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ellesthots · 6 months ago

Text

Fateful Beginnings

XXIX. “uncanny valley”

read on AO3 🦇

parts: previous / next

plot: you and Bruce dance around the horrors of the weekend, desperate to make things right—or, at least, better.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, angst, mental health issues, descriptions of violence, descriptions of injury, grief, anxiety

words: 6.1k

prev. chapter summary (XXVIII): You go to Wayne Tower on Saturday night to talk to Alfred about ways to get Bruce help. Alfred is hopeless. Bruce intercepts, bitter at your intrusiveness, and storms off. You call Dr. Crane, who tells you to refrain from following him for fear of escalating the argument. On your walk home, you run into a panicked, horrified Bruce in an abandoned alley near his house. He does not recognize you, and after calling Alfred for him to be picked up, Bruce begs Alfred not to tell his parents about him being out so late. After a brief heartfelt (and teary) conversation with Alfred, where he expressed thanks and reassured you were not making things worse (as you thought, and still think), you went home. The next day, Bruce has no recollection of the night before, brought up to speed by Alfred. At Alfred’s urging, Bruce visits your apartment on Sunday, begging you to see his side. The argument becomes heated, and, convinced by Dr. Crane’s horrifying prognosis for Bruce and his own erratic, dangerous behavior, you do a last hail-mary to get him help: you lie about being the person who saw Bruce jump, expressing how terrified you were at thinking you’d watched him die. This immediately triggers Bruce to his childhood, and he does a hard reset on his denial, horrified he’s repeating the cycle, reassuring you he will accept help.

Outside of receiving some calls, you hadn't checked your phone since Thursday night. Texts, socials, it had all been abandoned trying to remove the noose snaking Bruce's neck. After the phone call with Alfred you were able to relax into bed and pull out your phone—immediately smacked by a bazillion texts from Mar, a few from your parents, and some mentions on Scypher. You clicked on Mar's texts first.

Thursday, 11:50pm: OMGGG just now seeing thissss i got so lit tonight. sorry!! idk if i can make it to help you move. def can't drive in the morning tho!!! ttys!!!

Friday, 1:20am: ok lolz i went to a second club 2nite and yahhh i don't think i can make it 2morrowww

Friday, 12:30pm: if ur still in town i could help, i just got a massive headache hahaha have you left yet

Friday, 1:22pm: ur prob on the road byeee

Friday, 1:30pm: wait ur still in Gotham??

Today, 12:58pm: BITCH!!!!!!!!!!!! you didn't tell me you did the interview with him!! like actually!!!!!!! okayyyy too famous to respond to me I see? i'll make sure to visit to get your autograph lol.

Today, 2:15pm: bro i got so many more friend requests already today???? some are Bruce Wayne fan accounts. wtf!!!??? this is like blowing up

Today, 6:15pm: MISSED CALL FROM MAR.

Today, 6:16pm: MISSED CALL FROM MAR.

Today, 6:18pm: LOOK !!!!

She'd attached a Buzzfeed article titled: Bruce Wayne's First Interview Came Out Today, and Our Jaws (and Clothes) are on the Floor

You couldn't read any further though, seeing as you had a handful of texts from your parents to sort through.

Friday, 1:45pm: Hey hunny! Your mother and I are home from the second shot. She told me to text you 'I am fine'. We will call you this evening after I finish up the deck.

Friday, 6:37pm: MISSED CALL FROM DAD.

Friday, 6:40pm: Deck done. When you visit next I'll show you. Walter likes it. Love you

Today, 3:13pm: MISSED CALL FROM MOM.

Today, 3:20pm: Hi kiddo. Wow! Congratulations on the article! Debbie showed it to us when she visited earlier. I thought you said you were done with that guy. Love you sweety!

You responded to your dad about your mom, and your mom about the article. You refused to comment on her mention of Bruce, wanting to purge your mind as much as you were able to after the weekend you'd had. You resigned to calling her first thing in the morning, miserable over forgetting about her second shot. After responding to Mar to update her on staying (and to express faux excitement about the article's release), you stayed up a few more minutes to see if your parents might still be awake and responsive. Sleep.

You woke up late that day, around two in the afternoon; the only reason you hadn't slept even longer was a phone call from Dr. Vry startling you awake. "Y/N! Have you seen your article? I can't believe it. Over a hundred applications just TODAY to the journalism program!"

You fought your way through the conversation, the gears in your head finally harnessing enough energy to start worrying again. The call ended quickly, as she 'had a lot of applications to get through', and you called your mom without a second glance at your phone notifications.

"Hey sweetie. I saw your text last night, but I couldn't respond. Walter was finally curled up in my lap, you know how sensitive he is." She sounded fine, neither ecstatic nor miserable. Her energy picked up when she started talking about your article. "Your dad was looking into that Wayne guy, and ran across that article of yours. He didn't know it was you that wrote it until Debbie brought it over!"

You'd padded out to your kitchen to make some toast with the butt of the bread. "Since when is dad researching things about Gotham?"

"He's been very intrigued ever since graduation. He—"

Your dad sounded off in the background. "Hun? Hey! I saw that article of yours! His first interview ever. That's a big family, you know. The Waynes. It's a big deal sweetie!"

He continued without leaving space for you to change the topic. "You know about his parents, right? God, poor kid. Seems to have recovered from it well enough."

You stifled a laugh at him delivering the most famous lore of Gotham city like it was breaking news. "Yeah, I know about his parents."

"You know, I knew I sensed something between you two. When's he coming to visit?" You heard a meow in the background, and you could only imagine your dad was munching on some sandwich he desperately wanted.

"Dad,"

"People don't give their first interviews to just anyone. Must've really impressed him."

"He's never coming over, dad."

"You don't have to be embarrassed honey. He seems like a stand-up guy! Next visit, bring him."

"It sounds like you want to meet him." You rubbed your temples, having temporarily abandoned your peanut butter spreading. You didn't know if you were right, but you could've sworn you heard him shaking his head. Walter meowed again. He definitely had some sort of food in his hand.

"What kind of dad would I be if I weren't excited to meet my daughter's boyfriend?"

The juxtaposition of the past few days to his chipper, nonchalant demeanor was stark, reducing you to a teary mess. No, you wanted to snap at him. I actually visited him in a psych ward. Had to stop his future from becoming a funeral.

"Hey, whoa now..." Your mom spoke in a hushed, frustrated tone in the background. "I'm sorry sweetie. I get it. I won't talk about him anymore."

You continued to cry, unable to get any words out. It was like you were finally able to feel the weight of what had been placed on you, feel the piercing stab of the fear it instilled. Your sobs were so pathetic and deep that your mom kept asking if you could breathe. It took much longer than you were comfortable with to even begin steadying, and when you did you knew it wouldn't last. You told them you had to get back to work, and that you'd see them in two weeks.

Vanity Fair. Vogue. People. Cosmopolitan. Us Weekly. Elle. Glamour. Seventeen. Marie Claire. Your eyes had fuzzed over as anxiety nestled into your gut. So this had been... this had been huge. 600 followers had turned into 13,000, and that was just on Scypher. Instagram had 300, now 6,500. So many mentions, so many comments, you started to panic even more. You tossed the phone across the bed and wrapped your arms around your body, rocking slowly back and forth, squeezing your arms so hard they began to ache. Flashbacks to Saturday night pulsed between your eardrums, projected on the back wall of your mind. You'd never seen someone so out of their element before. The image of him in the fetal position on the ground. The screaming. The nearly incomprehensible rattle in his voice. The stitches that bulged, the skin sloughed off his fingers. The blood. The sweat. The panic. Dread. Fear. Hysteria.

Your hands shook just the same as they fought to text Alfred. Your fingers garbled the message, but you couldn't handle another second without knowing if he was alive or dead. What if he'd taken the whole fucking bottle? What if he was on the floor of his bedroom, the last dregs of his functioning body procuring foamy spit out of his mouth for him to choke on? What if he flung himself off another building? His house was so fucking tall. So empty. So huge. So many places he wouldn't be seen, he wouldn't be found, so many places someone could hide if they needed, or wanted. What if he was strung up by his neck on a ceiling bar?

You shrieked in pain as waves of fear ravaged you. If it were real water you'd be swept under, and you wouldn't even fight it. The water would take away all your troubles, your worries, your fears. But he couldn't know that. They couldn't know what this was doing to you.

You set the phone down.

If he knew, he'd feel guilty. He couldn't feel guilty. Guilt would hurt him more. Guilt could push him over the edge.

Instead, you dialed Dr. Crane. He answered on the second ring, always so quick. "Y/N. I was about to call you. Before we get into it, why did you call?"

Anxiety lurched up into your chest, eager to overwhelm and incapacitate. "Get into what?"

Dr. Crane laughed, a discordant sound that chilled you. "To thank you. Whatever you did, it was successful. This is strictly confidential, but he is accepting treatment."

So he's alive? "I wanted to talk to you about that." You swallowed hard, yanking at a loose thread in your comforter. "I uh, he wasn't going to get help until I, until I lied."

"About what?" Dr. Crane's composure was always strictly maintained, and this time was no different. He never gave away his feelings. "I had to tell him I was the witness. I said I saw him jump."

"Oh."

That was quite possibly the worst thing he could've said.

"Well, that changes things."

"What things?"

"For one, that's a secret you must keep. Glad you clued me in." You heard a rustling of papers, a hushing of his tone. "Usually that would be unacceptable, but if we're both being honest," His candor was unsettling. "I have yet to see someone as deeply in denial as him accept treatment. I went to sleep fully anticipating waking to news of his passing." His tone was suddenly lighter, almost singsongy. "I can't say I'm disappointed in you."

You had no concept of how to respond to that. Guilt ulcerated your stomach and strangled your chest, but at least Bruce was breathing. After a silence that was too long, long enough you were surprised he hadn't yet hung up, you spoke. "Are we, are you, sure?" Words were having trouble finding you. "About the lying? I didn't see it, and what if the real witness,”

"There is nothing to be concerned about regarding the witness. Mr. Wayne has begun treatment, and will soon be stable. Incredible work."

"I—"

"You saved Bruce Wayne’s life, Y/N. It's only a shame it's a badge you can’t share." You could hear the smile in his tone, but you weren't happy. The reassurance you’d been seeking was far from assuring, leaving you situated in an uncanny valley of suspicion. How could he be so joyful? Why wasn't he drilling you about going to such lengths? Had it… had it really been that fucking hopeless? Anger boiled in you at the prospect of Dr. Crane knowingly sending you on a suicide mission. Before you burnt the bridge, you thanked him for the update and hung up. It took everything in you not to throw the phone against the wall.

The shower was scalding. You barely felt it. He must have thought he wouldn't make it. He seemed so fucking resolved to Bruce's death. Fully anticipating waking up to news of his passing? But there was 'nothing he could do'? Not a word of tangible advice besides 'don't go after him'. If I listened to him, who knows who would have found him out there! Would he have attempted again? You also wrestled with the uncomfortable reality that Dr. Crane had been correct; you had played a vital role in him accepting treatment. Had Dr. Crane psychoanalyzed you, deemed you the sort of person to lie if needed? Someone he could push to do things outside of personal liability? A sort of reverse hitman?

As you toweled off, your anxious mind continued its rumination. So he took meds. But did he take just one? Alfred will watch him, right? Hold onto his meds, only give him them as needed? Is he employing a system, making sure he checks under Bruce's tongue, locks the bathrooms, listens for retching, making sure the medication is accurately and genuinely consumed, as prescribed? You needed a break, but you couldn't find one. Sitting on the edge of your bed you knew you wouldn't be able to rest until you knew he was alive right now. And the next day. And the next day. And the next. A boulder jammed down your shoulders knowing you wouldn't be satisfied unless he personally slept on your couch so you could monitor him like a newborn. His attempt and general discontent were affecting you far more than you'd initially internalized.

Bruce sat in Alfred's study by the fireplace, staring out the window towards the grounds. Over breakfast with Alfred he took the first dose of the medication, and only a few hours later he swore he could feel the effects. He'd done some quick googling on olanzapine, and it appeared he was having a placebo effect. At minimum he'd feel effects in a few days, more likely after a week or two. He had to stop researching after that, too freaked out about having to be on antipsychotics, too much still in disbelief about how he'd done something so drastic yet had no memory of it. Alfred convinced him to stay 'home' from Batman for the rest of the week, which was an unusually easy feat considering how he hadn't taken a voluntary night off since beginning the project years ago. It broke him how upset you'd been, and he knew he wouldn't be able to see Alfred cry again. That was unbearable.

He didn't have much to do; he quickly realized he had been living only for the night. There really wasn't anything to do in the tower; no games (outside of a dusty chess board in Alfred's study), one old television (also in Alfred's study, off to an adjacent corner), no gym (he overextended himself enough as Batman), and the house was generally kempt from Dory's attentive cleaning in a house that didn't need more than dusting anyway.

Alfred told him to skip the meeting this week; Bruce initially hadn’t cared much either way, but realized that wasn't an option after misery frayed his nerves with just half a day of sitting around. In order to go in public, he needed to not be scarred and scabbed to hell; he wanted to walk the grounds, but worried about doing it in the daytime in the state he was in. Your article’s release had also prompted a patch of reporters to hang around his house, increasing his surveillance. Give an inch, they’ll take a mile. He and Alfred briefly discussed the contingency plan they kept at the ready: staged police photos of a nasty car crash on the edge of the grounds, but he couldn't share them yet—he wanted to leave you as much time as possible to soak up the success of the interview. You deserved that much, you deserved more after what he'd put you through. At least once an hour he thought about calling you, and he very nearly did a few times. He worried about you. Were you safe? Did you need anything?

On some level, he theorized focusing so much on you was a coping mechanism to escape his failing mental capacity. The more he focused on you, the less real estate his panic had. Last night had been miserable. He'd stayed awake staring at the ceiling, his mind swirling with shock and fear. He’d wondered if this is what his mom had endured, but he didn’t have the mental fortitude yet to go digging through Arkham Asylum records. He didn’t know if he ever would again, so he simply sat. Watched the clouds move along the skyline. Watched the shrubs sway in the backyard. Followed the occasional crow floating past the windows.

As soon as darkness fell he couldn't contain himself any longer. The nagging feeling of someone he traumatized being alone in it was too much. He grabbed a hoodie and walked to the elevator, sure he could make a free escape through the old subway route. His hand hesitated before pressing the button. What if you didn't want him to visit? What if it was too stressful? He couldn't keep coming over unannounced, it was weird. Not normal. Alfred had heard the metal rustling and walked into the kitchen. His brow furrowed. "I thought you were taking a break from him?"

"I am." He stared at the ground, lost in thought. "Would you call her?"

"Miss Y/N?" Alfred's voice was soft, concerned. "Sure, why?"

Bruce had conveniently kept to himself that you'd been the one to watch him jump. That you were the witness, that you'd called 911. "I want to give her an update."

Alfred pulled out his phone and Bruce walked closer, bridging the gap between them. "Ask if I could talk to her." He didn't blink until you picked up, hiding a wince at how you'd done so before the end of the first ring. You were scared. Desperate.

"Miss Y/N, I hope this isn't a bad time." Alfred paused with the phone to his ear, his expression faltering before he let out a small chuckle. It was hollow. "No, he's alright. He wanted to see if he could speak to you now."

He handed the phone to Bruce, who quickly scurried up the stairs and into his room. He only put the phone to his ear once the door was closed behind him. "Y/N?"

"Bruce." It was so nice to hear your voice when it wasn't panicked. You sounded a bit tired, breathy, but miles better than yesterday. A sigh of relief heaved out of him, to which you had a reflexive response. "Are you okay?" Your voice rose, both in volume and octave.

"Yes. Are you okay?"

"I really don't think it matters,"

He bit back a part of him that wanted to say you were the only thing that mattered. He'd broken you. "Are you?"

You sighed. "Yes. Did you uh,"

"I got the meds."

"Good. Did you take them? Or, one, or, whatever the dose,"

"Yeah." He could hear how clouded your mind was, and it was excruciating being so limited to the phone. He remembered the first week after the murder. His mind had been a hazy minefield, everything running on autopilot. The tears, his limbs, his voice, nothing had been a conscious decision for weeks. Sure, he hadn't died, but you'd thought he had. If… his parents had survived, he figured he would've been in a similar state regardless. He wanted to help you, but he didn't know how.

"How long does it take the medication to work?"

"A few days. Maybe a few weeks." After his parents died, everyone brought him food. Random strangers had brought flowers, and food, and even stuffed toys for him to cuddle with. He'd only kept one, a stuffed dinosaur, now tucked into the back of his linen closet. Alfred checked on him constantly. No longer did he have to do his chores; Dory and Alfred picked up the slack. No longer did he have to deal with hearing his mom demand he eat his veggies and sides before getting another helping of soup, he only had soup. And juice, and soda, and warm blankets fresh out of the dryer. He remembered the warmth. Of the blanket, the soup. Those, paired with the scraggly dino in his arms, were the only things that made a decimal of impact on his devastation. "Do you need anything?"

"No. Do you?"

"Do you want anything?"

"I'm good. What about you?"

He didn't believe it. You were trying to spare him, just like you had by making yourself anonymous. Would it be wrong of him to come over? This late in the evening... probably. But he remembered the nights were the worst part. Alone in the empty darkness. Less cars, less lights, even the reruns on tv were stale at that time. It left no room for distraction. And honestly, he worried if he didn't distract you from your pain, he'd be gridlocked by his.

"Can I stop by?"

Onion, celery, carrots, butter, flour, curry powder, chicken broth, an apple, rice, chicken breast, thyme, and heavy cream. He didn't know how to make much, and Alfred didn't keep much variety around, but you hadn't balked at mulligatawny the first night you'd stayed here, and it was one of the few things he knew how to make without a recipe. It was also one of the few things the old man always kept fresh and stocked, especially now that Bruce was in recovery mode. Most importantly, it was warm. It was only nine, he could get this done before ten, and be gone before midnight. Just in time for you to get tired and go to sleep, without hours spent tossing and turning alone in bed. It was the least he could do for you.

He'd never felt more ridiculous than he did when he opened your door. The backpack was heavy and a reminder that he hadn't asked if he could cook, but assumed he would waltz into your kitchen and work some magic. You invited him in and he went straight to the island, setting down his pack and taking out the supplies. Your face scrunched with confusion. "What are you doing?"

He kept taking out food while he thought of how to phrase it. It was like his mind was slowed down, your apartment a pool of tv static. "I wanted to cook." Pause. "For you." Another pause, and he took out the apple. "It's warm." Fuck, could he have explained it any worse?

He paused and you watched him slowly move to meet your eyes. "Can I?" His hand was hovering above one of the drawers, ready to get to work. "Sure." You didn't understand why he couldn't cook at his house, but you couldn’t complain; still coming down from the nauseating blend of relief and guilt that gnawed at you when you finally saw him in the flesh. Like being attacked by a wave on a hot day; soothing, but bitterly cold at the same time.

You had reassembled the chairs today, and the table. You'd anticipated calling Mar later tonight if she weren’t already at a club, offering to order some takeout and have a movie night. When thinking up a distraction, you certainly hadn't anticipated Chef Bruce appearing with fixings for a mystery meal. Did billionaires even know how to cook? Did billionaire Bruce Wayne ever have to fend for himself in the kitchen? A brief image of him staring confusedly at a box of cereal made your mouth twitch into a grin.

Good. Your humor was still there, thank god. With his back turned to you, facing the burner, you could finally, finally, finally, finally unclench your jaw and drop your shoulders. He was here. It was weird, and uncomfortable, but undeniable. He was here, not hanging from a rafter or god knows where doing god knows what in the city. He was putting butter in a pan, and grabbing a wooden spoon. He was alive.

But... this was still out of character, which raised an orange flag. You waited for him to reach an impasse before speaking, tapping his fingers on the countertop while he watched the rice cook. An apple sat cubed to the left, the chicken sizzling on the back burner. "How are you? Really?"

Bruce needed to toe the line. Too honest and it would shift the focus to him, further distressing you; too dishonest and you'd dismiss it before he finished speaking. His body didn't just ache, it screamed at him. Every step, even every time he spoke, felt like torture. He'd teared up at multiple points between the lobby and your unit. His spirit was entirely crushed, shattered into irredeemable smithereens. He hung his head and let all the air out of his lungs, letting his weight fall into his wrists as he leaned over the stove. "Not great."

It should've pained you to hear that, instead it felt like wind in your sails. He was being honest. You could work with that. Honesty didn't need to be interrogated or sleuthed upon. "How can I help?"

He wanted to say you've done enough and don't want your pity, but it felt too real. You didn't need that tonight, not so close to the event. "Taste the soup and tell me if it needs anything." He prayed you wouldn’t keep asking.

"How would I know?"

"I want it to suit your taste."

"I don't know what it's supposed to taste like." You were hyperaware he hadn't answered you, not in the way you wanted. Maybe it was too close for comfort right now. Maybe all you needed to do was focus on him being here, and ask questions later.

"Pepper, curry flavor. Creamy." He stirred something fragrant on the stovetop.

"What's the apple doing?"

"It's necessary." It felt good talking about something else with you. Something normal. Not Batman, not his legacy, not the attempt. Still, all of it clouded and constricted the conversation, a constant tension you both wittingly ignored. "Smooths the spice."

I barely tasted it that night. Too scary being trapped in the house of one of the most powerful men in the world. You watched as he stirred, chopped, and fluffed. You were brought back home with your parents, watching them make dinner while you sat at the dining table and talked at them. He glanced around and looked at the can of heavy cream. In an instant you were up and grabbing a can opener, desperate to do your part. He instructed you to pour it into the pan, and for a half second he was just another guy; an acquaintance, someone passing through; someone regular, unassuming.

After a few more minutes of sitting around, you grabbed some bowls and spoons. After a quick taste he required you take ("Need to know if I missed something"), he ladled the bowls full, and you both walked slowly, carefully over to the table to set down the steaming soup. Bruce dug in without waiting, while you blowed on a single spoonful until every bit of steam hesitated to rise from it.

He watched you apprehensively. Your eyes widened a bit, and he could see your jaw moving like you were savoring it. "How is it?" It tasted fairly similar to how Alfred made it, which was fairly similar to how his mom had made it. At the very least he hadn't royally fucked up. Who knows, maybe olanzapine changes tastebuds.

You nodded, blowing on another bite. "Mulling it over."

God, that was so droll... it tugged a whispering grin to his lips, his bite slipping back into the bowl at the gentle movement of his dry chuckle.

He was laughing. Not really. Kind of. Weird, but yay! "I've never tasted anything like it. It's good."

"Don't have to placate me."

"It's peppery. Curry. Creamy."

He rolled his eyes and tossed another spoonful into his mouth. "Creative. What's the apple for?"

The tension never left, though you both did your best to selfishly soothe it through dry humor. The most either of you did was grin, breathe a little extra air through your nose. When he wasn't looking your eyes wandered to his purple and green bruises, and the complementary crusting scabs along his neck and hands. You wondered if he was suicidal right now, but wasn't saying anything. When you weren't looking, he studied your body language, hoping it would betray you. Were you scared right now? Did you think this was the weirdest thing ever, like he did? Did you think this was creepy? Was it creepy? Was it helping? Was he helping you?

You both finished and walked your bowls to the sink. He started rinsing them and reached for the dish soap, and you let him for a little. After he pat dry the first bowl, you couldn't sit with this worry on your chest any longer. The food had been warm and energizing, the mood made less intimidating with the joking, and all of it together held your hand as you broached the topic. It made you sick how concerned he was about your wellbeing; yes, he scared you, images of his frenzied, panicked face waking you up in the dead of night, but you hadn't watched him nearly die like he thought. His worry felt like rain on a hundred degree day: unsettling and unwelcome. You inhaled fully, hoping enough oxygen would get to some brave neurons and force the words past your teeth. They caught in your chest and by then he'd finished the second bowl; anxiety palpated your heart, bullying it into silence. You overrode it. "Bruce."

At once he abandoned the silverware and turned toward you. His analytical gaze peppered your face and the fingers that annihilated your cuticles. The stench of something burning singed your nostrils, your eyes tracking the source to the hem of his sweatshirt draped over the hot stove, smoking as small flames burnt through the cotton. Perhaps waiting to be seen, it erupted into a blazing ball of flame. You yelped and jumped toward the sink, grabbing the adjustable faucet and spraying him down. The flames went out, he turned off the burner, and you looked around for some magazines or papers to fan away the tendrils of smoke wafting toward the fire alarm.

"Sorry. I wasn't thinking."

You glanced back and saw Bruce sopping wet, his hair having gotten in the mix too, draped over his eyes; the singed, ripped edges of his shirt that he clutched between his hands. You bit your lip to reign in your laugh. He started hurrying the shirt off his back, and gently shook it out to see if it had juice left in it. That was the kicker, sending you bolting toward your bedroom. You couldn't be laughing at him all the time. Get it together! He's hurting! But the laughs escaped your tight-lipped prison, and soon his shadow was in the doorway. As quickly as you'd laughed, you began to cry. You dropped to your knees at the whiplash; what once was dead, was now making soup in your apartment. Dancing around it wasn't helping, it was exacerbating the pain. He didn't hesitate to walk over, his long legs getting him across the room in only a few strides.

He didn't think you were crying about the fire. He stood helplessly beside you, unable to make a decision on what to do next. Guilt bloomed angry, self-flagellating thoughts, wishing he hadn't ran with his ego and coddled his denial. He placed a light touch to your shoulder and you jumped up. "I'm fine." He didn't say anything, only sat and watched as you struggled to reign in your barrage of tears. Your fingers threatened to go numb, and you attempted to shake the tingles away. "My body just needs to cry and then, then I'm done." You turned away from him and pressed your clammy palms to your cheeks, trying to physically shove the tears back into hiding.

After what seemed like an extended period of sniffling tears, you looked back at him. He was sat on the edge of your bed, his sweatshirt draped over his forearm. You could see more of the deeper wounds on his arms now, which was a viscerally surreal feeling. It was impossible not to be aware of his reputation; it preceded him at every turn, he was correct about that. Something entirely new though was seeing the fallibility so transparently.

Before graduation—and honestly, before seeing him breaking down in the alley—you had practically thought he was immortal. You wouldn't have done such ridiculous, dangerous bullshit as walking through an active crime scene at night if you hadn't internalized his heroism. Until this moment you hadn't realized how much you'd relied on that story; the subconscious reassurance that the Batman provided to Gotham's citizens. The mythical creature unfazed by bullets, incapacitating anyone in its wake. Batman's neutralizing force was so accepted it went unquestioned; now you knew it was because no one truly knew him. You and Alfred were the only people who had. Suddenly, the world felt a lot more intimidating. If you were any less shaken up, you might've laughed at the unmasking of Santa; but even children mourned the loss of magic, and here you were muzzling yourself.

"Can I help?"

You needed to nip this in the bud. It was going to come out however it was going to come out, and you needed to be okay with that. "I, appreciate the effort." It wasn't coming out so easily. Be nice. Be nice. Be nice. "But I want this to stop." I didn't watch you. "You don't want my pity, and I don't want yours." Too harsh, scale back. "The only thing I need is for you to be safe. Alive."

You sounded so much like Alfred that Bruce bit back a snarky retort. Not the time nor the place. Your bed creaked as he stood up. He hated how your words sat in his chest, but there wasn't exactly anything he could do about it. "Okay."

No argument, no fighting. Like you requested something he already vowed to do. He walked past you into the kitchen, and you followed on his heel. You had never been so close to him alone, and never from behind. His back was broad, making his already impressive height even more menacing. Veins bulged under his skin. Swore a tendon twitched in his forearm every time he stepped on his left foot. If he had turned for the door you might have yelped, but he just finished the dishes in silence while you lingered, then sat on the couch. If someone walked in right now, and was one of the few humans who didn't know about Bruce Wayne, they might think this looked normal. It couldn't feel more foreign.

You didn't wait half a second after the sink turned off to fill the space. From your perch on the end of the couch, across the room. "Will you be safe once you leave?"

Like a knife scraping under his fingernails. So scared he wouldn't be alive the next morning. Skittish. "Yes." He wasn't looking back at you, wishing he hadn't already put down the dish towel so he'd have something to wring. "I promise."

What good's a promise if he's six feet under? Your life had become so singular so quickly, and you were anxious for it to get back to its usual painful mediocrity. "Really?"

Ugh. He turned to face you and followed your eyes searching the carpet. He sighed away his animosity, knowing the rage seeping into his chest was directed at himself; it was nothing greater than embellished fear. He knew this, was well acquainted with it. Maybe he did need to go back to therapy. He leaned his hip against the counter and winced, jamming straight into a blackened, split bruise. He grabbed his hoodie from where it was slung across the edge of the counter, grimacing at the effort only when his face was obscured. “Really.” Within seconds he was at the door, his hand on the handle. He noticed your eyes flash in his periphery, and his entire body constricted at the sight. He forced himself to meet your eyes. It was strenuous. He figured he needed to warn you. "Alfred and I have emergency plans for times like these. Whatever you read in the news, it's a cover-up." He popped open the door, hesitating on the departure. The air was thick with emotional exhaust. "I'll see you on Thursday?"

You nodded, relieved he was being more covert with his concern. Sugaring the medicine. "See you on Thursday."

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climbthemountain2020 · 2 months ago

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Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met - Epilogue

Ch.27/27 | Ao3

We've reached the end, my friends. Thank you for being here!

Early morning light cast bright, shimmering rays and deep shadows across the cobblestone of Velaris, the smell of jasmine and sea salt in the air. The shops were all opening for the day, bathing the streets in the sweet, spiced, and multilayered smells, the laughing and shouts of vendors filling Feyre’s ears. She had been here for nearly a month now, and once she and Rhys had been able to safely and appropriately leave the shelter of their townhouse, he had shown her the beautiful, sprawling city in more detail.

People had been overwhelmed with joy to see their beloved High Lord back among them, none of them ever having known him as anything but the person he truly was. Velaris was Rhys’s escape, his permission to be free and kind. Watching him light up in the warmth and comfort of the place he considered home had been a joy beyond measure.

Feyre had been immediately drawn to The Rainbow, the colorful artists’ quarter of the city. She’d spent most of her time there as Rhys reacquainted himself with the many aspects of rule that he hadn’t missed nearly as much in his time away. She was there now, moseying down the street that she knew would lead her to the bridge over the Sidra with the intricate stonework. She spent a lot of time here, too, looking into the river below and thinking. Luckily, they’d both slept through the night before. Some nights, the nightmares still woke her, sweating and screaming, convinced that she was covered in blood back on that shining marble floor. She dreamed of nails in her throat, in Rhys’s. She dreamed of being too late. And Rhys had the nightmares too, sometimes waking them both in a room draped with suffocating darkness. She’d kiss his brow gently, whispering reassurances to him as he came back to her.

You are safe.

We are safe.

She is dead.

We are together.

Neither of them expected that being free from Amarantha meant that they were completely okay. It would take time, perhaps years or even decades of it, but they did have that time. For that, they were thankful. And for every uninterrupted night that they were able to sleep soundly through in each other’s arms, they felt peace beyond measure.

Today, Rhys had looked well rested as he’d gotten out of bed before the first rays of dawn to get started on the endless piles of paperwork, pressing a kiss to her lips and promising her a delicious breakfast in return. She was meeting him here at the bridge this morning, and the sounds and smells of Velaris waking around her made her stomach rumble.

Feyre loved when Rhys was able to show her around the town he so loved, sharing bits and pieces of his home with her and bringing her further into all that he held dear. There had been no sense of awkwardness or otherness in the transition. The day they’d landed on the balcony of the house of wind, Morrigan, Cassian, and even Azriel had all embraced her as enthusiastically as they had him, later claiming that in 500 years they’d never seen Rhys bring a female home, so they’d known she was important. And they’d held fast to that companionship since, even when Rhys and Feyre all but boarded themselves away after Morrigan desperately tried and failed to help her make a single hand pie to feed Rhysand to claim the mating bond. They’d cackled as she handed the half-burnt, half-raw creation to Rhys, who still took an enthusiastic if grimacing bite while Mor winnowed away, her twinkling laugh following her into the ether.

Feyre had enjoyed that quick feeling of family more than she could put into words, her circle of loved ones expanding in ways that, a year ago, she never could have imagined. She loved it here, she fit here, but she also fit in Spring. She had been back only once since everything under the mountain, just earlier this week. Rhys had winnowed her down, encouraging her to go on her own this first time to see how things were, but reassuring her he would only be a call away by tapping her forehead and then kissing it before he smiled and winnowed off.

Lucien had greeted her at the massive front steps, the feeling of being back in a place she also considered home overwhelming to her. It looked as it had before the night they’d all been ripped away, all the disarray from that night resolved and lovely again. Lucien himself looked much more lively, his skin deep and golden again, his body filling back out and his face etched with happiness at seeing her. He greeted her with an enormous hug, then looked behind her.

“No Rhys?”

“He thought it would be best to see how things were on my own. He’ll come next time.” She was touched Lucien had asked after him, and his eyes showed he both appreciated and understood the sentiment. Getting Lucien and Rhys on the same page didn’t feel like it would be that large of a task for her.

“How is he?” she asked as Lucien walked her into the massive manor, all of it causing her heart to clench with homesickness as he led her to the back patio.

“As expected. Things have been…dark.” She expected it, but it still hurt to hear. “He’s managing, but he spends a lot of time in the woods, in his beast form. He’s working through it, and I am doing what I can. He’ll be glad to know you came.”

Feyre guessed that’s where he was now, out somewhere in these deep, wooded lands. She was sad to miss him, but glad that he was finding ways to cope.

“Send the word, Lucien. Any time that he needs someone else, you can call, and I will come. That goes for you, too.” Lucien’s eyes glittered as he looked at her and took her hand.

“You’ve been a good friend, Feyre. The best.” She squeezed his hand back. They’d bonded here, then again as they’d faced the worst the world had to offer them. They’d been broken into pieces and shattered across the floor, then rebuilt together, the fragments all mixing up and entwining until they were all melded irrevocably together.

“Come, I want to show you something while you’re here.” Lucien walked her past the chairs and firepits and stone steps she knew so well, down onto the lawn on the path to the training rings. She saw the great stone memorial at a distance, and was already weeping by the time she’d arrived.

The base was large, a few feet tall and wider than that. On top rested the form of a great wolf, twining between the crossing of two greatswords. She traced the name on the marble plaque at the base.

Andras .

“This is lovely, Lucien.”

“Without him, none of this would have been possible.” His words were hoarse, and she took her hand in his again.

“Many sacrifices were made for this, and we will do our best to honor each one.” She had sent, upon their return to Velaris, the location of Calla’s memorial in the woods, should they like to see it. They were now ghosts among the living, Calla and Andras, and it was the duty of those who carried on to remember their names and share their lives, their sacrifices.

She and Lucien had sat for an hour, sometimes talking, and sometimes sitting in silence. Tamlin didn’t return from the woods. By the time she was ready to call Rhys, though, something in her heart had felt settled. She hadn’t known how much she needed it until she had it.

He walked her back through the foyer to the front.

“Tell him I said hello, and remember about writing if you need.”

“I will. Thank you for coming. It was good to see you, Feyre. Oh, before you go–” He ducked back through the doors quickly, then reemerged holding something out to her. It was a small slip of folded paper.

“What is this?”

“The first thing Tamlin did was bring Vilja home. She wanted us to give this to you the next time we saw you.” Feyre whipped around.

“She’s here?”

“Well, sort of. Tamlin built her a house in the woods a ways from here. A sort of retirement for her, if you will. He said she’s been through enough, demanded she let him care for her now in repayment for all she’d done.” Feyre’s eyes burned again.

“And she’s okay?”

“Right as rain, annoyed that Tamlin is bossy. Said she’d just accomplished her last task in the Human Lands, so she’d agree to come home.”

She laughed, then ran her fingers across the note in her hands. “Thank you, Lucien. Send her my best, will you?”

“Of course.” He waved at her off the porch, a nod of his head to Rhys, and they’d been gone. She’d nearly cried when she’d opened the paper to find a single sentence written on it.

I knew I was right to bet on you.

-V

+++

Now, on the bridge, she could feel Rhys’s presence before she heard or saw him. Something in the bond always let her know where she could find him, and she loved the constancy of it. It helped ease the ache she felt at needing him close, even when physically he was far. Eternally, he was a part of her now, and her to him, and for the most part, that was enough.

“Hello, Feyre darling.” The words sent a rush down her spine as she turned to face him, a dream in his night-dark tunic with sparkling threads of embroidered silver, lilac, and navy. He was truly the Lord of Night, and he belonged to her.

“Hello, Rhys.” She placed her hand in his, and he tugged her to him for a kiss. “How was your paperwork?”

“Delightful,” he deadpanned. “Are you hungry?”

She was. She loved the food here. Though everything she’d eaten since coming to Prythian had been delicious, something about the foods and spices of Velaris reminded her of her childhood, her father.

She was sure he’d heard her thoughts as he spoke, “Azriel’s spies reported in just a bit ago. Your father is still on the continent.”

Not surprising. All through her life he’d been gone, sometimes half-years at a time. “It would appear Elain is engaged.” This pulled Feyre up short.

“ Engaged ? To whom?”

“A young lord’s son by the name of Nolan. Do you know him?” She wracked her mind, coming up with nothing. Then, it clicked. The superstitious family that lived miles due east of where she’d grown up–another manor wreathed in stone walls, but behind it, bars of iron. They were notoriously unfriendly, shunning outsiders and wary of strangers. Rumors said that the mother had died at the hands of something in the woods years ago, and the lord hadn't been the same since. She wondered how the two had even met.

“But Lucien…”

“Has never met Elain, and likely never will.”

“And you think we did the right thing by not intervening?” They’d had many discussions about this over the last month.

“I think, in a group of bad options, it is the best.” He hadn’t changed his mind on that front. She supposed he was right. But she hated denying them the same chance that she herself had been granted.

“I wonder how she managed to finagle an engagement.”

“Apparently his father sent word to yours. He approved it from overseas and intends to return in time to pay for the wedding.”

“I mean how she managed it around Nesta. She was supposed to wait. In fact, that was one of the many issues facing them when I left…”

Feyre noticed then that Rhys had faltered a bit in his steps. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but she had. She paused just long enough for him to stall too, letting him stop a few paces ahead.

“Rhys.” He turned slowly and with a light wince at her tone. “Where is Nesta?”

“Now, don’t be mad, I am working on it. I fully intended to speak with you about it at breakfast.” He didn’t seem panicked, but something was definitely going on.

“Where is she?”

“Do you have a great aunt Ripleigh?”

Feyre wracked her memory. “I don’t think I have any great aunts at all, actually.” The look on his face and the brief semblance of a nod told him that she’d confirmed his suspicions.

“So, sometime between when I laid the wards and when we visited, Nesta took off. She left a note telling Elain that she was visiting your great aunt, and no one has heard from her since. Elain doesn’t seem worried, and neither do the staff, but something seemed strange to me.”

“So Nesta is just gone? She’s been gone for a month ?” Her panic started to rise, and Rhys stepped forward to hold her by the shoulders gently but firmly.

“Azriel already has the spy network searching for her, and I sent Cassian to the place where Elain believed your aunt’s house to be. We’ll find her, okay?” He didn’t seem worried, and Feyre let herself breathe. Nesta was fine, tough as nails and not someone Feyre liked to cross when she could help it.

She would be fine.

“Right. Okay. She’ll be fine.”

Fine, fine. If she said it to herself enough, she might believe it.

“She will.” He turned to walk again, pulling an arm over her shoulders as they walked down through the artists’ quarter to the roads filled with restaurants and cafes on the river side.

“What are you in the mood for?” she asked him as they walked, the sun feeling warm on their backs.

“You.” He didn’t miss a beat. She shoved at him.

“Incorrigible.” But she was happy, thrilled, to be here with him, laughing about something as trivial as breakfast. She hadn’t been sure they would see this day, and now that it was here, something so simple and mundane as a morning walk along to Sidra to get coffee and baked goods felt like the greatest gift that the universe had to offer.

“The coffee smells good. I’m going to follow my nose.” He pretended to take a dramatic few sniffs as they neared the shops.

It did smell good, the cinnamon and spices mixed with the morning-fresh bakery items making Feyre’s mouth water.

The smell reminded her so much of Vincent and his shop that it made something in her physically ache. Her very first friend had done so much for her. She hoped, with the curse broken, he was finding some peace. Somehow, she believed that he knew she’d done it for all those who had been lost, for his Melusine, and that he was able to move on, to find somewhere he loved.

And then, as if she’d summoned him from the ether itself, Vincent walked from the shop ahead, carrying a stack of chairs to put by the streetside tables at the cafe right in front of them.

She blinked once, twice. Her vision coming in and out of focus and blurring with tears. She worried she was hallucinating, worried that all her fears about this being some sort of cruel twist of fate, a dream she’d conjured, were coming to life. But then Vincent looked up at them, hand covering his eyes from the sun, and he lifted a hand in greeting and smiled.

She’d just opened her mouth to speak when Rhys beat her to it.

“Vincent! You came back!” And Feyre’s heart skipped a beat.

“Yes, well, you know what they say about birds always finding their way home.” They closed the gap between them and embraced. Feyre’s eyes were misty, and the shock had her gaping like a fish. The emotion choked in her throat, and she couldn’t find the words as he and Rhys embraced.

Her very first friend, here, embracing her mate that he enabled her to find. He'd known all along. Somehow, he’d known.

“Vincent, this is my wife, my mate, Feyre. She’s the one who set us free. Feyre, Vincent was Inara’s and my tutor for decades…” But Feyre’s feet were made of stone, her knuckles curled to her lip as she bit back the tears. Vincent’s eyes landed on her, the soft smile on his face widening with pride as he took her in. Rhys halted, seeming to notice something else was happening here as the sob broke free from Feyre’s chest. Then they were both moving, coming together in the middle to embrace.

“You did it, my girl. I knew you could.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was something for you to figure out on your own. And you did.”

Rhys chimed in. “I fear I’ve missed something here.” And Vincent chuckled.

“A theme since the early days of your lessons, I fear.” Rhys pretended to be offended as Feyre laughed wetly and Vincent chuckled. Come in, we’ll catch you up.” And Feyre saw the familiar, wrinkled hand on Rhysand’s shoulder, Rhys’s comfort and recognition of the motion. She watched her two worlds collide together, finding harmony in a way that seemed so good that it must be impossible.

But it was real, and it was here, and it was more than anything she’d ever dared to hope for.

Vincent held the door for her after Rhys ducked inside.

His grin spanned ear to ear as he looked at her. “Come in for a hot drink and a book, High Lady.”

So, with a smile, Feyre did.

[THE ARCHERON SISTERS WILL RETURN]

This work is officially gifted to @popjunkie42 and @witch-and-her-witcher. They are not only the best beta readers in the world, but are also two of my very best friends. I am so, so thankful every day that I met you both. Thank you for all you did to help me bring this story to life. Love you guys.

Taglist:

@cauldronblssd @buttercupcookies-blog @yeonalie

#feyre archeron #rhysand #feysand #acotar #acotar fics #feyre and rhysand #a court of thorns and roses #Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met #acotar au #fated mates #acotar retelling #under the mountain feysand #feysand teambuilding exercises

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joshsindigostreak · 6 months ago

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Running Through the Garden

Chapter One

“Rosemary: Remembrance, your presence revives me.” - Language of flowers.

Werewolf!Danny x Werewolf!OC

Authors Note: Hey y’all!!! Hope y’all enjoy this first full chapter of Danny’s story! I’m having a blast writing him 🥰

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Brief SMUT, 18+, m!masturbation.

The drive back to Sam’s house was a quiet blur for Danny. He replayed the memory by the lake over and over again, trying to figure out where exactly Ivy had run off to, even if it was futile effort knowing her. If Ivy Phillips didn’t want to be found she simply wasn’t, which was why he hadn’t seen her in the years since they graduated. Ever since the morning she left there had been no trace of her. No social media, no LinkedIn profile, nothing; she never showed up in any tagged photos of their mutual friends either. He only knew that she was alright because their parents had mutual friends and there had been light chatter between the parents about their kids. She didn’t want anything to do with him and made it abundantly clear.

But he could never figure out why she distanced herself. Things between them had been great, and Danny saw a future with her that he had never seen with anyone else, but those plans had been halted since that fateful morning when he woke up alone to a cold bed.

Sam had tried to get his attention a few times but eventually let his friend have some time to himself. He never took it personally when Danny was quiet the morning after a Full Moon, as he knew that he was probably exhausted and just needed a proper shower and a nap. Over the years Danny had essentially taken over one of the downstairs guest rooms. To make it less obvious as to why he was sleeping at their house, Sam would come up with various half truths to convince his parents that Danny was just a little codependent on him and loved being with their family. When they were teens, Sam snuck Danny into the house some mornings, terrified his parents would catch on and see his disheveled friend and figure out he was a Wolf.

When they got back to the Kiszka Manor, the monthly routine continued with Danny making a bee line for his usual room. It was the only guest room with its own en-suite, which allowed the young Wolf to have even more time to lose himself in his thoughts.

The scalding hot spray felt heavenly in his sore body. He watched the excess dirt run off his body and down the drain as he scrubbed at his hair and scalp. Mid-lather those giant green eyes flashed in his mind again, and he almost groaned at the memory. He was convinced he’d never see them again. Another memory of her familiar scent flooded his brain and his hands stopped what they were doing in his hair. His eyes fluttered shut as he got lost in it.

Ivy was Spring personified. She always reminded him of how the earth would smell after an early morning rain, when flowers would just start to open up as the Sun peaked out from behind the clouds. Memories of waking up with his face buried in her fiery hair trickled in, when his first thoughts of the day would be about her and he’d pull her even closer.

Danny tilted his head back under the shower head to rinse out his shampoo. It had been a long time since he had thought about her. He decided years ago that dwelling too much on memories of her ruined his entire week and he couldn’t keep putting himself through it. But after last night he couldn’t help it. He had seen her for the first time since the last month before he graduated, and it almost felt like a dream.

His skin prickled and he realized that the adrenaline from the Full Moon was still coursing through him. He tried distracting himself with his conditioner routine, but it was no use. Leaning against the shower wall, Danny wrapped his left hand around his aching cock. He didn’t even try to muffle the groan that escaped his full lips. He missed her so fucking much. There had been others before and after her, but no one felt as good wrapped around him as she did. Memories of being tangled together in his dorm, waking up together in the forest around Lake Champlain after a Full Moon, being locked in a bathroom together at a party and lifting her onto the sink while she sucked bruises on his neck and undid his belt, the taste of her core filling his mouth and him wanting to drown in it, the way she would shake underneath him when she came, the way he would shake above her with his forearms bracketing her head and his fingers tangled in her hair. His brain couldn’t focus on just one image before flipping to another one.

His hand worked his swollen cock even faster, squeezing the head every few strokes while his bottom lip sank beneath his teeth. His right hand was braced on the shower wall, and his head tilted to the side to rest on his arm as he got closer and closer. He missed her so fucking bad. He missed how they’d always end up at the apartment she shared with her roommates after a Full Moon and they’d wash the grime and outdoors off each other in a shower that was barely big enough for two people.

A wave of emotion mingled with the pleasure flooding his system. Those green eyes, always looking at him, looking through him, the only Wolf to never treat him like the future Alpha he was. He was just Danny to her, and he loved that. There was never any pressure between the two of them. They were just two college students trying to figure out how to be adults. He never had to worry about Duty with her. She was never intimidated by his mere presence like other Wolves around campus, or back home.

Danny’s mind finally settled on an image, a memory, of them facing each other on the soft forest floor, the sun barely peeking through the trees. He felt her hand on his face before he fully opened his eyes, and when they fluttered open those green eyes that he loved so much were warmly staring at him. Her thumb gently brushed over the dried blood near his mouth, and he noticed she had a matching stain on her face as well. That was who they were, at their most vulnerable, bare to each other in more ways than one, all alone except for a few birds in the trees above them.

His length thickened in his hand, and with a few last pumps and a low groan he found his release. He kept his eyes screwed shut as he worked himself through his high, trying as hard as he could to make it last while focusing on the sleepy smile on her face. As he slowly came down and his hand slowed, he shuddered as the last shockwave of his orgasm pulsed through him. His eyes fluttered open and he saw his release dripping down the tiled wall, and the reality of the last few minutes hit him.

He had just jerked off over his ex in his best friend's guest shower.

Danny was grateful for Sam being a human and being unable to hear what he had been up to from wherever he was in the house.

The Wolf sighed and used the shower head to rinse his mess down the drain, and finished his shower in silence.

~!~

Later, after sleeping most of the morning, he finally got properly dressed and grabbed two bananas out of the kitchen before going to the one place he knew Sam would be: the basement.

Sam's “office” was in the far corner of the underground level, hidden behind his own stacks of books and artifacts. In the years that the house existed, this particular corner still wasn’t as renovated as the rest of it, but Sam did his best to make it homey and definitively his. A few posters had made it down to this level from, including a standard Redwings poster that he snagged from a book fair in third grade, and one of those artsy “anatomy of a bass guitar” prints with certain parts crossed out and corrected with a black sharpie, and an old Lakewood University print bought right before they graduated.

But as Danny made it past the final stack that hid his best friend from view, he was greeted with one of the few normal and comforting images in his life: Sam hunched over his hand-me-down desk scribbling into a black journal before popping the pen he was using between his teeth to quickly type something on his laptop.

The Wolf lightly rapped his knuckles on the wall to his left and Sam looked up at him with wide eyes and his pen still in his mouth.

“Did you sleep enough?”

Danny looked at him incredulously as he took a seat in the chair that sat directly in front of Sam’s desk.

“Yeah, why?”

Sam gave him a knowing look, “because you look like shit.”

Danny rolled his eyes, “I’m fine. It was just a more intense Full Moon than I anticipated.”

Sam knew his best friend was lying, “sure it was.”

“I’m serious.”

“…and I’m the governor of Oregon, Daniel.”

Danny dropped one of the bananas on the desk as Sam sat back and folded his hands on his lap. He kept the other in his hand and began peeling it without another word.

Sam ignored his intended snack, “but seriously what’s up?”

Danny knew he couldn’t keep anything from him, “I saw her last night.”

Sam stared back at him blankly, “…who?”

“Ivy.”

At the sound of her name, Sam's face hardened and he made his chair squeak by him adjusting how he sat. He wasn’t the biggest fan of the She-Wolf, as she had utterly broken his best friend's heart and essentially abandoned him years ago. She hasn’t been around to see Sam pick up the pieces and help Danny move on.

“‘You sure it was her?”

Danny gave him a flat look as he chewed his banana, “red fur, green eyes, and a scent that has haunted me since junior year. I would always know if it was her.”

Sam sat there silently, wondering what the hell she was doing in Michigan in the first place. From what he could recall she was from Texarkana, and had seemingly gone back there when she disappeared right before graduation. At least that’s what the Instagram chatter implied. She had a mild twangy accent that Danny went stupid over.

“What would she be doing up here, in this town especially?” He verbalized his thoughts anyway.

Danny shrugged, “no idea but she was definitely out there last night.” The Wolf put gis resting bitch face to good use so Sam wouldn’t pick up on the glimmering hope that was producing butterflies in his gut.

“She was probably just passing through,” Sam offered.

“Wolves don’t just pass through anywhere, and you know that,” Danny replied in a flat tone.

He was right, unfortunately. While Wolves weren’t nearly as territorial as they had been not even a century ago, pack territories still remained internally governed and guarded. The section of the forest that Danny Ran around was put in place by his father as a potential future location to expand the territory when Danny took his place as Alpha. It was adjacent to the territory the family already occupied, so there was little fuss with Danny using it as his own for the time being. However the longer and longer he went without taking responsibility for his Pack, the more worrisome his parents and other Pack members became. But in order to do that, Danny needed to complete a Mating Bond with someone, and the young wolf had been extremely picky ever since he had returned home from college.

Danny seemingly had the same thought run through his head, and his eyebrows raised, “if she’s here…then she had to have had permission by a neighboring Pack to Run in their territory…and that patch of forest does butt up right against the Reynolds’ territory.”

Now it was Sam’s turn to raise his eyebrows, “the chances of her joining neighboring Pack are so-”

“Slim, I know, but that couldn’t have been a coincidence.”The logical side of Sam’s brain threatened to interject, but he kept his mouth shut. The Wolf continued, “I could text Jason…he’d know if there were any new Pack members.” Jason Reynolds being the nephew of the Reynolds Alpha, of course. He was a few years older than Danny, but had always maintained a quiet friendship with him as their fathers were allies.

“Danny.”

The gentle giant had stood up, turning to leave, “what?”

Concern riddled Sam’s features, “just…don’t get your hopes up, ok?”

Danny truly appreciated where Sam was coming from, but he was too anxious about the possibility of Ivy being this close to him.

He looked down at the abandoned fruit on the desk, “eat your damn banana, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes followed him as his best friend disappeared in the stacks and left the basement. A sigh left his lips as he rubbed his own exhausted eyes. Being best friends with a Werewolf was not for the weak.

~!~

However, across town there was a red headed She-Wolf curled up in her bed, not wanting to face the reality of the previous night. She had seen him for the first time in years, and her own heart and body betrayed her by how it responded by merely being in his presence. She had tried her best to not let him know that her body was thrumming with adrenaline not because of the Full Moon, but because of Danny himself. Years had gone by and she still felt the rush and magnetic pull to him like she had that very first day of junior year. His Wolf form was still so gorgeous and dignified, with his thick black fur and dark hazel eyes. Trotting around that pond like he owned the place, following her in a reverence that no other Wolf had shown her. But at the sound of her brother’s howl, she bolted, just like she always did.

She could have stayed.

She wanted to stay.

She should have stayed.

But she didn’t. She let the panic and apprehension govern her actions and she took off into the trees without looking back. With each step her paws took she felt her heart crack even more. Running from him felt so unnatural and just plain wrong, but it was how it was to be. Running to him at this point in their lives led to an unknown she wasn’t ready to face. If he chose her like he had promised years ago, would they themselves change along with it? She knew how her mother had changed for her father, and she always resented the mere idea of being a “Luna,” as the older Wolves referred to her future role. The title made her face crinkle as she thought of the word. She hated it. She never understood the reason behind it, no matter how many other Wolves tried to explain to her that it was the highest term of endearment in their species one could call their Mate. It felt old fashioned and suffocating to her. As soon as her parents had Bonded, her mother’s life and ambitions were abandoned to give her father children, Ivy’s older brother Derek being born within a year of said Bonding. Her mother was rarely referred to by her own name afterwards, even by the other Wolves in the pack.

No longer Alyssa Burke, now Phillips; just Luna, or Mom.

Ivy refused to let that happen to her.

But on the other hand, Danny was Danny.

The one Wolf who had held her so gently as if he was afraid she’d break at any moment, the only Wolf to hold her in such a way. The first time his eyes locked with hers all of the breath had left her lungs and she had nearly dropped her books in front of the entire quad. She wasn’t even supposed to be going in that direction on campus, but something deep down told her to walk towards the little grove of trees at the edge of the quad, where a lot of students would hang out on the stone benches that sat under the leaves. That's where he was., quietly conversing with a skinny male with long brown hair. But it was a sudden gust of wind that made him snap his attention to her. The breeze had rushed past her, sending her fiery hair over her face, and by the time she got it behind her ears she could feel his stare.

He sat there, stock still on that bench, completely ignoring his friend while he looked at her. Ivy herself halted in her tracks, nearly tripping over a slightly raised brick. To them, at that moment, they were the only people on that quad. The tiny voice got louder in her head, “go, go go,” it called so loud her ears started ringing. Her own feet acted before she could make a decision, and she shoved past an obvious human that was in her way.

Ivy rolled over and shook her head, trying to rid herself of the memory that plagued her mind. She screwed her eyes shut, trying to get her body to finally sleep. It took several minutes but at last she felt herself drifting off, the last thing she felt was a few tears sliding down onto her pillow, staining the fabric under her cheek.

To be continued…

Tag List: @dannyandthekiszkas , @readyforthegarden , @sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine , @wideminded-dreamer , @runwayblues , @wildbluesorbit , @llightmyllovee , @rhythm-of-space , @sacredthefran , @writingcold , @alwaysonthemend , @wetkleenex-gvf , @josh-iamyour-mama , @lightsofthe-living-gvf , @kakejiszkas , @sacredthethreadgvf , @losfacedevil , @jakekiszkasbuttsweat , @shutupdevvie , @hearts-hunger , @gretavanfleetposts , @ascendingtostardust , @mackalah , @andromeda-raine-gvf , @jake-kiszkas-smirk , @gracev0609 , @sacredjake , @earthlysorrows , @gvfpal , @myownparadise96 , @itsafullmoon , @gvfmelbourne , @twistedmelodies , @that-witchy-pan , @gold-mines-melting , @texas-bbq-pringles , @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface , @sadiechar, @char289 , @stardustvanfleet , @sunfl0wer-power , @holdingup-fallingsky , @bladenotblaze , @gretavanlace , @lipstickitty , @jjwasneverhere , @josiee-gvf , @peaceloveunitygvf , @exokpopfreak, @gretavanhockey , @gretavanazula

#danny wagner #greta van fleet #danny gvf #running through the garden #Danny Wagner x oc #werewolf!danny #mutual pining #second chance at love #fated mates #my fics #my writing

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nicolettesdreamworld · 27 days ago

Text

Bound by moonlight

I had this idea last night so decided to write it. I'm not sure if this will become more part series or just a little cute short story so let me know if you maybe want me to continue it! Hope you enjoy!

The full moon holds significance across countless cultures. In Chinese traditions, it symbolizes family unity and yin energy. To Hindus, the full moon is sacred, a celestial witness to rituals like Guru Purnima, honouring those who illuminate the path to wisdom. The Japanese gaze at the autumn moon as a poignant emblem of impermanence. For Muslims, it marks the heart of the lunar month. And for the Celts and pagans, the full moon brims with ancient power, a beacon for magic and spiritual awakening.

The poets and artists of the ages have romanticized its silver glow, spinning it into a symbol of love, mystery, and longing.

But for Nicolette, the full moon was neither sacred nor beautiful.

It was chaos.

Each month, the moon’s rise heralded her undoing. Beneath its unyielding gaze, her body would break, shift, and reform into a creature of instinct. A wolf born of rage and primal energy. And though her senses sharpened, her mind became a blank canvas, void of reason, void of memory.

What she did in those dark hours—those fleeting moments when she surrendered to her wolf—was a mystery. It was her blessing, perhaps, that she never remembered.

But it was also her curse.

Because each morning, she awoke to the aftermath: torn clothes, muddy footprints, and whispers of terror she could not trace. And so, the full moon wasn’t poetry to her, it was a thief, stealing her control, her sanity, and the fragile peace she clung to.

And tonight, as the moon climbed higher into the midnight sky, Nicolette felt it again—the pull, the promise, and the curse.

She had been trapped in this endless cycle ever since that night.

It had started so innocently, a joyful evening meant to celebrate a milestone in her life. She’d finally earned her driver’s license, and her parents couldn’t have been prouder. They decided on dinner to mark the occasion. She couldn’t even recall whose idea it was to order some wine, the casual suggestion that, since she could drive now, they could indulge just a little and she could drive them home. It wasn't like she was old enough to drink anyway.

But what seemed like a harmless decision turned out to be fatal.

The memory had grown hazy over the years, softened around the edges like a photograph left too long in the sun. She could barely piece it together now—the blinding lights of the oncoming car, the screeching metal, the jarring pain that stole her breath. Then the sterile, suffocating smell of the hospital. The rhythmic beeping of machines punctuating the silence of her grief.

And finally, the words. The ones that shattered what little remained of her world. You survived. They didn’t.

The pain of their loss had been unbearable, a wound that time refused to heal. But worse still was what came after.

When she first turned, she had no idea what was happening. She thought the grief and guilt had finally consumed her mind. The agony of the transformation had been unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Her body twisting and breaking, muscles contorting as something ancient and primal clawed its way to the surface.

She woke naked and trembling in the middle of the woods, her skin streaked with dirt and blood. The confusion had been bad enough. The horror came later, when she heard the news: a group of tourists had been slaughtered in the forest that night. Torn apart by some wild animal.

It didn’t take long for her to connect the pieces.

She was sixteen then—just a child, really. A child who had to learn, alone and terrified, what she had become.

Now, at twenty-three, Nicolette had learned how to survive. She knew how to chain herself up when the full moon rose, how to isolate herself far from civilization. She understood the curse that coursed through her veins.

But that didn’t mean she’d accepted it.

The full moon still terrified her. It always would.

And tonight, as it began its slow ascent into the night sky, she felt the familiar dread settle into her chest. The ache of anticipation, the promise of pain.

She hated it. Hated the moon, hated herself. Hated the monster she became when its light consumed her.

But no amount of hatred could change the truth. The moon didn’t care.

Klaus was at the Mikaelson manor, seated in the dim glow of the living room, a glass of bourbon cradled lazily in his hand. The firelight flickered across his sharp features, casting shadows that danced with an almost menacing rhythm. He stared into the flames, his expression a familiar mix of brooding and defiance. For Klaus Mikaelson, self-pity was as much a pastime as it was an art form.

He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, debating whether he should pour another, knowing full well he would. But just as his hand moved toward the decanter, a faint sound disrupted the silence.

A scratching at the front door.

His brow furrowed, the irritation immediate. Who in bloody hell dares disturb me at this hour? he thought, rising from his chair with an air of both annoyance and intrigue. His steps were slow, deliberate, as he approached the door. Whoever or whatever was foolish enough to trespass on his doorstep was about to be sorely reminded why the Mikaelson name inspired fear.

He leaned closer, peering through the peephole.

What he saw gave him pause.

A wolf. But not just any wolf.

This creature was larger than any ordinary wolf, its powerful frame illuminated faintly by the moonlight. That alone was enough to spark suspicion—Klaus knew the difference between a wild animal and one cursed by the moon. It had to be a werewolf.

But what werewolf would dare show up at his front door?

Its fur was a pristine white, almost glowing against the darkness, and its eyes… pale blue, piercing, as if they could see through him. A flicker of recognition stirred in Klaus’s chest, though he couldn’t explain why. What unsettled him most was the way it stood there, perfectly still, its gaze unyielding.

He couldn’t see its eyes clearly from the peephole, yet somehow, inexplicably, he felt as though the wolf was staring right back at him.

His instincts screamed caution. Logic dictated he should turn away, that this was some foolish trap, some scheme to provoke him.

But curiosity, that old, dangerous friend of his, had other plans.

Against his better judgment, Klaus opened the door.

The wolf didn’t flinch. It merely stood there, its gaze locked on his, as though waiting for something. A challenge, perhaps. Or an invitation.

Klaus stepped forward, his movements deliberate but not without caution. He knelt slowly, his gaze never leaving the wolf’s. He hadn’t survived centuries of betrayal by being careless, but there was something in those pale blue eyes that stilled his wariness.

Tentatively, he reached out. His fingers brushed its fur, and he was startled by the sensation. It was soft. Softer than he’d imagined. Like silk.

For a moment, he simply stayed there, kneeling before the creature, his hand resting on its fur. It didn’t move. It didn’t snarl or growl. It only watched him with those unyielding eyes.

"Who are you?" Klaus mumbled, his voice low and hesitant.

The wolf tilted its head at his words, its pale blue eyes unblinking as it continued to watch him. Klaus exhaled sharply, shaking his head at himself. As if it’s going to answer, he thought, a dry smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Right," he muttered under his breath, his hand absently stroking the soft fur between the wolf’s ears. It was strange, absurd really, but oddly soothing. "Are you hurt?" he asked, tilting his head as if searching for signs of injury.

The wolf didn’t flinch, didn’t even whimper. If anything, it seemed… calm. Far too calm, considering it was in the presence of the infamous Klaus Mikaelson.

He should have been suspicious. Any other time, he would have been suspicious. But tonight? For reasons he couldn’t quite name, his usually hypervigilant mind remained uncharacteristically quiet.

"Do you maybe want some water? Something to eat?" Klaus asked, his voice softening in a way that surprised even him.

The wolf gave no response—just that same steady, unyielding gaze.

"Very well," he sighed, pulling his hand back and rising to his feet. He gestured toward the doorway. "Come on in."

To his surprise, and mild amusement, the wolf actually obeyed, padding into the house without hesitation. Its movements were graceful, deliberate, and eerily quiet, like a predator who knew its strength and had no need to flaunt it.

Klaus led the way to the kitchen, his mind racing with questions even as his hands moved on autopilot. He grabbed a bowl and filled it with water, then retrieved some raw meat from the fridge, placing it neatly into another dish.

Setting both bowls down on the floor, he glanced back at the wolf, who had followed him and now stood watching him intently, as though waiting for something.

"You know," Klaus said, a dry chuckle escaping him as he straightened up, "I usually don’t let my guests eat on the floor, but…" He trailed off, shaking his head.

The wolf didn’t seem to mind. It leaned down and began eating, its movements as composed as they were deliberate.

Klaus crossed his arms, leaning casually against the counter as he observed the strange scene before him.

"I must be losing my mind," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Why am I talking to you? And, more importantly, why in bloody hell did I invite you inside and serve you dinner?"

The wolf, naturally, didn’t respond. It simply kept eating, its pale blue eyes flicking up to meet his now and then, as if it understood every word.

And for reasons Klaus couldn’t explain, the wolf’s silent gaze didn’t unnerve him. If anything, it intrigued him.

When the wolf finished eating, it let out a wide, lazy yawn, its jaw stretching in a way that made Klaus smirk.

"Oh, so now you're tired, are you?" he said, his tone laced with amusement. The sheer absurdity of the situation wasn’t lost on him, but for reasons he couldn’t explain, he didn’t mind it.

The wolf padded over to him, its movements unhurried, and nudged his hand with its snoot. Klaus chuckled at the gesture, shaking his head as his fingers instinctively reached out to rub behind its ear.

"You know," he began, his voice softening, "you’re quite adorable, little wolf. Not exactly a word I throw around often, but there it is."

The wolf tilted its head again, that curious expression making Klaus laugh under his breath.

"Are you tired?" he asked, his fingers brushing the fur along its jawline. "Do you want to sleep?"

In response, the wolf licked his hand, its warm, wet tongue startling him just enough to make him laugh again.

"Well, aren’t you full of surprises," Klaus mused, rising to his feet. He gestured toward the living room. "Come on, then."

The wolf followed him obediently, its steps silent against the hardwood floors. Klaus sank onto the couch, stretching one arm along the backrest, and patted the cushion beside him.

"Here," he said, his voice almost teasing. "A royal invitation, no less."

To his continued astonishment, the wolf leapt up onto the couch with the ease of a cat, settling beside him. It turned its head to study him, then glanced at the blanket draped over the armrest.

Klaus raised a brow, watching as the wolf gently bit down on the blanket and tossed it into his lap.

"Oh, now you want me to cover you, do you?" he asked, a bemused smirk tugging at his lips.

The wolf nudged him again with its snoot, an unmistakable hurry up gesture.

Klaus couldn’t help but chuckle. "You really are an unusual wolf, I’ll give you that."

He picked up the blanket, careful not to make it seem like he was trapping the creature, and laid it over the wolf’s body. As if on cue, the wolf shifted, curling up against him and resting its head in his lap.

"Comfortable, are we?" Klaus asked, his voice softer now, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the strange peace that had settled over the room.

The wolf closed its eyes, its breathing slowing as Klaus’s hand drifted to its back. He stroked the silky fur absentmindedly, his own tension easing with every rhythmic movement.

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, the room bathed in warm light. For the first time in what felt like years, Klaus Mikaelson didn’t feel alone.

And as the wolf’s breathing evened out, its chest rising and falling steadily, Klaus found himself smiling—a quiet, genuine smile that no one else would have believed him capable of.

"Sweet dreams, little wolf," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Klaus had watched the wolf for hours, his hand still resting gently on its back. There was something hypnotic about the rise and fall of its breathing, the way it had curled so trustingly into him. Eventually, even the mighty Klaus Mikaelson succumbed to the pull of sleep.

It was just before dawn when the wolf began to change. The transformation was silent, graceful in a way that defied the usual violent contortions Klaus associated with werewolves. Fur receded, bones reshaped, and in place of the white wolf lay a girl—her head still resting on his lap, her body covered only by the blanket.

Neither stirred.

It wasn’t until hours later, when the first rays of morning light filtered through the curtains, that Nicolette woke.

Her eyes fluttered open, her mind groggy, but it took only seconds for panic to set in. She wasn’t outside. She wasn’t in the woods. She was in a house she didn’t recognize, lying on the lap of a stranger.

Her breath caught in her throat as she scrambled back, clutching the blanket tightly to her chest. The sudden movement jolted Klaus awake, his blue-green eyes snapping open.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Nicolette was the first to break the silence. "Who are you?!" she demanded, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to sound firm.

Klaus stared at her, his expression unreadable but tinged with a faint amusement. His gaze lingered, as if trying to piece together how the wolf from last night had become the girl before him.

"So you really are a werewolf," he said finally, completely ignoring her question.

Nicolette frowned, clutching the blanket tighter as she sat up straighter. "I asked you a question!" she said, her voice a mix of fear and defiance.

"And I ignored it," Klaus replied smoothly, his smirk growing. "But fine. I’m Klaus. Klaus Mikaelson. And you are?"

Her breath hitched at the name. "You’re the hybrid," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"In the flesh," he replied, his smirk now a full grin.

Nicolette’s eyes widened as she tried to make sense of the situation. "Did you kidnap me?" she asked, her voice rising with a mix of fear and accusation. "Is that how I ended up here?"

"Kidnap you?" Klaus echoed, offended by the very suggestion. "I’ll have you know, you came to my doorstep."

She blinked, her frown deepening as she processed his words.

Before she could respond, Klaus stood and began walking toward the hallway, his movements unhurried and unconcerned.

"Hey!" Nicolette called after him, clutching the blanket as she rose to her feet. "Where are you going?"

"To get you some clothes," Klaus replied over his shoulder, his tone casual. Then, with a glance back at her and a hint of that devilish smirk, he added, "Unless, of course, you’d prefer to continue this conversation in your little blanket ensemble."

Nicolette flushed, her grip on the blanket tightening as she glared at him. But Klaus had already disappeared into the next room, leaving her to process everything that had just happened.

Soon enough, Klaus returned with a black henley and a pair of sweatpants with a drawstring, the kind of casual clothes he probably didn’t wear often, but somehow they still looked good on him. He pointed toward a bathroom down the hall. "You can change in there," he said, his voice casual, as if the world hadn’t just shifted beneath their feet.

Nicolette took the clothes in silence, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. She didn’t trust herself to speak, not when her mind was still reeling. She changed quickly, the unfamiliar clothes feeling both comfortable and strange against her skin. When she emerged, Klaus was lounging on the sofa as if nothing had happened, a glass of bourbon in his hand and a faint smirk on his lips.

"It makes no sense," Nicolette said, her voice tight as she handed him the folded blanket. Her eyes didn’t leave his face, searching for any hint of an explanation, anything that might make sense of the madness of the night.

Klaus glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "What’s making no sense, love?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, frustration and confusion boiling within her. "When I turn, I run around ripping anything and anyone that comes into my way to shreds. I don’t come to stranger’s homes for belly rubs."

Klaus’s smirk only deepened. "Well, I don’t know what to tell you, little wolf. You came here, ate some food, nudged me until I rubbed you, and then fell asleep in my lap." He shrugged as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Nicolette glared at him, shaking her head. "Wolves don’t act this way… especially around you."

"You wound me," Klaus said, a mock look of offense crossing his face, but his eyes sparkled with amusement.

She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, and she turned away, shaking her head. "The only way it would make sense is if you were my—"

Her voice faltered, the word hanging in the air between them, thick with unspoken possibilities.

"Your what, love? Finish the sentence," Klaus prompted, his voice low, as if he already knew where this was going.

She froze, her mind rejecting the thought. "No, there has to be another explanation," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but it lacked conviction.

Klaus leaned forward, his expression all too knowing. "No, you started it… now continue."

Her pulse quickened. "It’s stupid," she muttered, but Klaus’s piercing gaze never wavered.

"I highly doubt that," he said, his voice dripping with the kind of confidence that could only belong to someone who had lived for centuries.

Nicolette swallowed hard, trying to steady herself. She took a breath and met his gaze. "How much do you know about werewolf folklore?" she asked, the question feeling heavy on her tongue.

Klaus didn’t hesitate. "You mean how much do I know about mates?" He raised a brow, the words cutting through the air like a blade.

Her breath hitched, and her heart skipped a beat. "Yes," she whispered, barely able to process the realization herself.

"Enough to know where you’re going with this," Klaus said, his tone surprisingly light.

Nicolette couldn’t help the frustration that bubbled up in her chest. "How are you so calm?" she asked, genuinely baffled.

Klaus stood up from the couch and made his way toward her, his footsteps measured and deliberate. "Because it has already crossed my mind," he said, his voice low but steady, the kind of calm that only centuries of experience could foster.

She shot him a puzzled look, but Klaus simply shrugged. "Your inner wolf sought me out. It craved my closeness and was calm around me. And for some reason, I felt calm as well. Doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together, love."

Nicolette shook her head, the idea still feeling like it couldn’t possibly be true. "There’s no way you’re my mate," she said, the words sounding almost ridiculous coming out of her own mouth.

"And why is that?" Klaus asked, an amused glint in his eyes.

"Because it’s insane," she replied quickly, but as soon as the words left her, she realized something: she wasn’t freaking out. The weight of the situation should’ve sent her into a spiral of panic, but she was calm. Too calm.

Klaus smirked, his eyes glinting with that knowing look of his. "I think we’ve both seen stranger things happen, haven’t we?"

She turned away slightly, running a hand through her hair, as if trying to process everything. "I feel like I should freak out," she said, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "Why do I feel so calm?"

Klaus took a step closer, his voice quiet yet unwavering. "Because your inner wolf recognizes my inner wolf."

It hit her then, like a wave crashing over her. Her body still felt foreign to her, caught between disbelief and undeniable truth. "So... you’re my mate," she murmured, almost as if she were talking to herself.

"That I am, love. And you’re mine," Klaus said, his tone final, matter-of-fact, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Nicolette looked at him, her mind still trying to catch up with the words. "How did I end up as a mate to the Original Hybrid?" she whispered, more to herself than to him.

Klaus chuckled softly, a rich sound that made her feel something stir deep inside her. "Beats me, love," he said, his grin widening.

She shook her head, still unsure of everything, but there was a strange comfort in his certainty, in the way he spoke, as if it was simply meant to be.

Part 2

#fanfic #the vampire diaries #klaus mikaelson #tvd #klaus fanfiction #the originals fanfiction #tvd fanfiction #tvd fandom #the vampire diaries fanfiction #klaus x oc #mikaelson family #supernatural fanfiction #Klaus Mikaelson love #klaus mikaelson fic #Klaus Mikaelson story #werewolf #werewolves #fated mates #werewolf oc

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last-herondale · 2 years ago

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Always In Front of Me

Jacob Black x FemReader

T/w: Mentions of blood, violence, death

Hurt/comfort, fated lovers

A/N: heyo! A few people have asked for a perspective from Jacob’s point of view from my wintered series! This is after Honesty and before Wintered!

Expect at least 2 more fics for this series in the future 💙

I’ll link the master list here!

Enjoy 🤘🏼

Jacob sat at your beside, watching the even motion of your chest rising and falling. The two of you were in one of the Cullen’s rooms. Jacob wasn’t sure whose, maybe Alice, maybe Jasper? No definitely Alice. She had insisted after… Jacob shook his head at the memory. He looked over you, making sure you were alright, to see if there was anything he could possibly do. He had been there for days on end, refusing to leave your side as you recovered.

Months earlier you had done the same for him after the battle with Victoria’s newborn army. Jacob remembered how you accepted the role as his gentle nurse, aiding him as he healed from his wounds. How minor his injuries seemed now. He winced as he looked at your neck brace— the bluish bruises under your eyes. The sight of you made his stomach churn. How could he have been so blind? How could he have not known until that night?

The world seemed to be moving in slow motion. So much chaos had ensued in such a short amount of time that Jacob wasn’t entirely sure what was real anymore.

Bella had gone into labor. He witnessed her body jerk and contort, breaking and snapping with haunting echos as the creature inside her yearned to be free. The Cullens had sprung to action, or at least those that had remained. A plan had been devised to allow some of the Cullens to break through Sam’s patrol so that they could feed, and get more blood for Bella.

Seth, Leah, and You had agreed to help with the plan. Jacob had distracted Sam’s pack long enough to allow the Cullens to escape, and for a moment you all thought you had won a victory. The Cullens could feed, Bella would be safe, and no one would have to die.

But then all hell broke loose. While The Cullens rushed to save Bella, Sam’s pack decided to launch their attack. You had sounded the alarm to Jacob, ripping out a guttural howl into the night sky. Leah and Seth had already sprung into action, blurs of fur clashing into the night. Alice and Jasper joined the fight as well, battling the wolves that were once their allies.

Jacob’s mind had been a jumbled mess. His fear for Bella tore his heart in one direction, but his worry for his family tore him in the other. His heart pounded in his chest as he stared in horror as Edward pulled the baby from Bella. The smell of blood burned in Jacob’s nostrils as he watched his best friend lie lifeless on the table. His head was ringing. He couldn’t register Edwards words as he began to preform CPR on Bella. Jacob felt his legs move him on his own accord, as his body left the room in a tranced state.

Bella was dead. He had expected it. Tried to mentally prepare for it, but now that it was here… his chest felt empty. What was all of this pain for? Why did Jacob love Bella if he knew it would always end in death? Was this how love was supposed to be? Constant pain? Unending torture?

Jacob collapsed outside of the Cullen’s house and began to sob. The battle raged on around him, his pack and the Cullens fighting Sam’s pack. You were grappling with Embry and Quill, keeping them from reaching the house while Leah and Seth were out of sight. Jacob looked at the scene before him as his body broke out in heaved sobs. You heard his anguished cries and felt your soul tug. The desperate need to be there for him roared in your mind as you fought.

The imprint bond, the tether that seemed to shape your heart sang out within your blood. You felt a surge of strength return to your body as you flung Quill against a tree, hearing a whimper escape his wolf form. Embry lunged at you again, but you were able to sidestep him and sink your teeth into the back of his leg. Once he too fell, you spun around to Jacob. Guilt flashed through your mind for a moment, these were your friends— your brothers after all. As much as it pained you to admit it though, Jacob came first. Always.

The brokenness of his face told you all you needed to know. Bella was dead.

Your heart ached with the thought of your friend. Bella had been a kind soul. The kind of person you only encountered once in a lifetime. You knew the likelihood of her passing, but you held our hope for her. Maybe there would be time for the Cullens to change her. Maybe she would make it after all. You always held hope, not just for her, but for Jacob as well. You dreaded this day. The day Jacob’s heart would shatter beyond repair.

You began to sprint towards Jacob, to protect him from the battle as he sat there out in the open, but you heard a scream to the right of you. Paul had Alice pinned underneath him. The small vampire had her hands gripped on either side of Paul’s jaw to keep back his sharp canines. She could have easily beaten Paul if her strength was up, but she had needed to feed for days now, and you could see the struggle in her eyes.

Perhaps it was stupid to care for a vampire. Everything you were taught went against what your heart told you. Alice was your friend. She seemed no less human to you than Seth or Leah. And she needed help.

Suddenly you were pounding towards Paul. You slammed into him with enough force to knock the wind out of yourself. You snapped at him, gripping a chunk of his fur as the two of you tumbled in the dirt. You saw a pale flash if movement, and hoped it was Alice escaping into the house. Paul seems to support this theory as he let out a horrible snarl. His claws dug into your sides and the pain was enough to cause you to release him. He pinned you down easily enough, his strength had always overmatched yours. You looked into his dark eyes as he plunged his teeth around your neck. The crunch was horrific. You tried to scream, but the wind seemed to leave you as soon as your lips opened. You wanted to say his name, one last time. Your mind glazed over with pain as darkness quickly swept over your consciousness.

That was when everything snapped into place. Jacob felt as if his heart was being ripped from his chest as he watched Paul snap your neck. Suddenly, all of the memories of you flooded through his mind, but it was as if a lens had been removed. What had once been simple memories of one of his best friends, now became something unimaginably more important. The first day he met you. Jacob was struck by how beautiful you were, how sweet your voice sounded in his ears. The echo of it now was sweet music. He had been muted to it for so long. The memories of the two of you training together, how you both had leaned on each other for support as you navigated through these difficult changes. You had always been there, he realized. How had he never noticed until now?

Realization struck home, like a blazing sun clearing through the darkness. Jacob felt as if his whole world had shifted back into place. He had been wandering aimlessly in the world, trying so desperately to find his purpose, his meaning within the chaos. He tried to find it in loving Bella. How silly that seemed now. Now it was as if there never was a world where he did not belong to you. Where you did not spark his soul into a million burning fires.

My imprint… my soulmate.

Jacob’s thoughts were scattered and racing through his mind a million miles a second. He didn’t have time to sort through his emotions, all that mattered was you. And you were lying motionless on the ground, your body shifting back into your human form as Paul tossed you aside.

Jacob shifted in an instant and charged Paul. The force of the collision caused the tree they knocked into to snap at the base and crash into the Cullen’s yard. Jacob felt a primal rage course through his body. He dug his teeth into Paul’s shoulder and threw him into another tree. Paul yelped as Jacob went in again, snapping at his arm until a sickening crunch echoed into the night.

Jacob stop!

Seth’s voice echoed through Jacob’s mind, but Jacob did not relinquish. He would make Paul pay for what he did to you. For taking away his chance at happiness before he could even…

Jake, stop! You’re killing him!

Seth begged through his mind. Paul laid limp underneath Jacob, his fur a bloody mess as Jacob continued to thrash him. He was taking it too far, he knew, but he didn’t care.

“She’s alive!”

The voice was real. Not just a telepathic whisper. But a real, high pitched sounding yell. Jacob stopped in his tracks and spun around to see Alice leaning over you as the others watched him in horror. Alice had her head over your heart, listening to the faint beating.

“She’s alive Jacob, please, stop this.”

Jacob took a good look around to see that the chaos had stilled during his rage. The packs looked horrified, Sam especially as he ran to pull Paul away from him. The eerie quiet of the forest chilled Jacob’s back as he hurried himself beside your body. His anger refused to let him shift back into his human form, so he just stood there, watching as Alice carefully picked you up to carry you into the house.

It was Leah that shifted back first, looking at your body then at Jacob in disbelief.

“You imprinted on y/n…” she said. Jacob’s wolf just panted, his eyes locked on Sam and his pack in case they tried to make a break for the house. Leah turned to Sam, his wolf looking at them with fierce uncertainty. Sam couldn’t read Jacob’s thoughts anymore, but Leah could. She recognized what an imprint felt like, knew what kind of bond that was. She knew Sam did too, and in that she saw their salvation.

“Jacob imprinted on y/n!” She yelled loud enough for all of the packs to hear. Sam’s eyes widened at Jacob, and for a moment his resolve finally wavered. Leah took notice and pointed at Sam. “You know our laws, all of you! If you kill her, you kill Jacob. Is this what you want Sam? Your friends— your family dead? Over what? A baby?” It had been the first time Jacob had heard Leah refer to Bella’s baby as such. It was enough to calm Jacob down enough to shift back into his human form.

“It’s true Sam. This has gone on long enough. I don’t want this… but I can’t lose her, please. We have to stop this fighting.”

Sam remained still for a moment as he looked at Jacob’s face. He tried to find the insincerity in Jacob’s voice, his expression, but he found none. It only took one glance at Paul for Sam to realize that only an imprint would cause that sort of violence from Jacob. They might have had their little fights in the past, but this was different. He thought of Emily being attacked and a chill ran down his spine. They were right. Enough was enough.

Sam turned to his pack, speaking a silent message through their minds. Quill and Embry helped Paul to his feet, leaning him up against each other as they limped out of the forest. Jacob waited in silence, half expecting them to return and finish them off.

“They won’t return,” Edward’s voice rose from behind Jacob. Jacob turned to face Edward, and was surprised to see him away from Bella. Edward just nodded at Jacob, and it was enough for now. “Let’s get her inside. Quick, Carlisle is on his way.” Alice carried you inside, Jacob and Edward close at on her heel. Everything else after that became a blur to Jacob. Carlisle and the rest of the Cullens arrived minutes later, and Carlisle began quick work on you to heal your wounds. Jacob stood by your side the entire time. Once you were stable, Carlisle moved you into Alice’s room, and kept you on fluids and a monitor as you slept.

It was a waiting game. Carlisle feared that there had been damage to your brain, but that he had hope you would wake up in your own time. Jacob thanked him as he left. Then it was just the two of you. Jacob sat next to you as the monitor made soft beeps. He held your limp hand, and ran his thumb over your skin.

There was a knock at the door, and Leah and Seth slipped into the room. Seth knelt beside the bed and put his hand on your forehead. A small gesture of love, as he whispered a small prayer. Seth’s eyes were watering and he sniffed as he rubbed his eyes.

“She’ll be okay, Seth,” Leah murmured, “She’s strong. She’s a fighter.”

“Yeah,” Seth said in a small ragged voice.

“Jake,” Leah said, “She’ll make it.”

Jacob just gave a small nod. His throat felt clogged. He felt warm tears fall down his cheek as he rested his head in your hand. He felt his pack put their hand in his shoulders. “Why did it take so long?” Jacob finally choked out, “why now?”

Leah gave a bitter laugh. “One thing I’ve learned is that this ability can be cruel. There may not be any rhyme or reason, but it’s what we have to survive. And she will, she will survive this. You both will.”

Jacob let himself cry as he held your hand. He whispered into your palm, begging for you to wake up. He had so much he wanted to say to you. Things he wished he could explain, apologize for the time he had wasted chasing false dreams. Sense left him, and finally the pain and sorrow was all he felt. He was surrounded by his family and let their love warm the fractured pieces of his tired weary soul.

Your eyes fluttered open two days later. Disoriented, you struggled to raise your head up to look around, but got caught up against the breathing tubes and neck brace. You raised your hand to remove them but a strong hand gently gripped your wrists. The touch was familiar, beautifully familiar.

“Steady there speed racer,” Jacob’s husky voice warmed the side of your face. You let him guide your hand back down as you blinked away the rest of your drowsiness. “Jake…what happened…?”

“Shhh shhh,” he cooed, his hand stroked the side of your face. You thought you were still in a dream state, his touch was warm and comforting. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.” You resisted the temptation to lean your head deeper into his palm, the scent of him was intoxicating.

You scrunched your brow in confusion. Not matter? Your mind struggled to recall your last memories. You remembered seeing blood on the living room floor, then the green forest just outside of the Cullen house, then a large black wolf lunging towards you…

“Paul,” you whispered. The memories came crashing back in a torrential wave. You tried to jerk up on bed again, but the brace and tubes kept you back.

“What happened? Is everyone okay? Did Alice— oh my god, Bella??”

Jacob put his hands on either side of your face to calm you. “It’s okay, everyone’s fine. Everyone’s fine.” You tried to calm your breathing, but the memories of that night stormed in your mind. Jacob’s presence calmed you; his touch was enough to bring you back into the present.

“I don’t… understand. Jake…”

Jacob explained away the time you missed, careful to leave out the imprinting. He was waiting to see the change in you too, to see if the bond had reshaped your life as it had his. But to his dismay, he saw no change. How could he possibly bring it up to you? Would you even believe him? Just days ago he had been fighting so hard for Bella, the girl he though he loved. How could he ever begin to explain?

Little did he know that your life had already been reshaped. That the bond had formed for you the first moment you saw him. Jacob swallowed his disappointment as he finished his story.

“So, Bella’s gonna be okay? Edward saved her in time?” You asked.

Jacob nodded. “It seems so. Carlisle thinks she should wake up in the next day or so.” Your shoulders relaxed a bit at that bit of information. You hadn’t lost a friend after all.

“But wait, I still don’t understand…, how did Leah convince Sam to leave again?”

Jacob blanked for a moment. She had hoped you wouldn’t notice how he skimmed over that detail, but of course you hadn’t. Jacob opened his mouth to try and craft a delicate lie, but luckily he was saved by Carlisle knocking on the door.

“Ah, good, my favorite patient is up.” Carlisle gave you a warm smile as he approached you. You were happy to see him, healthy and alive. His eyes had returned to a golden brown, and his overall mood seemed happy compared to the last few months.

He began to check on the monitors and tubes, noting your heart rate and oxygen levels. He turned to Jacob.

“Would you mind if I spoke with y/n, alone for a moment?” Jacob wanted to protest, he hadn’t left your side at all while you were under, but that was when he didn’t have to hide anything. He looked at you for a moment, letting himself have the satisfaction of seeing you awake, alive and well, before peeling himself from the chair.

“Of course Doc,” Jacob said with a small smirk. You watched him as he left, giving him a smile as he turned back to look at you before closing the door.

Jacob descended the stairs, his emotions a swirl of confusion. At the base he ran into Leah and Seth, both of whom looked excited. “Edward told us the news. Is she finally awake?” Seth asked, his eyes alight with excitement. Jacob nodded, but he put his hand on Seth’s shoulder. “She’s awake and well. The Doc is talking with her now, but I need to talk with the two of you.”

“Sure, what is it Jake?” Seth asked. Leah just stood there with her arms crossed. She seemed a bit more relaxed after hearing you were okay, but being in the Cullens house was still tough for her, and Jacob appreciated her effort.

Jacob took a slow, steady breath. “I don’t want to tell her about the imprint.” His voice was low and steady. Seth began to protest while Leah held a straight face.

“Listen, this is how it needs to be. Whatever happened the other night seems to only have happened to me. I don’t want to force her into something like this… for her to feel obligated to feel something for me that she doesn’t. She’s kind hearted, and too gentle. I can’t do that to her. And I know I can’t keep it from her forever, but just for now… until I figure out a way to tell her. Please.”

You too Cullen. Please, if you could spread the word to your family… I would appreciate it.

Jacob knew Edward would be able to hear their conversation. He only hoped Edward would play along, for your sake more so than his.

Seth gave Leah an uncertain look, but Leah just nodded in response. “We won’t say anything, but Jake,” Leah began, “we don’t want your heart to break anymore either.”

Jacob just gave a small smile. The images of you flashed through his mind. All of the memories of you in his life, and how much those moments had meant to you, even then. Now they were everything. The breath of life sustaining his soul. He had a purpose now. A reason to always fight, to always be there.

You, and only you.

“It’ll be worth it this time, no matter what happens. Believe me, everything’s different now. Everything.”

Tag-list

@steverogersgirlfriend-blog @milesquaritchh

#twiligh x reader #twilight fic #fem reader #twilight #jacob black x reader #jacob black #Jacob black twilight #fated to love you #fated mates #hurt/comfort #twilight love #werewolves #werewolf #fanfic

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acourtofladydeath · 10 months ago

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Poly+ ACOTAR Week Day 2: Comfort

Nesta has always struggled with more intense cycles than most, and when she became fae it only got worse. Thankfully, her mates Azriel and Cassian are there to take care of her.

Based on my headcanon that Nesta has endometriosis, which became more intense after she went through the Cauldron.

Have some Nessriel hurt/comfort fluff for @polyacotarweek day 2. Start reading below the cut, and read the full fic on AO3 here!

When Nesta rolled out of bed that morning her body felt sluggish, tired even after a full night's sleep. But warriors, especially Valkyrie’s, didn’t let anything keep them from training. She held in her groan as she sat up, trying not to wake Azriel. The male could sleep until the second before training started, still make it on time, and be one of the most alert people there. Cassian had awoken and left the bed almost an hour ago, preferring to have extra time for his hair and breakfast routine. Nesta fell somewhere in the middle. She allowed herself only the exact amount of time it took her to pull on her leathers, braid her hair, grab a quick snack from the House, and make it to the training ring. Each step she took felt heavier than the last, and her arms ached from what was typically the easy task of taming her hair. If that wasn’t a sign that something about this day would be different, the House providing Nesta with a pan au chocolat instead of her regular oats with berries definitely was. Groaning at the realization of what the House was trying to tell her, Nesta decided that she would pretend like it wasn’t happening and accept the House’s gift as a token of friendship and not the warning it was. This was her first mistake. The second mistake was heading up to train with the Valkyries and her mates. Training was horrible. Azriel and Cassian kept an eye on Nesta as she faltered slightly. Not enough that any of the usual priestesses training with them would notice, but these males were finely in tune with their mate’s abilities and they noticed the subtle differences. Toward the end of practice Emerie and Nesta sparred. When Emerie actually managed to land a gut punch Nesta had been properly defending for years, both females immediately stopped. Nesta stood hunched over, fighting for her breath through the pain that radiated through her body. In an instant, Emerie was by her side. “Fuck Nes, are you okay? I didn’t think I hit that hard, I’m so sorry.” Emerie grabbed Nesta’s arm and helped her to sit on the ground. It took several moments before Nesta could gasp in a full breath. She felt the stares of her mates from across the training ring, and sensed their concern flow down their shared bonds. Cassian and Azriel respected her enough to know that she could handle her own training, even if she took a bad hit. They wouldn't approach unless she was too injured to respond or she asked for them. Instead of getting up as she usually did, Nesta curled further in on herself. The scent of blood filled the ring, and Cassian could no longer keep himself from helping his mate. Within moments he was kneeling beside Nesta and Emerie at the edge of the ring.

Finish reading on AO3 here!

Please let me know if you would like off or on my taglist! @pippsmcgee @born-to-riot @chunkypossum @bubybubsters @queercontrarian @yanny-77 @fieldofdaisiies @iftheshoef1tz @secret-third-thing

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cevansbrat0007 · 10 months ago

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Coming Soon: The Marked Ones

Introducing The Marked Ones, a brand new shifter romance featuring Bucky Barnes, Ari Levinson, and Steve Rogers on their quest to find their fated mates. More to come!

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pentopaper23 · 1 year ago

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Mating Call

“I don’t know what you mean!” Caroline screams, the vervain ropes cutting into her wrists, “It’s Stefan! I loved Stefan!”

“Lies!” The witch yells flicking her hands so the ropes around Caroline’s wrist tighten, “Lies! You love someone else!” Caroline sobs her head falling forward so her chin rests on her chest.

“Why does that matter!? His dead!” She yells avoiding her daughter’s and Hopes eye line. The three girls were huddled in the corning of the room, Hope having thrown a protective shield around them, the blue glow shimmering in the dark dankness of the basement.

“But it does matter….say it” the witch said again flicking her hand tightening the ropes, “You stop lying or I’ll bring your daughters in to this!” The witch yelled, the walls of the house shook and the glass in the windows shattered. Caroline felt her eyes roll into her heads as a stabbing pain engulfed her.

“KLAUS!” Caroline screamed as she felt blood start pouring out of her nose. She noticed that Hope’s shield flickered at the mention of her father’s name.

“Its Klaus! I love Klaus” Caroline sobbed her head falling so her chin rested on her chest. The witch lowered her hand and smirked.

“No why was that so hard?” she spat as sparks flickered from her fingertips and Caroline felt the ropes tighten again.

“Why are you doing this?” Caroline sobbed. The witch just laughed.

“Because I want him to suffer”, the witch said stepping forward to wipe Caroline’s tears from her face with a tissue.

“A love confession merely started the spell. The tears of a loved one will balance it and the blood of a mate will complete it” the witch said had she stabbed a knife into Caroline’s forearm ripping the skin apart. Caroline let out a high-pitched scream and her vision started to blur.

“What are you doing!” she heard Hope yell as the witch threw the tissue into a bowl and tapped the knife on it to flick Caroline’s blood into it. The bowl started to smoke and the meagre lights in the basement dulled and then stuttered back to life.

“Come now Hope, a witch like you should know this spell. Time travel can’t be that far out of your wheelhouse.”

“You can’t” Caroline begged, and the witch slowly turned her head towards her. Picking up the knife again she walked back over to Caroline and place the knife at her neck, the blade nicking the skin.

“Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do.”

“He will kill you.” Caroline said looking the witch dead in the eyes, “If not for harming me, but for harming his daughter. There is nowhere on this earth you will be able to hide.”

The witch smiled and then then laughed.

“Oh Caroline…you have no idea. I’m not bring his here. No, no, no. You’re going to take a little trip.” She said flicking the knife, so it sliced into Caroline’s neck. Caroline felt blood start to pour down her shirt and she tasted it bubbling out of her mouth.

Caroline panicked her eyes flicking towards the girls shielded in the corner. She could see that Hope was struggling to keep up the shield against her daughters trying to break through it.

“Mum!” they screamed, beating their hands against the flicking blue shield.

The witch started to move her hands over the now smoking bowl, chanting low under her breath and Caroline started to feel her hands tingling and her heart started to beat rapidly. She screamed when a bolt of pain ran through her body and the last thing, she saw was Hope’s shield fail and the witch fell to the ground.

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h-doodles · 1 year ago

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Connection // Consumption // Possession is my way of Love & you are mine as i am yours, various - a web weave for it's quicker & easier (to eat your young) by @pinkcannibal 💖

#IM SO INSANE ABT THIS FIC IM SCREAMING I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU #anyways hehe #web weaving #marilyn thornhill #marilyn thornhill x reader #christina ricci #lee makes stuff #simp.txt #clown.txt #to me i am hers the same way she is mine and we are two halves ripped apart and 2 puzzle pieces who's been lost in the dark #and we are connected in the same way the greek gods have created soul mates and connected in the same way the fates have woven their thread #and we are one in the same one in the same one in the SAME!!!!!!!!#bound by blood and by love and by our sheer force will and i want nothing more but to sink my teeth in to her neck just as she does mine #and claw my way into her chest and fall asleep next to her heart raw and bruised and bloodied #i am. being SO normal abt it.#eat your young

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the-daydreaming-show · 1 month ago

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(0.) Preface

SUMMARY: You make some last arrangements before leaving for the Night Court.

Or.

You make a stupid decision that will change everything.

CHARACTER(S): Poly!Feysand x Fem!Reader, Feyre Archeron x Fem!Reader, Rhysand x Fem!Reader.

WARNING(S): Short; The reader makes stupid decisions; No-beta reader, we die like the Suriel.

NOTE: Tag List is open.

You were once a mortal from the lands of Prythian, born to poor parents who had been the children of equally poor parents, whose ancestors were lost to history. You used to live at the edge of the forest, in the poorest streets of the town where you were born and thought you would die.

When you were twelve, in those woods, hunting to survive the onset of winter, you first encountered a hungry and frightened Feyre Archeron, trying to hunt for her family but being too loud for your liking. There, you both became friends, allies, and each other's only company in the labyrinth of forests where you sought your lives each week. It was as if the world was only you—just the two of you among those trees.

You realized this the very night after the birth. You had taken over the child's care while your mother recovered, and you found him at night staring into the fire. The way he looked at you when you walked past him to heat water left you frozen in place. You were used to walking past wild beasts in the woods that looked at you like you were their next meal, but the look from your father made your stomach sink.

However, when you were fifteen, your mother gave birth to a boy after years of your father waiting for a son for his family. I had always found your father’s obsession with the family name and legacy ridiculous. Your family was so poor that you had been out in the woods foraging for food ever since you had the strength in your fingers to create your first rabbit trap. Your mother had given him two healthy daughters, you and Rue. But she had miscarried twice and given birth to a stillborn child. It wasn’t until that child was born that he seemed satisfied with it and with your mother. He named the child after himself, as if it were some sort of honor or meant anything more than poverty.

But the child was sickly, and your mother was weak from childbirth. You and your sister became dead weight in your father's mind.

It took a week before you and Rue disappeared. He walked you to a coastal town, and you thought he would abandon you there. You were mentally prepared for that. You were stupid, looking back. Because he sold you—both of you—on a hill overlooking the sea. Your little brother should have gotten his medicine within twenty-four hours, and your mother too, for sure.

You didn’t doubt that no one in the village asked anything. After all, people disappearing from one day to the next wasn’t so abnormal in a place where hunger took more people than age. You hoped Feyre had asked, but you didn’t insist too much because you knew what she was like. She would go crazy searching if she asked too much, and you didn’t want that for her.

In the hands of the slavers, you and Rue were sold as one to a brothel in the pirate islands of the southeast. There, Madame Petra saw something in you and offered a deal that you took. You danced and charmed everyone on the island. You had been the highest-paid courtesan in the area—until you were condemned to work in the volcanoes until death for taking the life of a free man while being a slave.

he forests of Prythian. The brothel on the Pirate Islands. The work in the volcanoes. It was as if they were three different lives you had lived before you turned twenty. Now you lived another, in Slave Bay—renamed Trinity Bay—as queen of the freed slaves and mother of the beasts that spit fire into the sky.

At the beginning of the year, you had sent a clear and decisive message to the mortal lands, starting a new life before you turned twenty-five.

From this day, one will be, and only one, the queen of the mortal lands of the world. Those who bent the knee to you would keep their land and titles. Those who took arms against you and your dragons would be thrown down, humbled, and destroyed.

You had been answered with an offer from the Night Court, and a handwritten letter from Feyre Archeron, the High Lady of the Night Court, offering a helping hand in the form of a political alliance between your lands and hers. You had accepted in hopes of killing a petty promise that you stubbornly wanted to keep. Now you were heading to the Night Court with three of your dragons in the morning, as visits had been arranged that would define the process of the agreement. Whether it would be signed or not would be decided based on those visits.

Night was falling over your city, and the moon illuminated your figure hunched over the dresser in your private chambers, staring at what you had on the table in front of you.

“You know how that will end,” Armin’s voice, your chief advisor, broke the silence of the room in a hoarse tone. He was as sorry as you were, that was certain. “You will find nothing but disappointment and bitterness on the other side of the sea, child.”

You raised your hand, dipping it into the open trunk you had been staring at. The inside was filled with shiny rings of different shapes, colors, and materials. You lifted your hand, letting the rings fall between your fingers like grains of sand tinkling in the night.

“I know,” you admitted, staring as the rings slipped from your fingers without you trying to stop them. You needed to start thinking about which ones you would take and which ones you would throw into the fire once you returned, as a final step to removing any memories they might hold with their meaning. “But I think it’s what I need, Ar. I don’t think I can do what I need to do without seeing whatever awaits me there, no matter how much it embitters my heart and breaks it. I will heal it with the freedom of my people and the fire of my dragons.”

You whispered as if afraid to hear yourself speak, but Armin heard you anyway.

Armin didn’t say anything about that, and you knew he wasn’t sure of your decision. But you also knew that he had followed you into the volcanoes when you were both slaves, and you sought freedom by force. And then he had accompanied you across the sea from the volcanic islands, on the backs of your dragons, and on the conquest of Slaver’s Bay.

At this point, there was little trust to build between you, and if you didn’t do what you said you would do, he would remind you of the truth. One way or another, you both shared a goal, and he would follow you to the Night Court, to your Fey, to finish what you knew no one expected you to accomplish.

Before sunrise, you chose the rings and put them in a small cloth bag that you tied and closed with a knot. You fastened it to the belt of your riding habit and decided to leave the trunk with the rest of them by the fire, to never forget the truth.

(Behind your back, Armin ordered the trunk to be moved after you left that morning on Balerion's back, heading in the direction of the Night Court. It was done a few hours before the emissaries arrived, who would later deliver it to their guests at the House of Wind. The trunk did not return to that room.)

TAG LIST: @pinksmellslikelove @saltedcoffeescotch

Next Part: (1.) THREADS OF TIME.

#acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #feyre archeron x reader #rhysand x reader #feysand x reader #poly!feysand x reader #feyre archeron #rhysand #acotar fic #feysand #friends to lovers #strangers to lovers #second chance love #fated mates #mates #dragons

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klaus-littlestwolf · 3 months ago

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Klaus M. Moodboard

A Wolf’s Perfect Mate Fic Board

A Wolfs Perfect Mate Pt.1

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dropofbittersea · 11 months ago

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Derek comes home to find an abandoned werebaby on his front porch and Stiles volunteers to help him out. Surprisingly, that is just the beginning of his problems.

#derek hale #sterek #stiles stilinski #fanfic #teen wolf #ao3 #multichapter #fake dating #fated mates #alpha!derek #alpha derek hale #magic!stiles #magic stiles #kid fic

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climbthemountain2020 · 15 days ago

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To Know That I'm With You - Chapter 1

Ch. 1/25 | Ao3

After Feyre Archeron's abrupt disappearance from the manor, Nesta is effectively sold to the Mandrays to save face. With one sister waiting patiently to start her own life and the other inspiring Nesta to seek more for herself, she flees into the woods. But fate has a tricky way of picking the Archerons up and setting them down exactly where they belong.

This is the second work in the (Au)rcheron Sisters series. To read Feyre’s story, start here with Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met.

If you don’t want to read the entire work, at least read the bonus chapter here so you know what’s happening with Cassian before this work begins.

Thank you @popjunkie42 and @witch-and-her-witcher-- I love you!

Thirteen Years Ago

Nesta had lost Feyre.

The knowledge pounded through her bloodstream like the beating of a drum, each pulse echoing the sentiment and shaking her down to her bones.

You lost her.

One job, and you lost her.

The woods blurred around her as she pressed on, the normally beautiful reds, oranges, and golds of the season around her falling by the wayside as she called out again.

“Feyre! Feyre, please!”

Nesta pushed wisps of hair back off her sweating forehead, despite the chill in the air. She’d taken off without even a cloak when she’d realized Feyre had gone missing, noting that the sun was already well past the midpoint of the sky and sinking fast in these late October days.

“ Feyre! ” Her small voice echoed through the trees as she ran, a mass of birds departing from a nearby tree and startling Nesta so badly she nearly tripped, hand reaching out blindly to steady herself against a tree as the crows cawed violently in departure.

“You will not cry. You will not .” She gritted the words out as she righted herself.

What would her mother say? To know she’d not only lost her sister out in the woods surrounding their manor but that she was now shedding tears for her failure. Nesta knew exactly what she would say, actually.

Elain would never . The voice was her mother’s. Always her mother’s.

And it was correct. Elain, perfect Elain, would never. Only 18 months younger, barely eight years old, and already a better everything , as their mother and grandmother so often liked to point out.

See how she speaks to the boys, Nesta? Why can’t you be warm and inviting that way? See how Elain completes her studies early, Nesta? Yet they’re so much better than yours? She’ll make a lovely wife and mother one day, Nesta. And what will you be then?

Nesta scoffed. Then why couldn’t Elain be tasked with watching their near-feral youngest sister? She could practically feel Grandmother’s whipping branch across her knuckles, the soles of her feet, as she ran. She knew what was coming if she was found out, if they realized she’d let Feyre run off again. She let it fuel her.

Feyre had become her responsibility in the last year or so, especially in the past few months since their mother had taken sick. There had been no room for arguments, her mother had told her. She was old enough now, and Feyre had become too difficult for the nursemaids to attend at all times. Nesta understood that sense of duty, knew that it was only the first in a series of many to come in her life.

Many conversations of its kind had been had since the illness had seized her mother, and Nesta tried not to spend too long ruminating on what it meant. She knew what it meant–their mother would not recover from this. Though Nesta wasn’t sure that Elain or Feyre had any inkling of what was to come. Still, Nesta had repeatedly been pulled into the room that smelled of herbs and antiseptic, her mother still all sharp and jagged edges as she took whatever slim dregs remained of Nesta’s childhood and replaced them with expectations for the future.

She would marry young, fulfil her duties as a good wife. Nesta had sat, still and stiff as a board, as her mother had clinically explained to her what those duties entailed in great detail.

Nesta had found her voice in the dark, though it was small, though it shook. “But I don’t want that.” Her mother wasn’t too weak to land a sharp slap across Nesta’s face, on the cheeks still rounded with the gleam of youth.

“It doesn’t matter what you want, you foolish child. It’s what you were bred for. And it’s what you’ll do.”

“Yes, Momma.”

On top of it all, there had been countless forced oaths in the dark, to take care of her sisters, to take care of the house.

“Soon, Nesta, you will be the lady of the house. And it will all fall to you. It cannot be in your nature to fail, or the rest of them will fail with you. Do you want that?”

“No, Momma.”

And what had she done? Immediately lost Feyre.

Failed.

Failed the test before it had hardly begun.

The sun was sinking fast now, the dim, gray glow of evening against the dark gray thunderheads in the distance. Time was running out, and Nesta began to run again.

“Feyre, come on! Please–”

The first moment she was airborne, Nesta’s mind refused to catch up with what was happening. She blinked once, then hit the ground with a deafening crunch. Her yelp was drowned out by the dry leaves crushed around her as her body rolled so fast that her limbs tossed out limply, unable to grasp anything, her mind sluggish in response.

She slammed against something hard, the pause so jarring she felt it in her teeth. The world was spinning, the sky above her twisting and twirling with leaves in the wind against the gray backdrop. She gasped in a single deep breath, blurred eyes seeking long enough to realize she’d rolled down a steep, rocky incline and a fallen log had stopped her descent at the bottom.

And then the pain hit.

Nesta turned her head and vomited, the pain in her ankle so suddenly overwhelming that she couldn’t see anything else except blinding white light. She exhaled through her nose, wrenching her eyes shut and gritting her teeth so hard she worried they would crack. As the wave of pain crested and ebbed, she forced her eyes open again. The sky above remained unchanged, but the energy around her crackled with her newfound panic.

She was deep in the woods alone, unprotected, and badly injured. No one knew where she’d gone because she hadn’t wanted to get in trouble for losing her sister.

No one was coming to find her.

The branches above her rustled in the wind, scraping together and causing the leaves near her to shuffle around. It sounded like footsteps, but Nesta pulled her lips between her teeth, biting hard enough that she tasted blood.

She knew the stories of the woods from her nursemaid, the tales told to scare little girls like her and her sisters from venturing too far off. Nesta was old enough now to know the real dangers of this world–poverty, illness, and men– but these woods were old and her sudden immobility had brought her right back to those stories, the tree limbs around her stretching out like the claws of whatever beasts lurked in the darkness.

She inhaled deeply, then let the breath release through her nose. She needed to sit up, try to brace her ankle somehow. By tending to Feyre, of course, she’d learned how to treat most basic injuries. If she could find a sturdy stick as a splint, she could rip ribbons from her dress and bind it. Perhaps it would be enough to hold while she hobbled home. She tried to shove away the thought that she’d been wandering for well over an hour searching for Feyre before falling. She was deep in these woods now.

She summoned her will, rolling to the side as much as she could without jostling her leg and pushing her torso up to lean against the fallen log. Her eyes were still closed, her breath uneven and her skin slicked with a cold sweat. Distantly, she wondered why she’d stopped hurting as much. She’d heard stories from the guards of fighters pressing through an injury on sheer adrenaline, feeling nothing until later.

She forced her eyes open, made herself look at her ankle and immediately wished that she hadn’t. The second her eyes settled on the injury–much, much worse than she’d ever imagined–the pain consumed her. She retched again, the remainders of her lunch from hours before hitting the ground beside her as she fought off the blackening edges of her vision. The bone jutted from her skin, glimmering white beneath swaths of vibrant, unmissable red. She would not be splinting this. She would not be walking from these woods.

The breaking of a twig behind her knocked her from her spiral, but the twisting of her body to see the origin of the sound caused enough pain to make her cry out again.

She bit back the gag this time, already noting her face covered in shining tears. If something were here to kill her, she would die with the dignity she’d been bred to hold at all times.

But Nesta hadn’t been prepared for what emerged from the woods, stepping across the clearing in front of her as though it was sizing her up. It was a woman, or at least, some semblance of one. She stood about medium height, the slender form of her covered in tattered robes that shifted with an unnatural fluidity too smooth for the wind that blustered through the trees. Her hair was white and long, tendrils floating in that same unearthly way, holding onto the currents of wind languidly, slowly, in a way that screamed other.

“Who are you?” Nesta whispered across the clearing, her heart pounding so hard she feared it might leap from her chest. She thought she sounded more like a child than she could ever remember, clearing her throat and wincing at the immature croak of it. But the crone’s surprise was evident on her face, even with a strange, archaic mask flickering on and off of it like the flame of a candle.

The edges of her seemed strangely blurred, no real delineating features to determine where her body ended and the air around her began. Her hands were strange, the glow of them like the moon shining off her skin, despite the dying light of day still around them. She held a basket in one hand, a lantern in the other, the coarse, twisted fingers twitching with a restless energy despite both already tending to something.

“Who are you?” Nesta demanded again, hoping there was more strength in her voice this time.

The woman cocked her head to the side, observing Nesta through the strange, flickering mask. Beneath it, the woman’s skin looked made of bark and stone, craggled and ridged and moving with each twitch of her face. Her eyes were depthless pits of darkness in her face that seemed to suck any remaining light from the space between them.

And they were fixed directly on Nesta.

“You can see me?” The voice was strange, and it made Nesta ache in a way she was unfamiliar with. Her body wanted to run, her mind wanted to stay. It sounded like the voices of many, young and old and ageless, deep and light and haunting. Nesta had the feeling that the stories from her nursemaids might not have all been tall tales, and that this creature before her might be far older than her mind could comprehend. Might be more ancient than the woods surrounding them, even.

“Am I not supposed to?” To that, the crone smiled, jagged teeth causing Nesta to inhale sharply.

“What do you see, child?”

Nesta hesitated. “Is this…is this some sort of trick?”

“Humor me,” the crone hissed.

And Nesta did, reciting back to her exactly how she saw her, down to the deep purple stitching of her tattered robes, dulled by time and use. She left no details out, wanting to rise to the expectations, even if they might be her last. The crone took her in as she did, empty eyes somehow raking over every inch of Nesta’s body even as it shook and trembled with pain, adrenaline, and shock. When she finished, she was met with the strangest sense of approval from the woman.

“You are out here alone?”

Nesta knew she shouldn’t answer, but she did anyway, a curt nod.

“Haven’t you been warned these woods are dangerous?” Another flash of those fangs, the lantern illuminating her face even more now as the light disappeared from the sky. Nesta lifted her chin.

Death with dignity.

But the crone did not step closer, didn’t move at all save for the gruesome smile still splitting across her cracked and earthen face. Then, those depthless eyes flashed, a shock of blinding light falling across the woods and Nesta. The crone dipped her head back to Nesta, eyes glowing with a paranormal white mist. The crone’s voice twisted, warping into something deep– a cacophony of discordant sound as her mouth opened to speak the words across the clearing to Nesta.

The three-faced goddess, three gifts bestowWith bloodline certain, but not yet knownEach with a gift from times of auldOne life, one death, one rebirth told

The wheel of fates begun to spin,A binding of souls, the veil is thinnedAll hinged upon the thread of worth,Each choice will mark the role’s true birth

No stars shall shine without the Night,No Day shall break without the sight.No Bloodshed clears without the flame,A cleansing fire to purge the claim

So heed the call, the fearsome tales,Or else the dark fates should prevailThe Cauldron spurn, the fire will burn,And from the dust, all things return

Nesta was speechless, the words bouncing through her consciousness as the witch before her blinked, coming back into herself and letting the milky mist recede from her eyes.

“Your sister is beneath your bed, painting on the wooden beams that support it.” The witch’s lips twitched up into an almost-smile at the admission.

Nesta sputtered, confusion and relief rising and warring in her throat.

Safe. Feyre was safe.

But Nesta was still stuck here, the darkness all but covering the woods now, the small clearing only illuminated by the shaky glow of the lantern. Then Nesta felt a warmth embrace her leg. The witch hadn’t moved from her spot across the small clearing, but it felt as though there were hands gently caressing her skin, as though asking for permission. Nesta nodded, the stretch of the long-dried tears itching at her face with the movement. With a gasp and a sharp sting, the sensation was entirely gone. Nesta glanced down to find her leg completely healed, the bone protruding from it nothing but a horrific memory and a small crescent shaped scar. She lifted her foot and rotated the ankle, feeling nothing out of the ordinary.

When she looked back up again, the witch had already begun to slip back into the trees.

“Until we meet again, Nesta Archeron.”

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acotar fics #acotar au #fated mates #acotar retelling #cassian #acotar cassian #nessian #nesta archeron #to know that I'm with you #nesta and cassian #nesta x cassian #somehow not the worst hike when compared to canon #what if Prythian had an Appalachian Trail #your eyes whisper have we met

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nicolettesdreamworld · 20 days ago

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Bound by moonlight - part 2

So i decided to make it a few-part mini series. I might make more series revolving about these two because there are so many alternative universes in which Nicolette and Klaus are in love and I love them in every single one of them lol

“I have to go,” Nicolette said suddenly, her voice tense as her fingers moved deftly to braid her blonde hair. It was a practical act, but Klaus couldn’t help noticing the way the golden strands caught the morning light.

Klaus groaned, leaning back against the armrest of the couch, his lips curling into a half-smirk. “And just like that, you ruin the moment. Must you be so dramatic?”

Nicolette shot him a glare, grabbing the hem of the shirt he’d lent her—a shirt that hung far too loosely on her frame. “I’ll mail you the clothes or something,” she muttered, already heading toward the door.

He chuckled softly, his voice dropping to a velvet murmur as he called after her. “Shall I stock the fridge for your next visit, then?”

She paused mid-step, turning to face him with a stern look. “There will be no next visit.”

Klaus pushed himself to his feet, his movements unhurried, like a predator who knew the chase wasn’t over. His eyes locked onto hers with that disarming mix of amusement and intensity. “You may try, love. Try your hardest to reject this… to reject me.”

His voice softened, but the confidence in his words cut through the air like a blade. “But it doesn’t change the truth of what we both know. When the full moon rises again, you’ll find yourself here. At my doorstep. Drawn to me, as if by some unseen force.”

Nicolette’s jaw tightened, her resolve flickering for the briefest moment under the weight of his words.

“Keep dreaming, Klaus,” she said, spinning on her heel.

As she walked out, Klaus smiled to himself, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Oh, I will, love. But don’t be surprised when my dreams become your reality.”

A month had passed, and Klaus hadn’t seen her. Not a single glimpse. He didn’t even know her name, which meant there was no way to find her. Not that he’d tried.

Why would he? She was just a girl.

Who was destiny to tell him what he should do? He was Klaus Mikaelson, for bloody hell’s sake. The big, bad hybrid. The one who couldn’t be killed. The one who inspired fear with a mere whisper of his name. He wouldn’t bow to anyone—least of all to something as intangible and fickle as fate.

And yet...

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t silence the whispers of her in his mind. The way she had looked at him, her blue eyes burning with defiance. The curve of her smile, the softness of her voice. Her hair, her skin—everything about her lingered like a ghost, haunting him in the quiet hours.

But Klaus Mikaelson did not pine. He did not yearn. He was above such trivialities. Or so he told himself.

When the full moon arrived, though, there was no ignoring the subtle flutter in his chest. He brushed it off, told himself it was anticipation—an instinct to prepare, nothing more.

Still, he’d gone out of his way. He’d picked up the best cuts of steak he could find, though he’d told himself it hardly mattered to a wolf. He cut them into neat, bite-sized pieces, just in case. He’d even taken the time to set up the guest room for her, not wanting her to sleep on the couch again.

He told himself it was nothing. He was simply a good host. That was all.

But when the familiar scratching came at his front door, Klaus froze. His heart, traitorous and unbidden, hammered against his ribcage.

He inhaled deeply, willing himself to exude calm as he crossed the room. “It’s just a wolf,” he muttered under his breath. “A guest, nothing more.”

Yet, as his hand reached for the doorknob, a slow smile tugged at his lips. No amount of reasoning could disguise the truth.

She was here.

And he’d been waiting.

The smile vanished the moment he opened the door.

Her pristine white fur was smeared with blood, matted and torn in places. She staggered forward before collapsing onto the porch, a pitiful whine escaping her throat. Klaus’s chest tightened as he knelt beside her, his sharp eyes tracing the jagged claw marks and bite wounds that marred her coat.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, his voice low but laced with urgency. Without hesitation, he scooped her up, cradling her injured form in his arms.

Her blood stained his shirt, but he didn’t care. He carried her to the guest room, laying her gently on the bed, her labored breaths the only sound breaking the silence.

Klaus bit into his wrist, the sharp sting barely registering as crimson blood welled to the surface. He pressed his wrist to her snout, his tone soft yet commanding. “Drink, love. It’ll heal you.”

She whimpered, turning her head away.

Klaus frowned, his patience tested but his concern outweighing his frustration. “Don’t be stubborn,” he muttered. “You’re hurt. My blood will fix it.”

Still, she refused, her blue eyes half-closed but resolute. He exhaled sharply, muttering under his breath before retreating to the bathroom. He rummaged through the cabinet until he found a first aid kit and returned to her side.

Tending to her wounds was no easy task. Her fur made it difficult to clean the injuries properly, and her occasional flinches didn’t help. But Klaus was nothing if not determined. For over an hour, he worked meticulously, dabbing away blood and carefully disinfecting each cut.

When he finally finished, he leaned back in the chair he’d pulled to her bedside, his gaze softening as he studied her. Her breathing had steadied, though her injuries still made her look far too fragile for his liking.

Reaching out, he gently ran his hand over her head, smoothing down the soft fur between her ears. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you again.”

Her eyes flickered open briefly, just long enough for him to catch a fleeting look of gratitude—or was it trust?—before she drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

Klaus leaned back, his fingers absently tracing patterns in the blanket. For the first time in centuries, he found himself hoping that fate—annoying and insistent as it might be—knew what it was doing.

Klaus spent the night in the armchair by the bed. He’d considered leaving the room, but the thought of her in this vulnerable state kept him rooted in place. Still, he wanted to respect her space. He knew she wouldn’t appreciate him sharing the bed uninvited, no matter how noble his intentions.

Even in the chair, sleep eluded him. Every whimper, every subtle shift of her injured form jolted him awake. He found himself watching her intently, his sharp eyes scanning for any sign of distress.

It was in one of these restless moments that he witnessed the transformation again.

Her white fur melted away, her form shifting and elongating until the wolf disappeared entirely, leaving behind the woman he’d met a month ago. Blonde hair spilled across the pillows in disarray, framing her pale, delicate features. Her brows furrowed, as if she were lost in a troubled dream, and as the sheets slipped slightly, the deep, angry gashes on her back came into view.

Klaus’s chest tightened at the sight. He leaned forward, his movements careful and deliberate, and reached for the blanket. Gently, he pulled it up, draping it over her exposed shoulders and hiding the wounds from view.

For a moment, he hesitated, his hand lingering near her hair. Her breathing was steady now, a soft rise and fall that gave him some semblance of peace.

“You’re safe,” he murmured, though the words were spoken more to himself than to her.

And as he leaned back in the armchair, his eyes never leaving her, he knew for sure that something far greater than chance had brought her to his doorstep—wounded, fierce, and utterly unforgettable.

Klaus stayed by her side for hours, unable to tear his gaze away. Every time her brows furrowed, he leaned forward, his fingers brushing lightly across her forehead as if to smooth the worry from her dreams. Every time she shifted and the blanket slipped, exposing even the smallest patch of her skin, he tugged it back into place—not just out of respect but because the thought of her being cold unsettled him.

Still, when the first rays of dawn crept through the curtains, Klaus wasn’t there.

Nicolette stirred, a groan escaping her lips as pain shot through her body. Her eyes fluttered open, taking in the unfamiliar room. Panic flickered briefly in her chest until her gaze landed on the note on the bedside table.

She reached for it, her movements slow and deliberate, and read the scrawled words:

You came by last night. Something had attacked you. You’re at my house. You don’t need to worry. —Klaus

She exhaled softly, relief mingled with confusion. Her eyes drifted around the room again, landing on the neatly folded bathrobe at the foot of the bed. Biting back another groan, she pushed herself forward, pain rippling through her back as she reached for the robe. It wasn’t easy, but she managed to slip it on, tying it tightly to cover her bare skin.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.

“Come in,” she called, her voice strained and hoarse.

The door creaked open, and there he stood—Klaus, carrying a plate piled with eggs, bacon, and sausages. His expression was unreadable, though his movements were deliberate as he approached and set the plate down on the bedside table.

Her blue eyes locked onto his with a defiant glint.

“Eat,” he said simply, his voice calm but firm. “You need the strength.”

For a moment, she hesitated, her pride warring with the gnawing hunger in her stomach. Then, with a quiet huff, she picked up a fork and began to eat.

Klaus watched her intently, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression softening just enough to betray his relief. “Good,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Nicolette glanced up at him between bites, her brows furrowing again. She wasn’t used to anyone caring, let alone someone like him. And yet, as strange as it felt, it didn’t feel entirely wrong.

Klaus settled back into the armchair, his sharp gaze never leaving her. He rested his elbow on the armrest, leaning his chin against his knuckles, a faint crease forming between his brows.

“Do you remember anything about last night?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with a quiet urgency.

Nicolette shook her head, her blonde hair brushing against the robe’s collar. “I never do,” she admitted, her voice soft but steady. “I don’t think any werewolf does.”

He nodded slowly. Of course, he knew that. The curse of the wolf, losing oneself to the beast every full moon. But even with that knowledge, his mind churned. He couldn’t stop wondering who had done this to her. Who could hurt her like this?

“You look like you could use some sleep,” she said, attempting a small joke to deflect, though her voice faltered slightly. The pained expression she tried to hide didn’t escape him.

Klaus tilted his head, his lips curving into a faint, knowing smirk. “What’s your name?” he asked, ignoring her attempt to shift the focus.

Her hand hesitated mid-air, a piece of bacon poised on her fork. She studied him, her blue eyes searching his face. She knew exactly who he was, what he was. The danger that came with his name was practically legend.

But somehow, deep down, she also knew he’d sooner die than lay a hand on her in harm.

“Nicolette,” she said at last, her voice steady despite her hesitation.

Klaus leaned forward, the faintest flicker of relief softening his expression. He tested the name silently on his tongue before speaking it aloud.

“Nicolette,” he repeated, his voice low and deliberate, like a promise.

The way he said it sent a shiver down her spine, though she wasn’t entirely sure why.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The room was quiet, save for the faint sound of her fork against the plate and the occasional crackle of wind against the windowpane.

“Rest, love,” he said after a while, his tone softer than before. “We’ll talk more when you’re feeling stronger.”

She nodded, though she didn’t entirely trust herself to speak. As he leaned back in the armchair, his watchful eyes lingering on her, Nicolette couldn’t help but feel that something about this man—dangerous as he was—made her feel safer than she’d been in years.

Nicolette set the plate on the bedside table, her appetite fading as exhaustion crept in. She leaned back into the pillows, her body sinking into the soft mattress. But even as she settled, she didn’t close her eyes. Instead, she kept watching him, her piercing blue gaze steady and unyielding.

Klaus noticed, of course. He always noticed.

“I cleaned all the wounds I could find,” he said after a beat, his voice calm yet deliberate. “But we should probably bandage you up properly. Unless, of course, the human version of you is less stubborn and you’ll let me heal you with my blood.”

He arched a brow, his tone both teasing and coaxing, though the concern in his eyes gave him away.

Nicolette shook her head, her jaw tightening.

“I thought as much,” Klaus muttered, leaning back in the armchair with a resigned sigh. His lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smirk. “Stubborn as ever, I see.”

She didn’t respond, but her lips curved slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if she took pride in her defiance.

For a moment, silence filled the room, a quiet tension lingering between them. Klaus’s gaze flickered to the gashes on her back, visible just beneath the robe’s collar. His fingers tapped lightly on the armrest, his mind clearly still on the injuries she refused to let him fully heal.

“You know,” he said, his voice soft but edged with that familiar hint of charm, “it’s not weakness to accept help, love. Even wolves need a pack sometimes.”

Nicolette gave a quiet huff, her eyelids drooping slightly as the exhaustion overtook her. “I don’t have a pack,” she murmured.

Klaus tilted his head, his expression softening ever so slightly. “Perhaps not,” he replied, his voice a murmur, almost to himself. “But you’re not alone now.”

Her eyes closed then, her breathing slowing as she drifted off. Klaus leaned forward slightly, his gaze lingering on her as if silently vowing to ensure her safety—whether she liked it or not.

Whenever Nicolette woke, Klaus was there. Whether seated in the armchair or leaning casually against the doorframe, his sharp eyes were always watching her, ensuring she drank enough water and ate enough food to regain her strength.

By evening, after hours of persistence and a steady stream of charm, he finally convinced her to let him bandage her wounds.

The damage to her body was worse than he’d initially thought. The claw marks and bites had torn deeply into her skin, leaving angry, jagged reminders of whatever had attacked her. He worked carefully, his movements deliberate and precise as he applied ointment to her back, stomach, arms, and legs.

Though he couldn’t deny his curiosity, he was careful to avert his gaze from anything she didn’t explicitly allow. Respectful, yet ever the enigma, Klaus managed to balance tenderness with his usual self-assured presence.

“You look a bit like a zombie,” he said, breaking the silence with a playful smirk as he secured the last bandage.

Despite herself, Nicolette smiled, a faint laugh escaping her lips. “That’s one way to make me feel better,” she said, her voice tinged with dry amusement.

Klaus leaned back, the corner of his mouth lifting in satisfaction at her reaction. “If it makes you smile, love, I’d happily insult you all day.”

Her smile lingered, but her expression grew more serious as she leaned against the pillows, her eyes flitting toward the window. “I’ll get out of your hair as soon as I’m strong enough,” she murmured.

Klaus stilled, then leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. “I quite prefer you in my hair, actually,” he replied smoothly, his smirk deepening as his blue eyes met hers.

She blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected flirtation, and felt heat rising to her cheeks. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, shaking her head, though the small smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

“We need to figure out how to keep you safe,” Klaus said, his voice low but resolute as his eyes lingered on her.

Nicolette lay back against the pillows, one of his shirts hanging loosely on her frame, the sheets drawn up over her legs. She met his gaze with a mixture of defiance and weariness.

“I got into a fight, I lost. It’s not a big deal,” she said with a shrug, though the wince that followed betrayed her bravado.

Klaus’s expression darkened, his brows furrowing as he leaned forward, the weight of his presence filling the room. “You could have died,” he said, his voice firm but edged with something deeper, something raw. “That is a big deal.”

Her blue eyes narrowed slightly, and she turned her head away, as though avoiding the intensity of his gaze would somehow lessen the weight of his words. “It happens,” she murmured. “We heal. We move on.”

“If people knew you were my mate, they wouldn’t—” Klaus began, his tone firm but earnest.

Nicolette cut him off sharply, her blue eyes blazing as she sat up straighter against the pillows. “I’m not a thing you can declare as yours,” she snapped, her voice cold and unwavering.

Klaus froze for a moment, caught off guard by the steel in her voice. Then, as if recovering from the blow, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Is that so?” he drawled, his tone laced with mock amusement, though his gaze betrayed a flicker of hurt. “And here I thought I was offering you protection, not possession.”

Her jaw clenched, and she folded her arms, wincing slightly at the movement. “It’s the same thing coming from someone like you,” she retorted.

Klaus chuckled, low and dark, the sound filling the space between them. “Ah, love,” he said, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “You mistake my intentions. Declaring you as mine wouldn’t diminish your strength. It would warn others not to test it.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but the weight of his words stopped her short. His gaze bore into hers, the intensity of it both unnerving and captivating.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles, Klaus,” she said finally, her voice softer but no less determined.

“And I don’t plan to,” he replied smoothly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “But I’ll be damned if I let anyone think they can harm you without consequence.”

Nicolette exhaled slowly, her posture relaxing slightly. “This doesn’t mean I’m yours,” she muttered, though her tone lacked its earlier bite.

Klaus tilted his head, his smirk returning, this time with a hint of mischief. “No,” he said softly, his voice like a caress. “But it doesn’t mean you’re not.”

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad is your pain?” Klaus asked, his tone casual but his eyes watchful as he leaned back in his chair.

“The sound of you breathing is pissing me off, so take a guess,” Nicolette shot back, her lips twitching as if suppressing a smile. Her tone wasn’t biting; it was the kind of jab meant more for her own amusement than his annoyance.

Klaus smirked, unfazed. “The sound of my breathing pisses you off even when you’re not in pain,” he quipped. “So I’ll ask again—on a scale of one to ten, how bad is your pain?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t entirely hide the warmth creeping into her expression. “Like a four when I don’t move,” she admitted with a sigh, “and an eight when I do.”

Klaus nodded thoughtfully, his smirk fading into a softer, more serious expression. “Then you’d best stay still, love. Can’t have you making it a ten just to prove a point.”

Nicolette gave a small huff, her gaze narrowing slightly as she shifted against the pillows. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“Always,” he replied smoothly, his smirk returning in full force. “Especially when it comes to you.”

Next part

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ldysmfrst · 9 months ago

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Breaking and Entering (7) - Lovren

Status: Ongoing Series

Chapter number: 7 of unknown

Word count for Chapter: 3,754

Word count for Story: 15,946

Genre: Werewolf

There are no chapter titles, but each chapter will have a name listed that indicates which POV the chapter is from. Mindlinks are in italics. Conversations with their inner wolf are in bold italics.

A little about the author: I am a mother of two beautiful children. One of which is special needs, and on 3/28, they lost 75% of their vision. I started a Patreon if you feel the heart to donate towards helping with the medical costs of appointments, medication, and modifications to the house, which insurance doesn't cover.

Warnings: (I am not good at this, but I will try. Let me know if I missed anything!!) NOT BETA READ!! This story will have a bit of angst, fluff, smut, f/m, and m/m. This chapter doesn't really have a warning, but there are pack dynamics at play (kinda), power struggle, anxiety, and mentions of criminal history and death.

BREAKING AND ENTERING MASTER LIST

LDYSMFRST MASTER LIST

That is it.

I am out of here.

I didn't run into anyone else when I made my way to my safe haven on the fourth floor. My mind raced to figure out who the boy with the jade-green eyes was.

As a high schooler, he holds some kind of power, but it differs from Mitchell's. He reminds me of my father and grandfather's feeling of power before they died.

All I know is that it gives me chills, and I need to stay away from that little troupe of people: Mitch, his lackeys, Selena, and her terrors.

Thankfully, for this semester, I do not have a class with any of them. I guess this orientation day was good for something. Tomorrow would be chaos due to a new block-type schedule. I want to understand why this high school has a day of academics alternating with a day of PE, health class, and self-defense.

God, my week will include places where I will soar and where I will be sore. At least this whole block schedule will give me time to do my homework and hopefully recover.

On a positive note, PE was an elective course, and I could take swimming, thank god. It would just be me and the water, allowing for a comfortable soreness to take over and another added sense of clarity and calmness.

I am not looking forward to the self-defense class. I mean, I can street fight, but sparing?

Is this how they do it in small towns like this?

Reaching my little corner of the library, I look down over the quad, my eyes wandering over the students. Absentmindedly, my hand goes to the gauze on my face as I find the boy with the jade-green eyes talking with Mitchell and the other lackey.

Selena hangs on Mitchell’s arm like an accessory while speaking animatedly to anyone who will listen. I wonder if she knows how much of what comes out of her mouth is filler for a much-preferred silence.

“Whoa!! What was that about?” I say to myself, pressing up to the glass.

I look around as the whole quad seems frozen in time. All eyes are on Selena, who is now on the ground with the lackey boys hovering over her.

“I am pretty sure that is because Selena thought she would impress them with her asserting dominance over you via your face,” a voice states as I jump out of my skin.

Spinning around, I finally saw who the voice belonged to. It was one of the bouncer-looking guys who walked around standing with his hands behind his back.

“The Healer told Mr. Moores that you were injured today by Selena, and though he cannot come, he asked me to check on you. Are you alright? You should have the healer look at it again tomorrow to ensure it is healing properly.”

“Damn. Of course, she told him,” I muttered, dropping my hand and looking at the floor. “It still hurts, but it is not the worst thing I have had happen to me.”

Fiddling with the hem of my hoodie and avoiding eye contact, I continued, “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was blocking her locker and should not have said what I said. Umm… it is really not that big of a deal.”

“Mr. Moores, and the boss, do not like it when violence happens on school grounds. Selena will be dealt with,” he chuckles, walking up to the glass near me. “Well, it looks like she may be getting her punishment now.”

Following his eyes down to the quad, I see Selena still on her knees, head lowered and shoulders shaking.

The jade-green-eyed boy stands over her, his whole body tense.

Mitchell stands to the side like he wants to be between them but can’t. He keeps looking back and forth like he is watching a tennis match.

The other lackey and the terrors hovered around them but kept a decent distance like he was trying to avoid getting pulled in.

Or is he trying to keep the terrors away?

“Why is she on her knees and is she crying? It's just a scratch. Not like she was trying to take my eye out, unless she missed.”

“Like, I said. Violence is not tolerated on school grounds, Miss Lovern. Now if you will follow me, I have been tasked to bring you Mr. Moore and the boss.”

“No. No, thank you. I have homework already, and I need to get back to the house before any other troubles happen.”

I walk over to my backpack, which I apparently dropped when startled.

Mumbling under my breath, “and lock myself in my room before Selena comes after me for this whole thing.”

“I don’t think locking yourself away will help, Miss Lovern. Unfortunately, the boss is insisting. He wants to check on you himself. After all, he is also the reason why you ended up here and not in Juvenile Hall.”

At that bit of information, I freeze.

“Now, if you will follow me, the office is not that far away,” he says as he directs me away from the glass towards the elevators. With a huff, I start walking.

Unknown to me, the man looks down to the quad, nods at the jade-green-eyed boy, and then joins me, walking to the elevator.

“Oh, Miss. This way, please. That elevator does not reach the office we are going to.”

“Excuse me, Mr?”

“Ivanov, Andrei Ivanov but you can call me Andrei. I think I saw you talking with my younger brother Erik?”

My eyes light up, recognizing Erik’s name. “Yeah, he was the one who, more or less, saved me from Selena and took me to the nurses', I mean Healer’s office. He and I have choir class together.”

I shake my head, “Wait, wait… Andrei, we are going into the key-card VIP and Mitchell’s lackeys only elevator?”

Letting out a barking laugh, Andrei nods: “I don’t know what is funnier. The fact my pup of a bro saved you from Selena or that you think Mitchell is the one who has the lackeys.”

He pulls out a small hard plastic key card with an outline of three wolves and swipes it, allowing the elevator doors to open. He holds the doors, standing to the side to allow me to enter first.

I step in with a nod of thank you to him. I look around the elevator, noting that it's glass and allows one to see all its inner workings. I muttered to myself, “That's wicked, but what is with all the glass?”

“Mr. Dishinko likes to make sure things are going to work. The only way to ensure that is to see how the cogs work. The glass allows anyone to see something not working in the elevator,” he states matter-of-factly as he selects the top floor.

“Just as the glass around this building allows for Mr. Dishinko, Mr. Moores, Mr. Barlowe, and the guard to see the town without any obstructions.”

It doesn’t take long to reach the top floor.

My presence is immediately known to everyone without the doors even opening. I feel several eyes on me.

Glancing around, I spot a few other men in black, and oh, great… it's Jonathan and Rachel. Standing with them near the elevator are two other men dressed in suits.

One stands slightly behind the other, and he looks like he could be a professor at a University. He is easily as tall as Jonathan, over six feet tall, but he doesn’t have the same broad shoulders. When our eyes meet, I feel a slight tingle of power, but it is nothing compared to the man standing in front.

I stepped out of the elevator at Andrei's gentle push, looked back at him briefly, and cursed him, in my mind, for bringing me into the lion’s den.

“Miss Lovren,” at my name, my body freezes as the depth of power washes over.

My eyes snap to the other suit-dressed man standing in front of everyone.

His light brown hair is shorter than everyone else's, leaving his sharp facial features clear to see. His eyes are deep green and remind me of the boy from the lobby and the quad. He is older than everyone else in the room but not old.

He has that aura of power I have only felt from my father. I have dealt with energy like this before, which has never ended well.

I immediately go into defense mode.

I hate feeling like prey.

“Lovren!” Rachel hisses at me, pulling my attention to her. “It’s rude to stare like that. Say hello to Mr. Dishinko, Jonathan’s boss, and well… umm…”

“I am more or less the Mayor of Lunar Ridge, Miss Lovren,” the man smiles, the energy backing off almost like a wave pulling back.

“Mr. Mayor,” I feel the need to bow since he is who he is, “I am sorry if I was rude. I just felt a bit cornered.”

“Ahh, yes. I can see how you would feel that.”

Ding

Jumping at the sound of the elevator, I spin around and back towards one of the outside walls. Putting space between myself and everyone.

My eyes lock with jade green eyes that exit the elevator. At this point, if I had hackles, they would be standing straight up.

“Mikhail, Aliaksandr, Mitchell, Selena, and Erik. Good, everyone is present. Let's go into the conference room. Rachel, get everyone something to drink on your way in.”

It takes a beat before anyone starts to move after the Mayor. However, the jade-eyed boy and I stand still, eyes locked.

It isn’t until Erik steps between us that I can look anywhere else.

“Ren, are you okay? Let’s go inside. Come on, you can sit next to me,” Erik says as he lightly takes my elbow and guides me into the conference room.

After some minor pleasantries and everyone taking seats, the connections between everyone are more apparent.

The Mayor has to be the jade-eyed boy's father as they sit at the head of the table.

The other lackey sits next to the jade-eyed boy with Mitchell. On the other side sits the Professor man, Jonathan, Rachel, and Selena. Erik follows his word and sits with me at the other end of the table. Standing next to the door is Andrei.

“Miss Lovren, do you know everyone here?” the Mayor asks.

“No, sir. I know my foster family, of course. I met Erik and umm, his brother Andrei today.” I say, glancing at the brothers quickly before continuing.

“I know Mitchell also because he is dating Selena and practically lives at the house with us,” I giggle out the last words due to nerves.

Feeling a hand on my forearm, I relax and look at Erik. He smiles at me softly, trying to comfort me. At this point, Erik and his brother seem to be the only relaxed people in the room.

“You know more than I expected after the reports about your nightly wanderings and residency you have taken in the library over the summer,” the Mayor says with a smile as I tense slightly.

“Oh don’t worry. You are not being followed but Jonathan and Andrei have a great team of guards that keep watch over Lunar Ridge, which includes you.”

“Lovren,” Jonathan says, “We are only keeping you safe. And… as your foster dad, I also want to make sure you settle in well and find your home here.”

“Oh…” this revelation shocks me. “Noone before really cared if I settled in. At my age, it's always been more about the paycheck.”

“We actually don’t get a paycheck for you,” Rachel chimes in, which causes my mouth to drop as I look at my current foster family.

“We heard about your story while attending a seminar. Some of that town’s guards talked about your ability to stand up to higher-ranking members of the city.” Jonathan explained.

“I inquired more, and it seems that your records show that you defy authority, commit crimes, and run away.”

I roll my eyes at him as he announces all of my shortcomings to the room.

“Lovren, I don’t believe any of it.” Jonathan declares with certainty, causing the room to focus on him intently.

“Why?” I ask with eyes narrowed, “What makes you think that?”

“I brought my concern to Stanislav, and we pulled all of your records,” he said, gesturing to the Mayor.

“We read over everything and discussed your behaviors with Christopher,” When Jonathan said his name, the professor nodded.

“We all agreed that your reactions would have been acceptable here at Lunar Ridge. Your defiance was towards those abusing their authority. The crimes you were charged with committing were self-defense. You ran away because it wasn’t safe for you to stay.”

Shock.

That is all that I can feel.

Looking around the table, I can see different reactions. Most are variations of concern, and they are all now focused on me.

I don’t know what to say, so I sit there with wide eyes and start picking at the sleeves of my hoodie again. I feel Erik shift beside me, leaning more against my arm, which oddly allows me to relax a bit more.

“Mr. Moores, umm.. Sir.” Erik timidly speaks up.

“Erik, stay out of this,” his brother cuts in.

Putting his hand up, the Mayor levels Andrei with a look of authority, causing him to drop his head down and to the side.

“Go on Erik, What is it you have to say?” Jonathan asks with honesty.

“Umm… You have shared some very… ah, sensitive information about Ren, but this doesn’t explain why we have all been brought to the Counsel Quarters.” Erik states while he starts to pick at my hoodie sleeve with me.

“That is true, Erik. We are here to discuss a few things, such as additional introductions, apologies, and arrangements.”

“Hi, Miss Lovren. I am Dr. Christopher Barlowe, but you can call me Chris. I am the second in command for Lunar Ridge,” the professor man introduces himself.

Then he continues, “If you ever need a sounding board, advice, or help with any of your studies, you can contact me. I am also the Principal for Lunar High.”

So, the professor is the Principal, and a Doctor is on top of it. Well, that explains how he is dressed and his aura. “Hello, Principal Chris. My friends and professors call me Ren.”

He smiles at the fact that I am still using titles but am open enough to allow him to use a nickname.

“I have been more or less introduced,” the Mayor says. “My name is Stanislav Dishinko. Everything and anything that happens within the town borders gets reported to me. It helps me keep the town safe.”

Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulls out a small device and passes it to me. Once it reaches Selena, her eyes bug out, and her jaw drops as she passes it to Erik, who also seems taken back.

“You seem to enjoy reading and night walking. While normally this isn’t smiled upon, I trust Jonathan when he says you are a good kid.”

Pointing to the fob I now hold, he says, “That is a key fob that has been coded for the library levels of this building. Winter is coming, and the weather is going to get colder. This will allow you to enter the library when you are out at night. Just remember the guards will also be patrolling at night so that they might check in with you.”

I hold the fob tightly in my hand and smile at the ability to come and go from my safe place freely.

“Hey, Loven, you know me. Mitchell, but you can call me Mitch. I am a senior like you, captain of the soccer team, and I am training to be head of the guard once Jonathan retires.”

He glances briefly at Selena, “If you ever feel like you are in danger or anyone, and I mean Anyone, makes you feel like you are not safe or welcome here… please come and talk to me.”

Oh boy, that will cause some trouble with Selena, I think to myself.

Trying not to look at Selena, I can feel Erik’s shoulders jerk as he tries not to laugh. Under the table, I knock my leg into his to get him to hold it together.

“I am Aliaksandr but I guess you since we are using nicknames you can call me Alek. I am kind of like the brains of the operation. I tend to follow in Principal Chris’s footsteps. I am in charge of the school council and the debate team captain. I am here if you need anything… as your school council president or anything… at all.”

This time, I take a good look at him.

He has a broader nose than the others in the town and has long, dark blonde, almost brown hair and fair skin. While his face is on the rounder side, his shirt and shorts clearly show that he works out. What is interesting about Alek is the controlled level of energy coming from his almost white-blue eyes.

It is almost as if he knows that I am sensitive to other people’s energy and doesn’t want his energy to scare me away. This piqued my interest in seeing what he has behind his walls.

The sound of a chair scraping the floor pulls my attention from Alek to the jade-eyed boy. The room is now an eerie silence as you both stare each other down.

The boy bows at the waist without breaking eye contact, “My name is Mikhail Dishinko, son of Stanislave and Ekaterina Dishinko.”

He holds his bow as if waiting for something.

My only thought is to return the gesture. Standing from my chair, I curtsy in return, “Hello, Mikhail. I am Lovern. Daughter of the late Stefan and Jovana ermm… Well, I don’t know what our last name was. The police reports never said what it was.”

We both retake our seats, and the room is now more melancholy.

“Well, we all know I am Erik, and the muscle back there is my big bro, Andrei,” Erik says with a bright smile. “Now that introductions are over, what’s next?”

Looking at Erik, I smile softly and begin to think that having him as a friend isn’t such a bad idea.

“Ah, I think next was apologies,” I say, looking at Principal Chris. “I am sorry, Principal Chris, for causing an incident on the first day of school. I honestly di...”

“Wait a minute,” Mikhail interrupts me, all eyes focusing on him.

“Why are you apologizing to anyone?” he asks.

Looking at him and then around the room, I notice he is not the only one who seems confused. Even Selena seems baffled. “Why wouldn’t I? I blocked Selena’s locker, she made a comment that I reacted to badly by saying things I shouldn’t have said.”

Looking to the Principal again, “I need to apologize for my actions of disrespecting another student while on school grounds,” then look to Selena, “and apologize to you, Selena, for saying things that I should not have in the heat of the moment.”

“You have honor, Miss Lovren,” the Mayor comments. “That is a rare quality to find amongst people your age and even rarer with someone of your history. I like you.”

“Papa is right, Miss Lovren.” Mikhail agrees but turns a heated glare to Selena. “It seems that you have a grace and poise that not all of us have.”

I can visibly see Selena shrink in her seat under his gaze. Looking between them both, it amazes me that he would be so stern towards his friend’s girl. Glancing at Mitchell, I can see he is just as upset at Selena because he won’t even look up from the table.

With a sharpness to her voice, Rachel speaks, “Selena, don’t you have something to say for yourself in front of the council? To your foster sister Lovren?”

Nodding, Selena sits up straighter and looks at me with misty eyes, “Sorry, Lovren. I know I have not been the best at welcoming you to our home or to the school but I will try to be better.”

She glances over to Mikhail briefly before continuing, “I am also sorry for calling you a charity case and something my… our parents are using to look good for Mr. Dishinko.”

At that, Selena bows her head down, and to the side, her eyes cast downwards. I watch her and wait for something to happen; that is when I feel a powerful energy sweeping over me.

Looking back at the Dishinko men, I see that they are both watching me closely while everyone else is watching Selena. I can feel my own aura pushing back in response to them trying to keep me from drowning under the pressure.

I feel a breath in my ear before I hear Erik whisper, “You have to formally accept before anyone will move, Ren.”

Without dropping my eyes from the overpowering men at the other end of the table, I say, “I accept your apology Selena. Let us work on getting along better for the sake of everyone here.”

Now, there is almost an electric crackling in the air between the three of you. The whole table feels the energy pouring through the room.

Soon, it feels like the wave is going to crash over me, and I abruptly stand, breaking the concentration of the Dishinko men.

“If you will excuse me, I have to go and see the nurse again for my face,” I say as I grab my bag and head towards the door.

“My face is really starting to hurt, and I am getting dizzy from not eating lunch. Ah yeah… so I would love to continue this ermm… discussion at another time.”

With that, I bolted out the door.

Luckily, the elevator was still on the top floor.

Once I was inside, just as the elevator doors started to close, I could see Mikhail and Erik come barreling out of the door while calling my name. Unable to catch the door, all they could do was watch me in the glass elevator go down and then watch as I ran off the school grounds.

((edited on 9/14/24))

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