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shadowandlightt · 5 months ago

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Snow and Flame -2- |Cregan Stark X Velaryon!Reader|

Following the death of Luke, Jace and his sister return to Dragonstone. What she doesn't expect is to hear from Lord Stark so soon after her departure. His missive only serves to cause her to fall further for the young Lord, and Jace tells his twin sister not to miss out on this opportunity for happiness.

Part One

A/N: Thank you so so much for your support on my first part. I have admittedly not read the books, almost bought them tonight but didn't want to spend close to $100 on the box set. SO I'm really just going off of the show. I'm sure there are mistakes in this, as I am only human and highly dyslexic. But I appreciate the love and hope you enjoy this nonetheless.

The following days are torture for you. You wished for nothing more than to return to the North where you felt oddly safe, so far away from the conflict. Your stepfather, Daemon, made a grave error in judgment and sent assassins into the Red Keep to kill Aemond, only they didn’t find him, instead killing Aegon’s son, Jeahaerys. The smallfolk started to call your mother a kinslayer and cruel. Though you know she would never order such a thing.

“Princess, a raven for you.”

You hum and hold your hand out for the missive, spotting the Stark sigil. A smile spreads across your lips. You can’t help but look around to see if anyone is paying attention to you before you unfurl the scroll.

Cregan’s handwriting fills your eyes, talks of how he already misses your presence and how sorry he is about your loss. He writes of the summer snow, slowly starting to thicken as winter draws closer. How despite the cold, you might even enjoy Winterfell in it’s natural season.

The thought of him thinking of you in his home makes heat stir in your belly. You clutch the letter close to your chest, remembering how jealous you were when he and Jace swore oaths to one another and sealed them in blood.

You thought it unfair that you were excluded. You could understand it now though, why you weren’t allowed. They swore an oath of brotherhood, and you didn’t think of Cregan as a brother. Not with the way desire built up within you during your stay at Winterfell.

“What are you doing, sister?” Jace calls from your doorway.

“Jacaerys,” You stand quickly, shoving the missive behind your back, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Yes, I could tell,” He smirks at you, “What do you have?”

“No-nothing,” You shake your head, tucking the paper into the sleeve of your dress.

“Oh, it is something,” He laughs, reaching for your hand, “Come now, since when do we keep secrets?”

“It’s just a message,” You roll your eyes, “From Lord Stark.”

“From Cregan?” His eyebrows raise, “Pray tell, why does Cregan write to you and not me?”

“Jealous are we?” You question.

“Hardly,” He snorts, “So, what does Lord Stark say?”

You take a deep breath and pull the paper from your dress, smoothing it out once more. You recite most of the missive to your brother, leaving out how Cregan writes that he longs for you to return. Longs to see you once more. It makes your heart ache because you long to see him too.

“You’re falling for him,” Jace points out, noticing how your demeanor shifts.

“Hardly, brother,” You shake your head, trying to cover it up, “I barely know him. Unlike you who swore oaths in blood upon your first meeting.”

He lets out a deep laugh, “You were mad that I wouldn’t let you, so you have no room to speak, dear sister.”

You roll your eyes, opening a box to put your missive in. The box has a lock and you keep the key on a chain around your neck. It’s where you hide all of your important things. You lock it away, a small smile playing on your lips.

He thinks of you enough to write to you mere days after you left him. The knowledge is enough to ease the pain of losing Luke. Your chest still threatens to cave in, but the pain is more bearable, knowing Lord Stark thinks of you.

Knowing Cregan thinks of you is enough to ease your aching heart.

“So if he asked to take you to wife you would say no?”

“I wouldn’t have a choice, that would be up to mother,” You remind him, “She wouldn’t likely turn down such an alliance.”

“We already have the North,” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Yes, well, you might as well have married him yourself,” You snort.

He shakes his head, gripping the hilt of his sword. He was older than you, just by a few moments. It’d come as a shock to the Maesters to discover that there were two of you. No one was as shocked as your mother though. The kingdom celebrated the birth of both of you, no one quite as much as your Grandsire, King Viserys. He loved you so. So much that he was blind to the truth in front of him, that his wife, Queen Alicent could easily see.

You spent your entire life trying to convince yourself that the rumors simply weren’t true. And that you were a trueborn Velaryron, but in your heart you knew. Just as Jace and Luke knew.

“Are you going to write him back?” Jace questions.

“Should I not?”

“Cregan is a good man,” Is his only response.

You nod, knowing he’s more than right, “I wouldn’t object,” You clarify, “If he wanted to take me to wife.”

“You’ve never been one for the fighting,” Jace observes, “You’re much like Helena in that way., I suppose.”

You nod, biting your lower lip, “I hate that we’re at war. I wish it to stop.”

“You wish for mother to give up her claim?” He questions, misunderstanding you.

“No, never that. Too many have already died,” Your eyes begin to water, “But…if only there was a way for her to reclaim the throne without all of the bloodshed. At this rate the path will be paved in blood.”

“It already is,” Jace sighs, “But I understand how you feel. I don’t agree with it, but I understand it.”

“I wouldn’t want to leave you,” You start, “But I would welcome the opportunity to leave all of this bloodshed behind.”

“It’s only going to get worse,” He reminds you.

“My point exactly.”

He nods and then turns suddenly remembering why he was here, “A council meeting has been called. I was sent to get you.”

“And you’re only now saying something?” You gasp, moving to your feet.

He shrugs and usures you out of the door of your rooms. Everyone is already assembled around the painted table by the time you arrive. Your mother, however, is absent. You look around the chambers. The meeting starts without her, word spread that Ser Criston Cole’s forces have doubled, at the very least.

You listen, saying quiet as they all say a dragon needs to go to war. There is no way around it. Cole will take Rook’s Rest without a second thought. Jace is in the middle of saying a dragon must be sent when your mother, the queen, finally joins the council.

Jace instantly demands to know where she’s been and a volley ensues. You stay quiet, as you always do, letting your twin do the talking. But even you, in your grief, took note of your mother’s absence. It worried you to no end, not knowing where she had gone or why. But upon hearing she went to King’s Landing, you swore your heart stopped.

But when she says she’ll be the one to fly to war, you stop breathing. And when Jace urges her to send him, you swear you might faint. The thought of either of them being in danger is enough to send you over the edge. You cannot stand it. Never have been able to stomach the thought. Jace was right, you’re much like your aunt Helena in that regard.

You’re about to say something, anything to help the fight, when Rheanys speaks up, saying they must send her. Meyles is the largest dragon that you have, and as Rheanys says, no stranger to battle.

The meeting seems to end then, having been decided who was going to war on your mother’s behalf, you withdraw quietly. So quietly you aren’t sure anyone noticed you even left. You consider it your power, to sneak from a room, or move about the castle unnoticed by most. You’ve always been the quieter one, compared to the temper that fuels Jace. He’s always run hotter than you, ready to act at a moment’s notice. Ready to fly off the handle and do something rash. You’re more cool and calculated, you suspect you’re more like your father in that way. Either one of them.

You settle at the small table in your rooms and begin writing back to Lord Stark. You find yourself wishing more and more you could return to the North and be far away from this conflict. So you tell him just that. You tell him that you yearn for him as well, and that you were glad to hear from him so soon. You pour your heart into the letter, not sparing anything. You tell him that the war is really and truly beginning, and that there is no avoiding it now. You tell him that you’re scared of it.

You’re honest with him, in a way that you didn’t expect. And that night, you fall asleep holding his letter. Wanting to feel close to the Northern man.

News breaks the following morning that Rheanys and Meleys were lost at Rook’s Rest, and that Aegon, the pretender, was severely injured and is on death’s door. Aemond is named regent in his stead, which is more dangerous than having Alicent herself on the throne. Because Aemond knows no end. He will do anything to secure his place. Including as reports say, sacrifice his own brother.

You feel it in the pit of your stomach, the dread. It fills you as you walk the halls of Dragonstone. The mood has shifted. If the war wasn’t real with the death of Luke, it’s real now. And you find yourself wishing you could just vanish from Westeros all together and avoid all of this. You do not have it in yourself to go to war. Do not have it in you to fight on dragonback as will be expected of you.

“Where have you been?” Jace questions, brows knitted together.

“In hiding,” You sigh, closing your book.

“Obviously,” He rolls his eyes, “I’ve been trying to find you for hours.”

“Well, you succeeded.”

“Are you alright?” He asks you.

“Must I be?” You question.

“I know how hard this is for you,” He replies, “But we need you, sister. We cannot win this war without you.”

“You need my dragon,” You clarify, “You can do this without me, but not without her.”

“No, I need you,” He reassures you, “I cannot fight this without you. I need you by my side, I always have and I always will.”

“You cannot put this on my shoulders Jace,” You shake your head, “I cannot bear it. The thought of anything happening to you, or to Mother, or our brothers…I cannot.”

“Nothing will happen to me,” He promises, “I’m quick, and I’m lucky.”

“And inexperienced, as mother pointed out,” You remind him, “Anyone can be killed. We are not gods, as the smallfolk believe.”

He sighs and joins you on your seat. There is nothing he can do to put your worries to rest, because he knows there’s a chance he will be killed. There is a chance anytime he gets on his dragon and flies off. He wishes there was something he could do to ease your anxiety. Perhaps he would pay a visit to the Maesters for a draft to help you sleep better. He knows you won’t ask for it yourself.

“Did you write to Cregan?” He finally asks, seeking to change the subject.

He notes the way you almost smile, the way your eyes light up a little and your shoulders relax, “I did.”

“Good,” He smiles, squeezing your shoulder, “I am glad.”

“As am I,” You admit.

“Perhaps he’ll petition for your hand,” He shrugs, “Then you’ll be able to get away from all of this afterall.”

“I’d never wish to leave you, Jacaerys,” You tell him honestly, “You’re half of my soul.”

“And you’re half of mine,” He assures you, “But I would never wish for your unhappiness.”

You nod, knowing he wouldn’t. Jace might be hot headed, and quick to fly off, but he isn’t selfish. Never selfish. Not when it comes to you at least. He would always put you first, it was his job to protect you and keep you happy. Always had been, ever since you were little.

He could survive without you, you were sure. But you needed to find out if you could survive without him. You knew, deep within your heart, that there would come a day when you would have to learn to live without him. You couldn’t imagine Jace as an old man, sitting upon the iron throne. You hated that you couldn’t, but it was the truth.

“I would never wish for your unhappiness either,” You tell him, biting back tears.

“Should he ask for your hand, don’t turn him down,” Jace urges you, “Be happy with him in the North. Be safe.”

“You’re telling me to leave?” You question.

He only shrugs and gives you a soft smile, “I’m telling you to be happy, however you need to achieve it.”

#cregan x y/n #cregan x reader #cregan fanfiction #cregan stark #cregan x you #cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark x y/n #jace velaryon

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riot-ghost · 2 years ago

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Started a new train of thought following ghosts and things, and so here's my head cannon that the people of the Infinite Realms have a religious following and how one Daniel Fenton accidentally became the human priest.

"What the fuck do you mean I'm a priest?" Danny stared blankly at the Clockwork.

"I mean that you've become the priest of the Infinite Realms." Clockwork says. "By teaching your friends your following, they've decided to convert and follow with you. They believed what you're following is good and right, so there's human followers to our rituals and beliefs."

"I thought they were just respectful and curious! I don't know how to be a priest? Is there a way to revoke it?"

"Not really." Clockwork shrugs. "It seems fitting. Her Infinite lost her king with you, of course she'd name you her priest. I recommend opening a sanctuary,con holy ground. Gotham would fit."

"Holy shit, no, Clockwork, I'm not going to be a priest! I dont-"

"Damnit." Danny stood in front of the new building he'd just purchased.

It's easy to get it set up for outside use, but following the ways of Infinite, making it sacred ground, that was much harder. He spends weeks purifying the pollution and smog, and even longer doing the required rituals and cleansings.

He doesn't hold masses. He holds classes, every day at seven, to teach about the ghosts and Ancients. He cooks dinner for everyone who comes, and everyone is welcome. He's even told everyone they're welcome to just come and take the food and leave.

Gothamites come to find that if the city has been gassed, the sanctuary has clean air. It remains unharmed by the villains, all the way until one murderous clown declares religious exemption while getting arrested.

It's a very public ordeal and Danny hosts a press conference, three police officers and Batman are present. Joker is in cuffs. "I tell anyone that everyone is welcome to our religion. And if the Joker wishes to be, he will be. Is this what you want?" Danny asks, staring down the murderous clown.

"Oh, yes!" The Clown grins back. Danny pulls a gun, pressing it to the side of his head. Everyone is on edge, and Batman's reaching for his belt.

"For the two thousand, eight-hundred and ninty-three lives you have taken, for the nine-hundred and seventy-four children you have brutally killed. The Infinite Realm does not take kindly to murderers, to terrorist." Danny speaks, unwavering. "For your crimes against the Infinite Realms, for your crimes against humanity, and for all those burdened fathers, mothers, daughters, sons, sisters, brothers, for everyone you have taken, for those you have left behind, you shall face judgement upon the high council of the Infinite Realms upon open court. While there, you shall follow every law, to the letter of the law, or you shall face immediate denial to a trial. You will not be given a lawyer. You will not be given a clean death." Danny lowers his gun, pulling out a knife. He kneels, and rips the air behind the Joker a illuminated green portal is torn.

"From personal experience, there's things much worse than death that you can face. From personal opinion, I hope you face every fucking one before you're torn apart." Danny pushes Joker through the portal, and it closes. He mutters a prayer, standing tall. He retakes his position at the podium.

"For anyone who has faced the Joker, who have had people taken from them, had their own lives taken from them, who have so much as passed him on the street, come to the Realms' Sanctuary on North Blvd. 7308. Join the trial to have him purged, have him face the righteous punishment for the horrendous crimes he has commit." Danny bows.

#danny phantom #dp x dc #batman #danny fenton #dc x dp #jason todd #batfam #danny phantom crossover #bruce wayne #jokers going to die #priest danny au

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shisabun · 2 months ago

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Before I start, I just want to say thank you to the husbands, brothers, and fathers who voted to support their daughters, sisters, and wives. What I'm about to say doesn't include you.

To the women who voted for Trump, you are a disgrace. Thanks to you, your children and grandchildren will be forced to fight the war that was won by your grandmothers.

You sit content and joyful while others mourn. You laugh in the face of their fears when there's a knife floating above your head poised to fall. You have no idea what's coming, but any woman with half a braincell does.

Let me tell you a story. My great aunt was basically my grandmother. She was born in the 1930s in Spain. Right after their revolution. Right after Spain became a dictatorship. She told me so many stories in her final years that I'll keep with me for the rest of my life. But I'll give one example.

One of her closest friends married young. Her husband claimed she was unfaithful and literally beat her to death. He was never arrested. He was never convinced. He walked away free and remarried in less than a month. Catholicism wouldn't allow divorce back then. He wanted to get remarried and simply got away with it because he was a cop. Franco gave cops full impunity. So does Project 2025.

I know some people reading this are rolling their eyes, and you know what?

Fuck. You. You are trash.

That girl was murdered at 20, and her killer walked free after openingly admitting it. My Tia never told me her name, but she carried her in her heart until the day she died at 98. And so do I.

To my fellow women who are mourning and scared right now, I'll give you the same advice my mother gave me. "Have your cry. Then get up and get things done. You're strong enough not to have this break you."

You are Mary and Esther. You are Caterina Sforza. You are Princess Diana. You are Anna May Wong. You are the living legacy of every woman who has come before you. You carry their strength, their courage, and their determination.

This shit is going to suck. Pure and simple. But we'll do what we've always done. We'll bite and claw our way to a better future. We'll tear down every obstacle so our children and grandchildren will have an easier path to walk.

We are dragons in human form. Steel your heart and give them nothing. Do not give them your affection, your care, or your bodies. Fuck being demure and mindful. When they spew hate, you spit fire. When they ask for your smile, you give them your fangs. Become a walking inferno that they have no choice but to take note of. Do not yield.

You are powerful, and you are not alone. You are a sister in a coven that is millions strong. You are the daughters of the witches they couldn't burn.

To my fellow Millennials. I know you're tired. Our young adult lives were stolen from us, and we've been struggling uphill ever since. But do what the previous generation never did for us. Fight. Fight for the ones that are entering adulthood. Fight for the children who have no idea what they're about to grow into.

They called us snowflakes for pointing out their flaws. Fine. Let's give them a fucking blizzard. If they try to build momentum, we stop them. We are at the age where we need to be both shield and anchor. Let. Nothing. Pass.

We're about to face an orange shitstorm of epic proportions. But we'll do as we've always done. We fight, we endure, and we win. In the words of Samwise Gamgee, "There's good in this world, and it's worth fighting for."

#us politics #womens rights #election #us elections #election 2024 #kamala harris #trump

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byunpum · 1 year ago

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Mama's Boy | Part 5

Pair: Jake x neytiri x human reader (trio couple) x sully children's

Warning: cozy moments, conflict, family problems

Note: I hope you like this part, the next one is gonna be the final part...Thank you sooo much!! btw I recently opened a KO-Fi…. if you want to leave any tips or support I would appreciate it (it would help me to buy real coffee xD).

AVATAR MASTERLIST | Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6(final)

The previous day's argument was very intense. Leaving the family in a very delicate state. Even you decided to sleep alone in a kind of bed you made. You were so upset with jake, you couldn't understand why he was like that with lo'ak. Sometimes you thought Jake was ashamed of lo'ak…ashamed that you were his mother. You had been sitting quietly in the marui all day, still feeling a little bad. You were taking care of tuk, the girl was by your side. Making a necklace for you, while she was telling you everything she did in the morning. "Love be careful…you can hurt yourself" you help tuk with the needle she was using. At that, you can see how jake enters the marui, he had a basket full of fish. Looking quickly at you, walking towards where he used to leave the food that had to be prepared. You decide to ignore him, and be playful with tuk.

"baby…can we talk?" asks jake, the man had approached you, sitting down next to you. You on the other hand were acting like he wasn't there. You look up, and sigh loudly. "Tuk honey, why don't you let mommy and daddy talk alone" you help the girl pick up her materials, and wait for her to come out of the marui doing some jumping jacks. You smile a little to see how happy tuk was, oblivious to what was going on. "Tell me?" you speak, looking at jake waiting for him to start talking. "Is it true that you are thinking of leaving? "jake looks at you, you could tell he was worried. It was too dangerous for you to go back to the jungle. The RDA was looking for Jake, and when Jake's name was on the line his whole family was involved. The months you had to be alone, you never left the lab.

"I see neytiri told you everything" you say, trying not to make eye contact with him. "Love…we can fix this" Jake touches your hand, but you push him away. "Jake it's not with me that you have to fix things, it's with your son. Your behavior towards him…it's terrible." You speak, trying to hold back your tears. "Y/n you're misunderstanding things I" jake speaks, but is interrupted when you turn around and are now looking directly at him. "Jake… I have a question for you, what does neteyam like the most?" you ask. "A-ahh he likes hunting, he likes to ride his ikran. He's also a great talker," says jake.

"Okay, now tell me what lo'ak likes?" you speak up, knowing jake wouldn't answer quickly like the other question. Jake gets nervous, looking around for a moment. "He likes…he likes being with his brother. " jake speaks timidly, watching as your eyebrows draw together in anger. "Lo'ak likes to ride around and investigate things. He loves to practice with his bow, he likes to spend time with his sister kiri and all he looks forward to is his father telling him he did a great job" you were already very annoyed.

"I know…" jake speaks softly. Shaking his head, look embarrassed. "Jake your sons are not soldiers…they are children. Children who need love and attention from their father. Neteyam is not the only one here who needs to be trained. Lo'ak too, he needs you to treat him with respect and love. What does it cost you to do that?" you speak, watching as jake pulled his knees up to his chest. Becoming more like a little ball. "I just…want them to be strong and …. I'm afraid they'll be weak and won't be able to survive this chaos we live in" jake tries to explain. And yes, he was a little bit right. But that didn't justify the preference he had over neteyam. "Jake, I know all that" you wave your hands all around you. "This is all chaos, I know this isn't our home. I know what we're going through, but what does lo'ak have to do with it? Why can't you treat him like you treat kiri or neteyam or tuk? What did he do to you?" you speak, getting up from the floor. You had to walk, because the rage was consuming you. You hated it when jake tried to avoid trouble. Telling you smith answers to distract you. "He didn't do anything" jake follows you with his eyes.

"I feel like sometimes you just treat him like that, because he came from me. Because he's not completely na'vi." You had tears in your eyes, you didn't know why you were so sentimental. Even though this situation always broke your heart, you wanted lo'ak to feel loved. "Y/n never say that… this has nothing to do with you being his mother" jake in one swift movement. He takes your arm, to pull you closer to him. "I wouldn't ask for another mother for my son, you are an excellent mother" jake lets his head lay on your chest. He is silent for a moment, you didn't want to keep arguing with him. You loved your family, you loved jake, you hated being upset with him. "Lo'ak is how I was…he is so much like the stupid jake who betrayed and endangered people he cared about. That stupid jake got innocent people killed" jake speaks, you knew he was talking about grace. She had been so important to you.

You take jake's face in your hands, pulling his face up so he could look you in the eye. "But that stupid jake was the one who saved a whole clan, that stupid jake is strong and brave. That stupid jake was the one I fell in love with" you speak softly. Tears streamed down Jake's cheeks. "I want you to be the person that stupid Jake needed, for lo'ak. He needs you…" you speak, feeling jake hug you. You both stand there for a moment. "I don't want him to make mistakes that he'll regret later," jake says. "He'll get in trouble if you don't help…try to be a better parent to him. That's all I ask of you" you start walking away from jake. Picking up some things tuk had left on the ground, you go to look for the girl.

"Do you think you would have been happy if instead of me, tom was the one in this body?" jake asks you. You knew this was tormenting Jake. You had been tom's girlfriend just before he went to earth. And there he was murdered. When jake came to the RDA and took tom's place. For you it was a big shock, Jake was just like your ex-boyfriend, but so different at the same time. You had to admit that Jake was the only thing that kept you sane those months. Not to mention the relationship that formed between the two of you. Jake allowed you to see neytiri again and get closer to the clan. Jake could be a fool, but the fool you liked the most. The rest is history.

You turn around before leaving the marui, tears in your eyes. "Believe it or not, I am very happy…but I wish your insecurities didn't affect this family" you speak, walking out of the marui leaving jake alone with his thoughts. You liked that Jake opened up to you, but you would like to see him try to improve his relationship with his children. Because it wasn't just lo'ak, neteyam was also affected by jake's treatment. You pause for a moment, taking a deep breath and wiping away your tears. You calm down a bit, and start looking for tuk. Luckily for you, the girl wasn't far away. She was sitting with neteyam playing.

You approach the children, see how they look at you and their eyes light up. "Hello" you greet them, sitting down next to tuk. "Look my love, you forgot these things" you hand the things to tuk. The little girl thanks you, she didn't dare to come back for them. "Thank you mommy" tuk says, now sitting on your lap. You can feel neteyam's eyes glued to you, he knew things were not good between his parents. The news that you were likely to leave had destroyed him. Neteyam could be strong, and always be by Jake and Neytiri's side. But you were his refuge, where he could go and be a child again. If he was to be judged for a second. "Mom?" neteyam speaks to you, you look at him quickly. "Mmm?" you are helping tuk, when you feel neteyam sit down next to you. "Is it true that you are going to go and leave us?" neteyam speaks waiting for you to answer. "Mom? You are going to leave us?" yells tuk. You sigh, you had gone through a pretty strong disappointment a few minutes ago and you wanted to control yourself.

"Where did you hear that neteyam?" you look at the boy, you thought you had argued in private, but you guess your screams were too loud. "We heard it by accident, I promise" neteyam gets nervous, but you hold his hand to calm him down. "mom if you go…can I come with you?" neteyam was getting sentimental, you caress his face a little. Laughing a little and tapping your arms to give him support. "I'm not going anywhere…but if I did. Of course you can go with me." You speak, watching as neteyam pouts. You joke a little, in order to change the topic. You didn't like them getting involved in adult issues, you knew they had been through a lot. At such a young age.

It wasn't long before you started to feel a little dizzy. You tried to hold your child tighter in your lap, but you felt like you were about to throw up. Never having felt like this before. You push tuk a little so that the girl slips out of your lap, placing your hands on your stomach, you were in a lot of pain. Neteyam noticed this, and quickly began to help you. "What's wrong mom?" neteyam holds your shoulders. The vomiting was something you couldn't help, and you swore you were emptying yourself alive. neteyam held you so you wouldn't mess yourself up. "Mom!" the boy whines, he has never seen you like this before. It was so strong that as soon as you recover, your sight goes blank.

You start to get up, you could hear some voices around you. You didn't open your eyes yet, but you could distinguish them. One was from neytiri, and the other was from ronal. You could feel some warm things on your body, and some parts were wet. You start to become conscious, opening your eyes a little at a time. "Ma Y/n!!!" neytiri sounded so happy, she had a nice smile on her face. On the other hand, ronal was moving away from your body. You could tell she looked exhausted. "What happened?" you try to get up, but you barely had any strength. "You fainted again and neteyam warned us" neytiri explains, stroking your hair. Something seemed curious about neytiri, she was supposed to be worried and she looked so happy. "You are sick…you need to rest and take medicine" said Ronal, the woman was already looking in some containers for the herbs to prepare the medicine you had to take. The more you woke up you realized that you were in the marui that Ronal used to take care of the sick na'vi. "And the children?" you look weakly at neytiri. "They are with Jake, don't worry," Neytiri speaks, settling in closer to your side.

You rest a little, but you feel how Ronal starts to remove the towels that were warm before. Drying your exposed skin a bit. He had been using compresses and hot towels to try to get you up. "The medicine is a little strong, but it won't hurt the baby," says Ronal, holding out a jar of carracol. Your eyes widen in surprise, what the hell was this woman talking about, pregnant? This woman is crazy. "Baby? No, I'm not pregnant" you speak, now you had recovered all your strength. You were surprised. You look at neytiri, but she had a look that was worrying you. "ney" you push her a little, you needed her to speak. "Y/N I thought you are…since the symptoms" neytiri can't contain her joy. "Plus we did an abdominal test and we could feel something" ronal looks at you, handing you the drink. You are confused, and now you were about to vomit at the news. How could that be possible, you were sure you weren't pregnant.

Hey, you and Jake had been together. Well…ever since you had joined the clan. You two hadn't kept your hands off each other. Well… the three of you. You were sure neytiri knew you weren't pregnant. The idea of having a baby doesn't enter your head, not now that the atmosphere is so tense. You take the drink, you notice how Ronal is watching you. Making sure you take all the medicine. "Ahh it's disgusting" you complain. Listening to neytiri laugh, you liked seeing her like that. It's been a long time since you've seen her this happy, it was genuine happiness. "Well…I'll let you rest here. I'll come by later and check on you" ronal gets up from the floor, and walks out of the marui. Leaving you and neytiri alone. You were exhausted, but you can feel neytiri touch your stomach. Causing you to look at her with surprise. "We will have another baby ma y/n" neytiri smiles. "But when?" you had many questions, when you found out you were pregnant with lo'ak it was because norm did a test on you. But now it had been a natural test that na'vi women did to find out if they were pregnant. "I think it was the day at the beach" neytir laughs a little, blushing. You start to remember and you want to curl into a ball. You were scared, really scared.

"Hey, don't be scared. I'll be right here with you. And we've been looking for this for so many years," says Neytiri. And she was right, it got to the stage where the pregnancies were more about the two of you. They were very intimate between you and Neytiri. You wanted to be in on the whole process, including the excitement of being pregnant. It would build on the bonds that would be formed with the children. "I know…but this news is very unexpected…and even more so now that I want to kill Jake," you say. ""You haven't talked?"" asks neytiri, she wanted this to be resolved. "Ney…I need him to be a better father to lo'ak and you know I'm right" you speak. Neytiri is thoughtful for a moment, she knew you were right, and she would support you in whatever decision you make. And even more so at this moment. "Well, I'm going to let you rest. Ronal said he would come later. I'll come later." neytiri wanted to break the news to everyone in the family. A baby was big news for her, and she knew everyone would be happy. Giving you a soft kiss, and another on the palms of her hands. You swear you saw Neytiri jump a little in happiness, her tail wagging from side to side and the smile on her face was beautiful. You lay back on the comfortable bed and closed your eyes. You had to rest, otherwise you were going to die of madness.

"Ok, but you have to cut it like this" jake was with lo'ak. The man had decided to go looking for his son after the argument he had with you. Inviting him to go fishing, obviously this was a strange thing for lo'ak to do. But spending the afternoon with his father was making him very happy. Lo'ak was cleaning the fish as jake told him to, looking carefully at the instructions. "And what do I do with this?" lo'ak points with disgust, at the fish's stomach. "Remove it…that's disgusting" jake mimics lo'ak's wince as they both laughed. It was a very nice moment for both of them, jake had to admit that he had missed a lot of moments with lo'ak. While lo'ak and jake were busy, kiri, neteyam and tuk were sitting somewhere in the corner of the marui talking and playing with each other. When they noticed how their mother came in with a happiness. "I have good news," said neytiri.

"How is mom!!!" lo'ak gets up quickly, running to neytiri. "she's fine…but" neytiri pauses, walking over to jake to sit next to him. "What's wrong, she's supposed to just be sick at her stomach" jake says. The last he heard from you, neteyam had taken you to see ronal. And that you had a lot of stomach pain. "It's not a bad thing…come here everybody, come on!" neytiri makes the signal for everyone in the family to come over. Everyone sits around, neytiri looked so excited. "This is so big for this family… Y/N is expecting a baby" neytiri sounds the news, jake gets so excited he hugs neytiri right away. "No way!!!" shouts kiri hugging tuk and the little girl was already very excited. "Another sully to the family" says neteyam, excited. But apparently the news had not gone down well with everyone, "WHAT?" Lo'ak literally screams, capturing her parents' attention. "Lo'ak what's wrong?" neytiri is now confused, this is supposed to be a big surprise.

"Why is mom going to have a baby? She can't have one!!!" Lo'ak was getting a little upset. This was a jealous reaction, and neytiri and jake could tell. "hey lo'ak I need you to calm down" jake tries to calm him down. But the boy stands up in annoyance, getting out of the marui. "Lo'ak needs to stop having tantrums, he's too old to be having these dramas" kiri says. Neytiri taps her knee, kiri complains. Everyone in the family knows how lo'ak was with you, everything that had to do with you affected lo'ak twice as much. Jake was about to get up and go talk to the boy. But he feels neteyam's hand stop him. "Dad…I'll talk to him" says neteyam. Jake looks quickly at neytiri, who signals him to let his brother go get him. Neteyam gets up from the ground and leaves the marui to look for his brother. It doesn't take him long to find him, he was relatively close. Lo'ak was sitting in the sand, he could tell he was crying.

"Little brother…you're jealous" says neteyam. Listening as lo'ak whined. "What do you want you idiot!!!" lo'ak grudgingly replies to neteyam. But neteyam ignores him, laughing and sitting down next to him. "I know you must be feeling jealous," says neteyam. Lo'ak rolls his eyes in white. He didn't want to be messing around with neteyam, sometimes he could be very annoying. "You know…when you were born I felt a little jealous, but when tuk was born I must admit I couldn't help but feel very jealous. Our moms were with her all the time and didn't pay attention to us. " said neteyam. "Yes, but my mom has always paid attention to me" lo'ak says sounding a bit smug. Neteyam laughs, he had to admit that his little brother looked adorable. "And she's always going to love you, I'm the big brother. And having to share everything…but the love mama has for you is special and no one will ever change it," Neteyam speaks. Lo'ak is silent, neteyam stands up and taps his brother on the shoulder. Stepping away to let him think for a moment.

That same afternoon…

You were already up, and it was getting dark. You had to admit that you were pretty bored. Ronal was taking longer than usual. You wanted to be home, you felt a little better. And now that you knew you were sick and the pregnancy symptoms were making it worse, you felt somewhat reassured. Although the news of your pregnancy was not something you were very happy about. Sure, you were happy to have a baby. You had waited for this opportunity for so long, but it had to happen right now. Just now when the situation with lo'ak was very active.

You were so wrapped up in your own thoughts, that you didn't notice when Ronal entered the marui. The woman can see that you were a bit lost. "The news of the baby surprises you, doesn't it? Because it does to me," says Ronal, putting some things she brought to refill. You look at her a little startled, and became a little alert at the tone of Ronal's voice. You weren't friends, and ronal tolerated you and treated you well because tonowari told her to. "Yes…it's a surprise," you say. Trying not to sound awkward. "It seems kind of unreal to me…that one" Ronal scans you up and down. "Human is pregnant, I have doubts even with your supposed child" ronal speaks, she could be quite direct. She didn't mind hurting other people's feelings. "Excuse me?" you get more comfortable in your bed. "Don't take this the wrong way…but it's weird" ronal chuckles a little. You decide to ignore her, you didn't want to argue because you still felt a little bad.

Ronal prepared more medicine for you to take in the next few days. Supposedly some food had made you sick. After several days you are supposed to be left with only the symptoms of pregnancy. She might be a little mean, but she wouldn't hurt you. You get up carefully, leaving Marui. Ronal all this time had been making uncalled for comments about you and your child. But at no time did you want to answer him, you didn't want to cause trouble. "Hey by the way" Ronal starts talking. You stop, and look back.

"I heard you wanted to go back to the jungle…and you know what" Ronal laughs again to herself. You didn't understand what you had done to this woman, but she seemed to hate you. "I think it would be best for your family. Even for that child…lo'ak. When you weren't here, we barely heard the sully. And as far as I can see all you've done is mess everything up around here," Ronal says, turning to continue working. You sigh, you weren't going to give her the pleasure of her seeing you cry, getting out of that marui as fast as you could. Back to the familiar marui, you couldn't help but get Ronal's words out of your head, maybe she was right. Maybe they were better off without you. And now you had one more problem.

P.s The reason I wrote that the reader was pregnant is that the original request asked for two children. Lo'ak and the baby on the way. Second, the reader is still upset with jake, but I wanted to fix things up a bit. Because I want it to focus more on the relationship between lo'ak and his mom.

Tag: @baybaybear1@hoodiepandaninja16@teyyyteyyy@anika-rose-walker@victoria2054@raviolisblog@jessi-dan@neteyams-wh0re@jimfiqs@bitchykittenconnoisseur@chershire23@holynightnacho@danilezilla@thepotatoislost @esposadomd @ratchetprime211 @juneonhoth

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munsons-hellfire · 9 months ago

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Lost Part 1 | Cassian

SUMMARY: You were the princess of the Spring Court. But you no longer wanted to follow behind your brother. When Feyre decides to leave, she takes you and Lucien. But with the discovery of your mate and a war on its way you start to feel so lost.

PAIRINGS: Cassian x Tamlin!Sister!Reader

CONTENT WARNINGS: Mentions of abuse, mfw, part 1, I might have missed something but I don't think this really has a lot of warning in this part. Enjoy!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So I ended up turning this into a few parts. There are a few points I want to touch and I don't think it would've been a good idea to do one whole part. If you wish to be added to the tag list for this please let me know down in the comments. The sumary will most likely stay the same I'm not sure yet.

WORD COUNT: 2.0K

It felt like forever. The torture you faced under your bother’s ruleing. It wasn’t protection as he liked to call it. It was a prison, Tamlin had taken over after your father had been killed. You hadn’t been able to shed a tear when it happened, you always assumed that you weren’t meant to be in the Spring Court. When Feyre arrived as a human, you knew she was your chance for an escape.

So when she took the opportune moment to leave, you followed right behind her. Currently you didn’t understand how you had found yourself in this situation. You, Feyre, and Lucien had been on the run from the Spring Court. Little cuts littered your chest, arms, neck, and face. It was so cold, you didn’t know if you could hold on any longer. One of Lucien’s brothers was on top of you, holding you against the ice.

He lifts your head up and slams it down into the ice hard. Stars are dancing around your eyes, as you struggle to keep the blade from going into your throat. Your hand was on the blade, blood dripping onto your neck. A whimper escaped your lips as he stared down at you with a malevolent smile.

“You make such pretty sounds, I wonder what else I could get out of you.” He whispered, his tongue licking up the side of your chin all the way to your pointed ear.

You tried to push the male of you but it was no use. He was far stronger than you, and right now you were too weak. You couldn’t access your power considering you were drained. There were plants all around you even in the Winter Court but that was the last thing on your mind. It also didn’t help that you had never learned to fight. Tamlin had thought it was best you learn how to be a housemaid, how to be a mother, how to take care of your future husband.

Whatever the case may be you learned everything except how to fight and how to use your powers in a situation like this, it was biting you in the ass. Where Tamlin could shape-shift, you could manipulate the plants around you. But your brother didn’t know that, you knew better than to tell him your secret. Just before he could do further damage to you another male flew into him knocking him to the ice.

You turned to your side, a wince leaving your lips as you watched that same male throw a punch into his face. He continued to do so, he hadn’t been able to stop until someone had pulled him off Lucien’s brother. He wasn’t dead, you knew that he was knocked out cold. Your breath was shallow, as the male turned towards you red siphons glistening in the darkness of the night. He was leaning over you, hazel eyes searching you.

He gently picked you up, resting your head to his chest while he cradled the rest of your body. You stared up at him, when he looked back down at you, it snapped. Just before you closed your eyes you felt the gold thread tied around your heart. The mating bond had snapped, you were tied to the male that had just saved you. Now that you were safe you could close your eyes and that’s exactly what you did.

☾

Rhysand stood next to his brother as Madja worked on you. Cassian had his arms crossed over his chest, he was leaning against the door. The male was trying his hardest not to hover over Madja while she worked on his mate. But it was excruciating not to be next to you to hold your hand while she healed you.

“Are you positive?” Rhysand asked again, finally looking over at his brother. Feyre was at the end of the hallway, with Azriel as well. Lucien was also there but Cassian didn’t care much for him, his brother was responsible for the injuries to his mate. He wanted to kill him so they were standing guard in front of Lucien.

“Yes. The Princess of the Spring Court is my mate. I know she felt it too.” Cassian explained again, saying the same thing he’d consistently said when they had arrived back home. Cassian paused, staring briefly at his brother. “Do you really think she has powers?”

“Feyre believed it, and I know what I saw when we were under the mountain. Tamlin didn’t see it but Amarantha did. She protected herself in a cocoon of vines. Whatever she can do, she’s more powerful than she believes herself to be.”

Cassian had heard mentions of the story about how you’d protected yourself to avoid the affliction of pain at the wrath of Amarantha. She loved your older brother, but she hated you. So she’d made your torture just as cruel and wicked as Feyre had gone through. She even locked you up with Feyre, keeping you distanced from the only family you’d ever known. Tamlin. Lucien.

Rhys had told Cass that he had done everything in his power to keep you safe. But when that happened, everything changed. He knew eventually you’d be in his court. Tamlin would destroy you, and it looks like he’d already done just that. Finally Rhys looked back at Cassian again.

“We need to keep her safe.”

“She’s my mate, I won’t let her go back to that bastard of a brother. She’s safe here.” Cassian stated calmly. He caught Rhys looking down the hall to Feyre who gave a nod.

“Then you both need to accept the bond officially, Tamlin will demand her back. And if it isn’t accepted we have no choice but to hand her back over.”

“I’ll discuss it with her when she’s awake. Until then I can’t do much.”

Rhys gave a nod of his head as Madja walked up to them. “She is healed, though she might be out for a few days. Everything was drained, powers included. She needs time to rest.” Madja explained.

“Thank you.” Cassian said, stepping past the healer and walking into the room. He grabbed a chair and set it next to your bed. Then he reached for your hand, holding it in his. Cassian would wait days for you to wake up, as long as you came back to him.

☾

You held onto that thread when you thought you might die. Slowly you blinked open your eyes, a groan escaped your lips. You looked around the room noticing that you weren’t in the Spring Court. Then the memories of what had happened came flashing back into your mind. Panic started to rush through your body, however a hand gave you a comforting squeeze. You turned your head to see the male that had saved you holding onto it.

Just like you remembered he had red siphons on his body. Seven of them to be exact. His black hair was shoulder length, some of it was tied back in a small bun. He looked sexy with his hair that way. A smirk covered his lips, he must have seen what you were thinking was plastered on your face. His golden-brown skin made him look just as handsome. You could see some tattoos peaking through his shirt.

It was a gray shirt and was fitted perfectly to his upper body. You wondered what everything looked like underneath his clothes. Your mind started to drift, thinking of what he’d feel like against you, naked. His pulling of the chair brought you out of your thoughts, you decided to pull yourself up slightly so you could lean against the headboard. You felt the golden string that connected you to him. It was such a pain to not be closer to him. You needed him closer.

“Can you hold me?” Your voice was soft as you asked the question. He stared at you, the confusion was there only for a moment before it switched to understanding. You watched as the male stood from the chair, removed his boats and climbed into your bed. He leaned you forward gently, sitting behind you.

When he settled down into the bed, he pulled you towards his chest. You had noticed that somewhere in between him joining you on the bed he'd taken off his shirt so you could feel his warmth. You rested your head back on his chest, and closed your eyes feeling the bond shine brightly at the touch.

“I’m Cassian.” He whispered in your ear after a few moments of silence.

“Y/N.” You paused, pulling his large hand into yours and entangling your fingers together. You didn’t understand how you’d gotten so lucky to be blessed with a mate provided by the Mother. “So you really are my mate?”

You questioned finally. Maybe this was all a dream, and you’d wake back up in the Spring Court. You didn’t want that though, you’d known you had finally gotten away from your brother's temper and you couldn’t go back to it. Things had gotten worse for you when you’d all returned from under the mountain.

“I am.” Cassian’s words were so comforting as he said them.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get a mate. I… Tam said I’d never experience this. That I’d be marrying off to someone who would never be my mate.” You felt your mate tighten his grip around your waist, his jealousy was evident but you didn’t mind it. Oddly enough it felt comforting, you’d been missing something like that for a long time.

Cassian clenched his jaw at the mere mention of what your brother had in store for you when the time was right. He nudged his nose into your hair. “I can assure you mate, that’ll never happen. I will not allow your brother to take you away from me.”

“But Tam, he’ll try to get me back. I am the princess of the Spring Court after all. He’ll try to call a meeting, to call for a battle against this court.” The worry was evident in your voice as you spoke the words that Rhys had mentioned a few days ago.

“If we accept the mating bond, your brother can not do anything about it. We can accept it then see a Priestess.”

You wanted to reject the idea of accepting the bond so quickly, but you knew that was a lie. Cassian was your mate, and you were his. This had to be done, and it had to happen now. A war loomed over your heads because of your brother. He’d chosen the wrong side and you wouldn’t stand by anymore. Not with what you could do.

“Let’s do it.” You spoke finally. “I need a day, and we need somewhere where it can be just the two of us. When we come back we’ll see a Priestess.”

“I have a place in mind for privacy.” Cassian said, a smirk on his lips. “I can give you a day as well. But after that you’re mine forever, princess.” You only gave a nod and closed your eyes leaning further into Cassian’s chest. It wasn’t until you were finally asleep, breathing evenly that Cassian called to Rhys in his mind.

“How is she?” It was the first question he had asked when the conversation started.

“She’s fine.” Cassian paused, he glanced down at his mate. “She wants to accept the bond.”

“Good. That’s excellent news brother. I think we could all use that right now.”

“We’re gonna head to the cabin for a few days, then we’ll see a Priestess when we come back.”

“Sounds like a plan. When you both come back we’ll discuss what to do in case Tamlin does try to do something. I want to help her learn her powers if she’ll let me.”

“I think she’d be more than willing to learn. I think it would be great to start training with her as well even if we don’t get far into it.”

“Good idea, brother. Both of you get some rest. I’ll let Feyre know she’s doing better.”

With those words Cassian felt his High Lord leave his mind. When Cassian looked back down at you he noticed that you were asleep. The fae lights in the room dimmed down allowing only the moonlight into the room. Cassian held onto you tightly as you slept on top of his form. This wasn’t the best of circumstances, how he found you. But he was so glad that he’d found you when you needed him most.

#cassian #cassian x reader #acotars #cassian x you #reader insert #x reader #tamlin #lucien #feyre #rhysand #mates #azriel

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eldritch-spouse · 1 month ago

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Thought of a Meet cute with Vorago. We are walking and reading a human x demon romance book. We almost walk into traffic and Vorago pulls us out of harm's way. We look up at him and thank him for saving us with all the adoration in our heart. He's going to write a fic of this 100% guaranteed.

[50/50 chance you knock into each other and swap interspecies smut books.]

[Fem reader.]

Vorago wishes he liked going to the surface more.

Really, he should. It's where a lot of his future business will be conducted, and he won't always be summoned to his target locations. Therefore, it's integral to his status that the prince not only find his way around without help but also maintain his air of infernal royal descent. This task is easy enough to achieve, and he certainly doesn't mind the change in scenery, being surrounded by so many humans even.

The problem lies in his conservative conduct. Vorago isn't allowed to interact with strangers more than he must, he shouldn't approach things outside his defined goals, so as to reduce the possibility of scandals and failure. Not only that, his standard appearance already puts off a lot of people from speaking to him, the attitude he must uphold pretty much ensures he's given a wide berth wherever he goes. Much too wide. It's an isolating experience.

He remembers when he was a clumsy hatchling, clinging to his mother's tail when the two of them ventured into the surface buzz. Sure, Queen Vorticia would have to eventually hold him by a horn, but before such, he was free to march his way to any human and ask them to play games with him. The memories alone put a smile on his face.

This is precisely why Vorago's favorite moments on the surface are when he's surrounded by busy people. People who are simply too distracted, too in their own bubble, to even register his presence, much less distance themselves.

He's been behind you for a few minutes.

Not because he chose to, you just happen to be walking the same paths.

So engrossed in your little book, you're hardly looking where you're going. Vorago knows the feeling, many times have the hours slipped past him while he bent over a desk and devoured endless pages. He had to be shaken off it by his siblings frequently, disoriented and embarrassed.

All three eyes strain to get a better view of the words on those two pages.

What are you reading? Is it fiction? Educational content? Maybe you're a student. History? Crime thriller? Drama? Sci-fi? Romance...? He can't even get a glimpse of the cover, at least not without encroaching upon your personal bubble.

Mild disappointment flashes on the prince's face.

He's just close enough to be politely curious, to catch a whiff of your scent, but that's about it.

You may not be attentive to the environment around you, but other people certainly are. The crowd slightly ahead of you hastens to catch the last few seconds of a soundless pedestrian green light. Predictably, you don't.

Right as green becomes red, impatient vehicles have already began picking up speed, your body about to resemble that of an impact dummy in a matter of seconds.

Vorago acts on reflex mostly.

Many times has he had to be the one yanking younger baby sisters and brothers from certain injury, so the prince hardly thinks before wrapping his claws around the collar of your shirt and pulling.

It was a harsh pull, definitely. Measuring strength was the last thing on the glutton's mind when he acted. The force of it doesn't just launch you back, away from the zooming cars now passing by, it also causes you to lose balance, scream, and land right on your ass.

Your personal belongings fly just about everywhere, and Vorago's focus breaks enough that he feels somewhat guilty now.

" I'm incredibly sorry. " He blurts out, a hand reaching out towards your panicked self.

You seem frantic, quickly trying to crouch and pick up your phone, keys, wallet. " N- No no, I just- " Finally, you look up.

And the look on your face says you expected quite literally anyone, except him.

He can't even interpret it at first. Is it a good kind of shock? A bad one? He understands he's rather large compared to a human, and plenty of monsters out there, but you're giving him nothing to work with. Your cheeks look warm, a much too long second passes.

You're quite beautiful up close.

" I'm okay! "

The volume of your sudden input makes his head flinch back, ears flicking. Vorago watches you drop your phone a couple of times before shaky hands finally manage to collect everything and you're standing, awkwardly.

" I uhm- " Your head veers to the traffic, then back. Beneath all the nerves, there's something like naked admiration in your expression, as if Vorago were some fantastical entity. " Thank you so much, you probably saved my life there. "

Probably?

The prince smiles, nodding, trying to make the situation as natural as it can be. " Don't mention it, ma'am, I'm just pleased you're safe. "

Something about that made your eyes widen, you look even more frantic now. He barely gets a word in when the light turns green once more, with you preparing to nearly sprint away.

" R-Right. Thanks. "

Vorago is about to walk as well, not all that eager to stop the conversation, when his foot brushes an object, causing him to reflexively glance at what he identifies as your book.

He picks it up fast. " Ma'am, your... "

When he straightens, you're already quite a distance ahead, walking decidedly fast and harshly tapping away at your screen.

" ... Book. "

Something about the cover feels weird. The glutton strolls forward with the thing in hand, indulging his curiosity while he flips it around.

'Unlocking The Quiet Mind, Exercises to find clarity and mindfulness within yourself'

Ah, self-help books. He's read a few. Lord knows today's world could use the time to reflect and find balance.

When he prepares to flip open the first few pages, the cover crinkles, making him frown. That's not natural. He moves it around some, eventually making it slip down.

Oh.

Vorago removes the fake plastic protection.

Oh.

'The Eclipse Pact, Tethered by blood and soul'

He nearly chokes.

This, is the real book. The actual cover consists of a woman in what seems to be a forested area, below a solar eclipse. She kneels before an inaccurate summoning circle in nothing more than a flowing nightgown, ritual utensils beside her, shocked and flustered by the presence of a demon confidently emerging from said circle.

He can feel his claws tightening onto the book, a rabid wave of excitement making the glutton's body become furnace-like, hair standing. He finds the back.

'Soon after moving out, Eliza Winters inherits a summoning book from her recently departed distant grandmother, detailing a ritual that, when performed during a solar eclipse, brings forth an infernal companion devoted entirely to her service. She never expected it to work, much less that she would now have to house a charming yet secretive demon who claims he will do anything to gain her favor for seemingly no reason. As she attempts to navigate her newfound reality, tensions and nosy family members highlight curious similarities between them. Can Eliza believe this infatuated summon? Are they meant to be, or are they now stuck together until the next few eclipses?'

The prince starts laughing to himself, trying to control his volume when a grin as wide and toothy as a lion's paints his complexion.

It's not that this is a particularly original story premise, it's that you were reading it.

No wonder you were panicking.

Wildly overjoyed, Vorago bolts his head every direction he can, desperate to find you again.

It's unsightly for a royal to be sprinting in public, but when the high-ranker recognizes the top of your head in a crowd, he doesn't hold back, nearly shoving past people.

He doesn't even know what he'll say when he catches up, he just knows he has to find you.

It's too perfect.

#Vorago oc #monster boyfriend #monster x reader

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thesunloveschips · 3 months ago

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Eye of the Storm - Chapter 17: The Sovereign, the Slayer, and the Seer.

Summary: In the wake of Rhysand’s ascension as High Lord, the Bone Carver gifts a prophecy. More than five hundred years later, Azriel continues to wait for the one who is finally reborn as his High Lady’s sister. All it takes is a dip in the Cauldron for things to start falling into place.

Chapter Summary: Azriel and Nyra are sweet. Also, Nyra wields her power in different ways.

Author's message: This is the last chapter before a time skip where I'm going to speed up things by inserting all the fluff and the smut I wrote in the office, the public transport, and everywhere I got carried away.

@feerique always and eternally grateful to you!!✨✨

Word count: 6.8k (Enjoy!!)

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****

Nyra remembered the day she poisoned her mother for the first time.

It hurt every time her mother slashed her palm, seeing Nesta being moulded into something else, seeing Elain and Feyre walking on eggshells every day.

Their mother had plans for them—Nyra to be poisoned, Nesta married to an old duke, Elain and Feyre sent to a horrible aunt. It was too much. Everyone was at risk. And their father was as unreliable and absent as ever.

There was also the story of left-handed women in the Archeron family. Long before the partition of the lands between the fae and humans, their ancestors had resided in a land of snow, the proof of which lived on in their blue eyes.

One ancestor had been summoned by a fae who prophesied about a left-handed female born into the family with a fate woven in darkness. To prevent that, the fae suggested forcing the left-handed ones to ‘become’ right-handed.

That led to the cruel practice of slashing the left palms of left-handed girls, to force them to use their right hand. Failure to do so before puberty resulted in poisoning to death. No left-handed girl in the family survived.

Her mother had started slashing her palm every three to four weeks somewhere around the age of five and had started poisoning her by the age of twelve, nearing puberty. Death awaited her but that was merciful compared to the life her sisters would’ve lived.

So she did it.

She poisoned her mother, passed it off as an illness, and the horrible woman finally passed away.

Back then, Nyra had been poisoned enough for an aftermath that would last her entire life as an incurable illness.

Then came the Cauldron. And then she’d died. Really died.

Yes. It was a very painful affair. As if she was being ripped from. . . something.

Nyra was the only one who did not remember the kidnapping or how she’d been thrown into the Cauldron. Her only vague memory was about being drenched, walking, laying down, and a blue light before everything turned black.

Her left hand had begun trembling and her scar reminded her of Azriel’s hands.

“My half brothers were not pleased with the existence of a bastard. They wanted to test if their father’s illegitimate progeny had enough healing prowess so. . . they. .”

Azriel hesitated to continue. Nyra hummed, looking at the night sky. She laid her head against his arm and continued to not look at him even though she felt his gaze on her.

“What do you think of it?” Nyra straightened herself and looked at him, caught unaware by his question. He seemed expectant and nervous.

“I don’t have the right to have an opinion, Az.” She answered softly.

“I am a bastard.”

“And?”

“My hands are like this.”

“And?”

“Surely you must think something about it.”

Nyra looked at the night sky. “Why do you sound like you’re trying to push me away?”

She now turned to him fully, angling her body accordingly. “It’s like you’re asking me to- I don’t know. What are you trying to do? Stop me from wanting to be your friend?”

Azriel had nothing to say. He looked down at his scarred hands like an admonished child.

“I’m not- I don’t even know what to say. Just. . Ugh!” That was the first time Nyra had ever let herself make a sound like that. Let herself not be ladylike as her mother had demanded. “Do you hate me or something?”

“I don’t hate you.” He immediately spoke, sounding panicked.

“I think you’re brave.” She whispered. “I also think that if your half brothers were alive, I might’ve struck them with lightning. Or poisoned them.”

“Murder is a crime.” Azriel tried to joke. She found him so adorable.

“Nobody can tell if I summoned the lightning or if it was actually a natural disaster.” She drawled with a smile.

“I can.” Azriel was now amused.

“I’d like to think that if I were murdering someone, you’d wait with a shovel to hide the body.”

Azriel tipped his head back and laughed. “I think I might just hand you the Truth Teller for your murder.”

“Wouldn’t want anything to happen to your pretty knife, Az.”

“That pretty knife has drawn much blood.”

“It’s too late for me.” Her words might have sounded out of context but the way Azriel’s features morphed into surprise, she knew he’d understood.

“You. . .” He was looking at her again, lips parted.

“What?” She laughed.

“I didn’t. . . I. .”

“I suppose it’s baffling.”

“Consider me baffled.” He exhaled and looked straight ahead. “Wow. That’s. . .”

“Scary?”

“Surprising, baffling, mind blowing, yes. Scary, no.”

“Would be the shock of anyone’s life if a woman like me scared the Spymaster of the Night Court.”

Azriel immediately looked at her, his gaze shaking her soul. “You’re a myriad of mysteries, Nyra Archeron, and I may be too curious for my own good.”

She looked away with a smile, closing her eyes.

“How about we exchange secrets?” Azriel’s proposal was tempting. Feeding her desire to know the elusive Spymaster.

“Go on.”

“I was twelve when I first killed.”

And Nyra grinned brightly at that. “Same!”

It was strange to be talking and bonding over such topics but Azriel looked at her and grinned back. And under the night sky with a crescent moon hanging over them, they’d confessed everything about their first kill.

By the end of that conversation, Azriel had an arm around Nyra’s shoulder and she was leaning against him.

“I feel light.” He spoke softly. And she knew she felt the same. Years of bottling things up and she was finally unravelled.

“I want to tell Feyre and Elain.” About how she’d killed their mother.

“Feeling ready?”

“I feel light.” She repeated his words and looked at him. If life was a little better, kinder, maybe they would’ve kissed. But this was the best of reality and this moment would continue to live in her memory.

He squeezed her arm and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead and reality became infinitely more beautiful.

Nyra smiled.

The timing was bad.

War was inevitable. The king wanted the Archeron sisters. Everyone was preparing. Nyra was learning to control her powers and access more information from her archives but. . . She was so attracted to Azriel.

In her defence, Azriel should not be so. . . perfect.

He was kind and so sweet to her. Always so patient and made time for her. Such a wonderful soul. So reliable.

And he had a great face. That was just. . . Nyra clutched her sheets and turned over to the other side. And she turned again.

She would’ve liked to complain because how was his every movement so sensual? And why did he spar shirtless?

Nyra continued yawning but she couldn’t sleep. The first light of dawn peeked in from the corners of the curtains.

Frustrated, she grabbed a robe and stepped out, walking through the dimly lit corridor. She reached the staircase and since she’d never been upstairs, she ascended. A door was ajar and she could see the lavender sky before the sun truly appeared for the day.

As she neared it, the light of the dawn was covered by the glaring darkness. Dark swirls wafted over to her and stopped in front of her.

She lifted a hand as she always did and welcomed the shadows to play with her. They perched themselves on her head and shoulders and crawled along the skirts and sleeves of her robe and finally played with her fingers and cheeks. Their cool touch made her sleepier.

The call of her name jolted her from her haze. Feyre was standing by the door.

“Hello.” She sounded so tired and sleepy and soft. Feyre took her hand and took her with her. The terrace of the House of Wind was in fact an open space and Cassian was yelling and Nyra nearly stumbled only for the shadows to catch her waist.

“Careful.” Feyre warned, immediately at her side now that she’d realised her sleepy sister might need more assistance if she were to reach anywhere safely.

The shadows were cool and so gentle and their wispy sounds were lulling her to sleep so nicely. Feyre helped her lean against a wall somewhere and Nyra no longer felt her hand.

She enjoyed the sensation of the shadows massaging her head and shoulders and hands. And she was so sleepy she could simply fall and not care where she fell.

“Nyra!” The loud voice jolted her from her haze. Was that Cassian?

“You woke her up, idiot.” Another voice came, low and deep and she could fall in that voice and sleep there.

“Overprotective bastard.” A male laugh followed that comment.

Footsteps and more voices and she forced herself to open her eyes. Her vision took their time to clear up and finally revealed three shirtless Illyrians to her. Nyra blinked and then frowned.

“Won’t you catch a cold?” She meant to sound stern but she sounded too soft. A yawn escaped her.

“I’ll be fine. Feyre darling is here to warm me up.” Rhysand sounded like he was eagerly waiting for that.

“And Cassian and Azriel will warm each other up?” She asked, her head tilting to the side.

“You’re welcome to join us, Nyra.” Cassian grinned and she couldn’t help her smile at the early morning teasing.

“I’d like to sleep.”

“You’d be missing out.” Cassian teased again and received another yawn as a reply.

“Wouldn’t you rather have Azriel all to yourself?” Nyra smiled softly. She looked at Azriel and frowned. “Where are your shadows?”

The shadowsinger smiled at her. “With you.”

And as if they wanted to remind her, one of the tendrils tugged at her fingers. She looked down at her hand and found shadows on her hands and the length of her robe.

“Do you want to go back to your room?” Azriel asked. He sounded kind and his intentions were kind and her stupid self didn’t even bother registering that because his voice was far too sensual to her ears and it made her shiver.

“You’re cold.” Azriel noted. And when her eyes cooperated with her, she found herself in front of a very sweaty, shirtless Azriel whose chest glowed in the early light of dawn. She blinked, took a step back, and lost her balance.

Azriel had moved faster than she could comprehend and had caught her but sleep was betraying her for the second time that morning by abandoning her when she needed it the most.

Because how was anyone supposed to see a shirtless Azriel in close proximity and remain standing? Nyra did not know how so she frowned.

“I’m not cold.” She mumbled as the shadowsinger helped her stand straight. Her cheeks were warming up.

“And sleepy.” He helped her stand straight. “Come on, I’ll take you to your room.” Azriel placed his arms behind her back and legs and lifted her.

“I was not sleepy earlier when I left my room.” She mumbled, her head laying against his chest. His heartbeat was a beautiful sound. It was speeding up. “Your heartbeat is fast.”

“I’ve been training awhile now, Nyra.” He made her name sound nicer than it usually was. Made her feel cherished with the way he called her name.

And she wanted to do that for him. She wanted to love him. To cherish him.

And she felt herself smile.

This was. . . freeing.

Was this how it was?

To have a heart without inhibitions or doubts?

How easy was it to see his face and forget everything else?

“Hm.” She turned her head towards his chest. “You smell nice.”

“I’m sweaty.” He had begun descending the stairs. She could feel it in the way he moved with her in his arms.

“Still nice.” And she found that comfortable space. With the shadows caressing her and Azriel’s warmth and the sound of his heartbeat, she floated away into the cosy dark.

The realisation that her heart was leaving her to be somebody else’s affected her in a way she did not quite understand. But it was Azriel. . .

Nyra turned to the other side and slept soundly.

****

“What?” Feyre asked, amused by Cassian glancing at her for the third time. She had just entered wearing that starlit gown.

“You just look so. . .”

“Here we go.” Mor muttered from beside Nyra.

“Official.” Cassian looked at Mor incredulously. “Fancy.”

Nyra snorted and Cassian scowled at her. Azriel chuckled from the front door as he entered. His besotted shadows were already floating towards Nyra.

“Over five hundred years old. A skilled warrior and general, famous throughout territories, and complimenting ladies is still something he finds next to impossible. Remind me why we bring you to diplomatic meetings?” Mor shook her head, feigning disappointment.

When the shadowsinger laughed again, Cassian glared at him. “I don’t see you resorting to poetry, brother.”

Azriel crossed his arms, smiling faintly at the sight of Nyra and his shadows. “I don’t need to resort to it.”

Nyra looked up at him with a teasing smile. “Really?”

Azriel stared at her, wide eyed at having been caught off guard. He looked away as his cheeks warmed while the greedy little shadows tugged at her fingers, demanding her attention again. And while she fondly played with them, Rhys had appeared.

“I thought you were leaving.” Nesta’s voice came from atop the stairs. She descended, moved past Cassian and Morrigan, and stopped near Nyra. She patted her twin on the head and walked towards Feyre to declare her intention to go with them.

“As High Lady, Feyre is no longer my emissary to the human world.” Rhysand smiled at Nesta. “Want the job?”

A spark flared in those silvery blue eyes. “Consider this meeting a trial basis. And I’ll make you pay through the teeth for my services.”

Rhys bowed a little. “I would expect nothing less of an Archeron sister. Welcome to the court. You’re about to have one hell of a first day.”

Nesta smiled, something unexpected for most of them. She went over to Nyra and sat on the armrest. “Are you okay?”

“Not good, not bad.” Nyra replied.

Rhysand looked over at Nyra. “Interested in being an emissary, Nyra?”

She looked at him, contemplated the offer, and replied. “When I’m feeling better.”

“You should.” Nesta spoke, looking at her with mild disapproval. “Make use of those languages you learned.”

“You’re fluent in those languages too.”

“Languages?” Feyre asked.

“Eight.” Nyra raised her hand.

“Seven.” Nesta raised her hand.

“When?” Rhysand was stupefied. Languages in the mortal and fae lands were quite similar owing to the coexistence of both species until five hundred years ago.

“Mother nearly screeched at us to learn five. We got carried away.” Nyra answered.

“I’m not the one who learned another language just to talk to someone she’d only met.” Nesta muttered.

“Tell me about this.” Cassian eagerly asked, forgetting that he was supposed to remain nonchalant with Nesta.

Nesta looked at him, surprised. She simply stared at him before finally speaking. “Once upon a time, Nyra wanted to talk to someone. But he did not speak any languages we were fluent in. So she learned his language and finally spoke to him.”

“Him?” Rhysand was now grinning like a cat and watching an utterly stone faced Azriel.

“Shut up.” Nyra muttered. The shadows had begun tugging on her fingers, as if someone would somehow take her away.

“Two minutes into the conversation and she pushes him from the balcony.” Nesta concluded, earning a shocked look from all.

“As she should.” Azriel muttered.

Nyra looked up at him in disbelief. “You don’t even know what happened.”

Azriel walked over and laid a possessive arm around her. He squeezed the flesh of her shoulder to remind himself that she was here in front of him. “I don’t need to.”

Azriel simply watched her. He could watch her for so long. Her eyes as they brightened and dimmed during conversations. The movement of her mouth as she spoke and laughed and frowned or cried.

And she was so willing to allow his scarred hands to touch her.

Azriel had held Nyra a few times. And he was always marvelling at how unbelievably soft she was. For someone like him, she was so easily pressed against him.

And he wrapped her in his arms for a hug. When Nyra looked up at him, confused, Azriel realised what he’d done. “My mother likes hugs during her cycle.”

It was true.

“She sounds nice.” Nyra pressed her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes in contentment. “Warm hugs are nice.”

At this moment, where war was imminent, Azriel wanted to marry this female.

Because every moment with her would be worth a lifetime of waiting and an unpredictable future.

He heard her breathing pattern became even. She was comfortable and about to fall asleep. “Don’t fall asleep on me now.”

“I won’t.” Nyra sounded tired and ready to fall asleep in his arms and Azriel was sure he would not leave if that happened. He looked at the people around him.

His stupid brothers were grinning with Feyre soon picking up on the feel of the family. He was already suspicious of Mor being attracted to Nyra. The appearance of Elain at the end of the corridor, walking towards them, caught his eye.

Elain looked at him and then at Nyra and hurried over. She took Nyra from Azriel’s arms and made her sit. Azriel knelt before her and took her hand. “Sleepy?”

“Hm.”

“Does it hurt?”

Nyra sat straight, a little alert. “. . . no.”

“Your tea will be ready soon.”

“Hm.” Nyra looked at him and frowned when she realised something. “Don’t you have to go?”

“I do.”

“Then why are you still here?”

And could he ever answer that with the truth? That he wanted to be with her and take care of her. And that every moment he took here was his selfishness trying to salvage every scrap of a shared moment.

At that moment, Rhysand walked over and patted her head with a fond smile. “Tea is on the second shelf from the top right. You know where the mugs are. Books are in the family library but if you need more from downstairs, Azriel’s shadows can get them for you. And-”

“If you want to go to the priestess’ library, ask Clotho for Inanna.” Mor interrupted her cousin. “There’s an ample supply of snacks and if you want something else, just tell the wraiths and they’ll get it for you. And-”

“Tell the shadows if you need anything.” It was Azriel’s turn now. “Tea, cheesecake, books, anything. They’ll get it for you. And if you want to go outside, tell them. They’ll take you wherever you wish.”

“Do they go shopping?”

“Yes.” He’d discovered that recently when the shadows started spending his money on dresses that they were delighted when Nyra wore. He had no clue exactly which dresses they’d bought and Nyra knew nothing.

We bought all of them. The little bastards sounded entirely proud.

Look at the sage green she’s wearing now.

Very demure.

Very adorable.

And we were very mindful.

They were in their own world, celebrating as if they’d achieved something and Azriel did not even say anything because Nyra looked really. . . gods, he wanted to tear out his heart and give it to her.

“No going back now.” Cassian grinned.

Rhysand’s wings were now visible and as Nyra learned, it would be seen by the other High Lords and their diplomats for the first time. “I figure it’s time for the world to know who really has the largest wingspan.”

“Wingspan?” Nyra asked.

Mor sauntered over with an impish grin. Azriel twirled Nyra around, shielding her from the blonde female but that didn’t deter Mor from nearly shouting. “Azriel has the largest-” Feyre nearly hauled her away.

“Feyre. She needs to know this. It’s absolutely important.” Morrigan protested as if she’s been stopped from divulging the secret of the universe. “Azriel has the largest mmfph-” Feyre covered Mor’s mouth but the rest of the sentence was not hard for Nyra to guess.

And Nyra who had been cornered by Azriel looked up at him with an amused smile. “Does the wingspan mean something else?”

Azriel closed his eyes and sighed. He didn’t know how to answer that. He opened his eyes and found himself enamoured by her.

“Is that why you don’t resort to poetry?” She tilted her head with a smile, completely swept away by the urge to tease him.

Azriel met her gaze. He did not blush, did not shy away, but looked at her with intent. He leaned down to her ear and whispered. “Would you like to find out?”

Nyra’s smile was no more. The intensity in his eyes was beginning to be reflected in her own. She saw his gaze fall from her eyes to her lips.

Something more powerful than lightning crackled between them.

Nyra, now aware of her own attraction towards him, was not in control of her words or actions.

Azriel, on the other hand, had simply succumbed to the odd bit of courage and had not expected the way she reacted.

She’s attracted. She finds you attractive! The shadows nearly blew his eardrums with their cheers. Kiss her! Kiss her, you stupid male!

“Go to your meeting.” Nyra whispered, placing a hand on his chest. She pushed him but he did not budge.

She met his gaze and saw his yearning. Nyra really hoped she wasn’t hallucinating because if this male was yearning for her, then. . . this was probably the right time to faint.

Why hadn’t she fainted yet?

She’d been looking at Azriel’s unreasonably attractive face for this long. Surely, she should’ve fainted by now. Meanwhile, the shadows enveloped them and brought them to another room.

Azriel placed a gentle palm on her cheek. He was close. So close that another breath could lead to a kiss. “Will you be fine?”

“Yes.” Nyra felt like she would’ve said yes to anything at that moment. This was maddening. Azriel was looking at her lips now.

“What’s happening?” Nyra whispered.

“Whatever you’d like.” He looked her in the eye.

“You’ll be late.” The implication that he’d be late because he’d be occupied with her did not escape either of them. What they’d be doing to be occupied remained undecided.

“I’m not. . .” She trailed away and then kissed the corner of his mouth. “That’s all I’m brave enough to do.” She looked at his chest where her nails were sort of scratching on his leathers.

Azriel leaned in, consumed by his own desire and Nyra’s, their eyes fluttering close, and then he stopped. “Not now.”

Nyra looked up at him, eyes narrowed and irritation flashing in them.

Azriel laughed lightly and grabbed her waist. “Do you feel this?” He pushed his hips against hers, eliciting a delicious gasp. “If I start, I will make us both finish.”

Nyra scowled. “Since you have a grand total of zero intentions of doing anything, go.”

“Must you be so adorable?” Azriel rubbed his nose against hers.

“Must you be so annoying?” Nyra shot back. Azriel thrust his hips against hers, nearly going mad when she gasped against his lips. His cock was enjoying the friction far too much and ached for clothes to be discarded.

“Are you actually going to this meeting?” She did not sound like she wanted him to go.

“Do you want me to stay?” Yes, yes, yes, yes. And even when he asked the question, he knew that she wanted him to stay.

“There’s a war, Azriel.” Her mood dampened and so did his. It was a brutal reminder that things were too dangerous.

Azriel stepped back and extended a hand. She gave him her left hand, her dominant hand, and he kissed the back of it. “I’ll be back.”

The pair of them stepped out of the room to meet a very smug lot of busybodies.

“We will talk.” Nesta gave her a secret smile.

“No, we will not.” Nyra retorted.

“Anyway,” She looked at the smirking High Lord and his entourage. “All the very best to you nosy lot.” She looked at Nesta. “And if you sense that thing. . . right.”

Nesta nodded impassively. Nyra saw Elain and her teasing smile and the older sister blanched because Nesta was going away for now but Elain would be here and she could be relentless when she wanted to be. “And stop smirking, Azriel.”

“You’re not even looking at me.” The shadowsinger spoke.

“I don’t have to.” Nyra then looked at him pointedly to see him shake his head with a close-eyed smile.

“Brother dearest.” Rhysand flung an arm over Azriel’s shoulder and from where he stood, the Spymaster disappeared into the shadows to reach ahead at the Dawn Court. Rhys nearly fell before retaining his balance and eventually, his posture. And the company departed for Dawn.

****

What did he even expect when Eris had the ability to speak, Beron continued to exist, and Tamlin—Mother knew how much of that High Priestess’s insolence had rubbed off on him.

Azriel knew his family could feel his irritation. A few of his shadows were with Nyra but that didn’t make up for him not being there with her.

When Nesta felt something was wrong, the three Illyrians scouted for danger. They were in the House of Wind to check in on Elain and Nyra and found both sisters together. Both sisters were sitting on the floor with Elain holding Nyra’s cheeks and worrying.

“Something is wrong.” Elain looked at Rhys. “I can feel it but Nyra is. . .”

“Allow me to help you.” Rhysand sat down with her and tried to enter Nyra’s mind only to be thwarted by a storm. The High Lord looked at the shadowsinger who was already sitting next to Nyra. “Can you reach her?”

Azriel focused on the bond, on that blessing that tied his rotten self to this wonderful person. Please. Nyra. Come back.

“The Cauldron.” She whispered. Azriel watched her closely, wondering if he had been successful in reaching her. Nyra turned to him, her eyes still brightly gleaming. “It will break soon. There’s so much pain.”

Her eyes returned to their original blue. “Az.” She gasped. He immediately gathered her in his arms. “It’s too wrong. The balance is at stake.”

“Nyra?” Rhysand called and she turned to him. “Are you in pain? Do you need anything?”

“I. . . I think the Cauldron was calling for help.”

“Tell us everything.” Cassian had sat down on Elain’s other side.

“They’re trying to break something.” Nyra said. “Using the Cauldron.”

“The boundary will shatter.” Elain spoke, her eyes now white. “Gods will rise. The mirror will awaken the Sovereign and the Slayer-” Elain stopped abruptly to shut her ears. “No, no, no, no.” And she kept chanting.

“Elain, please let me in. I can help you.” Rhysand touched her shoulder. And they waited and watched as Rhysand help Elain calm down. She was now unconscious and a wave of night carried her to the bed.

They turned to Nyra who was looking at Elain.

“I’m staying.” Azriel spoke, his voice allowing no argument.

“All right.” Rhysand. “Come to Dawn tomorrow.” The shadowsinger glared at him. “If things are better here.” The High Lord quickly added. Azriel did not deign to reply as he focused on Nyra.

“All right.” Nyra looked at the General. “How is she?”

“Physically, she’s fine but I think whatever she felt, it disturbed her.” Cassian himself seemed disturbed. Rhysand patted Nyra’s head and so did Cassian before the two headed for the balcony leaving Azriel, Nyra, and an unconscious Elain in the same room.

“You could’ve left.” Nyra spoke as she continued to watch Elain. She waved her hand in front of her, lightning crackling at her fingertips as she cast a shield on Elain’s malnourished frame.

She looked at Azriel and gestured with her head towards the door. They exited and found themselves in front of the door to Nyra’s room.

“I’m worried.” He watched her as she got lost in thought. He touched her shoulder and made her look at him. “Let’s have dinner.” She nodded and followed him.

Neither of them paid much attention to the food or to anything else. They also did not mind as they entered her room, as she changed into her nightdress, and as Azriel removed his shirt. They quietly laid down, and chastely embraced each other, and fell asleep sharing an intimacy that calmed each other.

****

“How did you even meet him?” Feyre whispered to Elain. All four Archerons, Azriel, Morrigan, and Rhysand waited as the gates to Lord Nolan’s prison-like estate opened.

“At a ball—his father’s ball.”

“I’ve been to funerals that were merrier.” Nesta muttered, not caring if she was offending anyone.

“This house has needed a woman’s touch for years.” Elain sharply looked at Nesta before facing ahead. Behind her, both Feyre and Nesta looked at Nyra as if to ask how Nyra even approved of this match. The lightning wielder looked at them, raised her hands in surrender.

The stench of fear and disgust was overwhelming as the fae were escorted to the guardhouse. Nesta readied herself to control her temper and to let go if Graysen so much as breathed wrongly. Nyra remained observant and Feyre stood by her side.

Do you think Nesta will kill him? Feyre asked, worrying about the consequences of harming humans.

Probably. Nyra replied, looking around as they entered.

And what type of person is Lord Nolan?

I might kill him. Feyre let surprise overtake her features for a single second before schooling them. She clutched Nyra’s arm in worry and in an attempt to restrain.

Graysen entered and looked at Elain earnestly. His father certainly intimidated Elain enough for her stutter. Nesta took over, revealing the news about the wall and the Cauldron. Introductions were made by Feyre and Elain finally braved herself to make her request. Unfortunately, things escalated.

“I have it on good authority that it was Elain Archeron who was turned fae first. And who now has a High Lord’s son as a mate.”

Feyre felt Nyra’s calm fury as Lord Nolan said those words. She’d never been once afraid of her older sister. Her sweet older sister who never denied her a story to put her to sleep and keep away the nightmares.

Nyra who continued to remind Feyre what it meant to have a human heart even though she knew that her older sister had lost her own many years ago. Nyra whose words carried her for all of her human life so she could finally find her own will.

Wasn’t he the one who hurt Azriel in Hybern? Nyra was too calm as she asked. Feyre remembered that she had shown Nyra everything that happened in Hybern and now she was worried.

Yes. Feyre’s reply was followed by the roar of thunder.

Feyre held her older sister by the arm and drew circles on the back of her hand because the rainstorm that had just begun was proof that Nyra was not as calm as her expression portrayed her to be. The High Lady held her sister long enough for Jurian’s side of the story to be heard. Azriel had vanished into the shadows to update Cassian.

We may have to get this problematic creature away from here. Nesta’s voice entered Feyre and Rhysand’s minds.

Jurian? Rhysand asked.

Nyra has recognised him as the one who hurt Azriel. Feyre clarified.

She’ll fry him like a fish. Nesta did not sound worried.

That explains the rainstorm. Rhysand sighed. Two idiots who don’t even realise their feelings for each other. He remembered the sadist Azriel could be while torturing people. He thought he’d seen the worst and the last of it when the shadowsinger tortured his half-brothers but clearly that wasn’t the case. The raven who’d touched Nyra was still in the dungeons, screaming to be killed. And for the first time, he’d seen the shadows actively torture someone.

And- Their attention was drawn to Elain and Graysen arguing over the engagement ring.

“Take. It. Off!” For a human surrounded by fae of such power, his audacity to shout was shocking. Things were about to get ugly. Graysen ignored his father’s warning and moved forward.

“Take it off!” Graysen roared. Lightning struck the land right outside. Lord Nolan rushed over to the window to see the stables broken and burning despite the sudden rain. Graysen’s gaze followed his father.

Lightning crackled inside the room, playing with the hands of one fae who had remained utterly calm. Till now. “You will mind your tone when you speak to my family.”

Nyra tapped Feyre’s hands and the youngest let go of her sister. “You will grant sanctuary to any human who reaches here. And you will shut your mouth and do as I say lest you’d prefer that I eradicate everything in the vicinity.”

“You wouldn’t.” Graysen put on a facade of false bravery.

“Or would I?” Nyra challenged and the human lordling couldn’t meet it as he looked at the lightning crackling at her fingertips.

And before Graysen could say anything, Lord Nolan grabbed him by the arm and dragged him across the room. “Get your faerie people out of here.”

“Father, you cannot simply-”

“Listen to me well, boy. Whether she’s human or fae is irrelevant—you do not mess with Nyra Archeron.” Lord Nolan was supposedly whispering but the fae could hear it clearly with their hearing.

The father roughly let go of his son and the latter turned to Elain. “I am not marrying you. Our engagement is over. I will take whatever people occupy your lands. But not you. Never you.”

And before the insolent reptile could say anything to break Elain’s heart further, Nesta smacked him across the face. The fae departed upon Nesta’s declaration to do so and Nyra spared Jurian a withering glance. Jurian met her gaze and bowed his head. “Greetings to you, Conqueror of the Cauldron.”

****

When the war began, Nyra resolved to look after Elain who was having more nightmares. It was quiet between them and Elain’s visions were showing her all sorts of things. Some were calming, some were outright terrifying. And Nyra quietly absorbed Elain’s exhaustion.

The end of the first battle came with a plan to glamour soldiers. Nyra simply tapped Feyre’s forehead and granted her access to her power. “Don’t overdo it. It might harm you.”

And they watched the end of it as Cassian was cornered and he continued to fight valiantly. As Azriel in a cloud of shadows and blue lights fought to reach his brothers. As Nyra worried for the two of them, a flash of her power found its way to the shadowsinger. The sisters watched as Azriel slammed his fist on the ground, releasing a blast of lightning in the surrounding area.

****

Nyra felt the wrongness of this dream. Thunder collapsed as she woke up. She looked around and found Nesta on her bed but Elain?

She threw away her blankets and took her robe. Elain was not on her bed. Or anywhere in sight. Nyra exited the tent and looked around. Everything seemed fine.

Her eyes glowed and she found the trail of Elain’s golden magic. Without another thought, Nyra followed it.

Nyra quietened. Mud and twigs and dirt and leaves clung to the hem of her nightdress and robe by the time she reached the enemy’s camp where Elain’s trail led her to.

Nyra observed the rotations of the guards patrolling, timed them, waited for the opportunity, and snuck in. She followed the trail cautiously and reached a tent with a table, Elain, and the ghastly Cauldron. Wispy smokes emanated from it, taunting her.

Once she’d helped Elain stand up straight, the younger sister began ranting about someone else. “There’s a child. A human.” Elain spoke between her sobs, eyes white. “She’s here. . . and she’s so young. We can’t leave her here.”

Nyra hesitated. It was one thing that Elain was kidnapped. She didn’t even know how they were going to return. She exhaled, giving up on trying to convince Elain to worry about herself before others.

“Where’s she?” Elain led her to an altar. One look and Nyra realised that Elain had not thought of how this girl was to be saved.

The girl was human and tied to a wooden pole on the altar. Those surrounding the altar were playing cards and discussing how they would ‘take’ the girl.

Rage swirled within her and the first clap of lightning struck the nearest group. Nyra stood tall, lightning crackling all over her body. The next group of people were examining the remains of those who had been charred and she moved in a flash of lightning.

A flash of light was all that any of them saw before they dropped dead, vital organs severed from their bodies. After the massacre, the girl’s cries stopped. Nyra looked at her and stepped on the altar. Elain followed and began helping her. “We’ll get you out of here.”

Nyra looked up at the sky and closed her eyes, consumed by the power she now wielded freely. Rain poured gently over the land. Lightning fractured the sky and thunder echoed around the world.

A tingle passed through them and the next thing they knew, they were in the camp with the Inner Circle at a distance, with Rhysand and Azriel facing each other, the former’s authority weak against the latter’s unfiltered wrath.

The sudden thrum of power in the air caught their attention and they turned and saw the three females.

“Feyre!” Elain cried. The human girl had fainted in her arms. Feyre looked at Elain and Nyra, horrified at the sight.

The lightning wielder looked at her blood-coated hands. With her hands, she’d taken lives. She’d massacred them. Her rage was a ferocious beast—waiting for the opportune moment to strike. And it had. She’d been possessed by something so vicious and it was an entirely familiar feeling.

“Nyra.” Nesta called her but Nyra couldn’t look her in the eye. She was unworthy. But then she felt hands on her own. The blood was now on Nesta’s hands.

Nyra’s eyes were hot and wet with tears and as much as she clenched her jaw and bit her lip, she wanted to scream. She had killed, killed, and it wasn’t the first time but some part of her was lost. And something vile had taken its place.

Lightning was a frightening element but it was hers—the element that now bowed to her. The element and everything beyond.

Death embraced her twin, and the skies roared throughout the night, renouncing any sense of tranquillity. And Nyra mourned for herself in Nesta’s arms.

****

The final battle in the mortal lands felt a little personal. Maybe because she was once human.

A few of Azriel’s shadows were with her, helping her with mundane tasks, bringing Elain and the Truth Teller upon her request for a distraction.

When Elain stabbed the king’s neck, the twins moved. A hand wrapped in lightning ripped away the king’s arm, freeing their father, and the shadows whisked him away.

The king’s corpse fell and three Archerons towered over it.

The inky black surface of the Cauldron had started cracking, not letting Feyre move away and with Amren inside. A bird of light and fire emerged, draining more of the Cauldron’s power.

Nyra reached the Cauldron in a flash of lightning and placed a hand on it. Her eyes glowed blue. Nesta and Elain had joined her, their eyes now silver and white. Feyre could now let go of the Cauldron and she watched her sisters let their power flow to fix it.

But what Feyre thought was not what was happening. The Cauldron cracked further and a white light emanated from the cracks seeming as if lightning adorned the artefact. And then, it broke.

Feyre was soon joined by her mate, the other High Lords, and everyone else when the battle was finally over.

Her sisters pushed in a wave of power to contain the essence. The cracked pieces of the Cauldron rose into the air and above them. It came together, melted like iron in fire, and took shape.

A brand new Cauldron was formed with legs and carvings.

Three hands gathered the essence from the old Cauldron and poured it inside the new one.

And when the power subsided and the Cauldron was settled, the Sovereign of the Skies, the Slayer of the King, and the Seer of the Stars remained.

****

TAGLIST:

@waytoomanyteenagefeels @impossibelle @esposadomd @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @judig92 @bunnyredgirl @sh4nn @a-frog-with-a-laptop @kattzillaa @ronnieglennn @wallacewillow0773638 @forgiveliv @justdreamstars @donttellthecats @cat-or-kitten @jojodojo02 @wandas-dream @evylynny @weasleyreidstyles @stqrgirlies-blog @why4anne @acourtofdreamsandshadows @saltedcoffeescotch @mybestfriendmademe @macimads @footyandformula @noelli-smv @mqlfoyelf @thehighlordishere @slytherintaco @spideytingley @deeshag @footyandformula @nebarious @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @prettylittlewrites @lilah-asteria @5onedirection5 @hanitastic @sevikas-whore @krowiathemythologynerd @myladysapphire @freyagallileaevans @azrielrot @rcarbo1 @i-am-infinite @latinxbipride @moni-cah @fantanbietsson @julsgrace @angel-graces-world-of-chaos

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princessxt · 4 months ago

Note

Hi! Could you do an imagine where dean and sam have a younger sister and she has a nightmare and ends up sleeping between her brothers?

omg, sorry for the delay, I really was lacking creativity!!

You can make a request in the comments or by asking me a question!

(Please don't be shy to ask, I'm very happy when I have a request to write)

You can see the list of who I write about here

"The Monster Is Gone"

Pairing(s): Dean/Sam Winchester x Sister Reader

Gender: Angst, fluffy

Warnings: Nightmares, monsters, lots of blood and disturbing writing for more sensitive readers

——————♥︎♥︎——————

My childhood memories were never clear, only blurry images and meaningless phrases wandered through my mind when I tried hard to remember.

A part of me thanks my brain for not allowing me to remember, since I knew the images would be too disturbing for a budding teenager, but when Dad went hunting, disappeared and I had to be under the care of my older brothers during the hunts, everything changed.

I still remember when I had the first memory, it was after a hunt where a student came back from the dead seeking revenge. We were in the car, Dean was driving, and Sam was by his side, in silence while I was in the back seat, still processing the information of the case when the memory came. A blonde woman in pajamas ran through the hallways of a house with a child in her arms, who I soon realized was me.

Over the next few days, I began to dream about it, and as the dreams went on, the images became clearer. One day I realized it was nighttime, and the girl carrying me was wearing red pajamas. Two days later, I realized that the pajamas weren't red, they were white, but they were stained with blood. It was on that day that I started to avoid sleeping as much as possible, afraid of finding out whose blood was on her clothes.

That was 4 months ago, and during that time, each day that passed I saw a little more of that night, and now I knew that the woman was my mother, and the blood on her clothes was my father's, but the worst part was knowing that there was something following me and my mother.

I never told my brothers about this, I know they would be worried, and we have too many things to worry about, like ghosts and demons, and I didn't want to take their minds off work.

We were coming back from a hunt, Dean was driving, Sam was in the passenger seat sleeping, and I was in the back seat, trying my best to avoid falling asleep, but the book I had in my hands to keep me awake wasn't working, and little by little, I rested my head against the window, and fell asleep.

And there I was, crying in my mother's lap while she held me against her chest, with her body against the door, the thing that was chasing us walked calmly through the hallways, and slowly reached behind the door where we were. He knocked once. My mother put her hand over her mouth to keep from making noise. He knocked a second time. I could feel my mother's hands shaking. The third knock was so loud that my mother was pushed from the door, detaching me from her body. When we looked back, he was there.

He was tall, had no face, just a blood-stained mouth and sharp teeth. His fingers were long, and his nails were also stained with blood, just like the black suit he was wearing.

My mother, in an attempt to protect me, pushed me against the wall and covered me with her body, making a human shield. I could feel her tears wetting my pink pajamas as I heard her scream.

"NOT MY DAUGHTER, PLEASE! SHE'S JUST A CHILD"

In response, he let out a frightening laugh. In a few seconds, he pulled my mother and threw her to the floor, while she tried to fight, but the thing was strong and held her without effort. The next scene was the worst.

He opened his mouth, showing his huge teeth and then immediately struck her neck, making blood gush all over the room.

I watched that scene, cowering and scared in the corner of the room while I screamed, begging him to let my mother go, but that must have made him feel even hungrier for her, since he raised his long arm and struck her belly, cutting her skin with his sharp nails.

At that moment, I looked at my mother, who was staring at me with her lifeless eyes, wet with tears of pain.

"Y/N! Y/N, wake up!" I heard a voice call out

"Wake up! You need to wake up!" Again, and this time, louder.

At that moment I woke up. Sweaty, with irregular breathing and a dry throat. I looked ahead and saw Dean and Sam looking at me. We were stopped on a dark road.

"Is everything okay?" Dean asks, meanwhile, Sam opens the car door and gets out, opening the back one and getting in, sitting next to me.

"Okay, sure." I answer nervously, trying to compose myself.

"It didn't seem okay while you were screaming," Sam says, handing me a bottle of water, which I gladly accept.

"It was just a dream, I'm fine." I try to convince them, but by their faces, it hadn't worked.

"If it was just a dream, I'm even afraid to know your nightmares," Dean says and starts driving again.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Sam whispers in my ear, and I try to hold back the tears, while I just nod my head in agreement.

"There's a motel a few minutes from here, we'll spend the night there," Dean says and continues down the road.

It doesn't take long until we arrive at the motel. It was a classic roadside motel, but it was enough.

Dean and Sam get a single room for the two of them, and one for me.

I didn't plan on sleeping that night, so when the boys went to their rooms, I grabbed some snacks from a vending machine and went to my room, turning on the TV to a channel that was showing a series, with the intention of distracting myself from the memories.

I manage not to think about my dreams for 2 or 3 hours, but at one point, sleep begins to set in, and little by little my eyes close, but I always realize that I am about to fall asleep, and I wake up with a jolt. I turn off the television and go to the bathroom.

I take off the clothes I was wearing and get in the shower. The hot water hits the tense muscles in my shoulders and relaxes them in a few seconds. I close my eyes and throw my head back, wetting my hair and face. I massage my scalp with the intention of relaxing, but I quickly tense up when I feel a sudden cold, despite the hot water.

I step out of the shower and dry my eyes with my hands, and when I look at the curtain, I can see the shadow of something behind it. Something very similar to the Being from my memories.

With my heart racing and my breathing irregular, I open the curtain in a quick movement, but relax when I find nothing on the other side.

I turn off the shower, still confused and scared by what happened before, and put on some warm pajamas.

I think about lying back down on the bed and watching the series again, but I look at the bedside table and see the spare key to my brothers' room that Sam gave me in case of an emergency.

Without thinking much, I grab the key and go to the next room, unlocking it slowly, not wanting to alarm the boys.

I open the door and close it behind me, when I turn around, I see Sam, still awake, sitting on the couch that was in the room with a book in his hand.

"Hi, did something happen?" He says quietly and puts the book aside, coming to me.

"I'm scared." My eyes fill with tears and I hug him. I feel his big arms holding me tightly, bringing me closer to his chest.

"It's okay, little one. I'm here." He kisses the top of my head as I sob against his soft shirt.

"Come, lie down with us." He pulls away and goes to the bed.

"Dean, go over there." He pokes Dean's shoulder, making him wake up half-dazed and ready to curse his brother, but stops when he sees me crying next to the bed.

Dean pulls away and I lay down next to him, Sam laying down next to me, making me be between the two of them.

"You're safe with us," Dean whispers, going back to sleep.

"You don't have to tell me what you're afraid of, but know that I'm here for you when you're ready to tell me," Sam whispers behind me.

"I'm having dreams. Actually, they're not dreams, they're memories from my childhood, before Dad adopted me. In these memories, a monster or whatever it was killed my father and mother, right in front of me."

"You don't have to be afraid. Dad told us about this story. He came when the monster was on top of your mother and killed it before it had a chance to hurt you. Sleep, and don't worry about your dreams, the monster is gone, it's dead, and your brothers are here to protect you from anything."

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xalygatorx · 16 days ago

Text

Someone Like You | Human!Alastor x Assistant!Reader

Written for the VoxTek Server Winter Event 2024 hosted by @redfoxwritesstuff & @redvexillum of @voxtekinc xx

AO3 ✍️ | Ko-Fi ☕

Prompt: "Christmas Party"

Summary: Being Alastor Garland's assistant has never been an easy feat, but you reach the end of your rope at the station's annual Christmas party when one of his snide comments hits a little too hard.

Warnings: Angst to hurt to comfort that rounds back into steamy fluff, We're rockin' around the Emotions Tree 🎶, Implied period-typical racism (it's the 1920s), Reader has an established crush on Alastor despite him presenting as a certified dickhead, Alastor likes you too but he doesn't handle it well up to this point, Confused graysexual screaming, Reader's grandmother has passed away, Reader is female and in her early 20's (Alastor is almost 30 in this one), There's no smut here even if it seems like there might be during the steamy fluff scene I'm telling you that right now

A/N: Whatever you do or don't celebrate, I hope you have the coziest, kindest winter season ahead of you. Take care of yourselves. x

And be sure to check out all the other festive, lovely stories from everyone who contributed to this event!

The entire house smelt deliciously of warm, spiced cider. Molten notes of fresh baked apples, butter, and a pinch each of salt and cinnamon rolled over your tongue with every inhale, accompanied by a bloom of heat when you opened the oven to retrieve the cake you'd been painstakingly crafting all day ahead of tonight's party.

Memories of your grandmother were easy to come by in her own home—a home that had been passed down to you specifically as an escape from the house you'd grown up in. The differences between a house and a home were plenty and those had all been differences you'd learned in your travels between the two—one, a house where you'd lived with your mother and father and three younger siblings, and the other, the home your grandparents had cultivated over decades and decades of firefly summers and holidays within the often mild winters New Orleans had on offer.

A home your grandmother had taken fully into her care after your grandfather had passed almost ten years ago. A place that, despite your family house never being cold or violent or somewhere you felt unwelcome, had always felt like home.

And then it had become your home the day you turned 18. Against your family's wishes—primarily ones born of concern—you'd struck out on your own, eager to take over the care of the home your grandmother had left you, that she had entrusted to you. It was your turn to bring life to it now.

When you closed your eyes, time travel was a simple task. You let the heat wafting from the open oven warm you to your bones, let the scents of the cake your grandmother had made every Christmas Eve fill your senses entirely until everything was simply cake. When you opened your eyes to slip on the mitts and pull the cake from the oven, the scrape of the pans against the rack filled your ears and, if you listened, you could hear the ghosts of holidays past along the edges of those metallic keens—your brother laughing at the expense of you or one of your sisters, your mother fretting over anything and everything, and your father's silence as he watched it all unfold.

As the pans left the rack and the scraping sounds ceased, you were left with silence again. Fragrant, nostalgic, but very silent silence. A sigh eased from your chest as you set the pan down to cool and busied yourself with locating the festive bit of china your grandmother had always used for this very cake.

You just hoped you'd done it justice—you hadn't had a reason to bake it before and your maiden voyage into your grandmother's old cookbook (a still relatively pristine copy of Woman's Exchange Cook Book) had come about due to your first office Christmas party.

Well, the first one you had any interest in attending.

Your jobs for the first few years of living in New Orleans had varied—diners, coffeeshops, a bakery, two speakeasies, and a tailor—but none of them had offered much in the way of holiday parties. The diner and bakery had tried, bless their hearts, but it had always been more of a social gathering among friends orchestrated by the waitstaff. The speakeasies had been fun, but when every night was a party, holidays were even more so and they often got too rowdy for your temperament (particularly the one year the boys and blue had attended as uninvited guests and you'd had to run out the back with the bartender and his girlfriend).

Whatever the station had planned would surely be much more in the realm of a planned, prim office party. A scene you were new to. Second only to how new you were to the station itself.

You'd spent six months so far employed there, which was five months and twenty-nine days longer than anyone had expected you to be. There had been a betting pool. There likely still was one, just kept better under wraps after you'd discovered the first. You'd been swiftly assured that the pool wasn't aimed at your work ethic, but rather at the pure hell your "boss" seemed gleeful to put you through on a daily basis.

Alastor Garland wasn't technically your boss. He was the current dashing darling of the radio world, a local celebrity gradually going national as the show's popularity spread, and the man you were meant to assist, but he wasn't your boss. You were sure he would've fired you by now if that had been the case. Or rather, you would've never been hired to begin with.

Again, not necessarily because of you—although that was becoming harder to believe as time wore on and his jabs got more personal—but because Alastor was stalwart in his insistence that he did not need an assistant. He took offense to your very existence so long as it was under the title of being his assistant. And he couldn't take it out on your boss, the owner of the very station you were soon to leave for that night, so he took it out on you.

Impossibly timed errands. Last-minute coffee orders you knew were only requested to get you out of his hair for a bit. His overcoat dropped just shy of the rack so you had to juggle everything you were already toting into the recording studio for him just to get it up on the proper hook. Snide remarks whenever you messed up a cue or made his coffee "wrong" or took too long to notice whatever mess he'd made with the expectation that you'd clean it up.

He was rude. He was positively childish at times. He was sarcastic and mocking and generally unpleasant to work for.

And you liked him.

Your nose wrinkled at the thought alone as you sifted powdered sugar down onto the cake you'd just upended onto the festive Christmas china, the descending granules mirroring the rare Louisiana snowfall outside.

You were pretty sure your mother was ultimately to blame for this debacle, traced all the way back to your childhood. All the times you'd come home complaining that some boy had pushed you down in the schoolyard and she would simply check you over for anything past a scrape or a bruise and inform you, "He's probably just got a li'l crush on you, honey. Boys don't like to be honest about that kinda stuff, so they'll just pick on ya instead."

And then there was her relationship with your father, a gruff and perpetually pokerfaced man who wore his emotional reserve like a badge of honor. You honestly couldn't remember a single instance in which he'd told you he loved you growing up, but you also couldn't remember ever hearing him say it to her or his other children either. You were pretty sure he did though. You'd just always gotten the impression that he didn't know how to say it.

Well, if Alastor was one of those "boys in the schoolyard," he must've really liked you. The thought alone made you scoff because you knew that wouldn't be the case in a million years. Funny enough, he was also the exact opposite of your father while sometimes seeming the exact same. Alastor was emotive, theatrical in how little he seemed to hide, but he was just as pokerfaced as your father, you'd found. He just did it through showmanship and a smile.

You settled the cover to the china plate over the cake you'd finished garnishing, hoping it would be enough to keep it warm through the cold walk to the station. Stepping back, you went upstairs to finish getting ready, coming back down in a red velvet cocktail dress you'd spent three weeks' worth of accumulated pocket money on after hearing the receptionists discussing their own party budgets and worrying you'd look out of place.

You felt like a pretender or at least like someone trying to dress up like something they weren't, but there wasn't any time or spare change to go back on it now. So you bundled up in your coat and scarf, slipped on your heels, and plucked your freshly baked offering from the counter.

You triple-checked that the oven was off before taking a deep breath and working through the two additional deadbolts you'd added to the old front door after listening to one too many of Alastor's broadcasts about the recent murders around the Big Easy. And then finally, you left to start your trek through the snowy evening.

The snow provided a unique layer of soundproofing the city couldn't usually be afforded, particularly during its vibrant, sleepless nights. Contrary to the expectation that colder weather and snow might discourage New Orleans' nightlife scene, either the novelty of the chill or the holiday had even more folks out than usual. Couples rubbing noses under streetlights, parents and their children armed with sleds despite the hour, gaggles of teens pelting each other with snowballs while their laughter bounced off the seasonably decorated buildings lining the streets.

It helped to quell the somber feeling your silent home had left with you before departing—nice as that quiet often was, the holidays had a way of making even the most comfortable silence feel pointed.

Swiftly enough—and after only once nearly slipping and sacrificing your cake to the frosty pavement—you made it to the station and let yourself in the side alley door. Upon entering, you were immediately greeted with the murmur of conversation, the clanking of plates and platters being set up on an emerald green-clothed serving table, and a vinyl crooning from somewhere further in.

"Oh, hi, sweetie!"

Instinctively, you turned toward the voice and smiled when your eyes landed on Rosie—your boss's fashion-forward, easily delighted wife, who had all but made him hire you on the spot when she just happened to be in the station the day you came in to inquire about a job. She reminded you a lot of your grandmother had your grandmother been more boisterous and open with her thoughts.

She was wonderful. And it was always a relief and a joy to run into her.

"Hi, Rosie," you said back, smiling as she relieved you of your dish and then swept you into a hug. "It's so good to see you!"

"And it's lovely as ever to see you, too, dear," Rosie said, throwing you a wink as she uncovered your cake and set the steam-lined cloche aside with care. "I knew ya'd stick it out here. I'm very proud of ya. I'm sure Alastor hasn't made it easy for you."

You just smiled a little tighter, comically widening your eyes the next time she looked at you, which made her laugh conspiratorially.

"Don't take it personally, dear, he's… He's a character," she said, not for the first time. "There's a reason he's made it to where he is and it's not by mincin' words." Whipping around to focus on your dessert, she asked, "Now, anyway, what do we have here? It smells divine!"

Your chest puffed a bit with pride. "That would be my grandma's favored recipe for apple cider cake," you told her, your smile widening when she gave a happy clap of her hands. "She made it for us every Christmas Eve when I was growing up."

"Well then how wonderful of you to share it with us, doll! I can't wait to try some," Rosie said as she turned to face you again. Her eyes darted over your head briefly before she tsked through her teeth. "Just don't even mind him tonight, okay, sweetie? He's been in a foul mood all week, as I'm sure you've caught onto."

Ah, you'd thought you'd felt eyes on you.

You were almost afraid to turn around, but you knew that it'd probably been obvious even from afar that Rosie had noticed him and then commented to you on his presence. So it might give him some degree of satisfaction or sense of victory if you didn't turn around now.

Couldn't have that. And you wouldn't admit it, but you weren't exactly rueful of having a reason to look even while your nerves ate away at your insides.

Pulling the proverbial bandage, you glanced over your shoulder and it took only a few seconds for your eyes to land on your target. He was dressed to the nines like everyone else in the station tonight, looking immaculate in a dark suit with merlot accents and shiny silver cufflinks. He was clean-shaven—something he'd uncharacteristically not been all week—and his hair had been hot-ironed straight in a stylish fluffy flop that was almost as signature to his look as his smile. His round wireframes had descended a bit down the bridge of his nose, but he righted them now with the precise press of a fingertip.

Behind the lenses, his honey-hued eyes were already locked on you.

You tried to channel your dad's immaculate pokerface, but there was only so much you could do when those eyes evoked in you the strangest mix of intrigue and genuine unease. When your eyes met, you felt yourself freeze—prey in a predator's trap as your heartbeat drummed ever faster against your ribs.

You swallowed harder than you meant to and you knew he saw it by the way the polite smile he'd turned toward the men he was currently rubbing elbows with—sponsors most likely, you didn't recognize them at a peripheral glance—slowly curled into a sneer.

So much for keeping him from a bit of undue satisfaction for cowing you before you'd even uttered a word his way this evening. Your jaw tightened and you turned away to roll your eyes, melting a little when you spotted one of the receptionists—the station owner's niece, Charlie—enthusiastically waving you over.

It's not just him here, you reminded yourself as you smiled back at the excitable blond belle and made your way over to join her. And you're off the clock. He's just a man.

Just a man you wished you could write off as truly just a man.

The cider cake you'd baked was annihilated within the first hour and it was compliments abound from everyone who'd had a slice. Rosie had been sure to let everyone know that you were the one to thank for it.

You really weren't sure what you'd done to endear yourself to her so much, but you were endlessly glad for it.

More party attendees had shown, however, and there was room to be made on the buffet. You excused yourself from Charlie's company—along with her friend, Anthony, and her "friend," Maggie—to squirrel away your empty baking dish and help clear the way for more warm, tasty homemade creations to have their spotlight moment debut on the table.

You'd settled the cloche on the crumb-dusted plate and then turned, taken approximately four steps from the table, and then a passing gentleman—who'd had a bit too much from a poorly obscured flask in his jacket pocket, nevermind the hot punch and roasted chestnuts from the actual spread—walked right through you and jostled the china from your hands.

It shattered on the floor and deadened all conversation in the room. Your hands had gone to your mouth after fumbling the dish and failing to right yourself and you felt tears stinging your eyes as you stared down at your grandmother's beloved baking set in ruins.

What had you been thinking, using that to bring your cake here tonight? How hadn't you foreseen something like this happening? If not now, from your hands, then from some other folk rearranging the table offerings or even before the party had started, when your heels had nearly slid out from under you on the walk outside?

You'd broken it. By unearthing it from your grandmother's home—your silent, silent home—you'd put it in the path of being destroyed. And now there was no replacing it because it wasn't the dish that was broken, it was every memory you'd tied to that fragile bit of china.

Utterly careless. When you thought such things of yourself, suddenly your inner voice started to sound like your mother and you felt like a child in their house—not your home, their house—all over again.

And if the mistake itself weren't enough, you were suddenly pointedly reminded of who was in attendance tonight.

"Dear, I really must ask that you reserve your skillset of being completely useless for working hours," Alastor remarked through a mostly stifled chuckle, earning heartier laughter from the men surrounding him who'd hardly given you a glance before you'd made a fool of yourself. "It's Christmas, after all, take a bit of time off."

"Alastor," Rosie admonished him as she bustled over to you and the wreckage at your feet, hands waving fretfully as she deliberated how best to help. "Sweetie, are you—"

"I'm fine," you said, quick and hard, before trying to school your expression and agitatedly swiping a wayward tear from your eye. You'd probably smeared your mascara in the process with your luck tonight. Shaking your head, you said again, "I'm fine. Don't trouble yourself, Rosie."

Rosie frowned, watching you stoop down and start to collect the pieces by hand. "It's no trouble, let me just—"

"I can manage," you said, still feeling Alastor's eyes on you and ignoring him with all your might as you collected the chunks of china from the floor and stacked them into something you could tote back home. Perhaps even fix. It wouldn't be usable again, surely, but at least you'd have it, you supposed.

Maybe if you put it back in the display case and pretended that you'd never broken it—truly the child version of yourself all over again, weren't you—you'd get away with it. But you only had yourself to fool now and there was no feasible way to do that.

It was in that precise moment that you realized finally what had you pining for your "house" over your "home" this time of year every year—you were lonely.

In your revelation and your determined state of clearing the floor of china shards, you'd missed the way Alastor's expression had shifted. His eyes never did, no—unfortunately for him, they rarely did with you.

If he was honest with himself, he'd regretted his comments as soon as he'd noticed the constituents around him laughing, too. It was different when it was just him and you in the studio or perhaps with one or two of your colleagues around to play the audience. Your coworkers knew you—they knew no matter how much grief he gave you that it wasn't anything you did. They knew you well enough to know that you were capable and patient and far better than you had any right to be at a job you'd all but fallen into.

These fools flanking him with dollar signs in their eyes and targets on their backs only he could see (for now) didn't know you. Even if they did, they wouldn't have respected you. So they turned to regard you and saw a silly little woman who'd dropped a dish and looked ready to cry over it and laughed.

Alastor had called you "useless" but he'd been thoughtless. And now you were hurrying so much through the cleanup stage of fixing what you'd broken that you nicked yourself on a sharp edge of china, ignored it, and toted it all away and out of the room while avoiding everyone's eyes.

And Alastor felt guilty. Because, unbelievable as it might be to you or to anyone who'd ever seen you two interact, he had a great deal of respect for you. It infuriated him how true that was because he didn't want it to be the case.

Because it wasn't just respect. He liked you.

And that—given your backgrounds, your age, his other career, and several other aspects of his self that he'd yet to fully understand in correlation to society's expectations—was something he'd found himself unable to tolerate the thought of. It was easier to try to find reasons to dislike you all while making you dislike him in the process.

"Mr. Garland, that was absolutely out of order," his boss's wife, Rosie, approached him to murmur, looking more distressed than angry. "I'm surprised at you! You're usually such a sweet boy—a little sarcastic, sure, but it's a good weapon to have at the ready. What's gotten into ya?"

"Nothing, ma'am," Alastor said, his smile snarling slightly as he heard the faint tone of petulance in his own voice. "Simply a joke that landed wrong. Nothing more."

"You owe her an apology, Alastor," Rosie declared, fixing him with a serious stare. "I mean it. The poor little thing's very shaken up, I don't know if I've ever seen her like this."

Despite all his teasing, poking, and prodding these past six months, Alastor had to admit he hadn't ever seen you like this either. You usually either rolled your eyes—as you'd done earlier, he'd not missed it even though you'd tried to turn away before reacting—had a remark to toss back his way, or just snickered a little, yourself, depending on what he was griping about.

He'd never seen you cry or just clam up and shrink in on yourself. He'd be hard-pressed to ever want to see it again.

As Rosie bustled away to tidy a few decorations that had gone askew throughout the night, Alastor sighed through his nose.

"Bit of a nag, that one," one of the sponsors remarked once she left, making Alastor bristle beneath his suit jacket. But it was via that comment and the way the other graying, self-important men around him began piling on amongst themselves that Alastor found an easy enough way to excuse himself.

Because, unfortunately once again, Rosie was correct. He owed you an apology.

And, damn it all, despite the purpose of his seeking you out, he found himself secretly pleased to be doing so.

After leaving behind the stuffy, string-lit room being used for munching and mingling, Alastor put his hunting skills to the test. A minor test, to be sure, but it gave him an excuse to stretch his legs and busy his mind. He already felt sluggish from the sheer boredom of being beholden to small talk with whoever presented themselves tonight.

At least, with you, he was never bored. It was often a thing attained at your expense, but he could admit—so quietly perhaps the universe would miss it—that even when it wasn't at your expense, you were far from boring to him.

Pretty little darling like you, inheriting your family's old ornate farmhouse and moving yourself out here by your lonesome despite your age (sure, you were in your 20's now, but he'd heard you tell Charlie once that you were 18 when you'd moved here) and despite not having a job or a betrothal lined up?

Whip-smart, progressive, sassy when sufficiently pestered, and still sweet and domestic when it came to the home. Why, you were fascinating.

You were also sitting on the back steps out to the alleyway, he found—it'd taken a bit of a search, but the station wasn't big and there were only so many places to get away from other guests tonight without outright leaving. And he didn't think you'd leave after that, at least not without telling Rosie or someone else you deemed a friend.

That traitorous ache near his heart felt morose at the notion that he would not be someone you'd think to tell you were leaving tonight. But when would he have earned it?

You'd snatched a small first-aid kit from the supply closet adjacent to the back door of the station before making your way out with your coat and the pieces of your grandmother's broken plate and cloche bundled up in your scarf beside you. You'd pulled out a cigarette case from a pocket on the inside lining of your coat, snapped it open, and placed one between your lips, sighing when the shallow cut on your hand smeared a little blood on the end.

You'd abandoned looking for your lighter for just a moment while you fumbled the kit open and cleaned your finger—you were bandaging it when Alastor found you. He lingered in the open doorway, watching you for a moment before announcing himself with a lamely spoken, "I'm afraid you might need to light that to get the full effect."

Why couldn't he just talk to you without talking down to you? You were both wondering that now.

You resumed your search in your coat pockets for your lighter and sarcastically mumbled around the cigarette, "Knew I was forgetting something."

You were playing nice, but there was a hard edge to your voice that spoke volumes more than your words. One of those volumes was an unspoken suggestion for him to go back to the party.

Alastor had never been one to follow instructions well. Particularly the ones left up to his interpretation. So instead of heeding your fair warning, he sighed through his nose and lowered himself to the step to sit beside you. Once he was settled, he rummaged through his own pockets and located his lighter, which he flicked to life and held to the end of your smoke.

You eyed him suspiciously, wondering if a wick could be poisoned and if that poison could be sustained through a flame to an unsuspecting host. Then again, after tonight, perhaps that would be him doing you a favor. You murmured your thanks as he stowed the lighter away again, hesitating before offering him your cigarette case by way of reciprocation.

He waved away your offer. "Kind of you, but I'm afraid that would put me back in your debt," he said, running his long fingers through his fringe as he glanced around the alleyway to avoid your eyes.

Your eyes narrowed, but you blinked them a little wider when a wayward snowflake landed on your lashes. He saw it in his peripheral and thought it was rather cute.

"So lighting my gasper is your definition of evening the score for tonight?" you wondered, tone flat and fatigued.

Alastor had a snappy comeback already on the tip of his tongue, but he held back. Even he knew when it wasn't the time and this was the opposite of "the time."

"No," he said, just the faintest edges of amusement at what he might've said lingering in his Transatlantic accent. If you hadn't known him better, you might've thought he looked sheepish. "I thought an apology would better suit that."

"An apology?" you half-laughed, sucking on your cigarette before noting, "Alastor Garland doesn't do apologies."

Alastor smirked down at his dress shoes, shiny on the dull stone steps you two were seated on. Snow had delicately dusted his hair in just the short time he was outside with you and he looked even dreamier than usual somehow. Ethereal.

You were supposed to be upset with him, remember? You were upset with him. It turned out that being upset with someone didn't always make them less beautiful.

"Not insincere ones," he allowed and, just when you thought that was his exit from the conversation and from whoever had guilt-tripped him or threatened his livelihood to get him to come out here and speak to you, he followed up with, "I'm sorry, darling."

It wasn't the first time he'd "darling"-ed you. If Alastor was anything, he was consistent, and he was always in supply of dears, darlings, and the occasional sweetheart for any lady he found tolerable, which was most of them. Certainly all the ladies that worked at the station. The only exception had been Susan, the receptionist whose spot Charlie had eventually taken, who he'd called an "ornery old bitch" in one particular dust-up you'd unfortunately missed but that still lived and circulated like lore within the station to this day.

All that aside, this "darling" felt a little different. Softer. Why?

Wary of the feelings this was stirring, particularly in your vulnerable emotional state, you murmured a simple, "It's fine," and left it at that.

Alastor wasn't having it though.

"It isn't," he disagreed. "Not really. Don't be so quick to let me off the hook, cher."

Alright, now that one was new. He had your attention—what was his game?

You turned to face him and felt the furrow in your brow deepen alongside your confusion. "…Pardon?" you asked, flabbergasted.

The smile he wore was almost boyish. He tilted his head as he studied you, briefly removing his glasses and cleaning the melted snow away from the lenses before putting them back on. Despite his efforts, they kept either smudging from the snow or fogging up with the heat from his skin.

"I was a complete ass to you back there," Alastor said and you blinked owlishly at hearing him swear. It had no right to be as attractive as it was.

Bewildered, you forgot to check yourself as you mumbled, "…You're always an ass to me."

A bit of shock froze his expression before he burst into laughter beside you, his mirthful cackling bouncing off the alley walls. Your arms brushed, something you understood to be a cardinal sin when it came to him (so much so that it'd been included in your primer when you'd taken on the job of being his assistant), but he leaned into the contact as he fought for composure.

When he finally had a handle on himself again, he grinned down at your chagrin-flushed face and nodded once with satisfaction.

"There you are," he declared as if seeing you for the first time tonight. As if you were comrades-in-arms rather than a famous radio host and the assistant he abhorred. "And you're right. I am. And I shan't be proud of it any longer! I feel positively dreadful after tonight."

"Why did tonight make any difference?" you asked, genuinely wondering.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Because those charlatans Franklin's so keen on me impressing don't know their own mouthes from holes in the wall," he remarked after briefly glancing back at the door to ensure you were still alone.

Alastor looked back down at you as he said, "They certainly don't seem to comprehend that a woman's worth just as much as a man."

Your brow pinched. "Few do," you murmured, the simple statement as much of a slight to society as it was an acknowledgment of him being above that. If there was one thing you'd always noted about his jabs, it was that they never came from a place of demeaning what you were. What you did was another story.

"Indeed," Alastor said. "And my mother raised me better than that. I may have had my usual fun needling you at first, but they didn't take it as such—I don't like feeling as though I added to their backwards ways of thinking." His thin smile wavered. "And… Well, I've never seen you upset about something I've said. Have you just been adept at hiding it?"

You'd tended to your cigarette while he spoke and, halfway through the stick, ashed it out on the step and replaced it tidily in your case.

As you worked, you said, "No. I'm… The holidays are tough."

The admission felt strange to say aloud, much stranger to say aloud to Alastor.

"And things wear a person down over time. So perhaps it was that, perhaps it was all this," you gestured vaguely to the electric light strings and garlands lining the building, "and it was also that the dish I broke was my grandma's. It was all of it."

"It was an accident, no? I'm sure she won't be upset," he suggested, keen enough to lift your spirits somewhat that he'd forgotten the tidbit about you he knew regarding your inherited home.

"I know she won't be, she's been dead for years," you quipped, watching the fog of your breath bend and then fade in the night air. Sniffling a bit from the cold, you murmured, "Sorry, that was uncalled for. And not as funny as it was in my head."

Alastor chuckled. "No need to apologize, dear. It was morbidly funny, but I couldn't speak for having my entire foot in my mouth," he bantered back, mollified when he saw the corner of your mouth curl upward just the tiniest bit. "Still. You needn't be so hard on yourself. It's… Well, it's a dish."

"I know," you murmured, glancing down at your bundled scarf with the china remnants inside. "Straw that broke the camel's back, I suppose."

"I'm afraid I missed out on your little cider cake creation," Alastor said. "The entire thing was gone before I blinked."

A tiny swell of pride lanced through your hollow chest. "You're not one for sweets," you pointed out. "I don't know that you would've liked it much."

"Hardly the point," he said.

You glanced back at him. "Then what is the point, Alastor?"

He shrugged, suddenly boyish again at just his name on your lips. "That you went to all the trouble of making it," he replied. He cleared his throat a little and said, "And it looked rather good."

Was he flirting with you? Or just buttering you up to get through the rest of the party only to start back from Square One come Monday?

"It does go well with a black coffee," you allowed, resting your chin on your hand and studying him, looking for answers he wasn't openly giving yet.

"A-ha!" Alastor huffed, giving a theatrical sigh as he said, "I knew there was something for me there. Alas, now I'll never know."

"Bit dramatic," you murmured. "It's a Christmas Eve tradition. There's always next year."

Carefully, he asked, "You think you might still be at the station then?"

"Do you intend to fire me?" you asked rather than answer.

Something about that struck him as funny, but he didn't elaborate. "Couldn't even if I wanted to, cher," he informed you. "Even if I could, no. I wouldn't."

Finally, you asked the question that'd been nagging at you from your very first day on the job. A question that was made even more imperative by your exchange tonight. If anything, his explanations had muddied already-muddy waters and you needed some clarity if this was to continue.

"Then why are you so mean to me, Alastor?" you finally asked. Before he could take the easy way out, you added, "Not right now, obviously. But up until now. Why? Do you hate me or something? And why are you being nice to me now?"

His smile had grown threadbare, but it clung on for dear life. "Any other questions before I get a word in edgewise?" he snarked.

"No, that's all. Go ahead," you snarked back in kind.

A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes before he turned away, staring at the opposite wall as he answered. "Because I desire to ruin our working relationship, dear," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "And not in the way you might think. Not in the way I'd prefer."

"What on earth does that mean?" you asked, already exasperated.

"Let me finish," he murmured, tapping the tip of your frozen nose with his index finger. You sat in silence as he took stock of his words and then started up again with renewed purpose. "I don't want to like you. You're young, occasionally quite bratty perhaps due to your age, and you waltzed into a job you are objectively not qualified for.

"You are also learning it at pace when I've given you no room to slow down. You've handled yourself with grace in every crisis I've seen you endure and you've shown compassion for others even when stretched to your limit. Myself included. All without sacrificing your own well-being in the process. It's a difficult balancing act that you do strikingly well."

What was happening?

Alastor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and adjusting his glasses back into place as he continued. "You are clever, persistent, hardworking, and kind," he listed off, making eye contact with you again as he emphatically added, "and not useless."

"I don't understand," you admitted, an unspoken apology in your tone for what you saw as perhaps being a bit obtuse. He could hardly blame you for not following the wild chase he was taking you both on though. That he'd been taking you both on for months now.

"Darling, the only thing I don't like about you," Alastor finally said, "is how much I do like you."

You were floored. It was the goddamned schoolyard run-around all over again. Maybe if he'd pushed you into a snowdrift and run away giggling instead, you would've caught on sooner. Honestly, that didn't feel far off from something he'd do on a whim.

"When you…say 'like'," you murmured, wary of him bursting into another round of laughter at the sheer implausible scenario you were soon to present about this being a confession rather than a truce. "Do you mean—?"

Alastor gave you a rueful, embarrassed smile as he flicked snow off his sleeves. "I said I desired to ruin our working relationship," he reminded you and you felt the heat of a blush creeping up your neck. "And not in the way you might think—that being that I want you to hate me or I want to hate you, and so on. That would also be the way that I'd prefer wanting to ruin things between us. That I've tried to."

"…But?" you prompted him when he didn't immediately continue.

Whatever this was, it was taking it out of him to put it into words. He stifled a groan and rolled his eyes to the clouded night sky as he murmured, "This isn't what you might've thought. It's not what I would have preferred. So yes. I do mean."

"Oh," you replied, barely a whisper. You didn't think you could be more shocked. You were, yet again apparently, wrong.

"Do with it what you will," Alastor said to the night—certainly not to you, he could hardly look at you. "I apologize if this is untoward or if this causes you any measure of discomfort. Rest assured that I'm well aware that my behavior has been such to have not earned me any sort of good grace with you. I admit, I…am not versed in these things and, as such, handled it poorly."

You frowned, fiddling with your cigarette case. "Listen, Alastor, I'm not—"

"It was selfish of me even to mention it, I think," he said. "What a cliché this is, ha-ha! An older superior—a man no less—having an eye for his young assistant. It's innately a power imbalance, a vintage bit of nonsense. Rest assured, this little folly of mine will have no effect on your career, I can—"

"Let me finish," you asserted as he had earlier and he looked at you, surprised enough to fall silent and give you the floor. "First of all, phrased like that, it sounds every bit as scandalous as you think and that doesn't make it any less interesting."

You were gratified when he blushed bright red, his flush exacerbated by the cold. You couldn't help the little laugh that bubbled up, but you schooled your expression quickly enough.

"Second, as antagonistic as you've been these past months, I'm afraid I like you, too," you admitted, finding it came more easily now that he'd said his part. Well, several parts. With how his eyes rounded, it appeared to be his turn to be shocked. "Don't ask me why. At least not based on our interactions. When you've not spoken to me, you've seemed perfectly agreeable and there's a lot to like about you.

"You're smart. You're an ace for banter, you just often use it for evil. You're strikingly handsome and you run one hell of a show. And just from your quick mention of her earlier, you seem to think a great deal of your mother." You smiled. "You're progressive, too. Even when you've descended upon my worth as your assistant, you've never demeaned me as a person. It's a strange standard to draw, but it's one I might've clung to a few times when I really did think you hated me."

"I admit, I did try to," Alastor sighed, finally taking you in again. His honey-brown gaze languidly traveled over yours, over your face, and then over the snowflakes clinging to your hair and coat. You were a vision he was finally allowing himself to appreciate, somehow not too late. "You make it exceedingly difficult."

"Thanks?" you replied, your uncertain tone causing you both to dissolve into a quiet round of shivery laughter. "Okay, I'm about to freeze to death. Back inside?"

"Back inside," Alastor agreed, his own Louisianan composition not cut out for these rare freezes he'd only seen one or two of before in his New Orleans lifetime. "Tom said earlier that the snow was supposed to stop around seven tonight."

"Well, Tom's keeping up his streak of being categorically incorrect then," you grumbled as you shook off the snow you'd accumulated on your person, plucked up the scarf-wrapped china pieces, and walked under Alastor's arm through the door back into the station.

He was chuckling at your remark about Tom as he followed you in and shut the door, checking that it locked before you both hung your coats back up. Alastor lingered while you found a place to stow your scarf bundle, watching you with elation flowing like post-hunt adrenaline through his veins.

This was warmer and more inviting though—he felt invincible after tonight, even knowing that he'd hardly broached the subject of his fascination with you. He warred with himself to not write off the victory but to also not let it cloud his judgment. He had a lot of making-up left to do.

That lasted all of five seconds before he spotted a new opportunity and he was surprised at the relief he felt over trying these sorts of things before he held any real interest in someone else. Things he previously despised ever having done at all were proving to be, curiously, worth something now if it meant it might all end with you.

Alastor cleared his throat behind you and you stopped in the doorway to the hall that would lead you both back to the party, your freezing hands mid-smooth over the skirt of your dress. Your instinct was to wonder what you did wrong despite the at-length conversation you'd just had about how so much of what he'd found "wrong" with you had been a ruse.

When you remembered that conversation and took in the pleased smile on his face, you were at a loss again.

"Yes?" you prompted him.

A little shiver ran through you at the realization that you were standing in a dimly lit hallway with a man. This man. He'd hardly ruin just your working relationship—he'd ruin you if you weren't careful.

The thought wasn't as unwelcome as you might've hoped.

"If the idea isn't one you are necessarily opposed to," Alastor suggested, his cat-that-ate-the-canary smile familiarly mischievous yet unfamiliarly warm. You were still getting used to that part. "Perhaps I might ask you officially—would you allow me to court you?"

Heat flooded your cheeks anew and you didn't have the cold air to fall back on this time as an excuse. You swallowed, feeling embarrassed at the sheer schoolgirlish amount of butterflies his question stirred to life in you, but had the wherewithal to nod at least. Some paranoid part of your brain that had learned not to trust Alastor's intentions at face value wondered if this was some elaborate multi-stage insult, too, that had yet to deliver its punchline.

"Lovely," he murmured, pure pleasure in your answer lacing the low husk of his voice as he continued to encroach on your space. You didn't realize just how close he'd gotten until your back pressed against the doorframe and he loomed over you, handsome even in shadow. Especially in shadow.

"This isn't an elaborate prank, is it?" you asked, feeling a little sick at the thought. Not only for how embarrassed you'd be for falling for it, but for the disappointment it would cause you, too.

You'd known this whole time that you'd liked him well past what you knew was smart, but you'd never known just how much until the possibility of him and of you and him was right at your fingertips. Envisioning the other possibility that you'd made a fool of yourself only to have him rip the rug out from under you—no, not just a rug, the ground itself—felt like the worst sort of afterthought.

"Heavens, no!" Alastor chuckled, leaning his forearm against the doorframe above your head. As he leaned down, nearly nose-to-nose with you, he added, "You have walked us both into a bit of a trap, however."

You blinked, eyes wide with alarm and confusion. "A trap?" you repeated. "I don't—"

Oh, but then you did. All it took was one pointed flick of his molten gaze upward for you to follow it and realize that you two were situated beneath a sprig of mistletoe someone—Rosie probably—had incorporated into the garlands lining the jamb, laced in with larger evergreen branches, pinecones, and holly berries.

You couldn't remember if that sprig had been part of the arrangement before you'd stepped outside, but it was certainly there now and the only thing more expectant than that traditional little Christmas plant was the radio star—your radio star now—leaning over you and waiting to see what you'd do.

Alastor shrugged, playing off the situation he'd drawn attention to despite the bit of nervousness beginning to drum up in his belly now that you'd caught on.

"I've simply made our little predicament more proper by asking for exclusivity," he pointed out, carrying on with his bit while relishing how your blush deepened with rivaling desire and undue shame. "You can thank me at any—"

Two could play at his game and he had never had the full upper hand, even before. You were always surprising him with your banter, your reactions, and your moxie. So you surprised him now, too, by leaning in first and pressing a careful first kiss to his speech-parted lips.

His brain positively scrambled the second your warm, soft lips touched his. Whatever teasing he'd been prepared to lead with into this precise exchange became positively moot.

He'd not been accustomed to the feelings he'd had for you before your heart-to-heart in the alley, but he certainly wasn't accustomed to these either. Less so.

And yet…

You'd just started to find time and headspace to start panicking at his lack of response when Alastor got his bearings and his warm hands found your still-chilled skin, sending a shiver through your frame. The sensation teased a threshold between the lingering cold from the snowscape you'd left outside and a blooming warmth that seemed to originate from Alastor's deft, elegant fingers tracing patterns along the velvet of your dress and your jawline.

His hand poised against your cheek tilted your head back and what were you to do but acquiesce? A gasp escaped you as his other hand cleverly found and toyed with the zipper on the back of your dress and he used the opportunity he'd elicited from you to lick into your mouth. You could feel his smirk as he kissed you deeper, self-satisfied in his usual way and yet so unlike himself in every other.

You finally found room to breathe when he moved down to your neck and the rush of oxygen to your brain reminded you what exactly you were doing and where.

"Alastor," you hissed, squeaking as the sound of his name just seemed to encourage him further and his hard body pressed more snugly to yours. "We can't do this here!"

"Mm, we seem to be doing just fine, no?" he whispered, his lips brushing over the pulse point in your neck as he continued pressing leisurely kisses to your throat. Tempted as something deeply primal in him was to leave marks, he refrained from doing so—he didn't want to embarrass you, after all. That respect came into play here, too.

"We won't be if someone comes back here and—cut it out," you mumbled, wriggling and only managing to make you both less inclined to pause your backroom activities.

Still, Alastor did stop and drew back a little to check on you, a cute tilt to his head that put his glasses a couple of centimeters too far down his nose.

You couldn't help but smile a little as you took in his blush and fixed his glasses for him. "You don't think I'm easy, do you?" you asked with a sigh, reaching up and gently fixing his hair, too.

Alastor looked alarmed by the question, but simultaneously melted into your hands—something you'd thought impossible for the usually touch-averse radio host and something even he was surprised he felt the urge to do. Especially considering how you two had started the night and your six-months-long working relationship. He'd thought for sure that this would be something confined to his more intrusive dreams or thoughts—instead it was simply better.

"Of course not, sweetheart," he murmured, seeming immediately aggrieved that he might've caused you to think that. "My apologies, I'm… I'm not accustomed to these sorts of indulgences. Or at least not being particularly fond of them. I suppose I lost myself a little."

You gave him a reassuring smile and leaned in to press one more chaste kiss against his lips—a compromise. "You don't need to be sorry, Al. I just… I don't know, I'm just still shocked you even like me, I guess, much less like me."

He sure looked like he liked you though. His honey eyes were tender as they took you in, a look you'd never seen in them before.

The corresponding smile that found his lips nearly took your breath away. "Then it sounds like I have some makeup work to do," he suggested, disentangling from you and kissing your hands before beginning to straighten up your appearance the way you'd done for him.

Your cheeks flushed hot, but you let him, appreciating him looking out for you (especially since he'd caused most of the damage). "That sounds ominous," you posited.

Alastor chuckled and gave you a mischievous wink before nodding for you to walk with him back out to the party. "Good."

The entire night left you in a daze. Between the stress of being around work colleagues in a non-work affair yet knowing whatever you did that night would still follow you into work the next week, breaking your grandmother's china, the embarrassment that followed, and then everything that happened with Alastor from being openly mocked to having a quick makeout under some mistletoe…

…well, you were exhausted. Exhausted enough to get through the rest of the party—separately from Alastor as you'd both decided to leave any announcement of your change in status for next week unless it came up sooner—and then head home and collapse into your bed, still fully dressed.

It was only on waking that you realized a couple of things from the night before.

The first of which was to remember the second half of the "Everything with Alastor" portion of the night and wonder if it all really happened. If it had all been a dream—and, admittedly, it wouldn't have been the first time you'd dreamt of him—it had been unbelievably vivid. Maybe there was something in the party punch.

The second thing you noticed was that you'd been so out of sorts by the end of the office soiree that you'd completely bypassed your scarf-bundled china wreckage when you'd gone to get your coat. So that was something you'd have to remember to collect from the back on Monday.

After settling in with a cup of coffee at your breakfast bar and easing slowly into the start of your weekend, you admittedly felt a little trepidation at what you'd finally concluded were the actual happenings of the night before with Alastor. He had apologized for his actions, he had admitted he actually liked you for all the reasons you'd thought he hated you, he had admitted to really liking you, and he had kissed you under a bit of mistletoe. Or rather, you'd kissed him and then he'd proceeded to really kiss you.

What if he regretted it? What if he'd woken up this morning and thought back and realized it'd all been a bit of a spur-of-the-moment fancy or some holiday impulsivity or the effect of some spiked punch like you'd earlier entertained the possibility of ingesting? What if you walked in Monday and he called it all off? Or worse, what if it really had been a joke and it was just a more strung-out joke than you'd originally fretted it might be?

You sighed, your breath stirring the steam wafting from your aromatic morning brew just before you took a deep sip.

What if, what if, what if. If he regretted it or thought it'd been good for a laugh or simply (more likely) played it off as either of those just because it was new and scary and maybe not something he wanted to commit to…despite not only kissing you but asking to court you, too…then there was nothing you could do about that. It was as much his decision as it was yours and you spent the off-and-on moments through the rest of your weekend in which you obsessed mulled over your memories of the Christmas party reciting that truth to yourself.

It was all a long game of prepping yourself for his eventual task of backpedaling to, in the best-case scenario, let you down easy in an attempt to make things go back to normal. Because there wasn't really, to your impending disappointment, a universe in which you could imagine Alastor not wanting out of this new dynamic of yours for any number of varying reasons that popped unbidden into your head.

The bouquet you'd find sitting prettily beside the meticulously repaired china set on your desk the following Monday morning would indicate otherwise.

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel au #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #human alastor #1920s AU #voxtek winterfest 2024

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magicaldestinyharmony · 11 days ago

Text

In Life and Death Pt. 4

male!knight x female!count's daughter!reader part 4

CW: mentions of fire, burning bodies, fighting, beating, abuse, hunting of humans, death, killing, fatal wounds, blood, torture and whipping.

WC: 5.5k words

A/N: I don't know what happened guys I'm sorry (ToT) I blinked and it became this long. Enjoy I guess?

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

“What’s your name?”

“What?” Lucca turns to the female voice beside him, perplexed at the question.

She should already know his name.

“I asked you what your name is,” the fifth daughter of Count Balcom repeats.

Lucca blinks again. Completely and utterly confused. “Why does it matter?” he asks.

“Well, since you’re in my care now, I think I should call you something other than ‘boy’ or ‘you’,” she says.

“You can call me ‘slave’ like everyone else does,” Lucca helpfully supplies.

Her face takes on an Are you crazy? look.

She doesn’t say anything else, clearly waiting for an answer to her earlier question. An answer she isn’t going to get. Lucca keeps his mouth shut, hoping the silence will get her to stop asking and leave. The quiet stretches out.

Finally, she jumps up from her perch on the stool beside his bed. “Fine! It’s obvious you aren’t going to tell me so I’m going to leave and you can keep your stupid name to yourself!”

Instead of feeling satisfied with getting what he wanted, he feels bothered that she’s leaving upset.

“Wait!” his hand grabs her wrist before she can completely leave.

She cocks an eyebrow, silently demanding he let her go.

“Lucca,” he whispers.

“What?” she asks.

“Lucca,” he repeats, a little louder.

She smiles and sits back down. “Thank you for telling me.”

Lucca inclines his head.

“Can I call you ‘Lucca’?”

He blinks at the question, then nods.

She grins. “Thank you, Lucca.”

◇◇◇

“Mommy?” a much smaller Lucca peaked around the door of his parent’s bedroom.

A graceful woman brought her fingers to her lips, a silent indication to be quiet as she left the bed and approached her youngest son.

“Come, sweetheart, let’s go downstairs before we wake up your father.” The mother picked her son up in her arms and headed to the kitchen on the first floor.

She sat him on a chair, knelt in front of him and grabbed his hands. “Is everything okay, love?”

Lucca sniffled. “I had a nightmare.”

“Oh, Lucca, honey.” She pulled him into her arms again in a comforting hug.

“I woke up alone in the dark and that scared me,” Lucca admitted quietly.

His mom pulled him in even closer and patted his back.

They stayed like that for a while. Nothing like a mother's love to chase away the demons of the night.

“Lucca, love.” She pulled away enough just to wipe away the little boy's tears. “Do you know why I picked ‘Lucca’ as your name?”

Lucca shook his head.

His mom smiled and caressed his cheeks. “‘Lucca’ means ‘bringer of light’. I picked this name at the time you were born because the first time I held you in my arms, the sun's rays burst through clouds, bathing you in its golden light.

“The name sounded fitting. But as you grew up from a tiny infant to a strong, healthy child, I realized that this is the perfect name for you. Everything you do, you do with the biggest smile on your face. Your smile is radiant, my love. Just like the light.”

Lucca watched his mom speak, hanging on to her every word. And when sleep gripped his young form again, he fell to its clutches with a happy smile on his face.

◇◇◇

“Hurry up, Beck, Lucca!” A young girl waved at Lucca and their older brother, beckoning them closer.

“We're coming!” Both boys looked at each other and grinned.

Beck smirked and started sprinting. “Last one to Hazel is a rotten egg!”

“Hey! Not fair!” Lucca took after his brother, trying to reach his older sister first.

Beck, with his head start, reached Hazel. Lucca shuffled in a little later, bending over. “That’s not fair! You should have counted down first!”

“Too bad.” Beck smugly shrugged.

Lucca squinted his eyes at the older boy. Beck is the oldest of three children. Then it's Hazel and Lucca.

Lucca grinned mischievously. “Uh-oh, I don’t like that lo–” Beck started but Lucca lunged at him.

“Whoa!” Beck managed to evade the lunge but Lucca started chasing him around the meadow.

“Boys! That's enough! The picnic is all set up!” their mother called for them.

She sighed, a smile playing on her lips as her boys overlooked her call.

Her husband, the boys' father, laughed. “I'll go get them. Why don't you get Hazel started?”

Hazel reached the sheet and plopped down. Their mother smiled at her family’s antics and settled down beside Hazel.

“Dad! Let us down!” The boys struggled in their father's hold playfully as he neared the picnic. He set them on the sheet and sat next to them.

The family had fun out together all day.

◇◇◇

“Are you sure, Hazel?” Lucca asked.

“Yes, Dad gave me my allowance to use didn't he?” Hazel nodded.

“True. But we aren't supposed to go to the market alone,” Lucca hesitated.

“It'll be fine. We’re old enough aren’t we?” Hazel assured him. “And”–she wiggled her eyebrows–“Mom, Dad and Beck are gonna get home late. If we beat them, how are they gonna know?”

She grabbed his hand and pulled him with her.

“Do you think Beck would like this?” Hazel held up a wooden horse figurine.

“Maybe, he always wanted to ride a horse.” Lucca shrugged.

“Ugh.” Hazel set the figurine back down and sighed. “Why is he so hard to shop for? And you aren't any help at all!”

“You just find it hard,” he teased her. “I’m uninterested because I already got him his gift.” Lucca stuck his hands in his pocket.

Hazel sighed dramatically.

“Let's just go home now, Hazel.” Lucca looked up at the sky. “The sun is gonna set soon. If we don't start going home, we'll get there at night and Mom and Dad will know that we went out without permission..”

Hazel sighed dramatically again. “Fine, you're right. Let's go home.”

The two rented a carriage. Their home was located in the forest. To reach it, you had to go through a bend in the road that led straight to their house.

As the carriage reached the bend, Lucca perked up. He stared out the window intently.

“Stop!” He yelled out to the carriage driver.

The carriage screeched to a halt. “What's wrong, boy?”

Lucca caught Hazel's startled gaze. “Lucca? What's going on?”

Lucca smiled hesitantly. “It’s alright, Hazel. I just remembered that I never bought Beck a gift.”

“That’s not true! You told me you had a gift for him already!” Hazel stared at him with wide panicked eyes.

“I lied. I lied, okay?” Lucca stepped out from the carriage.

He turned around and held Hazel's hands. “Promise me you won't leave the carriage until you reach town.”

“But–”

“Promise me!”

Hazel took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. Will… Will I see you again?”

Lucca smiled sadly. “I love you, Hazel. Forever and ever.”

Tears slid down her cheeks. “Lucca? What do you mean? Lucca?! Why are you say–?!”

Lucca slammed the door shut. Her fists pounded on the wood. “Lucca! Open the do–!”

He moved away, gave the carriage driver money and instructions to drive back to town and ran the rest of the way home.

Lucca stared at the hot, orange, gaping inferno swallowing his home.

Where was his family? His mom, dad and older brother?

Lucca gaped at the sight. He blinked, disbelieving what he was seeing.

He suddenly felt the need to do something. He raced towards the flames destroying his childhood memories.

“A kid! There's a kid running to the fire!”

“What?! Where did he come from!?”

“Is he in his right mind?!”

It was only when Lucca heard the voices, did he see the hooded figures in black. There were multiple of them, moving away from the glowing blaze. Their beady eyes peered at him.

Lucca ignored them and continued into the burning building.

“Mom?! Dad?!” he yelled around, looking for them. “Bec–!”

He gasped. There on the floor are the burnt bodies of his family. Lucca gagged at the smell of burning flesh and dropped to his knees.

“Beck? Beck?!” Lucca nudged the hand of his older brother.

The older brother who comforted him when injured.

The older brother who played with him.

The older brother who would sneak him food at night.

The older brother who had a smile that lit up the room.

The older brother who had an infectious laugh.

The older brother who's lifeless now.

The older brother who he can't see, hear, smell or touch anymore.

The scream that burst out of Lucca is gut-wrenching.

His face hardened.

He will never forgive the people who took his happiness from him.

Never.

He got up.

Ever.

Wiped his tears.

Ever.

Once Lucca stepped into the warm, dark air, it was with the determination to get revenge.

He glared at the men in black. He took one menacing step forward, then another. They snickered at him. What can a child do against many, grown mercenaries?

Lucca growled and picked up the nearest and heaviest branch. His roar had adult men hesitating.

“Capture him. Alive,” an authoritative voice called out from the darkness.

“Yes, my lord!” The mercenaries surrounded Lucca, holding swords.

A small fight ensues. Lucca managed to knock down five mercenaries before he was captured.

A hooded figure in red stepped out from the blackness. Lucca was made to kneel in front of him.

“You are one bold kid.” The man took off his hood, revealing his face.

“Do you know who I am, kid?” he demanded.

When Lucca refused to respond, the man gestured at one of the mercenaries.

The next thing he felt was the hot, searing pain of being kicked.

“Well?” the man urged him.

Lucca still didn't say anything.

Another gesture, another kick, more pain.

Lucca grunted.

The man raised an eyebrow.

“No,” Lucca spitted out.

“There you go. Was that so hard?” the mysterious man asked.

Lucca shrugged and went silent again.

“Well,” the man started. “I’m Count Balcom, the closest advisor to the emperor, one of the wealthiest nobles in the empire and have one of the best lineages.”

Lucca just stared blankly at the count. As a commoner, he wasn’t the most knowledgeable about nobles and their complicated ways.

Count Balcom walked around Lucca, giving him an appraising look.

“You would make for interesting prey.” He crouched and held Lucca’s chin up. “There’s fire in your eyes. I’m sure quenching it would feel fantastic.”

“I will never break. Never,” Lucca growled.

The count backed away and laughed. “It would be better if you cooperated.” He tapped his chin. “I believe a carriage was here. It was carrying your sister wasn’t it?”

Lucca’s eyes widened. “You leave her alone!”

Count Balcom laughed again and grinned wickedly. “If you cooperate, I’ll leave her alone.”

Lucca didn’t even hesitate. “If she stays safe I’ll come with you.”

The count gave an eerie smile. “I give you my word.” He turned to a nearby mercenary. “Take him to the wagon.”

The mercenary nodded and Count Balcom left in a flourish of red robes.

Lucca might have walked into the Balcom Manor willingly but it was hell on earth. He was abused daily and deprived of meals and water. He gave up figuring out time, in that damp, dark, dingy cell.

He hated it. What did he do to deserve this? What did his family do to deserve death?

These thoughts never left him. They circled and screamed. Wanting attention.

Yet he held on.

He must survive. He must survive. He must survive for Hazel. If he dies before he lets him he’ll kill her.

He ate whatever he was given and held on.

Then one day, Lucca was taken out of that gloomy cell. He was put on a wagon and taken to a forest.

When he saw the arrows and horses, he realized what the count meant by ‘prey’. He was going to be hunted.

He was instructed to stay in a small, open field in the woods. The field was beautiful with big trees and colourful flowers. It wasn’t a bad place to die.

He survived for Hazel. Keep on living, okay, Hazel?

When the arrow hit his heart, he had one last thought, he would finally be able to see his loving family again.

However, when Lucca opened his eyes, it wasn’t to the sight of his late family. It was to the sight of a mass of people yelling.

“The Divine Warrior woke up!”

“It’s the Divine Warrior!”

“Save us, Divine Warrior!”

Lucca was confused. What was going on?!

The High Priest explained it all.

Apparently every 1000 years, the evil dragon, Tanan, manages to break the seal placed on him. And every 100 years a Divine Warrior is born.

The Divine Warrior has a stronger physique, superior senses, a good intuition, heals faster, uses aura and has three lives. That means that the Divine Warrior has two other chances at life if death gets to them.

The Divine Warrior awakens when they turn 18. If they die before that, their soul is preserved at the Grand Temple. Once their soul turns 18, they awaken in their older body. Once awakened, two marks appear on the Divine Warrior’s hand. It is only visible to them and counts how many lives they have left.

The job of the Divine Warrior is to reseal Tanan. If Tanan hasn’t broken free yet, their job is to save the people from evil beasts who are his underlings.

As of right now, Lucca has already lost one life, courtesy of Count Balcom.

“I see,” Lucca said, staring out the window. “So now what?”

“Now,” the High Priest began. “Now, you start your training. It is soon time for the evil dragon to break free.”

“Very well.” Lucca turned to face the older man. “But first, I want you to find someone for me.”

The High Priest nodded. “Sure. Who are they?”

“Hazel. Her name is Hazel Puhlavan.”

“What?! She's what?!” Lucca slammed his fist on his mahogany desk.

“I apologize, Your Eminence. Hazel Puhlavan is dead,” the High Priest repeated.

Lucca shoved away from his desk. She was dead?!

“But how?! I did exactly as he said,” he murmured.

Lucca whirled around to face the man. “How? No, when?”

The High Priest bowed slightly, fearing the Divine Warrior’s wrath. “She was killed on a carriage three years ago. It seemed like murder but the case was closed because of insufficient evidence.”

“Damn it!” The desk received another punch.

He shouldn't have trusted that bastard's words.

Hazel was dead but he was here and alive.

Lucca dropped back into his seat. “You're dismissed.”

The High Priest immediately scurried off.

Lucca sighed. He survived this long for what? To find out that the fate of the world rests in his hands? To find out that his sister is dead?

What did he do to deserve this?

“Hahaha! A mere mortal tries to defeat me? Me, the great Tanan?!”

Lucca wondered if all the Divine Warriors before him had to go through this. The evil dragon is very full of himself.

“Come at me, mortal. You'll never be able to defeat me!”

Lucca gripped the Divine Sword. It's the Divine Warrior’s ultimate weapon. It's crafted from lodyed, a precious stone given to Divine Warriors. It allows them to imbue the Divine Sword with aura.

Red light glinted on the silver, polished blade, giving it a crimson look. With Tanan came, what the temple calls, the Haur Moon. It's the source of his power and hangs in the sky. Shadows cast the field of the face-off in black. The combination of red and black gave the place an ominous feeling.

Tanan stood tall, taunting Lucca with his prowess.

“If you're so great, how come you keep getting resealed?” Lucca raised an eyebrow.

“How dare you! You're a mere human!” Tanan lunged at Lucca in anger.

A deadly fight starts.

The evil dragon shot a fireball. Lucca jumped away to avoid it.

The bloody dance continued. Lucca swung his sword. It grazed the dragon’s arm. Tanan roared. His massive tail came crashing down beside Lucca, creating a big dust cloud causing him to cough.

The dust blocked his vision. His head snapped up just in time to see the mighty tail strike again. Lucca raised his sword to injure and ran backwards, keeping the sword up. He left a gaping, bloody wound in his wake. Tanan howled, no doubt in pain.

“Where are you, human?! I will destroy you!”

While Tanan frantically looked around for him, Lucca used the shadows to his advantage. He crept up on Tanan. Using his aura to propel him upwards, Lucca jumped to land the final strike on Tanan's head.

“There you are!” the dragon suddenly turned around, his eyes gleaming wickedly.

Lucca's own eyes widened in surprise.

Tanan struck Lucca with his claw. He barely eluded the fatal point but it still pierced his arm.

“Ugh.” Lucca got the wind knocked out of him when his back hit the ground.

With his arm bleeding, Lucca stood again. He grabbed his sword.

It was time to end this. It was Lucca or the dragon.

Lucca jumped again and growled. He imbued the Divine Sword with aura. When he penetrated the hard layer of scales and the soft tissue under, so did Tanan's sharp claw into his torso.

Lucca heaved as blood rushed up his throat. He fell with a thud and coughed some more.

Tanan thundered and collapsed in a heap on the field. The evil dragon has finally been defeated.

I have to perform the sealing spell.

Lucca blinked against the blackness filling his vision. He coughed up more blood.

I have to–

The blackness consumed him.

Lucca convulsed and opened his eyes. The once red field was now bathed in a reddish-orange glow. Lucca spied the sun sinking below the horizon. The Haur Moon was gone.

He sighed. Everything was finally over. Two gruelling years of training have finally paid off.

Lucca spotted Tanan’s black form.

Well, everything was mostly over.

He sat up and propped his arm on his knee. The gash Tanan left him has healed completely. No matter how many times it happened, Lucca’s ability to quickly heal never ceased to amaze him.

A glance at his right hand told him what he feared. He lost another life. Only one gold mark remained. It sparkled in the glow of the sunset. Lucca had one more chance at life.

Lucca sighed again and raised his tired form. He trudged over to the source of much grief and horror.

With the evil dragon defeated, Lucca can finally breathe easy.

It would also be time for his vengeance.

After finishing the sealing spell, Lucca headed out to perform the necessary steps to complete his revenge.

He would amass great power and wealth. And once he did, he would destroy Count Balcom.

Screams filled the dim halls of Balcom Manor.

“No! Please! Please have mercy!” A maid cried at his feet.

Lucca silenced her sobs. He didn't even twitch at the smell and sight of red oozing out of the corpse on the heart pine wood floors.

The staff that weren't on the floor cowered. Lucca brandished his sword and restained the wood red.

Yells echoed in his ears but he kept moving.

Lucca would get his revenge.

“Stop right there, you monster!”

He looked up to see a flock of knights blocking his advance.

“You won’t make it past us!” The knights all pointed their blades at him.

Lucca laughed. His face hardened and he charged. The sound of piercing flesh reverberated in the hallway.

“Wa-wait! Please spare me!” The last knight recoiled.

“Where is Count Balcom?” Lucca prompted.

“H-he’s in the ballroom. The re-rest of the ar-army is with him,” the cowering man gulped.

“Thanks.” Lucca stabbed the knight.

He stepped over the body and continued in the direction of the ballroom.

When Lucca reached the immense mahogany doors, his sword was dripping and his dark blue clothes were splattered with the same liquid.

When the doors swung open, shouts rang out.

“Stop! Drop your weapon!”

“Surrender and you might be spared!”

But one voice stood out. “You’re one brave young man. Your rampage ends here!” Lucca recognized the condescending tone.

He scoffed. All of his staff lay dead and all he did was barricade himself here.

Lucca swung his sword, cutting knights down left and right.

Count Balcom stared in horror at the man who was slaughtering his knights. A wary smile played on the count’s face. He was arrogant enough to think he was invincible. However, when Lucca towered over him, the smile fell off his face.

“Wait! Tell me what you want! Money? Power? Women?” Count Balcom reeled and Lucca stepped forward.

“If you want women, I have plenty of daugh–”

“Why did you burn that house in the forest five years ago?” Lucca cut him off.

Confusion marked the man’s face. “What?”

“And the girl. Why did you kill the girl in the carriage?” Lucca asked again.

After a long silence, it became apparent that the count didn’t know what Lucca was asking.

Lucca laughed. It was a sad, bitter and angry sound.

All that fury and resentment and anticipation for revenge. The five years he spent bending to powerful figures to get honour and wealth. They all amount to nothing if he couldn’t inflict pain and fear upon Count Balcom’s haughty face.

In his daze, Lucca didn’t notice when Count Balcom picked up a sword from a fallen knight.

“Die, you filthy peasant!” The count sloppily swung the sword in a feeble attempt at killing.

Lucca easily avoided the blade and retorted with a swing of his own. His sword plunged swiftly into Count Balcom's chest.

“I hope you rot in hell,” Lucca whispered in the count’s ear.

Lucca left the man in a bloody heap on the once beautiful heartwood floors and took off to find the rest of the Balcom family.

Now there was one left. The fifth daughter.

Lucca approached the fifth daughter’s chambers. She was the last piece to complete his revenge.

He opened the doors and an eerie creak sounded out. He found her standing in the room with her back to him. The moonlight barely illuminated her form.

Lucca’s sword grazed the wooden floors. He stopped right behind the woman. He knew she was the fifth daughter, yet he asked anyway, “Are you the fifth daughter of Count Balcom?”

She turned around and said, “No. I think you have the wrong person.”

Lucca scowled. He wasn’t expecting the sarcasm. The woman gave him a once-over.

Silence rang out. Big and heavy.

“Spare me!” cut the sinister quiet.

She boldly stared into his eyes.

“No.” He didn’t hesitate. No one associated with the Balcom name will live. He would make sure of it.

The woman frowned. “If-if I saved you and prevented that ‘incident’, would you spare me?”

He snickered. Nothing anyone did would erase the pain, guilt and sorrow. It won’t bring his family back to life, would it?

“No. The only way I would spare you is if you drain all of the Balcom blood from your body. Only then would you be spared.” As long as the Balcom blood ran through her veins he would kill her.

She flinched at the gleam of his ruby-coloured sword. With a sudden movement, the woman swallowed something and doubled over in pain. Lucca hesitated, confused. But just as quickly, she fell to the floor and clutched her chest.

A weird feeling washed over him. He blinked. However, when he opened his eyes again, it wasn't to the moonlit room.

◇◇◇

“Is he still in the wagon?” a masculine voice asked.

“Yeah, I made sure of it. The last thing we need is Count Balcom’s anger,” another answered.

Lucca looked around him, very bewildered. What he saw was an oak wood wagon. Crates and barrels filled it, crowding the small space. The contents were jostled around with the caravan’s movements.

He remembered this wagon. Lucca was brought to Balcom Manor on this wagon. Was this an illusion? Did that woman cast some spell on him?

The caravan abruptly halted to a stop. Lucca heard gravel crunching under leather boots before the back covering was removed.

“Come on, kid. Get out. Don’t pull any tricks or the girl gets it.” The same grotesque mercenary and the same words.

This wasn’t making any sense.

Lucca was roughly pulled out of the wagon and brought before Count Balcom.

“Let’s go, son. I’ll show you your new home.” The count stood at the front doors with a conceited grin on his lips.

He motioned for Lucca to go in first. Stepping inside, Lucca saw the foyer. The front hall was beautifully decorated. A grand and alluring glass chandelier graced the cream-coloured plaster ceiling. An immense wooden staircase stood at the back of the space. Lots of vases with colourful flowers filled the chestnut-coloured corners. In the heart of it, the staff and the occupants of the manor bowed in greeting of its owner.

A girl eased out of her curtsy and focused on him. She looked like a younger version of the fifth daughter. She frowned in confusion at the sight of him.

Did she place a curse on him? Was he now fated to relive the grief, regret and misery? Did she think that having him relive all of that would spare her?

Well, she was mistaken. He would never spare a living Balcom. Just like he lost everything and everyone he held dear and fell into misery he would make sure that they felt despair too.

“Hey, you!” Count Balcom rudely bellowed from behind him. “Take the boy to the dungeons.”

A maid nodded and hurried him down. Down to darkness and torture.

Lucca blinked and saw feminine features. The fifth daughter peered down at him.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “I tried to be as gentle as possible. I’m sorry if it hurts.”

Only then did Lucca notice the salve and gauze sitting beside the girl. The throb on his back was evidence of her treatment.

Was this some kind of new game? A new form of torture?

She pulled out bread from her bag. “Here, I got you some food.”

Lucca stared at her. Was she going to show him kindness and then brutally stab him in the back? Was she going to give him light in this blackness and then take it away?

She took out a pastel pink handkerchief and placed it with the bread in front of him.

He blinked three times.

“Don’t worry! I didn’t do anything to the bread. It’s not poisoned or anything,” she affirmed.

When he didn’t say anything, she sighed. “Alright. I’ll leave you alone.” She stood and dusted herself off. “I’ll come back tomorrow to heal your wounds and get you some food!”

Her absence didn’t quiet his raging thoughts.

The same events over the next 10 years repeated themselves. Getting killed at Count Balcom’s hand, waking up as the Divine Warrior, resealing Tanan and currying favour with the kings of the continent.

The only change was the death of Count Balcom’s fifth daughter. He found her in the same room but he managed to cut her down and she didn’t swallow anything.

Yet the same strange feeling engulfed him again.

◇◇◇

“He-her Ladyship isn't at th-the manor,” the attendant stammered.

“Explain,” Lucca urged.

“Sh-she left as so-soon as she turned 18. No one has he-heard anything from her ever since.”

Lucca laughed. So she was the one who sent him back in time. Did she think leaving would stop him?

With a slash of his sword, Lucca stopped the sputtering man in his tracks. “Thanks.”

The fluttering of Lucca's cape echoed in the soundless manor as he left in pursuit of the runaway lady.

“There you are. I finally found you,” Lucca spoke to her turned form.

She froze. “I admit that leaving the empire was a smart move on your part. It was quite hard to track you down,” Lucca continued.

She didn’t say anything.

“Well, I guess the chase ends here.” Lucca raised his sword and struck her.

For some reason, the sight of her blood on his sword and the sand made him frown. And the same weird feeling from before made him frown harder.

◇◇◇

At the sight of the same oak wood wagon for the fourth time, Lucca sighed deeply.

These time loops need to stop. And the fifth daughter of Count Balcom has the answer.

This time, Count Balcom’s fifth daughter got married to a baron in the countryside.

“Stupid wench! You dare talk back to me? If I tell you to do something, you do it! Why do you never learn?! Do I always have to beat you for you to understand?!”

Lucca shook as he saw the man strike her.

How dare he hurt her?

Lucca kicked down the door and pulled out his sword.

“Who dares to interrupt me?! I specifi–” Lucca didn't let him finish. He landed a blow on his jaw.

“Ho-how dare you!” the man spluttered on the floor.

Lucca scoffed. This man has some guts.

With a slash, the man’s head rolled. A low shriek made him turn around. The sight of the fifth daughter hunched over on the ground reminded him of his purpose.

The haze of anger cleared and the red faded away. He loomed over her.

What was he doing? She was the daughter of his enemy. He couldn’t be feeling bad for her. She was the reason he was reliving his life for the fourth time.

With another slash, Lucca killed her. And on cue, the strange feeling came again.

◇◇◇

“Th-the lady has gone crazy!”

“She was de-demanding ways to drain her bl-blood!”

“Count Balcom or-ordered her to re-re-recuperate at the southern villa!”

“She hurts herself all the time!”

“She has truly gone insane!”

Lucca’s steps reverberated in the hall of the Balcom Southern Villa. It wasn’t hard to locate. A quick interrogation of the servants also told him where the room of its occupant was.

He stopped at the door. Through hell or high water, I will find you and kill you.

Lucca opened the oak wood door. The room was nicely done in shades of light blue and white. But the appearance of the fifth daughter made him frown.

She was tucked into bed. But the iron chains holding her hands up were a morose contrast to the elegant room. Her head was down, her hair a curtain to her face.

He trod into the room and she looked up. The sight of her face was worse. Scratches lined her cheeks and there were bags under her eyes. Her body was skinny and marred by scars and wounds. Her eyes remained blank as she took him in.

For some reason, Lucca’s heart hurt. With a jolt, he realized that he hated seeing her like this. Helpless and wounded.

But Lucca wasn’t one for emotions. So he struck her anyway. His eyes closed in anticipation of the same feeling.

◇◇◇

She approached him. “Hello. Are you alright?”

“For injuring my precious daughter, you will receive 15 whips.” The count grinned creepily.

With a grip on her head, the girl responded, “N-no. Wh-when wronged, we sh-should give back tenfold what we received. I-it’s the Balcom way, right?”

“Take him to the dungeons and make sure to give him his punishment.” With that, Count Balcom departed.

At the intense throbbing from the whip marks, Lucca opened his eyes. He saw Count Balcom’s fifth daughter and scowled. She glared at him, shook her head and continued working.

She patched up his last wound, left some bread and got up. He watched her in silence. Why did she keep helping him, a murderer? No matter how many times he killed her, she treated him without fail.

“Why do you care?” His voice was a little hoarse.

“You got hurt because of me. Of course, I care,” she said firmly.

He scoffed and she shrugged.

She started leaving and Lucca crushed the urge to stop her. To tell her to stay. To tell her that she was the only kindness he experienced through all the time loops. To tell her that he–no he shouldn’t be having these thoughts. She was the daughter of his enemy and, therefore, his enemy as well.

Lucca turned to his side, giving her his back. He heard her footsteps fade away as he told himself to not be emotional. He couldn’t afford it. Survival wasn’t for the weak and emotional. And he certainly wasn’t weak and emotional.

◇◇◇

“Lucca! Are you listening to me?” Count Balcom’s fifth daughter exclaims.

“Ah.” Lucca nods.

She smiles. “So, as I was saying–” she continues telling her tale.

Truth is, Lucca didn't hear most of her story. He was too busy watching her animatedly talking.

Tags!

@dreamlessnight

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sarawritestories · 9 months ago

Text

Unwavering Presence Chapter 12

Cassian X Archeron Sister (Reader)

Summary: Cassian and Y/N both have a nightmare and look for comfort within each other. Spending a week out in pure bliss of cooking, meeting with a sweet Illyrian girl and snuggling in bed the couple hit a snag in the road.

Content Warning: Nightmares that depict murder, Asphyxiation, mention of wing clipping and scars. Weaponizing trauma against a victim and cliffhanger

Word Count:4.6K words

Banner used by @saradika

A/N: the last few sneak peeks I posted about are not in here but will be in the next one, I'm so sorry this took so long I was in a funk I couldn't shake! Though I'm not sorry for the cliffhanger.

ACOTAR MASTERLST

My arms were pinned above my head with Xavier’s hand gripping both of my wrists tightly. I writhed under him as he pawed at me. “Dolls, don’t move this much.” With his free hand he gripped my neck and forced his tongue down my throat as he pressed his length against me. Tears warmed my cheeks as my moan of agony was swallowed up by his mouth. “Shhh. It’s alright, it’ll be over soon.” He whispered over my lips as he slanted them down over mine again and I began to squirm. Xavier released the grip of my neck, his leather clad finger touching down my naked body. Until he reached my clit, and I gasped causing him to slither his tongue into my locking me tightly into place as he began to play with me like a toy.

I kept my eyes open as his disheveled blond hair fell forward from his face and tickled my collarbone. He moaned in my mouth as he slid a digit inside me, and I tried kicking my legs. Only the sharp sting of his hand against my core caused me to pause. “Stay still or I will get the spreader bar.” His blue eyes bore into mine with a seriousness that chilled my blood. “Do you understand?”

I steadied a breath, “Yes sir.”

He smiled, kissing me again, the feeling of his mouth on mine made me feel dirty and made me want to shrink into myself. Having enough I bit down on his bottom lip hard. He released me and I rose to my feet and tried to flee. His hand gripped my hair and I screamed, “No!” As Xavier yanked me back and forced me to my knees. “Get off me!” I shrieked.

“Let’s fix that mouth of yours, shall we?” He pressed the tip of his cock against my lips, the precum coating them, He released my hair only to pinch my nose. It didn’t take very long for my lungs to cry out for air, and I opened my mouth. Before he could do anything, a growl emulated from the corner, “Do not touch her.” Cassian’s voice grounded out. His siphons were the only thing I could distinguish as my vision was beginning to go out of focus.

Cassian had come for me, and when I turned to see him, silver glimmered in the illumination of the moonlight, and I screamed but it was too late. Graysen had taken the steel and sliced Cassian’s wings. “Cassian!” I cried out as the assault to his beautiful wings continued. I reached out for him only for Xavier to loop his arm around my waist. “Cassian!” He groaned on the floor, blood pooling underneath him. As I made another attempt to reach out to him. To have my fingertips reach his. “Please wake up, please wake up, Cassian.” I sobbed.

Bolting awake sweat raced down my back and face as I took in my surroundings, realizing I was in my room in the cabin and not in human lands. A little voice in the back of my mind kept saying:

Find him. Find him. Find him.

Rising from my bed I padded my way to the door to go find the General of the Night Courts Armies.

Cassian’s POV

Screams erupted all around me as my brothers and I raided the camp in search of my mother. Her screams flooded the camp, and I locked eyes with Rhysand and with a dip of his chin I bolted to the sound of her screams. My lungs were burning as I pushed myself to run faster thought my mother's screams were still so far from me. The night breeze pierced my skin as I pushed forward as the outline of the camp came into view.

As I entered the threshold of the camp another bloodcurdling scream rang through the camp, no one stirred, no one came to her aid. Weaving through the makeshift cabins the silhouette of male and a kneeling female caught the corner of my gaze. I changed course and headed in the direction where my mother’s beautiful face came into view. Terror consumed her features as tears ran down her face. “I’m sorry, my sweet boy.” Her voice cracked and Cassian collapsed to his knees. Mother pulled his face close to hers, “Look at how you’ve grown, Sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.” She connected her forehead to mine, and I shut my eyes and took in her scent of snow and wildflowers.

“Cassian.” The voice caused my eyes to shoot open, and no longer was my mother’s eyes looking back at me but the familiar hues of Y/N. “Cass.” Her voice was shaky, and her fear was palpable.

I felt arms loop around mine and angrily yanking me back from the youngest Archeron sister, “No! Get off me!” I thrashed as the two Illyrians pulled me away and the male that was behind Y/N lifted his battle Axe. My siphons roared to life and red power blasted from my body. The two warriors release me and I bolt toward, Y/N as the Axe slices through her neck.

I fall to my knees as the assassin drops the axe, “Long live the queen.” The male murmured barely falling to my ears as the gruesome scene laid bare in front of me.

I could feel the presence of my brothers as they approached and my tears turned into sobs as I lifted the body close to mine, Ignoring the fact her head was not attached and sobbed.

I bolted awake, sweat coating my skin and along my hair line. Pulling my hair up in a bun I sat at the edge of my bed trying to catch my breath. It took a few minutes before I took in my surroundings and realized that I was in the Cabin. Y/N’s room was right next to mine and just needing her in my arms I stood up and headed to find her.

Opening my door, I stepped out to find Y/N emerging from her room. Her face met mine and I could see the tear-soaked cheeks and her gaze met mine. “Hey.” She said tucking her bottom lip between her lips.

“Hey, you.” I gave her a small smile; I rubbed the back of my neck. “I was actually coming to find you.

“Oh?” She gave me a small tilt of her lips upward. “I was coming to find you too.”

Something warmed my chest at her words, and I held out my hand, “Come on, Princess.”

Y/N hesitated, then in a flash she slapped my hand away and wrapped her arms around my waist. Pressing her face into my chest. I heard her release a soft sigh as I coiled my arms around her. “I had a terrible dream.” She murmured.

I pressed my chin to the top of her head taking the scent in. She was here, she was alive, she was in my arms. “Me too,” my hand slides up her back and runs through her hair.

She sniffled and my body went rigid, “Graysen chopped your wings.” She whispered. She pulled back to look at them, her gaze was assessing, and I stilled as I realized she was checking for injuries.

I stroked my thumb against her cheek grabbing her attention, her eyes filled with worry. “I’m okay, Princess, I flexed my wings so she can see they are uninjured. “My wings are perfectly fine.”

Y/N nodded, “What about you? You said you also had a nightmare,” Her voice a soft whisper and she gripped my hand, her soft fingers a stark contrast my calloused ones.

“I’m alright.” Her brows furrowed causing a little indent on her forehead. I leaned down pressing my lips where that crease resided and pulled away. Satisfaction bloomed in me as her face relaxed slightly, the wrinkles disappeared. I took her hand in my own and I quietly led her back to my room.

“Cassian What are you doing?” She questioned me as I opened my door.

“You have ruined my sleep schedule, Princess. If it’s alright with you, I would like you in my bed.” Her cheeks tinted with the lightest shade of pink though panic enraptured her eyes, as if she was going back to a memory with Xavier. I tugged her hand lightly, “Hey no,” I leaned down to meet her eye level as my free hand gripped the back of her neck. “Come back to me, Sweetheart.” She blinked once… twice and there she was, my girl. “I just want to hold you while we sleep. Your presence comforts me.” I chewed on the inside of my cheek at the admission.

Y/N gave me one of her toothy grins, one that could make me fall to my knees. “I’d like that. I sleep better when you’re close.”

I pressed my lips to hers for a moment and then kissed the tip of her nose, “Let’s get you to bed.” I adjusted my hands to hold her back and under her knees and picked her up and held her close to my chest. She gripped her arms around my neck and her Jasmine scent immediately calmed me. “You died.” I whispered as I kicked the door shut behind me and continued and made strides to the bed. I placed her down at the edge of the bed.

Crawling in next to her, she laid her back, her kind warm eyes never leaving mine. “I what?”

Lying on my side and wrapping my arm around her stomach pulling her close. I nuzzled my face in her neck, peppering it with soft featherlight kisses moving up to her jaw and pressing my forehead to the side of her face, “In my nightmare.” I murmur against her skin. “I watched you get slaughtered in my dream. It started off with me looking for my mother and when I found her, she morphed into you.” I could hear her heart begin to race and I tried to rub soothing circles against her clothed side to calm her. “I watched you die. I just…” I paused and released a sigh, pulling away from her. Laying on my back fanning out my wings holding my hand out and felt her soft hand slip into mine and my fingers curled around hers. “I just needed a reminder that you were ok, that you were alive.”

“Darling,” Y/N whispered shifting on the bed and could feel her facing me. “Look at me.” I refused, she pulled her hand away from mine and her cool delicate fingers found my cheek and she lightly pushed my face to meet hers and her eyes held nothing, but warmth and comfort and I could feel a tug at my chest. She sat back, adjusting the pillows against the headboard as she sat back. Her hand still touching my face she lightly tugged, “Come here, Cassian.”

The tone of her voice made me move, and I braced my arms on both sides of her hips, a few loose strands falling from my bun. She swiped them out of my face and then she patted her chest, “Lie down,” My body obeyed her command instantly my arms slid around and gripped her back. My ear pressed against her breast where her heart held a steady strong beat. She was showing me that she was alive. She tugged the bun from my hair, and it cascaded down in every direction. As if she could sense my need for her touch, she began running her fingers through my hair. “Feyre would do this for me when I had a bad dream. Especially when I left Xavier. This was the best thing she could come up with to calm me.”

“Remind me to get her flowers before we go home?” I grumbled, snuggling my head deeper into her chest. “This is nice.”

Y/N kisses the top of my head and begins to hum a soft tune, after a few moments the hums turned into words, and she began to softly sing in my ear. A lullaby I was unfamiliar with. Though I can’t focus on the words as her soft melodic tone seeped into my bones and wrapped around my soul. Her beautiful voice, her fingers massaging my scalp and her strong pulse ringing in my ear my eyes grow heavy. Before slumber can pull me under, I could have sworn she whispered, “It belongs to you anyway.” Then sleep consumed me.

I stirred the next morning to find my head pressed against a pillow. I lifted my head up blinking away the sleep and found the side of the bed cold. Pans collapsing and clanging on the ground in the kitchen followed by a slew of curses had me sliding out of bed, tying my hair back and following the sound. Making sure to quiet my footsteps I leaned against the door frame leading into the kitchen. Y/N was grumbling picking up the scattered cook wearing her hair in a braid that looked disheveled. Her cheeks were flushed, and I couldn’t help but admire her plump ass as she bent over to put things away, fighting the urge to collide my hand against it with a sharp slap. As she stood, and grabbed something off the counter, I made my presence known, “What’s going on in here?”

Y/N must not have noticed I was here because she jumped and in doing so the contents of the bowl she was holding flew in the air and landing all over her. She turned to look at me and pushed out her bottom lip, “You ruined my surprise.” She mumbled, shaking her head to get the flour out of her hair; a plume of flour swirls around her.

I pushed off the doorframe and approached her as I fought the laughter from escaping my lips. I looked at the contents on the table and my chest heaved. “You were trying to make breakfast?”

The youngest Archeron sighed in defeat, “You were upset last night because of your dream, and you made breakfast for me when I was upset. I was trying to do the same.” She looked at the mess in the kitchen, “Clearly, its not working out and I woke you up in the process. I’m sorry.”

This time I do laugh, and she tucks her head down in embarrassment. I lift her face and wipe some of the flour off her face. “My sweet, Princess. You’re cute. How about this. You go get cleaned off. I will clean up here and we can cook together.

Her face lit up, “Really?” I nodded and she smiled, “I’ll be right back.” She bolts out of the room and called out, “I’ll bring you down a shirt.”

I chuckled and began cleaning up.

The smell of eggs wafted through the kitchen as Y/N whisked the mixture for pancakes and I fried our eggs. She was swaying her hips dancing to whatever melody was in her head, “Do you always do that?”

She turned continuing her little dance moves as she poured the batter onto the pan, “Do what?” Pulling away when she gets a few perfect circles on the pan.

“Dance when you’re doing something?” She looked up and the dancing stopped as she thought about it.

“I guess I never noticed before.” She placed the bowl down, and held out her hand, “May I have this dance, General?” She wiggled her eyebrows her hair neatly put up a Violet bow in her hair wearing her leathers.

I flipped the eggs and glanced at her from my periphery and her eyes shifted from playful to soft and pleading her lips pushed out in a pout. Knowing that I could deny her nothing I tucked in my wings and gripped her hand in mine and my other around her waist as her hand rested on my bicep. I began to sway with her in the kitchen, flexing my bicep muscle every now and then. “We might burn the food.” I pointed her out as spun her around and pulled her back into my arms.

“We might,” She hummed. She smiled, “But we’ll at least have some fun.”

I rolled my eyes and tapped her butt. “I don’t like wasting food, back to the pancakes, Princess.”

She grumbled and crossed her arms but made her way back to the pancakes and flipped them. Y/N proceeded to swish her hips and as we finished making breakfast, I found myself moving my hips along with her and getting swept up by the invisible beat she was dancing to.

When we finished eating our breakfast, I pressed my lips in a tight line watching as the sun gleamed on Y.N as if the mother was praising her handy work in how beautiful she made her. My lips turned upward as she furiously scratched words into her journal. She was focused and I rubbed at my chest trying to ease the tightness there. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

Y/N looked up from her journal and the sun glinted around her hair like a halo, “Sure. What’s up?”

“The other day when I had to leave because there was an incident that happened at the camp.” She tilted her head and I continued, “A little girl had her wings clipped. It’s a terrible tradition my people have when a girl has their first bleed. They take away their ability to fly, so they can focus on doing housework. It was one of the first thing that was banned when Rhys came into power, but the leaders of the camps still find work arounds.”

There was a tick in Y/N’s jaw, her eyes becoming glassy. She cleared her throat, “That’s horrific. We can discuss that later though, what’s the favor?” She shut the notebook and straightened her posture she reminded me of a solider waiting for orders.

“The little girl, Grace is her name, asked if I could bring you over to visit.” I smiled as her face shifted to one of shock. “She wanted to meet the human who saved her and her family.”

Y/N stood up and pressed a hand to her chest, “I would be honored. Can we go now?”

“Of course, Princess. Let’s get going.”

We landed back into the camps and placed Y/N down and gripped her hand and walked her over to one of the cabins. She squeezed my hand and took a deep breath. Once we reached the front door Y/N knocked twice and waited as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “You, okay?”

She simply nodded and before she could speak the door opened and both of us had to look down to find Grace looking back up at us. “Hi Cassie! She ran up and hugged my legs. I pressed my hand on the back of her head, my grin growing wide.

“Hi, Little one.” I said and got down on a bended knee and held her tiny hands, “How are you feeling?”

Her eyes beamed, “I feel so strong, though my wings hurt when I stretch them. Will that ever go away?” I opened and shut my mouth unsure what to say but then Y/N cleared her throat and saw Grace realized there was another person with me. “It will pass, with time though every now and again it will throb. It will be more uncomfortable than painful.” She whispered and got down on her knee. “I’m Y/N, I heard your name is Grace.”

Grace lit up at the sound of her name, “Cassie, you kept your promise!”

I placed a hand on my chest in mock offense, “I’m sorry as your General I always keep my promises.”

Grace moved from my embrace and walked toward Y/N grabbing her hand and leading her inside the cabin and I followed behind the two girls. I was greeted by Grace’s mother, her brown hair pinned up, her wings tucked tightly, and she pressed a hand on my arm, “Thank you, General. She hasn’t stopped talking about being brave for her Cassie. Your kindness has made this whole situation easier for both of us.”

I held her hand gently in mind and gave it a squeeze, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t there sooner. I wish I could have prevented it.”

Grace’s mother provided a small, “It may not have been preventable, General.”

“Please call me, Cassian.” I smiled.

“Diana,” She returned, “Go on Gracie. hasn’t stopped talking about you bring Y/N here.”

I walked deeper into the cabin in the common living space to see Gracie drawing and Y/N coloring alongside her. “Y/N where you hurt like I was?”

I stilled and watched as Y/N’s posture stiffened though she gave a smile, “Yes, a bad man hurt me. I have scars on my back because of it. But we do share one thing in common with each other.”

Grace eyes grew wide, “We do?”

Y/N nodded her body relaxing once more, “Cassian came to help us, when we needed him most.” Gracie looked over to where I was standing. Y/N’s gaze was burning the side of my face and when I met her stare she smiled.

“He is like a knight in shining armor saving the princess!” Gracie squealed. “We were the princess!”

I smiled and walked into the room, “You sure are!” Grace ran up to me and leapt into my arms and I was quick to catch her. “Cassie, are you going to marry Y/N?”

Y/N coughed the air becoming tight with uncomfortable silence. I cleared my throat, “I have to know, curious girl, why would you ask that?” I tickled her sides, and she began to giggle.

“Well, you saved her from the bad man, and you were holding her hand when you walked in. You clearly love her.”

I looked at the woman in question her cheeks were flushed but she said, “Well, Cassian is a good male, he will always help someone in need. As for him holding my hand he is aware that I get nervous and fidget, he was trying to bring me comfort.”

Grace furrowed her brow, “But you two must get married. I know you love each other.”

Y/N smiled, “Tell you what we can revisit marriage when we come and visit again.”

Grace gasped, “You want to come visit again?”

I flicked the child’s nose, “Of course we’re coming back, I have to check the bravest female in windhaven.”

Grace puffed out her chest in pride. “I won’t let you down, Cassie.”

I nodded, “You never could!”

“Would you two like to stay for dinner?”

Grace smiled, “Yes they would,” there was no room for argument, and we stayed for dinner.

The next week, Y/N and I fell into a routine, meals together, she would go in the study and write as I went to the camps. We still had not heard from Rhys so I had to assume that they were still in the Summer Court. When I get back Y/N and I would make dinner together and then she would get into one of my shirts and I would hold her close to my chest and we would simply fall asleep.

One day I left for Windhaven to discuss some plans with Devlon and enforcing that the females are aloud to train.

Devlon crossed his arms, “They will train after their chores, Is that simply not good enough?”

I snarled, “They deserve to have the choice to not do the chores if they don’t want to.”

Devlon snorted, “Says the male who is parading human trash around, and she follows you around like a little pup.”

I bared my teeth at him, “Mind your place, Lord. She is under the protection of your High Lord. Your just mad she bruised your pride.”

Devlon lifted his chin the sign of pure arrogance, “I could care less of an opinion of someone beneath me as a human whore, who is sleeping with a bastard born brute.”

I clenched my fist as my jaw ticked, “I will not tolerate your tone, step out of line again, and I will be personally mandating all your men doing the chores while the girls will train.” I took a step closer to him, “I hear you say one more thing about Y/N Archeron, I will not hesitate to sink your teeth in. Are we in an understanding.”

Devlon walked around me and made sure to collide with my soldier, “The females will train. Get out of my Camp, General,” He drawled out my title and left the tent.

Frustration pent up I followed him out and took to the skies to head back to the Cabin.

Once I reached the Cabin, I noticed the fae lights still on, I was later than I anticipated, but I walked in and kicked the snow off my boot and slammed the door behind me. The anger stirring in my gut was festering and I didn’t want my princess to be subjected to that. I stomped up to my room and slammed the door. I sat on the bed and pressed my palm against my eyes to try to relieve the pressure that had started to bloom in my head.

There was a soft knock on my door. “Cass? Are you okay?”

“Go away, Princess.” I murmured and pressed my palm deeper into my eyes. As the door opened.

I heard her footsteps growing near her and I pulled my hands away from my face and leveled a glare at her. She paused and retreated a step, “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” She spoke quietly, my eyes glazed to her hands where she was picking at her nails, she was nervous. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine. I want to be alone.” I barked out. Sighing, I ran my fingers through my hair.

When I looked back at her she looked stricken, as if I hit her. She pressed “Cass, let me help.”

I snorted my rage boiling over as I rose to my feet, and she took an instinctive step back. I barely registered the fear in her eyes, “Tell me, Y/N, how could you help me. You can barely help yourself. Always hoping someone will save you; Rhys, Az, Feyre, are you that incompetent of taking care of yourself. That you resorted to sleeping with an abusive-“

I didn’t get the sentence out before her hand collided with my cheek. “You know I was coming to check if you were okay. I did not expect you to be a prick. I made dinner all by myself, so you came home to warm meal.” Guilt washed over me at her words, “Whenever you feel like acting like a grown adult; come join me.” She turned and headed for the door, “I don’t need a reminder about how low and insignificant I am.” She taps her head, “I hear those words repeatedly in my head, and yet Nesta had never failed to remind me of just how worthless, and beneath her I am.” Her voice cracked and it matched the ache in my heart, “I never thought you would stoop so low.”

Looking up at me I could see the hurt in her tender eyes. “Princess, Wait.” Her shutting the door; the solitary clicks of the door meeting its latch, was the only sound in the room.

For a moment I stared at the empty space where she had stood, then I crumpled to my knees. Tugging at my hair, my brain began to whirl, Hurt, Hurt, Hurt. You Hurt her. I had made her feel the same way she felt with Xavier and Nesta. “What. Have. I. Done?” I whispered as I curled in a ball my wings cocooning me, trying to block out the sobs I heard coming from the other room.

I am a monster.

Chapter 13

Story Tags: @hellodarling1357 @hnyclover @waytoomanyteenagefeels @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @esposadomd @sleepylunarwolf @stressed-reader @kylaisra @marvelouslovely-barnes @magicstrengthandcourage @spideytingley @awkardnerd @donttellthecats @tastydewdrops @vermillionwinter @asweetblueberry2 @bunnyredgirl @homeslices @azriels-mate2 @oksloan3 @wallacewillow0773638 @fandom-crashlanding @writingstreetspirit @hannzoaks @minnieloo @tuggboatfishin @judig92 @atrxidxs @dustyinkpages @secretlyhers @mxblobby @blogforficslol @historygeekqueen @turtleshavesoulmates @scooobies @anuttellaa @earth-to-lottie @slytherintaco @fxckmiup @tinystarfishgalaxy @cheesebookgirl @oucereeng @st0rmyt @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @misslunatic1655 @azrielsmate3 @nebarious @tele86 @chelsiemp @fightmedraco @blackgirlmagicforever @fullmoon-94 @thehighlordishere @jenniferpendragon @ray4hotchner @phoenix666stuff @misskennygirl @whitewolfsbitch @highladyivy @tenaciousperfectionunknown @packsvlog @heyyhelloohii @parabatai-winchester @julesofvolterra @lilah-asteria @lyanna133 @mp-littlebit @nickishadow139 @milswrites @eve175

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