having gotten into a fight with Marcel, so she decided a night out was just what she needed. When Klaus and Kol joined you both in the club, the night quickly devolved from there.

"Come on darling, drink up!" Klaus urged, handing you another shot of vodka.

You shook your head and held up a hand to refuse the drink. "Nope, I think I've had enough."

Klaus scoffed and shoved the drink into your hand. "Come now, sweetheart. I'll make sure you're not hungover, just have fun for once."

"You always say that, and I'm always hungover." You sighed, but then you proceeded to down the shot.

You winced as the alcohol burned the back of your throat and then slammed the empty glass down onto the counter. Klaus chuckled and shook his head at your pained expression. He signaled to the bartender for two more shots and handed you another, raising his own glass in a toast.

"To our night of debauchery." Klaus smirked, tipping his glass towards you before taking his shot.

You chuckled and then did the same. This time you managed to keep from making a face at the strong taste of the liquor. Rebekah came over and wrapped her arm around your shoulder, looking rather drunk. She was a giggly, happy drunk, and always wanted to dance.

"I love you, you know that right?" Rebekah said, leaning heavily on you.

You smiled and patted her arm. "Yeah, I know, I love you too, Rebekah."

"No, but … like … I really love you. You're the best thing that happened to my brother," she explained, nodding her head as she spoke.

Klaus and Kol snickered and Rebekah looked at them in confusion. "What? It's true! She is sooooo good for him. They're perfect for each other."

You rolled your eyes and took Rebekah's drink from her, making her frown. "Hey, I was drinking that."

"No more for you," you replied, giving her a stern look and handing it to Kol without even looking his way. He dutifully drank it back in one gulp and handed the empty glass to Klaus who shook his head and gave it to a random person walking by.

"Come on, let's dance, yeah?" you suggested, taking Rebekah's arm off your shoulder and dragging her to the dancefloor.

The two of you danced for a few songs until Rebekah got bored and went off to find some poor sucker to bite. You weren't really a fan of dancing alone, so you went looking for Klaus and Kol, but they were nowhere to be found. Eventually, you gave up and decided to head over to the bar for another drink.

You pushed through the throng of people and managed to get to the front. Leaning against the bar, you waved the bartender over and ordered a whiskey. You were really starting to feel the effects of the alcohol, your head buzzing and your movements a little slower than normal. You felt a warm hand on your lower back, you were about to turn and see who it was when the familiar voice of your husband sounded next to your ear.

"On me," he said to the bartender and the man nodded.

You looked over at Elijah and smiled. "You're late,"

Elijah took the drink from the bartender and handed it to you, leaning in to kiss you. "Just fashionably so."

You rolled your eyes and took a sip of the whiskey, relishing the burn as it went down your throat. Elijah wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close to him, his hand settling on your hip. You looked up at him and smiled. He was so handsome, especially with the way the lights in the club cast shadows across his face and the way he was so casually dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt.

"You look good," you told him, placing a hand on his chest and looking up at him.

He smirked, leaning down to kiss you. "So do you. I don't think I've ever seen you in this dress before."

"It's Rebekah's, and she was determined I wear it," you replied, smoothing down the fabric that hugged your curves.

His dark eyes seemed to smolder as they roamed over your body, his hand sliding lower on your hip. He signaled the bartender for a drink of his own, keeping his other arm firmly around your waist, holding you close to his side. He was always so protective, especially in public. It was almost as if he was afraid someone would steal you away if he wasn't paying attention.

You finished your drink and set the glass down on the bar, leaning against Elijah's side and placing your hand on his chest. You could feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt, and you looked forward to the end of the night without the barrier of clothing between the two of you. Elijah had only arrived moments before, and already your body was reacting to his presence.

Klaus and Kol had returned and joined the two of you at the bar, the three of them discussing something that you weren't really interested in. Elijah's hand stayed on your hip the whole time, his thumb gently rubbing circles on your skin. You could feel the alcohol flowing through your veins, making your skin hot and your head fuzzy. You wanted to dance again, but this time with your husband.

"Come on," you tugged at Elijah's shirt, trying to pull him towards the dancefloor.

"I'll meet you out there, just a moment," he replied, turning back to the conversation with his brothers.

You huffed and gave him a look. "I'll just go dance with Rebekah, then."

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye and smirked. You knew he wasn't a fan of the way people danced in clubs, he preferred something more formal, but you didn't care. You wanted to dance, and if he wasn't going to join you, then you'd just have to find someone else.

You made your way out to the dance floor, weaving through the throng of sweaty bodies. The music was loud, the bass thumping, and the air was thick with heat and lust. It was the perfect atmosphere for letting loose and having fun.

You couldn't find Rebekah, but you didn't let that stop you from moving your hips to the music. The alcohol made everything feel better, the sensations more intense, the beat of the music throbbing in your veins.

You felt a pair of hands on your hips, and you turned your head to see who it was. The guy was tall, with tattoos all over, his eyes raking over your body appreciatively. He smiled and began moving with you, his hands sliding up your sides, pulling you closer to him.

"You're gorgeous," he said in your ear.

You giggled, the alcohol making you more receptive than usual to a stranger's advances. His hands were firm and sure, and the way he moved his body was almost hypnotic. You felt yourself relaxing in his arms, allowing him to guide you as you danced.

"What's your name, gorgeous?" he asked, his voice low and raspy.

"Ohh that's a good question," you giggled again, feeling a little tipsy from all the alcohol you had consumed. "My friends call me (Y/N), but you can call me whatever you want."

The guy grinned, his eyes flashing with a predatory gleam. "(Y/N), huh? That's a pretty name."

You smiled, your head swimming with the buzz of alcohol. You were enjoying the attention, Elijah was always so busy lately that you rarely got any one on one time. You hadn't had sex in over a month, and the thought of it made your body ache with need.

The guy's hands wandered, sliding over your hips and ass, and you let him. He was attractive, and you were feeling reckless.

"Let me buy you a drink," he offered, his breath hot on your neck.

"Sure," you agreed, following him to the bar.

He ordered two shots of vodka, and you eagerly took yours. He chuckled and took his own, his eyes never leaving your face. He suddenly leaned in to kiss you, but you quickly deflected, turning your head so that his lips landed on your cheek instead.

You giggled nervously, feeling a little guilty for leading him on. "Sorry, I'm married,"

He didn't seem put off, smiling and shrugging. "So? I'm not going to tell."

You laughed and shook your head, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks. You were a little flustered, and the alcohol was making your thoughts cloudy.

The guy placed his hand on your lower back, leaning in to speak in your ear. "Just one more drink, that's all I'm asking for."

This had gone a bit too far, and you were starting to get uncomfortable. "No, I'm sorry. I have to go,"

"You don't have to be such a bitch about it," he snapped, his hand tightening on your waist.

You pulled away from him, and his grip tightened, causing you to wince. He had switched up on you so fast, his tone and demeanor changing, and you knew you had to get away from him.

"Let go of me," you demanded, trying to pull away.

He refused to let go, his other hand moving to your ass, squeezing it roughly. You were getting angry now, and you were about to slap him across the face when your husband's voice sounded behind you.

"I suggest you let go of my wife, or else I will rip out your spine and beat you with it." Elijah growled, his hand coming down hard on the guy's wrist, breaking his hold on you.

The guy cursed, rubbing his wrist and backing up, holding his hands up in surrender. "Whoa, man, chill out. We were just having some fun."

Elijah grabbed the guy by the front of his shirt and yanked him forward, his eyes dark and full of fury. "You will never lay a hand on her again, is that understood?"

The guy nodded frantically, his eyes wide with fear. Elijah released him, shoving him away roughly. You watched as the guy disappeared into the crowd, and then turned back to face your husband.

Elijah looked furious, his eyes hard and his jaw clenched tightly. He had clearly seen what happened, and he wasn't pleased. You were worried he was angry at you for being so reckless, and you braced yourself for a lecture.

Instead he took your hand and led you through the crowd, not quite sure where he was taking you. The club was big, with several floors, and a variety of rooms. He finally found a quiet area on the second floor, overlooking the dancefloor, and turned to face you.

He didn't say a word, he just grabbed you by your waist and pushed you against the wall. His lips were on yours in an instant, rough and demanding, a stark contrast to his usual gentle way with you. 

His hand slid down your leg and pulled it up to hook around his hip, pressing his hardening cock against you. He was really worked up, and you couldn't deny the way it made your body respond, a bolt of pleasure shooting straight to your core.

"You're mine," he growled, grabbing your other leg and lifting you up, wrapping them around his hips.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, stroking the back of his neck to comfort him. "He... I... Just took it too far."

He nodded, a soft, possessive growl rumbling in his chest. "I saw you dancing, watching you grind against another man nearly drove me crazy."

You chuckled, running your fingers through his hair. He pulled back slightly to look at you, his eyes dark with lust. He was breathing heavily, his body pressed against yours, his hands holding you tightly, keeping you in place.

"I'm sorry, 'Lijah," you mumbled, trying to hide your smile.

His eyes narrowed, slowly smiling back at you. "You're not sorry at all."

He was right, you weren't sorry, not when his body was so close to yours, his hands all over you. He only behaved this way when you pushed his buttons in just the right way, and tonight you were happy to see his rough possessive side come out to play.

You chewed on your bottom lip, trying to look innocent. "No, not even a little bit,"

He smirked, shaking his head, his lips brushing over yours. "I know how much you like it when I show you who you belong to," he spoke softly, his hands sliding up your thighs pushing your dress up to expose your panties.

You shuddered, your heart racing in anticipation. "Yes, and tonight I think I really need a reminder."

He pressed his thumb against your clothed cunt, rubbing it in a slow, agonizing circle, making your toes curl. "We'll see how much you need to be reminded once I'm done with you,"

There was a dark promise in his eyes, and you couldn't wait to see what he had in store for you. He tore off your panties in one quick motion, stuffing them into his back pocket. His hand returned between your legs, finding your clit and circling it with agonizing slowness.

"Tell me, did he make you wet?" He asked, leaning in to suck on the flesh of your neck, his tongue tracing patterns on your skin.

"N-no..." you breathed, your hips bucking against his hand, trying to get more friction.

He chuckled at your desperation, his fingers sliding lower, "so this wet little pussy is all for me?"

"Just you," you whined, trying to keep quiet despite the throbbing need growing between your thighs.

He smirked, sliding a finger into your soaking cunt. You moaned, letting your head fall back against the wall, your eyes fluttering closed. He continued to slowly finger fuck you, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in a slow, firm circle.

"Please..." you whispered, your hips grinding against his hand.

"Please, what?" He asked, his voice a low growl.

"More," you breathed, unable to form complete sentences.

His hand went to your throat, squeezing lightly, his thumb resting on your pulse point. Your heart was racing, and your breath was coming in short gasps, your body aching for release. He added a second finger, his movements becoming faster, more urgent, his eyes never leaving your face.

You could feel your orgasm building, your body tensing with anticipation. Your hips moved in time with his fingers, your hands gripping his shoulders, holding yourself steady.

He suddenly pulled his hand away, your eyes snapping open at the loss of sensation. You were about to complain when he squeezed your throat again, harder this time. He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours in a heated, passionate kiss, his body flush with yours, using his hips to pin you against the wall.

He used his free hand to unzip his jeans, pulling his cock out, smirking as you felt it press against your stomach. He didn't take his hand from your throat, merely used his grip to hold you in place.

You realized how exposed you both were, anyone could come up here, or look up from the dancefloor below and see your lewd display.

"Elijah... Wait, not here..."

"Not here?" He asked, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Not here where anyone can see how desperate you are for me?"

Your face heated up at his words, and you looked away, trying to avoid his piercing gaze. He suddenly gripped your chin, forcing you to

"Eli...," you whispered, looking up at him from under your eyelashes, trying to convince him to stop, pressing your hands into his chest.

"That's what makes it so much fun," he smirked.

Your eyes went wide when you realized there was no changing his mind. He was determined to fuck you, right here in the club, where anyone could see and it was turning you on more than it should.

He could sense your unease mixed with your arousal, he kissed you, softer this time, but no less urgent.

"I won't let anything happen to you, my love," he whispered against your lips, his hands moving to grab your hips. "Now spread your legs."

You hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding, and then did as he asked. He lifted you up, his hands cupping your ass, pulling you closer to him. You felt the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and you moaned, your eyes closing as he eased into you.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his fangs scraping across your sensitive skin, his hips rocking slowly, pushing himself deeper inside of you. You could hear him breathing heavily, groaning softly as he filled you completely.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, your hands clutching at his shoulders, his skin hot beneath your fingertips. His pace increased, his thrusts becoming more forceful, each one sending waves of pleasure through your body.

He smiled, his eyes dancing with amusement. He was enjoying watching you struggle to stay silent, and the thrill of the possibility of being caught. And the way you clung to him, looking at him with desperation and lust. It was the most alive he had felt in a long time.

You could hear people coming down the hall, laughing and talking, and you froze.

"Elijah..." you breathed, panic in your eyes.

He placed his hand over your mouth, shushing you, his eyes focused on yours. He kept thrusting, his movements becoming rougher, his fingers digging into your ass.

"Do you want them to see how badly you need my cock? How you're practically begging me to fuck you harder?" He asked, his voice low and dangerous, his eyes full of mischief.

Your eyes widened, and you shook your head, your breath hitching in your throat. He continued his brutal pace, his body flush against yours, his hand still covering your mouth. You could feel his fangs scraping against your neck, his cock pounding into you, and you struggled to keep quiet.

The footsteps were closer, and you could hear their laughter echoing down the hall. If they saw the two of you like this, you'd be mortified.

Suddenly, he stopped, his hips stilling, his cock buried deep inside of you. You let out a soft, needy whine, desperate for more. He grinned, his hand leaving your mouth, moving to cup your cheek, his thumb running across your lips.

"Shhh," he whispered, his eyes flashing with amusement. "You don't want anyone to know what we're doing, do you?"

You shook your head, trying to catch your breath, your body trembling. The footsteps were fading now, the group moving on, and you let out a sigh of relief. He waited until the sound disappeared before he started fucking you again.

You gasped, your hands clinging to his shirt, your body aching with need. He held you tight, his hands gripping your ass, pulling you against him with each hard thrust. His lips were pressed against your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin. You felt his fangs scraping along your neck, then they sunk into your skin, piercing the flesh.

"Fuck, 'Lijah!" you gasped, your back arching, your toes curling as pain shot through your body.

The sting of his bite was sharp, but it was quickly replaced by a wave of intense pleasure. He growled against your skin, his hips moving faster, his cock driving into you deeper and harder, his movements frantic and wild.

He kept drinking from you, his body tense, his hands holding you tightly, his cock thrusting into you. He could feel his climax building, and he knew he wasn't going to last much longer. He pulled his fangs from your neck, his tongue licking at the puncture wounds, his hands grabbing at your hips, pulling you closer.

His lips were bloody, his eyes black with lust, his fangs still barred. It was the most beautiful sight, seeing him like this, and knowing that you were the one who had driven him to the edge.

You grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him in for a passionate kiss, his mouth warm and soft. He tasted like blood and sex, and you wanted nothing more than to be completely consumed by him.

You felt yourself tumbling over the edge, your body shuddering, a soft cry escaping your lips. He groaned against your mouth, pressing his hips against yours as he came, his body trembling.

He leaned his forehead against yours, both of you struggling to catch your breath, your heart racing. He chuckled, pulling back slightly, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Well, that was unexpected," he said, a smirk on his lips.

"Definitely," you agreed, unable to stop the smile that spread across your face.

He chuckled again, his eyes full of warmth. He slowly pulled out of you and set you down, keeping his hands on you, making sure you were steady. You fixed your dress, smoothing it down, a little embarrassed at what you had just done.

"I hope no one saw," you murmured, blushing.

He shook his head, his fingers gently lifting your chin so you were looking at him. "If they did, I wouldn't care. You're mine, and I want everyone to know it."

You giggled, leaning into his embrace. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

He tucked himself back into his jeans and made sure you looked presentable, although you couldn't exactly hide all the hickeys and marks he left on your neck. His hand intertwined with yours as he led you back downstairs, a satisfied grin on his face.

Back on the dancefloor he pulled you close, his hand settling on the small of your back. You danced together, swaying to the music, his body pressed against yours, his eyes sparkling with happiness.

Rebekah, Kol and Klaus all watched the two of you from the bar, amused smiles on their faces.

"Do you think she knows that this place is pretty much packed with vampires... And everyone heard them?" Kol asked, glancing at his siblings.

Rebekah snorted, shaking her head, taking a sip of her drink. "I don't think so,"

Klaus laughed, a wide grin on his face. "Elijah definitely knows,"

"Oh, I'm sure he does," Kol smirked, winking at his sister. "And he doesn't give a fuck."

They all chuckled, and Rebekah raised her glass, gesturing towards her brother and you.

"To Elijah and his loud, insatiable wife," she laughed.

The other two raised their glasses and they clinked together, all three of them laughing. They watched as Elijah leaned in and whispered something in your ear, causing you to blush, and your heart to race. Partying with the Mikaelsons was never without a bit of scandal and mischief, and tonight was no different.

[aychama]

So writing is really really hard and my friend adviced me to just give you guys my ideas instead of writing a big fic for it and Im gonna do that!

And gonna at the little bit of writing I did at the end!

Royal Au Narilamb's first intimate night together

-The kisses to give Lambert the crowns power brings them intimately closer as rime goes by, Lambert tries to initiate it more, make it last longer and Narinder never turns them down or pushes them away.

-Lambert is clearly in love but denies it

-Because of pent of emotions the intimate kissings buil up, Narinder goes to a brothel to wind down instead of risking it with Lambert. He thinks that it's unfair of him to put them in this whole situation in the first place.

-Lambert sees Narinder getting into the brothel and gets extremely jealous and angry about it

-Days pass, Lambert goes back to the land that was given to them to govern and ignores Kings letters

-Narinder visits Lambert in an angry fit, demands the reason why they would ignore a kings letter and threatens that he could send them to jail for it

-They get angry again but they don't have any crown power left in them because they used it too much after seeing Narinder in the brothel so they feel weak

-Narinder kisses them and gives them power only a little bit to keep them up and expects them to explain their situation after feeling better

-He stays in their place? Mansion? -Lambert is not rich idk what to call it, a big place where they govern their land- and later Lambert visits Narinder at night to finally confront him about it

-Lambert confesses that they were jealous and asks him why he would go to a brothel when they were right in front of him. Cornering him on the couch he was sitting in. He says "I thought you didn't enjoy our...times...together. Since you even said it scared you of what would happen if we didn't do it."

So Lambert screams with their face completely red. "Argh are you really going to make me say it?! I'm jealous ok?! You go and sleep with others and I... Do you know how hard it is to keep myself in check while kissing yo-"

-Narinder accepts the invitation. Lambert realises how much Narinder has been holding back as he hungrily kisses them, the two stumble to the guest bed and he rips apart Lambert's top.

-But just before they can fully get into it, the two half naked, someone knocks on the door and tells that Heket is on the move and their plan to take her down needs to start

-Narinder hesitates but after hearing Heket's name, he leaves Lambert

-Plot with heket happens and she dies but Lambert is injured

-Narinder does his best to heal them after they are brought back to his castle, to his room, they share an intimate moment where Narinder traces Lambert's fresh and old scars while healing them and in that intimate, alone moment Lambert asks if they are allowed to continue from where they left off

-and boom. They share a soft, passionate and gentle night together.

SO YEA. Writing all of this would kill me so you guys have to wait for it to be turned into the comic!

Here is what I have written so far. I dont think I will continue but yea! Have at thee!

●

A kiss. It was supposed to be simple.

Lambert just needed to kiss Narinder somewhat often so that the crowns powers inside them wouldn't turn them into a crazy blood thirsty maniac.

When such a thing was on the line, Lambert thought it would be easy. A simple kiss with a King they were active betraying, actively giving out information to his oldest sibling about what he was doing.

To be fair, Narinder was attractive... extremely. To Lambert, at the very least.

And yes their heart fluttered everytime they saw him, everytime he touched them, everytime they stared into his eyes.

Everytime they kissed him. But it didn't mean anything.

The kisses started out simple enough even though it was hard for them to initiate it first because Narinder refused to "force himself" on them due to the nature of their positions. It almost felt like he felt bad about putting them in this situation.

It didn't seem like that when he was constantly sending them out to deadly missions though...

But still, kissing on the lips, although it was to transfer power solely, was an intimate gesture. No body could fault Lambert for accidentaly prolonging it for just a few more second, just a few more pecks.

Aside from the kiss, the power also tasted sweet so it was impossible for them to not seek it out. It wasn't their fault! And it certainly wasn't because they had feelings for him. No way! It was the nature of the kiss, doing something like that with any random person would make you act like this if you did it too much! Lambert was sure.

And it's not like he couldn't stop them either. He could push them away like how he did at the start when he thought they had enough. But as time passed, he stopped doing it. Maybe he didn't care anymore or maybe...

What confused Lambert the most was the anger they were feeling that day. When they saw him walk into a brothel.

They thought,

"Maybe he is here to gather information. Yea, that must be it. Brothels are full of pent up people willing to spill out all of their problems after all."

So they hid and waited outside.

It...took some time...

But when he walked into the balcony, half naked, hair messy with a smoke in his hand, it felt like a punch to the gut. Stronger than any punch they had ever felt.

It was the second time in Lambert's life that they felt this kind of anger. So hot their thoughts melted together. So hard their teeth must have hurt from the pressure.

But this time they knew not to stay and let their anger do something they could never take back again.

So they left.

Walked into a forest and screamed their lungs out.

And they cried.

They were confused. Why were they feeling like this?

They needed to get these feelings out. OUT.

They let excessive amounts of the power they were given out in a burst. It looked like a curse Narinder had shown them once. Crushing force that broke everything around them.

The leaves and dirt of the forest were tossed around in chaos as the rocks and trees were torn to shreads.

Their mind started to clear up when their breathing sounded less like a dying animal.

His lovely unpleasant voice rang in their ear 'You need to learn how to control your anger.'

They broke the rock in front of them into pieces.

.

.

.

When they came back to their King given land, it was Ruri who greeted them.

"L-lambert! What happened to you?!" Was the only thing they listened to. They didn't answer and just let her tend to their wounds.

.

.

.

It had been days since their discovery of Narinder's... whatever it was and their outburst to it.

They decided that tending to their people and their needs was a better use of their time instead of constantly feeling a mixure of intense feelings. They had land they controlled now and people to take care of. Something they weren't really good at.

Thankfully Ratau was here to help them.

"This isn't how you should respond to this request Lambert." Ratau sighed for the fifth time that day and handed back the letter to Lambert.

Lambert grunted.

Ok maybe working wasn't the best idea to get rid of their already existing negative feelings.

---

[sidekick-hero]

I can't stop thinking of Eddie as Cyrano de Bergerac.

He's in the drama club, he's known for his way with words, his ability to bring whole worlds to life with them. Few people know that he also writes poetry, poems about love and loss, society and justice, whatever comes to his mind. Many of them are about a mysterious person with gold-flecked eyes and autumn hair, constellations on his skin, and the sun in his heart.

Eddie guards his notebook full of poems like a dragon guards his hoard of gold. And yet.

And yet Susie Bowers finds it where it fell out of his pocket when that asshole Tommy Hagan pushed him against the lockers. She reads it and realizes how devastatingly beautiful Eddie's words are.

It makes her think… think about her crush on Steve Harrington, the fallen king who is still the most eligible bachelor at Hawkins High. Especially since he refuses to just take girls home to fuck them. No, he wants to date. He wants to fall in love. It's catnip for everyone, but at the same time so frustrating because no girl has managed to catch his eye yet.

Maybe this little notebook is her ticket to a relationship with Steve Harrington.

She approaches Eddie and shows him the notebook, pulling it out of his reach as he attempts to grab it. She offers him a deal: she won't spread copies of all his cute little writings all over the school, exposing his deepest secrets for everyone to see and ridicule. In exchange, Eddie will help her sweet-talk Steve Harrington.

Eddie agrees and writes love letters to the boy he's been in love with ever since he found him drunk and depressed on the side of the road after his girlfriend dumped him. He had taken him home, listened to him ramble on about what he had done wrong, why no one would want to love him, and then put Steve to bed and watched him sleep until morning to make sure he was okay.

He left before Steve woke up, and the next time they saw each other at school, Steve didn't even look at him. It had broken his heart and inspired most of his poems, because nothing inspires like heartbreak.

And now Eddie can tell Steve all the things he thinks and feels about him - just to make it seem like it's written by Susie.

It seems to work, because Steve replies to her letters. His replies are simpler, less lyrical, but just as earnest. His words are sweet, and he's funny and thoughtful.

He's everything Eddie knew he was going to be. And Susie couldn't care less, she just wants to go out with him, have him take her home, have everyone know that she's Steve Harrington's girlfriend.

They go out. After a dozen letters, he gives in and asks her out.

Eddie cries himself to sleep that night.

Someone knocks on his bedroom window. Confused and a bit nervous, because he doesn't have only friends in this town, far from it, he goes to open it.

And finds Steve Harrington standing right outside his window.

"What -"

"Did you mean them?" Steve asks and he can't tell from his tone what he's thinking.

"What?"

"Your letters, did you mean what you wrote or did you just write down what you thought I wanted to hear so I'd go out with Susie?"

His tone doesn't really change, but Eddie can see his eyes shining in the dim light coming from his bedroom. He looks upset, and Eddie wants to fix it, but he doesn't know what answer would do that.

So he chooses the truth. "Yes. I meant every single word I wrote in those letters."

"Then why didn't you send them under your own name?" When did Steve get so close? And why is the window sill digging into his stomach?

At Steve's question, Eddie can't help but laugh bitterly. "Did you look at me, Steve? I'm the town freak! A fuckup. Trailer trash. A small-time drug dealer who failed his senior year. Why would anybody - why would you want to get love letters from me?"

Steve nods, not saying a word as he turns and walks away. And okay, he deserves it, he guesses. Hanging his head in defeat, he shuffles away from the window and face plants on his bed, letting fresh tears fall from his eyes.

Until there's another knock, this time at his front door.

He's out of bed in record time, almost breaking his neck in his haste to get to the door. It can't be - it's impossible that this is -

Steve is standing on his front porch, looking devastatingly handsome in his light-washed Levi's and red sweater. His date outfit.

He walks up to him before Eddie can say anything and cups his cheek.

"I've been looking at you, Eddie. All I've done since the night you brought me home and listened to me and took care of me, I've been looking at you. Looking and waiting. Hoping. Wanting you to give me a sign, any sign, that it wasn't just chivalry that made you do this, but the fact that you cared. About me. But you never did."

"Steve," Eddie whispers, but Steve isn't finished.

"And then I get these letters, and all the words, they sound like you. I couldn't be sure, not until I read the line, 'You deserve someone who wants to love you, all of you, the good and the bad and everything in between. I want to be that person. I want to love you.' You're the only one I've ever said that to. I knew it had to be you."

"But why? Why go out with Susie?"

"Because I had to be absolutely sure that it wasn't Susie. And after ten minutes with her, I was. I drove around until I couldn't… I had to talk to you. To see if you mean it. If you want to love me."

Eddie kisses him.

There's nothing else on his mind but the need to finally kiss the boy he's been in love with for almost a year.

Steve kisses him back, soft, tender, then deeper, dirtier.

When they pull apart, both gasping, Eddie leans in closer because his next words are meant for him and Steve and no one else.

"I want to love you long after my body crumbles to dust and my soul finds yours in the afterlife. I want to love you as the ocean does the moon, forever bound, forever following its call, until the end of time."

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗦𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗞 𝗡𝗢𝗪

　　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where it's Y/N's wedding day, but Matt isn't the groom. During the ceremony, an act of impulse on the boy's part changes the fate of everything.

WARNING: Slightly angst, but with a happy ending!

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The cool orange color of the corner lamp lightly illuminated the walls of Matt's room, painting the room with a serene aura. He was still in his bed, mentally preparing himself to get up and start the day slowly, his thoughts still hazy from sleep, a low voice reminding him of the tasks he had to do - writing the script for the next video, answering emails, and posting his collaboration with Prada.

For a moment, he allowed himself to bask in the feeling of tranquility, but that peace was abruptly interrupted when the sound of his bedroom door slamming open echoed through the walls.

Matt turned abruptly to the source of the sound, frowning and opening his mouth to curse whoever had barged into his room so suddenly, but the words caught in his throat when he saw Nick standing there, his eyes wide and his hand holding an envelope tightly.

"Nick, what the fuck?" Matt's voice sounded hoarse and rough from lack of use as his eyes traveled from Nick's face to the envelope and back again.

"Matt... It's from Y/N." Nick muttered apprehensively.

The boy sat down abruptly on the mattress when he heard his ex name, watching Nick slowly approaching and leaving the envelope on the crumpled comforter that covered the younger boy's legs.

"I don't know what it's about, I just found it on the floor in front of the front door."

Matt took the paper delicately, a feeling of apprehension growing in his chest as he recognized Y/N's elegant handwriting on the sender, his own name, and his brother's in the recipient field. His mind wondered why she had sent that, who even sends letters through mail in 2024?

With shaking hands, he tore open the envelope and removed the paper inside, barely noticing Nick's silent exit. His heart sank when he noticed that it wasn't just any paper. It was an invitation... a wedding invitation.

The words printed in embossed letters and in gold color on high quality paper, announcing the day she would become the wife of her current boyfriend, or rather, fiancé.

An overwhelming mix of emotions hit him head-on. Matt gasped, holding the invitation as if it were a precious artifact, but also a knife that pierced his heart. He could feel the bitter taste of regret filling his mouth as his memories with Y/N ​​flooded his mind.

He found himself transported back to the happy days when they were together, each moment shining in vivid colors before his eyes. The shared laughter, the hugs on cold or hot nights, the whispered promises of eternal love... Everything seemed so close, and yet so far away.

Tears threatened to flood his eyes as he struggled to process the magnitude of the situation. He bitterly regretted letting Y/N go, letting his insecurities and fears ruin what they shared. He knew he had no one else to blame but himself for his own loneliness.

A violent internal struggle unfolded within the boy. A part of him wanted to throw the invitation through the window, refuse to witness the ceremony that would tear him up even more inside. But another part, a stubborn and masochistic part, insisted on attending, as if seeing Y/N unite with another man was the punishment he deserved for his failures.

Matt clutched the invitation tightly in his hand, lightly crumpling the expensive paper, feeling fragile and broken. Every beat of his heart echoed with the weight of a decision he didn't know if he was capable of making. He felt the weight of loss pressing down on his shoulders, the pain of a wound that never seemed to heal.

Silent tears streamed down his cheeks as he fought his emotions in turmoil. He loved Y/N more than anything in this world, and even though he had already lost her the day he saw her walk through his bedroom door for the last time, he still held on to the narrow thread of hope he had in him, but now he was in danger of losing her forever, and it tormented him to the core of his soul.

With an anguished sigh, Matt finally let out a choked sob, pressing his hand against his mouth to muffle the ugly sounds, quickly glancing at the door left ajar by Nick. The last thing he wanted was to worry his brothers.

He knew he had no choice but to face the painful reality that Y/N would move on without him. He wished, with all his being, that things could have been different, that he could go back in time and right the wrongs he had made.

But now, all he could do was accept the invitation he held in his trembling hand and prepare to witness the love of his life being given to someone else.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Matt took a deep breath as he, along with his brothers, entered the imposing church where Y/N's wedding was about to take place. The decor details seemed to jump out, a lush fusion of fresh flowers - Y/N's favorite - and delicate fabrics, creating a fairytale atmosphere, exactly as he and Y/N had fantasized about for so many nights.

The rows of chairs were lined up precisely, each adorned with a floral arrangement. Matt watched the carefully planned details, feeling a pang in his heart.

As he rotated his gaze around the space, his eyes met Y/N's parents accompanied by her fiancé, who was already looking back at the triplets. Matt's eyes widened slightly when he noticed the man open a gentle smile towards him, a strange feeling of resignation and envy flooding him almost automatically.

Victor, who he saw so much of only through Y/N's social media, was tall, with slightly curly brown hair that shone in the light, and vibrant blue eyes that seemed to reflect genuine joy. Matt couldn't help but notice how he perfectly fit the stereotype of the type of man Y/N always seemed to prefer - an observation that left a sour taste in his mouth.

The boy wondered if Y/N really had a specific type or if it was just a coincidence that he and her fiancé shared similar characteristics.

He forced himself to look away, his mind a mess of conflicting emotions and his heart screaming that he should just turn around and go back home. With a resigned sigh, Matt followed his brothers as they found their assigned seats.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Matt's heart was in turmoil as he anxiously awaited the long-awaited moment of the bride's entrance. His eyes darted nervously around the church, his breath caught in his throat as he tried to control the flood of thoughts that threatened to consume him.

And then, as if time had slowed down, soft music filled the air, announcing Y/N's arrival. His breath seemed to catch as he saw her appear in the aisle, a glimpse of ethereal beauty in her stunning wedding dress. His heart was filled with a mix of joy and pain when he saw her so perfect.

Matt thought he would only see her in a wedding dress on their own wedding day.

Tears threatened to blur his vision as he fought to hold them back. He wanted to scream from the rooftops and release all his pent-up anger, but his words were lost in the void of his silent anguish.

"Matt, are you okay?" Chris asked beside him in an almost muted whisper, only receiving a short nod in return.

As she approached the altar, Matt felt his leg begin to bounce involuntarily in a mixture of anxiety and hesitation. Every step she took seemed to sound like an echo in his own broken heart, a constant reminder of what could have been but would never be.

He had to do something.

When Y/N finally reached the foot of the altar, Matt clenched his right hand into a fist tightly, his teeth biting his thumbnail in a desperate attempt to contain whatever was wanting to come out. He watched with a lump in his throat as she and Victor turned face-to-face, everything sounding muffled against his ears.

He had to.

Every word spoken was like a knife in his heart. He wondered if Y/N could feel the intensity of his emotions, if she could see the love and sadness mixed in his eyes as her own eyes circled the room momentarily, carrying a mix of nervousness and anxiety.

Silence hung in the church, heavy and dense, as the priest finished his solemn last words.

"If anyone has anything to say against this union, speak now or forever remain silent." Finally came the phrase so feared and long awaited.

The priest's voice echoed through the sacred space, resounding off the walls as the guests held their breath. Matt felt his heart hammer in his chest, almost hearing it in his ears, a tumultuous mix of fear and determination swirling in his mind.

He needed to.

And then, before he could think twice, before he could stop the urge that welled up inside him, Matt stood up. His body acted on instinct, his chair scraping with a harsh sound against the floor at the abrupt movement of his body.

The loud sound cut through the silence like a knife, causing the guests to turn to his figure in shock, eyes wide in horror. The priest raised his eyebrows in surprise, his words frozen on his lips as he watched the scene unfold before his eyes.

Victor, Y/N's fiancé, looked at Matt with flaming hatred in his eyes, a completely different expression than the one he displayed moments before the ceremony. He knew who Matt was, and he knew Matt would mean trouble for him.

But Matt ignored all of this. At that moment, all that mattered was Y/N. His blue eyes brimming with fear and love looked intensely into Y/N's shocked ones, who seemed frozen in place.

"I-I..." Y/N began, clearing her throat and turning to face the sea of ​​guests. "I need a moment."

And then, without waiting for a response or further intervention, Y/N got down from the altar and turned around, starting to run towards the back of the church. Her footsteps echoed in the silence with the click of her high heels against the floor, each beat of her heart matching the frantic pace of her run.

"Matt!" Nick called through gritted teeth, quickly glancing at the people around him as he raised his right hand, holding Matt's wrist tightly. "Sit down, now."

Matt barely had time to process what was happening before his instincts took over again, pulling his wrist from Nick's grip quickly. He ignored the confused murmurs of the guests accompanying him as he ran after Y/N.

He had to reach her, had to find a way to explain himself, to convince her to listen. He couldn't let her go without a fight, not after everything he had risked.

Matt's feet pounded the church floor as he ran, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He barely noticed Victor's screams echoing behind him, barely noticed the dirty looks that glared at his back as he chased the only love he'd ever had. All that mattered was reaching Y/N, holding her hand, and never letting it go again.

Matt pushed open the back doors of the church hard, his mind spinning in a whirlwind as he prepared to face whatever was on the other side.

He was expecting the worst - a furious face, eyes full of rage, cutting words thrown his way. But what he found was the complete opposite of that.

Y/N's figure was there, just a few feet away. She held her heels in one of her hands, her veil was lying on the floor next to her bare feet, and her beautiful dress was rumpled, but there was a huge smile on her face, and her eyes showed an intense relief.

Matt frowned in confusion, his own mind in turmoil as he tried to process what was happening. The boy expected her to confront him, to blame him for interrupting her perfect day, for destroying her dreams. But not that.

Before he could do anything, Y/N dropped her heels onto the delicate veil before running towards him, her steps quick and purposeful. She stopped before Matt, her eyes shining with an intensity that left him speechless.

Without hesitation, the girl raised her hands towards his face, cupping his red, hot cheeks, her fingers touching his skin with a tenderness that made him shiver. And then, so suddenly, she pulled him towards her, her lips meeting his in a deep, desperate kiss.

Matt felt the world disappear around him as he gave himself over to the gesture, all his questions slipping from his mind, his hands finding their place around Y/N's waist almost automatically, as if it was marked into his soul.

He could feel the warmth of her body against his, the soft touch of her lips against his own, and Matt had never, until that moment, truly understood how much he missed that.

Matt's lips gently parted from Y/N's seconds later, his eyes remained fixed on her face, as if trying to decipher a complex riddle. He felt the euphoria of the moment still pulsing through his veins, but a sense of confusion was still mixed with the intensity of it all.

"I... I don't understand." The boy murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he struggled to find the right words to express the whirlwind of thoughts that assaulted him.

Y/N shook her head, a soft smile still playing on his lips. She pulled away slightly, maintaining eye contact with Matt.

"I know this is all very confusing." She began, her voice soft and comforting. "But I'm so happy, Matt. So happy and relieved that you're here."

Matt's confusion deepened even further as he took in her words. He couldn't understand how she could be so serene and happy after everything that happened and what he did with her special date.

The boy felt a weight on his shoulders and an immense desire to look behind his shoulders towards the door, feeling as if someone would open it at any moment and expose them to the public.

"When I sent the invitation." Y/N continued. "I felt scared. Scared that you wouldn't show up, that you would choose not to be here. But deep down, I knew you would come. I knew you wouldn't let me down."

Her words hit the brunette like a wave of comforting heat. He watched her intensely, his racing heart overflowing with love as goosebumps ran through his whole body.

"Don't get me wrong, Victor is an amazing guy, but... Matt, he's not you. He never was. No one will ever be you." She unbuttoned her lace sleeves before rolling them up, ripping off the flower that was attached to the fake belt at her waist and throwing it over her heels.

She really was something.

"Y/N-"

"Run away with me?

Y/N's suggestion left Matt speechless. His body remained static as his eyes stared at her, his orbs filled with shock and disbelief. He never imagined that she could suggest something so radical.

"Matt, please, we have to go. Run away with me."

A smirk slowly grew onto Matt's face before he took her right hand in his, pulling her close tightly and picking her up in one quick movement, his right arm supporting her back and his hand gripping her waist tightly, while his left arm held her legs beneath her knees, pressing her against his body.

A squeal escaped Y/N's throat, who wrapped her arms around his neck and placed her hands on the back of his head tightly, hiding her face in the crook of his shoulder, a loud laughter passing through her lips.

"You're unbelievable, pretty girl... Come on, let's go."

So glad you were around when they said: Speak Now.

taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @il0vebeingdelulu @sturniolowhore @mimi-luvzyu @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @domizzzsstuff @sturnizd @hearts4chriss @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @leah-loves-lilies @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @sstvrnioloo @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @sturniolho @ksskianshd @ccolleenn @sturniolo-lover1317 @soimightlikeoldmen69 @hrtyjy @ldr-sl0t @breeloveschris @bellasfavbisexual @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @ecliphttlunar @thebottledwatersupplier @soso-scarlettolivia @maryx2xx @sturnolio-luvs @bitchydragonparadise @lvrsturn @freshsturns @iammattswife

(If you want to be added to the taglist, go to this post)

[harunayuuka2060]

MC: Hey, what are you doing this time?

Their child self: Writing.

MC: Hm? Writing?

Their child self: *nods* *beams* I am going to write letters for everybody!

MC: That sounds nice. What will you write for them?

Their child self: Farewell cards!

MC: ...

MC: Farewell... cards?

Their child self: Hm! *proceeds to continue writing*

MC: ...

The housewardens: ...

Idia: *sniffles*

Vil: Idia, don't start.

Idia: I'm trying not to.

Leona: We will miss your younger self.

MC: Wasn't expecting that from you, Leona. But thanks.

Kalim: Little Prefect will bring the toys we brought for them, right? RIGHT?

Azul: I don't want to be sad, so I refuse to read their farewell letter.

Riddle: Not in my case. I am going to cherish the letter they've given to me.

Lilia: Malleus won't be coming today. He's busy re-reading the letter he had received.

MC: Lilia, try asking him not to be too sentimental.

Lilia: *chuckles* You're asking for the impossible.

MC's child self: I'm going home now!

MC: *nods* *cuddling their younger self* Have some of your favorite dessert at least.

Their child self: *nods* *smiles* I'll give some to Mama and I'll tell her that you made them.

MC: *smiles back* She'll be happy to know that. *kisses them on the cheek*

MC: Be careful on your way.

MC: ...

Malleus: ...

Malleus: It's quiet.

MC: I wouldn't really say that when I hear all of you bawling your eyes out.

Malleus: Yes. *chuckles* We couldn't help it.

Malleus: Your younger version is undeniably adorable.

MC: *sigh*

Malleus: ...

Malleus: Anyway, I'm hoping you're aware on what your younger self had written to me.

MC: No. I didn't read any of the letters.

Malleus: *smiles*

Malleus: "You'll be a great dad, Brother Mal!"

MC: And so?

Malleus: Would you not consider that as pre-approval?

MC: Pre-approval of what?

Malleus: Your relationship with me.

MC: ...

MC: No.

Malleus: The little child of man drew a ring binding our names. *smiling*

MC: *frowns; remembering their childish silliness* I would appreciate if you don't take it seriously.

[fan-goddess]

Helloooo love! I'm a fan lurking in the dark with a request idea for Aemond x Reader. Would love to see your take on Aemond trying to win Reader back (his wife) after she found out about Alys. Maybe this happens after the "Dance" , Aemond survives and they have to deal with the aftermath of Alys. Reader loved him with everything she had so she feels betrayed and turns cold to him and maybe because of Alys, something also happened to her (idk lost pregnancy perhaps but PLEASE exclude this if you don't feel comfortable writing it). Basically take everything you find interesting from this request and work your magic - I trust you like no other!!! Thank you I send you all the love there is - you are very very talented and please know there are many like me that think you are truly brilliant, I know it!!! :*:*

Authors Note: Oh my god thank you this is so freakin sweet! 🥺 I’m happy to take the request and spin my take on this, hope you enjoy it! :)

Also, some of the stuff Is made up like the time between Daemons death and end of the war. I don’t know it so I made it up. If you don’t like it take it up with my dms

Word count: 2.6K

Warnings: Cheating, miscarriage though it’s not explicit, she’s kinda depressed? Not sure how to describe it,

Taglist: @blue-serendipity

The Sequels: The Depressive one, The happy One

—————

If Aemond ever regretting not killing anyone throughout the war he technically started, most would’ve immediately assumed that he wished he never killed his nephew. Though they were wrong. Yes, Lucerys’ death became one of the many causes of the war and in turn deaths of so many people, but his death didn’t result in the loss of you and your child.

Alys’ death could’ve though.

When he first met Alys, he had been nearly immediately enraptured and enamoured by had. She was quite different to you. While you had always been headstrong and never afraid to tell Aemond what he needed to do or to be, Alys had been more docile and had no issue in telling Aemond all the things he wanted to hear.

He regretted the first time he laid with Alys in his bed. Though that regret went away the more time he spent with her and the more times he laid with her. He begun to think of possibly taking after Aegon the conqueror, thinking he’d have both you and Alys by his side when Aegon most likely drank himself to death.

That fantasy was soon ruined when he got that letter.

Dear Aemond,

Do you think of me as a fool? I know about that fucking woman Aemond. I know about Alys. I don’t know why you have decided to betray our marriage and honestly, I don’t think care I can bring myself to think about it nor care anymore. This letter was originally going to be happy. A letter letting you know what we prayed near everyday from the seven had finally come true and been answered. I was with child. Our child made purely of what I had thought was love. Though that changed when I was informed of what you had done. I mourned for what we could’ve had. I cried and refused to believe it at first, though soon I came to my senses. Yet it was too late. Our child is dead Aemond. I woke up a few days ago to heavy blood staining our bedsheets. The child was barely two months according to the maester. I wish for you to know it is your fault Aemond. I do not wish to ever see you again. I wish to never hear from you so if you attempt to reconcile or send a letter I will pay for our child’s blood with your own. You have dug your grave Aemond. Don’t try and dig it deeper. If you are to die in battle, I hope it is painful. I hope you suffer like I have.

From, your wife

From your former wife

Aemond had felt his heart plummet to the floor when he read that letter. He could not stop the tears that fell to the floor and stained the letter he still was holding. The ink blotting and staining the page so much the words were becoming near illegible.

He attempted to head into battle with the faint hope that you’d forgive him if he killed his uncle. Though even he knew deep down that no amount of deaths could fix anything. Yet even still he tried. He defeated Daemon, with blood of which Targaryen man he did not know staining and pooling on his ripped armour.

Aemond came home where he was met with his mother and brother, who both congratulated him on his victory. Though even with their congrats he could see the disgust that lingered in his mothers gaze as she looked at him. It made his shame all that more prominent.

He would’ve gone to see you, but Aegon stopped him before he could, claiming he was holding a feast in his name for the defeat of Daemon. He tried to look for you in the amount of people that came, yet he couldn’t. And he didn’t dare ask his mother if you would be coming in fear of her glare and disappointment.

That night he wonders something. Maybe it would’ve been better if he did die by the hand of his uncle? Then it would’ve saved him from all this torture. Though he can’t say he didn’t deserve it. Aemond can only wallow in his drinks that he keeps being given and his own sorrow.

Aemond was back home. The words the maids said echoed in your head. He’s here, and no doubt going to attempt to reconcile. If there was one thing you ever learnt about your husband, was that he never quit at anything he started.

You already made bets with yourself on how he’d attempt to do it.

Maybe he’ll try flowers? No that’s too much of a common move for Aemond to pull… Maybe he’ll bring you some jewellery? No that’d make him feel like he was buying for your forgiveness. Like he was buying something for a mistress. Well… he’s been there and done that…

There is always the chance Aemond will not even attempt to reconcile. Hopefully becoming too overcome by the grief and pain of the loss of his and your child that he’d respect your wishes after reading your own pain on paper. The maids still look at you worriedly, especially when they find you sitting near the window. You know why they worry, you mourned Helaena and Jahaerys and you know you will not become like her.

Aegon was also the one who told you about Alys, and when you lost your child and screamed for the whole of the castle to hear, it was Aegon who ran to you to mourn with you and hold you while you cried for a life you may have been able to have. He held you in the way a brother would hold a sister. He even cried with you and helped clean you of the blood. Oh the blood…

———

It’s been a few long months, but the war between the greens and the blacks is finally over. Aegon is celebrating by holding a massive banquet and all the lord and ladies who supported him are invited. Even though Aemond knows it will not happen, he secretly hopes you will come to celebrate.

Though as he keeps sneaking glances at the door all night he eventually comes to term with the fact you’re not coming. He can only swallow more bitter wine and ignore the fact he’s drinking it like a fish in water now.

He’s attempted to reconcile from a distance ever since the incident but everything he has sent to your chambers has come back in shreds. The flowers from the garden you loved to look after, heads torn from their stems and cut into a thousand pieces. The books he sent on your favourite topic, you had more restraint on them and simply chucked them from your window onto unsuspecting bystanders bellow.

Aegon told him delightfully how after he delivered the books to you, they were seen immediately thrown from the window and one had supposedly managed to hit one knight straight on the head, effectively knocking him out cold.

Though if anything those small acts of defiance made Aemond wish to reunite and return to you even more. It reminded him just why he fell in love with you in the first place. Your wit and your wisdom made him fall head over heals for you, literally.

He had tripped in front of you and some other ladies of the court due to the load of books he was carrying. He had not yet gotten used to the visual impairments the loss of his eye provided and did not see the thrown goblet in his path. Aemond had effectively turned scarlet when the ladies began to mockingly giggle at him, it nearly made his heart beat straight from his chest when he saw you come to his help. “You need to get some help with those. It’s not that bad to ask for help you know? Means you aren’t a stubborn twat.” You grin.

He wished he could go back to those days. They were simpler. They held no knowledge of the war they would face. It held no knowledge of the bastard from Harrenhal.

Aemond had not tried to reunite with you in person. He knew you’d most definitely follow through with your threat and spill his blood. It’s why he attempted to send you items instead through the maids. Though it’s very obvious those weren’t working either. That’s when he got the idea to write you letters. There was easily a chance that you would burn them or tear them the moment you saw the writing. Yet even then Aemond knew he had to try…

———

“Princess. I have another item sent from the prince for you.” One of the maids said as she carefully approached your bed. The sun had already hit its peak that day, though you could not bring yourself to get out of bed. The only time you could bring yourself too was either with the help of your maids, or when Aemond sent a supposed gift to you which you’d immediately destroy.

“What is it this time?” You sigh. “Is it something that I am supposed to eat? Because if it is i’d like it if you took to the servants quarters and give it to them and not-“

“It’s not food related my princess. It’s a letter.” When you look towards the maid you can see the sad expression clear on her face. This maid has brought you many of Aemonds attempts at reconciliation.

“What is your name?” It does not give you any sort of pleasure when the maid looks shocked at the fact a princess is asking for the name of a maid. “Its not a trick question I want to know your name.”

“Klarisa my princess. My name is Klarissa.”

“Klarisa do you think I should read the letter my bastard of a husband as written to me?” You look carefully at Klarisas face, the decision of your lifetime hanging in a mere maids hands.

“To be honest with you my lady…” Klarisa takes a deep breath and puts on a sympathetic face. You appreciate that she wishes to give you honesty, though that sympathetic face makes you want to punch her. “What the prince did was inexcusable after the way the two of you acted before… her. You got to have a husband who loves you and cared for you, that itself is much more than most of the women who are forced into a marriage can hope for. The prince is trying to make up for it and is also respective your boundaries. Not many could say that they got to have a husband who did even one of those things. So yes my princess, I believe you should read the letter.” You take a deep breathe and loosen your hands, which seemed to have clenched so tightly your nails all but pierce into your palms.

“Give me the letter then leave. If you see the prince, do not tell him that you for once got me to think about even looking at his weak apologies. Just put your head down, and walk away. Do you understand Klarisa?”

“Yes my princess.” Klarisa moves swiftly to the doors to your chambers, opening it and moving forward, only to stop for a moment and turn on her heels towards to. “I hope you get what it is you seek my princess. For your own sake.” She turns back to the door and closes it behind her, leaving you alone with the letter in your hand which already feels like it’s burning you. Yet you prevail, and slowly open the letter to read it.

Dear ñuha jorrāelagon,

I will not waste my breath in attempting to gain your forgiveness. I know better than anyone that when you stick your mind to something you keep it that way. Though what I will say is the truth, which I know will hurt you and anger you more than anything but i know it’s what you wish to hear.

Alys was a woman I believed to be falling in love with. She was something what I believed I needed in my life. A woman to be docile and to whisper all the things I needed to hear in my ear. Though after your letter, it became my wake up. I cut off all contact with Alys after realising how much I hurt you. I regret that woman everyday I have not been with you. You are the only woman I need to be with. I love that you are not docile and will not take any man’s shit (as you so clearly and often tended to put it). I love that you challenge me and encourage the debates we so often hold. I love you Rhaella, more than any woman before in my life. I’m sorry it took another woman and the life of our child for me to realise it. I understand wholeheartedly if you wish to never speak to me again. But I hope with this letter, if you ever do decide to read this, which after all my other attempts seem unlikely, you at least know that there will not be a single day that I do not wish that I did not kill that woman when I killed all the other strongs. You are my life. My world. And I hope you know that.

From, Aemond Targaryen

You’ve never felt like you wanted to cry this much since you lost your sweet baby. You can feel the tears leaking down your face the entire time you read Aemonds words. Some of your tears drip onto the page, leaving some of the words to blur together into illegible blobs of black ink.

You feel the urge to destroy the letter. The same urge and desire you felt when you got into contact with all of Aemonds other gifts. Though you resist this time, and instead of destroying the letter, you smooth it out and place it delicately under the mass amounts of pillows that seem to always near take over your bed. That night, for the first night of the many you’d stayed in your room during your isolation period, you slept the whole night in your bed with no nightmares to wake you screaming.

———

When Aemond was standing in the corridor in the shadows and hadn’t picked up on any whispers from the maids passing him of any destruction or damage coming from your chambers, he assumed you must have kept the letter.

He does not hold though any hope that you read it. For all he knows you’ve simply just ignored it or ripped it and used it to keep your fire alight.

When he is waiting for the maid to come out of your room though, he could not help but feel hopeful when the maid takes longer than usual to come out of your room. “Well?” He asks as he steps from the shadows when the maid eventually comes out and nearly passes him. He does not dare to actually ask whether or not you took it. Even though he so selfishly wish to help hold her down and demand for

It surprises him and angers him when the maid looks at him and yet does not acknowledge him. What did you tell her? What does she know?

Aemond grabs the arm of the maid as she attempts to pass him without any real acknowledgment. “Your prince asked you a question.” He growls. He nearly felt sympathy for the woman when she looked at him with fear in her eyes. But he is not Aegon. He can control his desires towards the maids.

“The princess asked that I not speak to you. Please let go of my arm, my prince…” The maid half begs. Aemond lets go of her arm reluctantly after a moment of thinking. Why would you tell the maid to not talk to him? Maybe you really read the letter and do not wish to appear weak to him? Though only if you knew that you could never be weak in his eyes, his strong independent wife.

[dreamdragonkadia]

Helllooo me again 😉

another idea i had was maybe comfort for percy after tartarus nightmares. Again mortal reader and her not really understanding but still supports him unconditionally.

Or her writing a love letter for him in full greek since she knows it's easier for him for his birthday and him just loving her for it. And maybe a sally cameo and just her seeing her boy being in love and being loved inreturn

Or annabeth meeting mortal reader and her just being a protective best friend and seeing mortal reader carrying ambrosia for percy and how loving their relationship is and annabeth giving her approval

Again no pressure !!

If you need any ideas I'm definitely your girl

Have a lovely day/night

That first idea is just so cute, so don’t mind if I do!! 💕 If you ever have more ideas or little prompts, don’t hesitate to send them my way—I live for this kind of stuff! My inbox is always open for suggestions, thoughts, or just a chat. Hehe, thank you for reading! p,jackson x mortal!reader

It was strange, something you couldn’t quite wrap your head around. What could press so heavily on Percy’s mind that it haunted his sleep? The way he would jolt awake from a nightmare, his chest heaving like he’d been running for miles. Or how his body twisted and turned in bed, as though he was trying to escape something terrible in his dreams. Then there were the times he cried. Silent, heart-wrenching tears that you’d catch only because you stayed awake longer than you should, reading by the dim light of a bedside lamp.

Those nights, you were always there for him. You didn’t understand what plagued him, not fully, but you didn’t need to. The scars of his past, invisible though they were, weren’t something you needed him to justify. You never pushed him to talk about it if he wasn’t ready.

There were moments you’d try, cautiously, to ask. “Do you want to tell me about it?” you’d murmur, your voice as soft as the moonlight filtering through the curtains. And when he withdrew, retreating into himself like a tide pulling away from shore, you let it go. You held no grudges for his silence. Instead, you’d gather him in your arms, his head tucked beneath your chin, and press kiss after kiss to his hair, each one a quiet assurance that you were there. Your fingers would trace slow circles on his back, a rhythm that said everything you didn’t have the words to express.

It didn’t happen every night, but it happened enough. Enough that you noticed the pattern. Enough that you knew something dark clung to him—a scar so deep it refused to heal. There was one night, though, when he muttered something in his sleep, his voice broken: Tartarus.

You didn’t ask him about it the next day. You wanted to. God, you wanted to. But the fear of prying too deeply, of pulling him into memories he wasn’t ready to face, held you back. Instead, you let it sit, another piece of the puzzle you didn’t need to complete to love him.

And then there were the good nights. Nights when his soft laughter filled the room as the two of you lay tangled on the couch, watching bad movies and eating burnt popcorn because he always left it in the microwave too long. Or when he’d ramble about the ocean, his eyes lighting up like the waves under the sun, and you’d find yourself smiling so wide your cheeks hurt.

You knew the nightmares were part of him, but so were these moments. And maybe you couldn’t chase the monsters from his dreams, but you could be his anchor. You could remind him, in the quiet of the night and the brightness of the day, that he wasn’t alone. That whatever Tartarus was, or whatever battles raged in his mind, he didn’t have to face them by himself.

You’d remind him, with every whispered word, every gentle touch, every second spent by his side: he had you. Always.

[lamemaster]

Jingle Bells and Chaotic Elves

Request: @wareagleofthemountain I’m new to your blog and love your writing! If it’s okay, may I request a fic where Glorfindel and fem reader are newly weds and, as they begin to build their life together, reader gets a letter from her friend who is a horse trainer. The friend informs her that they have a colt in need of adoption and the reader knows that Glorfindel is in need of a horse. So they take a trip to pick up little baby Asfaloth and raise him! Thank you! 💕

Genre: fluff

Pairing: Glorfindel x Reader

Summary: How best boi Asfaloth came to bear the canonical bells

AN: Thank you for requesting this! I am sorry for being so late but writing animals is something I am still learning! I hope you like it🐴he's bby I love him (had to go back and add asfaloth pov becoz I'm stupid)

It had to be a surprise. Convincing Glorfindel to stay behind while you traveled was no easy feat, and escaping the entirety of Rivendell, an unrivaled hub of gossip proved an even harder bargain.

The only viable plan was to leave during his week of patrol duty, a decision you knew would be a shock upon his return. But you dearly hoped the letter you left, reassuring him of your safe return, would ease the blow.

Once your errand was done, you would seek his forgiveness. A month away, you promised him in that note. Surely, he could wait just that long.

The surprise? A colt.

Your friend Gwendel of Rohan had written to you urgently, detailing how he’d stumbled across the abandoned creature during an evening stroll. Despite his best efforts to find the mare or its owner, no one came forward.

Some had tried to claim the colt, but its fiery temper rejected them all, even Gwendel, whose every act of kindness had been met with resistance. Worse still, the colt refused to eat, its health deteriorating rapidly.

Normally, such an errand would have fallen to Elladan or Elrohir, but Gwendel’s letter stirred something within you.

Glorfindel.

Your beloved had never fully accepted another horse after losing his steed in the First Age. Asfaloth’s absence haunted him, and though his rebirth had brought him back to Middle-earth, his companion’s loss weighed heavy on his heart. Glorfindel grieved for Asfaloth as a father might for a lost child.

Gwendel’s letter had to be a sign. A colt abandoned in the world might find the love it needed in Glorfindel and perhaps offer him some solace in return.

That was your plan.

Until you reached Rohan.

The frail creature that greeted you from the corner of Gwendel’s stable wasn’t just any colt.

It was Asfaloth.

The beautiful snow-white steed that Glorfindel still mourned stood trembling in his stall. The colt’s amber eyes fixed on you, brimming with a light of recognition.

And then, as if time and space had never separated you, he stumbled toward you on wobbly legs, butting his head against your leg.

“Asfaloth,” you whispered, tears pooling in your eyes as your fingers tangled in his soft mane. “It’s truly you.” Bending down, you kissed the top of his head, your heart soaring with love and joy.

You couldn’t wait to tell Glorfindel. He would be over the moon.

That was the plan.

Until the mountain dumped its snows onto Rohan, trapping you there.

From weeks to months, your surprise turned into an adventure, long surpassing Glorfindel’s begetting day. The snow had made travel impossible, and you could only hope that the eventual reunion with Asfaloth would soothe any ire Glorfindel might feel at your absence.

Nestled beside Asfaloth in the stable, you braided his soft mane. His health had improved greatly, thanks to Gwendel’s care and thanks to Asfaloth finally allowing himself to eat.

“Oh dear, I hope Glorfindel isn’t moping in the halls of Imladris,” you mused aloud, to which Asfaloth unhelpfully shook his head, undoing the braids you had just finished.

“I know you miss him,” you sighed, feeding him a carrot. “But you have to be patient. You’re still too young to travel in winter.”

But Asfaloth had other plans.

Without warning, he stood and dashed out of the stable, hooves crunching over the snow. You ran after him, calling his name as the rest of the stable looked on in chaos.

And then he heard it—the sound of bells.

It was the bells he had heard first. The delicate tinkling of your bracelets, clear and familiar, ringing through the snow-covered valley.

Glorfindel had found you.

It had been months since you left, and while the logical choice might have been to wait for your return, Glorfindel’s patience had faltered. At the first clearing of snow, he had set out from Rivendell. If you were in Rohan, he would spend the winter with you.

And there you were, your laughter and bells filling the air.

But as his gaze shifted, his knees nearly buckled.

Standing before him was a colt. A tiny, beautiful Asfaloth neighing in excited greeting. Bells wrapped around the colt’s neck jingled with every delighted prance as Glorfindel knelt to hug his long-lost friend.

“You followed me once again?” Glorfindel whispered, his voice trembling as he knelt before the colt, his arms encircling Asfaloth.

The small steed, now nestled against his chest, let out a soft, contented whinny as Glorfindel buried his face in Asfaloth’s snowy mane.

The bells tied to the colt’s neck jingled faintly with the movement, their merry sound mingling with the shallow breaths of a warrior brought to his knees by the return of his oldest friend.

“You found me,” Glorfindel murmured, his voice breaking as his hand trailed down the colt’s neck. “Even after all this time… you found me.”

Behind Asfaloth, your bracelets jingled similar to Asfaloth's as you ran to meet him. The sight of you and Asfaloth together filled Glorfindel’s heart with a joy he hadn’t felt in ages.

“I thought I’d lost you forever,” Glorfindel whispered. His tears fell freely now, vanishing into Asfaloth’s pristine coat. “But you followed me, as you always have.”

Smiling through the tears shining in his eyes, he cradled Asfaloth closer, his hand stroking the colt’s mane. When you reached him, arms wide, Glorfindel rose to meet you, his golden hair catching the sunlight as you embraced.

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper. “You brought him back to me.”

“In the wake of your begetting day, I fear my present was delayed,” you said, wrapping your arms around him. “But it seems you found him by yourself.”

“There is no celebration without you,” he replied, his hand lifting to caress your cheek, flushed from the cold and his nearness. “This is the best present of all. I shall be forever grateful.”

Before either of you could say more, Asfaloth squirmed between you, nudging Glorfindel insistently with his head and making his annoyance at being ignored well-known.

Glorfindel’s hand trembled as he stroked Asfaloth’s mane, his touch gentle yet desperate, as though afraid the colt might vanish if he let go.

“You’re my dearest friend,” he said to the colt, his words cracking under the weight of his emotions. “My brave Asfaloth. You’ve returned to me, and I will never let you go again.”

The colt nickered in response, leaning into Glorfindel’s touch.

Months later ~

Chuckling, Glorfindel reached into his satchel for yet another apple, discreetly feeding it to the colt. “What’s with the bells?” he asked, as though to distract you from his indulgence.

Surrounded by the fresh blooms of spring, you laughed, watching Asfaloth now a lively yearling attempt to stomp on an irritating bee buzzing too close to his hooves.

The memory of his infancy in Rohan came rushing back. The trembling colt, spooked by every shadow and sound, fleeing in a desperate, mad dash.

Whatever sorrow had clung to him, whatever shadow had haunted his young heart, had left him terrified and alone, wandering the dark woods.

The bells had been your idea.

You started small, looping one around his neck, letting it chime softly with every step he took.

The sound startled him at first, but soon, the gentle, repetitive ringing became a companion to his movements. A constant he could rely on.

With time, you tied more bells to his halter and to the saddle as he grew. You ran with him, letting the bells ring in harmony with your laughter, teaching him to associate their sound not with fear but with joy and safety.

The bells became a lullaby of sorts, drowning out the forest and glum world that once weighed on him and masking the harsher sounds of the dark he’d feared.

He stopped flinching at every rustling leaf or snapping twig. Step by step, he grew braver, the chiming bells now a comforting melody that guided him toward home.

But such tales were not to be shared with Glorfindel. This lifetime did not deserve such sorrow.

Instead, you smiled, shaking your wrist so the bells on it chimed in harmony with Asfaloth’s. The colt perked up at the familiar sound, his ears twitching as he trotted closer to nuzzle you.

“He’s such a pretty boy,” you said, stroking Asfaloth’s snowy coat with unabashed fondness. “We just wished to match our beauty.”

Glorfindel laughed, a sound rich and bright, as he slipped an arm around your waist. He tilted his head, gazing at you and Asfaloth with a softness that made your heart flutter.

“You’re both too beautiful for me to bear,” he teased gently, resting his forehead briefly against yours. “How is a simple elf supposed to compete with this?”

You chuckled, the bells jingling again as Asfaloth nudged between you both. Glorfindel turned his attention back to the colt, scratching him behind the ears. “It suits you both perfectly,” he added with a fond smile.

And so it was that Asfaloth, the steed who would one day carry the Ringbearer to Imladris, came to bear the sweet sound of bells

Asfaloth wandered, searching for his master.

He was smaller now, his once-proud form reduced to something frail and unfamiliar. The world seemed vast, darker than he remembered, and far more unkind.

He searched the forests, retracing the steps of his past, the places where he had once woken as a youngling. He had expected to find his master nearby, but the only thing that greeted him was the haunting echo of a distant horn. Startled, he had bolted, fear carrying him into the depths of the unknown.

For weeks, he roamed, driven by a desperate need to find the hidden city, the glimmering sanctuary where his lord resided. His heart clenched with unease at every shadow. When the forest buzzed with life, he would whine softly for his master, unable to keep the yearning at bay. But in the eerie silence of the darker woods, he dared not make a sound, fearful of what might lurk there.

His search came to a halt when he encountered a human.

The man had found him and, against Asfaloth’s will, led him away from his wandering. The human’s presence was strange and unwelcome, but Asfaloth was weary.

His strength had been diminished in this fragile form, and fear gnawed at him, keeping him tethered to the company of the human’s herd.

But he would not forget.

No matter how much time passed, no matter how many comforting gestures the mares or the other humans offered, Asfaloth could not accept their touch. His soul burned with loyalty, and he refused to bow to the men who came to claim him.

He fought them off, biting and rearing. He ran from the mares who tried to soothe him with soft nuzzles. Only one was worthy of that closeness. His master.

And yet, exhaustion wore him down.

One cold morning, the frost nipping at his bones, Asfaloth felt hands combing gently through his mane. Too weary to resist, too tired to keep fighting, he leaned into the touch.

It was warm.

For a moment, he allowed himself to succumb to the comfort, to let go of the ever-present ache in his heart. He had grown so cold, so terribly cold. And he missed his master with every fiber of his being.

Then, a soft sound stilled him. The faint, familiar chime of bells.

He froze, his breath hitching as a scent drifted into his senses, sweet and unmistakable. His heart surged as the scent enveloped him, filling him with a bittersweet hope.

It wasn’t his lord.

But it was you.

You, the one dearest to his master. The companion who had been his lord’s closest friend. The bringer of treats, the gentle presence he had trusted so deeply in the past.

At once, the cold vanished from his heart.

For Asfaloth knew.

He knew that if you were here, then his master could not be far behind. His lord—the one he had been seeking would come.