#recovered from her battle with herself

[tamedgod]

   haru is v much a wounded animal — she’ll lash out and punish those around her without communicating the root cause of her pain. and you can bet if she thinks she’s dying that she’s going to pick the most difficult place for you to find her, where she can collapse in the safety of being alone.

[a-menaceinpink]

ok so i've been pondering marie's powers and after these seven episodes i only have one remaining question: can she weaponize other peoples blood into swords/lassos/etc?

obvs she's got a similar power set to neuman so can bloodbend and all that so like. if the blood is on the ground, just out and about, could she do something with that? like if someone was killed near her could she use the blood and guts at hand to fight? instead of weakening herself by using her own blood?

[raven-dor]

you are my moonlight

In which gwayne hightower meets his future wife, and his timing is most unfortunate

PAIRING: gwayne hightower x reader, alicent hightower x PLATONIC!reader, rhaenyra targaryen x PLATONIC!reader

WARNINGS: fluff, young love, friends fighting, creepy viserys, horrible timing

WORD COUNT: 3.5k

🎶 : moonlight - ariana grande

AN: this could be read as a prequel to come back to me, but does NOT have to be read to understand any context!!

The tourney was in full swing, Y/N sitting eagerly on Rhaenyra’s left. The first two matches had finished rather similarly, with Sir Criston Cole being the winner. What the trio was actually waiting for was Prince Daemon’s match. It was all Rhaenyra had talked about for days and the fact that he’d gifted her a necklace of Valyrian steel, a rare and precious token that many in the realm could not afford. Of course, Rhaenyra and her family were the exception, as they were one of two of the only remaining High Valyrian houses left.  

The knights of the realm lined up before the Prince, the Master of Revels, announced the man himself. “Prince Daemon of House Targaryen, Prince of the City, will now choose his first opponent.” The prince rode down the line, inspecting each knight briefly. He quickly settled on Alicent’s brother, Ser Gwayne. “For his first challenge, Prince Daemon Targaryen chooses Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown, eldest son of the Hand of the King.” 

Alicent grew restless, picking at the skin surrounding her fingers. Y/N wished she could comfort the auburn haired girl herself, but Rhaenyra grabbed her friend's hand quickly, stopping her from further injury. The two men lined up on their respective sides, racing towards each other. 

Ser Gwayne released the first blow to the shock of the stands. Y/N beamed, though she did not know why. She hardly knew the knight, only hearing of him through Alicent when she recalled her childhood. The second round was quick, and at the last second, Prince Daemon lowered his joust in front of the horse's legs, causing it to topple over, taking Ser Gwayne with it. She gasped, a hand covering her mouth. She mumbled, knowing Rhaenyra would not stand for any untoward talk of her uncle. “By the seven.”

Ser Gwayne did not move, and Alicent grew more anxious by the second. Y/N reached her hand out, grasping Alicent's briefly. “He will be alright, Alicent, I know it.” The squires lifted him from the ground, walking him over to the medicine tent. He would be transported later to the sept, Y/N assumed. She would have to visit him and keep him company while he recovered. 

Prince Daemon approached the Royal apartment, and Rhaenyra instantly approached her uncle. “Nicely done, Uncle.” Alicent and Y/N followed suit, still squeamish from the clearly immoral act.

“Thank you, Princess.” Daemon nodded his head. “Lady Y/N.” 

“My Prince.” 

He turned to Alicent. “Now, I’m fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent. Having your favor would all but assure it.” Alicent walked away, and Daemon smiled once more at the ward of the crown. “Next tourney, my lady, I shall ask you.” 

Y/N laughed. “I look forward to that day, my Prince.” 

Alicent returned swiftly, placing her favor on the Prince’s joust. “Good luck, my Prince.” The three girls sat down, waving at the crowd. The tourney had turned sour near after, with three fights breaking out, all ending in death. The knights, who had never seen battle, were bloodthirsty from what she could tell.

Y/N grew nauseous quickly, begging Rhaenyra for pardon so that she did not grow sick. Rushing out of the royal apartment, she decided to visit Ser Gwayne while she still had the nerve. The tent was quiet, with the exception of a few masters concocting ointments. Y/N peaked around the corner, coming face to face with Alicent’s brother. She curtsied, bowing her head. “My lord.” He tried to sit up, but she quickly stopped him. “Please, there is no need to further harm yourself.” 

He smiled gratefully. “I must ask for your forgiveness, my lady; I do not remember meeting you.” 

“I am Y/N of House Hawthorne. A ward of the crown and a friend of your sister’s.” 

“A pleasure, my lady.” He tilted his head. “Has she sent you here then?” 

“Alicent remains at the tourney. I-” She blushed, realizing how foolish it sounded. “I saw your joust, and I wanted to see that you were well. For Alicent’s sake.” 

He nodded, a smirk growing on his lips. “For Alicent, of course. I must say, I have not heard of House Hawthorne.” She smiled, sitting beside him.

“We are located in the Westerlands, my lord, and are sworn to House Lannister.” She looked closer at his wound, wincing. “Your wound looks rather agitated still. Would you mind if I-” 

He shook his head quickly. “Please. I would be most appreciative.” 

She stood, sneaking a cloth and an herb she knew caused numbing. Wrapping it carefully, she dipped the cloth in water, tapping it lightly on his skin. “This should numb the pain, for now, my lord. I’ve known this herb to speed the healing process along quite nicely.” 

He hummed, closing his eyes. “How did you become so well acquainted with such knowledge?” 

“My mother was a trained healer, my lord.” 

“Please call me Gwayne.” He peeked through his eyelids, giving her a kind smile. “You’ve all but earned it.” 

“Very well, my lo- Gwayne.” She nodded. “If I can call you by your name, it is only fair that you call me by mine.” 

He scoffed. “Hardly. That would be highly improper.” 

She raised an eyebrow, still delicately tapping the cloth. “Opposed to what you have asked of me?” 

He nodded, steadfast. “You are a lady. You should be addressed as such.” 

Dipping the cloth back in the water, she laughed. “Hardly.” 

“Using my own words against me.” He laughed back. “My, you are a wonder.” 

“Y/N?” 

She froze, turning around quickly. For some reason Y/N felt guilty, caught even. But seeing Alicent stand at the end of her brother’s bed, her face as pale as the winter snow, made the girl forget her worries. Y/N dropped the cloth in the bowl, rushing to Alicent’s side. “What is it? What’s happened?” 

“The Queen. She’s-” Alicent leaned closer, whispering in her friend's ear. “She’s dead.” Y/N gasped.

“I-” Y/N turned back to Gwayne, waving quickly. “It was wonderful to make your acquaintance, my lord.” The two girls rushed off, leaving the knight thoroughly confused. 

“Call me-” The girl was out of the tent before he could finish his sentence.

The funeral was a somber affair, as to be expected. Alicent and Y/N stood close by to Rhaenyra, staring at the covered bodies. Syrax, the Princess’s dragon, stood at the top of the hill, waiting for its orders. They stood in silence for the better part of an hour before Prince Daemon whispered in Rhaenyra’s ear, no doubt telling her that she would have to be the one to give the order. 

A shiver ran down Y/N’s spine as her friend stepped forward, catching a sob. “D-” Rhaenyra took a deep breath, commanding her dragon. “Dracarys.” 

The yellow fury let out a great blast, effectively burning her mother and brother’s corpses. Rhaenyra turned away, unable to look at her deceased loved ones. Soon after, the crowd dissipated, leaving Rhaenyra, Y/N, and Alicent still standing by the sight. Y/N stayed back as Alicent approached their grieving friend.

“My lady.” 

Y/N turned, smiling lightly at the Hightower. “My lord.” 

“I believe last we met, I asked you to call me by my name.” He smirked. “Or am I mistaken?” 

She laughed quietly. “I believe the herb I applied made you hallucinate, my lord. You never said anything of the sort.” 

He laughed. “I’m sure you would never lie to me, so I shall take your word for it.” 

Y/N looked back at her friends, her heart aching. 

“She is an unlucky Princess,” Gwayne muttered. 

“Yes, indeed. Losing a parent is never easy.” 

“I am sorry.” Y/N turned back to the young knight, confusion etched on her face. “It is just- I assumed that with you being a ward of the crown-” 

“You would be correct. But it has been so long, I hardly remember what it was like to have parents.” 

He frowned. “That is horrible. I lost my own mother just a year ago.” He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she tried to ignore the shock that rang through her body. “It is never easy.” 

She shook her head, placing a hand delicately over his. “You are, unfortunately, correct.” 

A cough broke the pair apart, Y/N practically jumping at the interruption. “I could use some company on Dragonback.” Rhaenyra practically whispered. “Would you join me?” 

“Of course.” She turned back to Gwayne, curtsying quickly. “My lord.” 

The two girls walked up the hill, arm in arm. Alicent looked curiously at her brother. “What are you doing?” 

He whipped around, laughing at his sister. “Whatever do you mean?” 

“I only meant to say, you’ve taken a recent fascination in Y/N.” 

“Yes.” He nodded. “And your point?” 

Alicent smiled, shaking her head. “Merely a statement, brother.”

The palace gardens were in full bloom this time of year, and Y/N always found comfort in the little corner with a quaint fountain and an outlook of the ocean. Rhaenyra and she frequented this spot often in their youth, and Y/N needed respite from the high tensions at court. She’d been stuck on the same page for what seemed like hours when a voice broke through her focus. “We meet again.” Gwayne bowed his head, grinning much too widely. “My lady.” 

Y/N made no effort to stand, raising her eyebrows. “I am beginning to think, my lord, that you have been following me.” 

“Not that I am…” He started, sitting at the end of the cushioned chair that she occupied. “But if I was, it might have something to do with the fact that you are still not calling me by my name.” 

She laughed. “Is it that simple?” 

He nodded. “Quite. But do not worry yourself, I’ll wait.” His eyes sparkled. “My lady.” 

Y/N welcomed the challenge; she could sit there for hours, reading and ignoring the handsome knight. She glanced down at her book, ignoring his devilishly handsome smile. “You’ve read that page three times already.” She glared over the top, and he held his hands up in surrender, laughing. “Sorry.” 

She looked back down, flipping the page to prove a point. He sighed, standing and walking over to the daisies that bordered the fountain. Picking the fullest one he could find, he stopped in front of the girl, holding it out. “May I?” 

“I will not wilt at the sight of you because you are a lord.” She stood, closing her book. “I am not a flower like the thing you hold in your hand.” 

He nodded. “You are not.” He raised the daisy, tucking it behind her ear. “You are however, as pretty as one.” 

Her cheeks turned pink, and she murmured. “You flatter me, my lord.” 

“And why shouldn’t I? One should always flatter a beautiful woman when given the chance.” He smiled. “I believe calling me by my name shall suffice as thanks.” 

She scoffed, smacking his chest lightly. “You are quite confident, Gwayne.” 

“You’ll find-” He stopped, his smile brightening ten fold. “You said my name.” 

Y/N nodded, walking away. “I did.” 

He followed after, like a lost puppy. “What shall you do with the rest of your day, I wonder?” 

She shrugged. “I do not know, but it will most certainly be out of your presence.” 

He gasped, holding his chest. “You hurt my heart when you say such things.” 

She laughed, stopping and pretending to check him over. “However will you survive?” 

“I think it is terminal my lady.” 

“And what affliction have you caught, Ser Gwayne?” Y/N forced a giggle back, trying her hardest to behave seriously. 

“Lovesickness.” He sighed. “I’m afraid there is no cure.” 

She stepped closer, a pink dusting her cheeks. “I shall mourn you then.” 

“Well, I’m sure we could-” 

“Y/N!” 

Gwayne had never hated the Princess Rhaenyra more in his life than that moment. She was a generally tolerable girl, and a good friend to his sister, but in that moment she stood between him and you, and he wanted nothing more than to tell her to leave. He stepped away from you hesitantly, bowing quickly. “Princess.” 

The Targaryen made no effort to hide her humor at the situation. “I apoligize for the intrusion. Alicent and I were about to go to the Sept, and I did not want you to think we left you behind.” 

Y/N smiled brightly, waving disapointedly to the knight. “Feel better, my lord.”

Alicent tilted her head, yelling back at her brother. “Better? Are you quite well brother?”

Y/N yet again found herself in the gardens, but this time she was here for the soul purpose of seeing Gwayne. She wore her best dress, had her maid’s put her hair up intricately, and even applied some rouge. Not too much, she wouldn’t want people to think the wrong thing. She was a lady, as Gwayne never ceased to remind her. Sitting carefully on the cushioned chair, she positioned herself towards the entrance, waiting for the familiar mop of auburn hair to peek through. She’d begun to think he wouldn’t show when his familiar tenor broke through the tranquil silence. 

“My lady, I thought I would find you here.” She lowered the book, her stomach fluttering when his eyes widened slightly. “You look-” 

“Gwayne, I-” They both stopped, laughing at their ill timed words. “It seems that we cannot find a moment of peace.” 

He nodded, breaking the distance between them. “I have wanted to tell you something for quite some time now. I cannot seem to summon the words to leave me.” He laughed, but his nerves were evident. “It is just…” 

“Yes?” Y/N smiled, hating how nauseous she felt. 

“I wanted to say that-” 

A loud sob rang through the garden, pulling them out of their haze. Gwayne drew his sword, in case the sob resulted in any trouble. Y/N tried to round the corner before him, but he shook his head, leading her carefully through the hedges. 

“Rhaenyra?” Y/N quickly left her place behind Gwayne, rushing to her friends side. “Are you alright?” 

“She’s betrayed me. I cannot- I can’t-” The princess looked up, glaring at the knight. “Can we go some place else?” 

Y/N nodded, her face visibly disappointed. She walked Rhaenyra out of the gardens, sparing Gwayne one last look, mouthing the words ‘I’m sorry.’

The castle had been throw off it’s axis by the sudden shift within it’s walls. Rhaenyra was no longer speaking to Alicent, which meant Y/N was no longer speaking to Alicent, which meant that the once close knit group of friends were no longer a trio. 

It had been that way since they were children, almost ten years ago. Y/N not speaking to Alicent meant she could not speak to Gwayne, or so she assumed. She and Rhaenyra had not talked about it much since the day it was announced, always leaving a sour taste in the Princess’s mouth. 

Y/N just wished Rhaenyra could forgive her friend for something she had no control over. The Royal Wedding was tonight, and Rhaenyra had insisted that Y/N walk in with the princess, even though she wasn’t family. When Y/N brought this up, her friend scolded her, saying that ‘My father has insisted, I’m afraid. You are his ward, and he has grown to think of you as his own.’ 

Now, she sat beside Rhaenyra while the ceremony took place, sneaking glances at the brides brother. Rhaenyra had picked out Y/N's dress herself, saying that she needed something worthy of a princess. She was not one to argue and let the Princess do whatever she wanted as long as she was distracted from the day at hand.

Arm in arm with the Princess, she dreaded when they finally reached the hall and had to congratulate the ‘happy’ couple. Poor Alicent, married at fifteen, was not something she wished on her worst enemy. Especially to a man twenty years your senior. The doors opened wide, the crowd quieting at the sight of the princess and her companion. Among that crowd was Gwayne, staring at her with desperate eyes. 

Her cheeks turned pink, quickly breaking the contact. Chatter quickly filled the hall once more as Rhaenyra reached the top of the steps, curtsying quickly. “Congratulations, step-mother. Father.” 

Y/N shivered. Rhaenyra's tone was as cold as the Wall. She wanted to curse her friend for making her go after that display. She sunk to the floor, bowing her head. “Many happy returns, My Queen, My King.” 

Viserys smiled gratefully. “Thank you Y/N. You have been a loyal friend to my daughter and wife. I shall not forget it.” 

The young girl nodded, equally disgusted and horrified at what the king had just said. Surely he realized how immoral it was. “Of course Your Grace. I live to serve and provide assistance to my Princess.” 

She released a breath she hadn’t known she was holding, sitting down beside Rhaenyra. “Could you at least have tried to be nice?” 

“I was.” The princess raised an eyebrow, and Y/N almost laughed, realizing her friend was being serious. 

“Of course. A jest, my lady.” 

Rhaenyra laughed. “So formal.” 

“We are at a wedding, Rhaenyra. It would be inappropriate for me to call you anything other than my lady, by the court's standards.” 

“Well I am the princess, and I say you call me Rhaenyra.” 

“Very well.” Y/N smiled, taking a large sip of her wine. “This will be an entertaining night.” 

Besides the occasional snide comment thrown at the obviously overwhelmed bride, the night had been otherwise peaceful. Y/N tried her best to sway Rhaenyra from attacking the queen outright, and she’d been successful. So far. She’d been in the middle of listening to Rhaenyra’s adventure of gathering the stolen dragon egg from her uncle when a cough interrupted. 

“Excuse me, Princess.” The pair turned around to see Gwayne staring at Y/N not Rhaenyra. Odd. He had addressed Rhaenyra, not her. “May I ask the Lady for a dance?” 

Y/N widened her eyes, looking in between the two. She was sure Rhaenyra would say no or burst out in flames from having to talk to Alicent’s brother, but she simply nodded her head, going back to her meal. Gwayne extended his hand, leading her to the dancefloor. He whispered as they moved, keeping in mind the intruding ears that surrounded them. “I have missed your company, my lady.” 

“I have missed yours as well.” 

“I know much has happened since we last spoke, but it has not deterred me. If anything, it has made me realize that I cannot stand to be apart from you.” Her cheeks turned pink for the second time that night. 

“You are very kind, Gwayne.” 

“Yes, well, it is not hard when you are the one I compliment.” He shook his head. “I am returning to Old Town soon. In two weeks time, after my sister settles into her new life.”

Her heart fell, eyes watering. “I hope your journey is swift.” She gulped, mumbling. “I shall miss you in truth.” 

He tilted his head, smiling. If she were not in a public place, she would admonish him for smiling at her pain. “What I mean to say is, I am infatuated with you. And I would like to seek your hand in marriage. From the king of course.” 

She gasped, her eyes widening. “I beg your pardon?” 

“I would like to marry you.” He spoke softly, now fully grinning. “If you would have me. You do not have to say yes, but I assure you, your affection for me will grow with time.”

“With time? Gwayne, I-” Y/N whispered so quietly she wasn’t even sure she’d spoken. “I have already grown to admire you. Much more than a friend should. That is no concern of mine.” 

“Ah.” The knight nodded. “Well, that settles it then.” 

“Settles what?” 

“We are to be married.” 

“Yes, well…” She sighed. “You cannot propose to me at your sister’s wedding. It would be improper.” 

“Damn impropriety.” He hissed, twirling you as the dance required. “Praytell, when would be a proper time then?” 

“Any other day, my love.” 

He stopped in the middle of the dance floor, her face growing red. “Gwayne people are looking.” 

He seemingly did not hear her. “My love.” 

“If you are going to tease me-” 

“You called me, my love.” 

“Gwayne…” She whined, gesturing to the prying eyes. “Can we please leave the floor? People will start to wonder…” 

“I desperately want to kiss you.” 

Thank the Seven the dance ended then. She bowed quickly. “Thank you for the dance, my lord.” Rushing back to her seat, she stared at the table, shock running through her veins. 

“Did he propose then?” 

Y/N whipped her head over, glaring at her friend. “You knew?” 

“Of course I knew. Y/N, I’ve known he was going to propose since I saw him approach you at my mother’s funeral.” 

“Rhaenyra, I’m so sorry.” 

“Whatever for?” 

“I don’t want you to feel betrayed. I had no intention of-” 

“Do not apoligize to me.” She placed her hand in Y/N's. “You are my friend. I am happy for you, truly. He is a good man, he will treat you well. I know it.”

“I haven’t said yes, Rhaenyra.” 

“Yet.” Her friend laughed. “You haven’t said yes, yet.”  

[thesecondhandwoman]

A SISTER’S SACRIFICE

Vi x f!reader

Synopsis: Vi had watched Jinx’s death, loosing her again despite finally getting her back. As you look for her after the battle, you find her on her knees and shattered by her sister’s sacrifice, rushing in to comfort her.

Request: @hallowed-hauntings

The battle was over, but Piltover was in shambles. Smoke rose into the dim, grey sky, casting a suffocating haze over the city. The streets were littered with the wreckage of both man and machine, the aftershocks of Viktor’s twisted Arcane creations still reverberating through the earth beneath your feet. The fight between Noxus and Zaun’s reluctant defenders had left the city broken.

And yet, nothing felt as broken as the woman you had finally found.

Vi was on her knees in the heart of the destruction, at the edge of the Hexcore’s wreckage, right where it all happened. You slowed as you approached, your chest tightening at the sight of her. Her broad shoulders trembled, her hands clenched into bloody fists against the ground. Her gauntlets—those indomitable weapons that had always seemed like extensions of her fiery will—were discarded nearby, cracked and useless.

But Vi herself looked even more fractured.

“Vi,” you called gently, your voice soft but unsteady as you stepped closer. She didn’t respond, her head hanging low, her pink hair tangled and streaked the black dye at her roots. Her back heaved as though she was trying to catch her breath, but there was no relief in sight.

You glanced down and saw it—the remains of Jinx’s signature monkey bomb. Its grinning face was barely intact, the edges scorched and jagged from the explosion. Your stomach turned. You didn’t need to piece together the rest.

Jinx was gone.

The memory came back in flashes. You hadn’t seen it directly but had heard both the bomb and the sudden murmurs while people recovered as you searched for Vi in the chaos. Vi had been cornered, battling Warwick—the monstrous, Arcane-corrupted beast that Viktor’s creation had unleashed. He had been too strong, too fast, it had thrown Vi completely off guard, especially since she thought Warwick was dead. But when his large form jerked up, Jinx didn’t hesitate. Not at the slightest.

She had saved Vi. Pushed her out of harm’s way. Forced her sister to let go. And then detonated her final monkey bomb, taking Warwick with her into the abyss.

You crouched beside Vi, hesitant at first. Her knuckles were raw, bleeding from where she’d slammed them into the metal again and again. Her entire body shook, each shudder a silent scream that didn’t make it past her lips. You reached out, gently placing a hand on her shoulder, but she flinched violently at the touch.

“Don’t—” Her voice was raw, ragged, and trembling with grief. She finally lifted her head to glare at you, but her expression crumbled almost instantly. Her bloodshot eyes, rimmed with tears, searched your face as though she was begging you for answers you couldn’t give. “Don’t… touch me. I let her fall, I let her fall before even realizing she took out the fucking Crystal.”

Her words hit you like a blade to the chest, the shock hitting first, followed by an aching pain.

“No, Vi,” you said firmly, your own voice breaking under the weight of your emotions. “You didn’t let her fall. She—she made her choice.”

Vi shook her head furiously, a choked sob tearing from her throat. “She didn’t give me a choice!” she yelled, though her voice wavered, more plea than accusation. “She just… she just shoved me away and smiled. She smiled at me. Like it was nothing.” Her hands clenched at her sides as she let out another anguished cry. “I should have saved her! I could’ve saved her, but—”

“But she saved you,” you interrupted, your tone soft but unwavering. You couldn’t bear to see her like this, drowning in guilt that wasn’t hers to carry. “She saved you, Vi. She knew what she was doing. She wanted to protect you.”

“She was my little sister,” Vi whispered, her voice breaking completely as tears streamed down her face. “I was supposed to protect her. Not the other way around.”

And before you could say something to retort against her statement, her hands moved to cover her face as her sobs finally broke free. They were raw, guttural sounds, ripped straight from her soul. You didn’t hesitate this time. You wrapped your arms around her, pulling her close despite the way her body shook violently against you. She resisted for a brief moment, her muscles tensing like she was about to push you away, but then she collapsed into your embrace.

Her fingers clawed at your back as if holding onto you was the only thing keeping her together. You buried your face in her hair, pressing soft, soothing kisses against her temple as tears stung your own eyes.

“I’m here,” you murmured over and over, your voice trembling but steady enough to ground her. “I’m here, Vi. You’re not alone. I’ve got you.”

She clung to you like a lifeline, her sobs shaking both of you. You could feel her grief pouring out of her, raw and unrelenting. For so long, Vi had forced herself to be the unbreakable one—the fighter, the protector, the one who always got back up no matter how hard she was hit. But now? Now she was just a woman who had lost the last piece of her family, and it was more than anyone could bear.

“I wanted to bring her back,” Vi choked out between sobs. “I thought—I thought maybe we could fix things. That we could be sisters again. But now she’s gone, and—and it’s my fault.”

“No,” you said firmly, pulling back just enough to cup her tear-streaked face in your hands. You made her look at you, made her see the truth in your eyes. “It’s not your fault, Vi. Jinx… Powder… she loved you. She chose to save you because you meant everything to her. Don’t take that away from her. Don’t let her sacrifice mean nothing.”

Vi’s face crumpled again, and you pulled her back into your arms. The two of you stayed there for what felt like hours, kneeling in the ruins of Piltover as the world slowly moved on around you. You didn’t let go, not even as your legs began to ache and your heart weighed heavy with your own grief.

Eventually, Vi’s sobs quieted, though her breathing remained uneven. Her voice was hoarse when she finally spoke again. “She’s really gone, isn’t she?”

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening. “Yeah,” you whispered. “She’s gone,Vi.”

Vi remained still before slowly nodding against your shoulder, her arms still wrapped tightly around you. “I don’t know how to do this without her,” she admitted, her voice barely audible.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” you promised, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Vi didn’t say anything, but the way she held onto you spoke volumes. The weight of her grief was unbearable, but you would carry it with her. Whatever it took, you would help her through this.

Even if it meant piecing together the fragments of her heart one jagged shard at a time.

[monimccoythings]

Domestic Old!ManLogan and Laura

Old!ManLogan survives and they just move to a farm. I'm just craving domestic!Logan.

tags: gn!reader, domestic Old!ManLogan.

Words: 377

Logan and Laura play fighting, that's it. He just loves to rile her up, because he's a little bastard and she's too much like him. She will launch herself at him and try to bite, while Logan loses his shit.

Logan's healing seems to be recovering well. He will no longer be the man he was in his prime, of course, but at least you don't have to constantly worry about him getting gunshot wounds.

Laura will follow you around like a duckling, she imprinted on you very quickly. You are her parent there's no room for discussion. You love that girl to bits and would give her the moon if you could.

Sometimes Logan likes to lift her to keep her away from you because he knows that annoys her. She will kick and curse him in Spanish while he chuckles. If you playfully 'chastise' him on his behavior, he will lift you too with his other arm and carry you both around the house ignoring your protests. He may be old, but he's still inhumanely strong.

You three make meals together, Laura will set the table, while you and Logan deal with the cooking. He likes to chop vegetables, because it reminds him of his claws. They are still painful for him to pull out, but it's getting better, as his healing factor develops.

He's insanely good at chopping veggies.

I can imagine Logan getting a dog for the family. A very big and friendly mixed breed fella that he will personally train to be a guard dog. Honestly, Laura and Logan's lack of imagination amuses you to no end because:

Name: Dog

Breed: Dog

Occupation: Dog

(They thought it was hilarious)

Logan tries his hardest to discipline Dog, but he knew from the very beginning it was a losing battle, you and Laura kept pampering the puppy to no end the mutt is becoming spoiled. (He complains about it as if he didn't secretly feed him leftovers).

Almost every night Laura sleeps with you on the bed, Logan tried to break her out of that habit, but as soon as Dog started joining you three, he gave up. You and Laura just laugh at his exasperated expression.

You are just a happy little family.

[syngularitysyn]

Caitlyn & Vi - apologies and trust

Caitlyn and Vi are very different, but they share a commitment to the same values: Honesty, loyalty and directness.

Caitlyn has felt like a misfit since she was a kid, not fitting in with the fakeness of Piltover high society. She resents her mother for not letting her see 'the real world', by which she means the Undercity. Caitlyn doesn't care about apologies either. People apologize to her multiple times and she doesn't even acknowledge it. Their actions have already spoken and that is more important than their words.

Vi explains how to earn her trust while tied up in Ambessa's tent: 1. Be honest 2. Be patient 3. Just shut the fuck up (actions > words)

Episode 7 breaks up the flow of the current timeline. The next conversation Vi has after talking to Ambessa is with Caitlyn. The subject of trust is immediately brought up. Vi doesn't trust Caitlyn, and for good reason. Caitlyn knows this and understands why. 'Can you blame me?' Vi asks, and Caitlyn remains silent, but her emotions are shown on her face; shame, guilt, regret, and anger (at herself) expressed in the explosive 'I KNOW!'.

1: Be honest. Vi doesn't trust Caitlyn anymore, and Caitlyn immediately leads with honesty, starting with the 'I know', agreeing with Vi that she let Ambessa and her hatred for Jinx poison her. She lowers her defenses and tells Vi exactly what happened with Jinx while Vi was unconscious. How Jinx only cared about Vi's safety and then surrendered.

2: Be patient Caitlyn then tells Vi Jinx is being held in the bunker while she decides what to do. That she was waiting for Vi to recover instead of acting on her own. She wants to be on the same page as Vi again, but they aren't yet.

3: Shut the fuck up Vi walks off after asking 'who decides who gets a second chance?', and Caitlyn shuts the fuck up, clenches her jaw, and lets Vi walk out. There is nothing she can say to fix things between them, action is needed.

Cait talks to Jinx and sends all the guards to the Hexgates so Vi can break Jinx out if she wants to (and potentially leave together with her sister). Vi chooses to put herself first for the first time in her life when she learns this.

This is how Caitlyn won Vi's trust in the first season as well. Trading her rifle (which she's had since she was young and the only protection she has from Silco's goons) for medicine to save Vi. Telling the Firelights to take her and let Vi go. Taking the hextech gemstone to the council with Vi and Ekko (which was the initial plan).

Caitlyn lets Vi take the lead and make the decisions, but does pause multiple times to slow things down. First to disclose she saw someone else, wanting there to be no secrets between them, which is met with 'I don't fucking care.' And again when she sees the bandage on Vi's side, not moving forward and hovering her hand over it in silent apology but also in question. Caitlyn is willing to address it now if Vi wants to. Vi then decides she doesn't by pulling Cait back in, saving that conversation for later if they survive the battle.

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Twenty-Five

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Physical injury (i.e., Rhys and Cassian recovering post-Koschei), fluff, mating ceremonyyyyyyyyy (y'all I'm so excited I got so emotional writing this one)

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

It was strange how the absence of things could be so obvious. How silence could be more obnoxious than a crowded room. 

Three weeks had passed since Koschei’s death, and everyone was afraid to bring attention to the glaring absence of Cassian’s arm and Rhysand’s wings. 

At every meal, Nesta carefully cut up the Lord of Bloodshed’s food, and every night, Rhysand winnowed up to his bedroom. He no longer needed a wheelchair to move around, but walking up the stairs was a battle he won only half the time.

Azriel’s shadows were still missing. Gone to the wind. But their whispers grew in strength each day and Azriel would strain his ear to hear them. It gave you both hope that they’d return in time. 

“Daddy.” 

Rhysand froze halfway up the stairs, leaning against the wall with his legs crossed at the ankles. He subtly hid his hand behind his back, concealing the cane he relied on to walk around his own home. 

“Yes, Nyx.” 

The boy stood with his mother, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. Her wings were on full display, as were Nyx’s, in preparation for their daily flying lessons. For the first time, Rhysand would be unable to join them.

“We’re going flying. Do you… do you want to watch?” Nyx smiled shyly, one arm wrapped around his mother’s leg as he stared at the ground. “I can finally summon my wings during free fall. Just like we practiced.”

Rhysand strained to smile. “Go ahead with your mother. I’ll join you on the balcony soon.” 

“Ok,” the boy murmured and walked down the hall towards his parents’ bedroom. 

Feyre moved to be with her husband, her wings disappearing in a melting of light. She gently cupped his face in her hands. 

“It’s ok, my love,” Rhysand whispered, kissing her palms. Feyre smoothed back the swoop of hair that fell over his forehead. The strands were damp with sweat. “I don’t want you to keep Nyx waiting.” 

“Nyx is a patient boy. More patient than his father.” 

Rhys chuckled, blinking away tears. It was silly to hide these emotions from Feyre — she felt everything he did — but he wanted to at least try to be strong. To be her equal. Her High Lord. 

“Take your time, Rhys.” Her lips brushed against his and a piece of that ache in his chest fizzled out. It was incredible how his mate and wife could ease his burden with such a small touch. “I’ll be waiting with our son.” 

The moment Feyre disappeared into their bedroom and shut the door, Rhysand snapped his cane in half. Wood splinters flew out, embedding themselves in the wall and in the staircase, and he threw what remained down the stairs. 

Feyre, with all her love and patience, gave him the space to be angry. To grieve. But it helped her to know that Cassian, Azriel, and Emerie were already on their way. 

Rhysand made it to the third floor landing without his cane before the pain in his back became impossible to ignore. He sank to the floor. 

“Rhys—” The trio crowded around him. 

“Don’t say a fucking word, Cass.” They froze beside him, tucking their wings in tight. “I used to think the steps to the House of Wind were hard. Now I can’t even climb the stairs in my own fucking house.”

He hated this. He hated this with a burning passion. He was meant to be High Lord. He should have been at Feyre’s side, shaking out his wings and getting ready to taste the wind with his son. Instead here he was, sweat-soaked and shaking in front of his brothers and Emerie. 

After his mother and Selene’s death, he’d promised himself he would never lose his wings. They were a physical reminder of his Illyrian heritage. A heritage which so often went unseen beneath the veneer of a High Lord. Decades spent Under the Mountain had only cemented that promise in blood and salt. 

Amarantha may have stolen many things from him, but she’d never taken his wings. She’d never touched them. She’d never even seen them. 

Poison-laced calls of Amarantha’s whore and half-breed had always paled in comparison to the freedom of flying. A freedom he no longer had. 

“I’m not an Illyrian anymore,” Rhysand whispered grimly. The muscles in his back rolled, and even that small movement sent a thread of pain down his spine.  

Cassian and Azriel were stunned into silence. But not Emerie. Her gaze was too piercing, her tone too frank and unrelenting as she said, “My mother died without her wings.” 

Rhysand looked up at the female, slender and sharp as a blade. 

“At thirty-seven years old her father took a butcher’s knife and hacked them off before burying them in the snow just outside Windhaven.” She cocked her head to the side. “Tell me, was she not an Illyrian then?” 

“That’s not what I meant,” Rhysand said pathetically. 

“It’s exactly what you meant. But you’re wrong. Your wings don’t make you an Illyrian, Rhys. If they did, myself and over half the females in those camps would have been banished from Illyria a long time ago.” 

There was a silence that followed, tense and filled with guilt until Emerie spoke again. 

“Do you know what they say about you in the camps? And I’m not talking about the males who whisper half-breed behind your back.” 

Rhysand took his head. 

“The young females whisper about the day you’ll find them worthy enough to steal away to Velaris — to your precious city you’d never let come to harm. They talk about the shops they’d get to see with the frosted cakes in the windows and the enchanted houses where they wouldn’t have to slave away over a stove or wring towels until their hands bled. That one day, you’ll recognize that they’re dreamers too who’ve only had their worst nightmares come true. The older ones are wiser than that. They don’t talk about escaping to a city they don’t know and don’t love, surrounded by strangers who might call them lesser-fae. They build their lives in the cold, and when the males come to burn it down, they either endure and build it up again, or they fight back however they can.” 

Emerie regarded him carefully, eyes halting on his violet eyes and the sharpness of his ears. 

“Wings don’t make you an Illyrian,” she repeated, “It’s in your blood. It’s what you're born into and the hands that raise you. Never say “I’m not an Illyrian” again, do you understand me?”

Rhysand swallowed the burning lump in his throat. Touched the short tips of his ears and wiped the tears gathering in his violet eyes. 

“Azriel, could you—could you bring me my cane? Please?” 

His brother walked down the steps without hesitation and retrieved the broken halves. 

It was a thing of beauty and strength, carved from ironwood and stained so dark it may as well have been sliced from a night sky. Rhysand put the two pieces together and closed his eyes. 

It was easy, miniscule magic to put the cane back together and far more difficult a feat to stand upright once again. He might have toppled backwards if not for Emerie. She gave him her shoulder to lean against.

“Still an Illyrian,” he murmured. 

It was a promise to himself and to his family. To the three Illyrian warriors who had found him. 

“Still an Illyrian.” Emerie patted his arm. “I understand you’ll still feel some self-pity for a while. It’s natural, but… try not to do it in a room I’m in.” 

“I can do that.” Rhysand leaned against his cane, limping towards his bedroom where his mate and son were waiting. “Oh and Emerie.” She turned her head towards him. “Thank you.” 

“Do you want me to just cut it for you?” 

“No, I like the way Nesta does it.” 

“Since when did you get so picky?” 

“Since I lost my fucking arm, Mor.” 

You snorted into your glass of wine and Azriel smiled as the pair continued bickering. He kept one hand under the table, rubbing small circles into your thigh. It wasn’t until Nesta decided to grace the early morning with her presence that Cassian turned his attention away from Mor, drawing Nesta down for a kiss. 

A fresh bruise painted his cheekbone purple, pink, and blue. 

Nesta gripped Cassian’s chin, turning his face to the side for a better look. “Who did this?”

“Emerie,” he said cheerfully. His grin was brighter than the sun. 

Today was the first time he’d sparred with anyone since he lost his arm and Emerie hadn’t gone easy on him. On the contrary, she’d taken every advantage her two arms afforded her until Cassian felt more tender than a steak on a butcher’s board. He hadn’t been thrown on his back so many times since the mating frenzy. 

It was a dirty, cunning way of fighting and he’d never appreciated the Illyrian female more. 

Nesta smirked at her friend with a glint in her eye that looked suspiciously like gratitude. 

Emerie only shrugged. She hadn’t experienced the same kind of loss that Cassian and Rhysand had, but she’d learned a great deal after her wing clipping. Carrying limbs that no longer worked was not so different from losing them entirely. It was all about a shifting of control and weight — about finding a new center of gravity and using weakness to your advantage. 

“Did you go easy on him?” Nesta asked. 

Emerie snorted. “Obviously not.”

“She fractured three ribs, but they’re healed now.” 

“Very nice.” 

Nesta settled down at her rightful seat beside Cassian and wordlessly cut up his breakfast. 

“Thanks, Nes.” 

“It’s the least I could do.” 

Cassian chuckled and pulled her close until she was nearly in his lap. “Don’t give me so much power, darling.” 

She huffed. “What power?”

“The power to win any argument in the future.” He stuck what remained of his right arm into the air and gave it a shake. It was a gentle, teasing reminder of who had cut it off in the first place. 

Nesta narrowed her eyes until they were two clips of ice. “Don’t make me regret letting you live.” 

“That’s much better.” 

Some people needed a gentle touch after horrible events, but there was nothing gentle about Cassian. He’d been born with the wild in his blood. He knew how to adapt and survive, and if surviving meant he would lose his arm and get more time with his mate, it was a trade he was more than happy to make.

Azriel seemed to be in agreement. He never took his eyes off you. More interested in seeing your reaction than hearing which comment had brought it to life.

Feyre nudged Rhys, eyes wide and eyebrows raised as she looked back and forth from her mate to you and Azriel. 

Now? Rhys asked. 

Yes, now! They’ve been staring at each other for the last thirty minutes. It’s honestly unnerving... Do you think they’ve already accepted the bond?

There’s no way in hell. We would have known. 

Azriel’s terribly good at keeping secrets. 

The fact that they haven’t been missing the last few months is proof enough. 

All the more reason to bring this up now so we can finally put them out of their misery. 

Feyre shot to her feet at the head of the table and Rhysand scrambled to attention after  her. 

“It has come to our attention that we never did say congratulations to a special couple in this room.”

“Oh gods,” Azriel muttered. 

Your face turned warm as everyone’s eyes and grins fell upon you and your mate.

“You didn’t think we forgot about your mating bond, did you?” Gwyn teased. 

“We were kind of hoping you had,” you said. “Not that we aren’t happy or—” You glanced over at Azriel. 

The first night you’d woken up in the Dawn Court you’d tried to crawl into his bones — an odd mixture of desperation and longing urging you to have your way with one other. Now, you were embarrassed to think that the first thing you’d tried to do after nearly dying, was sleep with your mate. 

Azriel smiled, bending towards you like a flower seeking sunlight in silent encouragement. It was such a small, natural gesture, and one that everyone noticed. Which also meant they clocked the blush on your cheeks as you gripped Azriel’s hand under the table. 

You cleared your throat. “We weren’t sure it was a good time with everything going on. We thought it might be wise to wait before—” 

“No more waiting!” Cassian declared, slamming his fist against the table so hard the silverware bounced. “I swear to the fucking gods, if you’re not in the frenzy by the end of the week, Y/n, I’ll have you force feed Azriel myself.” 

“We agreed we’d be gentle in our approach,” Elain reminded him. 

“There was a plan in place for this?” Lucien sputtered. “And you were a part of it?” 

She scoffed and lightly slapped his arm. Elain was a gentle, lovely creature when she wanted to be, and nothing melted her heart more than a good love story. 

“I think we are in need of a celebration,” Vassa whispered. It was the first collection of words the firebird had spoken in months. 

She’d sat for every meal at Lucien’s side completely silent. But this time, she reached a hand across the table and slid it into yours, squeezing tightly. Flashes of memory passed behind her eyes — memories of Jurian.

They weren’t fae. A mating bond was never in the cards for them. Which was why she felt strongly that you should be greedy with the time you had together. For there was no telling when it would end.

You sucked in a breath. You’d spoken at length about this with Azriel, tossing ideas back and forth during the night when the bond made your blood sing for more contact with the Shadowsinger. More touches.  

But you’d agreed that it was inappropriate to have even a private mating ceremony when everyone was hurting. To abandon them and disappear into the frenzy. 

Perhaps you’d both been wrong. 

Given how quick everyone was to swarm you and Azriel, you were definitely wrong. 

Rhysand hobbled over with his cane, kissing your cheek with a loud, obnoxious smack before aggressively disheveling Azriel’s hair. 

“The cottage—” Azriel began.

“I’ll have it finished by tonight.” Rhysand promised. 

Cassian threw his one good arm around Azriel’s shoulder, tugging him out of his chair and towards the door on a mission. Poor Lucien was also coerced into joining whatever debauchery Cassian had planned for their afternoon. He sulked after the pair with Rhysand. 

Nesta, Feyre, and Mor crowded around you, already deliberating which of the many-frequented boutiques in Velaris they would need to visit for your mating ceremony attire. 

You were positively overwhelmed by the attention and the realization that this was all happening. 

By midnight, you would be mated to the love of your life. 

Azriel slipped out from under Cassian’s arm, racing back across the room and falling to his knees. “I need a moment with you.” He breathed, thinly-veiled hunger in his eyes. 

One nod was all it took before he was guiding you to the kitchen and slamming the door on everyone’s whistling. 

Azriel pressed you against the kitchen door, chest heaving so hard you could feel every beat of his heart against your chest. 

You’d both been holding back with each other ever since returning to the Night Court. Propriety and respect for his brothers had demanded you wait to express your love and wanting. You didn’t want to slap them in the face with joy. 

But now that you had everyone’s overwhelming approval, well… Azriel was finding it nearly impossible to wait even a moment longer. 

He pressed his lips to yours and didn’t let go of his soft grip on your waist until you were both gasping for breath. But then you kissed him back, swallowing his sighs and gentle groans like there was honey on his tongue. Sweet and addictive and—

Rhysand rudely knocked on the door, his sultry voice a purr. “In the kitchen, Azriel? Really? I would have expected more from a gentleman like you.” 

“Fuck off, Rhys.” 

The High Lord chuckled, but slipped away all the same. 

Azriel grinned against your lips, your hands clasped together between your bodies. “I just wanted one last kiss before tonight.” 

“Tonight.” You nodded frantically. 

Tonight. 

You were doing this. You were really doing this. 

Then you realized what he’d said. “I won’t see you before then?”

“I don’t think the others will let us.” 

Your laughs rang in the air, bouncing off the kitchen cabinets like wedding bells. 

On the other side of your door you could feel everyone’s anticipation. And you couldn't keep them waiting much longer. They might just break down the door. 

“I’ll see you tonight.” You whispered before stealing one last kiss. 

“Tonight.” Azriel agreed. His breath curled around your ear, lips brushing against the tip as he promised, “Until then.”

Feyre, Nesta, Gwyn, Emerie, Elain, and Mor descended upon the Palace of Thread and Jewels, all too eager to heap your arms full of the most expensive lace money could buy. 

You were about to marry into the Night Court and had a High Lord father who needed to make up for centuries of fatherly absence. There was more than enough gold to throw around.

“What do you think of this?” Feyre asked, draping the pale blue silk over your shoulder.

The clothier’s shop was bustling in the late morning, but no one dared step foot into the private room your family was set up in. The enchanted curtain blocked out all noise — tthe pinnacle of privacy.

You stood alone on a low platform, swishing the skirts of your dress and imagining what the finished product might look like. 

Farron, the clothier, had been quick to stitch a muslin mock up of the design you’d chosen, knotted fingers shocking in their dexterity as needle and thread disappeared and reappeared in her hand like some trick of the eye. She hadn’t even taken your measurements. One spin with your arms outstretched and she’d set about cutting the exact length of material needed for your mating ceremony gown. 

It was no wonder that she was Rhysand’s preferred clothier.

It still felt like a dream. Some wonderful, impossible dream as you took in the sight of the fabric over your chest. 

It glistened like moonlight and flowed like river water.

“Feyre, it’s perfect,” You breathed, touching the silken threads beneath your fingertips. 

“An excellent choice,” Farron said with a smile. She stood dutifully off to the side, tortoise-rimmed glasses growing her eyes to bug-like proportions.

You were a lovely thing in her eyes. A fine match for the Shadowsinger, indeed. 

Now, no one had told her that that was the cause for celebration. But she’d been clothing the Night Court males for a long while and knew them like the back of her hand. And you? You were made for the Shadowsinger. That much was clear. 

It was from centuries of experience that she classified the soft parting of your mouth and wide eyes. It was the look mates and brides alike adopted when they’d found the perfect dress. The one that would make them feel as perfect and precious as a pearl.

Your brows furrowed in concern. “My mating ceremony is tonight. Will it be ready by then?”

“Pfffft.” The clothier slapped her chest indignantly. “It will be ready in three hours time. You can return once after you’ve finished your shopping and we’ll have a final ceremony look ready for you, my dear.” 

With a dress being sewn together at Farron’s, Mor hurried you along to what she believed was the most critical part of any mating ceremony dress — the lingerie. The ordeal left a permanent blush on your cheeks as you quickly moved on to the shoemaker and then the jeweler. 

“Which one did you decide on?” Mor asked once again. She trailed at your heels, resting her chin on your shoulder as you kept your wares clutched to your chest. 

“I’m not telling you.” 

“Why not?” She whined. Red fingernails grazed the tissue paper that peaked out from the edges of the lingerie box. 

“Because that is for Azriel to know, and only Azriel,” you said, snatching the box out of her grasp. 

Nesta laughed. “What does it matter which pair she’s picked? It’s not like it will survive the first night of the frenzy.” 

Your cheeks burned with color. 

Mor giggled at your shyness. “Don’t act coy now, Y//n. We all know what you four read in your free time.” 

“Don’t act like you don’t benefit, love.” Emerie teased, squeezing Mor’s hip. 

“I never suggested such a thing.” 

Gwyn gagged when they kissed and everyone broke apart into fits of laughter in the streets, leaning against shoulders and stumbling on the cobblestones as they caught their breath. 

You were pressed in on all sides by familiar bodies, a comforting mixture of perfumes, and the sounds of laughter.

It’s happening. It’s really happening. 

Your grin could have put the sun to shame as you bounced on your heels in front of the mirror. 

Pale blue silk dipped down to the center of your chest and fell off your shoulders like mist. Wide, airy sleeves hovered at your elbows, ending in curls of hand-woven lace. A pair of ribbon-tie shoes and ear-tip cuffs completed the ensemble. 

They were both blue for Azriel — for your mate — who currently stood awestruck by the door. 

You didn’t startle when you caught a sliver of his reflection in the mirror. In fact, you were rather pleased to see his slack jaw and glistening eyes. 

“What do you think?” You asked as Azriel slipped out from the darkness and into your old bedroom. 

You hardly stepped foot in here anymore. Azriel’s bedroom had solidly become yours. Your clothes were mixed in with his. Your perfume bottles and soaps lined his bathroom. Your scent was tied to his bed, or rather your bed. 

“I think… I think you’re a dream, Y/n.” He spoke with a sigh. 

He melted into the curve of your neck, hands ghosting over your shoulders with a feather-light touch. 

He shook his head, as if disappointed. 

“No,” he corrected himself, “You’re far better than a dream because you’re real, and I can’t believe you’re mine.” 

“I could say the same about you,” you whispered. 

You leaned back against his chest and breathed deeply, feeling your heart soothe itself to the rhythm of his breathing and the scent of mountain air and cedar trees. 

He was beautiful. Black velvet encased his broad shoulders, cutting out a silhouette of pitch black night and highlighting the glow of his hazel eyes — like two chips of amber aglow in a dark wood. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from staring and threading your fingers into his soft, black curls, eliciting a soft groan from his lips that had your blood stirring to life. 

“I thought we were supposed to meet downstairs.” 

Azriel smiled. “I selfishly wanted to be the first to see you.” 

“That’s not selfish at all,” You hummed. You began tracing the gold cuffs that spanned the length of his ears and the subtle embroidery at the wrists and front of his shirt. They were distinctly Day Court fashions, and he wore them well. “These are new.” 

“I may or may not have reached out to your father for advice when picking out my clothes.” 

“I like them. Day Court colors suit you. They bring out the gold flecks in your eyes.” 

Azriel smiled, kissing the curve of your ears and playing with the sapphire necklace clasped around your neck. The drag of metal and fingertips over your chest had you shivering.  

You gently tugged at his hair and he obeyed the unspoken command to lean down and capture your lips in a kiss. Soft sounds spilled from both of you as he walked you back towards the wall and gently pressed you against it, flatting his hands by the sides of your head. 

Azriel got lost in the taste of you. Your hands in his hair. The feeling of your hips flush against his. Every movement was subtle, but eager, in its wanting and Azriel knew that when he finally had you beneath him, he’d be ruined… If he wasn’t ruined already. 

There was another reason he’d wanted to see you first before relinquishing you to the formalities of a mating ceremony. 

He’d been on edge all day, unused to being the unbridled center of attention among his brothers. Cassian was brash and loud, Rhysand flirtatious and passionate. Even Lucien radiated an undeniable charisma that made him popular within crowds. 

But Azriel had always prized quiet and peace above all else. He wanted to feel that peace again. 

The bond rose within him like high tide, spilling color and light into his chest as you pressed your forehead against his and cradled the curve of his neck. 

He breathed deep and he breathed freely, feeling something in his soul mend itself with a roll of anticipation. A tendril of cold wrapped around his ear and whispered in a language only Azriel could understand.

Too long, master. It’s been too long.

Azriel’s eyes flew open. He’d nearly forgotten the shape of their words — the language that he’d been taught to speak after years spent in the dark. Months of soft spoken words he could barely make out became a chorus of congratulations as they sensed the connection that now bound you and Azriel together. 

They’d known about it since the beginning, but now that you were also aware, they were ecstatic.

Black shadows spilled out from his skin, eagerly wrapping you up in a shell of twisting darkness. They embraced you, kissing your cheeks with cool, feathery touches. 

Azriel swallowed your laughter, hands diving down and lifting up your dress so he could squeeze your thighs and wrap your legs around him. 

It was a kiss made of teeth and longing and relief. With his shadows having returned and a mating bond ready to be accepted, Azriel felt invincible. Like he was cradling the world in his arms. 

But it was ended all too soon by a shadow in his ear that warned, They’re almost at the door. 

Gods he missed having them around. 

You gasped, picking up on the sound of Lucien and Helion’s strong footsteps coming towards the door. They were supposed to walk you downstairs before handing you off to your mate, and although Azriel had made leaps and bounds in earning their blessing you didn’t think they’d take kindly to seeing the Shadowsinger flush between your legs just before your mating ceremony. 

“Shit.” You hissed, untangling yourself from Azriel as he fixed your dress and struggled to hide his laughter. 

You pushed him backwards, masking both your scents and shoving him inside the wardrobe. 

“My Y/n, what are you doing?” Azriel asked. He needed to bend just to fit inside the empty wardrobe. His eyes glittered with amusement, shadows pooling around his wings. 

“I-I was going to try and hide you before my father and brother come inside but” — a handful of shadows curled around your wrists and ankles, intent on becoming permanent fixtures for as long as you were separated from your mate —  “I see that’s not necessary anymore.” 

Azriel grinned and pulled you in for one last kiss. “I’ll see you downstairs,” he whispered just as Lucien’s polite knock came at the door.  

“I’ll see you downstairs.” 

His shadows swirled around him and he melted into the darkness. 

Mating ceremonies were fluid, adaptable affairs. They could be as extravagant and public or as humble and private as one desired. It made no difference. You were his, and he was yours. Now and forever. 

You would have accepted the bond with Azriel in your father’s palace or in a desert wasteland. Still, you had to agree that home was best. 

The largest room in the River House — the dining room — had been cleared out for the purpose of your mating ceremony. Candlelight flickered atop the fireplace mantle where you, Azriel, and the priestess stood, and within sconces dripping with wisteria and baby’s breath along the wall. The light of a thousand lanterns, gauzy and warm, lit up the gardens outside the House.

“All kneel,” the priestess said, holding out two crowns of lavender and lilies of the valley. 

Everyone kneeled in a loose half-circle. 

Her dusty blue robes brushed against the floor as she placed the crown atop Azriel’s head and then yours. At her instruction, you shifted on the floor, facing each other with smiles that couldn’t be contained.

Azriel’s eyes burned bright, as if all the gold in the world had been distilled and dropped into them. 

You took the candles the priestess held out, holding them in your left hand and clasping together your right. 

Azriel snuck a quick kiss to your palm before the priestess could wrap your wrists and hands together with ribbons of blue and gold. She drifted her fingers over the candles and lit them with a flourish. 

Before the Mother, the priestess, and your family, you exchanged your vows. 

Secret glances passed between you and the Shadowsinger. Brief smiles tugged at the corners of your lips. Squeezing hands soothed your soul and grounded you in the present as you spoke the words together:

I give to you the hands of a warrior, lover, friend, and mate, till the darkness comes and our endings wake. 

I give to you my name, to hold on your lips and to pass on your years in hope and longing, in joy and tears.

Blood of blood. Bone of bone. I shall be yours, and you shall be mine. 

Until we return to the earth and hear the Mother’s song. Until the end of our days—

“Until death and beyond,” Azriel whispered the final vows. 

“Until death and beyond,” you replied. 

“Who the hell spilled the champagne!” 

The floor was already sticky with it, grabbing onto Rhysand’s shoes as he stepped out of the puddle. A guilty Feyre chugged the last dregs in the bottle, magicking away the spill with a snap of her fingers and a sultry wink towards her mate. She shrieked with laughter when Rhys limped over to her, collapsing around her shoulders and blowing kisses against her neck. 

Nyx sat at Amren’s feet on the floor, struggling to hold his violet eyes open as she scratched his head with her silver-tipped nails. Amren was not one for parties and regarded the room with bored eyes. 

Mor sat in the seat of honor — Emerie’s lap — whispering gossip in the Illyrian’s ear as you and Azriel tried to make yourselves sparse in the corner. 

You were half-hidden behind Azriel’s wings as he leaned his head against your shoulder. Leave it to you two to hide at your own mating ceremony. 

Lucien and Elain drank wine by the kitchen. She left her hand comfortably on his upper arm and smiled when he tucked a strand of wavy brown hair behind her ear. They were a handsome couple — all pale colors and golden gazes, like sunshine spilling over a new day. 

Helion, entertaining as always, dazzled the group that had assembled around him composed of Gwyn, Feyre, Rhysand, Cassian, and Nesta. Every so often his bright eyes would land on you and he’d wink before pointing threateningly in Azriel’s direction. 

Azriel’s shoulders shook with silent laughter and he dipped his lips to your ears and asked, “Do you think he’ll ever approve of me?”

“He already approves of you, he just doesn’t want you to know.” 

“He’s a smart male for keeping such a secret. My ego may grow too big for you to handle if he compliments me outright.” 

“Didn’t he once invite you to his bed?”

“That’s not very special coming from Helion.” 

You burst out laughing, attracting everyone’s attention as you buried your face in Azriel’s chest to stifle the noise. He laughed aloud as well. Head thrown back, chest and shoulders shaking. It was a full-bodied laugh that harmonized with yours as he wrapped his arms around you and rubbed your back. 

Azriel’s laughter had once been a rare sound, but you drew it out of him so easily, like a musician with their instrument. 

Feyre grinned and clapped her hands together. All at once the dining room rearranged itself. The candle flames grew brighter. A table laden with food and chairs popped into existence. 

For such a special occasion, you and Azriel sat at the head of the table, subtly leaning against one another with your legs tangled beneath the tablecloth as you ate.

There was a cake still waiting to be cut in the kitchen — a cake that you’d baked with Azriel’s name written all over it in invisible ink. 

Nyx twisted around in his chair, eyes utterly fixated on the seemingly endless rows of lanterns glowing in the garden. 

“Mom.” Nyx tugged on Feyre’s wrist as she cleaned his cheek. “When will I get to float the lanterns?” 

Feyre looked to you and Azriel. 

The lanterns were an old Day Court tradition. On the longest night of the year, Day Court citizens dared to step outside into the dark and light up the sky with their own sun-painted lanterns. It was a way to keep the darkness at bay for a little while longer. A time to add your own light to the night sky. 

“Now,” you smiled. “Let’s do it now.” 

You all spilled out into the gardens, cheering Nyx on as he raced ahead of everyone else with short, energetic strides. His wings flared out behind him, catching the name of the wind as it whispered against the velvety membrane. 

“Not yet!” Rhys reminded him. “You need to let your aunt and uncle go first.” 

You and Azriel picked up the largest lantern of them all, delicate rice paper crinkling as you held it up. The starburst-shaped lantern glowed faintly. A burning sun. A fallen star.

Everyone bent over in the flowers and grasses, hunting to find the second-best lantern for themselves. 

“This one’s for Velaria,” Nyx said, holding up a small, round orb. “This one’s for you, Daddy.” A pale lavender lantern was placed carefully in his father’s hand. “And this one’s for Mommy.” 

“Why thank you, honey.” Feyre bent low, kissing her son’s velvety black hair as she held Velaria in her arms. 

“Is everyone ready?” You called out. 

Cheers sounded from all around. Particularly energetic whoops came from Cassian and Mor, who tipped back their heads and howled like wolves, ready to throw their lanterns to the sky. 

Azriel tucked you beneath the curve of his wings and pressed a gentle kiss against your temple before you both let your magic seep into the lantern and sent it skywards. 

There was chatter from all sides. Soft gasps leaving open-mouth stares as a dozen lanterns started drifting upwards like miniature suns. 

“It’s all you, Nyx!” Azriel shouted. 

The boy leapt into action, finding the tallest patch of ground in the garden to make his directorial debut. He fixed the tilt of his bowtie and bent his knees. Slowly and dramatically he curled his fingers, raising his hands upwards like he meant to pull water out of the ground. 

He looked like an orchestra conductor leading his players in a great crescendo as the remaining one-thousand lanterns took off into the night sky. 

You gasped and flung your hands up to your lips. Three hundred and forty-three years you’d been alive, and this was the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen. 

You turned to Azriel only to find that he was already staring at you — at the light of a thousand suns reflected in your eyes. 

You found yourself proven wrong, and not for the first time. The lanterns were only the second most beautiful sight… and you wanted to see more.

Azriel read the idea forming in your mind and nodded. 

Without hesitation, you took his hand, slinking through the now darkening garden as everyone else’s attention was directed towards the sky. 

Lanterns arced through the darkness, staining the sky warm orange as if a painter had swept her brush over the black canvas. 

Shadows nipped at your heels and covered your tracks, urging you onward as you slipped back into the House and then the kitchen. 

You didn’t even bother cutting the cake. After rummaging around in the kitchen drawers for a spoon, you carved out a spoonful of chocolate cake with strawberries and a healthy dollop of whipped cream frosting — Azriel’s favorite. 

The Shadowsinger froze, eyes darting back and forth between the cake and your flushed face. Your eyes glowed in the dim light, marked by a quiet, otherworldly beauty Azriel had never been able to resist. 

“Don’t tell me you’re second guessing this now?” You breathed, moving the spoon closer to his lips. 

“I just… I just want to make sure I remember everything about tonight,” he whispered. 

He adjusted the crown of lavender and lilies on your head, picking up a loose flower petal that had drifted onto your bare shoulders. His touch was soft. Gentle. Reverent as he trailed his fingers up your neck and brushed his thumb along your jaw. 

His lips closed around the spoon, dragging off every crumb and lick of frosting while never taking his eyes off of you. 

It was probably a delicious cake, but all Azriel would remember was the taste of your lips that followed as he drew you to his body. 

When the bond had first snapped for him, he thought the world had cracked in two. Like the sharp clap of lightning across the sky. 

What followed after the sugar and chocolate melted on his tongue was the thunder — a resounding tremor as the bond glowed hot as iron before cooling into something permanent and unbreakable. 

Azriel let out a breathless noise. Something between a sigh and a shudder. He clutched your back, nails dragging lightly along your exposed skin in a way that had you melting. 

“I want to go. Now.” You rasped. 

You wanted him desperately. More than words could describe. 

Azriel scooped you up into his arms, and together you vanished into the shadows before anyone even realized you were missing.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

Y'all, I just love Y/n and Azriel so much...

THEY FUCKING DESERVE A PROPER MATING CEREMONY LIKE DAMNIT THEY BOTH NEARLY DIED LIKE 3X AND YES I'M GOING TO WRITE A SEX SCENE NEXT CHAPTER, I DON'T CARE, THEY DESERVE THIS, Y'ALL DESERVE THIS FOR PUTTING UP WITH ME FOR THE LAST 6 MONTHS AND OVER 100K WORDS LIKE YOU ARE THE TRUE MVPs AND I APPRECIATE YOU IMMENSELY!!! (*but also, if you're not into reading smut scenes, I'll write the next chapter in such a way that you can just skip over it and not miss anything continuity-wise)

THANK YOU FOR READING!

We're almost at the end I've got like two chapters left, one of which is already mostly written, and maybe the epilogue will be it's own thing or part of the last chapter i don't know and just UGH it's almost over... ok i'm going to end this author's note here because I'm getting sad just thinking about this fic ending

^^ my reaction when I realize I've almost finished the longest/most intensive writing project in my life born out of love for the romantasy genre

^^ my reaction when I realize I've almost finished the longest/most intensive writing project in my life born out of love for the romantasy genre

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

sure "nuns with guns" is a fun trope but can we have more "nuns with no romantic interest in men who turn to life in a nunnery to escape patriarchal expectations in favor of a woman-centric society, and in the process meet brilliant-but-headstrong Sister Virtue, who took vows to confound her father's plans to marry her off to local gentry, and having successfully escaped marriage now plots to escape the convent, but after living a youth defined by defiance is overwhelmed by the fact she doesn't know what life she wants only what life she rejects, and she can't imagine the shape of the future, so she just continues on with her work in the cheese shed experimenting with fungi until one day she meets the new novice (you) tasked with tending to the dairy cows, and she finds your milkmaid naivety off-putting (reminding her of a younger, more hopeful version of herself) but actually you aren't naive, you've survived countless hardship by choosing to believe in hope, choosing to believe in the goodness and kindness that all people are capable of (even as you accept the presence of violence and selfishness), and your optimism is both the sword and shield with which you ride every morning into the day's battle, and as Sister Virtue discovers this about you, she feels a spark in her belly that she has hardly felt since girlhood (when she would dream distressing dreams of the lips and bosom of the local barmaid, a childhood companion from whom she drifted slowly apart in the cusp of maidenhood), and she spurns your company as a result, but only briefly because all asudden you come down with a fierce sweating sickness, and Sister Virtue sits up all night by your sickbed, stroking your brow with a cloth and whispering hoarse prayers she isn't certain she believes in, and when you are recovered she surprises you with a picnic (only a simple meal of cheese and bread while you both bring the cows out to graze, but she has sneaked in a jug of mead and you feel like a schoolchild again, playing truant, and for a moment you ache for the life you might have had if you had been brave enough to keep fighting the world instead of hiding away in the monotonous safety of the abbey),,, and then suddenly the sky opens, and you and Sister Virtue are caught in a rainstorm, and there are raindrops dripping down your bodice, and your wimple is slipping from your forehead, and she leans in to pull the veil from your eyes, and you lean forward and

[kodasmind]

BAD BLOOD RETURN

An: that match was a mess so I tried to make it better (keyword tried)☹️☹️

Rhea Ripley x Reader

The lights inside Atlanta’s State Farm Arena flashed in rhythm with the roaring crowd. The air was electric, buzzing with excitement as the main event at *Bad Blood* was underway. You were hidden backstage, watching from the shadows as the ring became the stage for a brutal battle between two of the fiercest competitors in WWE—Rhea Ripley and Liv Morgan. This was no ordinary title match; it was laced with tension, betrayal, and bad blood, stretching far beyond the championship Liv had around her waist.

You hadn’t been seen for weeks, rumors circulating about your injury after a backstage attack. No one, not even Rhea, knew you were in the building tonight. The plan was simple: wait for the right moment to strike. You had a personal stake in this fight, and you weren’t about to let Liv have the last laugh.

The match was already chaotic from the start. Liv, quick and scrappy, darted around Rhea’s raw power, using her agility to avoid heavy strikes and counter when she could. Rhea, meanwhile, stalked her like a predator, throwing Liv into the ropes and slamming her to the mat with authority. The audience was eating it up—every near fall, every reversal, had them on the edge of their seats.

And above the ring, Dominik Mysterio, Liv’s new ally after his betrayal of Rhea, hung in a steel cage. He’d been a thorn in Rhea’s side ever since their fallout, constantly inserting himself into her business, stirring the pot between her and Liv. Tonight, the cage was meant to keep him from interfering, a symbolic punishment for all his past sins. But knowing Dom, you had a feeling it wouldn’t be that easy.

The turning point came in the middle of the match. Dominik, ever the opportunist, had somehow managed to jimmy the cage door open. The crowd noticed first, gasping in surprise as Dom’s legs flailed helplessly, his body dangling halfway out of the cage. He was stuck, suspended like a piñata, swinging back and forth in the air. The absurdity of it sent ripples of laughter through the audience.

Rhea, catching sight of the spectacle, paused mid-move. Her icy glare turned upward, locking onto Dominik with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. Her lip curled into a wicked smirk. Liv, taking advantage of Rhea’s distraction, attempted a roll-up from behind, but Rhea kicked out immediately, sending Liv crashing to the mat.

The referee backed away, confused by what was happening above, but the crowd’s attention was now split between the ring and Dominik’s embarrassing predicament. Rhea, with her eyes still glued to Dom, rolled out of the ring. She stormed to the timekeeper’s area, tossing aside chairs and searching beneath the ring until she found her weapon of choice—a kendo stick.

The crowd erupted in cheers as Rhea marched toward Dominik, who was still dangling awkwardly from the cage. He had just managed to free himself, his feet now barely touching the top rope, when Rhea arrived. She cracked the kendo stick across his back with a satisfying *thwack*.

“Happy birthday to me!” she yelled, a wicked grin on her face as she raised the stick again.

Dom howled in pain, trying to scramble out of the way, but Rhea hit him again for good measure, sending him tumbling out of the cage and onto the floor, clutching his back. The crowd loved every second of it. Dom, who had tried to be the puppet master of this entire feud, was now reduced to a laughingstock.

But Rhea wasn’t done yet. She tossed the kendo stick aside and slid back into the ring, focusing her attention back on Liv. Liv, who had recovered from the earlier slam, met Rhea head-on, launching herself off the ropes with a flying crossbody. But Rhea caught her mid-air, showing off her raw power, before slamming Liv down with a vicious spinebuster.

The momentum shifted back in Rhea’s favor as she stalked Liv around the ring, each strike landing harder than the last. Every time Liv tried to mount a comeback, Rhea shut her down with brutal efficiency. It looked like Rhea was about to end it, lifting Liv for her signature Riptide finisher.

And then, the unexpected happened.

Raquel Rodriguez, and the crowd roared in surprise(yes I know it was quiet😭😭). Raquel had been out of action for weeks due to an injury, but it was clear she was back with a vengeance. She stormed down the ramp, her towering presence unmistakable. Rhea’s focus shifted, her eyes narrowing as she watched Raquel approach the ring with murderous intent.

Before Rhea could react, Raquel slid into the ring and charged at her, leveling her with a massive boot to the face. The referee, distracted by Liv, didn’t see a thing. Raquel wasted no time, raining down blow after blow on Rhea, targeting her midsection with vicious forearms and kicks.

Liv smirked from the corner, nodding in approval as Raquel continued to assault Rhea. The referee, still conveniently distracted, had no idea what was happening behind his back. Rhea, who had been dominating the match, now found herself outnumbered and overwhelmed by Raquel’s ambush.

That’s when you made your move.

Sending the crowd into a frenzy. No one had expected you to return tonight, least of all Liv and Raquel. You sprinted down the ramp, your heart pounding as adrenaline surged through your veins. The element of surprise was yours, and you weren’t going to waste it.

Sliding into the ring, you tackled Raquel to the mat, throwing punch after punch as the crowd roared in approval. Raquel, shocked by your sudden appearance, scrambled to her feet, but you were relentless. You hit her with a series of forearms, driving her back into the corner.

Raquel, furious, swung at you with a wild right hand, but you ducked, narrowly avoiding the strike. Her fist, however, connected with Rhea, who had just staggered to her feet. Rhea crumpled to the mat, and the referee, finally turning around, saw the impact.

It all happened in a blur. The referee called for the bell, signaling the end of the match. The crowd erupted into a mix of cheers and boos as the referee declared Rhea the winner by disqualification. Liv, meanwhile, celebrated on the outside, clutching her championship with a smug grin. She hadn’t won the match, but she had kept her title, which was all that mattered.

You stood there, chest heaving, as Raquel glared at you from across the ring. The two of you exchanged heated words, the tension palpable as the crowd chanted for more. Rhea, slowly recovering from the blow, rose to her feet, her eyes flicking between you and Raquel.

Despite the chaos, despite the DQ finish, Rhea had come out on top—at least in spirit. You helped her to her feet, the two of you standing tall as Liv and Raquel retreated up the ramp. This was far from over. The battle lines had been drawn, and the war was just beginning.

Rhea smirked at you, her eyes gleaming with a mix of gratitude and amusement. “Took you long enough,” she teased, wiping the blood from the corner of her mouth.

You shrugged, a smirk of your own forming. “Had to make a grand entrance, didn’t I?”

The two of you shared a brief, silent understanding before turning to face the crowd, arms raised high. Tonight was just the beginning. There would be more battles, more betrayals, but for now, Rhea stood victorious, and you were by her side, ready for whatever came next.

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

A Song of Ice & Shadow

A/N: Hello everyone! This is an Azriel x Archeron!half-sister reader series, featuring a slow-burn romance, angst, and possibly a sad ending. Don’t worry, they’ll eventually get together even if it doesn’t have a happy ending. I don’t know how many parts it’s going to have. It begins in ACOMAF chapter 24.

Chapters: 35/?

Summary: Y/n Archeron is a cold and sometimes cruel human who was turned fae against her will. As she navigates her life as a fae, she begins developing feelings for Azriel. Having never been in love makes her weary of these new found feelings. Whenever he gets closer than she anticipates, she pushes him away*.

*at least for first 30 chapters, the rest would be spoilers.

Chapter I: Summary: The eldest Archeron half-sister Y/n hates Fae kind, due to tragic past events. When she unexpectedly visits her sisters, she is met with the very race she hates.

II: Summary: To Y/n's dismay, the Illyrians keep coming to their home, and despite her initial reluctance to engage in war talks, she becomes entangled in the political world of the fae. This ends with her worst nightmare becoming a reality.

III: Summary: Y/n is adjusting to her new life in the Night Court, where she finds herself interacting with the Illyrians much longer than before, whether by chance or by force. An unexpected encounter with Azriel ignites something between them.

IV: Summary: Y/n is intrigued by a certain illyrian. They open up to one another one night, but she stops it from getting out of control. With Feyre’s return, things get more tense.

V: Summary: Tension rises as Y/n only makes things harder for everyone around her. After moving into the Town House, she is attacked by the King’s soldiers.

VI: Summary: Y/n decides to attend the meeting with the High Lords, where she is more open and relaxed than usual.

VII: Summary: Y/n chooses to remain at the Dawn Court, but Rhys allows her to stay for only three days, entrusting Azriel with her safety.

VIII: Summary: The Inner Circle prepares for war. Y/n and Azriel grow closer, and a shocking revelation unfolds on the battlefield.

IX: Summary: Y/n learns the truth about her powers. When Azriel is injured rescuing Elain, Y/n tends to his wounds.

X: Summary: Y/n struggles to hide her concern for Azriel while Cassian and Rhys tease her. As the final battle against Hybern approaches, Y/n and Azriel spend their last night together sharing a quiet moment before the fight.

XI: Summary: The day everyone dreaded has finally arrived. Facing impossible odds against Hybern, defeat seems inevitable- but nothing could have prepared Y/n for what's about to unfold.

XII: Summary: After the deaths of her fathers, Y/n past traumas resurface, leading her to do what she does best- push everyone away, including her sisters.

XIII: Summary: As Y/n spirals out of control, Feyre steps in, forcing a change that leaves the sisters at odds.

XIV: Summary: Cassian attempts to convince Y/n to train with him, but her stubbornness proves unshakable. However, when he leaves her with unexpected words, she finds herself grappling with an internal struggle over what to do next.

XV: Summary: Y/n slowly begins to recover, gradually warming up to Azriel and Cassian again. She agrees to train with Cassian but only under a few conditions.

XVI: Summary: An unexpected visit from Elain triggers Y/n, leading her to push everyone away again, but Azriel sees through her defenses. She begins to gain partial control over her powers after an emotional outburst and testing a new theory.

XVII: Summary: Y/n and Nesta’s presence is required at the River House, where two important announcements are made. This time, Y/n decides to not interfere with the dangerous choices her sisters are making. Later, a sparring session between Azriel and Cassian sparks an idea in Y/n.

XVIII: Summary: Azriel and Y/n engage in an intense sparring session. Later, she experiences her first period since turning, with Azriel and Cassian stepping in to help.

Taglist: @st4r-girl-official @judig92 @5onedirection5 @nayaniasworld @blackgirlmagicforever @stained-glass-eyes0708 @slytherintaco @aehllitas-blog @nebarious @t0uch-starved-h0e

[oceantornadoo]

his favorite patient (simon riley x f!reader)

part 5 of the two lieutenants series...toothrotting fluff

--

"where is she?"

ghost thundered into the base hospital, all teeth and claws. the hospital staff scattered in his wake, avoiding eye contact. finally, a doctor approached, looking down at her clipboard nervously. "who are you looking for, sir?" he tried not to antagonize medical staff, but someone needed to get it together. "the lieutenant." he spit out. "right this way, sir."

the doctor pushed through the door to your hospital room, the sterile breeze drifting through ghost's mask. the doctor moved out of the way so he finally could view you.

you, who had taken two bullets to your left arm and yet still managed to complete the mission. had dragged gaz out with you, who was recovering in the room next to you. you were asleep, brows furrowed even in your sleep. he drowned out the words of the doctor, opting instead to move closer to your bed. "she's alrigh'?" ghost mumured, almost to himself. "she'll need some PT to regain range of motion, but she'll be okay, sir. she's just taking some much needed rest." he nodded his thanks, and the doctor made her way out, smiling to herself as she closed the door.

ghost took off his balaclava, setting it on the table behind him. he took a seat on your bed, dwarfing the small bed with his frame. he smoothed out the furrow between your brows, his gloves long forgotten back on base, abandoned the moment he heard you were in the hospital. "s'pposed to be end game, yeah? can't get shot on me now." his thumb traced the slope of your nose, trailing to your lips, down to your jaw. "my brave dove." his thumb traveled to your collarbone, brushing back and forth. he lost sense of time, entranced in the feel of your skin, the softness against his battle worn skin. almost half an hour had passed until...

"simon?" you croaked out, throat parched. "yeah, baby? feel ok?" he was so enamored with you, all doe eyes staring back at him. ghost was gone, the bloody work done, and simon was here to stay. you nodded slowly, still recovering from the events of the past days. "thirsty." he was up immediately, looking for water. he found a water cup a nurse had dropped off earlier, so deep in his trance he hadn't seen her come in and out. "go'on." he offered you the straw and you sipped, trying to go slow. he watched your throat move up and down with every sip. "better?" you hummed your appreciation. "you don't have any recruits to bother?" he gave you a sideways grin, one of his rarities. "you're more important."

you're more important. simon was here, sitting vigil at your bedside. he shirked his duties just for you. "why are you here, si?" he clicked his teeth, breaking eye contact for the first time he'd been in the room. simon stared at the clock, stared out the window. "ya don't get it, do ya?" he turned back to stare at you. you shook your head, brows furrowing again. his thumb jumped out and smoothed it before even realizing. "i haven't taken you out on that date yet, but y'r it for me. i'm y'r lieutenant, yeah?" you reached your uninjured hand towards him and he leaned in, letting you cup his face. "its all or nothing for you, isn't it?" he nodded. "hav' to be in our line of work." you gave him a small smile. "what is this, a proposal, riley?" you brushed his thumb over his lips. "let me know when your left hand is healed for a ring, baby." you laughed and it was the sweetest sound in the world to him. "my answer is yes. and a maybe to the proposal. you're on a trial period." he nodded again, nuzzling into your hand. "jus' let me take care of you, yeah?" you nodded, falling back into your hospital bed. "now i can sleep." he kissed your forehead, and all was right in the world again.

--

ugh i want a boyfriend

[bestalbertcamuslover]

He is Retiring

↳ Masterlist

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ pairing: Sebastian Vettel x Driver! Reader ✯

✯ content warnings: none ✯

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

The paddock was alive with celebration—fireworks painting the night sky, team members laughing and cheering, and cameras flashing incessantly. She had done it: her fifth championship. It was a monumental achievement, yet it felt strangely hollow. The exhilaration of victory fought a losing battle against the ache in her chest, the knowledge that this was Sebastian Vettel’s last race.

Seb.

Her name echoed through the years, each chapter of their history turning like the pages of a book she had never dared to finish. Lovers. Rivals. Teammates. Strangers. Acquaintances. And somewhere in between all that—a tie that never quite let go.

The celebration began to fade as the night grew colder. She excused herself from the team festivities, claiming exhaustion. The truth was she couldn’t bear another round of questions about her triumph when all she could think about was that she would never share a track with him again.

She headed to his driver’s room, hoping to still find him there. It was somehow weird to think of all the moments they shared in each other drivers rooms, from kisses to outrages. And this seemed like the end to that. And still, she hesitated to knock.

“Come in,” he said from inside.

She opened the door softly, her expression unreadable. He was there, looking slightly nostalgic, and seemed almost surprised she had come.

“Hey,” she said as she closed the door behind her. 

“Hey,” he replied, his voice quiet but warm. He was sitting on the edge of the small couch, his race suit unzipped down to his waist.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Her gaze flicked around the room, taking in the remnants of his last race: his helmet resting on the table, and his worn gloves neatly folded on the armrest.

“You surprised to see me?” she asked, leaning casually against the door, trying to sound nonchalant.

“A little,” he admitted, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re usually the one leaving first.”

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “True. But, you know, milestones and all that. Fifth championship. Your last race. Felt like the kind of night to break a few habits.”

His smile softened into something more genuine. “I’m glad you did.”

She crossed the room, stopping just short of sitting down. “How does it feel? Saying goodbye to all this?”

Seb exhaled deeply, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Weird. Bittersweet. Like I’m ready, but also… not.” He looked back up at her. “What about you? Five titles. You should be out there celebrating, not in here with a retiree.”

She smirked, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Celebrations get boring after a while.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, but it was heavy, filled with all the things neither of them had said over the years.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” she said finally, breaking the quiet. “This feels... final.”

He nodded. “It is. For me, at least.”

“For both of us,” she said, surprising herself with the weight of her own words. “I mean, you’ve always been there, Seb. Whether I wanted you to be or not.”

He chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling in that familiar way that made her chest tighten. “I could say the same about you.”

She hesitated. “I didn’t want to leave tonight without saying… something. I just don’t know what.”

“Then don’t overthink it,” he said gently, standing and closing the small distance between them. “Just say what’s on your mind.”

Her eyes met his, and for a moment, she felt the years fall away—the arguments, the brief encounters, the shared victories and defeats. “I’m going to miss you,” she admitted, her voice very sincere paired with a soft grievous smile.

The honesty in her words seemed to catch him off guard, but he recovered quickly, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll miss you too.”

He opened his arms, and she didn’t hesitate this time. She stepped into his embrace, her head resting in his shoulder as his arms wrapped securely around her.

The tears came unbidden, and she let them. They weren’t loud or dramatic, just quiet streams that betrayed the walls she had so carefully built around herself.

“It’s not fair,” she muttered against him, her voice muffled but raw.

“I know,” he said softly, his hand gently running up and down her back.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, and yet not enough. She pulled back slightly, her hands resting on his arms as she looked up at him. “Don’t disappear,” she said, her voice steadier now. “Just because you’re retiring doesn’t mean you get to vanish entirely. I’ll find you if you do, and you know I’m good at that.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that reached his eyes. “I wouldn’t dare.”

She nodded, wiping her face quickly and stepping back, reclaiming a sliver of the distance between them. “Good. I’ll hold you to it.”

As she moved toward the door, she paused, glancing back over her shoulder. “You know, Seb, for an old retiree, you’re not so bad.”

“And for a five-time world champion, you’re surprisingly sentimental,” he shot back, grinning.

She rolled her eyes, but there was a softness to her expression as she opened the door. “Goodbye, Seb.”

“Goodbye,” he said, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes.

And with that, she was gone, leaving behind the man who had been so many things to her—friend, rival, lover—and taking with her the ache of knowing that this time, she might truly have left for good.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶��

✯ authors note: I have in my drafts many stories that follow this premise, and I will probably publish more stuff relating to this story, but unordered and that work independently. Also, if you want to read a happy continuation of this it would be this Retirement and a Failed Proposal as it is the same storyline (but they work independently)

BTW, I'm writing so much lately because I finally remember to buy coffee, I was caffeine depleted, but I'm back again (well since yesterday).

English is not my first language and the story is a lil corny, I know. I hope you liked it <333

[vir-bellanaris]

Uttering the battle cry of her people, Lavellan launched herself toward the sundering goliath of rock and fractured spirit.

Solas shouted a surprised curse, making a gesture and covering her body in a magical barrier right before she impacted.

He transformed into wolf-form and leapt into the fray, taking advantage of the opening Lavellan had created.

His jaws clenched around the semblance of a brittle neck, cracking it like dry grass under a boot.

Shards of lyrium shattered icelike from the massive creature’s form, pulsing veins of red oozed magma blood which ran in rivulets down its distorted and crumbling body.

The Dread Wolf paced between it and where Lavellan stood recovering.

She braced hands on knees, catching her breath.  Solas’ magic had protected her from the brunt of the blows, shielding her from the massive clublike hands.

It was a sentient construct of twisting shadow and pulsing blue lyrium, that much she knew.  Lavellan could also ascertain it was tied to the unrest of the Titans somehow and had sensed their presence enter the Fade, particularly that of Solas.

She gathered herself, walking to where the great wolf stood gazing at the smoldering heap.

She reached out tentatively at first, her fingers pushing through black smoking energy roiling off him.  

Her hand found his flank, the tough hide surprisingly sensitive as it twitched at the touch.  The Dread Wolf’s head turned from its vigil, three glowing blue eyes shone upon her, the milky pupils moving individually until they rested upon her face.  

The snarl twisting the canine mouth eased, the glint of his long fangs disappeared.

Lavellan stepped forward, running her hand up his body like a guide, her eyes never wavering from his.  

When she was inches from his snout she smiled, his presence filling her with a sense of comfort rather than that of mortal dread.  

She moved her mechanical hand up, reaching the palm of it towards the large wolven nose, the green flaring of the anchor sputtering once up her shoulder and neck.

Only when she hesitated, a hair’s breadth from the long nose, did his many eyes close and he pushed gently into her palm.

“Solas.” A low murmur left her, awe and love welling pools of emotion in her eyes.

Cyan light shimmered around his form which twisted and shrunk until it was his cheek that her palm cupped, his familiar smile her thumb traced.

A slow grin spread across Lavellan’s face. “Just like old times, huh?  With some added dramatics.”

Solas shook his head, fond but stern. “If by that you mean throwing yourself bodily at the enemy, then yes.”

“I’m efficient.”  Her smile didn’t fade.  She felt his fingers caressing gently along her chin and under her bottom lip.

“You’re reckless.”

“Same thing most of the time.”

“Vhenan.”

She mimicked his exasperated tone. “Solas.”

He kissed her, rubbing his nose against hers, allowing himself a moment to really taste her and feel her breath on his tongue.

When he pulled back, Lavellan felt slightly dazed. “Besides, I have you.”

He stared down at her, his lips twitching at the winded expression on her face. “You do have me.”  He conceded with a soft sigh.  “Better still, I have you.”

A faint glimmering caught Lavellan’s attention, her face turning as she squinted in the direction of the crumbled titanesque body.

Read the rest here

To Where Your Soul Travels, There Go I - Chapter 8 - MysticAwareness - Dragon Age: Inquisition [Archive of Our Own]

[starlsen]

The Whisper That I Know

Fem!Rook x Emmrich Volkarin ✶ NSFW ✶ 2.4k words

Read on AO3

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Rook was feeling tightly wound.

It certainly could be due to the journey she and her companions had found themselves on, searching high and low for something, anything to help them stop Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain from blighting the world. Perhaps the fighting was taking its toll on her body; whether it was darkspawn, demons, the Venatori or the Antaam… from battling the guardians in Arlathan Forest to clearing the blight from the Hossberg Wetlands, it was relentless. Unforgiving. Exhausting.

Quieter days were few and far between, leaving little time to unwind and recover before doing it all again the next day.

She dragged herself up the stairs, her feet like lead in her boots, each step a herculean effort. She rolled her shoulders, rubbed her neck with one hand and gripped the balustrade with the other, longing for a hot bath to soak her aching muscles and try, if only for a short while, to forget any of this was happening.

As she reached the top of the stairs, however, a flicker of green caught her eye and she paused, her gaze falling upon the statues that beckoned her towards the quarters she had become very familiar with in recent weeks. Thoughts of bright hazel eyes, secret smiles and hushed whispers settled over her, quickly giving way to thoughts of laced fingers pressed into silk sheets, breathless moans and lips trailing kisses on skin.

She inhaled deeply through her nose, letting it out slowly as she tried not to think about how long it had been since she’d felt his hands on her; how long it had been since she was kissed like it was the last time he’d ever do so. She suddenly became very aware of the tension in her shoulders, the longing in her heart, the throbbing ache between her legs.

She sighed.

Yes, she was feeling tightly wound indeed. And despite knowing she should probably head straight for her own quarters for a hot bath and a good night’s sleep, she instead found herself knocking on Emmrich’s door, opening it upon hearing his voice on the other side.

And there he was. Sitting by the fire, one leg crossed over the other, a book was cradled in his hands - Gods, his beautiful hands - his jewellery glittering in the firelight as he slipped a bookmark between the pages and peered over towards where she closed the door behind her.

“Darling,” He greeted, rising to his feet and oh, he wasn’t wearing his usual waistcoat. Rook swallowed. “I thought you’d be resting?” The decorative chain was missing from his shirt collar, which he’d unbuttoned to the base of his throat, exposing his neck and she was sure it had never looked more inviting. He looked utterly ethereal bathed in the warm glow of the fire and her lips parted at the sight before meeting his gaze, already crossing the space between them.

“Rook?”

She took the book from his hands and leaned around him to drop it onto the armchair, returning her gaze to his own before leaning up onto the tips of her toes, taking his face in her hands and pulling him into a kiss. Not a moment later, she felt his hands on her hips, and she pressed her body into his as she parted her lips to kiss him again. Gods, she'd missed this; the way he smelled, the way his lips felt on hers, the way he tasted. She pulled back just slightly, their breaths mingling between parted lips.

“I don’t need sleep,” She whispered, nuzzling his nose with her own. “I need you.”

His eyes searched her own for just a moment before they darkened and fell to her mouth, leaning in and capturing her lips in an open-mouthed kiss. He brought a hand up to cradle her jaw, the other winding around her middle and pulling her tightly against him. But then the hand pressing into the middle of her back stilled, and Emmrich pulled back slightly, earning a small sound of protest from Rook as she leaned in to chase his lips.

“Darling,” He said gently, fingers applying a slight pressure to the side of her neck, thumb brushing along her jaw. “You feel tense.” Violet eyes met his own, the light of the fire igniting the small ring of amber encircling her pupils.

“Nothing you can’t fix.” She said, sliding her hands down to the buttons on his shirt. A breathy chuckle escaped him, then, before placing his hands over her own, stilling her. Her brow came together, but he offered her a smile and brushed a chaste kiss to the corner of her lips.

“Lie down,” He said, and a moment later her brow relaxed, the smallest hint of a smile softening her features.

“Okay.” He stepped back to allow her to do so, settling on the thick, soft rug by the fireplace and watched as he slid the gold cuff from his forearm, and removing the leather glove underneath, setting both on top of the book on the armchair. The sight of his bare fingers tightened something in her core, and she willed her heart to slow down when he turned his attention to her once more, running his eyes down her body. His gaze was slow, purposeful, analysing, and she propped herself up on her elbows.

“There is something I would like to try,” Maker, his voice had dropped an octave. “Do you trust me, Rook?” Her chest tightened.

“You know I do.” He glanced down at her body again, and she quirked a brow. “What are you-”

She gasped, heat flooding to her cheeks as a phantom touch suddenly pressed against her core, fingers stroking over her leather pants. A familiar green glow emanated between her legs, his magic encircling his fingertips, and her chest began rising and falling quickly as her heart started beating a little harder, a little faster.

“H-how,” She breathed, fighting the urge to rock against the gentle, rhythmic pressure as he approached her.

“There are a great many things my magic can do, my dear.” He said as he knelt before her, and she inhaled sharply when she felt lips on her neck, pressing soft kisses to the skin just below her ear. Her eyes fluttered, holding his gaze as he crawled over her, desire coiling tightly within her, squeezing and burning and aching as he settled between her legs. “And I think it’s high time I showed you.”

She surged forward to kiss him, needing to kiss him, and let out a frustrated whine when he placed a jewelled hand on her chest and gently pushed her back.

“Relax.” She laid back as instructed, and he offered her a smile before sliding his hand down her abdomen, raising the other and rolling his fingers before his magic placed a kiss on the other side of her neck. A breathless moan escaped her lips with a sigh and his fingers brushed along the hem of her shirt, tugging it out of her pants and popping the buttons one by one.

“You are holding so much tension, my darling,” He mused. Cool air met the bare skin of her chest as he opened her shirt, and she watched as he leaned down to press a kiss to her sternum, his eyes never leaving her own. “It simply won’t do.” She couldn’t help the wicked grin that spread across her lips, and his own turned up in a devilish smirk in return.

“Is that so?” She whispered, and he hummed before pressing his lips to her abdomen. Her eyes slipped shut, tipping her head back and arching into his touch, reaching to thread her fingers through his hair. Her fingertips had barely brushed his silken strands before a phantom touch gripped her wrists, raising her hands above her head and pinning them to the floor. Her breath rushed from her lungs, and she felt him smile against her stomach as his lips trailed lower still, fingers gripping the waistband of her pants and underwear.

“Up.” Was his only command and she lifted her hips obediently as he tugged them down her thighs, using his magic to slip off her boots and remove her pants and underwear with ease. She peered at him through her lashes to find him kneeling between her legs, eyes fixed on her sex. She blushed furiously at the hunger in his eyes and gasped sharply when he motioned with his fingers, his magic suddenly there, a tongue sliding through her folds.

“Fuck,” She moaned, throwing her head back and arching her back, pleasure surging through her core as his magic rolled over her, circling her clit, sliding rhythmically over her slit. She felt the warmth of his body over her as his fingers slipped around the back of her neck, guiding her face to his and he claimed her lips in an open mouthed kiss. She whimpered as his tongue flicked over her bottom lip, and Maker take her because there were mouths all over her body; lips trailing kisses down her neck, over her chest, along the inside of her thighs. Hands cupped her breasts, thumbs brushed over her nipples, fingers gripped her hips.

It was all she could do to moan shamelessly into the kiss, almost on the verge of sobbing, the dizzying sensations utterly overwhelming her senses as Emmrich worked his magic; it was beyond anything she could have possibly imagined, and it was him, only him. She writhed beneath him, her breaths hot and heavy between kisses, needing more, needing him.

And then he slipped a hand between her legs, his fingers becoming slick with her pleasure, and she barely had a moment to register the feeling of his digits working in tandem with the phantom touch of his magic before he slid two fingers inside her. She cried out, breaking the kiss and she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think; he curled his fingers and brushed the spot that left her body trembling, his magic still sliding a tongue over that sensitive bundle of nerves. She panted, her heart pounding in her chest, her blood like fire in her veins and roaring in her ears.

“Breathe.” He said, and she opened her eyes, damn near falling apart at the sight of his eyes appearing so dark, half-lidded, cheeks flushed and lips swollen from their kiss. She tried to catch her breath, though they came in short, sharp gasps. “Slow,” He said, voice low, and continued to steadily pump and curl his fingers inside her. “Deep.”

She nodded, words failing her, inhaling through her nose and letting it out shakily through parted lips. The smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth left butterflies swarming in the pit of her stomach, her core tightening around his fingers and he leaned in, lips barely brushing over her own.

“Good,” He murmured, threading his fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck. “Very good, darling.” Her eyes fluttered shut once more as he pressed a kiss to her lips, and she parted them all too happily for his tongue to sweep in and slide against her own.

Mouths pressed against her neck and shoulders, teeth gently grazed her earlobes, hands massaged her breasts and tongues swept over her nipples; she arched into the touch, the featherlight caresses along her thighs, the fingers digging into her hips.

Something pulsed inside her. A strangled moan tried to escape her throat, muffled by his kiss, as tendrils of his magic spread within her, draping themselves over her core and pulsing rhythmically against that spot, again and again and again as he pumped his fingers harder, faster. She wasn’t sure if she was moaning or sobbing as tears burned behind closed lids, the pleasure mounting rapidly, her entire body tightening and trembling and oh, he was relentless. The magical restraints slid from her wrists to lace phantom fingers through her own, pressing them harder into the floor above her head. His kiss was punishing, bruising, swallowing her cries; and when he moaned into the kiss, that was all it took to push her over the edge. She tightened around his fingers, her thighs squeezing his hips, and the air was forced from her lungs in a silent scream as her mouth fell open and he took her bottom lip between his teeth.

Her orgasm erupted, a tidal wave of pleasure crashing through her entire body so ferociously it left her toes curling and fire coursing through her veins. Her ears were ringing and she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think; relief came when her lungs opened and she gulped down air, sweet, precious air, and she was certain that in that moment, the world stopped spinning and the earth shattered around them.

“That’s it,” He purred, brushing his thumb over her cheek, trailing kisses along her jaw as his praise melted away any lingering tension in her body. “Let it go, darling.” Her pleasure slowed to a gentle ebb and flow as his magic calmed and she whimpered as he eased his fingers out of her sex. Her heart was racing and she felt the grip loosening from her hands, though she couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak; she simply laid there, catching her breath, her chest rising and falling as his magic left her body and it was just the warmth of the fire and his body over hers.

She felt his fingertips brush a strand of hair from her forehead before cradling her cheek with his hand, and she turned into his touch, pressing a kiss to his palm. His breath was warm and ghosted over her cheek as he chuckled.

“Rook,” He said gently, and she hummed, nuzzling into his hand, his rings cool against her skin. “Look at me, my love.” Her eyes opened slowly, though remained half-lidded as she obliged him, violet meeting rich hazel, and she smiled. He returned the gesture, fine lines branching from his eyes as he did so, and she positively swooned as her heart soared in her chest.

“You are so beautiful.” She said, bringing her hands from above her head to hold his own that still cradled her cheek. His brows rose slightly before a bashful laugh escaped his lips as she leaned into his touch, into his warmth, and sighed. “That was…” She trailed off, and he bit his lip briefly before smiling broadly.

“Yes, I’d hoped it would be.” She snorted, and his eyes softened before he leaned down to press a sweet kiss to her lips. “Do you feel better?” He asked, brushing his nose against her own.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to walk any time soon,” She quipped, and he laughed heartily. “But yes.” She sighed. “Better than ever.”

[heli-writes]

A dragon's heart, part 7.

Pairing: Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x female!reader

Summary: The dragonblood tribe is known for being cruel, barbarian warriors that slaughter, loot and rape all places they pass through. They are feared among the villagers and even bigger cities. Having lost most of their women to a plague, they're trying to ensure their tribe's survival by kidnapping women from other places. However, they're not the only monsters in human form out there. When y/n experiences this first hand, she has no choice but to ask for help from no other but the barbarian leader Katsuki Bakugou himself.

Disclaimer: mentions of injuries, mentions of dead animals, hunting of animals, kissing, allusion to arousal

[Please don't read if you are sensible to or triggered by the topics mentioned above.]

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Series Masterlist

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„You shouldn't move yet!“, y/n says angrily. Katsuki is up and walking around camp. It seems as if he's getting ready to leave. Y/n follows him closely.

„Seriously! This wound is not even close to being healed yet. You can still rip it open again!“, y/n keeps scolding him but Katsuki simply ignores her. Y/n grips his arm and pulls it which has no effect on Katsuki whatsoever. He's just too strong.

Y/n doesn't give up yet. Quickly, she catches up to him and stands her ground in front of him. „I'm not joking, you need to sit down!“, she says loudly and stares up at him.

Katsuki almost laughs in her face. She's glaring up at him, anger twinkling behind her eyes. She has put her hands into her sides and huffs at him. Her cheeks are slightly red. He doesn't need to understand her language to know what she is saying. „I'm fine, you little shit. I've had worse injuries and went into battle with them.“, he grins at her. Y/n shakes her head in disapprovement and Katsuki ruffles her hair.

When they're all packed up, it's time to mount the dragon. This time, y/n pulls her up by herself and even helps Katsuki up with his injured leg.

Y/n doesn't want to admit it yet but she's growing more comfortable to ride the giant beast. She clutches the handle of the saddle a little less tight and even takes a closer look at the view.

She's never been this high before. Everything looks so small. Hungrily, she takes in the landscape around her. Now and then, she gleefully points out things to Katsuki.

Katsuki doesn't catch on the things y/n discovers but he's content watching her this excited. It's the first time she truly enjoys flying and her reaction makes him want to take her on a joy ride more often.

This makes an idea pop up in his head. He grips the reigns and y/n tighter and grumbles in her ear: "Hold on tight".

His deep voice sends shivers down y/n's spine. Her neck and stomach suddenly feel really hot. Before she can recover from this sensation, the dragon takes on speed. The wind makes her eyes water and she presses her legs into the saddle.

Suddenly, her sight turns and before she knows it, she's upside down in the air. It happened so fast, that she didn't even have time to scream. It's over just as fast again. Katsuki's booming laugh can be heard against the wind.

Y/n turns around to him and shoves his chest. "You asshole!", she yells half laughing. "Asshole, hm?", Katsuki repeats with a grin. He knows that's an insult. Y/n huffs. "Of course, you know that word.", she says sarcastically and twists around again.

Katsuki laughs again and pulls her closer to his chest. "You're naughty, eh.", he grins.

They fly only for a little while longer before Katsuki lands in a secured area. He leaves the dragon to rest and prepares for hunting. He secures his weapons and then gestures at y/n to come over to him. He gives her a hunting knife and a spear.

"Are we going hunting?", she asks him unsurely. She's pretty sure she will only stand in Katsuki's way but the man gestures to follow her. The dragon takes to the air and follows them as a small point above their heads.

Katsuki scouts the area looking for tracks. Y/n follows him trying to be as quiet as possible. Her father and mother took her hunting a few times and she learned that being quiet is essential to being successful. Once her father wanted to shoot a pheasant and y/n stepped on a branch scaring the bird away. While trying to conceal it, her father was really angry and she had to promise to gather vegetables for the entire family to make up for the lack of dinner.

She watches Katsuki closely. He crouches to the ground looking at the ground intently. Y/n knows what he's looking for. While she's not an expert at reading tracks, she knows how to identify tracks of certain animals: foxes, rabbits, deer, pheasants...

Wanting to help out, she looks around for tracks as well. It's hard for her untrained eyes to see more than leaves and dirt. She can hear Katsuki curse behind her.

Then, she finally sees something that might be interesting. An imprint of a hoof in the dirt.

"Katsuki, look!", she whispers excitedly and waves behind her. Katsuki stops his string of curses and walks over to her. Y/n points at the hoof print.

"Jackpot", he mumbles and gives y/n an appreciative pat on the head. His eyes follow the rest of the trail that y/n didn't notice. He gestures y/n to follow him which she does so on quick and light feet.

They follow the trail for a good half an hour. Eventually, y/n doubts that Katsuki even knows where they are going but every now and then she recognizes a hoof print in the dirt.

They arrive at the edge of a clearing. Katsuki gives her a hectic sign to get down and y/n quickly ducks behind a bush. Katsuki crouches next to her and readies his spear. Y/n lures over the edge of the bush and sees a flock of deer resting in the middle of the clearing. There's a mighty stag just in the middle of them.

Knowing Katsuki, that's probably what he'll aim for. Katsuki nudges her and gives her a sign to stay down and be quiet. Y/n nods and Katsuki gets in position.

The element of surprise is an essential part of the hunt, y/n knows that. She can see how Katsuki's brows furrow in concentration. He looks pretty like this, y/n thinks.

Then, he tenses his muscles getting ready to jump. Before y/n can blink, Katsuki's in the middle of the clearing. Even though y/n knew it was coming, his speed still surprised her. Y/n raises her head above the bush. Almost she gets run over by a fleeing deer.

Then she sees Katsuki ramming his spear into the stag and wrestling it to the ground. The stag tries to defend itself by throwing its antlers into Katsuki's direction but Katsuki throws himself onto the stag's side pushing its body and head down. Katsuki lets go of the spear and struggles to get his hunting knife out. When he has it secure in his hand, he expertly cuts the stag's throat.

Slowly, the stag's movements become heavier. Katsuki stays on top of it nonetheless. It seems as if he's whispering to the stag. Y/n gets up from her position at the edge of the clearing and walks closer as the stag takes its last breath. Katsuki puts his hand on the stag's head and mumbles in his language. To y/n, it seems as if he's saying a prayer. Katsuki closes the stag's eyes and gets up. He lowers his head in respect and y/n stays silent. This seems like a sacred ritual that y/n doesn't want to disturb.

When Katsuki raises his head again, his eyes meet hers. Y/n gulps. She doesn't really know how to behave in this situation. Katsuki removes the spear from the stag's side. He dips his thumb into the blood and draws a line on his forehead. He dips his thumb into the blood again and gestures for y/n to come over. He draws a similar line on her forehead.

"You're a successful hunter, too.", he tells her, "Without you, I wouldn't have found the flock."

Y/n looks up at him with those big, clueless eyes and Katsuki almost has to laugh again. He pats her head then turns to look at the sky. He whistles and the small point in the sky becomes bigger and bigger until the dragon lands at the clearing.

Katsuki drags the stag to the side into the shade. After that, they set up camp. The dragon is relieved of the weight it is carrying. Y/n and Katsuki stack the bags in a way that makes it easier to get ready to fly in the morning. When a bonfire is lit, y/n and Katsuki settle down to eat. They still have some leftovers from yesterday which they eat in silence.

The cold slowly creeps in once the sun has set. Y/n shivers and holds her hands towards the fire in an attempt to keep warm. Katsuki chews on a bit of meat as he watches y/n. Y/n rubs her arms. Katsuki swallows the last bite. Then, he grabs y/n's waist and pulls her over to him. Tucking her into his side, he drags his cape over y/n's body. Instinctively, y/n leans into his warmth and Katsuki puts his arm around her.

Unknown to her, Katsuki's heart starts pounding. Now's the chance to find out if she's interested in him like that, he thinks to himself. Slowly, he shifts and grabs her legs. Y/n is startled when she's suddenly pulled into Katsuki's lap.

Katsuki pulls her close and y/n's head rests on his chest. She can hear the beating of his heart and his raspy breath. Katsuki runs his hands up and down her arms and legs. Y/n's own heart starts to pick up. What is he doing?, she wonders.

When she looks up, his intense red eyes meet hers. There's a certain determination behind them that makes y/n swallow thickly. There's that warm feeling in her belly again.

Slowly, Katsuki drags his hand up her arm, along her shoulder, up her neck until it lies firmly against her cheek. Y/n's breath comes out heavy in anticipation. She knows exactly what is going to happen next. She'd be a fool not to notice how Katsuki's eyes flicker down to her lips.

Then, Katsuki pulls her face closer and presses his lips against hers. Electricity shoots down y/n's spine. It takes a second for y/n to react. Katsuki is just about to pull back in defeat when y/n jerks forward putting pressure behind her lips. She helplessly grabs onto the necklaces that hang around Katsuki's neck.

Relieve floods Katsuki's veins. His hand finds y/n's lower back and he pulls her closer, deepening the kiss. Y/n kisses him back more feverishly. Her arms snake around his neck and one of her hands find their way into his hair. Katsuki kisses back just as feverishly and he pulls her body flush against his.

He can feel the mounts of her breast against his chest and he feels blood rushing into all the wrong (or right?) places. He shifts y/n on top of him so she doesn't notice. It's not the right time for this.

He groans as he lets go of y/n. In all honesty, he didn't expect y/n to go all in like this. She did strike him as one of those shy, easily sexually intimidated girls. Seems like y/n hides a lot more behind her kind, soft eyes.

Y/n's cheeks are red and her breath comes out in slight puffs of air. Katsuki has to smirk at her disheveled appearance. He pulls her close once again giving her a quick, but deep kiss. When he lets go of her, she looks embarrassed.

"Seriously", y/n huffs, "what are you doing to me?".

Katsuki presses another kiss into her neck with a chuckle. He feels happy, triumphant even. This makes it easier on what comes next. He'll take her home and present her to his mother. Then, he'll take her as his mate.

He leans back stroking over her back as she leans into his chest. Bringing home a mighty stag and a woman to his people. How better can he prove himself worthy to be their leader? He's securing their future, no matter what comes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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[ladystoneboobs]

since affc, there's been some mystery and debate about the state of loras tyrell. did aurane waters make up all his horrible injuries for some reason, and is he actually fine? or is he already dying on dragonstone as cersei wished? a secret third thing? for my part, i think it's somewhere in between, that septa scolera's interrupted words about him indicate he's still alive and could recover, but that the account of the battle is still mostly true, with loras simply surviving despite expectations. i just cannot believe that grrm, beauty and the beast lover that he is, would resist this chance for a new play on batb by having this tyrell beauty turned into another grostesque, complete with burn scars similar to another asoiaf beast known as the hound.

When the appointed night arrived, another of the Kingsguard came for her, a man as different from Sandor Clegane as . . . well, as a flower from a dog. The sight of Ser Loras Tyrell standing on her threshold made Sansa's heart beat a little faster. -Sansa I, aSoS In the dark, I am the Knight of Flowers, he[Tyrion] had said. I could be good to you. But that was only another Lannister lie. A dog can smell a lie, you know, the Hound had told her once. She could almost hear the rough rasp of his voice. [...] She wondered what had become of Sandor Clegane. -Sansa VI, aSoS If I close my eyes I can pretend he[Sweetrobin] is the Knight of Flowers. Ser Loras had given Sansa Stark a red rose once, but he had never kissed her . . . and no Tyrell would ever kiss Alayne Stone. Pretty as she was, she had been born on the wrong side of the blanket. As the boy's lips touched her own she found herself thinking of another kiss. She could still remember how it felt, when his cruel mouth pressed down on her own. He had come to Sansa in the darkness as green fire filled the sky. He took a song and a kiss, and left me nothing but a bloody cloak. -Sansa III(/Alayne II), aFfC

that's 3 times now (a magic number) since sandor clegane left her that sansa has thought of him linked with loras tyrell, her old crush that she fantasized about kissing and the scary weirdo that her truamatized pysche has wrongly convinced her she'd actually been kissed by. sansa doesn't mean much to loras, just another silly fangirl who may or may not be a kingslayer, but as she's the pov character and he's not his importance to her and association by her with the hound could well be clues to his future fate. just as sandor (likely) survived his seemingly fatal injuries in asos to return as the gravedigger on the quiet isle, so loras can survive his injuries against the odds to come back looking more beastly, beastly like this clegane not-a-knight he'd once named the champion of the hand's tourney back in the days when sansa first saw him.