#hoping some more familiar faces grace these halls

[tbaluver]

hello there ! firstly, i wanted to tell you that i genuinely love your writing bc of the amazing characterization of the lnds boys !!! i wanted to request smth myself <3 feel free to ignore this if it's smth not within your taste !

i just recently thought that it would be cute to have a reader with a disney princess-like voice singing lullabies ! it could be their child or someone they babysit ! you could do any of the lnds boys that react to this but personally i'd like to see zayne (mainly bc he'd probably see reader at the hospital's kids area doing this !) and sylus, please ! thank you for your writing, we adore it ! ฅᐢ..ᐢ₎♡

When They Hear You Singing A Lullaby- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre: fluff fluff a/n: eeeee anonnie i'm so happy to hear you love my writings it always makes me day !! im always grateful and love your guys support for my silly writings ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡) i hope this is alright and that you enjoy this anonnie ! and also this emoticon is so cute omg i'm going to use this often ฅᐢ..ᐢ₎♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

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Xavier:

You thought he would be sound asleep when he was over at your place when you were babysitting one of your co-workers baby. The baby wasn't necessarily fussy at all with you but it started crying because it couldn't go to sleep. It woke Xavier up and he followed the sound of the crying down the hall until he overheard you singing a lullaby.

He would peek through the door to hear and watch you put the baby back to sleep. He watches in pure adoration, a soft smile spreading across his face. After you gently set the baby down, he approaches you slowly, his arms wrapping around your waist and his chin rests on your shoulder. "You sang so beautifully," He whispers softly, careful not to disturb the baby. "Can you sing me to sleep next?"

"As if you need any help sleeping" You joked but you did it anyway. You sang a soft lullaby as he rested his head on your chest. He drifted off to sleep almost instantly, a soft smile on his face, before you could even finish the song

Zayne:

While waiting for Zayne to finish his shift at the hospital, you received a text from him apologizing for the delay; he needed to discuss an upcoming operation with his colleagues. You texted him to take his time and began exploring the familiar hospital halls. As you wandered, you found yourself in the children’s area, admiring the colorful murals that brighten the space. Your growing hunger led you in search of a vending machine, but instead, you encountered a crying familiar child patient. You remember this child when you collected their drawings for the charity event you and Zayne helped with.

You crouch down to meet eye level with the child asking if they needed any assistance or if they needed a nurse but they simply shook their head saying that they can't find the nurse and that they can't sleep. They tugged your arm and asked if you can tell them a story or sing them a lullaby and you were more than happy to help out.

After finishing his shift, Zayne looked for you in the work hallway, but it was empty. He texted you but got no response, so he followed your shared location. As he approached, he heard you singing a familiar children's lullaby. Peeking through the door, he saw your back turned as you sang. He didn't want to interrupt but wanted to hear the whole song for himself too, captivated by your delicate and graceful voice. He was literally melting on the spot as he heard you sing. A smile would slowly spreading across his lips.

He's heard you humming before, usually when your doing your work or when you were helping him out in the kitchen. You let your mind drift off just a little bit as you hummed some of your favorite melodies. He already knew you had a beautiful voice but every time he tried to comment on it, your cheeks would heat up in embarrassment.

Lost in thought, Zayne was startled when you both unexpected crossed paths. You jumped as you emerged from the room, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment, worried that he had heard everything. He spoke first, "There is no reason to be flustered. I think you have a beautiful voice and it's certainly comforting. Whenever you are comfortable I would like to hear more of it."

Rafayel:

He was over at your house while you babysat one of your co-workers baby for the day. He asked if you needed any help when the baby started crying but you said it was okay as you ran off the go tend to the baby while he continued sketching on his sketchbook.

That's when he hears your voice. He sets aside his pencil and sketchbook, stopping his work to peek through the doorway. There, he watches you sing a lullaby while gently cradling the baby. He would think that your voice was beautiful and enchanting that seemed to effortlessly captivate all who hears it.

When you gently put the baby back down to it's bed, he'll be upset. Not literally. But upset that he hasn't heard you sing him a lullaby or ever heard you sing first or at all. He would pout and want you to sing him a lullaby immediately.

When you do, he falls asleep on your shoulder while he was sketching so when he wakes up he thinks your secretly full Leumurian because he hasn't heard a beautiful voice like that years ago.

Sylus:

While Sylus was away on business, you let him know that you were busy taking care of your coworker's baby at your shared home. To be prepared, you had Luke and Kieran on standby in case you needed a break. When the baby began to cry, you swiftly picked them up, cradling them and singing a soothing song. Meanwhile, Luke and Kieran lingered in the hallway, and one of them decided to record your sweet singing and send it to Sylus, giggling as they did so knowing that he would love this.

As night fell and your coworker came to collect their baby, Sylus arrived shortly afterward. “Two little crows mentioned you can sing, sweetie. Is that true?” A blush spread across your cheeks, realizing that the twins had set you up once again. "I wish I could have been there to hear it myself. A video is not the same to hearing your mesmerizing voice in person."

Although he finds it amusing and adorable, he would ask if you could sing him a song to help him unwind because the business he dealt with was stressful. He wouldn't pressure you to sing him a lullaby but he would reassure you that your voice was already one of his favorite sounds already and nothing would ruin that.

That seemed to ease your worries, and as you both settled into bed, you let him unwind. You sang the same lullaby to him that you’d sung to the baby. Your gentle voice was incredibly soothing, wrapping him in a warmth and coziness he hadn’t felt in a long time. Despite his usual trouble with sleep, your voice made his eyelids grow heavy, a contented smile spreading across his lips as he drifted off.

It was no surprise that he loved hearing you sing and you having this skill made him think that it made you more beautiful to him than you already were.

[thekissofaphrodite]

Maroon

Clarisse La Rue X Daughter of Iris!Reader

Summary: A lipstick mark resulted in a rather hasty rumour about you and clarisse.

Warnings: Kissing? Cursing :P (Remind me if I missed one)

Author's note: I wrote this at exactly 1 in the morning with no shame, but im here to serve since we don't have anough Clarrise FFs🫡

——

You two always ended up like this.

With your legs wrapped around Clarisse's waist, your red lipstick smudge with marks and kisses along her neck, and Your polished nails tangled on her soft curly hair.

Apparently, You noticed this pattern happening everyday. Clarrise coming to you to ramble about a her supposed 'bad day' , then, you comforting her, caressing her cheeks until it turns out into a hot makeout session Inside of her cabin.

you and clarrise would get multiple violation warnings from chiron, but little to none from Mr. D who even had the nerve to point out one of your hickeys.

--

It was another day in camp half blood, and your job was to teach younger campers how to handle a sword.

"Hold the sword properly— No no no. Not like that Jerry—"

"MY name's Gary—"

"Same thing"

" Grip it tightly, and swing it to your opponent, now there's a trick, you can maim so that they lose their focus and then you can attack...." While you kept teaching the children who looked at you with their puppy eyes, Clarisse watched you from afar, Her lips curled into a soft, patent smile. Of course, you caught her eyes and winked, leaving her blushing madly.

It wasn't even 2 minutes before five of the kids you were teaching started giggling to each other and whispering coherently.

You looked back at them with your browser raised.

"Is something funny?" You asked.

"Nothing!"

——

"You're gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous," Clarrise whispered as her lips trailed down your neck, A soft moan escaped from your lips as you caught a small smirk gracing her lips.

Her face was full of lipstick marks, including her neck that almost looked like a graffiti wall with your maroon lipstick staining her neck.

"Please give me more—"

You gasped and flinched as you heard three loud knocks on the door.

Clarisse, who was kissing the valley of your breasts shot a look to the door, She muttered a string of curses under her breath and immediately stormed after the one who dared to interrupt her and her lovely girlfriend...But no one knows that you two were in a relationship.

"No, NO! Clarisse-"

Before you could even grab her, she swung the door open, Her eyes glaring at the person with rage.

But, surprisingly. No one was there, You were greeted by the cool midnight breeze.

Clarrise muttered another string of curses before slamming the door shut and cupping your cheeks, Kissing you passionately again.

At that moment, you coulve sworn you saw a familiar silhouette hiding from the distance peaking at you and clarrise, brushing your thoughts aside. You kept kissing her until you reached her bed bunk.

——

The next day was a mess.

Campers looked at you like you were some prey. Something was odd.

as you sat at the mess hall, trying to scan the crowd for your friends but they weren't there.

As soon as the Ares girl stepped into the mess hall, you immediately knew why people stared at you two, One of clarrise's half siblings decided to play a prank on her but instead caught you two in a rather...private moment.

As you watch clarrise's half sibling smirk, your eyes catch the sight that everyone sees.

The Scarlet Mark of your maroon lipstick on her neck.

A/N: Hey loves!! This is a short clarisse FF since I wrote this in a rush (don't ask why) :P, Since we don't have more of Dior's clarrise I decided to write this one!! <333 I hope you like it, and don't be afraid to submit a request!!

[newobsessionweekly]

Secret signals

Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist

Tim Bradford x fem!reader Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: You and Tim have been best friends for as long as you can remember. Little did you know he feels the same way about you.

Warning: None. Pure fluff. Not proofread yet

Fluff

A/N: Yes, i'm back with another fluff. And yes it's shorter than the last one (i hope so) . Anyways, I love this one. I love all of them and I hope you enjoy it as well! Also i suck at title so forgive me. I have a surprise coming up so stay tuned. Also, the feedback is always welcome and would help me out. Have a wonderful day, bubs. and lots of love 🫧 Requested: Yes Words: 2.3k GIF not mine, credits to the owner.

You made your way through the crowded streets, heading to the police station, a direct order and classified information dictating your day.

Inside the station, the air is alive with activity, officers bustling about as they go about their duties. The scent of coffee and paperwork fills the air, a familiar aroma that feels like home. You navigate the labyrinthine halls with ease, your footsteps echoing off the walls as you make your way toward a specific desk.

And there's Tim, your best friend and partner in crime. He's every bit as striking as you remember, with his broad shoulders and commanding presence. His piercing blue eyes hold a hint of world-weariness, a testament to the countless battles he's fought both on and off the streets of LA.

You couldn't help but smile at the sight, Tim frowning over some files, trying to find a way to catch that woman. Gladly for him, you were sent there to give them a hand.

Playfully, you snuck up on him, sliding into the chair beside Tim with a mischievous grin. "Hey there, partner." you greeted him, nudging his shoulder.

Tim's head shot up, a surprised, almost intelligible, smile breaking through his expression as he grumbles something indecipherable, but you know him well enough to recognize the hint of amusement in his eyes. "Can't a guy get some peace and quiet around here?" he mutters.

"Don't be so exited to see me, I might think you like me or something." you played the sarcastic card as you reached over to snatch the file from his hands.

"So, what brings you to the lion's den today?" Tim asks, arching an eyebrow in curiosity as he leans against his desk, arms crossed.

You lean in closer, your fingers brushing against his arm as you secretively whispered, "I heard there's a handsome police officer in need of my assistance. Thought I'd drop by and grace you all with my presence," you quip, earning an amused snort from him.

A playful smirk crosses Tim's lips as his breath winds warm against your ear. "Right, because we all know this place wouldn't be the same without you."

As Tim leans in closer, his voice low and husky, you find yourself drawn to him like a moth to a flame, captivated by the warmth of his presence and the depth of emotion in his eyes. And as he grins at you, that familiar twinkle of mischief dancing in his gaze, you can't help but feel a surge of affection for the man who's been by your side through thick and thin. You chuckle, knowing Tim's gruff exterior hides a soft spot for you. "Actually, I'm here on official business," you admit, your expression turning serious.

As you steal a moment to admire Tim, you can't help but notice how the dim light of the station casts a soft glow on his rugged features, accentuating the lines of his jaw and the shadow of stubble along his chin. His tousled hair falls across his forehead in a way that makes your fingers itch to reach out and brush it away, but you resist the urge.

Tim's interest is piqued as he straightens up, all traces of humor fading from his face. "What kind of business?" he asks, his tone more serious now.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself before continuing "Well, you know how my department has been working on that recent string of burglaries? I think I might have stumbled upon some information that could help you catch the woman behind it," you explain, your words coming out in a rush as you anxiously await Tim's reaction.

Tim's expression shifts, his eyes narrowing as he processes your words. "You think you've found something?" he asks, his voice tinged with a mix of skepticism and intrigue.

You nod eagerly, a surge of adrenaline coursing through you as you showed him the files. "Yeah, I've been going through the data from our latest investigations, and I noticed a pattern," you explain, your excitement palpable.

His lips twitch into a half-smile, a flicker of pride evident in his eyes as he looks at you. "You're amazing, you know that?" he says, his voice low and sincere.

Tim's eyes soften as he looks at you, a warmth radiating from him that makes your heart skip a beat. You find yourself getting lost in the depths of his piercing blue eyes, unable to tear your gaze away.

There's a subtle warmth in his touch, a lingering of his hand on your arm as he gestures or a light brush of his fingers against yours when passing papers. It's a touch that speaks volumes, conveying a depth of affection that goes beyond mere friendship.

Despite your best efforts to keep your feelings in check, you can't deny the way your heart races at the sight of him, or the way your skin tingles with electricity whenever your hands accidentally brush against each other. It's as if every touch, every fleeting glance, only serves to deepen the unspoken connection between you, binding you together in a way that defies explanation.

Your voice barely more than a breath as you lean into his touch, savoring the feeling of his fingers against your skin. In that moment, it feels like the rest of the world fades away, leaving just the two of you in your own little bubble of warmth and affection.

As you and Tim discuss the details of the case, a beautiful woman approaches with a stack of papers in hand. "Sir, I finished up the paperwork from this morning's arrest," she says, flashing a bright smile, confident and proud of herself.

You switched looks between the woman and Tim, admiring him and how his muscles were more visible. He switched in his seat to face Chen, as written on the tag. With one hand still laying on your waist, slowly moving up and down, sending cold shivers down your spine despite the warmth, he took the papers from her with his free hand and inspected them with a serious expression.

"Quit frowning, you'll get even more wrinkles." you told him as your elbows rested on his desk, your hands cupping your cheeks. You can't resist the urge to tease Tim, your playful banter a familiar comfort amidst the tension of the moment.

You smiled at him as he ignored your remark, he turns at the woman nodding his head, acknowledging her with a grunt. "Officer Chen, this is Y/N," he introduces, gesturing towards you. "She's an old friend of mine, works in the forensic department."

Lucy offers you a friendly smile and extends her hand. "I'm Lucy. Nice to meet you," she says warmly.

You shake her hand with a smile of your own. "Likewise," you reply, noting the earnestness in Lucy's eyes. "So this is your rookie." you turned to your best friend and then your attention focused on his rookie once more, "Tim speaks about you all the time."

Tim clears his throat, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "Well, we should get going," he says, his voice a tad too loud in the suddenly awkward silence. "We've got patrol duty."

Angela overhears your name and practically materializes at Tim's desk, her curiosity piqued. "Why did no one tell me Y/N is here?" she asks, her eyes wide with interest.

Before you could think, you jump from your seat, missing Tim's warmth as you embraced Officer Lopez in a tight hug "Honey, glad to see you. It's been too long." you told her, gently caressing her back as you withdrew from the hug.

Pulling back, Angela's gaze flickering between you and Tim with a knowing glint in her eye. "I know, I've been busier than ever," she says with a chuckle. "But I might have some free time tonight. Gotta go, but I'll give you a call!"

Angela shows your best friend a mischievous grin as he clenches his jaw, uncomfortable at the attention you received. "Boot, prepare the shop for patrol." he barked at Lucy.

"Yes, sir." she nodded, following Angela's steps.

As you gathered your belongings, Tim could calmly breathe as the two of you had been left alone. It wasn't the fact he didn't adore your friendliness and caring side, he was jealous when he had to share that with anyone.

"Hey, uh," he called out, his tone tinged with an underlying nervousness.

Turning to face him, you couldn't help but notice the way his eyes seemed to search yours, as if seeking reassurance or perhaps something more.

"I was thinking," he began, his words trailing off for a moment before he cleared his throat and continued. "I was thinking we could grab a drink after our shift. You know, just to unwind."

His suggestion caught you off guard, and for a moment, you struggled to find the right words.

"That sounds great, Tim," you said, exited at the thought of escaping the daily chaos "We should ask Angela too."

As soon as the words left your mouth, his expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features before he masked it with a forced smile. "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea," he replied, his tone betraying a hint of resignation.

Lucy couldn't help but steal glances back at you and as she made her way to the patrol shop. "So, Angela" she began, her voice filled with unstoppable curiosity " What's the deal with them?"

Angela chuckles softly as she saw the spark in Chen's eyes "Oh, they've been friends for as long as I can remember. They're practically inseparable."

Lucy's eyebrows shoot up in surprise "You wouldn't tell he'd have friends… at all."

Lopez helps Lucy with the bags as they made their way to the shop "Oh, they go way back."

"Really?"

"Let's just say there's a lot more to their relationship than meets the eye," she says cryptically, enjoying the opportunity to tease Tim.

Lucy's eyes widen in realization, her gaze flickering back to you and Tim standing by the entrance of the station. Tim's smile is wide, his eyes lighting up like torches as your cheeks rose a bright, red colour "You don't mean…" she begins, trailing off as the pieces start to fall into place.

Angela simply nods, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Exactly," she replies, her tone filled with amusement. "But don't take my word for it. Just keep an eye on them, and you'll see for yourself."

As Lucy and Tim hit the streets on patrol, he is back to his grumpy self, his jaw clenched as he drove through the streets of LA. His rookie tries to lighten the mood with small talk, but Tim's responses are short and curt.

"My private life is none of your business."

"Come on, Tim," Officer Chen insisted, casting a sidelong glance at him. "You've been avoiding this conversation all day. What's going on with you and Y/N?"

Tim lets out a frustrated sigh, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "There's nothing going on," he replies tersely, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

The rookie raises an eyebrow, unconvinced by his response. "Bull," she retorts. "I've seen the way you look at her. You can't hide it from me."

Tim's jaw tightens even further, his knuckles turning white against the dark leather of the steering wheel. "Look, Officer Chen," he begins, his voice strained. "I don't know what you think you saw, but Y/N and I are just very close friends. That's it."

Lucy lets out an exasperated sigh, frustration bubbling up inside her. "You can't tell me you don't feel something for her. I've never seen you light up the way you do when she's around."

Tim's expression softens slightly at her words, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features before he quickly masks it with a scowl. "Feelings don't matter," he says brusquely. "Even if I did have feelings for her, which I don't, there's no way she feels the same way about me. I'm no dating material. "

Lucy shakes her head, her voice firm. "You're wrong, Tim," she says, her gaze unwavering. "You're worth more than you think, and Y/N knows that. You just have to give her a chance."

Tim falls silent, his thoughts swirling as he grapples with Lucy's words. Maybe she's right, he thinks, maybe he's been too quick to dismiss the possibility of something more with you. But the fear of ruining your friendship looms large in his mind, holding him back from taking that leap of faith.

He suddenly pulled the car on the right side, making Lucy frown. As she watched Tim forming Angela's number, a cloud of questions blurring the rookie's mind, eager to hear what he had to say.

"Hey, Angela." he began, a nervous edge creeping into his voice as he ran a hand through his hair "Listen, don't ask any questions, ok? If Y/N calls to invite you out tonight, please, just say no" his foot tapped impatiently as he awaited her response. "Thanks, I'll owe you one."

"What was that?" Lucy asked as Tim pocketed his phone and revved the engine.

"I just made sure I have a date with Y/N tonight." With a grin, he pulled back onto the road, leaving Lucy to process his unexpected move.

[bookwormjust]

Shadows and Remedies (established relationship with Azriel, you are a healer who go to some formation to multiplied your skills because their is new poisons in Prythian)

The days had become longer since you began your healer training, specializing in poisons and their antidotes. It was important work—critical, even. Poisoning had always been a threat in Prythian, and new, deadlier toxins were constantly surfacing. You’d taken it upon yourself to deepen your knowledge, learning how to manipulate and counteract the poisons that could harm your people. It wasn’t just for strangers, though. It was for your mate, Azriel, and for everyone you loved in the Inner Circle, who so often found themselves in dangerous situations.

But it meant long hours.

Your classes stretched late into the evening, and it wasn’t uncommon for you to be completely exhausted by the time you finished each night. The intricate work of studying toxins was mentally taxing, and there was always something new to learn—a more potent poison, a subtler symptom, a more complex cure.

Tonight was no different. The clock had just struck past 8pm, and the quiet halls of the training center were dimly lit, the day’s lessons weighing heavily on your mind. You stretched your sore muscles as you gathered your things, thoughts drifting to the townhouse where Azriel was likely waiting for you. You hadn’t seen him all day; both of you had been swept up in your respective responsibilities.

As you stepped outside, the cool evening breeze brushed against your skin, soothing the tension that had built up in your body. The stars twinkled overhead, but your focus was on getting home, seeing Azriel, and just… unwinding in his arms.

The walk through Velaris was peaceful, the Sidra shimmering nearby as you made your way back to the townhouse. Despite the long days, you felt fulfilled. Your training was important, and you knew it could make a difference—not just for the soldiers and spies who faced poisons in battle, but for anyone who might fall victim to such a cruel fate.

As you approached your home, a familiar figure emerged from the shadows, leaning casually against the front door. Azriel. His wings were tucked neatly behind him, his hazel eyes gleaming softly in the dim light. He was still dressed in his leathers, though his stance was relaxed, and there was a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched you approach.

"Hey, you," you called softly, a tired smile spreading across your face.

Azriel straightened, walking toward you with that fluid grace he always carried. "You’re late," he teased gently, though his voice was full of warmth. His eyes swept over you, assessing whether you were okay—whether the long day had taken too much of a toll on you.

You rolled your eyes, reaching for his hand as he came close. “Classes ran long,” you said, squeezing his fingers. “There’s always something new to learn about poisoning. I swear, they keep coming up with new ways to kill people.”

Azriel’s eyes darkened slightly at your words, but he pulled you closer, his wings extending slightly to shield you from the chill of the evening. "Which is why you’re doing this," he murmured, his voice low and serious. "You’re going to save lives."

The sincerity in his words sent a warmth through your chest. Azriel had always been your biggest supporter, and it meant everything to you that he understood how important this was. You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest for a moment, letting the steady beat of his heart calm the lingering tension in your body.

"Let’s get you inside," Azriel said softly, pulling back just enough to brush a kiss against your forehead. “I made dinner. It’s waiting for you.”

You looked up at him in surprise, a smile blooming on your face. “You cooked?”

He shrugged, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I tried. Don’t get your hopes up—it’s edible, at least.”

You laughed, the sound lifting the weight off your shoulders. “I’m sure it’s perfect.”

Inside, the townhouse was warm and inviting, the scent of whatever Azriel had made filling the air. You kicked off your shoes and let Azriel guide you to the dining table, where two plates were set out—simple, but thoughtful. As you sat down, Azriel poured you a glass of wine, his eyes watching you closely as you took a sip.

The evening passed in a blur of quiet conversation, the two of you catching up on your day. Azriel shared some of the details from his latest mission, though he kept the more dangerous parts vague—he never wanted to worry you unnecessarily. And you told him about the new poison you’d studied today, the rare herbs required for its antidote, and how you’d practiced creating the cure in class.

But as the night wore on, Azriel grew quieter, his gaze lingering on you longer than usual.

“What is it?” you asked softly, setting your glass down as you noticed the way he was looking at you.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair before meeting your eyes. “I just… I worry about you,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re learning all these things about poisons, and I know you’re doing it to help others, but… I can’t help but think about the risks. About how dangerous it can be.”

Your heart squeezed at his words. Azriel was rarely this open about his fears, but you could always sense them. His protectiveness over you was fierce, but it was also rooted in love.

“I know,” you whispered, reaching across the table to take his hand. “But I’m careful. And I’m doing this so that if—no, when—someone needs help, I’ll be able to give it. I’m doing this for you, too, Az.”

His gaze softened, and he squeezed your hand gently. “I know. I just… I can’t lose you.”

You stood up, moving around the table to slip into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. His arms immediately came around you, holding you close as you pressed your forehead against his. “You won’t lose me,” you murmured. “We protect each other, remember?”

Azriel nodded, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ll always protect you,” he promised, his voice fierce with determination.

“And I’ll protect you,” you replied, brushing a soft kiss against his lips.

For a long moment, you just held each other, the world outside fading away. In the quiet of your home, with the warmth of his body against yours, you felt safe. No matter how long your days were, no matter the dangers that came with your work, you knew you had this—Azriel, your love, your bond.

And that was all the protection you needed.

[eratosmusings]

Stolen Destiny (I)

Feyd Rautha x fem!reader

summary: Your father had been promised an heir. But the choices made by another stole that fate from you. Now it's your turn to take theirs.

warnings: adults only, all characters are over 18, smut in future chapters, blood, misogyny, dark themes, canon typical violence

word count: 1.2k

dividers / masterlist

“Again,” the swordmaster calls out. 

Gritting your teeth, you comply and fall back in position with the others. All this show for what?

With a nod, a troubadour began to pluck at the strings of her Baliset again. Your feet move in the familiar pattern, hilts of the swords bouncing against your hips. This is a waste of time.

Air stills as the rest of the women swirl away from you when another Baliset, one played with a bow sliding against its strings, joins the melody. The blades gnash against their sheaths in protest as you pull them free. They sing in the air, spinning easily between your fingers. Faster and faster they spin to match the skirts of the others now twirling in a circle around you until the music slows.

Once, twice you clink the blades’ together before you stab one into the plush stool in the center. Soft, slow pattering of the drums begins as you turn your back to it. The sword that remains drags its tip against the stone floor. The women bend a knee where they twirled. Sparks follow when you twist quickly.

This is the silliest part. You face a non existent opponent. Bringing your sword forward you drop into a defensive stance. The music rises and now you fight. Thrust, retreat, parrie, circle, advance, lunge, parrie, retreat, parrie, parrie. On and on it goes until you drop the sword. Your arm extends to the partner who does not exist and spin into nothing as the music reaches a crescendo. Chest heaving, you stay there and stare into the abyss until the music and the last of your dignity finally dies.

One of the girls is quick to retrieve and return the swords to you. In contrast, you’re slow to sheath them. You’re not eager to hear the word you know waits on his tongue. But you can only stall for so long.

You turn and face him. His voice cuts sharply across the silent hall. “Again.”

“You look ridiculous,” your father says under his breath so only you can hear. 

A gown, styled after your mother’s House, hung loosely on your frame, hiding any hint of the woman’s body beneath it. You feel ridiculous in it, but had thought it better than the other options. You should have known there was nothing you could have worn that would please him.

“My apologies, father.”

He scoffs. Nothing you do will ever please him.

It’s why you still cannot understand why this celebration is being held. He saw no honor in you being born, why would he see it in you coming of age? And to invite the likes of the Atreides? Was this all some masochistic need to see the son he should have had?

He says outloud, “Don’t embarrass me.” In your head you hear the word he leaves unspoken. ‘Again.’

The Major Houses arrive hours apart, the lucky few Minor Houses invited padding the time between. First is the Princess Irulan. Beautiful, graceful, kind. She compliments you, embracing you as if you’d been friends for life. And it feels as such. A connection left despite the broken destiny. There would be no marriage, but your father whispers that a friendship could offer nearly as much.

The Atreides come next. The Duke is handsome. His concubine, Lady Jessica, hides behind a veil. A Bene Gesserit indeed. Their son, Paul, is charismatic and not as handsome as his father, but more beautiful. He places a kiss on your hand, complimenting your dress and, as he calls them, your lovely eyes. They fall flat on you, but he seems to preen at your own compliment of his hair with a boyish grin painting his face.

Your father’s mood shifts when they and their people are led away to the castle. “Well done. Who knew you could charm so well.” The praise, as backhanded as it is, prickles your skin. “Let’s hope can you keep it up.”

At last, as the sun sets, the Harkonnens arrive. 

Pale and hairless, they're intimidating in their black attire. The Baron did not come, instead having his nephews take his place. The eldest, Count Glossu Rabban, is a giant of a man. From the stories you’ve heard, he's a sadist but an idiot. In his shadow lies the true danger. 

Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha. He’s deceptively slight next to his brother. But to be the chosen heir for a House like the Harkonnens there must be a brutal intelligence. Like Paul he takes your offered hand and presses his lips against it. They’re cold, chapped and rough. Unlike Paul he offers a grin that had no boyishness left. Blackened teeth bared, he tugs your arm harshly. You stumble forward into him. The hand he doesn’t hold presses against his chest to catch yourself, the one he does hold twisting out of his grip.

Warm metal presses against your throat. 

Something akin to amusement dances in his eyes as they rove over your. It’s the only sign that he probably doesn’t want to kill you. There’s a measured pause of his gaze, first on the blade then sinking lower, before it flits back to your own. His voice is raspy as he speaks, “It is a pleasure to be here for your coming of age, my lady.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to your cheek. The blade retreats. His eyes don’t leave yours as he releases you, flips it, and offers you the hilt. “A gift.”

“Thank you,” you say, hoping your voice holds firm, and reach for the dagger. 

A hand flashes from behind you with a plea of, “Allow me, my lady,” from a guard. 

Feyd, tisked, pulling it out of reach. “It is not a gift for you.”

You’re unceremoniously knocked aside when the guard steps between you. “She will be given it after an inspection.”

“An inspection is unnecessary,” you hiss, face warming. It was embarrassing enough he’d managed to catch you and your court so off guard. But to openly suspect him of intending harm, after such a brazen display of weakness, would cement the failure of any good relations between your houses. Your father would never forgive you.

“He poisons his blades,” the guard insists, not quietly enough.

Feyd-Rautha’s laugh is harsh. He turns to the Harkonnens behind him, lifts his arms, and bellows, “He worries I poison the blade!” It humors them. Rabben guffaws as if he’s never heard a funnier joke. When he faces you again his black grin is even wider. He stares down the guard as he slices the blade across his open palm. Blood soils the blade and drips on the stone beneath him. His eyes shift to you again. His tongue juts out. In a grotesque exhibition he licks it. “Death does not wait for you in my hands today.”

“I never suspected it did, Na-Baron,” you agree, stepping around the guard. He moves to stop you, but a harsh glare has him backing down. There’s still a chance to save this. Appease the Harkonnens and quell your father’s resentment you can feel rolling off him in waves behind you. Feyd offers the hilt again and you take it. The blade slices across your own palm without hesitation, your blood joining his on the stone. You extend your hand to him again.

a/n: my first fic! any thoughts would be appreciated 🥰

be my muse

next chapter

[kruegerspillow]

the look of love ; jayce talis pt.2

creators note: sigh i lowkey made this half awake so i hope this isnt too bad. still, i hope you all enjoy this !!

word count: 2k

warnings: reader is a Zaunite, Piltovans being a bunch of dicks and not proofread.

part one — part two — part three

Work.

His own work haunted him, always chasing him like a shadow; sticking onto him like a curse. He swore to act according to his reputation— the man of progress. But, despite the distractions: the gala, Mel, and Viktor— he can't ignore the people who won't stop breathing down his neck. It was frustrating, to say the least. Even the most sociable creatures get tired of the constant chattering, and today was no different.

Another gala, it was announced. Another, another and another. It’s the same every damn year.

But Jayce never complained. Will he ever? Probably not. He's now apart of the Council, anyway.

The bright lights nearly blinded Jayce upon entering the edifice. The chattering from others became clearly audible now. Jayce adjusted his tie, greeting one person to another as he made his way to the main hall. His legs moved on its own, easily squeezing in and out of the crowds.

“Yep, ah, yeah, sorry there.” He apologized almost awkwardly, stumbling through the horde of people here and there.

The people of Piltover, of course, looked at him with utter respect, having no idea how exhausted he was. His hands constantly trembled from the lack of sleep and his hair had started to be more disheveled by the day. His popularity was something that he’s used to these days, though he did not fully cherish it. On some days he even despise it. Jayce had always wondered how easy it’ll be to disappoint these people if he didn’t live up to their expectations.

“The Golden Boy of Piltover is here!” People whispered to each other with every step they took, gazes locked onto him as if he was some kind of God. They’d blindly worship the ground he stepped on, if they were asked to.

Jayce brushed off the praises and words, trying his hardest to not start another awkward conversation with these Pilties. That was, until he spotted you, in the corner of the room. You were sipping your wine, swirling it in your glass with a carefree look on your face. For you, the room smelled of polished wood and fine wine, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of the Undercity air. Even the way people moved here—graceful, deliberate—seemed like an art form.

Jayce’s heartbeat quickened, his face heating up like some kind of deer caught in headlights. He didn’t want to be seen like this, well, he didn’t have a reason to, did he?

“—Jayce?” A familiar voice called out to him, so sweetly—so soothingly, that he almost fell onto his knees like an idiot.

His head immediately twisted towards the source of the sound, just to find Mel, who’d been staring at him with an almost… confused look. One of her eyebrows raised as she took in the sight of Jayce.

“Ah, Mel, yes. You— you must be here for some kind of political favour?” Jayce asked abruptly, seemingly lost in his own world. That caught Mel’s attention. Political favour? Where'd he get that from?

“No… no, I’m not. I just wanted to converse, that’s all. Though, you seem to be busy at the moment,” she paused. “Whether it’s busy admiring someone from afar or busy with your own work, it doesn’t matter. So, if I may—I’ll bother you next time.”

He cursed himself in the inside, feeling his thoughts turn into a jumbled mess as Mel gave him a small nod of understanding, walking away to talk with other members of the Council. Jayce could’ve sworn that he saw that smirk on her face, and he mentally facepalmed himself. He made himself look like a fool—in front of the Council that he’s most fond of.

A small, defeated sigh left his lips before his gaze returned to you. You didn’t move a single inch from when he’d spotted you. The gears turned in his head slowly but surely, before he made his choice. It’s his chance to finally talk to you, ever since the day of his speech—and he won't waste it.

And like they said, one may die from curiosity.

He cleared his throat, taking a deep breath before striding towards you. His steps were steady and calculated, a stark contrast to his beating heart. You looked… magnificent, though he won't admit it himself.

“Hey there,” he'd greeted you awkwardly, standing by your side with a small smile on his lips. Very out of character for the Man of Progress.

His sudden appearance nearly caught you off guard, causing you to look at him wide eyed. With that look on your face, he could only wish that he didn't give you the worst first impression of him. His shoulders tensed momentarily, taking in every detail of your expression. Was there confusion? Indifference?

“Oh? Council Jayce, fancy seeing you here.” You quipped, your voice nearly coming out as a purr.

“Yes, yes. Missing the gala would be… a very unprofessional move from one of the Council members themselves, no?” He chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing.

You laughed softly, “hm, fair enough.”

A few seconds of silence passed with only the sound of chattering from others present in his conversation with you. Sweat slid down his palm as he thought of a way to create a smooth flow for the interaction.

“And you are…?” He started.

You paused briefly, amused by the sudden question. The Man of Progress himself is right in front of you with the intention of... getting to know you? Surprising. Your gaze fixed on Jayce's, meeting his hypnotizing hazel eyes that nearly got you in trance. A soft smile tugged from the corner of your lips before you gave him your name.

“Great, it's nice meeting you.” He replied, his mind already chanting your name. “Sorry, where are you from?”

A sigh escaped your lips as you pondered about your answer, “the unpleasant Undercity.”

He noticed the shift in your tone as your gaze moved from him to the crowd of people around you. He'd heard about how differently the Pilties had treated the people of Zaun—it was something that's quite hard to go unnoticed, especially for someone like him. His eyes softened at the mention of Zaun. On the contrary, his muscles tensed beneath his suit.

Zaun wasn't a place that everyone was fond of. It was full of crime, very much unhinged people and so, so much controversy. Though ever since Viktor, his view on the Undercity had shifted a little. Just a little. He's no longer so… defensive around Zaunites, though his full trust wasn't fulfilled—yet. In understanding, he pushed the topics away, wishing to create a comfortable atmosphere for both you and him.

On the other hand, the abrupt silence was unnerving for you. In fear of making him perturbed, you quickly thought of a way to ease the sudden tight atmosphere.

“Sorry, I know it's not the best place to reside from.” You blurt out.

“Wait, no, it's alright, really. I know what it's like.” Jayce quickly assured you, “no judgement from me.”

You gave him a nod of appreciation, hoping that you could change the topic as quickly as possible. You raised your glass to your lips, the wine sliding down your throat with a burning sensation.

“So, how do you like the Gala so far?” He (thankfully) asked, pushing the previous topic away.

“... Loud, fancy, cheerful, you know? I feel like I don't belong here as a Zaunite,” you attempted a poorly made joke.

“Hey, don't say that." He jested, though his voice held a serious edge to it. “This Gala is not exclusive for Piltovans—well, it might seem like it, but no, it isn't. I know some Zaunites are... capable and worthy.”

“You really think so?”

“I've seen them with my own eyes,” he paused before leaning in. “You.”

Your heart nearly jumped out of your chest as you watched him, a soft look present in his eyes before he straightened his posture once again. Jayce could feel his own heartbeat quicken, not knowing why he'd made that risky move that could possibly shatter the upcoming bond between the both of you.

“Well, I'm flattered.” You admitted, “though, I'm curious. What makes you think that?”

“Seeing you in the Piltover Academy is enough.”

“Ah, so you saw me during your speech?”

He flashed you a nervous, toothy grin at your reply. He didn't think that you would make a remark about that. He gulped, shaking his head in disbelief as his face heated up.

“It's... It's hard to not notice, especially with unfamiliar faces, y'know?” He countered, his demeanor quickly changing.

A small laugh escaped your lips as you nodded in understanding, placing your empty wine glass aside. His shoulders slumped in an almost defeated way.

“I believe you, don't worry—”

A sudden voice erupted, “Councilor Jayce, tell us more about your upcoming inventions!”

The enjoyment from the conversation was quick to fade away as Piltovans, specifically interviewers, began to approach Jayce, overwhelming him with all kinds of questions about his inventions and the Hextech gemstones.

“What's your most complex invention of all time?”

“Why hasn't the Hextech company created a Hexstrap?”

Jayce was quickly crowded with questions, losing sight of your figure as the amount of interviewers gradually increased by the second.

“This wasn’t what progress was supposed to feel like,” Jayce thought bitterly, his forced smile faltering as the questions bombarded him.

He watched as people brushed you away as if you were nothing. Frustration bubbled up inside of him as his gaze shifted from one person to another. At this point, they were invading his privacy.

“I—uh, sorry, can't you see that I'm busy?” Jayce grunted, the tone of his voice was filled with hidden anger.

His brows furrowed as he made his way out of the crowd, leaving some Piltovans stunned at his small outburst. He'd never been seen like this—all worked up and hot-headed.

“Sorry, excuse me.” He murmured underneath his breath, trying to not bump into another interviewer.

His mood immediately dropped as he watched you from afar, your back turned against him as you walked to the exit. His eyes widened, almost pleading before he quickened his pace. He didn't care about the eyes that stared daggers into his figure. He kept his gaze on you before managing to catch up to you. Softly, he called out your name, causing your movements to halt.

“Jayce?” You called back, your voice softer than before. “You didn't need to chase—”

“Why're you leaving?” He unintentionally cut you off, his voice breathless.

You fully faced him, watching as his chest heaved up and down. Your eyes met his gaze, the confusion and desperation evident in his hazel eyes.

“Figured that I should rest, I have work to do soon, anyway.” You replied casually.

Jayce paused, disappointment seeping in. “I see. Right, right. Get some rest, okay?”

“Of course, you too.”

“If you don't mind, we can... meet up in the Hextech lab tomorrow? I'll—probably be there for the whole day, with my partner, Viktor. He's... he's a Zaunite, too. We can talk more tomorrow, come anytime, will you?”

The mention of another Zaunite working together with him piqued your interest. You took in his words, nodding along before making up your mind.

“Sounds nice, I'll see you there tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow.”

And with that, you withdrew yourself from the conversation. You shot him an appreciative smile, knowing that not all Piltovans were kind enough to even acknowledge the presence of a Zaunite.

His eyes softened, mouth agape as you turned your back on him once again. He didn't know why he felt so... drawn to you. There was something about the way you carried yourself—aloof, yet grounded. You didn't clamor for his attention or approval. You simply existed.

As you disappeared from his sight, he'd noticed the soft look on your face, hiding away the disappointment and hurt from how the Piltovans had pushed you away. His heart was about to burst, the frustration still present inside of him, because deep inside, he understood why the Piltovans had treated you like that—but he wished he hadn't. He shook his head in disbelief, and with a final murmur of your name, he dragged his body back into the Gala.

mini taglist: @blueorchid-rain, @sseleniaa

kruegerspillow © 2024 ➵ do not feed my work into ai, repost or translate my work to post it around. Reblogs are much appreciated ୨ৎ

[novaursa]

The Dragon's Right (5)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Pairing: male!targ/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: For all previous chapters, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. The Faith of the Seven works a little differently here, and they never fully accepted brother-sister marriages. Trust the process.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 8 000+

- Previous part: 4

- Next part: 6

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The morning light filtered through the tall windows of the Red Keep, as Rhaenyra walked the familiar corridors, her steps light and purposeful. The castle was already bustling with the day’s activities, courtiers and servants moving through the halls, each engaged in their own tasks. But despite the steady hum of the Keep, Rhaenyra felt a sense of calm as she made her way toward the Great Hall, her newly appointed protector, Ser Criston Cole, trailing a few steps behind her.

Ser Criston’s presence was still new, but it was a welcome one. There was a quiet confidence about him, a sense of reliability that Rhaenyra appreciated. She had chosen him herself, after all, and she felt a certain pride in that decision. The Kingsguard had always been composed of men of noble birth, but Ser Criston was different—he was a man who had proven himself in battle, a man who understood the realities of war and loyalty.

As they walked, Rhaenyra was lost in thought, her mind occupied with the matters she was expected to attend to that day. But her thoughts were interrupted when she caught sight of a familiar figure coming down the hall toward her, his presence instantly commanding attention. It was you, her brother, and the sight of you brought an immediate smile to her face.

"Brother!" Rhaenyra called out, her voice bright with warmth as she quickened her pace to meet you.

You smiled as you approached, your demeanor relaxed but with that ever-present air of responsibility that seemed to follow you everywhere. You were on your way to the training yard, where your presence was often required, but the sight of your sister brought a welcome distraction.

"Rhaenyra," you greeted her warmly, stopping in your tracks as she came to stand before you. "I see you’re off to attend to courtly matters. Hopefully nothing too tedious?"

Rhaenyra chuckled softly, shaking her head. "I hope not, though you know how these things can be. What about you? Off to the training yard to beat sense into some poor squire?"

"Something like that," you replied with a grin. "But I couldn’t pass by without saying hello."

As you exchanged pleasantries, your gaze shifted to the man standing just behind your sister. Ser Criston Cole stood at attention, his armor polished and gleaming, the white cloak of the Kingsguard draped over his shoulders. Your expression brightened with recognition.

"Ser Criston," you greeted, nodding in acknowledgment. "I see you’ve traded your old armor for the white cloak of the Kingsguard. It suits you."

Ser Criston inclined his head respectfully. "Your Grace," he said, his voice steady. "Thank you. It is an honor to serve."

You nodded, clearly pleased. "You served well under my command, Ser Criston. I haven’t forgotten the skirmish we had on the border near Yronwood. You fought with courage that day, held the line when others might have faltered."

A flicker of surprise crossed Ser Criston’s face, quickly replaced by a look of quiet pride. "Thank you, Your Grace. I’m honored that you remember."

With a final nod, you turned your attention back to your sister, your smile warm and genuine. "Take care, Rhaenyra. I’ll see you at the council later?"

Rhaenyra nodded, her smile lingering. "Of course, Brother. I’ll be there."

With that, you continued down the hall, your guards falling in step behind you. Rhaenyra watched you go, a small smile still playing on her lips. There was something comforting about your presence, a sense of stability that she had always relied on.

As you disappeared around the corner, Ser Criston spoke, his tone thoughtful. "I must admit, Princess, I’m surprised the prince remembered me at all. I was just a foot soldier in that battle, after all."

Rhaenyra turned to face him, her expression soft with understanding. "My brother remembers everyone who served under him, Ser Criston. Whether they’re lords or common soldiers, it doesn’t matter. He values loyalty and bravery above all else."

Ser Criston nodded, though his expression remained contemplative. "It’s just that… it’s one thing to remember the sons of important lords or famous commanders. But for him to recall a mere foot soldier like myself… it means a great deal."

Rhaenyra smiled, her admiration for you evident in her eyes. "That’s who my brother is, Ser Criston. He doesn’t see people as just titles or ranks. To him, every man who fights for his family and his realm is worthy of respect."

Ser Criston’s gaze shifted downward, his thoughts clearly turning inward. He had seen many lords and commanders throughout his years of service, but few had ever treated him with the kind of respect and recognition that you had just shown. It was a humbling experience, and it only solidified his resolve to serve the Targaryen family with all the honor he could muster.

Rhaenyra noticed the introspective look on Ser Criston’s face and decided to lighten the mood. "Come now, Ser Criston," she said, her tone playful. "Let’s not dwell on the past too much. We have matters to attend to, and I’m sure there will be plenty of time for reflection later."

Ser Criston looked up, a faint smile crossing his lips. "Of course, Princess. Lead the way."

The training yard of the Red Keep was alive with the sounds of clashing swords and the grunts of exertion as new recruits tested their mettle against seasoned trainers. You stood at the edge of the yard, your arms crossed over your chest as you observed the proceedings with a critical eye. The morning sun was climbing higher in the sky, but you were focused on the work at hand.

The recruits were a mix of eager young men and more experienced soldiers looking to hone their skills further. As the prince, you had taken it upon yourself to oversee their training whenever you could, ensuring that the men who served your house were of the highest caliber. You had been through enough battles to know that preparation was everything, and you took your responsibility seriously.

You watched as one of the trainers—a burly man with a weathered face and a scar running down his cheek—barked orders at a pair of recruits who were sparring with wooden swords. The younger of the two was struggling to keep up, his movements clumsy and unsure. You frowned slightly, making a mental note to spend some time with him later, to help him refine his technique.

As you continued to observe, your thoughts briefly drifted to the conversation you’d had with Daemon the night before. His words about taking control of your own fate had resonated with you, and though you had pushed them to the back of your mind to focus on the day’s duties, they lingered like a shadow, waiting to be addressed.

Meanwhile, not far from the training yard, Alicent Hightower walked alongside her brother Gwayne, the two of them making their way toward the gates of the Red Keep. Gwayne was set to return to Oldtown, and Alicent had insisted on seeing him off, a quiet farewell before he departed.

As they walked, Alicent’s eyes kept drifting to the side, stealing quick glances at you as you oversaw the training. The distance between you and her was enough that you likely didn’t notice, but Gwayne certainly did. He had always been protective of his sister, and he was keenly aware of the pressure their father placed on her to secure the favor of the Targaryen prince.

Gwayne’s gaze flicked between his sister and you, his expression growing thoughtful. After a moment, he cleared his throat, drawing Alicent’s attention back to him. "Alicent," he began, his tone carefully neutral, "is this something Father wants… or something you want?"

Alicent felt a flush of warmth rise to her cheeks, the question catching her off guard. She had known Gwayne would notice, but she hadn’t expected him to be so direct. She hesitated, searching for the right words, but the truth was more complicated than she wanted to admit.

"It’s… both," she finally admitted, her voice soft. "Father has his plans, and I understand what’s expected of me. But it’s also something I feel I have to do. For our family."

Gwayne sighed, his expression tightening with concern. "Alicent, you know how these things can go. Court life is dangerous, and playing with the affections of a prince—especially one like Y/N—is no small matter. You need to be careful."

Alicent looked down, her hands clasped in front of her as they walked. "I know, Gwayne. But what choice do I have? Father has made it clear what he expects, and if I don’t at least try…"

Gwayne stopped, turning to face her fully. "You’re more than just a pawn in Father’s game, Alicent. Don’t lose sight of that. The prince may be noble, but he’s also burdened by his own duties and expectations. If you get too close… if things don’t go as Father hopes…"

Alicent met her brother’s gaze, her eyes filled with uncertainty. "I understand the risks, Gwayne. But I have to do what I can for our family. It’s what’s expected of me."

Gwayne’s expression softened, and he reached out to gently squeeze her shoulder. "Just promise me you’ll be careful, Alicent. Don’t let Father’s ambitions blind you to your own happiness."

Alicent nodded, offering him a small, strained smile. "I promise."

With that, they continued their walk to the gates, Gwayne’s concern lingering in the air between them. Alicent’s thoughts were a jumble of uncertainty and duty as she glanced back toward the training yard one last time before they reached the gates. You were still there, focused on your responsibilities, seemingly unaware of the silent turmoil playing out in the hearts of those around you.

As Gwayne mounted his horse and prepared to depart, he looked down at his sister with a final, reassuring smile. "Take care of yourself, Alicent. I’ll see you soon."

Alicent nodded, watching as he rode away, the weight of his words and the pressure of her father’s expectations heavy on her shoulders.

The air in your chambers was stifling, despite the late afternoon breeze drifting in through the open window. You had been pacing for what felt like hours, your mind restless and unsettled. The allure of flight was strong, and the thought of taking to the skies on Silverwing, leaving behind the heavy stone walls of the Red Keep, was becoming harder to resist. You longed for the freedom that only a dragon’s wings could bring, the vast expanse of the sky where no courtly intrigue or whispered plots could reach you.

As you stood by the window, your gaze drifting out toward the horizon, the quiet knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts. A moment later, Ser Harrold’s voice came through the heavy wooden door.

"Your Grace, Lady Alicent Hightower seeks an audience with you."

You turned, surprised by the announcement. Alicent had rarely sought you out on her own, and while you had nothing against her, you couldn’t shake the suspicion that her presence here was likely on her father’s orders rather than of her own accord.

"Let her in," you said, your voice calm but tinged with curiosity.

The door opened, and Alicent entered the room, her steps measured and graceful as always. She was dressed impeccably, as befitted a lady of her station, her hands clasped in front of her as she approached. Her expression was polite, though there was a flicker of something uncertain in her eyes as she met your gaze.

"Your Grace," she greeted you with a slight curtsy. "I hope I am not disturbing you."

You shook your head, though the truth was you had been yearning for solitude. Still, you motioned for her to come further into the room. "No disturbance at all, Lady Alicent," you replied, keeping your tone neutral. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

Alicent hesitated for a moment, as if choosing her words carefully. "I’ve come to relay a message on behalf of my father, the Hand of the King." Her voice was steady, though you detected the underlying sense of duty that drove her. "He wished to discuss the upcoming negotiations with the Free Cities and thought it would be prudent if you were present at the council. He believes your insight would be invaluable."

You nodded, unsurprised. Otto Hightower had always been a man of strategy, constantly maneuvering the pieces of the court to his advantage. It made sense that he would want you involved in such discussions, especially with the growing tensions beyond the Narrow Sea. But still, the thought of another meeting in the council chambers filled you with a sense of unease. The court had never felt like your place, not the way it did for your father or for men like Otto.

"I’ll attend," you said simply, your voice betraying little emotion. "Tell your father he needn’t worry."

Alicent inclined her head in acknowledgment, though she lingered for a moment longer, her eyes scanning your face before settling on your expression. You felt her gaze, and after a brief pause, she spoke again, this time more softly.

"You look… tired, Your Grace."

The comment caught you off guard, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. You studied her, trying to gauge her intentions. There was nothing malicious in her words, no hidden barbs. If anything, she seemed genuinely concerned.

You exhaled softly, the weight of the Red Keep’s walls pressing in on you once more. "The Red Keep has that effect on me," you admitted, your voice quieter now. "I’ve never been one for court life. My father thrives in it, but I… I feel trapped here. Agitated. Like I’m not meant for this."

Alicent listened intently, her hands still folded in front of her as she took a step closer. "I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, Your Grace," she said gently. "The courtiers speak highly of you. They respect you, and many admire the way you carry yourself."

You smiled faintly, though there was a touch of weariness in the gesture. "Perhaps. But I feel more at ease with a sword in my hand than I ever do in the council chambers. Politics, alliances, all of it—it’s like fighting a battle without ever knowing who the real enemy is."

Alicent seemed to ponder your words for a moment before speaking again, her tone still measured. "That’s exactly why your presence is so important, Your Grace. You bring a sense of stability, a strength that many in the court lack. Your uncle Daemon, as skilled as he is, doesn’t have the same restraint. Your father relies on you more than you may realize."

You considered her words, but even as she spoke, you could feel the gulf between the two of you. Alicent was polite, always diplomatic in her conversations, but there was something distant about it. Her attempts to engage you, to compliment you, felt more like duty than genuine interest, much like this visit itself.

You nodded, acknowledging her point. "I understand the necessity of my role, Lady Alicent. But that doesn’t mean I enjoy it."

The conversation drifted into a more comfortable silence, though Alicent still seemed to linger, her eyes searching your face as if trying to find some way to connect. But despite her efforts, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all part of her father’s plan, that she was here not because she wanted to be, but because it was expected of her.

Finally, sensing that her attempts were making little headway, Alicent straightened her posture slightly, preparing to take her leave. "Well, I won’t keep you any longer, Your Grace," she said, her tone still courteous but tinged with a hint of disappointment. "Thank you for your time."

You offered her a polite nod. "Thank you for relaying your father’s message, Lady Alicent. And for your… kind words."

Alicent gave you one last curtsy before turning to leave, her expression unreadable as she made her way toward the door. As she stepped out of the chamber, you found yourself alone once more, the brief interaction already fading from your mind.

For a moment, you stood there, gazing out of the window once again. The Red Keep felt more suffocating than ever, its walls closing in around you. The thought of escaping to the skies on Silverwing grew stronger, the urge to leave the court behind for a time nearly overwhelming.

You sighed, shaking your head slightly. Alicent had been polite, even complimentary, but there was no spark of connection, no real interest that went beyond the surface of courtly duty. She, like so many others, was part of the world that you struggled to navigate—a world where words were often more dangerous than swords, and where alliances were forged not in battle, but in whispered conversations behind closed doors.

As the door closed behind her, you felt a sense of relief but also a lingering sense of frustration. Whatever her intentions had been, the conversation had left you feeling more disconnected than before, a reminder that the court was not a place where you could truly be yourself.

The decision to leave for the Dragonpit was made the moment you closed the door behind Alicent. The walls of the Red Keep felt too close, the weight of your duty pressing down on your shoulders. The pull of Silverwing, the freedom of the skies, was irresistible. You were halfway to the door, ready to escape the stifling atmosphere of your chambers, when the sound of the door opening again stopped you in your tracks.

Rhaenyra entered, her eyes immediately locking onto you. She seemed amused, a mischievous smile playing on her lips as she observed your state of readiness to flee.

"Planning a great escape, brother?" she asked, arching an eyebrow as she sauntered into the room and took a seat with casual grace.

You chuckled, leaning back against the edge of the table. "Maybe," you teased. "The Red Keep is starting to feel more like a cage with every passing day. I was just thinking about flying—Silverwing and I, far away from all this."

Rhaenyra smirked. "Always running off to your dragon. What would Father say?"

You shrugged, a grin tugging at your lips. "Father would say what he always does—something about duty, responsibility, and how I should learn to enjoy the trappings of court life."

Rhaenyra laughed softly but then noticed the contemplative look in your eyes. She leaned forward, curious. "What’s really bothering you? It’s not just court."

You hesitated for a moment before deciding to mention it. "Your friend Alicent was here, a few moments ago."

At that, Rhaenyra’s amusement vanished. Her head snapped up, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Alicent? What did she want?"

You raised an eyebrow at her sudden change in demeanor. "She came to deliver a message from her father, about a matter in the council. Something to do with the Free Cities."

Rhaenyra’s annoyance deepened, and she crossed her arms, clearly irritated. Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Of course she did. She’s always doing her father’s bidding," she muttered, more to herself than to you. She shifted in her seat, a flicker of frustration crossing her features. "I’ll need to speak to her about this later."

You sensed that her frustration with Alicent ran deeper than just the message. It was something about the way she had reacted—how quickly her mood had soured at the mention of Alicent’s name. Still, you decided to change the subject.

"Speaking of Father," you began, leaning back slightly, "he’s been pushing me lately. Urging me to find a wife."

Rhaenyra’s expression changed in an instant. Where there had been annoyance moments ago, now there was something much sharper, more intense. Her lips parted slightly, and a flicker of unexpected anger flashed in her violet eyes.

"Father’s pressuring you to marry?" she asked, her voice low, almost as if the idea itself was a threat.

You noticed the shift in her tone, and you sighed inwardly, knowing this conversation was heading into dangerous waters. "Yes, he thinks it’s time I consider it. He’s worried about securing alliances through marriage, the usual concerns of the crown."

Rhaenyra stood up abruptly, her annoyance boiling over into outright protest. "But you can’t marry just anyone!" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with something deeper than frustration.

You raised your hands in a placating gesture. "I know, Rhaenyra. But it’s not just me. Father is also feeling the pressure himself to remarry, and…" You paused, watching her closely. "He’s also being pushed to marry you off as well."

Her expression darkened further, and she took a step toward you, her fists clenched at her sides. "I don’t want to marry, Y/N. I have no desire to be some tool in a game of alliances. I belong to myself, not to some lord looking to secure power."

You could see the fire in her eyes, the fierce independence that had always defined her. But you also knew that your father’s worries weren’t so easily dismissed. "Rhaenyra, I understand. Believe me, I do. But Father fears what might happen if we don’t secure ourselves soon. The council’s already pressuring him, and he’s dreading having this conversation with you."

Her eyes flashed with defiance as she stepped closer, her voice rising slightly. "Then I’ll tell him myself. I don’t want to marry anyone, and I refuse to be forced into it."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, knowing this would not be an easy conversation. "Rhaenyra, I’m not calm about this either. But we both have duties—"

"How can you be so calm about it?" she interrupted, her voice sharp as she moved even closer, her face now only inches from yours. "I know you, Y/N. I know this isn’t what you want. But you’re letting them control you, push you toward something neither of us wants."

You hesitated, unsure how to respond, when her eyes locked onto yours, and her expression shifted. There was something there—something intense and unspoken, lingering between you both since that day in front of the Dragonpit. Rhaenyra’s voice lowered, becoming more intimate, more insistent.

"I know you felt something too, that day," she whispered, her breath warm against your skin. "After our flight, when we nearly…"

She trailed off, but the memory was crystal clear in both your minds. The closeness, the shared moment when the lines between you had blurred. Her words sent a jolt of emotion through you, something you had been trying to suppress for days.

"Rhaenyra," you said softly, trying to steer the conversation away from dangerous territory, "it’s complicated."

But she didn’t relent. Her eyes never left yours as she pressed closer, her voice low and determined. "No, it isn’t. You felt it, just like I did."

Before you could respond, she leaned in, her lips brushing against yours with a boldness that sent your heart racing. You felt her hesitation, but also the certainty behind her actions. When the kiss deepened, you didn’t pull away. The moment lingered, the connection between you undeniable, until finally, you both pulled back, breathless.

Rhaenyra’s eyes were filled with a mixture of relief and longing, and she spoke with quiet conviction. "You can tell Father to wed me to you. In the traditions of our house. It’s what we both want, isn’t it?"

You stared at her, torn between what you felt and what you knew was expected of you. "Rhaenyra," you began, your voice heavy with the weight of duty, "it’s not that simple."

She shook her head, determined. "It is simple. King Jaehaerys married his sister Alysanne, didn’t he? It’s in our blood, in our history."

You sighed again, stepping back slightly to clear your head. "Jaehaerys and Alysanne married in secret, and even then, it was a different time. The Faith might approve now, but Father—and the court—they’ll want to use us for alliances to strengthen the crown."

Rhaenyra’s expression hardened, her defiance unbroken. "Then let them think what they will. I don’t care what they want. I care about what we want."

You could feel the pull of her words, the temptation of a future free from the court’s manipulations, but you knew that your path, and hers, was far more complicated than either of you could admit in that moment.

For now, the decision hung in the air between you, unresolved, as the reality of your positions slowly settled back in.

Rhaenyra sat in her brother's chambers long after he had left for his flight on Silverwing. The tension between them still lingered in the air, and her heart raced in her chest as her mind replayed the kiss over and over. It had been so brief, so unexpected, yet it had ignited something deep inside her—a yearning that felt both familiar and foreign. She had always loved her brother, Y/N, admired him, and looked up to him as a strong, dependable force in her life. He had been her protector, her confidant, the one person she could always trust.

But now, something had shifted. The love she felt for him, once innocent and pure, had taken on a new, more dangerous form. She couldn't deny the physical attraction that had bloomed between them, the pull she felt whenever they were close. It scared her, and yet she couldn't resist it. The kiss they had shared wasn't just a fleeting moment of weakness—it had been something inevitable, something that had been building between them for years.

Rhaenyra stood from her seat, pacing the room as her thoughts tumbled over one another. She could still feel the warmth of his lips on hers, the way his breath had mingled with her own. She had always known she was possessive of him, but now, that possessiveness had taken on a sharper edge. The idea of him marrying anyone else filled her with a jealousy so fierce it was almost painful.

And then there was Alicent.

Rhaenyra's jaw tightened as her thoughts shifted to her so-called friend. Alicent had come to her brother’s chambers—of course, under the guise of delivering her father’s message, but Rhaenyra had seen through it immediately. Alicent had been trying to get close to him, no doubt hoping to secure his attention for herself. The thought made Rhaenyra’s blood boil. How dare Alicent, who had always claimed to be her friend, make such a blatant move behind her back? And her brother, so polite, so unaware of what was happening, had entertained her.

Rhaenyra couldn’t sit still any longer. She needed to confront Alicent, to make her understand that whatever she thought she was doing, it had to stop. Without another thought, she swept out of her brother’s chambers and made her way through the winding halls of the Red Keep, her anger simmering just beneath the surface.

As she walked, her thoughts returned to Y/N. She had felt the way his body had tensed when she kissed him, the hesitation in his response, but he hadn’t pulled away. He had kissed her back, and that gave her all the reason to believe that he felt the same—whether or not he was willing to admit it. They were Targaryens, after all. Their blood was different, their traditions different. She had heard the stories of their ancestors—Jaehaerys and Alysanne, the greatest king and queen Westeros had ever known—who had married each other in secret and ruled side by side. Why couldn’t she and her brother do the same?

But the idea of anyone else—anyone else—trying to steal him away from her was unbearable. And she knew that Alicent, for all her demure politeness, was playing her own game. Rhaenyra would not stand by and let it happen.

She found Alicent in the gardens, sitting quietly beneath a tree, her hands folded neatly in her lap. There was a peacefulness to the scene, but Rhaenyra was anything but calm. Her anger boiled over as she strode toward Alicent, her footsteps loud enough to announce her approach.

Alicent looked up, startled by the sudden appearance of her friend, and immediately sensed the storm brewing in Rhaenyra’s eyes.

"Rhaenyra," Alicent greeted cautiously, standing to meet her. "Is everything all right?"

Rhaenyra didn’t bother with pleasantries as she stormed forward, her eyes blazing with barely contained fury. “Don’t act as if you don’t know,” she snapped, her voice low but laced with venom.

Alicent blinked, genuinely taken aback by the sudden hostility. “I… I don’t understand. What’s wrong?”

Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes, closing the distance between them, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper. “You went to my brother’s chambers.”

Alicent’s face paled slightly, but she tried to hold her ground. “Yes, to deliver my father’s message,” she said, though her tone wavered with uncertainty.

Rhaenyra scoffed, her anger flaring. “Your father’s message?” she echoed mockingly. “That’s what you’re calling it?”

Alicent’s hands tightened in front of her, her composure faltering under the weight of Rhaenyra’s accusations. “I… I was only doing what my father asked of me. I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean to what? Go behind my back? Try to gain my brother’s favor?” Rhaenyra’s voice rose as she stepped closer, her emotions swirling in a chaotic mix of betrayal and possessiveness. “I thought you were my friend, Alicent. But friends don’t do what you did.”

Alicent’s eyes widened, and she took a step back, her voice faltering. “I am your friend, Rhaenyra. You know that. I would never do anything to hurt you.”

Rhaenyra’s fists clenched at her sides as she fought to keep control of the emotions surging within her. The kiss with her brother was still fresh in her mind, but she couldn’t say it, couldn’t let the truth slip out—not yet. “A friend wouldn’t try to worm her way into my brother’s life like this,” Rhaenyra hissed, her anger spilling over. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed what you’ve been doing. The way you look at him. The way you linger when you speak to him.”

Alicent’s expression hardened slightly as she realized where this was coming from. “And what if I do look at him?” she countered, her voice steadying. “He’s a prince, Rhaenyra. You know as well as I do that if he doesn’t choose me, he will choose someone else. He’s the heir to the Iron Throne. It’s his duty to marry, to strengthen his house.”

Rhaenyra felt a flash of unexpected jealousy burn through her chest. She stepped even closer, her voice a dangerous whisper. “I know his duty,” she spat. “I know better than anyone.”

Alicent met her gaze, searching her face for answers, for some understanding of why Rhaenyra was so deeply affected by this. “Then why are you so angry?” Alicent asked, her voice tinged with frustration. “There’s nothing wrong in what I’ve done. Your brother has a responsibility to marry, to secure alliances for the crown. You can’t stop that.”

Rhaenyra’s chest tightened at Alicent’s words, and she nearly let slip the secret she had been holding onto—the kiss, the feelings that had stirred between her and her brother. But she stopped herself just in time, swallowing the confession before it could escape her lips. “You don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Alicent’s brow furrowed in confusion, her tone softening. “Then help me understand, Rhaenyra. Why are you so angry? Is it because of me?”

Rhaenyra’s hands trembled at her sides, her emotions spiraling out of control. She couldn’t explain what she was feeling without revealing too much—without revealing the truth about her and her brother. But the thought of Alicent trying to take him from her, trying to gain his favor, made her sick with jealousy.

“You have no idea,” Rhaenyra whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “You don’t know him like I do.”

Alicent, still perplexed, tried to reach out to her friend. “Rhaenyra, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just doing what’s expected of me, the same as you. Your brother is—”

Rhaenyra cut her off, her voice hard again. “My brother will make his own choices. And I’ll make sure he knows what you’ve been doing.”

Alicent’s eyes widened in shock at the veiled threat, her voice trembling. “I’m not trying to steal him from you, Rhaenyra. I—”

Rhaenyra shook her head, her voice cold and final. “Just stay away from him.”

With that, Rhaenyra turned sharply on her heel and stormed away, her heart racing and her mind spinning with a tangle of emotions she couldn’t quite control. The kiss, her jealousy, her anger at Alicent—it was all too much. But what hurt the most was the uncertainty of it all. Her brother hadn’t rejected her kiss, but he hadn’t embraced it fully either. And the thought of him being forced to marry someone else—whether it be Alicent or another noble lady—made her stomach churn.

As she walked through the gardens, her thoughts returned to the moment in front of the Dragonpit, when she and Y/N had been so close to crossing a line that neither of them could come back from. That kiss had awakened something in her—something she had been trying to ignore for so long. She loved him, she had always loved him, but now it was different. Now it was a love that burned with a dangerous intensity, a love that she wasn’t sure she could keep hidden for much longer.

One thing was certain—she would not let anyone, not even Alicent, come between her and her brother.

The sky stretched endlessly above you as Silverwing’s wings beat in steady rhythm, carrying you high above the Red Keep. The wind rushed past, cool against your skin, and the sound of it drowned out everything—every voice, every demand, every burden you carried. Up here, there was no court, no intrigue, no weight of duty pressing down on your shoulders. It was just you and Silverwing, soaring over the vast expanse of Westeros, far from the tangled mess of emotions and expectations below.

But no matter how far you flew, no matter how high you soared, your thoughts couldn’t escape the turmoil inside you.

Rhaenyra.

Her name alone was enough to stir something deep within you, something you had been trying to suppress ever since the moment you left her chambers. The kiss you had shared had ignited a fire between you, one that you had feared for some time. In that fleeting moment, it was as if all the walls you had built, all the careful distance you had maintained, had come crashing down. You had always loved your sister, always admired her strength and spirit, but over the years, that love had grown into something else, something dangerous.

And now… now you couldn’t deny it any longer.

Your grip tightened on the reins as Silverwing dipped lower, gliding gracefully over the hills that stretched beyond King’s Landing. The dragon’s power beneath you was a comforting presence, but it did little to calm the storm of emotions swirling in your chest. The memory of Rhaenyra’s lips against yours haunted you, the way her body had pressed close, her words a whisper between you: "You can wed me. We are Targaryens."

She had said it so easily, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And perhaps for her, it was. You had grown up hearing the stories of Jaehaerys and Alysanne, the dragon-riding king and queen who had been siblings and lovers, ruling together in harmony. But that had been a different time, and even their union had sparked controversy. The Faith had never fully accepted the Targaryen tradition of sibling marriage, and the realm was no longer the same as it had been under Jaehaerys’s rule.

Could you truly wed Rhaenyra? The thought was daunting, and not just because of the moral or political implications. She was your sister, your blood. Yet, when you looked at her, it wasn’t just as a brother looks at his sister. In those three years you had been gone, she had grown into a woman—beautiful, fierce, and full of life. Her presence had always been a comfort to you, but now, it stirred something far more complicated. Something you feared you couldn’t control.

You exhaled sharply, trying to clear your mind as Silverwing carried you higher, the city of King’s Landing growing smaller beneath you. Your father, Viserys, would never approve. That much was certain. Even if the Faith were to tolerate a union between you and Rhaenyra, the realm would demand alliances. Viserys had always been a king who sought peace, and he would never risk alienating the great houses or the Faith for such a marriage. The political consequences could be dire. The Targaryens were powerful, but they could not afford to make enemies of the Faith, not now.

And then there was the court, always whispering, always plotting. Otto Hightower, your father’s Hand, was no fool. He would see through any plans you and Rhaenyra might try to make. Otto’s mind was sharp, always calculating the next move for House Hightower, and you knew he had ambitions of his own. The idea of him maneuvering behind your back only made your head ache more.

You grimaced, your thoughts turning to the meeting you would have with Otto soon—another matter that weighed heavily on your mind. The council was preparing for trade negotiations with the Free Cities, and Otto had insisted you be part of the discussions. It wasn’t something you particularly relished; your strengths lay on the battlefield, not in politics. But duty was duty, and as the heir to the Iron Throne, you had no choice but to be involved. The coming talks would be critical for the realm’s economy, and your presence was expected, even if the court’s intrigues made your skin crawl.

Still, it was the matter with Rhaenyra that gnawed at you the most. How could you face the council, the court, even your own father, with this secret between you and your sister? The kiss had opened floodgates you feared you couldn’t close again. Rhaenyra had made her feelings clear, but you… you were torn between what you wanted and what your duty demanded of you.

Silverwing let out a low rumble beneath you, sensing your unease. You patted the dragon’s neck absentmindedly, grateful for the connection you shared. Up here, with Silverwing, there were no expectations, no demands. But you couldn’t stay in the sky forever. Eventually, you would have to return to the Red Keep, to face the reality waiting for you below.

As you flew further, your thoughts kept returning to Rhaenyra’s suggestion that you wed her. The logic behind it wasn’t without merit. You were both Targaryens, and such marriages had been part of your family’s legacy for generations. Rhaenyra had even pointed out that King Jaehaerys had wed his sister Alysanne, and they had been beloved rulers. But it wasn’t that simple anymore. The court, the Faith, the realm—all of them would expect you to marry for alliances, not love. Certainly not for a bond that many would see as an abomination.

You felt a knot of frustration tightening in your chest. Rhaenyra was right about one thing: you did feel something for her. That kiss had stirred something primal, something you had tried to bury, but it was undeniable now. But no matter how much you desired her, how much you wanted to throw caution to the wind and claim her as yours, the responsibilities that came with your title loomed larger than your desires.

If you were to marry Rhaenyra, the realm would demand answers. Otto Hightower, in particular, would be the first to protest. He had his own designs for Rhaenyra, no doubt aiming to secure her hand for a lord that could strengthen House Hightower’s position. And then there was the matter of the Faith—if you wed your sister, you risked reigniting old tensions with the Faith of the Seven, tensions that could spill into conflict. The crown couldn’t afford another war, especially not one fought over such a personal matter.

The irony of it all stung. For all the power and privilege you held as a prince, you were just as bound by duty and expectation as anyone else. The thought of being used as a political pawn infuriated you, but that was the price of being the heir. Your desires were secondary to the needs of the realm.

And yet… what if you could make it work? What if there was a way to marry Rhaenyra and still keep the peace? The idea seemed impossible, but you couldn’t shake it. You were a Targaryen, after all. The rules had always bent for your family before. Perhaps, if handled delicately enough, you could find a way to navigate the court’s demands and still claim the one person you truly wanted by your side.

But as you flew over the sea, the waves crashing against the cliffs below, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the decision that loomed before you. The kiss had changed everything, and now you were faced with choices that could shape not just your future, but the future of the realm.

Silverwing let out another low rumble, and you took a deep breath, trying to steady your thoughts. For now, you would enjoy the freedom of the skies, the cool wind against your skin. But soon enough, you would have to return to the Red Keep, to face Rhaenyra, your father, and the court that watched your every move.

The small council meeting had drawn to a close, with the lords and advisors filing out of the chamber one by one, their voices still murmuring about the matters of trade, security, and the upcoming negotiations with Essos. You remained seated at the table, your thoughts drifting far from the council’s discussions, far from the politics that had dominated the room. Though you had offered your insight where needed, your mind had frequently wandered—to the skies, to Silverwing, and, most of all, to your sister, Rhaenyra.

As the last of the council members left, Otto Hightower lingered. He rose slowly from his seat, his sharp gaze fixed on you, watching as the room emptied. There was always something calculating about Otto, a keen intelligence behind his measured words, and you could feel his eyes on you even before he spoke.

"Your Grace," Otto began, his voice smooth and polite, "if I might ask for a moment of your time. There are a few matters I wish to discuss privately."

You nodded, already suspecting where this conversation might lead. The chamber doors closed softly, leaving just the two of you, the dim light of the candles casting long shadows on the stone walls. You leaned back in your chair, your fingers drumming lightly on the wooden table, waiting for Otto to make his move.

Otto took his time, folding his hands behind his back as he approached. "I must say," he began carefully, "the court feels more… grounded with your return, Your Grace. The king has been much more content now that his heir is safely home. Your presence has brought a sense of stability to the capital that was sorely missed."

You inclined your head slightly in acknowledgment. "I’m glad to hear it, Lord Hand. It is my duty to be here for the realm and for my father. Though I admit, I sometimes find the weight of court affairs to be a heavy burden."

Otto’s lips curved into a slight, knowing smile. "A burden, yes, but one that you carry with admirable grace. It is no small thing to be the heir to the Iron Throne. Your father, the king, relies on you more than you may realize."

You knew where this was going, the subtle flattery, the careful words meant to soften what was coming next. Otto Hightower never spoke without intention, and you could feel the shift in the conversation as he guided it toward more personal matters.

"I imagine," Otto continued, his tone still polite, "that your time in Dorne was… challenging. A different kind of duty, certainly, but one that suited your skills well. But now, being back at court, you must find it… refreshing to be surrounded by family again."

You nodded, though your mind was already elsewhere. "It is good to be home. My family means a great deal to me."

"Indeed," Otto said, his voice taking on a slightly more casual tone. "And speaking of family… I believe my daughter, Alicent, had the pleasure of delivering a message to you today. I trust she was able to assist you adequately?"

There it was. The real reason for this conversation. You could see the way Otto’s gaze flicked over your face, gauging your reaction, trying to read you. He was probing, testing the waters, to see if his daughter’s attempts to gain your attention had borne any fruit.

You kept your expression carefully neutral, offering a polite but noncommittal smile. "Lady Alicent was very kind. She delivered her father’s message with grace and professionalism. I appreciate her assistance."

Otto’s smile widened slightly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was a man used to maneuvering through the intricacies of court politics, and he wasn’t easily dissuaded. "I am glad to hear that, Your Grace. Alicent speaks highly of you, as does the rest of the court. It is clear that your presence here brings a sense of calm and strength, particularly to those close to the king."

His words were deliberate, carefully chosen to steer the conversation toward Alicent without being too direct. But you could see through it easily enough. Otto was testing your interest, trying to discern whether you saw his daughter as anything more than a messenger or a polite face in court.

You nodded again, keeping your tone courteous but distant. "Lady Alicent is a fine lady, and I value her friendship with my sister."

Otto tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing just a fraction, but he didn’t press. "Yes, she and Princess Rhaenyra have grown quite close over the years. It is a friendship that has been a great comfort to my daughter, and I believe it has been mutually beneficial for both of them. Strong friendships are important, especially in court, wouldn’t you agree?"

You could feel the shift in Otto’s approach, the way he was trying to guide the conversation toward more personal matters. It was a delicate dance, one you had seen countless times in court. You knew what he wanted—you knew he was hoping to plant the seed of a potential match between you and Alicent. But your thoughts were far from the Hand’s daughter. Every time he mentioned her, your mind drifted back to Rhaenyra. Her kiss, her words, the fire that had sparked between you both.

"I agree," you said after a pause, choosing your words carefully. "Court can be a lonely place without strong bonds."

Otto’s gaze sharpened, his tone growing just a touch more pointed. "And bonds of marriage, of course, are among the strongest of all. They unite houses, strengthen alliances, and secure the future of the realm."

You nodded, though your thoughts remained distant, swirling around Rhaenyra and the tangled mess of emotions she stirred in you. Otto continued to speak, but his words began to fade into the background as your mind wandered to the possibility that Rhaenyra had raised. Marriage. It wasn’t just a political tool for you anymore—it was something personal, something tied to the fierce and complicated love you felt for your sister.

"Of course," Otto was saying, "there will come a time when certain decisions must be made about the future of the realm—decisions about alliances, about securing the throne through marriage. It is a delicate matter, but one that I trust you will handle with wisdom and care."

You blinked, refocusing on the conversation at hand, though you had heard enough to understand his meaning. "I am aware of the responsibility I bear, Lord Hand," you replied, your tone still courteous but distant. "But some matters require careful thought, not haste."

Otto studied you for a moment, his expression thoughtful. He could tell that you weren’t fully engaged in the conversation, but he chose not to push further. Instead, he inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. "Of course, Your Grace. There is always time to consider these matters carefully. But know that you have the support of those who wish to see you succeed—myself included."

You nodded, offering a polite smile. "Thank you, Lord Hightower. I appreciate your counsel."

With that, Otto seemed to understand that there was little more to be gained from this conversation. He bowed his head respectfully. "If there is anything else you require, Your Grace, you know where to find me."

As Otto took his leave, you let out a quiet breath, the tension of the conversation still lingering in the air. You had played your part well, keeping your responses polite but noncommittal, careful not to give Otto any more insight than was necessary. But beneath the surface, your thoughts continued to churn.

It wasn’t that you didn’t understand the importance of what Otto had said—alliances, marriage, duty. These were all things that had been drilled into you since you were a child. But every time you considered the prospect of marriage, it wasn’t Alicent, or any other noble lady, who came to mind.

It was Rhaenyra.

Her kiss still haunted you, the memory of it sharp and electric. You had always admired her, always loved her, but now… now that love had grown into something you weren’t sure you could control. And the thought of her being married off to someone else, of her being taken from you, was enough to make your chest tighten.

You sighed, pushing yourself up from your chair and walking toward the window. The view of King’s Landing stretched out before you, but your gaze drifted to the horizon, where the sea met the sky. Somewhere out there, Silverwing was always waiting, the promise of freedom calling to you. But freedom wasn’t something you could easily claim—not with the weight of the realm on your shoulders.

And not with the tangled mess of emotions that now bound you to your sister.

[the-fiction-witch]

I Like Him

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Oscar Tully Couple - Oscar X Reader Reader - (OC) Jaerra Targaryen [Daughter of Daemon Targaryen & Rhea Royce] Rating - 12 Word Count - 1121

Requested -

Hello Miss Witch! Can I request an Oscar Tully story in your “Boys Yet To Have Books” please? The reader is a Targaryen (probably just the same age as him and named Jaerra) and has a he-dragon, she flew to Harrenhal to accompany Daemon and then met Oscar and just some cute interactions between them that grew into something. It’s up to how you will write it and can have lots of parts too because I will love it either way. I hope you read this request. Thank you! <33

The dark echos of Harrenhal seem to sicken Daemon the longer he remains, food seems to turn to ashes in his mouth, wine soured, his mind a mess of his own failings and falls.

“I’m surrounded, by witches, and idiots.” He sighed to himself,

Suddenly a familiar sound echoes through Harrenhal’s half-melted halls, the sound of a dragon's triumphant cry. Which caused Daemon to perk up and move quickly for the first time in months. He headed out to the courtyard part of him hopeful to see Syrax across the sky, or perhaps even MoonDancer.

But a deep blue dragon with shimmering white scales fluttered down onto the grass,

“Iēdar lilagon…” he sighed, He approached the dragon glaring down at its rider, “Why did she send you?”

“Because you're causing chaos on your own,” Jaerra answered as she climbed down from her dragon, wearing her tall boots and grey washed-out leather trousers, a deep blue jacket with a high low skirt and dragon clasps down her chest, her long Targaryen blonde hair with a single dark brown streak by her face knotted up into a tight braid.

“I already have enough to deal with,” He sighed,

“Hence why I’m here.” She said pulling off her leather gloves and walking past him, “You’ve been causing enough problems around here, so she thought I’d be best to come. Plus everyone else is far too busy to be your babysitter.”

“Busy!” He said as he followed her,

“Her grace is busy, planning wars and alliances,”

“And what does she think I’ve been doing!”

She rolled her eyes and continued, “Jacaerys is defending his claim at her side -”

“Baela and Rheana?”

“Baela is beside her betrothal, as she should be. Rheana is with Aegon and Viserys in the Vale.”

He sighed, “I’d have taken Corlys before you.”

“He is of far to high priority.” She glared, “You get me. If you’d have been more careful I wouldn’t be needed and I could be patrolling.”

“So that’s what she’s got you doing? Patrolling?”

“Ravens are slow, men even slower. Dragonback is the best way to get sights of our lands and the movements on them.” She explained, “Speaking of which, the riverlords are here.”

“They haven’t-”

“They haven’t arrived yet but they will in an hour, I flew over them.” She answered before she went inside,

“...Fucking-” He sighed following her, “We have an hour, time to change into a gown for the Riverland lords.”

“Alright,” She shrugged, “Off you go, to get dressed.” She glared,

“I meant you.”

“Seems a waste of my time.” she sighed, “We are at war, gowns seem pointless at this point,”

“You are … so much of your mother,” He barked,

She chuckled, “Is that meant to insult me?” She smiled, “I’d rather be a spitting image of my mother… than anything like you.” she spat, “Now let's get this sorted out before we all end up on spikes in Kings Landing.”

Daemon sat at the head of the table in Harrenhalls Grand chamber, Jaerra to his side with two seats between them, as in walked the Lord of the river lands. Jaerra raised an eyebrow given this was not the man from the many lords she saw from Dragonback whom she expected to be the lord. Lord Oscar Tully made his way in dressed in his fine amour, curls messy from his helmet. He simply nodded as a greeting to Daemon and his eyes flicked to Jaerra, he did a double take but focused his eyes forward.

“My condolences on the passing of your grandser.” Daemon spoke, “But the crown congratulates you on your ascension to the head of your house. And Lord Paramount of the Riverlands” He explained, “Truly Glorious well done,”

“I did nothing,” Oscar answered,

“Nevertheless, you are here which is the important thing.” Daemon nodded,

“You were quick enough to dismiss me before.”

“You were of no significance to me then.”

Jaerra sighed, rolling her eyes a little.

“Now. I shall have my great host you have a decision to make.” Daemon stood from his chair mostly to avoid the eyes of Jaerra, “Presume it is clear to you which is the right one.”

“You will forgive me, your grace… I am green. In this sort of matter. As you so kindly point out, but it does seem to me that you’ve made rather a mess here.” Oscar explained making sure to meet Daemon's eyes as he walked around him, “Countenancing barbarities in the queen's name.”

Jaerra choked back a small laugh but made no secret of her smile, as she rested her feet on the table,

“Who’s side are you on?” Daemon glared the boy down,

“... The river lands are held together by oaths.” Oscar nodded, “House Tully swore on oath to King Viserys Targaryen, We recognize the authority of the named heir Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen… And your own as her king consort.”

“Good.” Daemon nodded, “Then we should go to face your vassals and you shall call your banners to war,”

“That might be difficult my king,”

“Well… I was told they would come to heal When house tully declared it’s allegiance.”

“That… may be the case,” Oscar nodded, “But it is yet to be seen that they will heed my authority, as young as it is.”

“You are no older than my daughter.” Daemon chuckled as his eyes met Jaerra,

“... I’d further follow her than you.”

“Power and control don’t have an age. Merely a mindset.” Jaerra smiled,

Oscar nodded to her, “And there is another problem… they all hate you.” he turned back to Daemon,

“Everyone hates him.” Jaerra spoke up again, “Never stopped him before.”

“I don’t need their love, I need their swords.” Daemon glared,

The two in a deep moment of staring before the door opened,

“You’re grace, My lord, the river lords await. I fear we cannot delay them any longer.”

“Of course,” Daemon nodded, “Come along lord Oscar,”

Oscar nodded and walked out hand on his sword,

“You too.” He demanded to Jaerra,

She sighed setting her feet down on the stone floor and made her way out the door, but turned around as she passed Daemon walking backwards out the door, “I like him.”

“You would.” he glared, forcing her out with him.  

[bellaveux]

i adored the soft college au wanda she’s so cute :(( may i request smth along the lines of r and wanda not going public yet because r is nervous but there’s still nat trying to pursue her and wanda gets jelly and clingy ? fluff or hurt/comfort pls ty <3

ALL I NEED TO HEAR | wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: when fellow classmate, natasha romanoff, has her eyes set on you, wanda struggles to hide her jealousy.

content warnings: hurt/comfort, angst w/ happy ending, college au!, jealous!wanda, soft!wanda, minor natasha romanoff x reader, jealousy, insecurity, kissing

word count: 5.5k

note: do not ask me why this took me a whole month to write!! i’m so so sorry for the long wait but here it is finally! i hope u like it :> (i meant to do fluff along with hurt/comfort but as i was writing it turned more angsty *thumbs up*)

In the bustling college lecture hall, amidst the hum of anticipation and the eager shuffle of notebooks, Wanda couldn't help but steal glances in your direction. Her heart swelled with a tender longing, a yearning she struggled to suppress as she looked at you as you were intently listening to the professor. Each stolen gaze only deepened her appreciation for your beauty, igniting an unspoken fascination that seemed to vibrate through her very core. Every fine detail, from your sculpted cheekbones to the way your lips formed a gentle smile, held an intoxicating allure that effortlessly captivated Wanda's senses. It was a magnetic force, an enchantment that dared Wanda to surrender to her desires. As rays of golden sunlight danced through the tall, arched windows, they gently caressed your countenance, illuminating your flawless features with an otherworldly glow. Wanda, with her heart in awe, marveled at the graceful curve of your delicate jawline, the gentle curve of your supple lips, and the sparkle in your eyes as you keep your attention towards the professor in the front of the room.

Yet, in the face of this consuming temptation, Wanda exercised incredible self-control. She wanted to touch you. To feel you. To kiss you. To show everyone that you were hers, just as she was yours. She fought the urges that surged within her, understanding the sanctity of personal space and the importance of boundaries, being mindful of your decision to keep everything subtle and on the down low. Her hands, adorned with delicate silver rings, just itched to trace the contours of your visage, to feel the warmth of your skin beneath her fingertips.

But Wanda wasn’t the only one who seemed to admire you. No, there was someone else—someone sitting far, multiple seats down the lecture hall, eyes trained on you for much longer than Wanda liked. A hint of uneasiness coursed through her veins. Her captivating gaze was momentarily drawn to a woman named Natasha, who sat in a distant corner of the curved row of the lecture hall, far from your shared space. Natasha, an enigmatic figure with an aura of magnetism, possessed an allure that stirred Wanda's heart, igniting an unwelcome sense of jealousy. Though she knew your loyalty was steadfast, the persistent glances exchanged between Natasha and her beloved fueled a flicker of insecurity within Wanda's soul.

“She’s staring at you,” Wanda whispers quietly, the tips of her fingers softly fiddling with your free hand under the long table.

You shake your head slightly, all too familiar with Wanda’s regular signs of jealousy. You pull your hand away to write on the blank sticky note sticking onto your of her notebook saying: ‘ignore her.’ Wanda sighs in return and rolls her eyes at the piece of paper. After a beat, she huffs and leans back into her seat, beginning to nibble lightly on her bottom lip as her patience wore thin.

“Kind of hard not to,” she replied, tone laced with bitterness.

Wanda subtly places a hand on your thigh, close to your knee, underneath the table, wanting to touch in some way—almost as if she was reminding herself that you were hers, and if Natasha could see, that would be even better.

The pout that shows up on her face doesn’t go unnoticed as you move her hand away from you with a shy smile, “Wanda, they’ll see.”

“Sorry,” she sighed again, putting her head down against her arm on the desk as she glanced over at the other redhead who did nothing but keep her eyes on you. “It’s just annoying to me… that she’s staring.”

You chose to tune out Wanda’s jealous complaints, paying attention to the professor at the front of the room. As the professor's words flowed through the lecture hall like a gentle breeze, your unwavering focus became a testament to your dedication. Your nimble fingers gracefully danced across the pages of your notebook, capturing the essence of each scholarly utterance in a tapestry of meticulous notes. Meanwhile, Wanda, sitting still right next to you with an otherworldly charm, exhibited her annoyance by tapping her pen against the wooden surface of the desk.

Wanda seemed to get distracted once again, something she couldn’t quite control all by herself, so you decided to let her sneak soft touches of her hand on your thigh, tender and elusive, spoke a language only you could decipher—a language of intimacy and shared understanding. Her fingertips, grazed the softness of your thighs, traveling up towards the hem of your skirt—the one you decided to wear was especially pretty on you that not touching you became an impossible task. It almost didn’t feel fair, for her to hide the fact that this pretty woman, you, were not hers. She’d shout it to the world when she could, when you’d let her, whenever you were ready to.

After a while, the final bell resounds throughout the room, marking the end of another day of intellectual exploration, your delicate features transform with an unmistakable sense of serenity. The waning rays of sunlight, filtering through the slats of the partially drawn blinds, dance upon the mahogany desk, illuminating the array of meticulously arranged notebooks and pens that have been your steadfast companions throughout your entire academic voyage. With deliberate grace, Wanda watched as you reach out, your nimble fingers gathering your supplies and shoving them into your bag.

You were so pretty in everything you did that Wanda would never tire herself as she watched you. She was glad to call you hers, even though the people around her didn’t know it yet. To everyone else, the two of you were best friends, glued to each other, roommates sharing the same apartment, but nothing more. And Wanda continued to wait for the day when you would be ready to show everyone.

As Wanda sat still and poised in her chair while students squeezed themselves out of the door to head to their next classes, her eyes caught a flicker of unease. With an air of intrigue and curiosity, her gaze fixated on the elegant figure that graced the space, coming closer and closer to where the two of you were sitting. As Natasha began a deliberate stride, weaving through the sea of desks and students, Wanda's eyes narrowed—a kaleidoscope of emotions swirled within her, a potent concoction of jealousy, apprehension, and a burning desire to unravel Natasha's intentions. What does she want now? A tremor of uncertainty danced upon Wanda's delicate features.

“Hey, (y/n), you look beautiful today… like always,” she smiled that charming smile of hers, an action that would usually have others swooning for her. “Just wanted to check in. We still on for later?”

You ignored the compliment, one of many, and took a quick glance at Natasha, offering her a tiny, friendly smile as you packed your things, “Uh, yeah, 4:30, right?”

“Yeah, at the library,” she nodded before looking past you for a brief moment to smirk at the other redhead who had been eyeing her since class started. “Wanda.”

“Natasha,” your girlfriend greeted bitterly.

After a beat, Natasha cleared her throat and put her eyes on you once more, “Alright, well, I’ll see you, hon.”

Wanda glared at her as she walked away, biting the inside of her cheek as annoyance fueled in her chest. It was in those ephemeral moments that a tempest brews and Wanda finds herself grappling with the tumultuous waves of jealousy. Like a veil, thin and delicate, but bearing an invisible weight, her discontent unfolds, entwining her thoughts with insecurities.

Natasha and her had never really been close—not when they both fancied the same girl. It was always a fight for your attention, and now, a fight to keep the third party away from you.

“I don’t know if I feel good about you going later,” Wanda mutters so quietly under her breath, you almost didn’t catch it.

You give her a soft look, hoping to reassure her somewhat with a light smile, “It won’t be long, Wanda. And I won’t be the only one there, remember?”

“I know. That’s not what I’m worried about. I just…” Wanda paused and looked into your eyes for a moment, practically using all of her strength to keep herself from leaning into your touch. “Just text me later. I’ll pick you up.”

Wanda watches you nod, bringing your hand up to give your shoulder a gentle and reassuring squeeze. You want so badly to kiss her, to remind her how much you love her, if only you weren’t too scared to show everyone your relationship with her.

As the time reached about almost forty minutes past four, you found yourself enveloped in a quiet study session, diligently engaged with a select group of classmates, immersed in a collective pursuit of finishing this class project. The light of the setting sun delicately filtered through the grand windows, casting a warm glow upon the diligent scholars. Textbooks, notebooks, and scattered papers adorned the table, bearing witness to their ardent quest for knowledge. As the ethereal scent of books permeated the air, your focus was unyielding, your mind attuned to the intricacies of the project at hand.

But within the depths of your intellectual fervor, a gentle longing tugged at your heart. You can’t help but think of her, Wanda, tiptoeing through your mind, like a melody echoing in your soul. In your mind's eye, you yearned for Wanda's presence, her soothing embrace, and the way her eyes sparkled with encouragement. You envisioned Wanda's tender touch as if it were the guiding light that fueled your fire. And while you wanted to get the work done as soon as possible, you couldn’t help but think of her.

You wondered what she was up to right now. Maybe, in your shared apartment, she was napping, studying on her own, watering her plants, or cooking dinner… Whatever she did, it always put a smile on your face.

“Hey, why are you smiling?”

It was a small whisper that only you could hear, coming from your right. You cleared your throat and took in your surroundings once more, noticing that Natasha was sitting next to you, doing some research on her laptop for anything useful to add to the project you worked together on for another class with a couple of other students.

You shake your head and whispered back, “I’m not smiling.”

Natasha scoffed playfully, “Well, smiling or not… You look pretty.”

The compliment didn’t phase you one bit. Instead, you turned your head to look at Natasha, who sported a smug smile as she looked at you. You were accustomed to the delicate dance of adoration orchestrated by Natasha, whose flattery and flirtatious overtures had become as predictable as the sun's rise. Yet, within your eyes lay a quiet strength, a spirit unyielding to the allure of superficial charm. Though Natasha's words, like sweet melodies, danced upon your ears, they fell upon a heart unmoved, resilient in its pursuit of genuine connection. It didn’t mean anything—not when you were loved by the woman you adored the most, when you had the most caring girlfriend waiting for you at home.

Natasha's advances, though flattering to the world's eye, did little to stir your heart, as it was already enveloped in a love so pure and profound that it painted every fiber of your being with colors of contentment. You, ever graceful and empathetic, offered Natasha kindness and friendship, cherishing the genuine connection you two shared, but resolutely protecting the love you held so dear. Wanda.

“Finish your work, Nat,” you say simply before turning your head away from her.

You could feel the redhead smiling in defeat, returning back to her laptop, the sounds of her fingers typing away on her keyboard filled the room.

As you delved deep into your project at the library, your once zealous spirit began to wane, and weariness settled in your bones. The weight of countless hours spent pouring over research and refining ideas bore down on you, urging you to seek solace beyond the confines of the library. Restlessness tugged at your thoughts as you yearned for the comfort of home and the embrace of your girlfriend.

She had been texting you quite a lot while you were here. And, “a lot” was practically an understatement.

She texted you minutes before you got to the library, then again after you sat down at a table, and again when you took your supplies out, and even more when you began working, up until now, right when you began to pack everything up. She kept telling you that she misses you so much and asked how long you were going to be there. She also went on about telling you to tell her if Natasha was doing anything to make you uncomfortable, checking to make sure you were okay, and asking quite a number of times if she should pick you up now.

And, you understood why. You understood her eagerness to talk to you as she was never good at hiding her jealousy which led to her clinging onto you in any way, whether it was texting you, talking to you, holding you, or touching you. Anything.

The vibrant colors of the library's surroundings dulled in your eyes as your focus shifted from the intellectual pursuit to the emotional embrace you craved. Thoughts of Wanda wrapped around your weary mind like a comforting shawl, igniting a renewed sense of purpose and drive. You sent her a quick text as soon as you were finished, telling her you were ready for her to pick you up, to which she replied that she was on her way almost immediately.

Your group of classmates walked out of the library, right into the chilly air, bidding their farewells and wishing each other luck for the presentation that was due in a couple of days time. They each left one by one until it was just you and Natasha left standing by the entrance doors.

“It’s a little cold out. I can take you home if you’d like,” Natasha says, shoving her hands into her jacket’s pocket.

You adjusted the bag hanging off your shoulder reluctantly, glancing over to the redhead, “Uh, Wanda’s already on her way, so… but, thanks, Natasha.”

“Right,” she says quickly, almost as if she knew what you were going to say.

She was quiet now. Uncharacteristically quiet. A mixture of excitement and apprehension coursed through Natasha’s veins as if every nerve in her body had suddenly been awakened. Despite her usual confidence, Natasha couldn't help but feel an unexpected wave of unease wash over her. Just as she was clueless about your relationship with Wanda, she found it hard to fight for your attention against her. Any of her words crashed into brick walls as she tried to flirt with you and it only made her want to have you more, even when you had told her that you weren’t interested. She didn’t know why, but she liked to think you’d end up liking her eventually.

“There’s… There’s this new Italian restaurant that opened. In downtown, by the bridge,” she starts, watching you closely for you your reaction. “Would you like to go try it with me sometime?”

You see Wanda’s car turning into the lot up ahead as she said those words. A sigh escapes your lips before you turn slightly to look at Natasha, “As friends?”

Natasha chuckles and drops her head down in defeat, knowing very well what your answer would be, after countless attempts and rejections. Her eyes lock onto Wanda’s car as well after bringing her head back up slowly.

“Your chariot awaits,” Natasha nods her head towards the car that pulls up right in front of the two of you.

You give Natasha a small smile before beginning your walk, “Have a good night, Nat. Drive safe.”

Natasha smiles in return, watching you step away. You get into Wanda’s car smoothly, greeting your girlfriend as a sense of relief washes over you.

As you settled comfortably into the passenger seat, your eyes met Wanda's, but instead of the warm welcome you expected, you noticed a flicker of annoyance and jealousy. Wanda's features, usually so radiant and full of affection, were clouded with a hint of unease. Your heart sank as you realized the source of Wanda's distress—Natasha, the persistent pursuer. A tumultuous mixture of guilt and longing swirled within your chest as you searched for the right words to soothe Wanda's troubled heart.

“Baby, let’s go home,” you say softly, your hand subtly ghosting over hers over the heartsick. “I’m tired.”

Wanda blinks and her eyes dart from Natasha, who stood still by the library doors waiting for the two of you to leave, over to you. Her eyes soften as soon as she looked at you.

“Okay,” she nods softly, before turning her head to the front, starting her drive back to your shared apartment.

As Wanda gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white with tension, an unusual silence enveloped the car. The soft hum of the engine provided a gentle backdrop to the muffled thoughts swirling in her mind. Casting a quick glance towards you, she noticed her girlfriend's serene expression, unaware of the storm brewing within Wanda's heart. Determined to shield you from her internal turmoil, Wanda reached out, intertwining her fingers with yours, seeking solace in your touch.

Wanda didn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the drive home. She kept her hand locked in yours right over your lap, occasionally using her thumb to smooth over your thigh so gently that you wanted to kiss her right then and there.

The drive didn’t last long as Wanda made it her task to rush home where the two of you would finally be alone, where she could have you all to yourself.

With the click of the front door, you stepped into the serene refuge of your shared apartment, an oasis of tranquility and familiarity. A palpable sense of relief washed over you, permeating the air as you shed the weight of the outside world from your shoulders. The soft glow of warm lamplight in your living room enveloped the space, casting a gentle ambiance that mirrored your contentment. As the two of you kicked off your shoes, a collective sigh escaped your lips, releasing the tension that had accumulated throughout the day.

You went about the evening as usual. Wanda made dinner before picking you up and you ate together. As the meal drew to a close, your determined gaze shifted to the pile of books and papers scattered across a nearby desk. With a sense of purpose, you excused herself and retreated to your work, placing a small kiss on the top of Wanda’s head, leaving her to her own devices. You told her you had to check up on some of your work just in case, not wanting to leave any mistakes on your part of the project. She watched you for a bit as you went to work before turning the television on to watch that cute old sitcom she loved so much.

Wanda's eyes occasionally flickered towards you, filled with admiration and understanding. She reveled in the sight of your unwavering dedication, recognizing the passion that fueled your late-night endeavors. At the same time, she wanted to pull you away from your work, keep you all to herself, kiss you all night long. Their cozy apartment was awash in the warm glow of lamplight, casting a soft ambiance upon the room. Wanda, feeling a sense of contentment, nestled herself on the plush couch, watching her show, patiently awaiting you to finish.

When you do finish, you excused yourself to the bathroom, needing a moment to refresh before bed. Sensing a subtle ache in her heart, Wanda couldn't bear the thought of being separated, even for a moment. With a surge of affection and longing, she quietly followed you into the bathroom, unable to resist the magnetic pull that drew her towards you.

Inside the bathroom, the air was filled with the soothing scent of lavender, creating an atmosphere of tranquility. You stood by the sink, ready to wash off your face and brush your teeth. Wanda, unable to contain her yearning any longer, approached you, her eyes reflecting a deep longing. Your gazes met in the mirror, an unspoken understanding passing between the two of you. Without wasting another second, Wanda's arms found their way around you, enveloping you in a gentle embrace. The warmth radiated through your bodies, your closeness a source of comfort and reassurance.

“Hey,” you smiled at her through the mirror, listening to her breathe against your neck. Although, your smile faded slowly as she didn’t answer. “What’s wrong?”

Wanda shook her head slightly, tightening her hold around your waist, “Nothing.”

“Wanda.”

“I just…” Wanda sighed and pressed a tender kiss to your shoulder, then one at the side of your neck, “I missed you a lot. That’s all.”

The words, gentle and delicate, struck a chord deep within your heart. A tingling sensation radiated through your being, as if every nerve ending had come alive, attuned to Wanda's every touch and breath. The weight of Wanda's absence had been temporarily lifted, only to be replaced by the overwhelming yearning that surged through your veins.

After a moment, you gently moved Wanda’s arms from your waist to turn around to face her. Wanda immediately put her arms around your frame once again as you wrapped yours around her neck. You saw her eyes flicker down to your lips, and it almost made you smile, knowing that she wanted to kiss you, but the undeniable fact that something else was bothering her interrupted your thoughts.

“What else?” you ask softly, bringing a hand up to h run your hand through her red hair. “There’s something else you’re not telling me.”

Wanda sighed and closed her eyes—your hand in her hair, massaging her scalp relaxed her in ways nothing and no one else could.

“There’s nothing else,” she says nonchalantly, not giving in to your gentle touches that would usually urge her to do whatever you asked her to.

You pull your hand back and give her a look, a serious one that told her that you weren’t buying every bit of what she was saying.

“I’m not jealous,” she said quickly as if she could read your mind, knowing very well that that question was floating around in your head somewhere, begging to be asked.

You shook your head, “I didn’t say you were.”

You watch as Wanda sighed and dropped her head down to your shoulder, pulling you impossibly closer to her body, pressing you slightly against the counter.

In an instinctive response to the relief flooding her soul, Wanda nestled her head into the crook of your neck, seeking the familiar scent and the soothing rhythm of your heartbeat. Wanda's fingertips traced gentle patterns on your back, her hands under your shirt, drinking in the sensation of skin against skin, reveling in the closeness that had been sorely missed. Wanda's heart found respite, the ache gradually dissipating with each passing second. With a profound sense of gratitude, she clung to you, her body pressed against yours.

It took a few more moments of silence before you asked her another question.

“Is this about Natasha?” You knew the answer when Wanda didn’t move or say anything.

The air held a moment of silence as Wanda's heart wrestled with conflicting emotions. With a heavy sigh, she found herself caught between her desire for transparency and her fear of burdening you with her insecurities. A battle raged within her, but she summoned a fragile smile to her lips, masking the jealousy that had woven itself tightly around her heart.

“A little bit,” Wanda whispered reluctantly against your shoulder.

It was. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, it’s been bugging her the whole day. She wished Natasha would back off. She wished she could tell her to back off. She wished she could show her that you belonged to her, just as she belonged to you. And Wanda wanted to tell you. She wanted to voice this constant struggle of jealousy that she had been going through each time when the two of you were in the public eye, but she had to wait for you.

And she’d wait for as long as you need her to.

A heavy sense of guilt weighed upon your heart as you observed Wanda's pained expression. Though you knew you should have revealed your relationship to the world, fear had tightened its grip around you, preventing you from openly embracing your love.

Each time Wanda's eyes met yours, filled with a mixture of insecurity and longing, your own heart ached with remorse. In the confines of your mind, you fervently wished for the courage to proclaim your love, to shield Wanda from the torment of doubt and protectiveness. Yet, the words remained lodged in your throat, locked away by apprehension and uncertainty.

“I’m scared of losing you to someone else,” she confessed, rubbing circles against the small of your back.

As you watched Wanda battle her internal turmoil, your desire to ease your girlfriend's worries intensified. With each passing moment, your resolve strengthened, your determination to overcome your own fears deepening. You knew that the time would come when you could no longer keep your love hidden away, for the pain inflicted upon Wanda by you and her clandestine existence was a stark reminder that love thrived when it was allowed to bloom openly, casting its vibrant hues upon the world.

“Listen to me carefully, please.” You brought both your hands up to cup Wanda’s face gently in your palms, your eyes filled with empathy and understanding, “I’m not ever leaving you. I love you, Wanda, so much. And… I know it’s hard not to, but don’t listen or think about Natasha or anyone else. She doesn’t have me… And she won’t ever have me. Only you. I belong to you.”

I have you. Your words repeated in her head.

Wanda's expression softened as she leaned into your touch, finding comfort in the warmth of your palms, “I have you.”

You smiled softly as did Wanda, “I don’t belong to anybody else.”

And as if relief washed over her worries, Wanda smiled smugly, knowing no one else has you the way she did. The heaviness that had settled in her heart dissipated like morning mist under the warm rays of the sun. Your words, spoken with tenderness and understanding, had acted as a balm to Wanda's troubled soul. With every gentle stroke of your hands against her cheek, Wanda felt the lingering tendrils of jealousy and insecurity unravel.

She saw the sincerity in your eyes, a mirror of her own love and devotion. The weight that had burdened her heart had transformed into a newfound lightness, replaced by an unwavering trust and a sense of security that only you could provide.

“I love you so much,” she said with a smile, placing a tender kiss against your forehead.

However, Wanda's smile faltered as her gaze met your tearful eyes. In that fleeting moment, the air seemed to still, carrying the weight of unspoken emotions. Wanda's heart ached at the sight of your glistening tears, a stark contrast to the usual vibrant warmth that emanated from your expressive eyes. A mix of concern and tenderness etched itself onto Wanda's face as she reached out, her fingertips lightly brushing against your cheek. She yearned to understand the depth of your sorrow, to offer solace and support in any way she could, just as you did for her just a second ago.

No, no, no. Wanda started to panic as your eyes got glossier by the second, tears threatening to fall any moment now. If there was absolutely one thing Wanda hated to see, it was you crying. And if she was the reason behind your tears, she’d do everything in her power to make it right.

“Hey, hey, talk to me, baby,” Wanda pleaded, leaning down to get a closer look at your face, trying to figure it out somehow on her own. “(Y/n)… Don’t cry—I’m here. I’m right here.”

“Sorry, I– I don't– I can’t– I can’t—“

Tears streamed down your face, their cascading path tracing the contours of your anguish. Each sob that wracked your body seemed to tear through the tranquility of the room, filling the air with a symphony of heartache.

Wanda stood frozen, her heart sinking as she witnessed your tear-streaked face, overcome with a depth of sorrow she had never seen before. Wanda's chest tightened with an overwhelming surge of emotions, her own eyes welling up with unshed tears. The sight of your vulnerability shook Wanda to her core.

As your cries grew louder, Wanda's immediate thought was to provide solace, to offer a safe haven within her arms. Without hesitation, she pulled you close once more, holding you with unwavering strength and tenderness. Your sobs found refuge in the curve of Wanda's neck, the soft fabric of Wanda's shirt absorbing your tears as her hand smoothed over the back of your head repeatedly. Wanda whispered soothing words, her voice a gentle balm to your wounded spirit, assuring you that you were not alone, that you would weather the storm together. Always.

When your sobs died down to soft labored breathing, Wanda moved to place soft kisses down against your temple, then over to your tear-stained cheeks, wiping her thumb over them in the process.

“I’m sorry,” she heard you say.

“For what, baby?”

“For being too afraid… to tell everyone. I know you’ve been waiting and that it hurts to wait. And watch, and hide. But, I’m… I’m still…” You found it hard to breathe as you spoke, not exactly meeting Wanda in her eyes, scared of what she might say.

“I know. It’s okay,” she didn’t let you finish. She already knew. Wanda’s heart ached when you still didn’t move to meet her eyes, so she repeated her words. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Wanda's touch became an anchor of solace, her fingertips tracing soothing paths along your back. With each delicate caress, Wanda poured her love and compassion into her gestures, whispering soft reassurances that echoed like a soothing lullaby. The warmth of her connection enveloped you, creating a haven where vulnerability was met with understanding and acceptance. In this intimate moment, Wanda's touch spoke volumes, conveying a depth of empathy that words alone could not capture.

“Everything will be okay,” Wanda told you, kissing your temple once again. “I will be patient. I’ll wait a day, a week, a month, a year, a decade… a century. Whenever you’re ready to. I’ll be there. You have me, too, (Y/n). I’m not going anywhere.”

Wanda used her hands to turn your face towards her, forcing you to look at her.

As you gazed into her eyes, you found yourself captivated by the depth and intensity within them. The windows to Wanda's soul revealed a profound sincerity and unwavering devotion that surpasses any spoken words. In the gentle flicker of candlelight, you witness a kaleidoscope of emotions reflected in Wanda's eyes—love, adoration, and an unspoken promise of a lifetime together.

“Did you hear me?” Wanda asked, using her finger to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“Yeah, I heard you,” you smiled softly, sniffling cutely as you moved to lay your head against her chest. “I love you.”

Wanda smiled again, hands moving downwards to your waist, as a surge of overwhelming love cascaded through her being, filling every inch of her being with a profound sense of warmth and contentment. In that tender embrace, time seemed to stand still, and the outside world faded into insignificance. The soft curve of your back molded perfectly against Wanda's chest, as if you were two puzzle pieces destined to fit together. The steady rise and fall of your breath against her own served as a rhythmic reminder of their intimate connection. Wanda moved to bury her face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your familiar scent, a scent that held the essence of home. She felt the steady beat of your heart beneath her fingertips, a steady cadence that echoed the unwavering love that bound them.

“I can kiss you now, right?” Wanda mumbled into your neck. “I’ve been waiting all day.”

Your girlfriend couldn’t fight the smile that crept up on her face as your lips turned up into a smile as well, “Kiss me, then.”

“Oh, I will,” she said with a smirk, hands running up and down your waist, feeling you in her hands.

And she did. In that timeless space between breaths, Wanda leaned in, capturing your soft, quivering lips with her own. The world seemed to stand still as your mouths fused in a passionate dance of love and understanding. The taste of your tears mingled, but it was the sweetness of your love that prevailed, a balm that soothed both your souls. As you lingered in the embrace, your lips locked, the world around you faded into insignificance, leaving only the profound beauty of your love.

She loved you forever. And she made sure to prove it to you the whole night, and many more nights to come.

— navigation!

[ephie-om]

Nice butler you got there. Be a shame if someone humanized him

Song: Sit Next to Me - Foster the People

Day 8: Barbatos

Barbatos has always been the picture of poise. He handles Diavolo’s whims with a practiced ease and manages the castle’s throng of servants like his second nature. Centuries of the same work lend themselves to a certain grace.

One freezing morning in the Devildom, he gets a call from Luke asking shyly if he would like to come over and try a new recipe, but he would have to bring some ingredients that Purgatory Hall was missing. Barbatos had acquiesced, and Diavolo immediately teased him about having a soft spot for the tiny angel. He took the jokes with a serene smile and set about gathering ingredients. He collects a large bag of powdered sugar, one of brown sugar, and several toothed quail eggs and packs them carefully into a bag.

His large winter coat is brought to him by several little D’s holding it carefully to not drag on the ground. He accepts it gratefully and tugs on his thick, wool-lined winter gloves.

As he dons the layers, his mind wanders. The path to Purgatory Hall will take him just past the House of Lamentation. What if you happen to be looking out your window as he passes by? The thought makes him inspect his coat, ensuring there’s not a speck of lint to be seen.

The chill wind hits him in the face as he steps out of the castle. He tightens his hold on the bag resolutely and pulls his hood up. The wind makes his eyes water as he walks, sweeping loose snow from the ground to tickle his lashes. The journey suddenly seems much longer than it had a few moments ago. The thought of Purgatory Hall, hot tea, and good company fills his mind, spurring him onwards.

He busies his mind thinking of how best to coach Luke on the technical side of meringues while he walks. The little angel is too hard on himself, something that Barbatos is all too familiar with. Diavolo is much the same way, and Barbatos makes himself chuckle at comparing the two.

Before he knows it, the House of Lamentation comes into view, imposing dark towers rising through the fallen snow. He knows he should focus on his mission, but his eyes wander to your window anyway. It’s nearly covered in snow, but his sharp sight notices an area you must have cleared out this morning. His restless mind starts to find its way to you again, wondering what you would do if you saw him. Would you wave, or open your window to greet him, or, better yet, come outside to see him? He shakes his head to dispel the thoughts. You ought to be in the common room with a mug of something hot, enjoying your day. Certainly not running outside in the snow to see him. He straightens his posture nonetheless.

Lost in his thoughts, Barbatos has made the fatal mistake of not paying enough attention to his surroundings. For the moments he spent thinking about you, he pays the price in the form of his feet skidding on a patch of ice.

He falls spectacularly backwards, all efforts to keep upright futile. He reflexively grips the bag tight to save the ingredients, and is rewarded with an explosion of powdered sugar coating his face and the inside of his nose. He sneezes a cloud of white down the front of his coat and his head thuds back against the ground. Thankfully, his thick hood cushioned it from the worst of the blow, but his ears are ringing uncomfortably.

He lays there for a moment, bag still bundled close to his chest. Did that really just happen? How humiliating. The powdered sugar settles, gently dusting his face and hair. He tries to take a few calming breaths and only ends up inhaling more, sending him into a coughing fit.

Hurried footsteps crunch through the snow towards him, and he hopes with everything he has this is only a dream. “Barbatos!” Shit. “Are you okay?” Why did it have to be you?

He coughs for the final few times, tears in his eyes from the effort, and looks up to find the source of the voice. Your worried face leans down, inches away from his own.

“I’m fine,” he croaks out. Unfortunately for him, you seem entirely unconvinced.

“Here, let me help you up.” His aching body does little to let him refuse, and you take him by the arm and pull him to his feet.

“I’m alright, really.” He tries to brush away your arm unsuccessfully.

“That was a nasty fall. You should at least have Simeon take a look at your head.”

“You mean…” he trails off in despair. “You saw everything?”

You nod. “I had just walked to my window. And it’s a good thing, too, or you would still be laying there. Let me help get you cleaned up.”

He tries to dodge your hand, but you’re persistent. You gently wipe away some of the sugar from his face to reveal him glowing a brilliant red underneath. He shivers a moment too late, trying to pretend it’s only from the cold. You only hesitate for a moment before you continue to brush the sugar from his face. He stays still in defeat, and you take his elbow to lead him back inside. “I apologize, but I really must insist I get going. I was on my way to Purgatory Hall.”

You look at him with an odd stare, one he can’t quite read. “Barbatos, please don’t take this the wrong way, but are you sure you want to go looking like this?”

He quickly realizes what you mean. He must look like an utter mess. There’s a layer of sugar across his coat, his nose is dripping, and the blush from the tips of his ears down to his neck probably makes him look sick. He sighs, thwarted by you again. “No, I don’t,” he says softly, eyes dropping to the ground.

“Oh, don’t feel bad, Barb.” You rub his back comfortingly. “Everybody has bad days, even you. There was one time in the human world I tripped over a curb and shattered my kneecap. I was on my way to see a movie…” Barbatos’ smile returns. Your happiness was infectious, and you would never know just how much he needed it.

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Hey! I REALLY LOVE your work ❤️

Could you do a part 3 of "A Flower Among Stone" please?

Where the reader finaly agrees to go to Eregion with Elrond. They're invited to have diner with Celebrimbor. Some other elfs make fun of the reader because of her dwarvish maners and Elrond stand up for her?

Absolutely!! I love these two. They are so sweet together

Among Friends and Enemies

The sun was high, casting its golden light over the vast expanse of Eregion, bathing the city in warmth and brilliance. The towers and spires gleamed, their elegant curves catching the light, while the air smelled faintly of fresh blossoms and crisp mountain air. It was a far cry from the cool depths of Khazad-dûm, and though you felt the ache of homesickness, there was something undeniably captivating about this elven city.

It had been months since you last saw Elrond, and his invitation—once politely refused so many times—had finally worn you down. You weren’t sure what had changed. Perhaps it was Disa’s teasing, or Durin’s knowing looks, or maybe it was your own curiosity. Whatever the reason, here you were, standing at the gates of Eregion, dwarfed by its beauty and majesty.

A familiar figure approached, graceful and composed, yet with a warmth in his expression that softened the sharp edges of his features. Elrond.

“You came,” he said, his voice rich with surprise and something more tender that he didn’t try to hide.

You smiled, feeling both nervous and exhilarated. “I suppose I got tired of saying no.”

Elrond chuckled, a soft sound that seemed to ease the tension in the air. “It is no small journey, and yet you made it.”

His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, the world seemed quieter, the bustling city beyond the gates fading into the background. “I’m glad you did.”

You felt the weight of those words, the sincerity in them, and you lowered your gaze, feeling suddenly shy. “I wanted to see what was so important about Mithril,” you said lightly, trying to break the intensity of the moment. “And perhaps to prove Disa wrong.”

Elrond’s lips curved into a smile. “Disa is rarely wrong.”

“That’s what makes it all the more infuriating,” you replied, your tone teasing.

He stepped closer, offering his arm in a gesture both formal and familiar. “Shall I show you, then? What we’ve been working on?”

You hesitated for only a moment before slipping your hand through his arm. “Lead the way.”

As you walked through the city, Elrond pointed out the marvels of Eregion—the intricate stonework, the lush gardens, the graceful arches that seemed to reach for the sky. Yet it was not the city’s beauty that held your attention, but the way Elrond spoke, his voice filled with pride and reverence, his passion for his people and their craft shining through with every word.

At last, you arrived at a large, open hall where elves worked with quiet precision. The scent of molten metal and polished stone filled the air, and in the center of the room, resting on a pedestal, was a small ingot of Mithril, its surface shimmering with a light of its own.

Elrond released your arm and stepped toward it, his expression softening. “This,” he said, gesturing to the Mithril, “is more than just a metal. It is hope, strength, and resilience.”

You stepped closer, the light from the Mithril casting a faint glow on your face. “It’s beautiful,” you whispered, reaching out but stopping just short of touching it.

He watched you, his gaze thoughtful. “And it is dangerous,” he said quietly. “A blessing and a burden.”

You looked up at him, something in his tone tugging at your heart. “Is that why you asked me here? To see the weight of it?”

Elrond met your gaze, the softness in his eyes returning. “I asked you here because I wanted to share this with you. You understand the cost of resilience more than most.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the air between you thick with unspoken words. And in that stillness, you realized that perhaps Disa had been right all along.

The dining hall of Eregion was grand and elegant, the long table laden with silver platters and crystal goblets, the scent of freshly baked bread and rich stew filling the air. Elven lords and ladies sat in graceful repose, their robes shimmering in the candlelight. At the head of the table sat Celebrimbor, his keen eyes watchful as he welcomed his guests with a warm, if reserved, smile.

You sat beside Elrond, your posture stiff as you tried to blend into the surroundings. The grandeur of the room made you feel conspicuous, the polished refinement of the elves highlighting your more humble appearance, the edges of your sleeves worn from years spent in the mountain halls.

Dinner began smoothly, with polite conversation and soft laughter. But it wasn’t long before the subtle barbs began.

One of the lords, tall and lean with a haughty tilt to his chin, regarded you with a faint smile. “How curious it is,” he said, his tone smooth as silk, “to see an elf so enamored with dwarven culture. I imagine it must be quite... different from the comforts of our own lands.”

Another lord, seated further down, added with a chuckle, “Indeed. One wonders if the air in the mountain halls hasn’t dulled her finer senses. The dwarves, after all, are hardly known for refinement.”

You felt your cheeks heat, the warmth of shame and irritation spreading through you. You looked down at your plate, wishing for the stone walls of Khazad-dûm to surround you once more, where no one would care how you dressed or carried yourself.

Elrond’s voice cut through the laughter like a blade, cool and measured. “It is a rare thing,” he said, “to find someone who can thrive in two very different worlds. Adaptability is a strength we should all aspire to.”

The room grew quieter as all eyes turned to him, his expression calm but firm. “Few among us could endure what she has and emerge with such grace.”

His words were spoken gently, but there was steel beneath them. He turned his gaze to you, his eyes softening. “She has shown resilience that many of us can only admire and a kindness that transcends borders. To belittle that is to misunderstand the true nature of strength.”

Celebrimbor, who had been watching silently, raised his goblet in a subtle gesture of approval. “Well said, Elrond. Kindness and resilience are indeed worthy of respect.”

The room stilled for a heartbeat before conversation resumed, quieter now, the air less biting. The lords who had spoken earlier exchanged uncomfortable glances but said nothing more.

You glanced at Elrond, a quiet, grateful smile touching your lips. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the clink of goblets and silverware.

He turned to you, his expression warm. “You need not thank me,” he said softly. “It is simply the truth.”

For the rest of the meal, the weight on your chest lightened. The room felt less oppressive, and the warmth of Elrond’s words lingered, steady and sure, like the steady pulse of the mountain’s heart.

[spikezonebby]

Hi again, sorry i mess it i hope it is right now ^^, a request for song fics could you with tfp optimus prime with the song Shawn Mendes, Camila Cabello - Señorita with a fem!human!reader, genre to Romance?

Senorita - TFP!Optimus Prime/Fem!Human!Reader

Word count: 1,672

Your first meeting had actually been entirely an accident. Optimus knew some humans had an affinity for vehicles, and you were one of them. Even a Prime can only take so much fawning over his grill, rims, or decals before he gets flustered and ends up blowing his cover.

That set the tone pretty well for how your entire relationship with Optimus was going to go. The other Autobots treated their leader with all the grace and dignity deserved of a Prime, but you never let the great title dictate how you treated Optimus. You weren’t ever afraid to speak your mind or ask questions. You questioned his commands, not to undermine him but to genuinely understand and clarify. 

You seemed to find everything Optimus said fascinating, and when he’d watch you he could see the inner gears of your mind chugging along. Picking apart his words and always seeming to know exactly what was on his mind, even when he himself wasn’t entirely sure. You were the probing sort, someone Ratchet often found meddlesome and too-like Miko, but there was a grace to your inquiries. 

Optimus was, perhaps, somewhat shy to admit that he liked it when you asked about his past. Especially when you would ask about the moments that weren’t so great or grave, like his walk home in the evenings from the Hall of Records or his favorite small pleasures. There was something warm, familiar, even humbling to the idea that your two lives weren’t too different.

You used to work at a bookstore and did its inventory, spending hours organizing piles upon piles of books. He would spend cycles listening and sorting through videos and audio files to archive them in their appropriate places. You’d stop on your way home and get a donut and coffee. He’d occasionally indulge and get himself a slice of chrome-alloy cake.

Optimus did not consider himself a poet, nor any other kind of lyrical savant, but he would describe the closeness he felt to you as… magnetic. He found his gaze drawn to you in the room, your laugh made his spark skip in his chassis, and even the persistent hum of the matrix seemed more at ease around you. 

He wondered if, maybe, you knew what you did to him. It certainly seemed like you knew when you’d come close to him and lay on the lower portion of his chassis, just beneath his windshield. It seemed like you knee when you’d find a quiet moment to rest with him in his seldom-used quarters, your whole tiny body level with his face. For someone who could fit in the palm of his servo, you liked to make your physical presence known and tangible. 

He couldn’t say he minded. In fact, that was a thing that brought quite a bit of distress to the poor Prime’s mind in the moments that should be peaceful. The longer he knew you, the more enthralling the pull became. He found himself wondering if you’d hate it if he curled his servo around you, cupping you between his digits like a treasure. He thinks about the scent of your skin and the warmth of your body, should you finally close the distance between them.

You were human. You were fragile. Leaders weren’t built to have fragile things, but protect them regardless.

But he still wanted you. Enough to forgo the logical sense he had to distance himself and instead, let you keep invading his space and his mind. He couldn’t bring himself to stop this.

Not when you invited yourself into his quarters, shimmied your way up to the space on his berth right beside his neck cables and jaw, and built your own little nest of blankets and pillows there. Not when you had so much faith in him, and talked to him about all of the soft things he thought they’d killed in this war.

“That’s Neocybex, right?” You ask, snuggled up beside his audial as he laid on his back, both of you looking on up at the data pad he had in his servos. He pauses in his scrolling through, balancing the stylus in his grip as he tilts the data pad further for you to read.

“Some of it is. Other parts, like here,” He scrolls down, “Are Primal Vernacular.”

“A different dialect or a different language wholly?”

“Neither. Primal Vernacular was the predecessor of the Neocybex all Cybertronians came to speak in modern times. When I was given the Matrix of Leadership and all of its knowledge, I was also gifted the ability to speak and read this ancient Cybertronian language. I find it easier, sometimes, to take notes in.”

You sit up a little, bracing yourself with a hand on his cheek vent. “So you’re the only one that knows how to speak it?”

“Most likely.” Optimus admits, somewhat sullen, “Even before the war, it was considered a dead language on Cybertron. Transcriptions existed of people speaking the language but as Neocybex became more common, it simply was lost to time.”

You hum, and leaning this close to them, he can feel the way the small sound rumbles up through your chest.

“Teach me. At least a word or two. Something I can remember.”

“You wish to learn Neocybex? I do not know if your organic vocalizer can reproduce the sound.”

“No, no! Primal Vernacular! The letters almost remind me of… Arabic. That’s a human language so, surely I can wrap my head around some of that.”

His spark warms at that, your enthusiasm contagious. It couldn’t hurt to attempt it, it would be a good excuse to brush up on his own pronunciation.

“Ṣdyq,” He begins. “It means ‘friend.’ And if you begin it with Rjl, it becomes ‘brother.’”

“Oh so it has different rules than Earth’s version of Arabic.”

“Yes. It is fascinating, is it not? That humans have taken such an old language and made it their own?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of nice in a way. Makes things feel less…” You fish around in your thoughts for the proper word, then hum. “Lonely. Yeah. So… Rjl… Ṣdyq… means ‘brother.’ How do you say ‘sister,’ then?”

Optimus’ lip plates quirk into the shallow shape of a smile, spark warmed by your botched attempt to match his pronunciation. 

“The translations of the words are different based on their cultural meanings. Cybertronians are very rarely forged with siblings, so ‘brother’ means something closer to ‘ally.’ A feminine version of the word didn’t appear until very late, when femmes started to become more prominent. It was very rarely used though, mostly due to the… intimate implications of the word. I once listened to an interview with a linguist on the matter and he theorized that it was coined initially by Megatronus Prime of the Thirteen, as a term of endearment Solus Prime. It’s ‘Ạmrạ̉ẗ Ṣdyq.’”

Now that has you fascinated.  Optimus often chose his words carefully, using them as a tool for peace and command just as often as he used his own two servos. With you, conversation came easier. Optimus only had a select few people whom he knew and trusted to allow him to talk so easily.

You stood up, keeping one hand against his jaw as you walked around him. He could feel you use him to steady your steps as you hoisted yourself up onto his neck cables. You were so light he hardly felt the pressure at all. Instinctively his servo came down to gently cup behind your back, fearing you might fall off.

“What are you doing?” He asks, but he doesn’t sound irritated. Worried maybe, curious mostly.

“I want to see the way your mouth moves when you say those words.”

It’s an innocent goal, he insists it is. A request to turn on his first level of cooling fans pops up on his HUD view. He almost denies it, then worries that he might grow too warm for you to touch. In the end he does allow them to kick on and wholly misses the way it makes you smirk.

“Come on, boss. Say ‘em.” You coax, resting your folded arms against his chin, “Please?”

Optimus looks down past his nose, examining your face as his fans cycle a little faster. Right, it would be rude to refuse you whatever small teaching aid he could offer. Even if it was unorthodox.

“Ṣdyq.” He says. You lean forward a bit, watching the way his lips move with every sound. “‘Friend.’”

“Uh-huh.”

“Rjl Ṣdyq.” You reach out and trail your tiny fingers across his bottom lip. Optimus loses his train of thought.

“Which means?” You prompt him, feigning forgetfulness.

“Ah, ‘ally.’” He can see the way you bounce a little when he swallows the thick lump forming in the back of his intake.

“Cool, cool.” When had you gotten so close to him? And it didn’t seem like you minded at all as you even used his servo balancing you from behind to boost yourself up and lay across the flat plane of his chin. 

He says your name softly. His data pad is forgotten in favor of clutching onto the tarp and padding on the berth beneath him.

“And what’s the last one?”

“Ạmrạ̉ẗ Ṣdyq,” When had he started to feel so breathless? Like his fans weren’t cycling enough air.

“Mmmhm… I like that one. There’s something about the way you say it. Say it again, please?”

“Ạmrạ̉ẗ Ṣdyq,” He says again, just so he can hear the joy on your voice when you giggle, “Ạmrạ̉ẗ Ṣdyq. And it means– mhm?”

Before he can even finish his statement, your small, warm lips press to his bottom lip, silencing him quicker and easier than even the sound of blaster fire. His servo cups closer behind you and he knows he should stop this, he knows he doesn’t deserve this, but you make it so, so clear you want to give it to him.

And in the end… who was he to deny his Ạmrạ̉ẗ Ṣdyq?

[wooahaeproductions]

The Devil’s Plan

Yoon Jeonghan x Female Reader

Genre: Smut and Fluff, established relationship

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: use of a vibrator in public, language, oral (female receiving)

Rating: 18+

Taglist: @multi-kpop-fanfics @gyuwoncheol

Network Tag: @kbookshelf

A/N: This idea came to mind and I just took off with it, so I hope you enjoy the torture as much as I enjoyed writing it. This is also my submission for KVanity's Wanderlust Festival. I used ferris wheel (smut) and a slight mention of pumpkin patch (set in a small town). ~Bee

The crisp air and the sound of crunchy leaves accompanied you as you made your way home from the office. You didn’t mind, autumn was your favorite time of year and you loved to be engulfed in all things fall-like. It just so happened that your birthday was in a few days, so it felt like the season and all things spooky were a personal birthday present from the universe. 

You inhaled the musky scent of the leaf piles that lined the sidewalk leading up to your house. Your boyfriend must have spent the afternoon raking them all up so they didn’t cover the entirety of your yard. You walked in the door to your shared home and were soon welcomed home by him. “Hi love, did you have a good day at work?” Jeonghan asked, walking from where he was in the kitchen to place a kiss on your cheek.

“It was okay but of course, I spent most of the day looking forward to going to the fall festival with you,” you said, depositing your coat on the hooks near the door. 

“I’m sure you were. You look forward to us going to it every year and I like taking you every year.” Jeonghan smiled at you, taking enjoyment in how you turned childlike during this time of year. 

“Let me change out of my work clothes and into something more appropriate for the festival, then we can get going, okay?” You made your way down the hall and to the bedroom to change. Shedding your professional work clothes, you pulled a sweater, jeans, and some of your favorite boots from your closet. After you had put the new outfit on, you went to sit on the edge of the bed to put your boots on when you noticed a small box in the center of the bed.

“Jeonghan, what’s this?” you asked, picking up the box and setting it in your lap. 

He came into the bedroom, a smirk on his face. “An early birthday present, something to make tonight more fun,” he answered, wagging an eyebrow. He sat next to you on the bed. “Open it.”

You took the top off the box and moved the tissue paper to reveal two small blue items, a bullet vibrator and its remote. You gasped, “Jeonghan.” Your boyfriend was very incorrigible, especially when it came to your sex life. 

“Go place this in that gorgeous pussy of yours and then we can get going,” he said, the smirk from a few minutes ago gracing his handsome face once again. You gave him what you hoped was a sultry glance before taking yourself into the bathroom to put the vibrator inside yourself. This was new for you, but you were always willing to try new things with Jeonghan.

You came back out of the bathroom, handing the tiny remote to him. He pocketed it with a mischievous wink. “We should go then,” you giggled, pulling him by the arm and bringing him with you toward the front door. You both put on jackets and scarves and headed to the fall festival.

You walked hand in hand across the large parking lot after Jeonghan parked the car. You heard the familiar sounds of carnival rides going and the screeches of joy from the people riding them. The yummy smells of hot apple cider and funnel cakes greeted you as you approached the ticket booths at the entrance to the festival. Jeonghan left your side for a moment to buy the tickets that would allow your admittance into the carnival. 

His hand resumed its place in yours and he handed the tickets to the person taking them at the front, letting you into the fall festivity. “So, where would you like to go first?” Jeonghan asked you. You paused to take in all the different things going on and thought for a minute. Just then, an open-back trailer filled with hay bails passed by, and you made your decision.

“Let’s go on the hay ride first,” you told him, pulling him across the courtyard to where you were supposed to line up for it. He just shook his head in amusement at how childlike you could act sometimes. The stand for hot spiced apple cider was near as well and Jeonghan bought you each a cup to enjoy while you were on the hay ride. 

He handed you the cup and you inhaled the spicy, fruity liquid as the line moved up. You took a sip and sighed as the liquid warmed you from the inside out. A few seconds later, it was your turn to get into the trailer. Jeonghan got in first, holding his hand out to pull you into the back with him. He picked a spot toward the middle and you sat down on a makeshift seat made from a hay bail. You leaned into him, loving the comforting feeling of having him next to you.

The hay ride took a route through a pumpkin patch and you were enjoying the scenery while still sipping on your cider when something turned on between your legs causing you to choke on the drink you just took. Jeonghan let out a small laugh, patting your back a little as you coughed. You gave him a wide-eyed look as he continued to act none the wiser. You bit your lip, trying not to let out a moan at the feel of the vibrations on your clit. 

Luckily enough, Jeonghan took pity on you and turned it off after a few minutes and before you had drawn blood from biting your lip too hard. You smacked him in the arm after you had gotten off the hay ride, getting nothing in response except what you could only describe as an evil grin. “I’ll win you a plushie to make up for it,” he sang out, eyeing the alley of games that were ahead of you. 

You rolled your eyes but agreed as you followed him to a booth where one could win a rabbit plushie by popping a balloon with water before the others did. Honestly, Jeonghan was good at these types of games and you had no doubt that he would win the stuffed animal for you. You watched him take his stance with the water gun and the starting bell went off. He lined the stream of the water gun just right to blow the balloon up. A few minutes later, his balloon popped before any of his opponents were even close. 

The game attendant held out the stuffed rabbit and Jeonghan indicated for you to grab it from him. You reached to grab it when another vibration started, causing your legs to tremble beneath you. “You okay, lady? You look a little pale,” the attendant said, releasing the plushie to you. 

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine,” you answered with clenched teeth. You wanted to curse Jeonghan, but he’d like that too much. Instead, you sent him a withering stare, which earned you more intense vibrations that caused you to clench around the little device inside you. You could barely keep yourself standing up straight when decided to stop it. 

“Ready for a snack, love?” Jeonghan asked you, innocently

“Oh, I’m ready for a snack, alright,” you snipped at him, stalking off toward the concessions area. He let out a chuckle as he trailed behind you. He left the remote in his pocket as you ate the corn on the cob and the cinnamon sugar donuts you picked out for you to share. 

“Time for the Ferris wheel?” you asked, hoping you had escaped another round of torture. 

“Anything for you,” Jeonghan responded, using his thumb to brush sugar from the corner of your mouth.

You sat back in the gondola of the Ferris wheel when the now familiar vibrations started once more. Your thighs clenched and you white-knuckled the edge of your seat, your grip becoming tighter the higher up Jeonghan turned the vibrator. “You’re the devil,” you managed to whine out. 

Jeonghan sat across from you, that signature smirk on his face. “I’m an angel, and I’ll prove it to you when we get back home if you continue to be a good girl,” he said, leaning forward to kiss you before his eyes turned dark and he turned the vibrator up as far as it would go. Tremors crept up your thighs and sent a jolt straight to your core.

It was a good thing the gondola you two were in was at the top of the wheel after it had rotated for a little while and you were free to let out a moan. You were positive that your underwear was becoming more soaked by the minute, but you were doing your very best to hold back from having an orgasm on this ride. You would not let Jeonghan have that satisfaction, especially after claiming he was an angel.

The ride started moving once more, bringing you closer to the ground. Jeonghan, who looked very smug, finally turned the vibrator off as you approached the bottom. When the gondola snapped back into place at the end so you could get out, you leaped off the seat and nearly flung yourself out of the capsule. As you were walking down the pathway at the end of the ride, you whipped around causing Jeonghan to freeze in place. “You just wait until we get back home, mister,” you practically growled. 

You had barely gotten in the door back at the house before you attacked Jeonghan, pinning him against the wall. “Ready to prove to me that you’re an angel like you claim?” you asked, darkly before kissing a sensitive spot on his collarbone. 

“Absolutely,” he responded, cheekily and grabbed your chin to move your face back up to look at him. He captured your mouth with his, engaging in a heated make-out session as he led you to the bedroom. 

The back of your legs hit the bottom of the bed. You were so caught up with kissing Jeonghan that you didn’t realize you’d be led that far already. He lightly pushed you back so that you laid back on the comforter and you eagerly scooted further up, getting comfortable. He helped you out by pulling your boots off, freeing your feet, and then he tugged at the legs of your pants. 

You nodded, giving him the go-ahead to rid you of those pesky pants. He didn’t waste any time, peeling them down your body and pulling them off at the ankles. “Somebody got so wet for me..” Jeonghan murmured, running a finger through the moist spot on your panties. You gasped at the feeling before he hooked his finger in the lining and pulled them down your legs too.

You stared down at Jeonghan as he placed himself at your core, your eyes filled with need after he tortured you all evening. His warm breath on you made the anticipation that much worse. “Please,” you whined.

“Please, what?” he bated. 

“Need your mouth.” You almost begged. He chuckled before leaning forward to suck at your bud lightly, causing you to arch your back off the bed. You could feel the corners of his lips turn up at your reaction. He then started alternating between sucking and licking strips in your folds, creating a rhythm that had moans leaving your mouth. He delved his wet muscle into your pussy and you felt the coil in your belly start to tighten, your hands starting to claw at the comforter.

If Jeonghan was continuing his dirty talk, you couldn’t hear him over the static of your high that kept building. A few more harder sucks and the coil snapped. Your toes curled slightly and your hand tugged at the ends of Jeonghan’s hair as your orgasm crashed over you. “Fuck, Jeonghan..” you cried out. 

Jeonghan’s smile was a content one this time as he leaned his chin on your stomach, his lips shiny with your release. You brushed your hands through his hair more tenderly now as you caught your breath. “See, told you I’m an angel,” he said and this time, you couldn’t disagree.

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[honeybeefae]

A Court of Wings & Fire: Chapter Five

Summary// Eris had control of everything in his life. The war was over, he was planning to take the Autumn throne, and nothing was left to surprise him…until he met you. A mating bond with an Illyrian was like a spit in his face and neither of you could understand why fate had put you together. You both swore off relations to each other, refusing to even be in the same court, but you should have known that fate is not to be tested.

(It's here! Fair warning, this chapter includes talks of torture, pain, and some mentions of blood. Nothing too graphic but just warning you in case you are sensitive to it! I hope you guys enjoy! <3)

Warnings: Mentions of torture, Death, Mor Situation, Abusive father

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four /

It was two days of torture that awaited you as they dragged you through the doors. Your cries to Eris had seemed to fall on deaf ears as they gagged you, chained you, and beat you until you were silent and numb. They had inflicted the worst pain you had ever been through upon your body.

And when that had not worked and you did not reveal your court’s secrets…they turned to your wings.

The only saving grace was that they did not clip them. Whether this be from ignorance or lack of care you weren’t sure but you were grateful. However, they made sure to slash the sensitive skin with faebane tipped daggers, their smiles vile as you began to cough up blood from the blisters in your throat caused by your screams.

After all was said and done you were convinced this was the end for you. No one was coming to save you. It was something you had made peace with as you curled into yourself and pleaded that they let you go peacefully. 

But, as always, when did you ever get what you wanted?

They had come to your torture room early and dragged you down the hall of cells from where you had initially come from. You could hear the moaning of other prisoners but you were too weak to look up, your eyes barely open when keys jingled to your left and you were thrown into a cell.

You lay in that spot as they chortled and strolled away, your bloodied nails digging into the cold concrete underneath you as closed your eyes. All you wanted was to sleep.

There was a shuffling sound behind you and your mind registered the familiar scent of spice and embers before Eris came into your view. He was dirty and bruised, his jaw black and blue, but his eyes were what shocked you.

They were full of fear and concern…for you.

“Please be alive, please be alive,” He murmured while pressing two fingers to your neck. “Come on, Y/N, please.”

“I’m alive.” You croaked, watching as his shoulders slumped in relief. “Leave me be. I don’t have the energy to fight with you anymore.”

It was silent for a moment and you closed your eyes, your body shivering, before his large hands lifted you up and shimmied you into his lap. You frowned, glaring at him before a small semblance of warmth washed over your body as he rested his hands on your arms.

“I thought you’d be more comfortable here.” Eris whispered, his brows furrowed as he used the bits of magic he had left to keep you warm. “It’s the least I could do.”

“Thank you.” You said softly, resisting the urge to nuzzle into his thigh as you stared up at the ceiling. This sudden act of kindness took you off guard and you faltered for an excuse to explain it away, your shivers fading as he rested his head against the wall.

“What did they try to get out of you?” He asked quietly.

“Nesta’s location.” 

“Did you-”

“No.” You cut him off, frowning. “Now please leave me alone.”

Another beat of quiet fell over the two of you before you felt him take a deep breath and sit up straighter. You glared at him, annoyed, but he ignored it. 

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier.” He murmured, his eyes staring a hole into the wall behind you. It took you a second to register his words and what he meant and when you did not say anything, he continued.

“What I said earlier was out of anger and ignorance. It was a low blow that should not have been spoken. I want to apologize for that.”

“I didn’t even know you could apologize.” You replied with a slight smile on your bloody lip. Eris noticed and seemed to fight against returning it at your snark. 

“I rarely do, however, I realize the generalizations I make about your people and how they must make you feel…and I am sorry.” Eris was watching your face, looking for something. 

“You didn’t feel sorry when you made them about Cassian and Azriel.” You pointed out, the pain starting to become a dull sting as you focused on him. 

“I’m not as invested in them as I am you.” He smirked before realizing his words. You raised your eyebrows as he cleared his throat and changed the topic. “I saw your wings…what they did. Can you still fly?”

Your face fell and you missed the look of guilt on his face as you shook your head, subconsciously moving closer to him. “Not in this condition. I’m lucky they didn’t cut them off.”

“I thought they cut them off women when they first bled?” Eris questioned, frowning. “Or is that a lie?”

“They do but I am not from that group of misogynistic, barbarian pigs.” You sneered. “I was raised in a different tribe.”

Eris waited for you to elaborate more and when you realized he wasn’t going to drop the subject you sighed. He had been nothing but cruel to you and your kind, why would you want to give him more information? And to top it off this is something deeply personal to you…wouldn’t that strengthen the bond? 

However, you also knew it was 50/50 right now if you would even make it through the week. With no signs of a rescue near and no medic, the two of you were running out of time in this life whether you wanted to admit or it not. Did you want to die with someone you hate or with someone that you might be able to tolerate if he could understand you better?

You licked your lips and took on a more comfortable position, watching as his eyes widened in surprise. He didn’t expect you to actually speak about your past.

“My mother wanted more out of her life than to be used for breeding and raising children as you so eloquently put it,” You began, humming as he shifted slightly in embarrassment. “She was a dreamer. She didn’t want her wings clipped and to be tied to the Earth. She was meant for the stars.”

“And there were others like her, women and men. So, with a few others who had the courage to fight for their dreams, they left in the middle of the night and never looked back.” You smiled as you closed your eyes, envisioning your mom. “She was so brave.”

“Was?” Eris murmured, his eyes turning soft as you gave a sad grimace.

“The new camp worked for years and years, growing to about fifty strong. The leaders, my father and mother, trained everyone equally. They taught us to read, write, and fight. It was a paradise that some Illyrians could only dream of. But nothing good ever lasts.” You whispered the last part, your nails digging into your arms as you painfully wrapped them around your chest.

“One night we were discovered. I don’t know how or who but they found us.” Your eyes were glassy as you stared at the ceiling. “They attacked the elders, striking them down with fury. It’s a great betrayal to leave your tribe unless it’s for

something like Cass and Az do. They recognized the elders as the ones who left and they were intent on executing every last traitor.”

You didn’t realize how tense you were until you felt a hand squeeze your arm, pulling your eyes back to Eris. He had a solemn look on his face, not expecting such a dark stain on your life, but you didn’t want his pity. 

You were strong, you didn’t need anyone. Right?

“There were so many of them…flying above and fighting below. I remember looking up and seeing their swords glowing in the moonlight, dripping with blood that landed on the crimson snow. I was only eight at the time and I fled to our tent, looking for a weapon when one of them saw me.”

“They followed me into my tent, threatening to do unspeakable things to me.” The tightness in your chest grew as you curled your bruised knuckles in anger. “They were going to take me back to the camp and sell me off, cut my wings, until my mother appeared behind them and sliced off their heads.”

“She was a fighter,” You laughed, wincing as the movement hurt your ribs. “She reached out for me, telling me we had to leave, but when I started running towards her another Illyrian warrior appeared behind her and stabbed her through the heart.”

“And they stole her wings.” Tears were falling down your face as you took a shaky breath, one of your hands raising to touch your broken wings. 

“Y/N,” Eris said, taking your hand in his and turning your face towards him. “No child should lose a mother but to see it…I cannot imagine the pain.”

His eyes were full of nothing but sympathy, his eyebrows furrowed in anger and sadness for you. It was a side of him you had never seen, never knew could exist, and you felt the bond inside you hum as you squeezed his hand in return.

“I just hate that they took her wings away. The thing she wanted most, the freedom it gave her, all gone in an instant.” You bit down on your lip, shaking your head. “They knew it too. It was why they did it.”

“Did your father survive?” He asked gently.

“My father came and killed them, scooping me up and taking off into the night sky. I was a mess, of course, begging to go back to my mother but he knew this was our only chance to escape. After hours of flying, he found an old cabin and after making sure it was safe, he made that our home. He raised me by himself and taught me everything I know.”

“Where is he now?” 

“He’s in Velaris, alive.” You assured, your lips lifting when you saw Eris’s face lighten with ease. “A few decades ago I was out hunting when Rhys, Cass, and Az found me. They were having a snowball fight.”

Eris laughed, actually laughed, and despite the pain you were in you couldn’t stop the butterflies that formed in your stomach at the sound. He looked younger when he laughed, less serious, and you didn’t dare think of how much more handsome it made him. At least not for longer than a minute.

“A snowball fight?”

“Mhm,” You nodded, rolling your eyes in amusement. “A solstice tradition. Rhys sensed me and tracked me down though I did give him a run for his money. When he learned my story and met my father he invited us back to Velaris. The rest is history.”

“That’s…not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” You hummed, gazing up at him as he rested his head back against the wall.

“I’m not sure but it wasn’t that.” Eris chuckled. “Very few people surprise me, Y/N. It’s refreshing when someone does.”

“Careful, Eris,” You say playfully, noting how his nostrils flared when his name fell off your lips. “It sounds like we are getting along and I’m sure that would ruin your image.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His tone was light but you noticed a shift in the atmosphere, as if you had offended him. Whatever friendliness that had blossomed between the two of you seemed to be quickly dying. 

“It’s no secret how you feel about me and my race. Even if I am different,” You sighed. “Even if we are mates. I mean, look how you reacted with Mor-”

“Do not speak on things you do not know.” He hissed. 

Before you could blink you found yourself almost falling from his lap as he pulled away from you, his eyes turning cold as you struggled to sit up. You scowled, your own anger returning as well as your shivers as his warmth faded.

“I know what Mor has said, what Keir did. If you have a side to this story I will gladly hear you out.”

“I do not have to explain myself to you, bond be damned,” Eris growled. 

“I knew your caring facade was an act.” You frowned, turning your eyes to his. “You know, Eris, just because the world might see you as a monster doesn’t mean you have to be one. As far as we know no one is coming for us. All we have down here is each other.”

You were using the last bits of your energy to yell at him but you didn’t care. You had just poured your heart out to him, given him your story despite your qualms and this was how he was acting? He needed a damn reality check.

“I was willing to hear you out, to see what other side of you there is because the man I just saw minutes ago wasn’t a man who could do that to Mor.” You pointed out, scooting away from him. “These might be our last days and I just wanted to feel safe with you, with anyone. And I wanted you to feel that too. But I guess I was wrong.”

He refused to look at you as you turned around and lay on the floor, closing your eyes. If he was going to refuse to open up, to try and be friendly, then you didn’t want whatever was left of your time to be in vain. Sleep was better than frustration.

“I regret my actions with Mor every day.” He murmured, tucking a strand of greasy hair behind his ear as you turned your head in surprise. “But I had no choice. It was a lose-lose scenario.”

“How?’

“I knew Mor didn’t want the engagement from the start. I wasn’t keen on it either. I may be cruel but I would never willingly take someone against their will, take their freedom. But my father all but demanded I followed through, wanting to strengthen alliances.”

“However, I had a plan. A plan to get us both out of this engagement. I couldn’t tell Mor yet, wanting to make sure it was foolproof, and a few nights before we were meant to meet again she pulled a stupid, reckless stunt that ruined everything.” Eris shook his head in annoyance as he replayed that moment over and over in his head. 

“She avoided me like the plague when in Hewn City. I can’t say I blame her but if she had just waited…” Eris took a deep breath and sighed. “I can’t blame her for what she did. I can be angry, but she didn’t know and perhaps I should’ve said something earlier. I don’t know, it’s one of my many regrets.”

“Many?” You raised a brow, smiling when he shot you a look.

“She went and ruined herself with Cassian, knowing how I…” He paused, briefly glancing at you before back down. “How I used to feel about his race. She was desperate to end it, I understand as I felt the same but what she did was stupid.”

“Why did you leave her out there? Why couldn’t you help her? Or heal her?”

“Do you think me so cruel that I would leave her out to die? That I wouldn’t try to save an innocent person put into a terrible position?” He asked you, eyes narrowing. But before you could answer, he shrugged his shoulders with an agitated huff. “I suppose you do since it’s the narrative I’ve allowed.”

“I wanted to heal her, to help her. My men wanted to help her. But we couldn’t.” He said lowly. “Keri had beaten her to a bloody pulp, tortured her in truly terrible ways for doing what she did, but he also knew that if I touched her that the responsibility of her, the torture of her, would get blamed on me. He knew it and he counted on it.”

“I hate him.” You interrupted with gritted teeth. “I met him once and you would think with the way he looked at me that I was lower than dirt.”

“Keir and my father are similar in the way that they truly care for no one but themselves and they hold their power by betting on the empathy of others. Empathy and love is a weakness for them.” Eris acknowledged, looking you over. “Though I would say we both are lower than dirt right now.”

“You make jokes?” You smirked, propping your head up after a bit of struggling “I must have died back there then for I never thought you capable of such lowly things as humor.”

He ignored you though you didn’t miss how his cheeks became slightly tinted with pink.

“But I knew,” he began once more, looking at his chains. “I knew if I touched her, the torture my father would put her through would be much, much worse. It would make what Keir did look like a scraped knee.”

“I’ve heard stories of your father, how he murdered Lucien’s lover.” You whisper. “I also heard you took no part in it.”

“I didn’t. I was chained for that, and beaten for two weeks until my mother was able to spare me. My father was going to kill me for being insubordinate. Just one less heir vying for his death.”

You blanch and find yourself reaching out for him, not even realizing what you were doing until your fingers were brushing his hand. He looked up in surprise, frowning, and you immediately pulled away. 

“I made sure she would stay alive, and made sure no one would be able to find her besides Rhys and Azriel, but that was as much as I could do. I know how it made me seem and I do not care what others think. The more people who think of me as a monster, the better. It means they know I am not to be messed with.” He finished though you could tell there was something still bothering him, something deep that seemed like it hadn’t seen light in hundreds of years.

“But…” you added, knowing he wanted to add more. He looked at you, really looked at you, and whispered.

Eris watched you, studying to see if he could trust you. You knew the feeling.

“But sometimes I’m tired of pretending.”

You felt the bond shift again, glowing brighter, but this time you didn’t pay it as much attention. You didn’t know if he felt it as well and you briefly considered that perhaps you were imagining it all, that the pain had made you delirious. Or even that you might already be dead.

But when you sat up slowly and he began to lean towards you, you realized just how very real the moment was. Your heart was racing, your body sweating, and for the first time in your life, you felt alive.

Until you moved wrong and flexed your wings involuntarily, sending white-hot daggers of pain into your body. It had you crying out and before you could stop yourself, you began to throw up from the spasming nerves. You didn’t have time to feel humiliated as your nails dug into the floor, your throat burning along with your skin.

Eris moved beside you and moved your hair out of your face, brushing the back of your neck and then your cheeks with his bare knuckles. “You’re burning, Y/N.”

“N-no I’m not.” You shivered, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “I’m cold.”

“You’ve probably got infection setting in.” He murmured, pulling you back into his lap. You were too weak to fight him and also too numb to even care what that meant for you. If this was how you went…at least it was with a friend.

“A friend?” Eris chuckled, watching as you realized you must have spoken your thought aloud. “I don’t have friends.”

“You could,” You whispered hoarsely, closing your eyes to rest your head against his chest. “If you wanted to.”

“Acquaintances maybe…but not friends.” He mumbled and you let out a small snort.

“Acquaintances then, that’s what we’ll be.” You smiled, your mind already dosing as your body yearned for sleep. Eris kept touching your forehead and kept one of his fingers on your wrist, counting under his breath which was oddly soothing. 

Just as you were falling asleep a loud noise came from the end of the hall. People were shouting and the sound of swords clanging echoed as Eris stood while cradling you in his arms, shushing you as you whimpered in pain.

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts. Just stay awake a little while longer. I don’t know what’s happening.” He urged you, looking around for a weapon before two large men appeared before the two of you.

It took you a second to recognize your brothers but when you saw the glowing siphons you almost cried out in praise. 

“Cassian…” You called out, reaching out your hand. “Azriel.”

The door was kicked off its hinges and before you could react you were being transferred to Azriel’s arms, his face pale as he took in the sight of your wings. Casisan quickly did away with Eris’s chains before hoisting him up as well.

“Be careful with her,” You heard Eris whisper, his voice tight. “Her wings…”

“We know.” Azriel snapped, nodding at Cassian as he kicked down the stone wall and took off into the sky. “Come on, Y/N. Let’s get you home.”

Taglist: : @elizarikaallen @kristeristerin @a-frog-with-a-laptop @littlebbb @introvertsuntes68-blog @clairebear08 @feyretopia @jangmi-latte  @bubybubsters @nightless @glaciuswduo @yourfavf1wag

[irisposts]

you & me [1]

college au!! it’s the infamous enemies to lovers trope. more like the reader hates ellie lol and ellie’s along for the ride. this chapter is pretty lighthearted :) lemme know what you think!

edited: yes/no

a/n: there is like the smallest easter egg to the game and show!! hint: it’s about joel miller

you weren’t a fan of room 926. every couple nights, they mocked you out of sleep. playing their stupid guitar and band music. it was almost as if they believed they were the only occupants of the dorms.

you now scratch at a plastic bag around your hair, arms crossed as you wait before their door. you curse to yourself, quickly realizing how utterly- ridiculous you must look with a shaggy bathrobe and hair pinned underneath a crinkly target bag. but it’s 1am and you give yourself grace. you tap your foot impatiently, knocking at the door again.

“hey!”

annoyed, you start pounding at it to make a statement. you’re so into it that you don’t notice the door down the hall open. a guy around your age pokes his head through. “hey!” he snaps his fingers to grab your attention.

you momentarily stop, “…hi?”

you pull your robe tighter, hoping the bag doesn’t crinkles as you move.

“could you do me the biggest favor?” he starts off sweet. “…but could you please shut the fuck up? people are trying to get some sleep here.”

your jaw hangs low in shock. “Wha—I didn’t even—”

even more so when you don’t get the chance to defend yourself as he slams the door shut just as quickly as he had opened it. you turn back to 926, this time your fist is going through this door. you swear it. just as you muster the strength to punch through, the door swings open.

you hand quickly falls down to your side. your cheeks grow warm at the woman leant against the door frame by one arm.

you swallow down the lump in your throat. “ellie.”

you’d be a liar to say you didn’t like ellie’s voice. it’s rasp—yet soft. something unique to only ellie. “y/n.”

lord she sounds heavenly, you wander if your knees could turn to jello in an instant. ellie makes that seems possible.

your heart pounds against your chest, she wears the infamous at gray hoodie. you admire the way her hair is pulled back into a low bun, and the strand of hair that swings besides her cheek.

your eyes wander off to the side. you notice a familiar face in the room. “dina?”

she’s sat on the opposite bed of the room. she looks up at the call of her name. she gives a curt wave, and offers a gentle smile. you go to save back but ellie has stepped forward, closing the door behind her. for a fleeting moment you can’t help but feel the faint pain of jealousy stab at your heart. you take a step back as well, feeling ellie’s presence to be too much for you.

she now leans onto her side along the door frame, scratching nervously at the nape of her neck.

you fight the urge to look into her eyes. but it proves difficult—ellie towers over you. it’s only by a few more inches, but it’s enough to make you feel inferior at times. and you despised it, disposed her. and to add fuel to fire, you hate to admit the truth—but elliie is hot. for a means of simpler terms. . she has both girls and guys alike fawning over her on campus, despite the fact she only playing for one team.

you suck on your teeth ready to get this over with. “can you keep it down, please.” you place a hand on your hip.

ellie ignores your request and points to your head. “what’s with the bag?”

“what bag?”

ellie chews on her bottom lip, her finger makes a circular motion around her head. she’s so sarcastic it makes you ill.

“protein treatment i saw online. you know what—” you shake your head not wanting to start the usual banter between you two. “—it’s late, okay?” you motion to the space between you too. “and if you forgot, we have class tomorrow…”

ellie runs her hand down her face, sighing. “i’m aware.”

she looks back to you, and then it’s at that moment you realize the redness in her eyes and the smell off her clothes, you sniff. scowling in distaste “are you high?”

ellie blinks. “…no…?”

you squint your eyes and exhale. “look, i don’t care, but can you and your girlfriend please keep it down please?”

you notice a flash across ellie’s eyes. “yeah, yeah sorry. won’t happen again.”

“‘mhm.” you turn back towards your room. not believing a word, but also not wanting to drag this on for much longer.

ellie fiddles with her two fingers. not particularly of wanting this fleeting interaction to end. “hey, 925?”

you roll eyes, pivoting your hips to briefly look back. “yeah?”

ellie crosses her arms, growing serious for a moment. “i never got a chance to thank you about the other day….”

you blink. “don’t mention it.”

you turn to push down on your door knob. “night ,neighbor.” you swing the door open and slam it shut behind you.

leaving ellie alone to stare at the numbers 925 to mock her back…