#secrets of the darkened seas

[solxamber]

Hello!

I have a request idea

Fem Yuu who is a princess- Crown Princess, in fact, of an empire far away across the sea that hasn't made contact with Twisted Wonderland's mainland for the past 200 years- and the reason the Dark Mirror pulled Princess!Yuu to NRC was to reconnect the lost magic from the Empire to the mainland because they very much need this magic to restore order to the world

Can this be with the Overblot Gang (including Malleus) + Ruggie, romantic hcs about the boys finding out Yuu's a princess after they start dating, and include the boys and Yuu finding out her mission of reuniting TW's magic with the Empire magic from the Dark Mirror? Thanks!

Overblot Gang + Ruggie x Princess! Reader

hi, i love the intricacies in your request! i made them mini fics instead of hcs. i hope that's alright! if this not what you wanted then just let me know <3

Riddle Rosehearts

The crisp autumn air wafts through the window of Heartslabyul’s dorm, and you watch Riddle pacing by the window. His usual composed demeanor is fraying at the edges, and you can feel the tension radiating from him. The letter, the one with the broken seal, sits accusingly on the desk, a constant reminder of the secret you’ve kept for far too long.

A Crown Princess. That’s who you are. Or rather, that’s who you’ve always been, but here, in Twisted Wonderland, you’d managed to push it aside. Until now.

Riddle has always prided himself on knowing everything about the people around him. Rules and order are his guiding principles, but you’ve been an exception to that. You know this must be eating him alive—how could I have missed something so important?

You take a breath, steadying yourself. You’ve faced worse than this—court intrigue, magical politics, centuries-old prophecies—but this feels heavier because it’s him. And he’s looking at you, brow furrowed, his usual clear-cut logic fraying under the weight of the revelation.

“I received a letter,” Riddle finally says, breaking the silence. His voice is sharp, but it wavers at the edges, betraying his frustration. He gestures to the letter, the Dark Mirror’s seal still visible under the broken wax. “From the Dark Mirror. It… told me everything.”

Your stomach churns, but you’ve prepared yourself for this moment. You knew you couldn’t hide your identity forever. “So, you know,” you say softly, stepping toward him.

“I do.” His words are clipped, tension taut in every syllable. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You move closer, offering a tentative smile. “It wasn’t about hiding anything, Riddle. I just… wanted to keep things simple between us. I didn’t want you to treat me differently because of my title.”

“You’re a Crown Princess,” he repeats, disbelief laced through his words. “Of an empire that hasn’t made contact with Twisted Wonderland for over two hundred years. And your magic—” His voice catches, and you see his expression darken as he recalls the moment of his overblot. “The magic you used to save me… that was your empire’s magic, wasn’t it?”

You nod, biting your lip as memories flood back. The moment you had stepped in, wielding the ancient, pure magic of your kingdom to pull him back from the brink of his overblot. You remember the desperate glow in your hands, the way his distorted form had stilled under your touch, the pure energy surging through you. No blot. Just light.

“It was,” you admit. “That magic is what our kingdom has safeguarded for centuries. Pure energy. Untainted by the corruption of blotting.”

Riddle’s brow creases. “Why didn’t you tell me before? I could have helped.”

“It’s not something I wanted to burden you with,” you say, your voice soft but firm. “You have so much on your plate already. You’re the dorm leader, managing all of Heartslabyul, and on top of that, your own studies. I didn’t want to complicate things.”

He steps closer, his posture rigid but his eyes softening as they meet yours. “You’re not a burden,” he says quietly but firmly. “I want to help you. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

Your heart tightens at his words. He’s always been so strong, so in control of everything. But here he is, offering to share the weight of a secret that could shift the balance of the world’s magic.

You take a deep breath, feeling the gravity of what you’re about to say. “There’s more to it. The reason the Dark Mirror pulled me here wasn’t just to attend NRC. It’s because the balance of magic in Twisted Wonderland has been… fractured. Our magic—the Empire’s magic—was lost to this land centuries ago, and now the Mirror believes it’s time to reunite them.”

His eyes widen, the seriousness of the situation settling in. “Reunite the magic? How?”

“I was chosen to reconnect our magic with Twisted Wonderland’s,” you explain. “My kingdom’s magic is pure and powerful, but without the balance of your world’s magic, it’s unstable. There’s an imbalance, Riddle. It’s why overblots are becoming more frequent.”

He winces at the mention of overblots. He knows that all too well. “So… the Dark Mirror sent you here as part of a prophecy? To fix the magic?”

You nod. “Yes. But I didn’t want to drag you into that. I just… wanted to be normal for a while.”

There’s silence for a moment as Riddle processes everything. His mind must be spinning—ancient kingdoms, magical prophecy, a mission that spans centuries. But then, slowly, he reaches for your hand. His fingers brush against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his touch grounding you.

“I’m in this with you,” he says, his voice steady. “We’ll figure it out together.”

You smile, relief washing over you. “Thank you.”

He straightens, his usual air of authority returning. “We need to make a plan. There’s a lot that needs to be done if we’re going to reunite the Empire’s magic with Twisted Wonderland’s.”

You chuckle softly. “You’re already thinking ahead.”

“Of course,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “This is too important to leave to chance.”

You squeeze his hand, grateful for his support. You’ve known all along that this mission was going to be a monumental task, but having him by your side makes it feel more manageable.

“No more secrets, alright?” Riddle adds, his tone softer now.

“No more secrets,” you promise, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like the weight of the world isn’t yours to bear alone.

Leona Kingscholar

You’ve always known that keeping your true identity from Leona wouldn’t last forever. He’s sharp—far too sharp to miss something as big as the fact that you’re not just any transfer student. But so far, you’ve managed to fly under the radar. Leona’s laziness and your tendency to avoid unnecessary confrontation have kept your secret under wraps. Until now.

It’s a typical sunny day in the Savanna, and Leona is lounging on his favorite spot in the botanical garden. You’re sitting beside him, staring at the letter in your hand, the seal of your empire unmistakable. The weight of the truth presses on your chest as you glance at him, knowing you can’t keep this from him any longer.

“Oi, herbivore, why you fidgetin’ like that?” Leona drawls without even opening his eyes, his voice deep and lazy, though you can sense the undercurrent of curiosity.

You hesitate for a moment, your fingers tightening around the letter. “Leona, there’s something I need to tell you.”

He cracks open one eye, barely lifting his head to look at you. “If you’re about to tell me you broke one of Ruggie’s bones or something, I really don’t care.”

You let out a small laugh despite the nerves swirling in your stomach. “No, it’s not that. It’s… bigger than that. A lot bigger.”

Leona raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t move. “Bigger than the time you saved me from my overblot with that weird magic of yours? You’re gonna have to try harder than that.”

Your breath hitches at the memory. The power you’d unleashed back then—the pure, non-blot magic that had surged from your very soul to pull him back from the edge. He’d never asked too many questions about it, which had always struck you as odd. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge how close he’d come to losing control.

“I’m not who you think I am, Leona,” you say, feeling the weight of the confession settle in. “I’m a Crown Princess. Of an empire across the sea. One that hasn’t been in contact with Twisted Wonderland for over two hundred years.”

Leona’s other eye opens now, and he shifts to sit up, his attention fully on you for the first time. “What?”

You offer a weak smile, holding up the letter. “This is from my family. They’re reminding me of the mission I was sent here for.”

“Mission?” His voice is lower now, a growl edging into his words. “What mission?”

You take a deep breath and begin to explain. “Our empire’s magic… it’s pure energy. It doesn’t generate blot like the magic here. But centuries ago, we lost contact with Twisted Wonderland, and the Dark Mirror believes that the magic of our two worlds needs to be reunited. That’s why I’m here.”

Leona’s eyes narrow as he processes this, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. “So that’s why your magic didn’t cause blot. And why you’ve been so secretive.”

“Yes,” you admit. “I didn’t want to complicate things. I just wanted to be normal here.”

Leona lets out a scoff, running a hand through his hair. “Normal? In this place? You should’ve known better, herbivore. Especially being around me.”

You sigh, leaning back against the tree trunk. “I know. I should’ve told you sooner. But I didn’t want you to see me as just another royal.”

Leona gives you a sidelong glance, his lips curling into a lazy smirk. “Another royal? Like I care about all that. I’m barely interested in my own kingdom’s politics. Why would I give a damn about yours?”

You blink, momentarily stunned. “Wait, really?”

He shrugs, lying back down in the grass, his arm draped lazily over his eyes. “Look, princess or not, you’re still you. That’s what matters. And as for that mission of yours—” he lifts his arm to peer at you, “—I’m not getting involved in that mess unless I absolutely have to.”

You laugh softly, relieved that he’s taking this much better than you expected. “Thanks, Leona.”

He grunts in response, already seeming half-asleep again. “Whatever. Just don’t make me do extra work.”

You smile, lying back beside him, your heart lighter now that the truth is out. Somehow, you knew Leona wouldn’t care about your title. He’s never been one to get caught up in the pomp and circumstance of royalty. But now, with him beside you, it feels like maybe this mission won’t be so impossible after all.

Azul Ashengrotto

You sit in Azul’s office at the Mostro Lounge, the sleek furniture and polished surfaces doing little to ease the anxiety swirling in your chest. The letter from your family rests on the table between you, the wax seal broken. Azul hasn’t opened it yet, but you can see the curiosity in his eyes.

Azul likes to know everything. He likes to have control, to understand the pieces in play so he can manipulate the board to his advantage. And now, here you are, about to shatter his carefully constructed perception of you.

“So,” Azul begins, his voice smooth as ever, though you can hear the underlying tension, “what’s in the letter?”

You swallow, glancing down at the envelope before meeting his gaze. “It’s… from my family. My real family.”

Azul’s eyes narrow slightly, the faintest hint of suspicion creeping into his expression. “Go on.”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “I’m not just a transfer student from another world, Azul. I’m a Crown Princess. Of an empire far across the sea. We haven’t had contact with Twisted Wonderland in over two hundred years.”

Azul’s eyebrows shoot up, surprise flickering across his usually composed face. “A princess?” he repeats, his voice laced with disbelief. “You? Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“I didn’t want anyone to know,” you admit. “I just wanted to fit in. To be… normal.”

Azul stares at you for a long moment, his sharp mind already racing through the implications. “And the magic you used to stop my overblot…?”

“It’s my kingdom’s magic,” you explain. “It’s pure energy, uncontaminated by blot. That’s why it didn’t corrupt me.”

Azul’s fingers tap lightly against the arm of his chair as he considers your words. “So, you’ve been keeping this from me the entire time.”

“I didn’t want to complicate things,” you say, your voice soft. “I didn’t want you to treat me any differently.”

Azul lets out a soft chuckle, though there’s an edge to it. “You didn’t want to complicate things? Darling, you’re a Crown Princess from a lost empire with magic that doesn’t generate blot. Things were already complicated.”

You wince, but he’s not wrong. You knew keeping this secret wouldn’t last forever, but you had hoped for a little more time.

“And this letter?” Azul gestures to the unopened envelope. “What does it say?”

“It’s from my family,” you explain. “They’re reminding me of my mission. The reason the Dark Mirror pulled me here.”

Azul’s curiosity sharpens, his eyes gleaming with interest. “Mission? What mission?”

You take a breath, steadying yourself. “Our magic—my kingdom’s magic—was lost to this land centuries ago. The Dark Mirror believes it’s time to reunite it with Twisted Wonderland’s magic. That’s why I’m here.”

Azul leans forward, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers. “Reunite the magic? How exactly do you plan to do that?”

You shake your head. “I’m still figuring that out. But… it’s why I was brought here. And why I used my magic during the overblots. I was trying to restore balance.”

Azul’s gaze lingers on you, and you can practically see the gears turning in his mind. “I see. This… changes things.”

You tilt your head, unsure of what he means. “Changes things how?”

Azul’s lips curl into a sly smile. “Well, if you’re a princess, that means you have access to resources. Power. Connections. I imagine there’s a great deal of opportunity in this… alliance.”

You sigh, giving him a wry smile. “Always thinking about business, aren’t you?”

Azul chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “It’s what I do best. But—” his expression softens slightly, and he meets your gaze, “—I won’t push you. Not on this. It’s… a lot to take in.”

You relax a little, grateful for his understanding. “Thank you.”

Azul nods, though the calculating glint never fully leaves his eyes. “Of course. Just… keep me informed. I’d hate to be left in the dark again.”

You laugh softly, but there’s a sense of relief in your chest. The truth is out, and while Azul is already scheming, you know he won’t push you too far. At least, not yet.

And for now, that’s enough.

Jamil Viper

Living in Scarabia means heat, sand, and secrets. You and Jamil have grown close—close enough that hiding your own secret from him has become a heavy burden. He’s already shared so much with you, trusted you with his frustrations, his ambitions, his deepest thoughts. It’s only fair you do the same.

The two of you sit in the common room of Scarabia, the afternoon heat baking the walls outside. Jamil is making tea, his movements precise and efficient, while you fidget with the letter in your lap. He’s been keeping an eye on you, even though he hasn’t said anything yet.

You can feel it in the air—he knows something’s up.

Finally, as he pours the tea, Jamil’s eyes flick over to the envelope in your hands. “You’ve been staring at that for a while now,” he says casually, though there’s an edge of curiosity in his voice. “Care to share what’s on your mind?”

You hesitate, but you know it’s time. You can’t keep this from him any longer. “It’s… from my family,” you begin carefully, watching his reaction. “My real family.”

Jamil’s brow furrows slightly as he takes a seat across from you. “Real family?”

You nod, the words heavy on your tongue. “I’ve been keeping something from you, Jamil. Something big.”

His gaze sharpens, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. “I’m listening.”

You take a deep breath. “I’m not just a transfer student from another world. I’m the Crown Princess of an empire across the sea. We’ve been isolated from Twisted Wonderland for over two hundred years.”

Jamil’s eyes widen, just for a second, before his expression smooths over into something more neutral. He sets his tea down carefully, though you can see his mind racing. “A princess.”

“Yes,” you say, your voice steadying. “I didn’t want anyone to know. I wanted to live normally here.”

Jamil leans back, crossing his arms. “So, why tell me now?”

“Because I trust you,” you admit. “And… because there’s more.”

Jamil’s eyes narrow slightly. “More?”

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. “The reason I’m here… the Dark Mirror brought me here to reunite my empire’s magic with Twisted Wonderland’s. Our magic is different—purer. It doesn’t generate blot, and it’s powerful. That’s the magic I used to stop your overblot.”

Jamil is silent for a long moment, processing your words. You can see the tension in his posture, the way he’s trying to make sense of everything you’ve just told him. “So, all this time… you’ve been hiding this from everyone.”

“Yes,” you say softly. “I didn’t want you to think of me differently.”

He lets out a small, humorless laugh. “Differently? You’re a princess from a lost empire, wielding magic that could change the entire world. Of course I’m going to think of you differently.”

Your heart sinks at his words, but Jamil quickly shakes his head, as if realizing how harsh he sounded. “I mean… it’s a lot to take in. But I get why you kept it a secret.”

You exhale in relief. “Thank you.”

Jamil’s gaze softens, though there’s still a guarded look in his eyes. “Just promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“If this mission of yours… if it starts to get dangerous, tell me. Don’t keep me in the dark.”

You smile, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “I promise.”

Jamil nods, his expression still thoughtful as he takes another sip of tea. “Good. Now, about this magic of yours… I’m guessing you’re not just going to leave it at that, are you?”

You laugh softly. “No, I’m still figuring it out. But I’ll keep you posted.”

Jamil smirks, leaning forward. “You’d better.”

Vil Schoenheit

Of all the people you’ve hidden your secret from, you think Vil is the one who would be the least surprised by the truth. He’s always been perceptive, always seen through the facades people try to present. And yet, as you sit in the elegant parlor of Pomefiore, you feel more nervous than ever.

The letter from your family rests on the table in front of you, its royal seal broken but the weight of its contents still pressing heavily on your mind. Vil sits across from you, perfectly poised as ever, sipping tea with the grace of someone who expects perfection in every aspect of life.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Vil remarks, his violet eyes fixed on you. “Something troubling you, darling?”

You swallow, your fingers twitching nervously. “There’s… something I need to tell you.”

Vil raises an elegant brow, setting his teacup down with a soft clink. “Oh?”

You take a deep breath. “It’s about who I really am.”

Vil leans back slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Go on.”

“I’m not just a transfer student from another world,” you begin, the words heavy on your tongue. “I’m the Crown Princess of an empire across the sea. An empire that hasn’t had contact with Twisted Wonderland in over two hundred years.”

For the briefest moment, you see a flicker of surprise in Vil’s eyes before his expression smooths back into its usual composed elegance. “A Crown Princess,” he repeats, as if tasting the words. “Well, that certainly explains a few things.”

You blink, caught off guard by his calm reaction. “Wait… you’re not surprised?”

Vil smiles, though there’s a sharpness to it. “I suspected there was more to you than met the eye. You’ve always carried yourself with a certain… grace. It makes sense now.”

You let out a small laugh, relief flooding through you. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you figured something out.”

Vil’s smile softens, and he tilts his head slightly. “But why tell me now? Why reveal this secret after all this time?”

“Because it’s not just about me being a princess,” you say, your voice more serious now. “There’s a mission. The Dark Mirror brought me here to reunite my empire’s magic with Twisted Wonderland’s. Our magic is different—purer. It doesn’t generate blot. That’s the magic I used to stop the overblots.”

Vil’s eyes narrow slightly, his gaze sharpening. “So that’s how you managed to stop those overblots without succumbing to the corruption.”

You nod. “Yes. But it’s more than that. I was sent here to restore balance. To reunite the magic of our two worlds.”

Vil is silent for a moment, his gaze thoughtful as he processes this new information. “I see. That’s quite the responsibility.”

You sigh, leaning back in your chair. “Tell me about it.”

Vil watches you for a long moment, his eyes flicking over you as if assessing something. Then, with a graceful movement, he reaches across the table and takes your hand in his. “You’ve carried this secret for long enough. I imagine it’s been a heavy burden.”

You nod, feeling the warmth of his hand against yours. “It has.”

Vil’s gaze softens, and for a moment, you see a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes. “You’re not alone in this. If this mission is as important as you say, then you’ll need support. And I intend to be that support.”

Your heart swells at his words, and you squeeze his hand gently. “Thank you, Vil. That means a lot.”

Vil smiles, a genuine smile this time, free of the sharp edges he usually wears. “Of course, darling. Now, about this magic of yours… I imagine it’s quite powerful.”

You chuckle softly. “You have no idea.”

Vil’s eyes gleam with curiosity, and you can tell that he’s already thinking about the possibilities. “Then perhaps it’s time we start planning. After all, if you’re going to reunite the magic of two worlds, you’ll need to do it with style.”

You laugh, feeling lighter than you have in weeks. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Vil.”

And as you sit there, your hands still intertwined, you realize that with Vil by your side, this mission might just be possible after all.

Idia Shroud

You’ve always known Idia Shroud to be an enigma wrapped in blue flames and social anxiety. It’s what made him so interesting to you. His genius and quirks drew you in, even if he spent more time online than in the real world. You started off as friends, but somewhere along the way, things changed. Despite his reclusive nature, you’d found yourself growing closer to him, enough to know there’s something deeper between you two now.

But you’ve been keeping a secret from him. A huge secret. And today, sitting in his dorm room, surrounded by the blue light of his computer screens, you feel that familiar anxiety in the pit of your stomach.

You glance over at Idia, who’s completely absorbed in some new game. His fingers move with lightning speed across the keyboard, his eyes flickering with concentration. “Hey, Idia,” you start, keeping your tone casual, but your hands feel clammy.

He doesn’t look up from his game but hums, acknowledging you. “Hmm? Yeah?”

You take a deep breath. “I need to tell you something.”

He pauses the game—actually pauses it—and turns in his chair, looking at you, his eyes wide with curiosity and maybe a little bit of nervousness. “Uh, this sounds like a boss-level conversation. What’s up?”

You fidget, trying to find the right words. “I’m… not exactly who you think I am. I’m not just a student here at NRC. I’m actually the Crown Princess of an empire across the sea.”

For a second, Idia just stares at you, and you can almost see the gears in his brain grinding to a halt. Then, very slowly, he says, “You’re… what now?”

“A princess,” you repeat, feeling awkward under his intense stare. “My empire hasn’t made contact with Twisted Wonderland in over two hundred years. The Dark Mirror brought me here because I’m supposed to reunite the magic of my empire with this world’s magic.”

Idia blinks. Then he blinks again. “So… you’re like, a real-life anime protagonist?” He tilts his head, and his eyes widen even further. “Wait—does that make me… the side character? Or am I the support role??”

You can’t help but smile at his reaction, a mix of disbelief and excitement. “You’re more important than that, Idia. And there’s more. The magic I have—it’s different. It doesn’t generate blot. I used it to help stop your overblot.”

The room goes silent, except for the quiet hum of his computers. Idia’s mouth drops open, and his hair flares a little brighter, flickering with blue flames. “Wha—huh?! You did what?!”

“I used my empire’s magic,” you repeat, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s pure energy, and I used it to pull you out of your overblot. It’s part of why I’m here. I’m supposed to reunite this lost magic with Twisted Wonderland.”

Idia runs a hand through his hair, looking like he’s about to have a full system crash. “Hold on, hold on. So, you’re a princess, with special magic, and you saved me with it? Like, an actual OP protagonist moment?!”

“Well… yeah, I guess,” you say, chuckling at his reaction. “It wasn’t exactly easy, but…”

“You’re insane,” he blurts out, his voice somewhere between awe and disbelief. “I mean—cool! But also totally insane. This is like something straight out of an otome game or a fantasy RPG. And you’ve been hiding this the whole time?!”

You rub the back of your neck, feeling a bit sheepish. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Idia’s fingers twitch at his sides, and he turns back to his desk, muttering something under his breath. “A real princess… crazy… and you saved me with magic… seriously, this is like level 99 plot stuff.”

You can’t help but smile, feeling a bit lighter now that the truth is out. “So… you’re not mad I didn’t tell you sooner?”

He spins back around, shaking his head. “Mad? No way. I mean, okay, a little blindsided, but this is cool. Way cooler than anything I’ve ever played! And—wait—” He pauses, eyes narrowing, “Does this mean I have to start bowing or something? I don’t do that royal etiquette stuff.”

You laugh. “No, Idia. You don’t have to bow.”

His shoulders visibly relax, and he sighs in relief. “Good. ‘Cause, yeah, not happening.”

There’s a moment of silence as Idia processes everything, his brain probably running a million calculations at once. Then, very quietly, he says, “You really saved me, huh?”

You nod, feeling a soft warmth spread through you. “Yeah. I couldn’t let you go.”

Idia looks down, his cheeks flushing pink, his flames flickering more erratically. “Th-thanks. I guess… I owe you, big time.”

You smile, reaching out to gently take his hand. “You don’t owe me anything, Idia. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He glances at your hand in his, eyes wide, and then back up at you. “So, uh… does this make me, like, your royal confidant or something? Sidekick? Player two?”

You laugh again, squeezing his hand. “How about just you? That’s more than enough.”

Idia blushes harder, his hair flaring a bright blue, but a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Okay… I guess I can live with that.”

As you sit together in the soft glow of his room, the weight of your secret finally lifted, you feel like everything is falling into place. Maybe the Dark Mirror knew what it was doing after all.

Malleus Draconia

The air in the halls of Diasomnia feels different today, charged with a strange energy. Malleus Draconia, the formidable heir to the Thorn Fairy legacy, has always held an aura of mystery, but you’ve come to know him as someone who protects his friends fiercely. You’ve grown closer with him, and the bond you share has blossomed into something deeper.

But there’s one truth that still lies between you—your identity as a princess from a lost empire. You’ve kept it hidden for so long, but now it feels like the right moment to reveal your true self.

As you and Malleus stroll through the gardens, the sun setting in a blaze of colors, you decide it’s time. You can feel your heart racing, but the beauty of the moment encourages you.

“Malleus,” you say, breaking the comfortable silence that’s enveloped you both. “There’s something important I need to share with you.”

His emerald eyes focus on you, curiosity piqued. “What is it, my dear?”

You take a deep breath. “I’m not just a student here. I’m the Crown Princess of an empire across the sea, and I’ve come to reunite the magic of my empire with Twisted Wonderland’s magic.”

For a moment, Malleus is silent, his expression unreadable. “A princess?” he finally says, his voice low and smooth. “Is this why you have been avoiding the subject of your past?”

You nod, feeling vulnerable under his gaze. “Yes. I didn’t want it to change how you see me.”

Malleus tilts his head slightly, his long horns catching the light. “You think I would judge you for your title? You are the same person I care for, no matter your origins.”

A rush of warmth floods through you. “Thank you, Malleus. I was worried you might think I was hiding something from you.”

His expression softens, and he takes a step closer. “You carry a great burden, and it is only fair that you share it with those who hold you dear. But there is more, is there not?”

You bite your lip, hesitant. “Yes. The Dark Mirror brought me here for a reason. I must reunite our two magics—the magic of my empire, which has been lost to time, and the magic of Twisted Wonderland.”

His eyes gleam with interest, and he nods slowly. “And you possess this magic?”

“I do. It’s pure energy that doesn’t generate blot. I used it to help stop your overblot.”

Malleus’s expression shifts from curiosity to admiration. “You wield such power? That is remarkable.”

You feel a rush of pride at his words, but also an ache of vulnerability. “I want to do this, Malleus. I want to restore balance and reunite our worlds.”

He takes your hands in his, his touch warm and reassuring. “Then you shall not do it alone. I will stand by your side, and together we shall see this through.”

Your heart swells at his support, and you nod, feeling a sense of determination wash over you. “Thank you, Malleus. That means the world to me.”

As the sun sets behind you, casting a golden hue over the garden, you realize that you are no longer alone in this mission. With Malleus by your side, the path ahead feels bright and full of possibilities.

Ruggie Bucchi

Life at NRC is never boring, especially when you’ve got Ruggie Bucchi at your side. Dating Ruggie had been an unexpected twist of fate—he was sly, resourceful, and could charm his way out of any situation. Plus, his loyalty and sharp wit made him someone you could always rely on. And after Leona’s overblot, when you had used your strange, powerful magic to stop him, you and Ruggie had become even closer.

But there was something you hadn’t told him. Something that’s been weighing on your mind. Sitting on the worn couch in Savanaclaw’s lounge, you glance over at Ruggie, who’s happily munching on some snacks he’d stolen from the kitchen.

“Hey, Ruggie,” you begin, feeling a knot form in your stomach. “Can we talk about something?”

He looks up, still chewing. “What’s up?” His tone is casual, but his sharp eyes pick up on your serious expression. “You look like you’re about to drop some heavy news.”

You take a deep breath. There’s no easy way to say this. “So… remember how I stopped Leona’s overblot? How I used magic that wasn’t from this world?”

Ruggie stops chewing, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Yeah, how could I forget? You were shining like the sun and stopped him without a scratch. Pretty wild stuff.”

You swallow. “There’s a reason for that. I’m not from Twisted Wonderland, but that’s not the whole story. I’m actually a princess—the Crown Princess—of an empire across the sea. The magic I used is the lost magic of my empire, and the Dark Mirror pulled me here to reunite it with this world’s magic.”

Ruggie freezes, the snack he’s holding slipping from his fingers. For a moment, he just stares at you, blinking. Then he bursts out laughing. “Ha! Good one! You really had me for a sec there.”

But when you don’t laugh back, his chuckles die out. “Wait, you’re serious? You’re… a princess?”

You nod, feeling the weight of your confession settle between you. “Yeah. The Dark Mirror brought me here because it’s time to reconnect our magic with Twisted Wonderland’s. It’s my mission.”

Ruggie blinks again, his mouth hanging open slightly. “You’ve gotta be kidding me…” He rubs his head, as if trying to process everything. “You’re telling me I’ve been dating royalty this whole time?”

“Well, technically, yes.” You manage a small smile. “Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”

Ruggie is silent for a moment, his brow furrowed as if he’s trying to compute what you’ve just said. Then, with a sly grin, he leans back against the couch. “Well, I guess I always knew I had good taste. Didn’t think I’d end up with a princess, though. What’re the odds?”

You laugh, feeling the tension in your chest loosen slightly. “Does it… bother you?”

He shakes his head, though he still looks a little dazed. “Nah. I mean, it’s a lot to take in, but I’ve always been good at rolling with the punches. If anything, it explains a lot about you. That magic of yours is on a whole different level.”

You sigh in relief. “I was worried you’d think it was too much.”

Ruggie grins, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “Too much? Nah. I mean, I’ve dealt with Leona for years, right? Besides, this just means I gotta up my game. Can’t have a princess thinking I’m slacking off.”

You roll your eyes. “As if you’ve ever slacked off.”

He smirks, but then his expression softens. “But for real… you stopping Leona’s overblot? That was something else. I’ve never seen magic like that. You saved him.”

You nod. “It’s the magic of my empire. It doesn’t generate blot. It’s pure energy. I’ve been trying to figure out how to use it properly, but it’s… a lot.”

Ruggie leans back, stretching his arms behind his head. “Well, sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you. But hey, you’ve got me now. I’ll make sure you don’t burn out or anything.”

You smile at him, feeling a wave of affection wash over you. “Thanks, Ruggie. I really appreciate it.”

He winks. “Anything for you, Princess.”

You playfully punch his arm, but you can’t help the warmth that spreads through you. Despite everything, Ruggie always knows how to make you feel at ease.

As the day goes on, you both continue lounging around the dorm, the weight of your confession already feeling lighter. And as you sit there with Ruggie, you can’t help but feel grateful that, out of everyone, it’s him by your side.

Later, when you return to your room, you find yourself thinking about everything that’s happened since you arrived at NRC—the overblots, your magic, the Dark Mirror’s mission. You’ve been carrying this secret for so long, but now that Ruggie knows, it feels like a burden has been lifted.

But then you remember the rest of your mission. You have to reunite your magic with Twisted Wonderland’s, and that’s no small feat.

Still, with Ruggie by your side, you feel like you can handle whatever comes next.

Masterlist

[vividxpages]

✩‧˚౨ৎ˚✩₊ The Great War PART 2₊✩‧˚౨ৎ˚✩‧

PART 1 + PART 3

pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!Reader

words: 2800

summary: after meeting Jace by the shore of the sea in secret, the Blacks do everything to reunite the two of you. But will you make it to him safely? And how much are you both willing to risk for each other?

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, arguments and tears, kissing, happy ending

a/n: Part 1 has gotten such love, I needed to write a little sequel. Hope you like it <3

𓆩♡𓆪

Always remember Uh-huh, tears on the letter I vowed not to cry anymore If we survived the Great War

It was like every cell of your being was fueled with fire when you returned to King’s Landing much later that night. Vignettes of the beach and Jace were replaying themselves in your mind, making you walk towards your chambers as if in a trance.

You had seen him again.

You had kissed him goodbye as if it was your last time, although he had whispered promises into your ear that it wouldn’t be. Be alert, stay safe, he had said to you between those last breathless kisses. Mother and I will figure out something.

You smiled to yourself, feeling as if the world suddenly looked just a little brighter, although the corridor in front of you was only lit by torches on the wall.

If had been any more concentrated, you would’ve seen him first.

A shadow slipped from the darkness and before you could scream out or even blink, your older brother had pushed you against the hard stone wall, caging you in and scanning your face with his one remaining eye.

“Taking a walk at midnight, sister?” Aemond rasped out and you wanted to squirm away from him, the sudden unpleasant encounter washing all those happy moments from before away. As you tried to slip past him, he caught your wrist so hard, it hurt.

“Let go of me, Aemond.” You gritted your teeth, struggling against his much stronger hold of you.

“What would mother say if she heard you were without a chaperone, hm?” He challenged you, a cruel smile on his face. “Or even worse…what will our great king say if he learns you’ve been with the enemy?”

Everything in you froze at his implication.

You stared at him with wide eyes, heavily breathing. “I have no idea what you are talking about.” You finally ripped your hand free and resisted the urge to caress the burn in your wrist. This would come later, in the safety of your chambers.

Suddenly, you became painfully aware of how you looked. The disheveled hair, rosy cheeks from the cold by the sea, plump lips bruised from kissing… At least, Jace had been careful enough not to leave purple blue flowers on your neck.

Aemond regarded you with an unreadable expression, crossing his hands behind his back. “I’m not saying anything, since you surely are reminded your place and have not crossed paths with our enemies, am I right, dear sister? But if I catch you riding your dragon to where Vhagar can’t have an eye on you, I’ll shoot you out of the sky myself.”

You stared at each other for a very long time. You hated how mute you were always becoming in your brother’s presence, how powerless they both made you feel, like every bravery Jacaerys had breathed into you had suddenly vanished. A flame blown out by ice cold wind.

“Sleep well.” Aemond whispered before he walked away from you.

With each of his leaving steps, you could breathe a little more freely.

ㅤ♡☁︎⋆｡˚

The following weeks only continued to darken the clouds on your horizon.

A concerning new routine found its way into your days, sleeping in late and staying in bed as you watched the grey sky outside your window. Food you only accepted when you really needed to and although your mother gave you concerning and sometimes scolding looks, no one really cared about how you spent your meaningless days.

You had not attended council and you didn’t believe Aegon was going to let you again any time soon. Helaena sometimes visited you, but she spoke in riddles and could not comfort you. The only person who could haunted your dreams and was miles and miles away, across the Blackwater Bay and out of reach.

Jace had told you to be patient and alert, but it was getting harder to get out of bed every day.

“An afternoon refreshment, my princess.”

You looked away from your window, just as the servant turned away from you and left the room. On the table near your bed, a plate of small cakes and fruit waited for you and in the middle of it, was a small roll of parchment.

You furrowed your brows. No one in the castle sent messages to you.

You slowly unrolled it, your eyes reading over the words written, but not quite understanding them yet.

Tomorrow night. We’ll stage a distraction. North gate. We’ll meet you over the Gullet.

Your head snapped up and hope filled your chest once more.

♡☁︎⋆｡˚

You squinted your eyes once more as you looked over your shoulder, the massive fire at the feet of the Red Keep painting the night red. The Blacks had outdone themselves; every eye of the city was looking towards the destruction the flames caused.

How poetic. You were leaving your home behind unseen, unheard, while it burned.

You focused on the way ahead of you, the dark sea underneath you and your dragon sparkling underneath the moonlight. You concentrated on the rhythmical wing swing and the prospect of arriving at Dragonstone soon, once again reunited with Jacaerys. Forever this time.

You were not coming back. The next time you’d face your family, you would stand on the other side of this war. And you were ready for it.

But so was Aemond.

A giant beast suddenly busted through the clouds beneath you, your scream being swallowed by Vhagar’s roar as Aemond stirred her towards you. You threw yourself to the right, barely slipping past her giant maw as it snapped shut only inches away from your dragon’s wing.

You heard Aemond screaming your name in fury.

“Naejot!“ You screamed, urging your dragon on to go faster, impossibly faster than the beast chasing you. Your heart was pounding all the way up into your throat as you heard Vhagar roaring behind you. One command from Aemond and you’d fall into the ocean like a burned star. You silently prayed the Gullet was almost under you, praying for just another day, just one more-

“Dracarys!”

You braced yourself, thinking of the dark eyes you had loved so much one more time.

But the dragon fire did not come.

Not for you, at least.

♡☁︎⋆｡˚

You still had no idea how Rhaenys had reached you in time or why Aemond had decided to flee then.

Perhaps, you were not worth the fight.

You would’ve never thought to be so thankful at such an idea.

You barely had the time to thank Rhaenys before you had been led through the darkness around Dragonstone, still needing to stay invisible until you had reached the safety inside those walls.

And once you reached them, Jacaerys was there, pulling you tightly against his chest and holding you as if you could simply vanish with the wind every second. You had allowed him to look you over, still shaken and with your mind still on this disastrous flight before he had led you to the hall where his parents had been anxiously waiting.

When you had sat down and his hand had slipped out of yours, you already wanted it back.

But first, they needed to know what had happened out there.

You still couldn’t believe your brother had really wanted to kill you.

After you had finished, Daemon sympathetically pushed over his goblet with wine and you gratefully took it and resisted the urge to chug it back in one gulp.

“How could this have happened?” Jace had been thundering for a while now, walking up and down the room, tense and still out of his mind with worry for you. “Our sources have told us Vhagar has been away from King’s Landing earlier today.”

It seemed like not even the queen had an answer for it.

But you had. You sat up a little straighter, biting your lip before you looked into the flames next to you and spoke. “Aemond has been getting suspicious. He knew of our meeting by the sea and…he had warned me not to pursue it again.”

Rhaenyra and Daemon looked at you with surprise, but Jace was a whole different story.

“What?” He looked at you with wild disbelief. “So you are telling me you’ve went out tonight even though you knew Aemond could’ve caught you and done what not to you?”

“What do you think I should’ve done instead?” You asked him quietly, barely a whisper.

He fixed you with a wide-eyed stare, his fingers trembling as he raked them through his curls. “Perhaps not shown up to our invitation if you knew Aemond was suspicious?” He suggested shakingly. “We would’ve found another way without risking your life.”

“There is no other way, Jace!” You shot back, just as hot-headed as he was now. Rhaenyra and Daemon shared a look over the table, perhaps thinking of their own heated discussions in the past. You drew the blanket you had been given tighter around yourself, taming your tongue. “I would’ve died in that castle, one way or another. I might as well could’ve tried to reach you before my end.”

“Do not talk of such things.” Jace whispered, shaking his head. You saw his brown eyes getting teary at the mere thought of it. “Do not-“

“It doesn’t matter now-“

“It matters to me!” He exploded and you leaned back, shocked at his sudden outburst.

“Alright, that’s enough.” Rhaenyra said calmly, jaw tense. “I think this night has been eventful enough for the two of you. We will deal with everything in the morning, but now I believe you should retire. Jace’s room has been readied for the two of you. We are glad to have you with us here, my dear, we truly are.”

The tension could’ve been cut with a knife as you walked back to Jacaerys’ room.

You had started to shiver, the wet strands of your hair clinging to your neck, clothes ruined and dirty by the stormy weather between the clouds. When the door closed behind you and you took off the blanket, you hissed with pain.

“What is it?” Jace looked at you, alarmed. “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head. “Not really, but…I think when I took a turn in the sky, one of the reigns came loose and cut me.” It would explain the burning pain in your shoulder. When you tried to raise your arm to take a look, a sudden whimper tore through you.

Jace was in front of you in an instant, steadying you as he intently looked at your face. “Don’t move too much. I’ll take a look at it, okay?”

“It’s fine…” You did not feel fine.

“Let me help.” Jace said, adding in a whisper: “Please.”

It was quiet once again between you as he slowly led you to the edge of his bed. It would’ve been romantic if you hadn’t been such a mess, but Jacaerys did not seem to care about your appearance. He walked around his room with a mission, collecting a warm washcloth from the basin and a bandage, just in case.

You watched him silently as he went on his knee in front of you and slowly started to peel away your rider’s jacket from your shoulder. You breathed through your teeth as the fabric came away bloody, the burn of the rope worse than you had expected. Now, with the adrenaline leaving your body, the pain came knocking at your door.

Jace grimaced at your pain, intertwining your hand with one of his own as the other gently began to dab at the cut, making you wince with every little motion. “Sorry.” He mumbled, his thumb brushing soothingly over your palm. “It looks like the bleeding has stopped some time ago. That’s good.”

You nodded, still mute and exhausted as you let him take care of you. You almost wanted to sink back into his sheets and simply disappear in them.

“I’m sorry for losing my temper like this.” He said quietly after a while as he wrung out the cloth into the small basin to his feet. “I should’ve stayed composed, especially after the night you had. You are braver than all of us, ñuha jorrāeliarzy. I just- I could never forgive myself if something happened to you. We were thoughtless with this idea and impulsive and-“

“And I am glad of it.” You interrupted him softly. You argued with yourself if you should tell him how you had slowly rotted away in King’s Landing, withering without his light and the love his family embraced you with.

“You’ve gotten hurt.” He interjected gravely.

“Which wasn’t your fault.”

“But-“

You raised a hand, wanting to cup his cheek, but quickly stopped when it burned.

Jace was still kneeling in front of you, taking your hand in his and bringing it to his lips so he could softly kiss your knuckles. You could almost smell how worried he was about you, how he was still battling with himself, making himself think this was his fault. He brushed back a lost curl from your face and smiled sadly. “I forget myself. You’ve had a long journey. I do not want you to suffer even more, I’ll go fetch a Maester.”

“It’s only a scratch.” You joked tiredly, which earned you a doubting look. “Please, Jace. I’ll be fine until morning. I just need you. I’ve longed to be with you like this again for so long.”

“I’ve missed you too.” He said hoarsely, slowly rising to his feet, adoration burning in his eyes. “I could barely stay calm all day. Perhaps I’ve dreamed up that you’re here now.  If so, I never want to wake up again.”

You smiled at him, a real smile this time. “Then I’ll be dreaming with you, Jace.”

And finally, you could see a smile on his face too. “I will get some clothes for you.”

Quietness came down on the room once more, the comfortable kind this time.

You watched from the bed as Jace rummaged through his closet and pulled out one of his longer tunics, all warm cotton and his scent coating it. He helped you with your shoes, insisting that you should not move a finger anymore tonight. He lovingly kissed your ankles and took the most care that you wouldn’t have to lift your injured arm too much as he slid the piece of clothing over your form.

“There.” He looked at you warmly as you shuffled back into the sheets. “Gods, I have missed seeing you in my clothes. My bed.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, although you knew you did not have the strength anymore to do exactly what you wanted to do with him. Your muscles were sore and your bandaged shoulder only good for one night, but you knew Jace was going to wait a lifetime for you if he had to.

Perhaps a whole lifetime laid ahead for the two of you now.

You nestled yourself against his chest as he slipped beneath the covers with you, sighing happily as your head fit perfectly into the place where his neck met his strong shoulder. A dark curl was tickling your forehead and as he closed his arms around you, one leg shifting to fit between your thigh, you knew you were home.

You listened to the sound of him breathing, your bruised hearts slowly calming down until you were sure they were beating in sync. Only a few candles by the bed lit the room and you felt yourself slowly drift into a well-deserved sleep.

But there was one thing still tormenting your love’s mind.

“It’s just…” Jacaerys whispered into the darkness of his room. You could feel him swallow tightly, his fingers trying to calm himself by caressing your spine. “Tonight made me think of Luke. And knowing you’ve been up there, with Vhagar so close to you- I can’t lose you, my love. I can’t.”

You shuffled until you could look at him, chest aching at the unshed tears in his beautiful eyes.

“You won’t lose me.” You promised him, wiping away his tears. “You will never lose me, Jace, I promise you. I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

He sniffled, but nodded fiercely. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You whispered and lifted his chin so you could kiss him.

The kiss by the beach had grown into a wildfire, untamed and fueled by the desperation of wanting each other for so long. This one made you dizzy for a different reason.

There was a final calmness to it as your lips softly moved against each other, tasting every second like the world only slowed down for you. It was slow and relishing, like the first breath of fresh air after a lifetime of holding your breath. Your nose brushed against his as your hand found its way into his curls and if your shoulder had been any healthier, he would’ve hoisted you into his lap.

But unlike the other times you had come together, you had all the time in the world now.

And tomorrow, the sun would rise and shine just a little brighter, because you had finally found each other.

-------------------

(I'm writing a third and final part 3, so let me know if anyone would like to be tagged when I post it 🥰🎀)

[tarjapearce]

Ok, ok, ok, hear me out….

Tarzan Miguel…

Ahh, nonny. Casually just saw this scrumptious fanart of him as Tarzan by @Miuworm in X 🫠. And yeah. (Kinda amazed at how you guys manifest these things 🤭)

Like Me

Tarzan! Miguel O'Hara x Reader.

WARNINGS: nothing too bad. Depictions of violence, a bit of implicit gore and animal death. No proofread.

Summary: Your savior from a certain death is quite touchy-feely.

Another for Miguelverse ❤️✨

The furious waves of the sea clashed over your body, submerging it in the freezing and alive water.

Arms moved, swimming your way back up, gasping for a much needed gulp of air as soon as you reached the surface.

Peeking around you, trying to find something to get a hold of or climb on, exhaustion was crawling up to your limbs, like hypothermia.

Fuck

Mind cursed with every foul word you could've imagine. How did trip ended up like this? In what moment the clouds turned so grey they darkened the sky, announcing a downpour with a loud rumble? It all took minutes to go sour and south.

You were there to do a land recognition, and see if you could get home some new species. Sergei Kravinoff, or Kraven The Hunter, was the lead of your expedition, all financed by a man named Kingpin.

Your name was called, echoed in the distance.

"Over here!!" You flailed your arms in an attempt of being seen, and hopefully the debris wouldn't blear their sight to find you.

You swam in the direction of the voice, teeth clattered, tool belt heavy on your hips, but you knew if you lost them, any possible chance of getting another were impossible. Plus, Kraven hated it when you lost your equipment as they weren't cheap.

Every paddle of your arms felt heavier, like if your wrists had been tied up with iron pounds, dragging you down. Lips turned blue and trembled. Salty and cold water doused you, but you weren't to give up.

You had fought your way to get a spot in this expedition and a pathetic ending like drowning wasn't an option. You spotted a wooden board floating nearby.

C'mon!

Your hands stretched towards it anf finally managed to keep yourself afloat. Panting, groaning and shivering, letting the cold to finally sink in. Feet had started to numb out, ragged breaths turned laborious.

Once more someone called you, this time you recognised the voice. Peter, the other nerd according to Kraven. You two were the ones selected to be the scientist that would lead Kraven to a certain victory in Nueva York.

Ever since Norman Osborn and Otto Octavius had discovered new species of spiders and reptiles, everyone proclaimed them geniuses ahead of their time, leaving the hunting behind.

Kraven was set into getting either a new species or something alike to regain his forlorn glory. He refused to be forgotten.

But everything pointed that the island you were now had a mind of its own. As if preventing anyone to delve in further into it's secrets.

You were pulled out from the board by Peter that immediately covered you up in a raggedy blanket. Despite the fabric being old, it gave you enough warmth to avoid death taking a hold on you.

Kraven cursed in russian, but was hopeful y'all be found soon. The ship's black box was ruined, your luggage at least was minimal, and it was enough to be saved by ether Peter or anyone kind enough.

A powerful and enormous wave had turned the boat upside-down. Knocking everything loose out of the board. The guns and other tools were the only things that survived.

But, you hoped, the whole fiasco was just temporary. Fisk wasn't a careless man, he'd probably send help soon. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting your bones to freeze.

----

You woke up nearby the makeshift fireplace, relishing the heat your body had lacked. Clothes were humid, but no longer soaked and freezing.

Sighing, you stirred awake, letting the tension leave your body with a groan.

"Hey, wake up." Peter approached, concern etched into his features as he helped you on your feet.

"Where's everyone?"

"I... We uh, got lost. One moment Kraven is here and the other he's not. Left us behind. Or, he also got lost."

"Kraven? Lost?" Peter could sense the deadpan in your voice and he sighed, exasperated.

"I'm just trying to light up the mood. He was pissed. So I assume that he just thought he'd do it himself." He shrugged and you sighed, rubbing your neck.

"Great! now we're lost, my luggage is nowhere to be found but at least we have tools, right?"

The faltering in Peter's face made yours to fall as he shook his head.

"God, I swear... Fuck him. If I'm discovering something, Ain't sharing with him!"

"Let's focus on surviving first. The soil is rich, meaning the jungle is nearby."

"And so is the wild life." You sighed and Peter groaned.

"Look, thinking negatively won't take us anywhere. I'm not saying either let's throw a party for being stuck in an unknown place. But we gotta move. It's about to get dark."

"Right... You're right" You rubbed your face, exhausted, at least you weren't freezing anymore. But being at Nature's mercy wasn't pretty either, yet again. You were selected by none other than Sergei. If he trusted your judgement to be valuable enough, why couldn't you?

With a new resolution in mind, you took the raggedy blanket and other little tools Peter managed to salvage and soon ventured yourselves in the thickness of the jungle.

-----

Sun had long disappeared in the sky leaving a faint trail of golden and orange in the clouds, and you were certain that it had been hours since you walked in the jungle. No signs of Kraven or the caravan of people.

No signs of society or at least his stupid russian jokes that you were sure people laughed at by sheer convenience.

The only advantage Kraven possessed in his favor, was him being an avid hunter. You only studied species, animals and flowers to be more precise, and had a little knowledge of mechanics. Enough to fix your own machines and trinkets. Peter was an expert in mechanics and soil. You followed him.

"I think I've seen that rock before" Peter sighed as he slouched against a tree.

"Don't say that, Parker." You wheezed as you followed him, resting your aching back against him. "I'm definitely finding some poison and put it on Kraven's drink."

"Relax. Without us he's going into unknown territory."

"In case you haven't noticed, he's a professional hunter. And I hate with passion skirts."

The distant rumble of a storm approaching echoed through the sky.

"A hunter, not a geologist. He acts like an animal to get animal bodies."

"Still, he knows his way around these places, Pete."

"Shooting things till they're dead isn't knowing about things"

Peter stood and offered his hand.

"Uh-uh I just sat down."

"We gotta at least go upwards. This area is prone to flooding."

With a vexed groan you took Peter's hand and he pulled you up. You were tired of walking, but if he said you needed to advance, you obeyed.

"Fuck..."

----

Despite the soaking rain pouring around you, Peter had found an amalgamation of trees and branches supported by a hollow tree.

Birds chirped and cawed, bugs joined the concert once the rain subsided, the distant flapping of the birds and the rustle of leafs prevented you from lowering your guard. The only comforting thing besides Peter's company was the petrichor smell, pungent in the air.

You'd spend hours inhaling the gift of nature, if it wasn't for your belly grumbling, and Peter had ran out of cashews.

Even crickets sounded tempting to eat. With the right spices, they tasted crunchy. But all you could do was to imagine their taste as it was time to move again.

"Knowing Kraven, he'd go up to the mountains, probably they've sent a camp nearby a river. So let's look for one."

"Yeah, even better so I can drown that fucker in. He better pay us good for this stupid prank."

Peter chuckled and looked around for a minute, his blue eyes narrowed upon setting his sight in a tree trunk. Broken in half, but what truly made his... whatever this unpleasant feeling to rise within was the vicious marks indented on the tree bark.

Powerful scratches filled with bloody chum and crimson liquid, paw like marks painted in the trunk. The source of such gruesome spectacle laid in whatever pieces was left a couple of inches away.  He could make out a tail, and small hind legs. A baby monkey, or rather half of it.

"Uh... We better hurry."

Peter swallowed, and the urgency in his tone only made your worry to shoot heavenwards.

You both walked, speeding up the step. Unaware of the keen eyes, hidden in the bushes that followed your every moves like a hawk. A low growl filled in the space he occupied.

---

You were certainly to die.

Undeniably, and it didn't matter how fast you managed to run, the jaguar quick paced trotting had you pushing your limits. Tears blurred your sight, as a garbled sob escaped your lips.

Scratches adorned your arms, decorating your flesh with fresh oozing wounds, dirt and leafs stuck to your marred flesh.

Chest heaved with deep and ragged pants, wobbly legs menaced to give in under the pressure at any second

You were going to die.

Even though life had been incredibly dull and the only comfort was your investigation, you didn't want it to end so soon. Not whenyou were about to accomplish a promise to yourself.

Peter had gone lost and separated once the chase began. One minute he was before you, and the other, your friend was gone, out of sight and reach. But the relentless giant feline behind you preferred you. An easy prey.

Your wails and cries for help fell upon deaf ears, who would listen to you in the middle of the jungle? For once you wished to have Kraven's gun expertise.

You didn't care if hypocrite defined you right now. You took a thick branch, swinging it with difficulty and pain at the euphoric beast, like a demotivated baseball player. But the jaguar's claws swatted the useless weapon away from your hands, and making you stumble on the ground.

This was it.

Oh God, oh my god, no, no no

The animal pounced and by instinct, you shielded your body with your shaky limbs. But no harm came.

You could feel the beast's warm and bloodthirsty breath on your head, snapping it's maws at you, desperately trying to reach for a bite of your supple flesh.

Eyes wide in horror, and disbelief. The jaguar was held by his tail, earning whoever that was holding it back from devouring you a couple of swings with it's sharp claws. But the animal was set into getting to you. It pounced on your boots, claws sinking on the back of hour ankles, earning a sobbing and painful wail.

A gruesome crack and a roar echoed behind you, and only then you were able to see your savior.

The tallest man you've ever seen, even taller than Kraven, strong and well built physique, a rich tanned skin full of scratches and long healed wounds. Hair long, reaching a bit past his shoulders, muscles that heaved and rippled in every breathing you did. Body hair etched beautifully in his skin.

Covered in nothing but a loincloth.

If it wasn't for you being at the death's gates, you'd take your time to study him.

You gasped as he held the oversized cat with his hands and slammed it on the ground. They circled eachother, shifting between the roles of hunter and prey.

The feline hissed, and the man returned the threat, a cold sweat ran down your spine upon watching two overgrown canines, on his mouth. Fangs. He had fangs. Brown eyes stared at the four legged monster, defying it.

And soon the jaguar took his invitation. The two majestic creatures fought, enraged, proving their prowess to eachother, disputing the role of Alpha within the jungle's hierarchy. They rolled on the ground, biting and clawing at eachother.

With a lurid snap the man cracked the beast's neck, earning an agonizing wail from the mean cat. He staggered before slamming his fist on the animal, forcing the last breaths out of the beast.

His nose flared, proudly, while his hands slammed his chest.

Terror was still taking a hold of you, and there was nothing you could use as a weapon. Your hands braced your shoulder as you tried to carefully stand, but your clumsy feet stepped in a branch, snapping it in half, like the jaguar's neck. Brown eyes were immediately on you.

You swallowed hard.

He approached, hunched and prowling over, his knuckles and toes supported his hulking frame.

"S-Stop!"

He quirked an eyebrow, curious and within seconds he was before you.

Breath hitched on your throat, face so close to yours, he could feel your breath blowing on his chin.

You hissed as he took a hold of your arm, examining the damage. There wasn't rage in his features but nothing more than untampered curiosity.

His hands reached for your hair, sniffing the strands, you couldn't help but giggle when his nose hovered over your head, sniffing you, a bad moment to be ticklish, really.

Breath caught again as his nose nuzzled your neck.

"W-Wai-" His fingers prodded at your lips, rubbing the calloused thumbs on your soft mouth. A satisfied grunt rumbled in his firm and hairy chest

He toyed with your face, examining it with child like wonder. He turned, prodded and licked your cheeks, reminiscing in your taste with a confused look.

"U-uh, sir-"

What is he doing? oh god.

He hunched even closer to rest his ear on your chest. Heart pumping violently inside your ribcage, eyes darted towards the covered mounds, he sank his face in between them, taking a deep inhale. A low growl came from within and your cheeks flared in a deep flush.

Oh shit, shit

His hands cupped your mounds, sending a shiver through your body, but you slapped his hand away. He looked taken aback before baring his teeth to you.

"No!" You covered your chest and backed away, but his nose flared to then grab your head and placed it on his chest a tad forcefully. Warm and plush skin met yours. You gulped again.

Powerful echoes boomed through his chest.

The natural musk of him tickled your senses, his hands roamed your lower back and your alarms flared.

"H-hey, hey!"

He pulled your feet up, sending you tumbling backward, skirt rolling down your thighs, exposing your legs to him.

You tried to cover your skin by gathering your skirt up. His nose again sniffled as your wriggled underneath him. Hands prodding and picking at your toes, earning a clumsy giggle

His touch was like molten lava, it sent a shudder down your spine.

His fingers were having a good feel of your flesh, as if confirming you were real.

With each discovery his interest only grew. He then cupped your face again, smooshing your cheeks together, giving a deliberate lick on your lips.

"T-The polite thing to do is to take me out before that happens!" You mumbled nervously while trying to get yourself free.

His eyes narrowed once more as he lifted up your skirt completely, revealing your panties.

It gave you little to no time to prepare you for his next move. He sunk his face in between your thighs taking a good whiff of your scent, another pleasant growl came from him, by reflex, your hand slapped him. And this made him look at you, confused but clearly upset while holding his cheek.

"No! Stop it!" You warned while gathering your skirt underneath your knees and pointing at him. Cheeks impossibly red

He seemed to understand as he crouched before you. Muscular thighs flexing as he sat, mimicking your actions.

"Uh, uh. No. Don't do that"

"Uh Uh, No. Don't do that"

He repeated with the same authoritarian tone. Voice surprisingly rich and alluring. Your eyes went wide.

"You can speak!"

He repeated like a parrot.

"Can... Can you understand me?"

His brows furrowed then quirked. He was about to come up with a reply when the rustling and your name being called echoed behind the foliage.

"Over here!!!" You shouted, this alarmed the man as he stood, backing up from you with a mistrustful glare.

"Wait! No no! Don't go!" Your hands wriggled, but it was futile.

He left before anyone could see him. Climbing the trees like it was another playground game, until he disappeared out of sight.

None other than Kraven showed up, machete on hand, swinging it the weeds and plants that dared to cross his way.

A shit eating smirk plastered on his face.

"See? I told you, she'd be fine." Kraven patted Peter's shoulder as they kept moving to find a perfect spot for the camp.

Kraven crouched to where the jaguar's body laid and looked at you.

"What happened?"

"I... don't know. I-I panicked. Was running from a snake and I found that there."

Sergei just hummed, as he watched the body, eyes raking the feline's carcass before beckoning two of his men closer.

"Skin him. Don't have this type yet."

Kraven took a deep inhale. Death's stench sparking alive the hunter in him.

"Whatever killed it, needs to be in my personal collection of trophies."

Peter in the meantime cleansed your wounds with water, to then apply some clean bandages on them.

The whole group moved, upwards to the mountains.

"What the heck happened!?" he whispered aggressively

You made sure for Kraven to be within a reasonable distance to speak again.

"You won't believe me if I'd tell you."

Cause in truth, how would you explain a man, taller than Sergei, killed with his bare hands a wild animal and got way too touchy with you but is able to speak?

The road was long. You had time

Peter sensed your discomfort and pressed no further. However, the feeling of being watched never waned. It was the group, against the jungle's secrets.

----

Taglist:

@fayeofthenightingale

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Eighteen

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: Nothing super specific, but things get pretty dark (at least in my opinion). Mentions of torture.

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Azriel grabbed Rhys by the front of his jacket, hands shaking horribly despite all his efforts to stop. It had started this morning, when another disastrous attempt to talk to Andrian had left Azriel with his mind in shambles, knife pressed against his own throat. It had been going on for weeks now. Someway, somehow, Andrian would find a way to break through Azriel’s defenses and force him to relieve his worst memories. Sometimes he dreamt of his burning hands. Mostly he thought of you, and the day he’d nearly killed you. 

“Tell me you didn’t,” Azriel growled desperately. “Tell me!” 

It was too easy for him to pick out when his brother was speaking with Feyre, and something about the way Rhysand had been looking at him— like he was a fraction of a second away from splintering into a million pieces — told Azriel enough about who had been sent for. You were the only one who could calm him. The only one who could do what he and Rhys had failed to do. 

Violet eyes shone from a perfectly handsome face. A face he knew too well. A face that he wanted to punch right now. 

“I’m afraid I can’t, brother,” Rhysand responded gravely. 

Azriel slammed his fist against the wall instead, taking out a chunk of granite that spit grey dust into the air. He swore beneath his breath, pacing the hallway and trying to steady his racing heart. He’d never wanted you to see this place. He’d never even wanted you to step foot on the island above, its rolling peaks a stark contrast to the tunnels below where Azriel conducted his business. Business that stained his hands a thousand shades of red. 

“You’ve been working yourself ragged, Az, and Andrian still hasn’t said anything. Not to you. Not to me. We need to know all we can about Koschei. Vassa’s on the brink of madness. Henna’s dead. I can’t even get past Andrian’s mental wards. What the fuck are we meant to do?” 

“So you thought to go behind my back and bring Y/n into this?! She’s not something for you to use, Rhys.” 

“She’s already in this mess.” Rhys reminded him, as he often did. His eyes softened as he looked to the locked door at the end of the hall with its small, rectangular window. Bars breaking up the lamplight glowing from within. “And you know she’d agree this is the best course of action. She’ll be able to do it.” 

Azriel’s hands shook. “Give me another week and I’ll get us the information we need. Tell Feyre to turn around. Don’t bring Y/n here.” Don’t let her see this part of me.

“The boy doesn’t have another week. He doesn’t even have a day.” 

The shaking traveled throughout Azriel’s entire body. His eyes darkened and he began the process of hiding his heart away within the void that curled inside of him. That wicked beast that was always on the verge of swallowing him whole. 

Feyre winnowed you both to the outskirts of the northern territories and you went from sweating in your fur-lined leathers to shivering in the knee deep snow. The Illyrian Mountains rose behind you like predatorial rows of shark teeth and the endless sea stretched in front, slate grey and empty except for lonely ripples of sea foam. Through the frosty haze you could make out a smattering of islands, each with their own tooth-like tips capped with snow and ice. Feyre looked at you, her eyes leaning more towards blue now that she’d tapped into the Winter Court’s power to stave off the cold. 

The Warren was protected by wards that made winnowing impossible, so you let Feyre scoop you up in her powerful arms, wings growing from her back like unfurling shadows before the ground dropped away from her feet and she took off into the sky. 

You clung to her shoulders, eyes slamming shut so you wouldn’t have to look down at the churning black waters and the rocks they crashed against. If you were to fall now, you could only hope you drown before the waves ripped your body to pieces against the rocks like meat torn between a pair of canines. 

You stayed frozen and tight as a coil until the rush of wind stopped and you no longer felt your stomach creeping up into your throat. You could have dropped to your knees and kissed the ground if you weren’t sure your lips would freeze there. You did shove your hands into the gritty sand though, breathing slowly through your nose until you finally had the strength to stand. 

Feyre led you down the long stretch of beach, waves whistling in the wind — a haunting, beautiful melody, like a woman crying. 

Azriel had discovered The Warren centuries ago. After a particularly brutal brawl that had left him with a broken arm and cracked ribs, he’d taken to the skies, desperate to escape the hard packed floors and burning scent of sex mixed with alcohol that seemed to invade every corner of the Windhaven barracks. He’d been fighting over a woman, a woman that had been dragged into the rowdy common room trembling with the telltale sign of a whisky haze over her burnt umber eyes, dress ripped and muddy. 

Did it even matter that he’d brought her back untouched to that leaning house with its wooden slabs frosted over and the chimney coughing up black smoke like a diseased lung? Azriel had wondered as he flew without a destination in mind. And when he’d finally collapsed on the island, frozen ground beneath his hands and knees and spitting out blood from his cut up gums, his shadows had tugged him towards the gaping mouth of The Warren, urging him to explore a darkness that was his and his alone. It had been his escape. A safe place in the world that had so few. But when Rhysand became High Lord and he the Spymaster, Azriel hadn’t hesitated to give up The Warren in the service of the Night Court, adding it to the long list of sacrifices he made so that he might actually start to feel like he deserved his place with his family. 

You stilled in front of The Warren’s entrance, black walls glittering and damp from sea spray. Jagged, cracked bone rocks hovered overhead like axes ready to fall, jutting out of a cliffside and curling over the beach in the shape of a hunched back or an unhinged jaw. Wind whistled from within like asthma — high-pitched and keening. 

“This is where you keep all your prisoners.” You weren’t asking a question, merely stating a fact. 

Feyre had had little time for explanations back at the House. She’d focused on defending your body against the frigid cold to come, her mind split between you and Rhysand as he worried over Azriel from miles away. 

“Not all of them. Only the ones Azriel finds useful.” 

“The ones he plans to torture for information.” 

From somewhere deep within the earth you swore you heard the clanging of chains, a growl, and a desperate groan that had the hair on your neck rising. 

Feyre’s usual warmth was gone, replaced by something with more tact and less care. “This isn’t a place for the faint of heart, Y/n. And neither is Azriel. He’s tried to hide this from you, but it’s as much a part of him as anything else and if you care for him as much as I believe you do, you’re going to need to get used to this.” 

There was the faintest flicker of doubt in your heart. “Andrian… he’s just a boy… you haven’t—Az hasn’t—”

“No,” Feyre said quickly. Horrified. “Azriel found him weeks ago trying to slip back into Day Court. We brought him here because it’s the most heavily warded place in Prythian and because the world needs to be protected from him as much as he needs to be protected from the world.” She grabbed your hands. They felt cold as ice. “Y/n. I swear to you, we haven’t hurt that boy. We won’t hurt him.” 

“I know. I just… I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.” Already you felt sick to your stomach just for asking. Azriel was many things — dangerous, cruel to those he felt were deserving of it, maybe even murderous at times — but he was still Az… and you weren’t afraid. Not even as you let Feyre lead you into The Warren, and you were swallowed whole.  

The mouth of the cave quickly narrowed into a tunnel before turning at a severe angle and twisting like a corkscrew downward. If it weren’t for you and Feyre’s glowing bodies, you might have missed one of The Warren’s slick steps and tumbled down forever. 

You passed by two offshoots, each branching out into their own secret tunnels that whispered and echoed and smelled faintly of blood. Coppery and sour. 

One of the rooms you walked through smelled like metal and limestone. The rust-colored ground and drain in the center of the floor told you all you needed to know about its purpose and before you could stop yourself, before you could even think about whether this was truly a good idea, you found yourself pressing a hand against one of the chains hanging from the ceiling. 

If Feyre was right and this was truly a part of Azriel — something horrible that needed to come with all of the good that he was — then you wanted to know. You felt that you had some right to know, and if it was the power the Mother had granted you, then you would use it when you saw fit. 

Feyre froze when your power flooded the room without warning, feeling the energy and fury radiating off your skin without even turning to look at you. You kept the memories a safe distance away, but drank in the knowledge of every horrible hand that had hung from that ceiling like you were reading a list of names from a book. You read their crimes. You read every drop of blood that Azriel had spilled on the ground. 

“Y/n?” Feyre asked tentatively, fearfully, when you blinked and released the chain. 

She had every hope the bond would snap in place for you soon and that you’d help end Azriel’s centuries of loneliness. That you might be the one to finally show him he was deserving of kindness. But to love Azriel as he was, with all his rough edges and the pain he could inflict as much as he carried… it was not for the faint of heart.  

“I understand why Azriel wanted to hide this place from me. This part of him,” you said quietly and to no one in particular. Not even to Feyre. “But he shouldn’t have.” Your eyes turned harder than stone. “They deserved it. Each and every one of them.” 

Feyre stood, shocked into silence, and it wasn’t until you gripped her arm and nudged her into the next room that she found she was able to walk again. 

You passed by more hallways and more rooms, some disturbingly clean and empty, others with chains hanging from the ceiling or littered on the floor. But the strangest part was, you could smell Azriel within these cramped walls, and that alone made you quicken your steps. 

You chased that familiar scent, walking confidently through the dark and passing Feyre until you were spit out in a long, neat tunnel with one metal door at the end. Tendrils of shadow flickered from around the corner. 

“Azriel?” 

Your heart pounded in your chest when you saw him leaning against the wall, hands folded behind his back. Rhys’s eyes flickered to you, then to his mate as she followed closely behind. Azriel stiffened, his eyes locked and heavy. Shadows tugged at his eyes and accentuated the sharpness of his cheeks. He looked like he hadn’t slept since the day he left you… which wasn’t so far from the truth. Because the whole time he’d been here, he’d been thinking of you, and the ways you might hate him for what he did and the sick corners of his soul. For—

You sailed into his arms, wrapping yourself around his torso and pressing your face into the hollow of his neck. Part of your mind chastised you, calling you silly and desperate as it reminded you it had only been ten days since you’d last seen him. But you didn’t care. It felt far longer than that. Too long. 

You needed this almost as much as he did. 

You disappeared behind his wings, cocooned safely in membranous folds and shadows that kissed your skin. Azriel himself buried his face in your hair, feeling some of his worst worries dissipate. You hadn’t run away. You hadn’t been so disgusted as to leave just yet. 

“Y/n,” he murmured your name before kissing your temple. “Gods, I missed you.” 

“I would hope so.” You murmured into the curve of his jaw, “I might be a boring bookworm but I’m better company than this place.” 

Azriel winced. “You have no idea.”

You missed the pointed look that Rhys and Feyre threw your way, but Azriel didn’t. He was tall enough to see over your head as Feyre pointed to the door at the end of the hallway, eyes glistening. They had come here for a purpose, and the sooner it was over with, the sooner they could all go home. 

Azriel’s arms tightened around you. “I didn’t want you to come here. I didn’t want… I didn’t want you to see the things I do.” 

“I know.” You traced the curve of his jaw, thumb smoothing over his cheek. “But I’m not afraid, Azriel.” 

His eyes flickered from fear to relief to love, like one of those picture books you had to flip through to see the scene play out. 

“You’re not?” 

You shook your head no. Then you kissed him on the lips and whispered the words for him and him alone. “I trust you. You’re the most terrifying thing here anyway, and you’re mine.” 

Yours. 

Azriel quitel liked the sound of that. 

Even here in the dungeons burrowed beneath empty frozen lands, Azriel found it within him to hope. Horrid creatures might be hidden elsewhere, creeping like slugs under the earth that he’d have to crush beneath his boot or tear treasured secrets from, but for now you were still by his side. For now you were still his and he would always be yours. 

You looped your arm through his and moved towards that door at the end of the hallway, steeling yourself for what you already knew was behind it. 

The light from the barred window flashed warm and cool then warm again. Light warped and pranced. The scent of rot hung in the air, humid and choking. You touched the door handle, feeling the magic fall away like it recognized you and opened up into a makeshift, but quaint bedroom. There were no windows here for there was nothing to see below ground, but some of Feyre’s landscape paintings hung on the wall. Faelights bloomed overhead, throwing light and heat on a child’s bed with green sheets, a table, and a bookcase overflowing with an assortment of puzzles and novels and toys. You felt your blood turn cold. They’d once belonged to Nyx before being repurposed for the little boy trembling on the floor. 

You stared at him in horror. 

The little boy who’d been so violently bright that morning in the marketplace was dull. Although he was wearing fresh clothes, his skin had turned a stone gray, black marks dotting his once silken, silver skin like a disease. He was aware of his condition, weeping on the plush rug cut in the shape of a flower as he batted at his arms, willing them to turn healthy again. 

“No no no no no no,” he sobbed. He grabbed at his pillowy hair in frustration and tugged. A cloud of fragile strands came away and he cried harder, trying to stick them back to his scalp. 

Rhysand’s face was broken and pale. He tried not to look at Andrian. He was too young. Reminded him too much of his own son. 

“You were right.” Rhysand’s voice was hollow, laced with a pain that grabbed your throat and squeezed. “Koschei did kill him. He’s been dead this whole time.”

“NO!” Andrian screamed. “HE DIDN’T! HE PROTECTED ME!” 

Fat tears rolled out of filmy eyes, dusty and brown as pond water. Rage filled him with new energy and he tried to attack your mind as he’d already done with Azriel. But there was something altogether different about your magic, something flexible that morphed and rearranged your mental walls until it felt like he was trying to attack himself. 

He gave up when your walls didn’t fall, and chose the physical route instead. You recoiled as he took a swipe, bony arms reaching out in an awkward lunge. But his legs were too weak and crumpled beneath him. He looked like a fish laid out to rot on a summer day — bloated and slick. 

“Koschei brought him back to life for his powers—”

“HE LOVES ME! PAPA LOVES ME!” 

“To use as he saw fit when the time was right.”

“But he can’t survive being separated for so long from Koschei’s power, can he?” 

Just like Vassa. Left on their own without their maker they couldn’t handle the curses that had been placed on them. They’d bend until they broke… unless they found another way… 

“The killings,” You murmured as the pieces slowly fell into place, “He killed those Librarians and the tailor and the florist…” You didn’t want to be right about this. You prayed to the Mother that you were wrong. 

But Azriel read the thoughts in your eyes and nodded. Feyre could only stand still and Rhysand couldn’t do more than speak out in that dead voice of his. 

Andrian had killed those fae, not just to send a message, but because that was the price for going against nature, for being brought back from the dead. Power demanded balance. To stay alive, Andrian had needed others to take his place. Those Librarians and the Velarians hadn’t been murdered. They’d been sacrificed. 

What Koschei had done to this boy — what he’d turned him into — made you want to crawl into a dark corner and stay there forever. 

Andrian’s sobs died out. A crack of lightning followed by unnerving silence that had Azriel’s blood freezing in his veins. Andrian wasn’t much older than he’d been when he’d first been tossed into that dark cellar. When his brothers had set his hands aflame. 

“He loves me,” he declared, as if saying it would make it true. He stayed curled up in a ball on the floor, rocking back and forth on his heels. “He stayed when Henna left me. He wasn’t afraid of me like the others. He took care of me.”

But Koschei hadn’t taken care of him. He’d taught Andrian to love him. To worship him, because that’s what he craved above all else. He’d helped the boy control his powers and had allowed him to live so he could send him off to die when it was most convenient. You’d thought Henna was Koschei’s perfect soldier, but you were wrong. Andrian was. He’d been broken and molded into something that should never have existed. He’d been sent to Prythian after his sister’s death to take her place. A boy who would have no choice but to return to the lake or die trying. 

And he was dying. You could see it clear as day. Two teeth clinked onto the floor and Andrian’s hands flew up to his mouth. He whimpered, eyes locking on you like you might be able to fix this. 

You wanted to beg Rhys and Feyre to do something, to fix him, but it was a useless endeavor. They wouldn’t have brought you here if they could just reach into Andrian’s mind and end it all peacefully. Andrian was too powerful for that. But you could use another way. 

You approached him like a wild, injured animal, grimacing when he tried to run at you only for his ankle to twist and then snap. He fell to the floor in a pathetic sprawl. 

“Hey there, little feather.” 

Andrian paused at that familiar nickname, watery eyes looking up. You said it just like Henna had once upon a time. The same inflection in a differently pitched voice. His lips trembled. 

“She left me.” 

You shook your head before kneeling on the ground in front of him. He smelled of death. It clung to his linen shirt and trousers. It clung to the few strands of hair still woven into his scalp, skin so thin you could make out his skull. 

“She didn’t leave you, Andrian.” You poured your voice out over him, as soothing as you could make it, forcing the tears down. “She thought you’d died and that you’d stayed dead. She had a little ceremony for you out near the willow tree and buried your favorite toy beneath it with a handful of water lilies. Do you remember it? The little wooden doll you dressed up like a soldier with the red cap and the silver shoes?” 

He clamped his hands over his ears, shaking his head while his weak neck teetered dangerously atop his shoulders. 

“Andrian—” You pulled his hands away and in a bold, dangerous move brought them to your temple and slowly lowered your mental wards. You didn’t give him free reign, but rather guided him through snippets of memories you’d taken from Henna before her death. They all revolved around him. Before, and even after Koschei had poisoned their minds, Andrian had remained her true priority. 

The boy’s eyes flashed from anger to confusion then, finally, to despair.

“She didn’t leave you.” 

Andrian waited a few moments that had your heart seizing, then rushed into your arms, tightening them like a vice around your shoulders and burying his face in your hair. You held your breath, but tightened your grip. You weren’t his sister, but you were the closest thing he had. 

Slowly, like sand falling through an hourglass, you felt his arms weaken and fall from your shoulders. He stared at you, wide and terrified as his hand snapped off at the wrist and fell to your side in a grey heap. 

“Make it stop. Please make it stop.”

You smoothed back his hair, shoving down the tears that threatened to fall. His eyes were white now and unseeing. “It’s ok, little feather. It’s ok.” 

“I don’t—” Even his voice was crumbling apart. Raspy and broken like cracked glass. He had little time left. The fight in him gone. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go to that dark place. Please don’t make me go.”  

Azriel had been watching the entire time, trying not to picture the little boy with dark hair, weak wings, and bandaged hands. He went so, so still. 

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. It’s going to be ok.” You promised. You forced your trembling lips into a smile. 

He took in a rasping breath. “Will you go with me this time, Henna? Please.” 

You gritted your teeth, brows furrowed in an effort to stay here instead of turning and sprinting back to the surface. 

“I will. That’s why I came” You brushed his hair away from his forehead, saying nothing when the wispy white strands were torn away from his scalp like silk… just like the memories of Koschei’s lake you plucked from his mind without him knowing. You swallowed the pain of what you knew was coming. “I won’t let you be alone.” 

He went quiet after that. Maybe his voice had deteriorated beyond saving, maybe he finally felt at peace. All you knew is that you needed to keep brushing his hair and holding onto his hand when he laid down and placed his head in your lap. He was like a little windup doll that had run out of string. He kept breathing until he finally stopped. 

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

So... this was a rather sad one, bit of a tonal shift if you ask me, but I wanted to wrap up the stuff with Henna and Andrian before we continue on to other things.

BUT, you have to appreciate when Y/n walks into what's effectively a torture chamber and goes "yeah, nope, still in love with Azriel." It's just one of those things that gets brushed under the rug but like... this guy's WHOLE JOB is inflicting pain upon people.... and you know what, it's a fantasy book, so who the hell cares. We stan Y/n being supportive of Azriel's career lol

[celestemona]

DEEP WATERS

pairing: alhaitham x mermaid! reader

in the stillness of tides, alhaitham unearths a mystery long believed to be legend—a mermaid ensnared, with eyes as deep as the ocean and secrets buried in every wave. drawn by fate and enchanted by her silent song, he finds himself caught between myth and reality. in his quest to understand her world, he risks losing his own heart to the uncharted depths.

cw: part i of ii. fem reader, pronouns s/her are mentioned tho it was written in 2nd person. fluff, fluff. female body specifications; long hair! reader, nudity, slight language barrier’ struggles, characters may seem ooc. shoutout to alhaitham for name you. 15.5k words sue me. not proof-read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

Alhaitham’s day began like any other, filled with the structured predictability he deemed essential.

As Akademiya’s scribe, he was used to working methodically on his tasks, knowing exactly what was needed and never exceeding those limits. Efficiency was a virtue he held in high regard, after all.

But today, at the request of Lesser Lord Kusanali herself, he was dispatched to Port Ormos to investigate some potential concerns involving certain texts arriving from the neighboring nation. A diplomatic matter with Chenyu Vale, she had suggested, that required someone well-versed in logic and languages—a task he could accomplish quickly and with minimal interruption to his personal duties.

Now, as he stood on the outskirts of Port Ormos with his task nearly complete, Alhaitham surveyed the bustling dock.

While Port Ormos often seemed chaotic to him, he couldn’t deny the appeal of watching the ebb and flow of commerce, of lives interwoven in casual exchanges and swift negotiations. But just as he prepared to leave, his attention was drawn to a quieter stretch of the coast, an isolated, rarely visited area far from the main docks. This was usually his kind of place: quiet and solitary.

However, today, the silence was broken by something… peculiar. It wasn’t the rhythmic murmur of the waves or the occasional seagulls that caught his attention, but an odd, strained sound. It was faint but persistent—a low occasional growl mixed with something he couldn’t immediately identify.

Curiosity piqued, Alhaitham allowed his gaze to scan the sandy stretch. There was no one else in sight; no sailors, no matras. This area seemed entirely deserted, only adding to the mystery. 

He approached cautiously, his trained eyes alert with every movement. Then, amidst the scattered shells and seaweed, he saw it: a glimpse of something familiar yet entirely strange.

A tail. Long, dark, and unmistakably fish-like, though far more mesmerizing in its iridescent palette and certainly larger than any common marine animal. Its dark blue with a touch of gray caught the light and shimmered with shifting hues as the waves lapped gently over it.

Alhaitham’s breath hitched as his gaze traveled from the fish tail to its source, finally landing on the figure trapped in a tangled mess of fishing net.

This was no ordinary sea creature. No. It was a mermaid.

For a man who prided himself on his calm and logical demeanor, Alhaitham felt an undeniable wave of disbelief and fascination wash over him.

Mermaids were, at best, myths—Fontaine tales told in taverns and old children’s books. In his days as a student, he had skimmed the sparse historical mentions of mermaids, intrigued by their academic mystery, though ultimately dismissing them as baseless stories. Historians had little to offer about them—no language to decipher, no artifacts to study. It was all speculative, fantasy stories wrapped in the very mystique of the sea. And now, here you were, a very real mermaid right before him.

Your form was incredibly otherworldly, almost surreal in its beauty. Long hair clung to your shoulders and breasts, darkened by the water and tangled with delicate, glistening pearls, while the scales on your arms and ribs caught the faint light. But it was your face, contorted with a mixture of fear and frustration, that held him in place. Your sharp eyes, almost snake-like, blinked warily as you noticed his approach, and a low growl escaped your throat, an instinctive warning.

Alhaitham took a deep breath, grounding himself in reality. This creature—no, this mermaid—wasn’t just a legend he could dismiss. You were tangible, vulnerable, and caught in a trap you clearly couldn’t escape from.

Kneeling out of your reach, he chose his movements with calculated care. “Easy there,” he murmured, his tone neutral yet soft, more for his own benefit than yours. He doubted you’d understand, but it was instinctive to try and soothe you. He slowly extended a hand, palm open, hoping you could see he meant no harm.

Your sharp gaze tracked his every movement, a soft, cautious hiss slipping from your lips. You moved your tail against the net, trying once again to free yourself, but the more you struggled, the tighter the net seemed to trap you. Alhaitham’s gaze dropped to your bare torso, noticing the faint shimmer of scales marred by bruises, likely from your attempts to break free.

He looked back at you, meeting your wary, defiant gaze. Your intelligence was unmistakable—in your eyes, he could see a spark of recognition and caution. You knew he was a threat, but also, perhaps, your only chance.

“Alright,” he said, as if reasoning with a wild creature, and began to move carefully toward the edge of the net. You tensed, the sharp gleam of your canines visible as you bared your teeth in warning. Alhaitham paused, feeling a mix of danger and a strange empathy.

“Relax,” he said softly, ensuring his gestures were as non-threatening as possible. You continued to watch him, your expression still wary but curious. Up close, he could see your long, sharp nails, the delicate, translucent membranes between your fingers and the subtle rise and fall of your gills as you breathed shallowly and anxiously. Your beauty was undeniable but in a way that felt unreal, beyond anything he had ever encountered.

Alhaitham slowly reached for the knife at his belt, the blade glinting in the faint light. Your eyes narrowed, a low, almost inaudible growl escaping as you observed him. “I’m here to help,” he assured, keeping his tone calm, as if you could understand his intent through his voice alone.

As he brought the blade closer to the tangled net, your body went rigid, muscles tensing as if ready to spring—or strike. Your gaze locked onto his, every line of your body taut, your breathing shallow and rapid. For a brief moment, he paused, meeting your gaze with a nod of understanding, as if to say: Trust me, just for now.

With practiced ease, he cut a few threads, loosening the net just enough to give you some room. You flinched, your tail contracting involuntarily, but you didn’t pull away, allowing him to continue his work. He cut it carefully, each movement deliberate, keeping his own breathing steady as he watched your response.

He couldn’t help but wonder at the absurdity of it all. Here he was, the notorious and logical Scribe of the Akademiya, performing a rescue for something—or someone—he once dismissed as pure fantasy. The tales he had brushed aside as stories seemed to dissolve before this living being. Yet his mind continued to spin with questions he couldn’t suppress: How did you end up here, trapped in this net? And what would become of you now?

As he cut the last thread, he noticed your injured tail more clearly, a long red line seeping through the translucent scales. A frown crossed his face as he sheathed the knife, feeling the faintest pang of concern.

“You’re hurt,” he said quietly, not knowing if you would understand him. You shifted slightly, flexing your tail as if testing your freedom, your expression cautious but no longer as frantic. Your eyes met his again, and for a moment, something like gratitude flashed in your gaze—fleeting, almost imperceptible, but there.

He couldn’t help but smile slightly, feeling a pull of fascination, his mind instinctively cataloging every feature, every movement. 

Yet Alhaitham’s thoughts clicked into the details of the situation with calculated precision.

He observed the desolate stretch of beach where he found you, far removed from the main port and any regular fishing route. This area was more of a neglected backwater than a place frequented by locals, let alone fishermen. He was certain you hadn’t been captured here intentionally; instead, you must have ventured here alone, in danger or by mistake, only to be caught by the tangled mess of nets, possibly abandoned by a passing fishing boat.

He looked back at you, his analytical gaze softening slightly. Faced with this new reality, you bore little resemblance to the wild, monstrous figures folklore sometimes suggested. You were undeniably alive, aware, and your beauty, strange and striking, had an almost hypnotic quality.

But despite his attempts at rational analysis, concern rooted itself as he examined your injuries.

The wound on your tail continued bleeding slowly, deep crimson droplets blending into the sea water. He didn’t know how long you had been trapped, but the blood loss, however gradual, could spell trouble if left untreated. There was also the issue of eremites and mercenaries who roamed the outskirts of Port Ormos, not to mention treasure hunters and opportunists. You’d be a prize beyond imagination for many of them if they found you in this weakened state…

The weight of your expectant gaze held him in the moment, your snake-like eyes gleaming with suspicion and interest. You watched him closely, trying to understand him as he studied you. He could see in the slight press of your lips, as if bracing to hiss or growl, ready to flee if needed. But he also noticed that, even in your obvious wariness, there was a glimmer of something more—a reluctant trust, perhaps, that he wasn’t here to harm you.

He took a careful step forward, his voice calm. “Can you understand me?” he asked, each word slow and deliberate. 

Silence, save for the rhythmic lap of waves against the shore.

Opting to approach you through another means, Alhaitham raised a hand to his chest, fingertips gently pressing over his heart. He met your eyes, holding your gaze firmly, and said, “Alhaitham,” keeping his voice low, repeating the name once more, “Al-Haitham,” drawing each syllable with deliberate clarity.

You head tilted cutely, eyes blinking expressively. You watched his gesture, your gaze lingering on the hand over his heart, as if trying to decipher the meaning in his movements and tone. He could see your intrigue, the silent intelligence behind your eyes suggesting that, though there was no response, his words had not entirely gone unnoticed.

Satisfied to have given you something to hold onto, Alhaitham took a deep breath to calm himself.

Internally, the scribe wrestled with a series of difficult choices. Returning you to the sea seemed the most logical path, but there was no certainty that you’d survive the injuries. And considering the bystanders lingering in the area, leaving you there could be even more risky. On the other hand, bringing you to his own home was… complicated. The logistics alone were challenging. He lived a fair distance from Port Ormos—nearly half an hour by walking—and carrying you the entire way risked exposure for both you and himself.

As he turned these options over in his mind, you shifted slightly, a barely audible groan revealing you discomfort. The sight stirred an unexpected protectiveness within him. Practicality aside, leaving you in that state wasn’t an option he could consider.

He crouched beside you once again, his expression softening when he met your gaze. “It seems you’ve left me with little choice,” he murmured, half to himself. “I’ll have to find a way to take you with me.”

You blinked, your gaze never leaving him.

When he extended his hand toward you, you immediately stiffened and hissed aggressively, your body tensing as if bracing for what might come next. Alhaitham kept his movements slow and deliberate, waiting until the tension in your shoulders eased enough. When he placed a careful hand beneath you, your damp skin was smooth, cool to the touch, and your scales gleamed slightly even in the last traces of sunlight. Your breathing steadied, though he could still feel your persistent nerves.

He thought for a moment, gauging your weight, and realized it’d be challenging to carry you all the way to his home without attracting attention. He glanced back at the main harbor, then at you, pondering an alternative solution.

Then his eyes landed on an old wooden cart leaning against the weathered side of a nearby storage shed. The cart was small, probably used to transport boxes of fish or bags of supplies from the coast, with thick wheels designed to handle rough paths. Judging by the nets and equipment scattered around it, it likely belonged to a fisherman or trader who had left it unattended for the day.

With a hint of reluctance, Alhaitham assessed the cart and the possible risks of borrowing it. But practicality won out; the cart was discreet and functional, a solution he couldn’t ignore.

Carefully, he carried you toward the cart, moving at a steady, unhurried pace to keep your calm. You were clearly frightened, your body tensing slightly as he approached the cart, but your eyes remained focused on him, not on the unfamiliar contraption.

“It’s the best I can do for now,” he murmured, his tone gentler, as he placed a soft cloth he had found along the cart’s surface, creating a makeshift cushion over the rough wood.

Slowly, he guided you to sit, your injured tail carefully positioned on the padding. Your eyes darted between him and the cart, a flicker of nervousness visible in the way your fingers clenched and relaxed, but you stayed still, watching him intently as he adjusted the cloth around you.

Once he was certain you were settled, he grasped the iron handle of the cart and began to pull, setting a careful yet steady rhythm. The journey ahead was longer than he had anticipated, and he kept his attention on the road, his mind flooded with questions he couldn’t yet answer.

As you both traced the more secluded paths back to his home, Alhaitham found himself glancing over his shoulder at you, curiosity mingling with a cautious sense of awe. The sound of the cart’s wheels rolling over the uneven path filled the silence between you two, a strangely rhythmic backdrop for his swirling thoughts.

This encounter was unlike anything he had ever experienced. He had encountered beings as mythical as they were magical during his studies, but mermaids—real mermaids—had always been a subject wrapped in mystery and skepticism. And now here he was, with a living, breathing mystery being carried by him in an old, borrowed cart, with questions he could hardly begin to ask.

As he neared home, Alhaitham’s thoughts began to drift toward Kaveh, his housemate. The scribe knew he had the right to bring anyone he wanted into his own home, yet he couldn’t entirely ignore the small tug of doubt about what the architect might think of this stranger among them—especially given the undeniable peculiarity of the situation.

When they finally arrived, Alhaitham noticed an unusual stillness in the cart.

Looking back, he was startled to find you breathing heavily, your chest rising and falling with visible effort. Your eyelids fluttered, your gaze unfocused and barely registering your surroundings. He had assumed you were silent due to simple exhaustion, but now he could see your strength waning; the wound on your tail was no longer bleeding heavily, but your skin had lost its previous luster, becoming dull and slightly pale.

He realized, with a start, that you had likely been out of the water for too long, your injuries worsening your condition. Without a second thought, he lifted you into his arms, your weight shifting in his hold as he carefully cradled you against his chest. Your skin was colder than he had expected, and you barely reacted, your head drooping slightly to one side as he carried you through the entrance.

The house was quiet, he noticed. Kaveh was probably finishing a project or relaxing at the local tavern. In a way, it was a relief; Alhaitham didn’t want to face questions yet, not when every minute counted. Quickly, he headed to his suite, knowing the bathroom there would be the best place to stabilize you.

Reaching the bathroom, the scribe laid you on the floor, leaning you against the wall while he turned on the bathtub’s faucet. The water splashed and rose in the tub, filling the room with a soft, familiar sound, and he carefully tested the temperature, ensuring it was comfortable for you.

Once the tub was full, he returned to your side, sliding his arms around you to lift you again, and gently submerged you in the water.

The effect was almost immediate. The tension in your shoulders began to ease, your body relaxing as you adjusted to the gentle embrace of the water. Your tail submerged partially, the scales faintly shimmering as your breathing began to steady. You blinked slowly, your eyes finally regaining some clarity, and your gaze turned to him once more.

Alhaitham found himself watching you, captivated. The way you moved in the water was like observing a creature in its natural element; you were graceful, serene, each of your movements fluid and instinctive, even in such a small space. For a moment, you seemed almost at peace, adjusting to your new environment with a slight sense of wonder.

After a while, Alhaitham sat on a stool nearby, examining the wound on your tail with a more clinical gaze. The cut looked deeper up close, irregular and red along the edges, likely worsened by your struggle against the net.

Carefully, he extended his hand toward it, intending to assess the damage — but at the first touch, you recoiled, a soft yet distinct growl rumbling in your throat. Your eyes locked onto his hand, narrowing in a sharp warning.

“Easy,” he said softly, his voice measured and calm. “I just want to help.”

You held his gaze, still defensive, your eyes distrustful and unyielding.

Alhaitham considered his options, realizing he needed to show you his intentions. Slowly, he rolled up his sleeve, exposing a small area of his forearm. Using a small, sterilized knife from the medical kit he kept nearby, he made a small cut. Without breaking eye contact, he took a roll of bandages and tended to the wound, pressing a small cloth to it to stop the bleeding, then securing it with careful precision.

You watched intently, your sharp eyes following every movement as he applied the bandage and finished his demonstration. He extended his hand, showing you the process was harmless, then gestured toward your injured tail with a look of gentle insistence.

Your gaze shifted from the bandaged arm to his face, and then, slowly, you relented, your tail moving toward him in a tentative gesture of trust.

Alhaitham excused and his fingers moved over the surface of your tail, the scales cool and smooth under his touch, a strange blend of softness and strength. He found himself fascinated by the texture, each scale catching faint glimmers of color as he carefully cleaned the wound and applied a thin layer of antiseptic balm.

Your reaction was hesitant, but you didn’t resist, your gaze fixed on him with a mix of attentiveness and intrigue. Alhaitham was silent, focusing on his task, though he couldn’t shake the strange sensation of examining something so mythical, so utterly otherworldly.

When he finished, he moved back a bit, giving you space to adjust and settle into the bathtub.

For a moment, the room fell silent, and Alhaitham realized you were likely hungry. Recalling his pantry, he remembered there were some canned fish—a simple, if humble, option. He rose, nodding apologetically before heading to the kitchen.

There, he grabbed the can and opened it, the salty, familiar scent wafting into the air. When he returned, you watched him with expectant eyes, your curiosity rekindled. He sat beside the tub again and offered the food, waiting to see how you would react. At first, you wrinkled your nose, suspicion shining in your gaze, but after a moment, you carefully took a piece, chewing it timidly.

It was as if a switch had been flipped. You devoured the rest with surprising intensity, your hunger evident as you finished the fish with quick, eager bites. When you looked back at him, pupils dilated and gleaming, your expression softened into something almost sweet. The unguarded look, the silent request in your face, caught him off guard—you wanted more.

A slight smile played on his lips, amused by your sudden change. Without saying a word, he grabbed another can, opened it, and offered it to you. You accepted it with the same voracious energy, and he found himself even more captivated, watching you eat with a fascination that was part analytical, part genuine curiosity, a faint hint of acceptance surfacing.

“So that’s all it takes to earn your trust, huh? Just a bit of food,” he remarked, his voice carrying a tone of entertainment as he straightened on the stool, arms crossed. His eyes gleamed with rare humor, the softened edge that few had ever seen. When he chuckled, you looked up, momentarily intrigued by the sound.

But that lightness faded as his mind returned to the current situation, his brow furrowing in quiet thought.

Alhaitham couldn’t help but feel unsettled by the scene of this creature from myth, an enigma he could barely believe was real, now looking at him from his bathtub. And he, a man usually content with the solitude of his own space, was now bound to share it with you, a mystery he found himself inevitably drawn to.

He took a deep breath and leaned toward you, his fingers interlacing.

“Where did you come from, huh?” he asked, his voice softer this time, as if coaxing an answer. “How did you end up here in Sumeru of all places?”

Each question felt like a whisper, a thread he was following in search of answers he wasn’t sure you even had.

His gaze lingered on your face, his eyes softened as he searched for some hint of recognition, something that would give him insight into the untold story you carried. But you only tilted your head, watching him with those beautiful, sharp, and intrigued eyes, and he sighed, recognizing that these questions might not yield anything for now.

With a contemplative look, he continued, more to himself now, “I don’t know how long you’ll be staying here, but…” His gaze drifted to the edge of the tub. “We’ll need to get past this language barrier,” he said, watching you carefully, noticing how you seemed to respond, if not to his words, then at least to his tone. You might not have spoken yet, but he had a strong suspicion you understood more than he initially thought.

He straightened up again, arms crossed over his chest, already planning his next steps. “Teaching you some basics should be manageable,” he mused. “You seem smart. I’ll start with simple words. Maybe that’ll give us some common ground.”

His thoughts briefly wandered to the Akademiya’s library. The House of Daena held numerous books and journals, fragments of knowledge, notes from scholars who had studied all sorts of myths. Perhaps there was something in those pages that could hold the answers he needed. He’d make a point to return there tomorrow.

Lost in thought, he murmured, “I can’t keep you in the tub forever, either. We’ll have to address that eventually.” His voice trailed off as he considered the situation more practically. For now, the tub would suffice, but it was far from a long-term solution.

You followed his every movement, though it was clear your interest was more in your surroundings than in him.

Occasionally, your gaze would drift from the dim candlelight to the strange objects decorating the bathroom, absorbing each detail of this world that was foreign to you. Alhaitham found himself staring at you, surprised at how naturally you seemed to fit into the space—a strange contrast considering you were a creature of the water, yet here you were, curious and present in the heart of his world.

Moments passed in silence, both lost in separate thoughts—Alhaitham weighing his options.

Some time later, he noticed the way your eyes began to close, your body finally giving in to the day’s exhaustion. You leaned against the edge of the tub, breathing softly, eyelids heavy. A faint, almost affectionate smile crossed his lips as he murmured, “A long day, no doubt.”

With a low chuckle, he straightened, adjusting the dim lighting to give you peace. “Goodnight,” he said softly, letting the silence of the bathroom settle over you as he returned to his suite.

Once in his room, he shed the day’s fatigue along with his usual attire, slipping into more comfortable clothing. Yet even as he tried to shift his focus, his thoughts returned to you. The mystery of who you were, what you were, haunted him in the most unexpected ways. Every answer led to another question, but that wasn’t the unsettling part. No—it was the quiet fascination you stirred within him, a desire to unravel that he never had felt before.

Heading to the kitchen, he prepared a quick meal for himself. He served a simple broth, letting it simmer as he went over the potential tasks for tomorrow.

Pay a visit to the Akademiya’ library was a must, he concluded. Perhaps he could find some records that might offer insights into mermaid lore.

But there was more to consider—how would he navigate the practicalities of living alongside you? How’d Kaveh react to your existence? The solution to the language barrier seemed a smart move, but could you communicate in the same way humans did? The thoughts accumulated, persisting as he carried his food back to his chair.

Settling in with a book about the different cultures of the desert tribes, Alhaitham tried to immerse himself in its pages, though his eyes drifted now and then toward his suite door. There was a strange sense of responsibility he couldn’t ignore.

When he had read as much as his mind would allow for the night, he got up, walking quietly to the bathroom to check on you one last time.

You were there. You were real.

The faintest trace of a smile crossed his face as he saw you sleeping, your body half-submerged in the water, your tail draped over the side of the tub. The room fell into a gentle silence, the soft rhythm of your breathing the only sound.

He lingered there for a moment longer than necessary, his mind reluctantly calming as he absorbed the peace of the moment. Finally, he closed the door and turned, heading back to his room.

After finishing his nightly routines somewhere else, Alhaitham lay in bed, his thoughts wavering between the strange events of the day and the mysteries tomorrow would bring. But tonight, he allowed himself a rare luxury: to set aside the unknown, choosing instead to let the calm of the moment settle over him.

With one last lingering thought of you, he let sleep claim him, already aware that his life had changed, subtly but irrevocably, the moment he found you.

When the first rays of dawn slipped into the room, Alhaitham woke, his mind returning to the surreal events of the previous day. 

For a brief moment, he wondered if it had all been a trick of his tired mind, but the memory of your cautious yet inquisitive gaze quickly dismissed the notion. Getting up, he adjusted his clothes and headed to the bathroom, his mind already reflecting on the day’s responsibilities—and the unique situation of having a mermaid as an unexpected guest.

Opening the bathroom door, he was greeted by the sight of you already awake, fingers trailing through the water with a kind of childlike curiosity. As soon as you sensed his presence, you lifted your head, and he was met with what could only be described as a warm, welcoming look. Your sharp, reflective eyes held a glimmer of trust, hesitant but undeniably there, as if his arrival was something to be anticipated rather than feared. 

Alhaitham felt a small smile tug at his lips as he observed your response, taking it as a sign that you were becoming accustomed to him.

“Good morning,” he greeted, his voice softened by the quietness of the early hour.

The words seemed to capture your attention even more closely, though he knew the meaning might be lost on you. Still, he kept his tone gentle, observing the way you seemed to listen, almost as if searching for something familiar in his voice. “I see you’re feeling at home,” there was a hint of amusement in his tone, his eyes flicking to the water you were swirling with your fingers.

Turning to the sink, he splashed water on his face and grabbed his toothbrush, methodically following the movements of his morning routine. He was aware of your gaze, fixed on each motion, following the toothbrush in his hand as he brought it to his mouth. Pausing, he looked at you, the faintest smile curving his lips as he leaned back against the sink.

“Curious now, aren’t we? It’s a toothbrush. We use it to… well, keep our teeth clean,” he explained, though he had no real expectation that you’d understand. Nevertheless, there was something strangely satisfying about sharing these little details with you, as if guiding you through the peculiarities of human life.

You watched him closely, your eyes darting between the toothbrush, the sink, and the running water. The slight confusion on your face was so genuine, so openly curious, that he found himself chuckling quietly. “I suppose none of this makes sense to you. But we humans have our habits.”

When he finished, Alhaitham straightened, casting one last look in your direction before heading to the door. “I’ll bring you some breakfast,” he said, as much out of habit as anything else, already noting the slight inquisitive tilt of your head. He lingered a moment longer than necessary, almost reluctant to leave the room, before finally heading to the kitchen to prepare for the day.

Entering the kitchen, he found Kaveh already there, hunched over a cup of coffee with a look that bordered on pure misery. The dark circles under his eyes and his slow, almost agonizing sips of coffee told Alhaitham everything he needed to know.

“Rough night?” Alhaitham’s tone was clearly teasing, though he made little effort to hide his mild disapproval. Kaveh didn’t even bother looking up, merely muttering something unintelligible as he stared at his mug.

“Don’t start,” the other man grumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion. “It’s too early for your lectures.”

Alhaitham’s lips twitched in mockery, barely hiding an ironic smile. “Lectures? Hardly. Just an observation. Maybe a bit of moderation would do you good.”

Kaveh scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. “Moderation isn’t exactly your strong suit either, judging by the amount of research papers scattered around.” He drained his coffee, muttering something about Alhaitham’s inability to keep the house organized and stumbled toward his room, the door closing with a weary thud behind him.

Shaking his head, Alhaitham turned his attention to the fridge, rummaging through its contents with a quiet purpose. He picked a selection of food he hoped might appeal to you—some leftover shrimp, dried fish, and a few other options he thought might please a creature of the sea.

Returning to you, he noticed how your gaze instantly brightened at the sight of the food he held. A barely concealed smile crossed his face as he watched your eager expression, the way you leaned forward slightly, anticipation evident in your wide eyes.

“I see I’ve already discovered the key to earning your trust,” he commented with a soft chuckle, placing the food beside the tub. “A little food, and suddenly I’m not so intimidating.”

Sitting on the stool near the tub, he watched you as you picked up the shrimp, a glimmer of wonder followed by the same fervor with which you had devoured last night’s meal. The moment you tasted it, your expression shifted to one of contentment, and he couldn’t help but be amused by how expressive you were.

“Listen,” he began in a conversational tone, though he knew the full implications were likely lost on you, “I’ll need to be away for a while,” he paused, as if weighing his words. “However, in the meantime, I’ll also check if there’s anything that might be useful for understanding your situation.”

You looked up briefly, eyes attentive, and Alhaitham felt a spark of satisfaction at your apparent focus. It was as if, despite the language barrier, some part of you had grasped the importance of his words.

He continued, a thoughtful tone in his voice, “Besides, I can’t leave you in the bathtub indefinitely, so I’ll work on a more appropriate solution. I’d like to have it back, after all,” he paused, almost speaking to himself, “Then, there’s Kaveh too who I should approach the current subject but I can deal with him later. The most important now is figure out how we’re gonna work on building your vocabulary. Just enough so we can understand each other.”

The statement lingered in the air, half a plan and half a promise.

Alhaitham realized he was already thinking about putting his plans in action, wondering if he might start teaching you simple words and phrases as soon as possible. His fingers tapped absently on his knee as he considered the logistics, the potential challenges—and rewards—of bridging that language gap.

From time to time, your gaze fell on him, as if assessing his intentions, though it didn’t take long before your focus shifted again, captivated by something else now that sunlight bright your surroundings. He marveled at your ability to find fascination in the simplest things, and for a brief moment, he felt a strange pang of something he couldn’t quite identify—a bubbling discomfort in his stomach, almost unsettling.

The silence became comfortable, broken only by the occasional soft sound of the water and  you eating.

Alhaitham’s gaze drifted to the soft morning light stretching across the bathroom floor, and he suddenly realized he’d lost track of time.

A sigh escaped him as he finally rose from his seat. “Looks like that’s my cue.”

Your gaze followed him, an imperceptible questioning look in your eyes that made him chuckle softly. “What?” he said, his voice gentler. “I may not understand where you came from, but I’ll make sure you’re comfortable here.”

With one last look, he left the room to gather his things and prepare for work.

As he adjusted his attire, his thoughts returned to the moments you’d spent observing him—a feeling that lingered, even as he headed to the kitchen for a quick cup of coffee.

Before leaving, he returned to check on you one last time and considered whether or not to lock the bedroom door. He doubted you’d drag yourself around the house and was sure Kaveh wouldn’t intrude on his privacy. So, he only closed the door and make his way to the exit.

He cast one last look behind him before leaving his home and heading toward the Akademiya.

At his work, Alhaitham went through the day with practiced ease. 

The tasks before him were routine; his hands swiftly leafed through documents, marking necessary corrections and assessing reports without losing pace. Occasionally, a colleague would pass by with a nod or a brief greeting, which he returned in his usual, calm manner, though his thoughts kept drifting back to you. He found himself wondering how you were doing, alone and adjusting to the strange, new world of his home.

During lunch, he took a detour to the House of Daena.

The familiar shelves surrounded him, but he was focused, his eyes scanning the spines of books and journals, all marked with references to the ancient legends and myths of Teyvat. Thanks to his access to restricted areas, he pored over some of the oldest and rarest manuscripts, hoping to glean at least a trace of knowledge about mermaids.

Most entries were vague at best—poetic reflections, scattered notes from long-dead historians, and tales from Fontaine that seemed like fables. However, he gathered hints that mermaids, if they existed, were mysterious beings known for their enchantments and charm over men, with powers beyond human understanding. Intriguing, though frustratingly incomplete.

As the sun began to set, Alhaitham finally left the office. 

On his way home, he stopped by a nearby fishmonger’s stall. Fresh seafood was piled high—crabs, shrimp, mussels. Selecting a variety, he figured you would enjoy the options. Just as he was reaching for his mora pouch, he spotted Kaveh rushing toward him from across the plaza, his usually composed friend looking distinctly out of sorts.

“Alhaitham!” Kaveh’s voice was breathless, incredulous, as he skidded to a halt beside him. “You—you need to go home. Right now!”

The scribe raised an eyebrow. “Good to see you too. But if you notice, I’m a bit busy at the moment.”

“No, no, you don’t understand,” Kaveh said, nervously running a hand through his hair. “There’s—there’s a naked woman in our kitchen!”

Both Alhaitham and the vendor froze, the scribe’s mind, thouggh, racing a mile a minute. Kaveh looked genuinely shaken, his cheeks flushed, eyes wide with a mix of panic and disbelief.

“A woman…?” Alhaitham repeated, the words slipping out as he tried to process what his friend had said.

“Yes! A very naked woman! In our kitchen!” Kaveh’s voice dropped to a hiss. “She’s just—she’s in there, rummaging through the food like she owns the place!”

The realization hit Alhaitham like a shock, his pulse quickening. He barely acknowledged the merchant’s chocked stare as he turned, leaving his purchases behind as he quickly made his way home. Kaveh struggled to keep up, throwing his hands in the air.

“Alhaitham, what’s going on? Do you know something? I should’ve known I wasn’t imagining things when I heard voices coming from your room this morning. Since when do you bring women home without even giving me a heads-up? And—she’s stunning! But who—what—?”

Alhaitham didn’t respond. His mind was a whirlwind of questions, scenarios, and a strange, unexpected excitement tinged with worry. He’d hoped you’d stay in the bathtub—not creating legs and wandering around defenseless.

Kaveh was still talking, ranting in exasperation, but Alhaitham only caught fragments.

“Just… be quiet for a moment,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the path as his pace quickened.

Upon arriving home, he opened the door cautiously, Kaveh practically breathing down his neck. Heading toward the kitchen, he felt a palpable tension. And then he saw you.

You were in the center of it, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun streaming through the windows. Your human form was… breathtaking. The long, now-dry locks of your hair cascaded over your shoulders, reaching your waist, framing your face with an ethereal quality that somehow amplified your beauty tenfold. Your features—sharp yet soft, and your eyes, still carrying that same hint of mystery and allure—caught the light, leaving him speechless.

Your skin seemed to glow, luminous in a way that appeared almost otherworldly. And you were indeed very, very naked.

His gaze remained, caught between awe and sheer disbelief. You were in his kitchen, the same creature he had found tangled in the fishing net, and yet, looking at you now, he couldn’t help but feel utterly captivated.

Kaveh stammered beside him, his face bright red as he averted his gaze. “Alhaitham, seriously! Are you going to explain this or just keep staring?”

Snapping out of his trance, Alhaitham cleared his throat, masking his surprise with a carefully neutral expression. He stepped forward, catching your attention. “You… You’re human now,” he murmured, almost to himself, the amazement still lingering in his voice.

You looked up, meeting his gaze with a glint of recognition and curiosity. In that moment, Alhaitham felt a faint trace of familiarity in your eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that had formed between you.

Then, to his surprise, you opened your mouth, and a single soft word escaped.

“‘Haitham.”

Alhaitham’s eyes widened. His name—or a version of it—spoken in your voice for the first time.

A strange warmth spread through him as he heard it, his own name seeming to carry an unexpected weight, as if imbued with the raw honesty of a first word. He barely had time to process it before you stepped closer and gently pulled his face toward yours, brushing the tip of your nose against his.

Kaveh let out an audible gasp beside him, his face flooding with color as he stumbled back, practically tripping over his own feet. “Archons above! What is happening to the world?” His voice was nearly a squeak as he pressed himself against the far wall, looking like he might faint from the shock.

Alhaitham, though not someone easily perturbed, found himself momentarily frozen, his pulse quickening as he processed your action. He had read about mermaid customs, albeit only briefly in fragmented records, but it occurred to him that this gesture might mean something— perhaps a greeting, a way of recognizing trust and acceptance.

With that realization, his surprise softened into something closer to warmth. The gesture felt innocent, sincere. Alhaitham’s lips curved upward, and his eyes softened as he met yours. “So, that’s how you say ‘hello,’” he murmured, his voice low, as if not wanting to break the moment.

You tilted your head, amusement gleaming in your gaze for the first time, as if you could somehow sense his thoughts. Meanwhile, Kaveh, still pressed against the wall, looked on with equal parts horror and disbelief.

“Oh, I’m going to lose my mind,” he muttered, covering his eyes as if to give the two of you some privacy. “Alhaitham, please tell me you have some kind of explanation for this—this whole situation.”

Ignoring the other man’s confused state, Alhaitham took a step back. “You surprised me,” he said, his voice softened, warmth in his tone. “I wasn’t expecting this. I wasn’t even sure if you could take on a human form, let alone speak so quickly.” He managed a small smile, the corners of his lips curling as he realized he had far more to learn about you than he initially thought.

Kaveh, still covering his eyes with one hand, muttered, “Unbelievable! You're still talking? Only you'd find yourself in this situation and still stay calm.”

Alhaitham shot him a brief look, though he couldn’t entirely blame him. Turning to you, he gently gestured for you to follow. “Come. Let’s find something for you to wear.”

As you followed him, Alhaitham tried to ignore Kaveh’s incredulous expression. He knew he’d be bombarded with questions later, but for now, all that mattered was getting you settled, dressed, and perhaps—if possible—beginning to understand the mystery you had brought into his life.

Alhaitham’s clothes hung loosely on you, but he found a way to tie them securely, adjusting the sleeves and waistband as comfortably as possible. 

While he dressed you, his eyes always averting when they fell on your exposed intimates, you looked down at yourself, wide-eyed and fascinated, tilting your head as if entranced by the strange, soft fabric now covering your skin. He noticed how you examined each new sensation—the way the sleeves brushed against your arms, how the fabric rested on your shoulders, and the feeling of something covering your legs. A small smile tugged at his lips as he watched you try to make sense of it all.

Once he ensured you were clothed, your wound tended, and provided with food that seemed to delight you, Alhaitham guided you back to the main room, where Kaveh awaited.

The architect’s mouth fell open as he observed your every movement, absorbing how you moved with a blend of grace and wonder, entirely captivated by each new detail around you. Blissfully unaware of their gazes, you seemed utterly fascinated by how your own feet flexed and moved, watching them with open curiosity as if they were little, curious creatures.

Kaveh broke the silence, his eyes still wide with disbelief. “Alright… start explaining, or I might think I’m hallucinating. Or still drunk.”

Ever practical, Alhaitham recounted the events precisely, detailing how he found you entangled in fishing nets, the injury you’d suffered, and his decision to bring you home to heal.

“I didn’t know if she would survive in the wild with her injuries,” he added, his tone practical, though he couldn’t help glancing at you to make sure you were still comfortable. “It seemed the most reasonable option.”

Kaveh nodded slowly, his expression blank as he pieced together the story. “So, you’re saying she’s not just some random woman, but actually a mermaid—a living legend—and you decided to bring her here.” He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a low whistle. “I can’t say I blame you. But… what do you plan to do next?”

Alhaitham crossed his arms, his gaze steady. “She’s free to leave whenever she wants. But with her injury”—he gestured subtly to your bandaged leg—“I doubt she’ll go far. Until she heals, she’ll stay here, and I’ll try to learn as much as I can. We still know so little about her species.”

Kaveh raised an eyebrow. “You realize what you’re saying, right? We’re talking about a mermaid, not just some stray animal you can study. People would pay a fortune just to catch a glimpse of her. She could be in real danger if someone else, or even the Akademiya, finds out.”

Alhaitham didn’t waver. “I’m well aware. That’s why, for now, she stays here. I’ll be careful.”

Kaveh, even relunctantly, nodded, his concern gradually shifting to fascination as he watched you stretch your legs, then flex your feet experimentally, giggling with delight.

“Does she understand us? I mean, can she speak our language since she had said your name a while ago?”

A faint smile played at the corner of Alhaitham’s lips. “She’s getting the hang of it.”

Kaveh brightened, leaning forward with a smile. “Ah, well, in that case…” He pointed to himself, speaking slowly and clearly, “Kaveh!”

Your gaze quickly lifted from your feet to study Kaveh, and you seemed to pay considerable attention to his name. With your brows slightly furrowed, you tilted your head, then murmured softly, “Haitham.”

Kaveh’s smile faltered, his face contorting in confusion as he shot Alhaitham an incredulous look, who was suppressing an amused look.

Determined, Kaveh repeated his name, louder this time. “Kaveh,” he insisted, as if pure repetition would yield better results.

You watched him with a mixture of curiosity and slight confusion, though a barely perceptible glimmer of pure mischief crossed your eyes. Confident, you repeated again: “Haitham.”

Alhaitham couldn’t hold back. A low chuckle escaped him, and he shook his head, watching Kaveh’s patience fray as he let out a dramatic sigh.

“Oh, I get it,” Kaveh muttered, crossing his arms and pouting. “I’m just the ‘other guy,’ huh?”

“She’s learning,” Alhaitham reassured, a faint but warm smile touching his lips. “It’ll take time, and she seems to have chosen a starting point.” He looked at you, his gaze softened. This didn’t escape the architect’s sharp eyes, who raised an eyebrow subtly.

In the end, Kaveh rolled his eyes but couldn’t fully hide a smile. “Well, I suppose I’m honored to be in her presence anyway,” his gaze lingered on you, his voice softening with a kind of reverence. “It’s still hard to believe. This—this is actually real.”

Alhaitham’s gaze shifted from Kaveh back to you, his eyes calm but observant. “Yes,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else, “it is.” The smile in his eyes remained, becoming a bit more serious. “And I think our lives just got a lot more interesting.”

The conversation continued, flowing naturally between Alhaitham and Kaveh, though their attention rarely drifted from you.

Kaveh’s eyes shone with unmistakable fascination every time he looked in your direction, still grappling with the fact that he was in the presence of a mermaid. Alhaitham, meanwhile, was studying you with a different intent, as if weighing the potential for you not only adapt further, or learn and communicate, but perhaps even bridge the gap between your worlds entirely.

And yet, both men couldn’t ignore your beauty—a graceful, ethereal presence that captivated them even in this simple, domestic setting.

After a lull in the conversation, Kaveh cleared his throat, shifting his gaze between Alhaitham and you. “You know, I was thinking… does she have a name?” He looked at Alhaitham expectantly, as if the answer was obvious.

Alhaitham blinked, his expression unreadable for a moment. He hadn’t even considered it until now; you’d only just learned to say his name, so the thought of you having one of your own hadn’t crossed his mind.

Seeing his hesitation, Kaveh continued, “We can’t just keep calling her ‘she,’ ‘mermaid’, ‘woman’ or something vague all the time. She deserves a name.”

Alhaitham nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. She should have a name… something that suits her.” He looked at you, his gaze contemplative, as if searching for some hidden part of your essence to capture in a single word.

Kaveh, always the creative, leaned forward eagerly. “Alright, how about… ‘Sapphire’? She has that ethereal, oceanic vibe, right?”

Alhaitham frowned slightly. “Too obvious.”

Undeterred, Kaveh tried again. “Alright, then… ‘Pearl’? She has this… luminous quality.”

Alhaitham tilted his head. “A bit too delicate. It doesn’t match her strength.”

Kaveh leaned back on the sofa, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “Alright, Mr. Critic. What do you suggest?”

A faint spark of memory lit up Alhaitham’s eyes, and he looked at you, seemingly lost in thought.

“There was an ancient text I read some time ago about the mythology of a lost kingdom. In it, there was a name that stood out to me… (Y/N).” The name slipped from his lips with a gentle reverence, as if resurrected from some ancient memory.

You looked up, tilting your head at the sound. Something about the name resonated, as if it called to a part of you that you hadn’t realized was waiting for it. A faint glimmer of recognition seemed to flicker in your gaze, and the smallest, almost imperceptible smile curved your lips. Alhaitham noticed, his eyes widening as he observed your reaction.

Kaveh, noticing your response as well, let out a low whistle. “Well, that settles it. (Y/N). It has a mystique aura, something that feels… timeless.”

Alhaitham nodded, his gaze locked on yours with a hint of satisfaction. “(Y/N),” he repeated softly, as if affirming the choice. You responded by smiling at him, your expression open and serene, as if accepting the name as your own.

In that moment, Alhaitham felt a quiet sense of accomplishment, as if he had bridged another small yet meaningful gap between you and the human world. Kaveh, adjusting himself with a smile, looked at you both in reverence. “Well, it seems we’ve officially welcomed (Y/N) into our lives.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The days passed quickly, and Alhaitham found himself studying you almost as closely as you seemed to study the world around you. 

Teaching you turned out to be a surprisingly smooth process—‘hello’, ‘yes’ and ‘no’ being the words you’ve learned easily and used the most along with his name. You absorbed new words with a quiet curiosity, and even when your attention drifted to things like sunlight gleaming on a glass or the smell of incense from somewhere nearby, you still seemed to remember his words as if you’d stored them in a special place in your mind.

Your palette was another revelation for him. While seafood seemed to be a favorite, you showed great interest in trying every dish he introduced to you, from savory curries to exotic native fruits from Sumeru. Alhaitham watched as your eyes widened in surprise at the first taste of a ripe Zaytun Peach, the juice trickling down your chin as you savored each bite. He found himself smiling at how you looked at the fruit as if it were a gift, a piece of magic in the form of sweetness.

One afternoon, Alhaitham arrived home to the sound of aggressive hisses and faint, curious purrs. Concerned, he quickly entered the house to find you pressed against the wall, wide-eyed as a gray tabby cat—likely a neighbor’s runaway—rubbed itself against your legs. At first, you recoiled, showing claws and sharp canines in an instinctive defense. But as soon as the creature began to purr, you softened. Alhaitham watched, amused, as you knelt down, carefully petting the animal with an almost reverent gentleness, murmuring the word “yes” repeatedly as if you were in mutual agreement with the feline’s own rumbling approving.

Then, there was Kaveh. 

The architect’s affection grew towards you—although every time he was determined to make you remember his name, he was met with your unique mischievous smile and the same answer each time: “Haitham.” 

You said it with a bit of cadence, as if relishing how it made him frown in exaggerated frustration. Alhaitham, leaning back in his chair one evening, smirked at the interaction, watching Kaveh’s latest attempt dissolve into another sigh of defeat.

“All right, I see what it’s going on” Kaveh grumbled one day, crossing his arms as you observed him with a playful glint in your eyes. “You’ll acknowledge me properly, eventually.” 

Once, however, you found Kaveh hunched over his workspace, focused on a miniature architectural model. You approached quietly, observing the delicate structures he had assembled with fascination. Noticing your presence, he looked up and saw the appreciative smile on your face, understanding it as a compliment. “At least someone here likes my work,” he murmured with a chuckle. “If only all my clients were this easy to please…” He paused, ironically melancholic, earning an empathetic hum from you.

Both men had fallen into a rhythm around you, somehow more accommodating than they had expected. They adjusted to your needs perfectly, sharing the responsibility of ensuring your comfort, and found themselves both challenged and charmed by your presence.

For you, on the other hand, their world had become a comfortable place, one where you settled into a rhythm of small delights and quiet discoveries.

One day, as Alhaitham prepared tea for the three of you, he found himself reflecting aloud, speaking as if to himself. “I never imagined a mythical creature would be so adaptable,” he glanced at you sitting on the floor of the living room, distractedly munching half an apple and reading the newspaper, marveling at the images and texts with the adorable little sounds of awe you let out. Alhaitham couldn’t hold back the affectionate smile.

Kaveh, sitting cross-legged as he studied his latest designs, looked up and nodded, laughing. “She’s adapted better than I did when I moved here,” he commented. “It’s nice to finally have a roommate who doesn’t critique my design choices every five minutes.”

Alhaitham shot him a look, but he wasn’t offended. “Maybe she knows that beauty is best observed without unnecessary comments,” he replied coolly, his eyes lingering on you as you immersed yourself in your things.

In your own way, you had made your home with them. And, day by day, both Alhaitham and Kaveh were discovering that perhaps they had made their home with you too.

Alhaitham had also been keeping his promise, carefully ensuring your safety and privacy within the walls of his home. 

However, as the days passed, he began to notice that your curiosity was growing restless. Though your injuries were healing well, you seemed all too aware of the world outside, especially whenever you sat by the living room window.

Hours would slip by as you watched the passing crowds, children playing, merchants bartering. He and Kaveh had tried to explain the dangers of going out, cautioning you that it wasn't the best idea until you were fully recovered, but your eagerness to explore was unmistakable.

So, after weighing the pros and cons and discussing the arrangement with Kaveh, Alhaitham made a decision: a small outing, just enough to satisfy your curiosity without risking too much exposure. You needed clothes anyway, something more suitable than his shirts or Kaveh’s oversized tunics. And thus, one sunny afternoon, after a few of your lessons and some necessary safety ensures, Alhaitham guided you through the bustling streets of Sumeru City and towards the Grand Bazaar.

The moment your bare feet touched the warm, sun-dappled street stones, your eyes lit up with childlike wonder. Every detail enchanted you—the intricate architecture, the intoxicating scent of spices in the air, the hum of life around you. Alhaitham noticed the way your gaze darted to every vibrant stall and passing stranger, taking in the chaos with delight.

However, he also noticed something else: the way nearly every man you passed seemed to pause, transfixed, their gazes lingering on you. 

It wasn’t just that they were admiring your beauty—they were captivated, their expressions turning almost dreamlike, as if spellbound. Alhaitham’s brows furrowed as he watched one guy receive a swift smack from his wife when she caught him staring a bit too long. He took a step closer to you, shielding you slightly from the attention, and you, caught up in everything around you, hardly noticed.

You gasped softly as you entered the Grand Bazaar, eyes wide with excitement. The stalls were filled with handmade crafts, woven fabrics, jars of colorful spices, and foods you’d never seen before. Alhaitham, trailing just behind you, couldn't help but feel a flicker of warmth as he watched you light up at each new discovery, as if the world itself had become a treasure chest, and you were here to explore its wonders.

Before long, something shiny caught your attention—a stall laden with intricate jewelry. Without thinking, you wandered away from his side, drawn to the display like a moth to flame. Alhaitham followed, watching as you reached out to touch a delicate hairpin encrusted with tiny, shimmering green stones. 

The vendor, an older woman with a warm smile, caught your fascination and chuckled softly. “A beautiful accessory for a beautiful lady,” she said, her gaze shifting to Alhaitham with a knowing smile.

“Do you like that one?” Alhaitham asked gently. His tone was softened by an affection he didn’t quite manage to conceal.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice almost reverent as you ran your fingers over the hairpin, tracing each glimmering stone as though it held secrets of the ocean within.

He didn’t hesitate, reaching for his pouch and handing the vendor the necessary payment. The woman winked, her smile widening. “Lucky man, I’d say,” she murmured in a voice barely above a whisper, but Alhaitham caught it. He didn’t answer.

With a delighted smile, you thanked the vendor in your own way—a beaming, enchanted expression that lit up the old woman’s face as much as it did Alhaitham’s. You carefully cradled the accessory as if it were the most precious thing you’d ever owned, gazing at it as you walked away. But soon enough, your attention shifted to the scent of roasting fish at a nearby food stall. The vendor there, turning a skewer of freshly spiced fish over an open flame, waved you over with a friendly grin.

As you darted toward the stall, Alhaitham noticed something else in the jewelry display—a pendant with a smooth, iridescent stone that bore a striking resemblance to your tail. Silently, he purchased it, tucking the necklace into his pocket. The vendor gave him a sly look, but he ignored it, focusing instead on you, already entranced by the food stand.

“Oh, to be young again,” the vendor mused as she watched he leaving.

When he caught up with you at the food stall, you were leaning over the counter, staring in awe at the array of delicacies. The stall owner chuckled as you tilted your head curiously, taking in the fish skewers and assorted seafood. “She’s like a little fox in a new den,” he said to Alhaitham, amused by your wide-eyed fascination.

Alhaitham gave a small, knowing smile as he nodded. “You have no idea.”

The scribe exchanged a few coins for one of the skewers, then handed it to you with a small smile. Your fingers barely wrapped around it before you eagerly took a bite—too eager, it turned out, as you winced, the hot fish burning your tongue. Alhaitham sighed softly, his gaze both amused and indulgent.

“Careful,” he murmured, taking the skewer back for a moment and blowing gently on it, cooling it with a practiced patience. Watching him, you imitated his action, blowing on the skewer with the same careful attentiveness, which made his lips tug upward slightly. As he handed it back, you took another bite, this time savoring the flavors more slowly.

As the two of you continued to weave through the market, you marveled at every passing sight—the colors, the sounds of bartering, and the occasional street performer. You paused to watch a dancer swaying gracefully, her movements captivating as her bright clothing fluttered with each spin. Passersby occasionally nodded and greeted Alhaitham, who gave polite nods in return—their eyes going wide open when they saw you standing by his side. His attention, though, often shifted to you, keeping you close as you wandered, enchanted by your enthusiastic wonder.

Eventually, you stopped before a more discreet storefront draped with curtains of deep blue and gold. The sign above bore intricate lettering, and inside, racks and shelves brimmed with garments of all kinds. 

Alhaitham led you in, and you finished the skewer just as he did a quick sweep of the store. Taking the skewer stick, he tossed it into a nearby waste bin and approached the owner, an older gentleman with warm, thoughtful eyes.

The store was a treasure trove of fabrics in every shade, from vibrant hues to rich jewel tones, each piece imbued with a hint of Sumeru’s distinct, earthy style. Alhaitham and the owner spoke in low tones, exchanging opinions on a few pieces he was considering for you. But your eyes soon caught on a different rack—dresses and skirts crafted with delicate fabrics and intricate patterns.

Just then, a younger woman stepped out from behind one of the store’s curtain partitions. She looked you over with a friendly smile, her gaze lingering in admiration. “You have an eye for the finest pieces,” she said, her voice warm. “These are all my father’s designs. Here, let’s find one for you to try.”

She sorted through the rack with a discerning eye before settling on a dress. It was a pearly white, form-fitting but flowing at the hem, with soft layers and gentle ruffles. She led you to the dressing room, helping you into it as you fumbled with the ties and delicate fabric.

When you emerged from behind the dressing room curtain, the woman sighed audibly, her expression caught between pride and awe. Her reaction caught Alhaitham’s attention, and as he turned, his eyes settled on you—and stayed.

The dress fit you in a way that was both modest and striking. The neckline formed a gentle "V" between your collarbones, dipping gracefully but tastefully. The silhouette hugged your curves, enhancing your natural beauty, while the flowing fabric below the waist gave the dress an ethereal elegance, rising just above your heels.

Alhaitham was quiet, his gaze intent, his usual unreadable expression amazed, revealing a glimmer of something deeper—an admiration that ran silently but profoundly through him. He couldn’t look away, as though you’d become the center of his world in that moment.

For a brief moment, you met his eyes, and a silent understanding passed between you. You felt his unspoken thoughts, his breath subtly drawn in awe, and his gaze, filled with softness, lingering as though he was seeing you in a new light.

The shop owner’s voice cut through the moment. “I’d say we’ve found the perfect model for this design,” he said with a chuckle, nodding approvingly at you. “It looks as though it was made for her.”

Alhaitham’s lips curved into a faint smile, and he nodded. “Yeah. Indeed,” he agreed, his tone subdued but genuine. The shop owner offered a discount for future purchases, which Alhaitham accepted gratefully.

After purchasing a few more clothes, Alhaitham approached you and, with a hint of a smile, told you, “You look beautiful.” Though the words were simple, the sincerity in his gaze made them feel more profound. You understood his compliment, your expression softening as you smiled back at him with a shyness that made you glance away, if only for a second.

The shop owner mentioned shoes, but Alhaitham shook his head gently. He knew you’d be more comfortable as you were, free of any restricting footwear.

With your new clothes in hand, you left the place, your eyes still brimming with curiosity. Alhaitham stayed close to you as you continued exploring the bazaar, his mood lightened by the unexpected happiness you seemed to bring him. There was a new excitement in your steps, and he watched with subtle amusement, unable to deny the warmth growing within him as he saw the joy in your expression.

Returning home, you felt content, each step still buzzing with excitement from your discoveries, and the dress Alhaitham bought you flowing like water around you. 

Entering the house, the warm scent of food drifted from the kitchen. Kaveh was already there, busy at the stove, humming softly to himself as he prepared lunch. When he turned around and caught sight of you, his eyes widened, a slow, dazzled-like smile spreading across his face. 

“Well, look at you,” he said warmly, clearly charmed by the sight. “You look wonderful! For the first time, Alhaitham did a good job by buying you this dress,” his tone had a hint of teasing, and you saw Alhaitham’s brow twitch slightly, but he stayed silent, watching the two of you.

Kaveh’s admiration had a certain ease to it, a natural warmth that made you feel instantly welcome. He turned back to the stove, but not without another approving nod at your attire. Alhaitham’s silence prompted him to ask, “So… how was the city?” He threw a teasing glance Alhaitham’s way then at you. “Did our scribe here give you the grand tour all by himself?”

Alhaitham sighed, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “She wasn’t exactly difficult to entertain,” he replied dryly. “Everything was new, so it didn’t take much.”

Kaveh chuckled. 

“Of course it didn’t,” he set the food down, his gaze filled with an amused understanding. Alhaitham merely looked away, feigning indifference, though you sensed a certain pride beneath his casual tone.

During lunch, the two of them recounted little moments from the day—Kaveh enjoying the story of you burning your tongue on the fish skewer, and Alhaitham quietly reliving the way your eyes had sparkled at the Grand Bazaar’s colorful sights. But despite their words, their gazes often turned back to you, captivated by your delight in all the new things you’d encountered.

At one point, Kaveh leaned back, shooting Alhaitham a knowing look.

“So, a personal shopping trip, huh? Just the two of you,” he teased, clearly amused by the idea of Alhaitham guiding someone around. “How sweet.”

Alhaitham narrowed his gaze, giving Kaveh a warning look that said more than words could. But there was a subtle softness in his eyes as they drifted back to you, a sense of quiet caring that you caught, even if he tried to hide it.

After lunch, you noticed Alhaitham start to gathering the dishes, starting to cleaning them as Kaveh made his way to the living room. Walking over him, you lingered, staring at him until Kaveh looked back, caught off guard by your gaze, feeling a bit embarrassed. When you pulled out the hairpin Alhaitham had bought you earlier, he seemed to understand, a faint blush of realization coloring his cheeks.

“Oh, you want me to do your hair?” He chuckled, gesturing for you to sit. “Alright, alright, I’ll help.”

You settled in the chair, feeling his gentle hands working through your hair. He gathered it halfway, securing the rest with the pin and letting loose strands fall around your face. When he was done, he guided you to a mirror, smiling proudly as you took in the sight. The style was simple but lovely, suiting you perfectly.

“Beautiful,” he murmured softly, watching your expression over your shoulders as you took in the effect. For a moment, the two of you were lost in the quietness of that shared moment.

From behind you, a soft sound drew your attention. Alhaitham was standing in the doorway, watching, a fond look on his face. He must have finished cleaning the kitchen but had stayed, observing without saying a word.

You turned back to Kaveh, your gaze warm and filled with gratitude. 

“Kaveh,” you said softly, the name unfamiliar on your tongue but carrying genuine meaning.

His eyes widened, surprise flickering across his face before he grinned, laughing as he leaned back, crossing his arms.

“Finally saying my name, huh?” He teased, though his voice was warm, “I guess even a mermaid knows when to appreciate the finer things.” Despite his playful words, there was an unmistakable happiness in his gaze, as if your small act of gratitude had touched him.

With the meal finished and the midday light softening, the three of you spread out around the house. You curiously inspected the clothes Alhaitham had bought, marveling at the soft fabrics, while the two men chatted in the adjacent room. Kaveh’s voice floated over, calling to his housemate.

“Hey, listen. Cyno passed by earlier inviting us out to the tavern tonight. Tighnari is also coming. I didn’t give him an immediate answer given our… adorable guest,” his gaze flicked meaningfully to you, a question lingering unspoken between the two men.

They both turned, glancing at you thoughtfully. For a moment, you saw them exchange a silent conversation, considering whether the outing might be risky. But then Alhaitham gave a slight nod, resolute.

“We’ll take her with us,” he said confidently. “With the right precautions, it should be fine.” He glanced at you, his eyes filled with the assurance that they’d watch over you. “Besides,” he added with a hint of a smile, “I feel she’d be upset if we don’t take her to explore a little bit more now that she has seen the outside world.”

Kaveh chuckled, nodding. “Then it’s settled. Tonight, we’ll go to the tavern—all three of us.”

As the sky slowly darkened, anticipation hung in the air, the promise of the evening drawing closer. 

The afternoon had drifted by with Alhaitham trying to teach you new words and phrases, but your attention kept slipping back to the new clothes he’d bought. You ran your fingers over the fabrics, turning them this way and that to catch the light, dazzled with the colors and the softness. Alhaitham eventually gave up, sighing in quiet amusement as he noted just how material and delightfully vain you could be—a discovery he should’ve expected.

Later, you wandered into his suite room to bathe, instinctively drawn to the water. The moment you slipped into the warm tub, your legs transformed back into your shimmering tail, scales glinting under the water’s surface. 

It had left Kaveh speechless the first time he’d seen it—his penny dropping at your truly identity. You were truly a mermaid. Nonetheless, he wasn't less captivated by the change and your graceful form. Alhaitham, however, while more composed, could hardly hide his fascination, watching with a quiet intensity every time he witnessed the transition.

After bathing, you found yourself in a familiar routine: sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting as Alhaitham approached with your clothes. This time, though, he brought one of the recent purchase pieces; a beautiful dress in his hand—its fabric being of a rich, jade green; a vibrant hue that reminds of his own eyes-color but that seemed to intensify the shine and warmth of yours only. 

As he helped you ease into it, his fingers lingered as he adjusted the zipper, his gaze studying you, perhaps more than he realized. And though you found yourself shivering at the intensity of his eyes, there you were too—looking up at him, meeting his gaze firmly and sensing an admiration that he only allowed you to see.

“It suits you,” he murmured, his voice low, a hint of awe slipping through his usually neutral tone. In that dress, you seemed otherworldly, like a goddess who had emerged from the depths of the sea, carrying its beauty onto dry land with impossible grace.

He knelt down then to inspect your injury, noting the lingering redness. Alhaitham carefully applied an ointment, his touch gentle but focused, and you watched his expressions shift with a subtle concern. Then, with a slight nod of satisfaction, he helped you to your feet.

After that, you made your way to Kaveh, showing him the hairpin again, calling his name with a soft voice.

His smile grew, a touch of pride in his gaze as he admired the way his name sounded from your lips, and he took great care in doing your hair once more, letting strands fall loose to frame your face as he did before.

Finally ready, you three left for Lambad’s Tavern. 

The streets were alive with the buzz of evening activity, laughter and music drifting through the air as Alhaitham and Kaveh walked beside you. The city was lit by soft lantern light, and you felt a thrill at being part of it all, the world so different from anything you’d known.

At the tavern, the warm atmosphere enveloped you, the scent of spices and roasted meats filling the air.

Alhaitham spotted Cyno and Tighnari across the room almost immediately as the two of them also turned as you approached. Their greeting smiles fainted when their gazes fell on you, a moment of pure awe passing over their faces afterwards. Cyno blinked, visibly stunned, while Tighnari’s foxy-ears twitched, his sharp eyes widening in surprise.

The General Mahamatra, usually so composed, couldn’t seem to look away, his thoughts racing. He was accustomed to beauty in the world around him, yet something about your presence felt almost magical, like an ethereal vision he couldn’t quite understand.

As for Tighnari, his keen senses took in every detail—the way the green dress brought out the otherworldly depth in your eyes, or the elegance of your form. You were unlike anyone he’d ever encountered, and he was captivated, even if he tried to hide it.

Before any questions could arise, Kaveh, ever the quick-thinker, stepped in with an explanation. “She’s an exchange student. From Fontaine,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly. “She’s staying with us while she studies…uh, the culture of Sumeru.”

Alhaitham sighed at the obviousness of Kaveh’s excuse, but he didn’t counter it. Cyno and Tighnari shared a skeptical glance, clearly doubting the story, yet they chose not to press further. Instead, Alhaitham formally introduced you, mentioning your name, which you responded to with a slight, graceful nod and a cute ‘hello’ following.

But feeling the need to greet them in the way of your kind, you leaned closer, gently rubbing your nose against theirs. 

Kaveh gasped out loud.

Cyno’s eyes widened, a slight flush crept up his cheeks as he froze, uncharacteristically at a loss. Tighnari, caught off guard, felt his ears tensing, the action both charming and bewildering him. Your giggles bubbled up as you noticed their flustered expressions, a soft, musical sound that filled the space between you all.

Kaveh let out a nervous chuckle. “Ah…yeah, that’s—uh, her way of saying hello. Strange, right? These Fontaine’ people…”

Alhaitham, on the other hand, observed it all with a hint of entertainment, his gaze lingering on you fondly. Watching your interactions, he noted how naturally you’d adapted to his world, your curiosity and unique charm drawing everyone in, effortlessly weaving you into their circle. There was warmth in his eyes, a feeling that spoke of his growing fondness, and you caught his gaze, offering him a small, contented smile.

As the group settled in, you sat across from Cyno and Tighnari, studying them both with unabashed curiosity. 

Still recovering from your unexpected greeting, the two men seemed unsure of where to look, awkwardly averting their eyes when you met their gaze. Alhaitham leaned back in his chair, a hint of amusement in his expression as he explained, “She’s not much for words, as you can see. Rather, she’s more the observant type.”

Cyno and Tighnari nodded, seeming to understand, though their curiosity was hardly quelled. 

The tavern around you started to fill with more patrons, the hum of voices rising, mingling with the occasional laugh, the sounds coming from different instruments and the clinking of glasses. It created a cozy warmth in the dimly lit space, and you felt it settle over you as if you were part of something larger, an integral piece in the lively tapestry of Sumeru’s life.

Kaveh wasted no time flagging down the bartender. “Bring your best wine,” he said with a grand, somewhat theatrical gesture, earning a sigh from Alhaitham.

Meanwhile, Tighnari leaned in toward you, his ears twitching with interest as he tried to engage you in conversation.

“So, do you like Sumeru so far?” he asked, a gentle curiosity in his tone.

You nodded with an enthusiastic “Yes”—the single word clear and confident, though it was accompanied by a slight tilt of your head.

Encouraged, he asked, “Do you enjoy learning about plants and animals?” Tighnari’s eyes sparkled, and you could tell he was ready to launch into an explanation if given the chance.

You paused, then shook your head, “No,” you answered, earning a quiet chuckled from Alhaitham.

“Ah, I see,” Tighnari replied, trying to hide his mild disappointment. “What about... Alhaitham and Kaveh?” His eyes glanced toward Alhaitham, who pretend to ignore his friend’s question.

You didn’t thought twice when you answered “Yes” with an affectionate smile, which made Tighnari smirk.

While you answered, you noticed Cyno observing you intently, his gaze unwavering and sharp. It wasn’t suspicious—it was more as if he were studying a puzzle, his curiosity piqued by your every move. His face softened whenever he noticed the subtle gestures that replaced your lack of words, as though trying to understand this new, unfamiliar way of communicating.

When the food and wine finally arrived, you noticed each man taking their mugs and raising them in a silent toast, exchanging knowing glances.

Intrigued, you pointed at Alhaitham’s drink, brows raised with interest. He looked at you hesitantly. “I’m not sure you’ll like it,” he warned, his tone gentle but unsure. Still, he handed you a mug.

The moment you tasted the wine, your expression twisted as the bitter taste hit your tongue. The others burst out laughing as you grimaced, clearly displeased.

Kaveh, grinning widely, leaned over with an exaggerated shrug. “Not everyone appreciates a fine vintage on the first try,” he teased, eyes sparkling with the warmth of the wine already.

But then, determined, you lifted the mug to your lips and downed the rest in a single go. As you set the mug down, you pointed to it, your eyes sparkling with challenge. The table fell silent for a beat, and then Kaveh broke into a delighted laugh. “Oh, now that’s spirit!” he cheered, filling your mug again with exaggerated enthusiasm.

Alhaitham, a touch surprised but clearly amused, leaned closer and murmured, “Take easy, ok?” His tone was warm, carrying that familiar attentiveness, the kind of care he often tried to mask with practicality. You met his gaze and gave a small nod, though your mischievous smile was enough to tell him you weren’t exactly planning on slowing down.

As the evening went on, the wine kept flowing, and so did the laughter. Kaveh quickly grew tipsy, his cheeks flushed as he leaned into his chair with a self-satisfied grin, occasionally throwing his arm around you, Cyno or Tighnari as he launched into some anecdote about his “architectural genius,” much to Alhaitham’s thinly veiled eye-rolls.

“Oh, and then,” Kaveh slurred, nudging Cyno with a huff, “there was that time Alhaitham here tried to negotiate a ‘reasonable’ discount on my work. Can you believe that?” He snorted, casting a playful, slightly glazed look in Alhaitham’s direction. “I swear, he’d argue the wind into changing direction if it suited him.”

Alhaitham only raised a brow, looking at him with an expression that silently asked for patience. “Kaveh, if I hadn’t ‘negotiated,’ you’d still be working to pay off last month’s tab.”

Tighnari chuckled, watching the exchange. “You two really are quite the pair,” he commented, taking a sip of his drink, his gaze shifting between the two of them with an amused glint.

Cyno, turning his attention to you, said, “Do you always put up with them like this?” His tone was deadpan, yet you sensed a glimmer of humor beneath his serious gaze.

Understanding his question, you nodded, a soft laugh escaping you. They all seemed to lighten up, relaxing in the warmth of your quiet amusement.

As the night deepened, Cyno set his drink down with a look of pure focus. “How about a round of TCG?” he suggested, eyes gleaming with anticipation. Tighnari let out a groan, tilting his head back dramatically.

“Oh no, not this again,” he sighed, but even he knew there was no escape.

Kaveh laughed, rolling his eyes in good-natured defeat.

“Fine, fine. But we’re keeping it short, or we’ll never hear the end of it from you,” he reached for his glass and gave you a playful wink. “Prepare yourself for the most intense game you’ve ever seen,” he said, clearly intending to make a spectacle of Cyno’s enthusiasm.

Curious, you leaned closer, watching as Cyno arranged the cards and dice with meticulous precision. His fingers moved quickly, each card laid down like a sacred ritual. Noticing your interest, he paused to offer a brief explanation of the game’s mechanics. 

“It’s all about strategy,” he explained, his tone almost reverent. “You play a character card, use skills, and roll dice to see how much power you have.” His eyes narrowed, smiling as he continued, “And don’t think it’s as simple as it sounds.”

You blinked, absorbing his words, but you barely had time to form a plan before the game was underway. 

Somehow, against all odds, you won the first round. The table fell into a mix of laughter and shock, each of them offering half-joking explanations.

“Beginner’s luck,” Tighnari insisted, though there was a glint of amusement in his eye.

Alhaitham chuckled softly. “Maybe (Y/N) is just a natural.”

But as the rounds continued, it became clear that “luck” wasn’t the only thing helping you.

One match after another, you swept the table, your fingers moving with a natural, effortless grace as you outplayed each of them. Cyno’s brow furrowed in concentration, and you could practically see the gears turning in his mind as he tried, unsuccessfully, to decode your moves.

Finally, with a mixture of disbelief and exasperation, Cyno looked at his cards in silence. “How…?” he muttered, half to himself.

Kaveh snorted, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Face it, man, she’s just unbeatable tonight. You, my friend, have been dethroned.”

Tighnari grinned, amused by Cyno’s frustration. “It’s impressive, honestly. Even the Champion of TCG is no match for her.”

You laughed, lifting your glass in a playful toast to your victory, which earned a round of mock cheers from the others. 

Alhaitham’s gaze was soft as he watched you—your enthusiasm, the brightness in your eyes as you revel in the thrill of each win. He’d seen you embracing new experiences and adventures of his ordinary day with open arms.

From the quiet enthusiasm when you learned a new word to the happiness back in the bazaar, and now, this lively night at the tavern—he felt an undeniable warmth, a subtle pull that went beyond simple admiration.

Just as another round was about to start, a group of local men, drunk and brimming with energy, pulled Kaveh from his chair and into a circle. “Come on, architect! Show us your moves!” they cheered, clapping their hands and forming a semi-circle for him to lead. With a laugh, Kaveh obliged, seamlessly joining them in the traditional dabke.

You watched in fascination, your attention captivated by the rhythmic stomping and spirited clapping. 

Kaveh’s movements were fluid, each step and stomp precise yet brimming with exuberance. His grin was infectious, and you found yourself clapping along, enchanted by the lively beat that seemed to pulse through the entire tavern.

Noticing your joy, Kaveh reached out and took your hand, pulling you into the half-circle. “Come on! You’ll love it!” he encouraged, and you laughed, letting yourself be drawn into the dance. 

Standing beside him, you mirrored his movements as best as you could, and although your steps were hesitant at first, his laughter and the others’ encouragement quickly dissolved any nervousness.

You found yourself swept up in the joy of the moment, your laughter ringing out as you stomped and clapped in sync with Kaveh. The tavern patrons cheered, a few even joining in to expand the circle. Each beat of the music seemed to echo in your heart, a vibrant, untamed rhythm that made you feel alive. Your hair swayed with each movement, your dress flowed around you as if it had a life of its own. For a brief moment, you forgot everything else, lost in the pure exhilaration of dance and laughter.

Watching from the sidelines, Alhaitham’s gaze lingered on you. 

He didn’t need to say a word; his expression spoke volumes. In his eyes, you were radiant—a vision of grace, strength, and unrestrained joy. He couldn’t help but marvel at how easily you fit into this place, how naturally you became part of it despite its strangeness. His chest tightened, a burning ache settling there, unfamiliar and yet… welcome. He remembered the first time he’d seen you, not too long ago, feeling vulnerable and cautious. Yet here you were, laughter filling the air, eyes alight with joy.

He hadn’t expected this—a mermaid, of all things, to stir something so profoundly human within him. But watching you, he couldn’t deny the feeling. It wasn’t simply admiration or intrigue anymore. It was something real, deeper, something that made his pulse quicken whenever he locked your gazes whenever you shared a fleeting smile or a touch of silent understanding.

A sudden chuckle from Tighnari pulled him from his thoughts, and he glanced over to see his friend smirking knowingly. “Not joining them?” He teased, his voice pitched just low enough for Alhaitham to hear.

Alhaitham glanced back at you, his lips curving in a slight smile. “I’m enjoying the view.”

Tighnari hummed, raising a brow. “Seems like you’re enjoying more than just the view.”

Ignoring Tighnari’s comment once again, Alhaitham focused his attention on you once more. 

When your eyes met, he felt that sensation again—a quiet acknowledgment of something unspoken but deeply felt. He gave you a subtle nod, his gaze lingering, as if committing this moment to memory.

When the dance ended, you were breathless, your cheeks flushed with happiness as you returned to the table. Kaveh, very tipsy and clearly pleased, clinked his glass against yours. “You were fantastic!” he cheered, his eyes bright with genuine pride.

Laughing, you took a sip of your drink, catching Alhaitham’s eye as you did. 

Ever since you started to live with him, sharing his culture, entering in the lonely empty of his heart and connecting with every detail that made of Alhaitham who he is, his intense gaze was something you couldn’t escape from—although neither did you want it when you were so mesmerized by him as he seemed to be with you. 

But tonight, something was different—something indescribable, unknown but pleasant, sent a soft thrill through you. This was more than a shared moment—it was a promise, a silent connection that seemed to anchor you both, even amidst the noise surrounding you.

The night had fully settled by the time the three of you left the tavern. 

The streets were nearly empty, bathed in the soft silver glow of a full moon overhead. A gentle breeze moved through the quiet city, carrying the faint, earthy scent of Sumeru’s flora. Stars scattered like distant lanterns in the sky, each one casting a pinprick of light over the tranquil world below. You looked up, awestruck by the vastness of the sky here. It was as if the city itself was cradled in the arms of the heavens, each corner brushed with stardust.

Alhaitham glanced at you, noticing the quiet wonder in your eyes as you took in the night’s beauty.

In the soft moonlight, your face was illuminated with an almost ethereal glow, your expression open and unguarded. Something about the way you stood there, gazing upwards as if communing with the stars, pulled invisible strings in his chest. Alhaitham found himself watching you in silence, the affection in his gaze hidden in the shadows, an unspoken tenderness that he wasn’t yet ready to voice.

Beside you, Kaveh swayed unsteadily, mumbling to himself in an incomprehensible mixture of words. You giggled, finding his drunken ramblings endlessly amusing, while Alhaitham sighed, shaking his head in disapproval but unable to suppress a small smile. He’d been prepared to carry Kaveh’s weight on his own, but you easily supported your share, surprising him with your hidden strength as you steadied the unsteady architect. You felt Alhaitham’s curious gaze settle on you, but you kept your eyes on Kaveh, helping guide him as he slurred out half-formed songs and laughter.

When you finally arrived at home, the quiet settled around you like a warm embrace. 

Together, you and Alhaitham gently placed Kaveh onto his bed, his face sinking blissfully into the pillows as he drifted into a heavy, blissful sleep. You both lingered for a moment, watching to make sure he was comfortable, before retreating to the living room, leaving Kaveh to his dreams.

Once there, the two of you stood alone, the silence wrapping around you like silk. The dim lamplight cast soft shadows across the room, pooling in the spaces between you. You faced each other, yet no words came—none were needed. 

Your eyes met his, and in that moment, something unspoken passed between you, a silent understanding woven with the night’s intimacy. It was a conversation of looks alone, a language more ancient than words. Your heart felt full, as if it were holding a secret too precious to release.

Alhaitham’s gaze held yours, steady and unwavering, as he reached into his pocket and drew out the small chain he’d bought back at the bazaar. The gemstone's shiny and iridescent hues caught the light, reflecting shades that soon reminded you of your tail’s colors—a perfect echo of your hidden self. 

He held it out to you, his lips curving into a wise smile that reached his eyes.

Without a word, he gestured for you to turn around. You did so, your heart pounding with anticipation as he draped the chain around your neck, his fingers brushing the nape of your neck as he fastened the clasp. The warmth of his touch lingered even after his hands moved away, and you lifted a hand to the pendant, feeling its weight settle over your heart.

Looking down, you felt a surge of emotions, a mixture of joy and affection as you admired the gift. But it wasn’t just happiness—it was something deeper, something far beyond simple gratitude. 

When you lifted your gaze back to him, your expression was serene, eyes glimmering with unspoken emotions.

Slowly, you reached up, placing a hand on his neck and gently pulling his face closer. Without hesitation, you leaned in, touching your forehead against his—a significant and intimate gesture but full of affection.

“Thank you,” you murmured, the words carrying layers of meaning, a depth that went beyond the simple gesture. It was gratitude for more than just the necklace—it was for his kindness, his patience, his caring, for seeing you in a way no one else could. For being a safe harbor in this unfamiliar world.

He was taken aback for a moment, the soft touch of your skin against his both surprising and disarming him. But then, a quiet smile forming as he held your gaze, his hand coming up to gently cradle your cheek. 

“You’re welcome,” he replied, his voice a gentle murmur, his thumb tracing a light path along your cheekbone.

Your hands lingered on his neck, feeling the softness of its skin and his hair, his own expression melting into something almost vulnerable. 

For a long, endless moment, you stayed there, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, to catch the quiet tenderness in his jade eyes.

Neither of you spoke, letting the silence stretch, filling the room with the weight of implicity emotions. His gaze held yours, steady, and yet within it was a flicker of that deeper, unguarded feeling—a quiet, burgeoning affection that made your heart race.

Time seemed to stand still as you looked into each other’s eyes, a shared warmth weaving between you, a silent promise that neither of you had the words to speak.

And maybe, you didn’t even need it. 

[continue...]

[sukirichi]

[ DUSK ‘TILL DAWN : 017 ]

“we who bear the burden of the crown do not need to love. you only need to stay here, with me, in power, in greed, in lust – in victory.”

cw. angst. infidelity. manipulation. lying. defamation.

notes. we are finally at the anti-iris article drop!

wc. 11.5k

series masterlist 

[ SEVENTEEN ] i think i loved you in another life, where i was the sea, and you were the shore. like the tourist comes back to the beach, i come back to you for more and more and more.

The world outside was drenched in a relentless downpour, its heavy pit-patters mimicking the unsteady, erratic beating of your heart. The sky, a somber canvas of gray, mirrored the confusing emotions that gripped at you.

By the Gods, you thought to yourself, I actually kissed him.

You were now walking beside Kiyoomi, your footsteps muffled by the soft, wet earth. Meanwhile, Belleview Manor loomed ahead – a place you now reluctantly had to call home, its enigmatic marble pillars darkened by the rain.

The kiss still lingered on your lips. And your heart, and your mind. You’d only been kissed by Rintaro, but it’d been a hundred, if not more, breathtaking and passionate kisses.

But kissing Kiyoomi had felt different. You couldn’t fathom yet what kind of different, although it was most definitely the good kind. The softness of his lips would forever be etched in your memory. The moment, however shocking and unexpected, sparked warmth all over you amidst the cold, but one that left you more confused than before.

You’d long harbored affections for Kiyoomi, that was no secret. And who wouldn’t, truly? His quiet strength and unwavering kindness had always drawn you in. Being around him… you felt light. Like you’d morphed into an aliferous creature, and the sky was within reach. Yet, as much as you cherished that stolen kiss that you knew would forever change everything, a part of you wondered if this path you treaded in had no return – a path that was akin to the betrayal and lies you’d suffered at Rintaro’s hands.

Rain cascaded down your face, mingling with the tears you refused to shed.

You were both drenched, your clothes clinging to your bodies, and Kiyoomi’s curls plastered at his forehead. Somehow, underneath the storm, you managed to share shy, uncertain smiles.

Use me. If you need me to forget him, if that’s what it takes... then use me. I am yours.

Kiyoomi’s words echoed in your mind, a promise that hung between you like the heavy air. He’d wait for you to love him back, utterly willing to be whatever you needed him to be. A selfless declaration of devotion, a vow that was simultaneously comforting and unsettling.

Truthfully, you couldn’t bear the thought of using him, or treating him as a mere consolation for your own pain. Kiyoomi was too precious, too kind-hearted. Princely as he may be, a pure soul like him didn’t belong in the heartless walls inside the castle. Your feelings for him, admittedly, were genuine, but they were also tangled in a web of guilt and uncertainty. You didn’t want to become what you hated most – to be a reflection of the infidelity that had shattered your own marriage.

The mere thought of being an “adulterer” gnawed at your conscience, even as your own heart yearned for the solace Kiyoomi happily offered.

But is truly so wrong to want love when you needed it most?

Nearing Belleview Manor’s entrance, the warmth of the building beckoned you, a stark contrast to the deadly chill of the night. You looked up at Kiyoomi as you reached the first steps, his eyes soft and understanding, as if he knew the battle raging within you even without you saying it. He’d always been this way – a little too perceiving, a little too observant, a little too loving. There was no judgment in his gaze, only an invitation – a very tempting one – to find comfort in each other’s presence. To let love be as it is regardless of the nuances. To simply breathe in one’s air, and hold each other’s heart with the utmost trust the other would not break it.

Such was not something you could promise to him.

Finally, the manor doors opened, welcoming you into this new chapter you’d been forcibly thrust in. As you stepped inside, the confusion blanketing you never ebbed away. Here, under this roof, you would be forced to confront the delicacy of your newfound relationship – all while trying to discern what was right and what was wrong.

What was love, and what was a desperate grasp for affection in the face of betrayal?

Nothing was ever that simple. You knew you had to move forward, to make choices that would define not only yours, but the entire Kingdom’s future. In that moment, however, all you could do was take one step at a time. Your heart was too torn between the familiar embrace of pain and the tentative hope that perhaps, with Kiyoomi, you could find a new beginning. A better beginning.

Even if you knew, deep down, that if you chose this kind Prince, you would have to say goodbye to the person you loved first.

As you entered the manor’s warmth, the child of the rain faded. You exchanged brief, lingering glances with Kiyoomi – the both of you eerily aware of the unspoken tension of the kiss you’d shared. You suddenly felt too small under his gaze and the manor’s grandeur. You felt odd, like you stuck out like a sore thumb, like the Manor knew you were merely a visitor and never its owner.

The place you hoped to make your second sanctuary now felt like a stage for you to perform in, a graveyard for your deepest fears and desires.

With chattering teeth, the both of you decided to part ways, agreeing you needed to shower and dry off before you caught a cold. Silently, you watched Kiyoomi disappear down the corridor towards his room, your heart a tangled knot of emotions. You couldn’t tell if watching his figure fade away was comforting or numbing. Then, the echoes of his footsteps faded, and the deafening silence welcomed the barraging voices in your head.

You stepped into your own bathroom, stripping your drenched dress and tossing it aside. The warmth of the water pouring down on you did little to soothe the trouble in your mind.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the gravity of the situation. It was a kiss that happened in the heat of the moment, birthed from your desperate urge to soothe away his doubts that you didn’t love him. But did you? Could it be possible to have a heart so big you could love two people at the same time? And if that wasn’t the case, then did that mean your heart was so small and you had to push someone away to make space for the next?

One thought remained constant: you’d probably ruined everything.

The kiss you shared, however mutual and filled with want, loomed like a threatening shadow over your already fragile friendship with Kiyoomi. Had you finally crossed a line that could never be uncrossed? You couldn’t do undo it, and neither did you want it. And was it selfish to hope for more, to want to kiss him again, when so much was at stake?

Pressing your head against the cold tiles, you let the steam from the shower envelope you. You stood there numbly, letting the water wash away the rain and the remnants of all your darkest fears – yet the uncertainty clung to you like a second skin that was impossible to shed.

What if Kiyoomi felt the same way – that it was going too fast, that none of you had meant to kiss the other? What if your friendship was now tainted by your affections made known?

The thought of losing him, not just as a lover but as a dear friend, was unbearable.

You’d already lost Rintaro. You couldn’t lose Kiyoomi, too.

With your heart far more troubled than before, you emerged from the shower, wrapping yourself in a plush robe that smelled of the same fabric conditioner Kiyoomi used. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever might come next. You told yourself no matter the outcome, you’d bravely accept it.

Stepping out into the hallway, your eyes widened – stumbling back to find Kiyoomi already standing there, waiting for you outside his bedroom door. He remained a few arm’s length away, his expression sheepish. He must’ve seen it written all over your face and wanted to give you space – as if silently saying it isn’t too late. He isn’t cornering you. If you regretted the kiss – you didn’t – then you still had room to walk away, turn around, and tell him to stay where he was at. You didn’t doubt for a moment he would if you’d told him to.

His presence was a quiet reassurance, a gentle reminder that not everything was lost. Just by giving you the space you needed, without you having to ask for it, the difference is crystal clear now.

Kiyoomi isn’t Rintaro.

He looked you at with a soft smile, his eyes warm and kind. “Goodnight,” he says softly, as if afraid any louder and you would flinch from it. And his voice – deep and calming – slowly soothed the punctures to your soul. “Make yourself at home. My place is yours, too.”

A wave of relief washed over you, overwhelmingly enough that tears glossed your eyes once more. Kiyoomi’s simple, kind words held with them a promise of something more, a silent vow that your bond was not broken, merely… changing. Evolving. You’d been so afraid of things not staying what it was because you’d seen it firsthand with Rintaro – how he loved you one day, and couldn’t bear to be with you the next. But Kiyoomi isn’t Rintaro. Change with Kiyoomi didn’t have to be daunting; it could be something you embraced with open arms.

You realized that despite the torrent of your emotions, through the uncertainty and fears, there was a foundation of trust and care between you that could withstand any storm.

This is Kiyoomi, after all. When had he ever let you down? In your darkest moments, he’d ensured you were never lonely. Whenever you cried, he always offered his shoulder. And when you felt like everything had been taken away from you, he humbly offers his heart – silently pleading you would take it.

The weight on your shoulders suddenly seemed to lift, replaced by a fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

“Goodnight, Kiyoomi,” you return his smile – quietly hoping it conveyed more than words ever could.

You walked towards your room, feeling the faintest sense of tranquility settle over you – the first in what felt like an eternity. Already, being apart from the suffocating hands of the Queen made you feel like a newborn taking its first gasp of air.

Ahead you, the road was filled with ambiguities. There would undoubtedly be more challenges to face, but for now, you allowed yourself to be selfish enough to hold onto the small, precious kiss you’d shared. The memory of his gentle goodnight, the warmth of his hands against your rain-soaked skin… Kiyoomi would be your anchor. You would cling to the hope that your connection, whatever it may become, would be strong enough to weather the trials ahead.

It had to. You couldn’t say goodbye to another person.

And so you lay there in your new bed, the manor silent around you. Outside, the rain poured still, each droplet knocking against the glass panes of the windows. It kept you awake and comforted, burrowing deeper into the blankets as you watched the expanse of Inarizaki Palace beyond.

Odd, you thought, how you always dreamt of freedom, fantasized about being released from the chains of a loveless marriage every night. And here you were, offered a divorce. Rintaro had made the difficult decision for you. You stood on the precipice of that liberation you longed for, yet you found paralyzed by a new kind of fear.

Kiyoomi… with his warm eyes and huge heart, offered everything you’d craved for. He was the epitome of a fresh start, a beacon of hope in the murky waters of your past. With him, you could build a life free from all the deceit and betrayal. You could be in Itachiyama right now, riding alongside Kiyoomi with the wind whipping past your cheeks and your carefree laughter echoing in the open spaces. He was the better option, that came with no argument, but were you?

Could you truly give him the love he deserved, the life he, too, had a right to live?

Could you offer him a heart unmarred by the scars of her past, a love untainted by your lingering hurt and doubts?

That moment you ran away from Rintaro, you told yourself you were ready to let go. You could finally leave your marriage and the pain it brought you far, far behind. But now? With the revelation of your husband’s life being in grave danger, how he’s being used like a puppet to be toyed with, your resolve wavered.

Rintaro was a man you once loved, still love. Just as he was the man who had hurt you deeply. The thought of leaving him to face such dangers alone, to be burdened with the knowledge the Crown intended to utilize him like a tool, to know he was being treated inhumanely – it tugged at your heart. It wasn’t just guilt, or conscience. It was obligation. Could you truly walk away now, knowing if you abandoned him, not only would this Kingdom fall into ruins, but Rintaro would disappear, too?

The decision was impossibly cruel – to choose between protecting the one you had once loved, or to safeguard your own bruised, and battered heart.

The pull of duty and the promise of new love were forces tearing you apart to pieces. You felt tired, so tired, of this endless cycle of heartache and confusion.

All you wanted now was a moment of clarity, a sign to guide your weary soul.

You could choose to protect Rintaro, to honor the love you once shared. Or you could choose to protect your own heart, to seek solace in the arms of another. Each choice came with its own sacrifices, its own cost.

As the night wore on, you found yourself staring at the ceiling, accompanied by the quiet ticking of the clock. You knew whatever decision you made, it would shape the course of your life, defining the path you would walk from this point onward. The road to freedom and the road to duty were intertwined, and you stood at the middle of it, the harsh whispers of your past and the hopeful promises of the future converging into one, impossible feat.

And so you lay there, waiting for the dawn to break. You hoped that with the light of day, you might find the strength to make your choice, and embrace your fate. When sleep finally arrived at your doorstep, and your eyelids grew heavy, one more thought crossed your mind.

Rintaro, are you sleeping better now that she’s next to you?

After what felt like forever, the next day arrived.

The morning light stretched its fingers through the tall windows of your new chamber, its golden glow bouncing off the fabrics off your bed. The room, despite being lavishly adorned, felt oddly cold and distant – as if it knew it was a place meant for two, and a room too big for one. Stirring awake, the remnants of last night’s memories came flashing into memory. The softness of Kiyoomi’s lips, the tenderness of his smile… you sighed to yourself, eyes fluttering with a lingering sense of unease.

It wasn’t moments later when the doors to your room opened. The attendants of Belleview Manor moved silently around you, their presence an unfamiliar routine. They were efficient and precise as they tip-toed, their movements almost mechanical as they announced they were to prepare you for the day.

You sat quietly and allowed them to do as they pleased.

It was… a suffocating routine, to say the least. Not even in the main Palace halls were you ever treated like this – ushered into the bath, with two lady servants lathering soap all over your body, and another pair to dry you off. In the main Palace halls, you had more freedom to move about. You could share your bathroom with Rintaro, and even shave his day-old stubble for him. Sometimes, he’d take it upon himself to choose your lotion for you, but here in Belleview Manor, they operated differently. They moved with a clear goal in mind: to perfect the Princess of the Manor before they stepped foot outside.

Toweled and dried off, and smelling like roses half an hour later, you glanced at your reflection from the mirror. Was this how Iris’ daily life had been ever since she married into the royal family?

Although you said no word, your eyes betrayed your inner exhaustion. The weight of your responsibilities, the constant scrutiny, and the unending cycle of keeping lies had all worn you thin. The price of losing your privacy in exchange of being pampered was almost worth it. That’s how tired you were.

The servants dressed you with practiced hands, each layer of clothing a reminder of the role you were expected to play. The dusty rose dress they selected was nothing short of exquisite, but as they draped it over you, it felt more like armor than a garment. It felt heavy on your shoulders; a barrier between your true self and what you were supposed to be. The jewels they chose were also dazzling, each piece carefully selected to complement your outfit – and each one just as heavy and cold against your skin.

Throughout it all, not a single soul spoke a word. The ritualistic nature of it, the lack of personal agency even in the simplest tasks, struck you as deeply inhumane. Everyone here was detached, like dolls without their own thoughts.

Weren’t you the same?

You were a Princess now, a symbol of grace and elegance. Yet, in moments like this, you weren’t that different from a doll – meticulously adorned and presented for the world to see.

You gazed at your reflection one last time. The image staring back at you was flawless, the epitome of perfection. It’d be impossible to tell you merely wore a mask, hiding the turmoil and desperation boiling beneath. It was even harder to tell which was the heavier on your shoulders – the weight of your shoulders, today’s agenda, or the dress.

Allowing the attendants to finish their work, their hands deftly adjusted your attire, perfecting your appearance. They took one last glance, nodded at each other, and promptly left the room.

You let out a breath you’d been holding.

In front you stared back the sealed letter the attendants had brought in. It was an official order from Her Majesty regarding today’s plans – visit an orphanage sponsored by the royal family, smile and wave at everybody, look like a happily married couple, and show camaraderie with Princess Iris. A damned unfortunate event, if you were to be asked.

Nevertheless, a duty had to be performed. Kiyoomi, too, was already gone from Belleview Manor by the time you’d finished breakfast. Something about a sudden, emergency meeting with the Queen and her Council, no doubt about Iris’ pregnancy now that the sudden… relocation of spouses had caused quite a stir within the walls. You could only hope the Queen wouldn’t corner him, too.

Stepping out of Belleview Manor, you headed straight for the Palace. You were supposed to rendezvous with Rintaro there, but your husband was nowhere to be found. A kind servant led you to his study and asked you to wait there, reassuring His Highness would come around soon.

As you entered the study, you were immediately engulfed by a familiar scent – a subtle blend of sandalwood and something uniquely Rintaro. The room was an intimate reflection of him, his essence woven into every detail. Even without him in the space, you felt and saw your husband everywhere – from bookshelves lined with his favorite novels, to historical tomes of the grand, yet dark history, of Inarizaki. His desk, a sturdy piece of polished wood, bore the marks of his diligent work – stacks of paperwork lay half-done, his favorite pen perched on top as if awaiting his return.

On the desk, your eyes landed on a framed photograph of the two of you, a moment from your days of courtship frozen in time. You were both smiling, carefree – a time when laughter came easily, and the burden of the crown hadn’t touched you. Rintaro stood behind you in the photo, his arms around your waist as he pulled you flushed against his chest. He was whispering something in your ear that made you laugh, your smile perfectly captured just in time.

A pang of nostalgia hit you. You wondered… did he look at this picture and reminisced about those simpler times? He’d been so happy, youthful, and so unlike the way he was now.

It truly was hard to believe that none of it was real.

But could there have been instances where he thought of you often, as he sat here in this very room, surrounded by the things that defined him? Was there ever a time when being a Prince got too hard on him, and he leans back on his seat, exasperated, before he stares into the picture of you?

You shake the thought of it away. Before you could stop yourself, you’d already reached over the photograph and flipped the frame down.

He doesn’t need to look at us. He doesn’t need to remember it all.

Deciding to pass the time, you explore the study more closely, your fingers grazing the spines of books and the smooth surface of his desk. Eventually, you settled into his chair, finding comfort in the leather that bore the imprint of his form. As you sat, you let your eyes and hands wander at everything it would touch. Eventually, it lands on a small velvet-covered journal, bound with twine stings, tucked away in one of the desk’s drawers. Your curiosity piqued, you opened it, feeling the soft texture of the pages beneath your fingers.

What you saw was inside – you could never be prepared for it.

The journal revealed itself as a treasure trove of his most private thoughts and feelings, penned in his unmistakable handwriting. And each entry, each page, was about you. As you read, your breath hitched. Rintaro wrote of your first meetings, saying your laughter was a melody he wanted to hear endlessly, and even admitting how your beauty captivated him so completely that he sometimes forgot to listen to what you were saying.

I don’t know if love’s a feeling, he writes, everyone talks about love at first. In that case, is love not more about seeing rather than feeling? I have all these thoughts, and wonder to myself when I can say if I feel that way over her. Because if love’s a feeling, then it is with a heavy and most regretful heart that I admit that I do not feel such for her. I do not ‘feel’ for her. But I see her. I see her when she smiles, the way she throws her head back when I utter a lame attempt of humor. I look at her in her most unguarded moments, when she thinks no one is looking. I remember her sitting on her garden at the Yuzuru Estate, her book cradled in her lap, as her eyes widen and she makes tiny, little gasps at each page turned. I see her, and I see beauty. I see kindness and light within her, which makes me often wonder if I chose to pursue a lady, or a fallen angel. Today, I can’t help but think about it once more: is love a feeling, or is it seeing? Because when I look at her, I think I get a little closer to the answer.

Tears brim at your eyes. Hastily, you wipe them away, fearful that it might stain and blot the words he’d written. Your fingers grow heavy with hesitation as you turn to the next page.

The world is filled with noise I am not fond of hearing. Here in her arms, there is none of that. There is only the steady sound of her breathing, the lulling rhythm of her heartbeat. It makes me want to carve myself under her skin and remain there. I know she will hold me enclosed in her warmth, and safe from the world. But then I tell myself I am a man and I am a Prince. It is quite shameful to admit I yearn so much for her to hold me again.

You giggled despite yourself. That was true; Rintaro was quite the cuddler.

She haunts me even in my sleep. She visits me in my dreams, when the lights have been shut off and the curtains have been drawn. Her perfume sticks to my skin, and I don’t wash it off. I close my eyes and inhale her scent, wishing, praying, hoping for time to go by faster to when I can have her next to me again. It is with this thought I have come to the realization that I am greedy. She is the first thing I seek when I wake, and it is not enough. It never could be. In my dreams, she is still here next to me, and I never had to watch her walk back to her parents with each ending night.

A mix of shock and flattery consumes you. Your heart swells with emotions you’d kept at bay – all the hatred, this crumbling resolve. Rintaro had always been reserved in his own way, but here, in this pages, he was painfully honest, vulnerable, and profoundly affectionate. Was this how his mind worked when he thought no one was watching? Was this not the truth, the rawest point of one’s love bleeding like ink onto paper?

With a trembling lower lip, you dared turn onto another page. Your heart dropped when you realized it was the final entry, and Rintaro was only a few pages away from filling it up.

I am afraid. All I have ever loved eventually slips from my grasp like sand falling through fingertips. I am afraid a time will come I will love her, and she will be taken away from me. I am afraid to love and to have something to mourn. But if I do not love her, then I will lose nothing. Therefore, I should be on guard and ensure she does not steal away what I treasure most. I will not let her take my heart from me if it means she will run away with it on her person someday.

But I want to love her. By the Gods, I do.

I wish I had met her first.

His journal clutched between your hands, you bent over the desk. It was becoming difficult to breathe, your dress impossibly tighter than it was moments ago. Even your vision blurred as tears formed again.

“Is she here already?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Your head snapped up. Rintaro’s voice drifted outside the hall, sounding as if he were speaking to an older man whose words came slow and careful. Outside, you heard more footsteps, one rushed and the other angry.“Why didn’t you tell me earlier? I would’ve wrapped up my meeting sooner.” It was Rintaro.

“My apologies, Sir. Her Highness said she was content to wait-”

“She’s a Princess, you fool. You don’t make a woman like her wait.”

“…Yes, Sir. I will do better next time.”

Shooting up from your seat, you make quick work of tying the twine around his journal, and shoving it back to the drawers. You had only a minute to compose yourself before the doors swung open. Rintaro entered, and the sight of him broke your heart. His hair was a disheveled mess, with dark circles lining under his eyes. He hesitated upon seeing you – standing at his desk, hands clasped behind your back, and your framed photograph facing down the table.

His lips flattened into a thin line. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to take so long,” he grumbled, his voice barely audible. “Have you been waiting a while?”

“No, I just arrived here.”

“Okay,” he nodded, more so to himself than you. “Shall we? The orphanage is waiting for us.”

As Rintaro moved further into the room, you started seeing him in a new light, remembering the words he’d written about you – his candid confessions of affection and admiration. It was so greatly different from the compliments he’d said out loud. And it was wrong, it felt wrong, having such knowledge over something he clearly didn’t want to be known. But it was getting harder to forget and ignore him now even more, not when the room was filled with his presence and embraced you. The faint scent of his cologne, the scattered papers on his desk, the photograph, the journal.

You could feel the weight of the unspoken truth between you, daring you to reach out and confront it. Your heart ached even more now that you’d glimpsed a part of him that he had kept hidden.

It must’ve been written all over your face. Rintaro approaches you, a hint of concern in his eyes as he took in the trembling of your hands. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice gentle but probing.

You nodded, your smile softening. “Yes, just… thinking,” you replied, attempting to keep your tone light. “It must have been a stressful meeting.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It was. But seeing you here makes it better.”

His words, though simple, carried a weight. You felt the stirrings of hope, a fragile thread that connected you despite the complexities of your situation.

In that moment, you realized how much you had both been holding back, how much you needed to communicate and heal. What if… he’d just said it all out loud? What if he had told you, that he did mean it, and he did harbor affection for you? It wouldn’t change anything, of course. The past couldn’t be done. His mistakes couldn’t be forgiven. You weren’t enough of a saint to wake up one day and forget everything.

But it could help you move forward – together.

He just had to tell you. I love you, and you would say it back. As quickly as that thought crossed your mind, however, a certain Prince with soft lips and genuine promises flashed in your head.

You took a step back, putting some distance between you and Rintaro as you realized.

If Rintaro said he loved you… you wouldn’t say it back.

The soft music playing in the car does little to alleviate the tension.

Rintaro sat beside you in the back seat, a pronounced distance between the two of you. His restlessness was evident; he kept shifting in his seat, fingers lightly taping on his knee, and his gaze flickering to the window and back at you again. He knew today was such an important event, that he should’ve gotten some sleep, but it was damned near impossible. How could he when the very room he shared with you, and the bed he’d only slept in next to you once, was now overtaken by a woman whose presence he could hardly stand?

Sure, it’d been his idea. He’d practically dragged an unwilling Iris to the main Palace, all with the hopes of upsetting you – and breaking your heart further – the day you returned. Not that he’d wanted to, but he had to. It was the only way he could succeed in his plans of pushing you far away.

Looking at you now, however… He wasn’t quite sure what to feel.

You looked beautiful. Well-rested, even, as if you’d had the best sleep of your life. Even in the privacy of the vehicle, your posture is ramrod straight. Head held up high proudly. Moving with the careful elegance and grace that came naturally of being born into wealth. And he realized a a part of him loathed it – loathed how you looked… better without him. Loathed how your eyes were bright, your shoulders relaxed, as you gazed out the window and hummed to yourself.

You didn’t look heartbroken as he’d hoped. But it should make him rejoice, should it not? If there was no need to hurt you, and you would already be this detached from him…

Rintaro turned away from you. Of course, he thought to himself, Kiyoomi would’ve taken better care of you.

As you neared the orphanage, Rintaro took a deep breath, steeling himself for the day ahead. He moved to open the door when you suddenly reached out, your hand brushing his arm. He glanced at you in question, your eyes meeting briefly. A flicker of something unspoken passed between you. Apprehension, confusion – he couldn’t quite read your face. Only that you were touching him, and he flinched away from the contact. He knew that beneath those gloves, your hands were smooth and soft, unscarred and unmarred by the hardships of life. It only goes to show how you truly were worlds apart.

But today, your worlds converged into one. He had to be the Crown Prince this Kingdom looked up to, no matter how much of a false pretense it held. Today would be the first day he’d have to touch you again, to show the world how much he loved you. And he would – he’d rather the world know he adored you than you realize this for yourself.

Stepping out of the car, you were bombarded by flashing lights and the cheering hoots of your people. Rintaro ignored them all. He simply moved to your side in an instant, his hand finding its place in the curve of your arm as he helped you exit the vehicle.

A smile instantly lit up your face. Raising a hand, you waved at everyone, and he followed, though his smile was more forced than pleased. Soon, you were ushered inside the orphanage by a throng of guards.

“What?”

“What?”

“Why are you staring?” you lightly tapped his chest with your hand, frowning down at yourself. “Is there something wrong with my outfit?”

“Not at all. I was just…” Rintaro gestured down to your outfit. “You’re wearing heels and a skirt, and the pavement is rough. I was making sure you wouldn’t trip.”

“Oh.”

His eyes flickered back to yours. Your shock was unmasked; eyes wide and red-painted lips slightly pulled apart. It made him match your previous frown. You didn’t have to look too shocked that he was capable of concern, though he couldn’t blame you. He hadn’t been the greatest husband so far, and neither was he going to become one anytime soon. And as if the universe wanted to remind him of that, Iris finally appeared – rounding the corner and speaking softly with the orphanage caretakers.

Today, she wore a white, loose and flowy dress to hide her baby bump. White to signify purity, another one of the Queen’s careful schemes to fool the public. Just the sight of her was enough to make Rintaro’s stomach twist.

“Hey,” you spoke beside him, your voice small yet firm. “We will be okay. It’s all just for show.”

Right. For show. He supposed he had the Queen to thank for this public event, then, otherwise you would have no other reason to touch him and smile at him this freely.

Later, the three of you entered the orphanage, greeted with smiles and waves from the children who had all been eagerly waiting your arrival. The children sang songs they had prepared, their voices rising in a sweet, joyous chorus that filled the room with a warmth that momentarily distracted them from the harrowing truth.

Princess Iris moved gracefully among the children, her eyes lighting up in genuine delight as she shared the baked goods she had brought. Her laughter rang out, soft and melodic. She wiped cookie crumbs from the corners of their small mouths, her touch somewhat awkward yet gentle. It almost made Rintaro snicker, seeing for himself how… unaffectionate Iris was.

Across the room, you sat with a group of children, your posture far from being regal as you read stories aloud. You’d taken off your heels to sit cross-legged on the ground, your skirts puffed out underneath you. On your lap sat a little girl with pigtails as she sucked on her thumb. Each time she squealed in delight, she would thump her spit-covered fists onto your blouse – not that you minded. From the looks of it, everyone was enamored with you. He observed the children, their eyes wide with wonder, captivated not just by the tales you spun, but also your beauty.

He caught the giggles of young boys whispering in awe amongst themselves, saying it was their first time encountering a real-life princess.

Seeing everyone’s joy made him feel out of place. Desperate to not appear useless, Rintaro approached a caregiver, who was gently rocking a sleeping baby in her arms. Seeing her weariness, he offered to the take baby so she could rest. The caregiver smiled gratefully, handing over the child with a nod of thanks and reverent bow. Holding the baby in his arms, Rintaro tested out how to balance his weight in his arms before walking over to where the children were gathered around you. He sat down, positioning himself just on the periphery of the circle – close enough to hear your soothing voice as you read, yet far enough to avoid your gaze.

He couldn’t stop himself from watching you, a soft pang in his chest as he imagined a life that might have been. One where he hadn’t strayed, where your bond had remained unbroken.

In his daydreams, he envisioned the exact same family scene – you, his wife, reading stories to your firstborn, while he held your youngest, a picture of domestic bliss. There’s cookie dough smattered all over the countertops from a failed baking attempt, and the children are running around chasing each other to wipe the dough on each other’s cheeks. You would chase after them, wet wipes in hand. And Rintaro would hide in a corner, signaling to his children to come running into his arms to escape their mother’s cleaning. The house would be filled with laughter, and he would have grown old with you.

The thought filled him with a melancholic longing, a vision of happiness that felt achingly out of reach.

Looking down at the baby in his arms, a small smile was tugged at his lips. The child’s face was so innocent, so naïve. Rintaro gently caressed the baby’s cheek, the soft skin beneath his fingertips urging from him a protective desire. To have such a tiny thing in his arms, so helpless yet so trusting… it was hard to imagine he’d been like this at one point. It filled him with sadness and shame, knowing that the life he imagined could never be.

He was not a true Prince, just a puppet in the Queen’s grand design. His wife didn’t know this truth, a secret that further deepened his sense of inadequacy every time he stood next to you.

He knew, too, that if he’d never been taken away from his parents, he could’ve never had this life. You would’ve never noticed him, as he’d just be somebody far in the background, blurred and insignificant. But you would remain pristine and glorious, sitting prettily in your estate’s living room as you entertain the next lucky man whose smile you would grace with.

None of it could’ve been real. There were no hopes for in another life, or dreams of maybe in another universe. In all the universes that existed within now, you could never be his.

Rintaro felt like an imposter in his own life, undeserving the love and loyalty of someone like you – a noblewoman who had a great future ahead of her. A future that he’d ruined by marrying you. His gaze flickered towards you, finding that you’d already looked up from your book and smiled at him, and the baby in his arms. It was a gesture he couldn’t bring himself to return. He looked away quickly and focused on the baby instead, wondering if his own beginning had been as uncertain and lonely.

He’d been this innocent, once. Left behind, only to be picked up and molded into a puppet to lead a throne that wasn’t truly his.

He remained distant, physically present but emotionally removed from today’s duty. He was unable to shake the weight of his insecurities, the doubts of why he was even here in the first place. He stayed silent and held the baby close, as if the small warmth in his arms could somehow anchor him amidst the raging torrent of his regrets.

“Your Highness,” the caregiver appeared beside him, a smile on her weary, wrinkled face. “I hope our little one hasn’t been too fussy?”

“He’s a precious baby,” Rintaro reassured, swaying the baby in his arms to show he was peacefully asleep. Gently brushing his soft hair, he turned to the caregiver with a small frown. “Where are his parents? He’s too young to be alone.”

The caregiver’s crestfallen face told him this happened more often that they would like. “He was given up for adoption, Sir. His parents couldn’t afford to raise him, and they thought it was best to secure his future by… giving him up. It was the only thing they could do to give him a good life.”

Rintaro nodded, unsure of what to do with the information.

The call for snack time suddenly echoed through the orphanage, the children eagerly scampering toward the kitchen and their caretakers. Reluctantly, Rintaro had to let go of the baby. Iris had joined them, too, her lilting voice blending with the children’s. She was especially contrived today, all jovial smiles and eager agreements to anything the children wanted.

Choosing solitude over the cheerful chaos, Rintaro wandered out into the orphanage’s garden.

The garden was a carefully tended sanctuary for the children, with lush greenery and vibrant flowers that painted the landscape. Stone pathways meandered through beds of roses, lilies, and lavender, all leading to wooden benches nestled under the shade of ancient trees. The place vaguely reminded him of his first date with you, when he’d taken you into the Palace Gardens. Such a time was only two years ago, and it’d already felt like forever had passed.

With his head down, Rintaro walked, letting the serenity of the garden seep into him. The air was cool and fragrant, which he gladly inhaled with deep puffs of air.

Lost in contemplation, he failed to notice your approach until you were suddenly beside him – your presence a gentle intrusion to his momentary solitude. You’d moved so quietly, as if aware he needed this silence. Still, you were unwilling to leave him alone in his thoughts. Together, you walked alongside him down the winding paths, your steps slow and unhurried with each clack of your heel.

The world around him seemed to pause and hold its breath in anticipation.

Rintaro glanced at you from the corner of his eye, enamored with the way you carried yourself. The way your dress flowed like liquid silk with each step, and the way your constant, barely audible humming made him feel serene. There was a softness in your expression he knew he didn’t deserve – one that both comforted and pained him. And with each step you took, the garden seemed to come alive. The colors grew more vivid, the air sweeter with your rosy scent, as if nature itself responded to the sweet calls of your song.

Lilies, he remembered now. He’d once likened you to lilies – delicate and ethereal, with a beauty that was timeless. Its pure white petals and gentle fragrance had always evoked a sense of tranquility within him.

But now, gazing upon you, he realized that lilies no longer fit the enigma called you. You’d become more like a rose, with its layer of deceptively soft petals, entrapping its prey under its perilous smiles. You had the sweetest of fragrances and yet, with your thorns, served as a reminder to him of the pain that your love could bring. Gone was the serene lily of his early affections now that it was in full bloom, vibrant and strong. Gone was the delicate lady he danced with on that night. But he had you – his wife who he craved to embrace, even if it meant he’d bleed out to death.

The two of you reached a secluded corner of the garden, where a bench stood beneath a flowering arbor. You paused there, your gaze distant, yet your proximity to him felt like an unspoken promise, a silent tell how you always kept to your vow – that you would stay, and wait for him, even if he could not bring himself to reach for you.

Rintaro briefly closed his eyes, allowing himself to relish in this fleeting moment – the warmth of the sun on his skin, the scent of roses in the air. You stood there, side by side, fingers shy from brushing against each other. It was a battle of who would drop their pride and speak first, a battle that, it seemed, you would surrender to each time.

“You’re a natural with the children,” you finally speak, rocking back on your heels as you smiled at him. He didn’t like that smile – like you knew something he didn’t, like you chose to be kind to someone who didn’t deserve it.

“I like children,” was all he responds with, content to stay under the shade of the arbor.

You nodded, your gaze dropped at your feet. Beside you, he could see you fiddling with your fingers, trying to find the right thing to say. “How was uhm… your first night? With Iris staying at our – your – room, I mean.”

Rintaro raised a challenging brow. “Are we going to argue about it?”

“No, I was only curious.”

“Why do you wish to know? Are you some sort of masochist?”

You sighed in defeat. “I’m just trying to make small talk, Rintaro. You’ve been avoiding me like I carry the plague each time no one is looking.”

“Isn’t that what you would prefer? Why would I need to put up with the happily married act when there is no need?” he rolled his eyes, suddenly feeling hot under his suit. “It’s just us here. There are no cameras for you to perform in front of. You don’t ‘need’ to initiate conversation with me. There’d be no purpose.”

Your lips twitched in irritation. “Can’t a wife be curious on her husband’s well-being?”

“You can, although I would advise that you don’t.”

He can tell you were doing your best to hold back. He’s courted you long enough to expect the clenching of your fists, the heavy rise and fall of your chest. And there it was – you spin towards his way, shoving your face so close to him that he’s forced to step back. You smelled a little too nice, and he didn’t want to forget his purpose: to make you hate him.

“Why are you being so difficult, Rintaro? I just want to talk.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, I do,” you jabbed a finger at his chest. “I barely slept, if you must know. All I could think about was how… how you’re probably sleeping better now that you don’t have to be in the same room as me. How you ran away when I kissed you at my parent’s estate, how you’re always just – just running off. Like you can’t stand another second of being by my side, and I understand you don’t love me, but why do you avoid me? What have I ever done to you, Rintaro? Why do you push me away?”

Because I love you, is what he wanted to say, but he settled for the next truth instead. Clenching his jaw, Rintaro grabbed at your wrist, effectively stopping you from pushing into him again. “Because I don’t want you getting close.”

“Why? I know all your secrets already. You have nothing to hide. I’ve seen you at your worst, and I stayed, and I’m trying-”

“Trying to what?”

“Trying to make it work,” you snapped back, freeing yourself from his grip. And this was the part he hated the most, when you began sniffling and hastily wiping at your tears. It made him want to reach out for his handkerchief folded in his breast pocket. To reach over and wipe those tears away, and promise that he wouldn’t make you cry anymore. But he doesn’t – it’s a promise he couldn’t keep. He didn’t want to tell you another lie. So he lets you cry and remains his distance, watching as your lower lip wobbles, “Trying to make us work. Trying to understand why you suddenly did not want me anymore. Because I married you, and regardless of what you’ve done, I’m still your wife just as you are my husband. I don’t… I don’t want to keep hating you.”

Rintaro sighed. “It’d be best if you did There is no point trying to make our marriage work. We’re getting divorced.”

“I never agreed to that!”

“You don’t know who you married, Y/N. I told you before, and I’ll say it again,” gritting his teeth, Rintaro gave you one last glare. “This union is a mistake. And I intend to correct it, whatever means it may take.”

The remnants of your argument faded into the stillness of the garden. Silence stretched between you as he saw the pain in your eyes, the hurt you tried to mask with a forgiving smile. You’re stupid, he wants to tell you, offering him yet another chance to mend what was broken. Your kindness knew no bounds – but isn’t that why he’d chosen you? He’d known you would be soft, and now this softness soothed all his aches, serving as another reminder you gave him the kind of love he felt unworthy to receive.

With each step he takes away from you, it becomes harder to ignore the voices. The ones screaming at him to apologize, to turn back, to make things right.

How could you still be so forgiving after everything he’d done? You had given hope, made him believe, if only for the briefest moments that this marriage could be salvaged. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to bare the truth – that he was a pretender, a man with no noble blood, a nobody. The fear of you finding out, of seeing the disappointment in your eyes, was a burden too great for him to bear.

Your anger because he’d loved another? That, he could stomach.

Your disappointment over him leading you on? That, he could endure.

But he could never stand the thought of you looking down on him, or worse, pitying him for the lies he’d been led to believe. In his mind, it was much better for you to see him as the flawed prince rather than a worthless impostor. Better to let you cling to the illusion of his nobility than to destroy it with the harsh reality of his origin. Because he feared that once you knew, you would regret being with him – regretting that you’d wasted your time on a low-life like him.

And so Rintaro did what he had always done. He ran.

He ran from the truth, from the shame of confessing his deepest insecurities, from the possibility of your rejection. In the end, it wasn’t your forgiveness he feared, but the realization that he was not the man you thought he was.

The royal visit to the orphanage, much to the Queen’s delight, had been a success.

Photographs captured you and Rintaro smiling, your hands lightly touching as you interacted with the children. The press was generous with its praise on your apparent reconciliation, the headlines brimming with approval for your ‘undying love and commitment to one another.’

“The Crown Prince has never looked more in love,” they’d written, perfectly capturing the moments where his gaze never strayed far from yours, as if you were the only person in the room. Even the supposed ‘rift’ between you and Princess Iris, his ‘alleged mistress’, were dismissed as nothing but measly rumors. Your public display of holding babies and children with the already pregnant Princess shushed all whispers of a scandal.

Despite the event’s success, the troubles never left you. The ride back home was spent in utter silence as Rintaro closed himself off from the world. And when you’d arrived at the Palace, he walked back to the main hall with Iris, hand-in-hand.

That was enough to make you return to Belleview Manor.

As soon as you’d opened the doors, you were met with a crushing embrace. A small ‘oof’ came out of you when Kiyoomi swept you up in his arms, his nose buried in your neck as he mumbled ‘miss you’s’ at the crook of your neck. It’s wholly sweet, and has you weakening in the knees. Shyly, you reciprocate the embrace – your cheek on his shoulder, and your arms wrapping around the broadness of his back. He’s warm, and smells like mint. He feels like home, too, and you let him guide you back inside the manor as you exchange small talk on how the other’s day went.

The simplicity of the evening with him was comforting; Kiyoomi had prepared dinner, and brought out two glasses of wine. He’d suggested watching a movie to end the day, an attempt to escape into a world where the Crown couldn’t touch you for the next few hours.

But as the images flickered on the screen, you found yourself undeniably distracted.

Rintaro’s hidden journal weighed heavily on your mind, its paged filled with heartfelt confessions and confusing desires. That journal had revealed a side of him you’d never known, his want both startling and softening you around the edges. The realization that he had always held affections for you – even when he couldn’t realize it – made the world feel more unsteady than it already was. It was a truth that cut through the façade of your strained marriage, making you question whether you were truly ready to leave everything behind. To leave him behind.

The answer doesn’t come even as you sit beside Kiyoomi, the prince you’d kissed the night before, the one who’d shown you kindness and love when you needed it most.

The warmth of his presence at your side, the ease of your companionship – it all made your history with Rintaro seem bleak. And yet, the thought of walking away from your marriage felt like severing a part of yourself, a decision fraught with consequences you weren’t strong enough to face.

It wasn’t an easy dilemma to be caught in – the prospect of a new beginning with Kiyoomi, who cherished you, or to brave through the storm of rebuilding a life with Rintaro, who’d hidden his true feelings behind his walls of silence.

The journal had given you a glimpse into a love you thought you’d forever lost, a flicker of hope lit in the distance that perhaps you could find your way back to each other. But there was also fear – the fear of repeating the past, of making the same mistakes, of investing in a relationship that might never heal. Didn’t they say it was only fools who kept doing the same thing, over and over again, and expecting different results?

Before you realized it, the credits had begun rolling as the room fell into darkness. The prince beside you reached out, his fingers playing with the hem of your sleeves. “You’re distracted.”

You winced, allowing yourself to be scooped up effortlessly in his arms. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes, painfully so,” Kiyoomi’s chest rumbles with laughter. He holds you there in his lap, one of his hands circling around your hips, and the other caressing your cheek. You lean into it, seeking his warmth, and sighing at the smoothness of his palm. “There’s something troubling you.”

“Yes…”

Leaning back against the couch, Kiyoomi offers a tender smile. “I’ve been told I’m a great listener. Comes with being a representative of two countries, I believe. You become exceptional at solving people’s problems.”

His words pull a smile from your face. Still, it isn’t easy to tell him everything, but you found yourself doing so anyway. It was hard to keep secrets around Kiyoomi. And so you recall the conversation you’d had with Her Majesty – to choose between making this marriage work, letting Rintaro become King, or doom this Kingdom by letting it all fall to ashes, or let Atsumu reign free. At the mention of the blond twin, Kiyoomi’s grip on your hips tightened, showing his silent disapproval. Somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him about Rintaro’s origin. It was… your secret, for now. A secret that you’d kept locked away in the recesses of your heart, with the key thrown at the edge of a metaphorical cliff.

It was the one thing you’d keep from Kiyoomi.

“I think…” Kiyoomi’s brows furrow in thought, “…you should do what you think is right.”

You frown at him. He’d looked displeased the entire time you’d told him of the Queen’s desire to prevent the divorce from happening, but otherwise kept his lips sealed. “That is a very basic answer.”

He shrugged. “It’s the only right one.”

Silently agreeing with him, you decided to let it go. The two of you remained close to each other like that, your bodies naturally leaning into each other. He was close enough that you could feel the gentle rise and fall of his breathing, the steady rhythm like a lullaby to your troubled mind.

In the quiet that followed, Kiyoomi moved closer, his arm slipping around your shoulders in another tender embrace. There was a hesitancy to his movements, a shy uncertainty that belied his obvious longing. His touch was gentle, his fingertips tracing delicate patterns along your arms as if afraid you might pull you away. But you never did.

Instead, you sunk into the comfort of his embrace, finding solace in the affection he never withheld.

Kiyoomi leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your skin as his lips brushed against your temple. It was a chaste kiss, a question wrapped in tenderness – asking for permission in the most subtle of ways. His large hand moved to cradle your face, his thumb lightly brushing against your cheek, and you could the faint tremors in his touch.

There was a need in his eyes – a deep, unspoken yearning that mirrored your own. Yet, the respect he held was clear in his gaze, a silent plea for your consent, for you to guide him through the boundaries you had yet to define.

You felt a warm flutter in your chest for this man. It made your mind go back to your debut ball, when you’d first danced with Kiyoomi and had him as your last.

If he’d called on me then, would things be different?

You knew, without a doubt, the answer was yes. If he’d called on you, you would’ve fallen in love with him instead, and eventually got married. Perhaps now you would already have a son or a daughter wreaking havoc here in Belleview Manor. Or maybe they would be quiet and reserved like their father, choosing to rest in his lap as Kiyoomi teaches them the right pronunciation of bigger words. He would’ve been yours, and you would’ve been his.

… And Rintaro would’ve never been in the picture as anyone significant.

As Kiyoomi drew closer, you felt the warmth of his lips hovering near hers. His hand remained cupping your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw, and with that touch alone you felt a promise – a promise of gentleness, of care, of a desire that was as much about your comfort as it was about his yearning. A silent promise of I love you and It will always be you. Then, the air between you seemed to crackle, this moment shared with bated breath and unspoken confessions.

“Can I touch you?”

A small nod was all Kiyoomi needs before he’s moving.

Slowly, impossibly slowly, Kiyoomi closed the distance between you. His lips grazed yours in the barest feather-light touch, testing the waters and seeking a connection. It was a kiss that was as gentle as his touch, a delicate dance between lovers who hadn’t rehearsed their movements. But the sensation of kissing him felt like sunshine after a rainy day, like coming home when you’d been away from it for too long. He was familiar, yet new – a rediscovery of a long-forgotten comfort. You never thought that something so wrong could have felt so right.

The kiss deepened, and Kiyoomi groans into your mouth. Each touch of his lips, each gentle caress, felt like a revelation – peeling away the layers of uncertainty and revealing the undeniable, simple truth that you’d both wanted this, had thought about it more times than you’d like to admit.

Kissing Kiyoomi was like falling in love for the first time, when you’d still been unafraid and bravely jumped off – knowing he’d always be there to catch you when you did.

The kiss was sweet and unhurried, neither moving more than what was necessary because you had all the time in the world. It also held a promise of more to come, and you couldn’t wait to get there.

As you finally pulled away to catch your breath, your foreheads rested against each other. Kiyoomi’s lips are swollen and red from your passionate kiss, and he smiles – the sight beautiful enough to make your heart stutter. “I never thought I had to remind you, but if it’s any reassurance… you don’t need to worry about me. I will wait for you,” he promises, turning your wrist inward to place a kiss right at your pulse, his gaze not once leaving you. “As long as it takes, Princess. As long as it’s you.”

You reciprocate his smile and lean forward, resting your head on his chest contentedly. There, you breathe in his scent, sleepily mumbling, “I heard the Queen called you over this morning to talk about the baby… what did she say?”

You felt Kiyoomi sigh above you. “It’s just as I feared. We are to make a formal announcement soon on the pregnancy. Her Majesty hopes that if I declare we’re having a baby, it’d make our marriage look more…”

“Real?”

“It has always been real,” he corrects, and you wince at his brutal honesty. “But Her Majesty hoped it’d send across the message that it was marriage of love, I meant.”

You snorted. “Now that is unreal.”

“Very unreal.”

“I won’t let it happen,” you lift your head to shake it at him, vehemently refusing. Just… the thought of Iris parading around with Kiyoomi on her arms… it made you feel sick. “That child isn’t yours. You don’t need to take responsibility for it.”

Kiyoomi merely smiles, unaffected by this whole ordeal. “Don’t fret about it, Princess. I don’t plan on playing house with her soon, or anytime for that matter. I’m yours, remember?”

You tried not to melt at his words. “But… if duty calls, you will have to act like you’re in love with her. You’re going to go out pretending that you’re a happy family, and how you’re ecstatic about this pregnancy. I can’t watch it happen, Kiyoomi. I can’t.”

“Then would you rather Rintaro play father of the year?”

You rear back, flinching as if you’d been slapped in the face. “That is very unfair.”

“Forgive me. I was only teasing,” he reassured, his voice light yet husky as he stares at you. Desire pools in the darkness of his eyes once more, his grip around your body hardening. “I like you like this – in my home, and smelling of me. I like seeing you so… concerned over my fate,” he says, smirking at you as you laid with your legs sprawled around him. “Is it bad I am thoroughly enjoying the fact you are upset for my sake right now?”

“You are one odd man.”

“A man is never normal when he is in love.”

When night time arrives, and Kiyoomi has retired to bed, you finally make the decision to make the phone call. He answers at the third ring, and even without speaking, you could already picture the smug grin the journalist is wearing. He’d been waiting for your call for months – a call you never made at the mercy of not adding more burdens to Rintaro. But now?

Now, you had to save Kiyoomi, just as he’d save you.

“Finally made up your mind, Princess?”

“Yes, Kuroo,” you sighed, glancing at the serenity of the Inarizaki Palace at this time of the night. It wouldn’t be long before that said peace would be disrupted. “It’s time.”

𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈?

In an unprecedented revelation that has sent shockwaves through the courts of Itachiyama and Inarizaki, the true identity and motives of Princess Iris Amari are called into question. Known hitherto as a paragon of virtue and a beacon of diplomacy between the two nations, the princess’s ascent from humble origins to the heights of royalty is now under scrutiny.

What hidden truths lie beneath her polished facade? Is her marriage to Prince Kiyoomi a union of love, or a calculated bid for power?

Who indeed is Princess Iris Amari?

Born to Kate Amari, a woman of modest means and erstwhile personal assistant to Lady Sakusa Kanami, the princess’ path to prominence appears less the result of serendipity and more a tale steeped in mystery and intrigue. Lady Sakusa and Kate Amari were known confidantes, their bond solidified amidst the scandals of the King’s many indiscretions. It was amidst this turmoil that Kate Amari mysteriously resigned, relocating to Inarizaki under circumstances as unclear as they were sudden.

The revelations continue to unfold as we delve deeper into the shadows of this royal narrative. Despite her close ties to the Sakusa household and her loyalty declared to the Queen, Kate Amari conspicuously absented herself from the King’s funeral, her departure raising more questions than it answered.

Could this have been an effort to obscure a more sinister involvement? Her daughter’s subsequent enrollment at the prestigious Inarizaki Private Royal Academy and her close association with Crown Prince Rintaro only add layers to this mystery.

Reports suggest that Princess Iris, far from being a passive participant, may have played a more active role in influencing the young and impressionable Crown Prince. Confidential photographs show scenes of reckless behavior: smoking, drinking, and attending unsavory gatherings. Such actions raise the question – was the princess’s influence benign, or was it a calculated effort to destabilize the Crown Prince’s future?

The clandestine marriage of Princess Iris to Prince Kiyoomi, conducted without the customary fanfare and devoid of public engagement, has further aroused suspicion. In contrast to other royal nuptials, this union was marked by an unusual degree of secrecy.

What compelled the royal couple to eschew tradition? Was there something they sought to hide from the prying eyes of the court and the public?

Despite her esteemed position, Princess Iris’s commitment to her official duties has been found wanting. Her infrequent visits to Itachiyama and reported attendance at a controversial private party, accompanied by Crown Prince Rintaro, have further tarnished her public image. These events, allegedly involving illicit substances and scandalous behavior, paint a picture of a royal figure embroiled in activities unbecoming of her station.

The most damning revelation comes from the past of Kate Amari, whose conviction for murder and was imprisoned in a foreign land casts a long shadow over her daughter’s current position. This disclosure raises grave concerns about the character and intentions of Princess Iris.

Is the royal family, revered and respected by the populace, harboring a member with such a tainted lineage within its hallowed halls?

As the public reels from these revelations, the image of Princess Iris as a figure of unity and grace is shattered. Is she merely a pawn in a larger scheme, or the mastermind behind a carefully orchestrated rise to power? The people of Inarizaki and Itachiyama, loyal subjects of the crown, now find themselves questioning the very fabric of their beloved monarchy. The presence of a murderer’s daughter – a woman implicated in deceit, adultery, and scandal – within the royal family challenges the sanctity of the throne and the trust of the nation.

The truth, long obscured, demands to be unveiled. As the court and the public alike seek answers, one question remains: What lies beneath the veneer of Princess Iris Amari, and what fate awaits the royal family in the wake of these revelations?

The eyes of the world are upon Inarizaki, and the unfolding drama promises to redefine the very nature of royalty itself.

[floatyflowers]

Hola como esta disculpe la molestia pero por favor podria crear una historia de Jacaerys X Reader "semilla de dragon"x Dareon algo asi como que Dareon lastimara a rader y ella se fuera de antigua y años despues conociera a Jacaerys y se enamorara de el luego en una vatalla se encontrara con Dareon y este intentara recuperar su amor y la ventaja de 1 dragon pero ella ama a jacaerys y no se deje manipular por dareon por favor le deseo lo mejor disculpe por molestar

Translation: Hello, how are you, sorry for the inconvenience, but could you please create a story about Jacaerys In a battle she will meet Dareon and he will try to regain her love and the advantage of 1 dragon but she loves Jacaerys and do not let herself be manipulated by Dareon. Please I wish her the best. Sorry for bothering you.

You have been married to your twin, Jace, right before the war for duty, but before marriage, you were in contact with Daeron through letters.

Both of you are best of friends since childhood, and this is a secret you both kept from your family.

After war, you didn't answer any of his letters in fear of your mother and husband finding out.

However, you answered one letter where he requests that you both meet up in secret and try to end this war and achieve peace.

You always wished for peace from the beginning, so you agreed to the meeting, taking the chance where Jace was off to the Battle of the Gullet

As the sun started to set for the day, the sky turned into a mix of soft pink and orange.

The sea breeze caressed the shores, bringing up the salty scent with it.

Daeron stood at the beach, in a spot that wasn't too far from Oldtown and hidden behind rocks, just as the letter requested you both to meet.

A smile appeared on Daeron's face as he saw you walking towards him, his violet eyes locked with yours and the wind blew his silvery hair.

"I half expected you to not show up, I'm delighted to see that you disappointed my expections."

He said while holding his hands behind his back, a few feet away from him stood his she-dragon, Tessarion.

"I have missed you dearly" you confess with a smile, as you stop right infront of him.

He stood there for a moment, just looking at you, taking in your beauty and the way your irises shined.

"I missed you too"

Daeron said, placing both of his hands on your cheeks, you hold into his hands in fear he might lean in further to place his lips against your.

"Daeron... The war"

You remind him about the real reason for the meeting, already starting to feel uneasy.

Daeron clenched his jaw, his eyes darkened as his voice became serious.

"I brought you here to open your eyes and bring you to the right side of the war"

Your eyes widens in shock, trying to pull away from him but his hold was too tight.

"Jacaerys doesn't deserve you nor your love" Daeron begins.

"I love him-" he cuts you off.

"You love him for duty as you have been always dutiful, but you know that the love between us is beyond duty or lust"

You shook your head in disagreement.

"Daeron, we are nothing but friends, I truely love Jace" You exclaim.

Your Targaryen uncle smirks, tilting his head.

"But does he love you?"

Hearing that, you frown in confusion.

"You know that there is some truth to rumors revolving around Jace having a relationship with Baela"

Knowing very well what Daeron is doing, he is using the information you revealed to him in letters about how Jace used to have a crush on Baela when you were children.

And you aren't stupid to fall for such manipulation.

"I still love Jace, and if you have brought me here to change my mind, then let me make it clear I will always support my mother as the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms"

Your declaration didn't faze him at all.

"You are naive to come here alone"

Realizing what he meant, you tried to rush to your dragon but it's too late when you see an army marching behind the beast, they hit your dragon with large arrows directed at the wings to stop it from flying.

"You have tricked me" you wail out in distress and betrayal.

Daeron places his lips against your before pulling away and placing his forehead against yours.

"I have done what is best for you, my heart"

[sturnioz]

Wait I need to know how you see confident!reader and fratboy!chris first interaction‼️

you needed a new supplier—and you needed one bad.

your previous one, once reliable and always putting you at the top of their priority list, had left town; dropped out of university, packed up their shit and left town without a word, chasing some dream in a place far from here. it was a fucking joke.

you were pissed, as many of the others were too, and the urgent need for a high gnaws at you as a constant reminder as you move through the sea of bodies within the unfamiliar frat house, your nose wrinkling at the thick scent of sweat, cheap cologne and fruity perfumes.

you clutch a red solo cup in hand, the alcohol sloshing inside with each step, a temporary distraction as you search for your friend who had invited you in the first place, trying to find her bleached blonde head in the crowd.

when you finally spot her, she's leaning against the wall, her body angled toward a guy. she bites her bottom lip, fluttering her lashes at him as he speaks, completely captivated. he licks his lips, smirking, and he raises his eyebrow as he pulls a joint from his pocket and tucks it between her breasts in her dress, his fingertips grazing her skin, sending an surge of protectiveness through you.

your brows furrow at the sight and you move forwards, the sound of your platform block heels tapping against the floorboards as you make your way over, wrapping your talon-like nails around her arm to draw her attention away from him.

"everything okay?" you ask, your voice steady but laced with concern as your eyes dart to the guy for a moment, giving him a pointed once-over before returning to your friend. "are you okay?"

"yes!" she giggles drunkenly, her eyes sparkling as she wraps her arm arounds yours. "this is chris — he's the dealer everyone keeps talking about!"

dealer? that catches your attention, piquing your curiosity as you take a more scrutinizing look at him, but your eyebrow arches in scepticism as you notice how he sizes you up, head tilting tightly, a smarmy grin stretching across his lips.

"what are you looking at?" you challenge, your irritation bubbling, unable to hold back.

"you." chris replies, his smirk widening with amusement swimming in his gaze. "you need a new supplier or somethin', kid?"

your eyebrow arches again, "who are you calling 'kid'?"

chris leans back against the wall, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features as his tongue rolls across his teeth, almost as if he's weighing your words. he then sniffs, the action a clear indication that he's taken something previously. "s'what is it that y'want? got weed, coke, pills, m—"

"pretty bold of you to assume that i'll even buy from you in the first place," you cut him off, noting the way his nostrils flare at your challenge, and a smile dances on your lips. "what? not used to being rejected?"

"rejected," he echoes with a breathy laugh, scratching at his jaw in mock contemplation. "s'funny 'cos uh... you're still here," his gaze locks onto yours. "you got that look in your eye too, y'know. obviously want somethin'... 'n right now, it seems like m'your best shot, yeah? 'cos your friend told me all about your lil' dealer runnin' off."

you cast a sidelong glance at your friend, who beams at you, her intoxication evident as she sways slightly. you can't blame her — she's just as frustrated about the disappearing dealer too.

turning your attention back to chris, you find him grinning as if he holds some secret power over you.. you can't help but laugh.

"you do realise that you're not the only dealer on campus, right?"

"known to be the best one," he replies quick, his voice dripping with confidence as he leans in slightly.

"i've only ever heard of you today," you point out, a smirk slipping across your face as you catch the twitch of his jaw, his eyes darkening with irritation. "so, you can't be that good.. kid."

[giuseppe-yuki]

i promise

daniel ricciardo x mermaid!reader

w.c.: 4.9k

warnings: curse words, mildly graphic violence/abuse, fluff with angst

summary: ever since you were a young mermaid, your father only had one rule, and one rule only- don’t go near the surface.

picture credits from pinterest :)

ever since you were a young mermaid, your father only had one rule, and one rule only- don’t go near the surface.

again and again, from before you could barely swim, your father would remind you and your sisters of the horrors that were above the gentle waves that you called your home- giant flying objects that whistled, great iron beasts that launched boulders, nets that scooped your fish friends into the great unknown, and the worst one, humans that hunted your species for fun. you recall curling underneath your weaved seaweed blankets trembling with fear when your father told these stories, imagining how these monsters could even bear to do such horrible things. your sisters, however, only laughed at you for being a scaredy fish, and instead begged for your father to tell them about the famous sirens that dragged the evil humans to their death.

afterwards, when all your sisters were sound asleep, dreaming their silly dreams of having their names scrawled in the books of myth with the famed temptresses like pisinoe, thelxiepeia and aglaope, you hugged your father tight and promised to never, ever, go to the surface.

you kept your promise from when you were little like an oath. in the mornings, after your father went to work treating the local sea life, you and your sisters swam out from the secret opening behind the kelp forest that was the entrance to the hidden cavern that you called your home. they always told your father they were out hunting for new accessories and jewelry, but you knew better. the minute you passed the long green strands of seaweed concealing your home, your sisters would flip their glittering fins and swim up, up, up. they would linger at the surface, with just the tops of their heads to their eyes peeking out, studying, waiting, for just the right moment to push an unsuspecting sailor into the water. meanwhile, you opted to dive lower towards the sandy floor towards the shipwrecks that littered the ground. there, hidden underneath the crumbling floorboards and in the broken cupboards, hid shiny gold coins and colorful rocks that you were so fond of.

when the water darkened and glowing orbs twinkled like distant fish scales above, you would swim your way back to your home, alone.

in you and your sisters’ shared bedrooms, you would carefully place your day’s work- several rings or a pretty pearl necklace, next to your growing collection. your sisters would swim in moments later, giggling about how they almost successfully drowned yet another vile man. to their own collection, they would add yet another golden compass, hand knife, or scrap of cloth. and when your father swam in, giving each one of you a hug and asked about your day, you would excitedly tell him about the gems you found while your sisters lied through their teeth about all the little sea creatures they visited. internally, you scorned your sisters for lying to your father. you would never do such things- you were obedient and a good daughter, after all, weren’t you?

of course you were. that’s why, on your father’s birthday, instead of following your sisters to the surface to try and hunt down a sailor for a trinket, you decided to swim to the lush beds of oysters next to the shore to collect pearls for a pretty little necklace. everyone knew that these specific oysters, albeit a teensy bit closer to the surface, held biggest, shiniest pearls that the ocean world has ever seen.

you sling your kelp-weaved bag over your shoulder as you weave your way through several schools of colorful fish towards the oysters. you even wave a ‘hello’ to emmy, the giant whale shark that you had grew fond of over time. emmy uses her echolocation to send a ‘hi’ back. the swim is brisk, and you arrive at your designation in no time- a spread of shiny gray-black oysters sat on a seabed of waving green kelp. tiny bubbles flow out of their shells, drifting towards the mysterious blue surface world.

reaching your hand out, you take one, then two oysters carefully and place them into your bag. honestly, you would probably need at least ten to make a decent necklace for your father. oysters number three and four plop gently into your bag after brushing away a few pesky blue crabs that had decided to infiltrate your serious harvesting session.

you are about to reach for a fifth oyster- a ginormous one that was guaranteed to house the centerpiece of the necklace, when suddenly, a weaved web descends upon you.

almost immediately, you drop your bag. fear flashes through you- hot and sharp. you hurriedly kick your fins, propelling yourself away from the net, but all it does is for you to knock sand everywhere and scatter the once-peaceful colony of oysters throughout the shallow bed. before you know it, the net ascends up, up, up towards the only place your father had said not to go- the surface.

the first thing you notice when you are above the calming waves of the place you call your home was how cold it was. gusts of air cool your sensitive skin, making you tremble. the sky, now clearer without the frothy waves of the ocean distorting it, looked strangely pretty. as you are dragged unceremoniously through the strangely dry sand, you look through the holes of the net to find an expanse of white sandy beach, littered with purpley-pink seashells. it is framed by rocky cliffs that are lined with stringy seaweed-like plants.

you come to a stop.

footsteps sound behind you, a thump-thump sound that makes your heart race. you try to turn in the net, but the rough fibers restrict your movement by digging roughly into your flesh.

“wow! looks like i caught a fat fish!” a voice exclaims.

it sounds masculine, a deep rumble with a slight lilt of an accent. a soft rustle above you sounds as the being untangles what you assume to be the top of the net.

when you feel the strands of the net fall away from around you, you whip around, as fast as you can.

to your surprise a man stares back at you with deep whiskey-brown eyes that are wide in surprise. his curls stick out every which way a worn brown tricorn hat, and his slightly parted lips are framed by a slight stubble.

you can’t help but look down. his toned chest peeks out his dirty linen shirt, and his muscular arms are frozen, still holding the damp net. he wears a rather ragged pair of trousers that are rolled up, showing off his legs. legs… legs!

he was a human.

a shrill scream erupts from your throat, and you leap back towards the surface of the ocean.

“please!” you cry, desperately trying to claw your way through the sand that coated your wet skin. “please…don’t hurt me!”

the mysterious man immediately drops the net, hands raised in a gesture of peace, a concerned look crossing his face. he looks as shocked to see you as you are of him.

“hey! hey! it’s okay!” he shouts. “i won’t hurt you now- i promise!”

true to his word, he backs up away from you, simultaneously yanking the offending net away behind his back.

you glance at him wearily, your father’s warnings and stories bouncing around your head. he had always told you that humans were evil, greedy creatures that would stop at nothing to capture your kind.

but now, looking at the human man standing in front of you, for the first time, you started to doubt your father.

yes, he was a human, but did it really matter? he was pretty, and you liked pretty things. your horde of glimmering gems and jewels at home would vouch for you. how could a gorgeous being like him ever do any wrong?

the man in front of you hesitantly opens his mouth.

“i’m- i’m daniel,” he says, reaching a hand out for you to shake before changing his mind and rests it awkwardly to his side. “i’m sorry i called you a fat fish earlier…i didn’t know you were a-“ he gestures vaguely to your shiny tail- “mermaid.”

you brush the guilty thoughts of what your father would think away from you, and instead, scooch closer on the hot sand towards daniel.

even when the setting sun the paints the both of you a luminous orange hours later and you both lie at the edge of water, you still continue to chat idly. it’s honestly mostly daniel talking, but you don’t mind. his voice is enchanting in a way, like how you assume the sirens that your sisters always dreamed to be would sound to sailors in the water. your fingers swirl shapes in the sand as daniel continues to tell you how one of his silly shipmates named lando broke their captain’s most beloved magnifying glasses after he knocked it off a table.

“…and then, lando just leaves the mess hall as if the max’s magnifying glass wasn’t just broken in like, four pieces on the ground!” he says, moving his hands animatedly.

you giggle, fins flicking a little bit of water into the air, but you aren’t listening to his story, and instead, studying his face.

noticing your stare, daniel lets out a laugh and a toothy grin that you have come to be familiar with quickly. “what? do i have something on my face?” he asks, tilting his head in question.

”well…” you say teasingly. leaping up as best as you can, you place a kiss on his cheek before diving into the waves in front of you.

when you emerge from the foamy tides, daniel now stands, stunned, one hand lightly pressed to the place where you pressed a kiss.

you can tell his face is dusted with red, like the smooth coral near your home. there’s no doubt that yours is too.

“it’s a goodbye kiss,“ you explain. “because i have to go- it’s getting dark. it was nice talking to you, danny!”

you wiggle your fingers in a goodbye and are about to dive back into the water when daniel lets out a shout.

“wait!” he yells, hurriedly patting his pockets.

you hesitate, turning back to his figure on the shore.

from his left pocket, he draws out a beautiful patterned handkerchief.

“for you,” he states, extending his arm towards you.

when you grab the soft material from his hand, you swear you feel an electrifying buzz that flows from him into you.

god, how were you going to hide this from your father?

cursing yourself for forgetting the time, you practically dash home through the kelp forest and into the secret entrance that led to the cavern you called your home. your sisters are home already, carefully wrapping various items, like a gold compass and silver eyeglass in shimmery jellyfish-paper.

selkie, one of your older sisters, approaches you with an smile when she sees you float in.

”well? where’s your gift for father?” she asks, eyes trailing over you to see if you had brought anything special in.

quickly, you reach to your side for your kelp bag full of oysters. however, it isn’t there.

fuck.

it was probably still sitting on the oyster bed, abandoned, after daniel had mistakenly reeled you in with his net.

you scratch your head.

”well, i- er…”

selkie wrinkles her eyebrows, perplexed. “where were you all day, then, if not finding a gift for father?”

your other sisters look over, temporarily pausing from wrapping the stolen knick-knacks from the sailors.

”let me guess,” your other sister, marina, says from the messy table. “you went to go peek at the hot mermen down by the underwater cove, weren’t you? and then you lost track of time?”

if only she knew that you were looking at a gorgeous man, just not one that lived in the sea.

“no!” you screech, cheeks feeling a little warm from the thought of daniel in the sun. ”i wasn’t! i swear!”

your sisters laugh, fully convinced they had caught you in a lie. suddenly, selkie stops laughing and narrows her eyes at you. her slender arm reaches out, quick as a swordfish, and snatches daniel’s handkerchief from your hand.

“what is this, dear sister?” she says, holding it up to the algae light source at the top of the room to study it better.

panicked, you snap your hand towards the valuable cloth and try and rip it out of your sister’s grasp, but she is quicker. the cloth flicks out of her hand in a perfect arc and is caught by marina, who had stopped cutting the jellyfish paper. your other sisters stop what they are doing and crowd in as well, wanting to catch a glimpse of the fabric.

“give that to me!” you exclaim, pushing your sisters aside to take back daniel’s handkerchief. they had no right taking it away from you.

marina lets out a gasp before you are able to reach her.

“this…this is a human handkerchief!”

whipping her head towards you, she raises her eyebrow and smiles at you in amusement.

“so, you’ve finally broken your silly little promise to father huh?” she balls up the material and throws it at you. “did you finally get the guts to go up to the surface and steal something special for father?”

“yeah, and she didn’t even succeed in getting anything either- all she stole was a piece of cloth,” one of your other sister interjects.

you ignore the giggles of your sisters and sniff angrily at marina before picking up the fallen handkerchief from the ground shoving it into a chest on your shelf of shiny treasures.

that night, you give your father a small necklace made of the rubies and diamonds you found on the sunken shipwrecks. it is a far cry from the pearl necklace you had promised to make him, but he thanks you appreciatively and gives you a big hug. after dinner, he makes a big speech about how he is so thankful for such kind, obedient, and beautiful daughters, and you feel just the teensiest bit guilty for lying to him for the first time ever. however, the thought of daniel’s smile wipes it all away, and you fall asleep that night with his handkerchief tucked under your sponge coral pillow.

when day breaks, you often find yourself traveling upwards towards the forbidden surface in the same direction as your sisters. while poke their heads up near the massive wooden ships with plenty of sailors to prey on, you instead glide your way towards the bed of oysters. daniel is always there, in his scraggly linen shirt and brown tricorn hat, when you pop your head out of the bubbly tides. when the sun above him creates a halo around his head of curls and he smiles at you with twinkling brown eyes, you swear he must be an angel of some type. you both talk about every topic in the book, about daniel’s shipmates on his fishing boat, about your silly sisters and their siren dreams, and about life in general. and when the sun sets, like the first day, you press a kiss to daniel’s rough stubble, and he gifts you with a new trinket for your collection. as time goes on, your usual collection of gems and jewels are overshadowed by the many items from daniel. your sisters question you from time to time, but you never answer them. daniel was a secret- an oath- that you vowed to keep to yourself forever. your sisters could never appreciate daniel the way you did.

it’s just like any other day when you swim out of the secret entrance, past the seaweed forest with your sisters. like always, they drift towards their normal spot near the big mighty human ships and bob in the water, watching as the little sailors on the boats raise their sails and tie their ropes. taking a sharp turn, you leave them there as you head towards the oyster bed towards danny. when you pop out of the lazy tides of the water, the familiar muscular figure of daniel is standing there on the sand, like he always is. he gives you a smile and a wave, making your heart leap in your chest. you waste no time in gliding towards the shore and pulling yourself onto a low-hanging flat rock near the water.

danny practically leaps through the dunes of sand to take a seat next to you, not caring that the right sides of his linen shirt and brown trousers grow a little damp from the water on your tail. carefully, he undos the laces on his worn-out boots, before tossing it aside and sticking his feet in the cool water of the ocean.

a minute of comfortable silence passes over your figures on the rock. even without looking, you know his eyes are trained not at the endless expanse of ocean in front of you, but rather, on you.

”what?” you question him, without breaking your gaze on the beautiful surface world.

daniel doesn’t flinch from being caught staring. instead, he just smiles, eyes crinkling.

“you know, you do kind of look like a siren sitting on this rock,” he declares, not hiding the way his big brown eyes rake over your body appreciatively. you see how his gaze lingers on your glittery tail for a slight moment, probably admiring the sheer rainbow scales.

your cheeks heat up, unused to compliments from men (a human one, at that).

“well, you better be careful, danny,” you joke, using your fin to splash some water at him, “i might just lure you in with a song and drag you into the waves to drown you.”

he laughs, using a tattooed hand to shield himself from some of the bigger droplets. “well,” he admits, “i might just let you pull me in- how can anyone resist your pretty wiles?”

to that, your cheeks flush even more, and you become a little shy, looking at daniel timidly through your long lashes.

it’s weird to think about it- a year ago, an offhand mention of coming into contact with a human would have sent you into a frenzy. what if they captured you? what if they hurt you? you can’t help but feel silly at your past thoughts. as if your danny would ever do that.

”oh! i forgot,” he says quietly, reaching into his pocket. “i have something for you.” from the depths of his pant pocket, he pulls out a silver ring set with moonstone, a beautiful cloudy white gem that sparkles in the midday sun. gently, he places it in your lap. the jewel is shaped like a perfect circle, reminding you of the glittery white pearls that your sisters often wore in their hair.

“d’ya like it?” he inquires, eyes scanning your face for your reaction. “i found the gem, and asked my mate yuki to set it in this ring, especially for you!”

especially for me? this was just another reason why danny was better than all of the rather plain mermen down below the waves. when had they ever made a pretty ring- just for you?

you slip the ring onto a finger to find that it fits perfectly- not too tight and not too loose. in a burst of emotion, you reach up and cup the side of daniel’s face and pull him into a deep kiss.

when you pull apart a minute later, with flushed faces and swollen lips, daniel looks at you slyly.

“i take it that you liked it?”

you whistle a sweet tune as you do a flip in the water, leaving the oyster bed and daniel behind. you can’t help but keep glancing at the ring on your finger. it now glowed red, sparkling in the rare reddish rays of the setting sun that penetrated the water, a polar opposite of the pearly white from hours ago on the surface. when you reach the ships, you swim barely below the surface, teasingly flipping your tail into the air once in a while. he loves me, he loves me, you giddly repeat to yourself. a sudden thought of you leading your father to the surface to meet daniel flashes in your mind and it sends a shiver of scandalous delight through your body. you giggle to yourself quietly, but that’s when you hear it.

an awful scream, one that sounds awfully like- selkie.

you pop your head hesitantly above the water, alert and on guard.

like you predicted there, a distance away, was selkie. she was being hauled up into one of the towering ships by her tail. to your horror, your sister flails uselessly against the side of the boat as a grinning sailor pulls on the rope wrapped tightly around her body, hefting her up one pull at a time. your eyes meet your sister’s just as the evil sailor pulls her onto the deck of towering ship, effectively cutting off any possible chance of you communicating to her.

what the fuck?

you don’t even have a chance to react before you find yourself leaping through the water towards her. what the hell just happened? your sisters had to be around here somewhere. how could they let selkie get captured just like that?

when you reach the boat, the absence of the rest of your sisters is obvious. you only see marina bobbing half-hidden underneath the surface, face streaked with tears. even if she looked like she was in visible distress, you can’t help but reach toward her roughly, shaking her.

“what are you doing hiding under the surface??” you demand. “didn’t you see? selkie was just captured! we have to get father, and- and- everyone, and save her!”

marina pushes you away, face contorted with obvious fear and anger. “don’t you understand?” she yells, “they took father and everyone else, okay?? if i go up there, they’re gonna take me too, and they’re gonna take us and chop us up and sell us and-“

unable to continue the sentence, marina breaks into uncontrollable sobs.

you aren’t even sure how to even begin to comprehend your sister’s sentence. father…? your sisters…? how…?

before you can react, a brown net blocks the line of vision of where your sister was. it yanks upwards with surprising speed, pulling the blurry shape of marina with it.

”NO!!” you shriek, desperately trying to grasp the net before it pulls away. alas, you miss it by a centimeter, and it lifts up, up, up, out of the water. you don’t even think before leaping out of the water, catching onto the net with one hand, your last hope of rescuing your sister. she peers down through the holes of the net with teary eyes, but makes no attempt to move, as if accepting her fate.

no, no, no, you think desperately, tears blurring your vision. you ignore the burn of the rope cutting deep into your fingers as you use your free hand to slash at the net while it swings in place, too heavy for one sailor to lift. your nails breaks a few strands of the hard rope, but truthfully, you and your sister both know it’s no use. above you, a sailor with blue watercolor eyes peeks over the railing, spots you dangling there, and laughs. the ribbons of his sailor’s hat shake as he laughs, and a gold-lined brooch, with a grotesque image of mermaid in the center, shines brightly, as if taunting you. he disappears back behind the railing, and the footsteps of several other sailors slap across the deck before the net begins slowly lifting upwards again. you know you can’t keep this up for long. your strength was slowly fading from clutching to the net.

reaching up, you attempt to hack at the net holding marina one last time when she slips her hand through one of the holes and squeezes your hand.

“go,” she says, strangely calm, eyes meeting yours. “go and save yourself. it’s too late for me, okay?”

you start to refuse, words clogging your throat as your emotions overwhelm you. it’s not too late, you want to say, i can do it! i’ll break the net and then i’ll save you, and then- and then- i’ll get on the boat, somehow- and then i’ll save father, and then selkie, and then everyone else, i swear! i can do it! please!

marina snakes her hand onto your shoulder, and pushes.

against your will, your grip falters on the net and you fall down, down, down, back into the ocean.

and when you swim back towards to surface, wanting to tell marina to come back, come back, please, she has disappeared over the edge of the towering ship.

the salty tears that you cry disappear in the ocean around you as you flee like you never cried at all. the fish around you swim gleefully, as if you hadn’t just had your father and sisters ripped from you. the orangey-reddish glow of the setting sun continues to filter through the water, and the calming red glow now taunts you. the seaweed on the bottom of the ocean floor waves side to side in a calming rhythm, but all it does is remind you of the front door of your secret home, that you once shared with your sisters and father. emmy, the whale shark, blows a bubble ring at you in hello as she swims by. you don’t know why, but you punch the bubble ring, as hard as you can, shattering it into tiny bubbles, causing emmy to swerve away in fear. it’s weird, how fast your life can change. one minute you were sitting with daniel, one hand in his curls and his lips glued to yours, and the next you were- wait. daniel. he could help you! he was human, wasn’t he? he could talk to the evil sailors and convince them to release your sisters and father! they’d listen to him- he’s so nice and charismatic, he’s bound to be able to persuade them.

daniel was sitting on the beach where you had left him half an hour ago, when you approach the shore, drawing shapes in the sand. he seems surprised to see you, but immediately jumps up from the sand and waddles into the ocean. his boots and the bottoms of his pants become drenched with seawater, but he continues deeper into the water until he meets you in the middle.

smiling from ear to ear, he starts to say, “you missed me so much that you came back?” in a teasing tone, but his face immediately drops into a concerned one, once he realizes the droplets of water on your face are not from the ocean, and are in fact leaking from your eyes. he immediately opens his arms, as if inviting you in.

you swim into his arms, hands clutching to his muscled shoulders for dear life.

“hey baby, what’s wrong?” he asks, patting your back in an up and down motion comfortingly.

as memories of the traumatic kidnappings of your family flash through your mind, you begin to sob even harder. you are sure that your steady stream of tears could fill an entire ocean, at this point.

daniel doesn’t pry, like the kind-hearted person he is, and continues to run a hand gently down your back until your sobs have quieted down to occasional hiccups and you are ready to tell him what has happened.

he carries you gently to the upper shore, and sits with you, chest deep in water, while you tell him the events that occurred after you left- selkie being hoisted up onto the boat, marina getting caught in the net, the sailor with the brooch laughing at you, and marina pushing you away. when you finish, you grasp his hands, and plead with him to save your family from whatever awful fate was awaiting them on the ship, fresh tears rolling down your face.

he agrees almost immediately, and assures you, tomorrow- tomorrow, we will go, and i will save them for you, i promise, i promise.

and you believe him. the sun had set, and there was nothing you could do in the dark of night. all there was to do was to wait for tomorrow. so, when your quivering body calms, curled in deep sleep by the rocking waves of the shallow water and the comforting embrace of danny’s arms, he reaches up, and adjusts the collar of his linen shirt, making sure the gold-lined brooch, with a little mermaid engraved in the center, is still hidden. he then reaches down and gently slips the moonstone ring off of your finger and slips it into his pocket for next time. his work here was done. now all he had to do was to wait for max and lando to come haul you into the ship, and then they could go to the next location. he smiles, looking at your peaceful body entwined so willingly- so trustingly- against him, and can’t help but laugh. mermaids were so easy to trick.

a/n: i think i am just incapable of giving my fics good titles ;-; someone save me and help me give this one a better name please 🙏

[novaursa]

hello

Can I have a fem!twin sister Jace, Where she always knew that Hardin was her father and she really loved him, but Daemon kinda take her as her heir and daughter.

She got engaged to Aemond but after Lucerys death they cancel it and during the war she don’t know what side choose. She really love her « husband » but her loyalty goes to the black (maybe because of daemon)

She ride Cannibal and goes to the battle of rooks rest but Aemond and Vhagar can’t attack her.

Idk how you can end it but I’m sure you can do it 🫶🏼♥️

Cursed in Flames

- Summary: You face Aemond at Rook’s Rest. And Dance of the Dragons is never the same again.

- Paring: niece!reader/Aemond Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 3 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The news reaches you like a shadow across the sea, darkening the horizon of your mind with its terrible weight. You are standing on the cliffs of Dragonstone, watching the waves crash against the rocks far below, when you hear Daemon's footsteps approach. The air is filled with the scent of salt and storm, and the sky above is a heavy gray, mirroring the turmoil in your heart.

You do not turn to look at him immediately, sensing the gravity of what he is about to say. You have always known Daemon’s stride—deliberate, commanding, yet with a subtle grace that betrays his Targaryen blood. It is the same stride he had when he came to you as a child, kneeling before you and whispering tales of dragonfire and ancient Valyria, the stories that shaped your dreams and nightmares alike. But this time, there is something else, a tension in his movements that you have rarely seen, a tension that makes your heart clench in your chest.

"Your brother," Daemon begins, his voice as cold as the wind that whips around you, "is dead."

The words slice through you, sharper than any blade, and you feel the ground beneath you sway as though it, too, has been struck. For a moment, the world stops. The roaring of the waves, the howling of the wind, all of it fades into a deafening silence that drowns you. The image of Luke—sweet, gentle Luke—flashes before your eyes. His bright smile, his laughter that could fill even the darkest of days with light, now extinguished.

You finally turn to Daemon, your eyes wide with disbelief, as if willing him to say it is a mistake, a cruel jest. But Daemon’s face is set in stone, his violet eyes hard and unreadable.

"Aemond," he continues, his voice dropping to a low growl, "killed him. Vhagar devoured Arrax. There was nothing left."

A gasp escapes your lips, and your knees threaten to buckle. The storm inside you breaks free, a torrent of emotions—grief, rage, betrayal—rushing through you all at once. You clutch your chest, as if trying to hold your heart together, but it is no use. The pieces are already shattered, scattered to the winds.

"Aemond," you whisper, the name a curse and a lament all at once. The man you were once betrothed to, the man who had once held your hand in a secret alcove of the Red Keep, who had once whispered words of love and promises of the future—he is now a stranger, a monster. How could he? The question rings in your mind, but there is no answer, only the hollow echo of your heartbreak.

Daemon watches you carefully, his expression unyielding. He has never been one for softness, not even with you, his niece whom he raised as his own daughter. But there is something in his gaze now, a flicker of something almost akin to sorrow. He steps closer, placing a hand on your shoulder. His grip is firm, steadying.

"This engagement is null," he states, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Aemond is no longer your betrothed. He is an enemy of our house, an enemy of yours."

You nod, though your mind is barely able to comprehend the words. The engagement had meant something once, a bridge between the two branches of your family, a hope for peace. But that hope has been dashed upon the rocks like a ship in a storm. There is nothing left but the wreckage.

"He was once... everything to me," you confess, your voice trembling. "How could he do this, Daemon? How could he kill Luke?"

Daemon's eyes narrow, a flash of fire in their depths. "Aemond is a creature of rage and pride, blinded by the lust for power and vengeance. He cares for nothing but his own glory, his own twisted sense of honor. Whatever feelings you thought he had for you, whatever feelings you had for him, they are ash now."

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the sob that threatens to escape. But it is futile. The tears spill over, hot and bitter. Daemon pulls you into a tight embrace, his arms a cage of protection and power. He has never been one to coddle you, but in this moment, he offers you the only comfort he knows how to give—his strength, his presence.

"We will make them pay, all of them," Daemon murmurs into your hair, his voice dark with promise. "For Luke, for our family. This war will not end until the debt is paid in full."

You nod against his chest, the pain in your heart hardening into something colder, sharper. Aemond’s face lingers in your mind, the way he looked at you when you were children, the way his eyes darkened with something more when you were older. But that is all it is now—a memory, a ghost of a past that no longer exists.

You pull back from Daemon, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand. Your heart still aches, but there is a new resolve in you, a determination to survive this, to fight for your family, for Luke.

“I will not forget,” you say quietly, your voice steady now. “But I will not let it destroy me, either.”

Daemon nods, a glimmer of approval in his eyes. “Good. We Targaryens are made of fire and blood. Remember that.”

As you stand there, the wind whipping through your hair, you let the words sink in. Fire and blood. That is what you are, what you have always been. The storm may rage on, but you will not be broken by it.

Cannibal’s distant roar echoes through the skies, and you lift your chin, feeling the fire within you begin to burn anew. Aemond may have taken Luke, but he has not taken your will, your strength. You will rise from these ashes, stronger than before. And when the time comes, you will face him—Aemond, the man who was once your betrothed, now your enemy—and you will show him what it truly means to be a Targaryen.

The wind bites at your face as Cannibal’s wings slice through the cold air. You’ve always felt most alive in these moments—when you are at one with the beast beneath you, the two of you merging into a single entity of power and purpose. You are no longer just the daughter of Princess Rhaenyra and the secret of Harwin Strong; you are a force of nature, the rider of the wildest and most feared of dragons. Cannibal roars, a sound that shakes the sky, and you cannot help but feel a grim satisfaction as you see Rook’s Rest below, knowing what is about to unfold.

Aemond Targaryen waits, hidden in the clouds atop Vhagar, the ancient dragon’s formidable presence a weight on the horizon. Aegon is beside him, perched on Sunfyre, whose golden scales glitter like a false promise in the pale daylight. They expect Melys, Rhaenys's scarlet queen, but what they get is something far more dangerous. Something personal.

Your heart beats a war drum’s rhythm in your chest as you approach, hidden by the sun behind you. They don’t see you coming, not at first. And when they do, it’s not Aegon who reacts but Aemond—his shock visible even from the distance. You can imagine his single eye widening, his lips parting in disbelief.

"It cannot be…" he breathes, low enough that only Vhagar might hear him. His thoughts spin in confusion and regret, the memories of what you once were to him clashing with the reality of the battle about to unfold. He’d thought you were lost to him, that the broken engagement was a final, irreparable severing of your fates. But now, here you are, as fierce and untamable as the dragon you ride.

Cole signals Aegon, and the elder brother does not hesitate. Aegon gives Sunfyre his head, and the golden dragon surges forward with all the arrogance and bravado his rider commands. The roar that splits the sky is not just from the dragon, but from Aegon himself, taunting, dismissive.

"Come to burn, have you?" Aegon shouts over the wind. "You’ll find this fire too hot!"

But you don’t respond with words. Cannibal lets loose a torrent of flame, a blackened blaze that reeks of burnt flesh and bones long devoured. The sky darkens with the ash of it, and Aegon’s confidence flickers like a candle in a storm. You feel the heat radiating off your dragon, the primal joy of the hunt thrumming through your bond.

Aemond watches, frozen in place. "Aegon, no!" he shouts, but his voice is swallowed by the roar of dragons and the rush of wind. He can only watch as the two dragons clash.

Cannibal is a creature of nightmares, his blackened scales absorbing the light, making him seem as though he is forged from shadow itself. He dives at Sunfyre with feral speed, his jaws snapping inches from Aegon’s arm. Sunfyre counters with a blast of flame, but Cannibal’s agility is unmatched. He twists in the air, dodging the fire as if it were a mere inconvenience.

Sunfyre is beautiful, a dragon that could have inspired a thousand songs. But beauty is no match for brutality. Cannibal rips into Sunfyre with a savagery that leaves you breathless, his claws tearing through the golden dragon’s wing, nearly severing it from his body. Aegon’s scream echoes in the heavens as he struggles to keep control, the pain of his dragon searing through their bond.

"Aegon!" Aemond roars again, urging Vhagar to move, but his dragon hesitates, sensing his rider’s turmoil. Vhagar is the mightiest of dragons, older than the rest, her wisdom far beyond Aemond’s years. She feels his conflict, the war inside him, and it makes her pause.

You see Aemond’s struggle, the way his grip tightens on Vhagar’s reins, the way his gaze locks onto you even as his brother is mauled in the sky. For a moment, you wonder if he will join the fray, if he will strike you down as he did Luke. But then his eye meets yours, and you see something unexpected—fear, not of you, but for you. The realization sends a cold shiver down your spine, but you don’t have time to dwell on it.

Cannibal snaps his jaws around Sunfyre’s neck, dragging the dragon down toward the ground. They crash through the trees, Sunfyre’s scream a thing of agony as he thrashes, desperately trying to free himself from the relentless assault. Cannibal’s fire ignites the forest below, turning the world into a hellscape of flame and shadow. Sunfyre’s golden scales are marred with blood and soot, his body a broken thing beneath the ferocity of your dragon.

Aemond watches in horror, his mind torn between duty and something far more dangerous—his heart. "Vhagar," he murmurs, "we have to stop this…"

But Vhagar, ancient and wise, does not attack. She circles above, watching, waiting. She feels the bond between her rider and the girl who should have been his wife, and she knows this is a battle not just of dragons, but of souls.

Finally, with a roar that shakes the heavens, Vhagar descends. Her massive form blots out the sun as she lands, the earth trembling beneath her weight. She crashes into Cannibal with all the force of a falling star, but she does not strike to kill. Instead, she pins Cannibal beneath her, her jaws snapping inches from his throat. The wild dragon thrashes, but Vhagar’s strength is unmatched. She holds him there, a warning, not a death sentence.

You feel Cannibal’s fury, his frustration, but also his grudging respect for the older dragon. The battle is over, for now. You sense Aemond’s hesitation, the war raging within him as he prepares to dismount.

But he doesn’t move, not yet. He looks down at you, at the girl he once loved, the girl he might still love, and his world tilts on its axis.

For the first time since the Dance began, Aemond Targaryen does not know what to do. And as Vhagar holds Cannibal pinned beneath her, you both realize that this battle was never just about dragons.

It was always about you.

And it always will be.

The ground rushes up to meet you as you leap from Cannibal’s saddle. The impact is brutal, a shockwave of pain that ripples through your body as you hit the earth with a resounding thud. The air is forced from your lungs, and for a terrifying moment, you can’t breathe. You gasp, struggling to draw in even a sliver of air, your vision darkening at the edges. But you force yourself to move, to push through the pain. You cannot afford to be weak now, not with him approaching.

Aemond’s boots crunch on the scorched ground as he strides toward you, his expression unreadable. You see him through a haze of pain, your vision slowly clearing as your breath comes in ragged gasps. Instinctively, you push yourself up, your muscles screaming in protest, but you will not be caught helpless. Not by him. 

Before you can fully regain your footing, Aemond’s arms are around you, capturing you in a firm, unyielding embrace. His chest presses against your back, his grip like iron as you struggle against him. The more you thrash, the tighter his hold becomes, but he doesn’t hurt you. His voice, when it comes, is a low, soothing murmur in High Valyrian, a language that wraps around you like a soft cloak.

"Beloved, be still in my arms," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. "Calm down." 

The words are tender, almost loving, and they cut through your panic like a knife. His grip doesn’t loosen, but it no longer feels like a prison. Instead, it’s a strange comfort, his presence grounding you as your breath slowly returns to normal. The fight drains from your limbs, leaving only the exhaustion and the ache of what’s just happened.

When you finally stop resisting, Aemond’s grip eases, and he gently turns you to face him. You expect anger, fury even, for what you’ve done to his brother. But as you look into his eye, you find something else entirely—uncertainty. He stares at you as if you’re a puzzle he cannot solve, his usual confidence shaken.

"Aegon…" His voice is rougher now, tinged with something that almost sounds like regret. "You just struck down the King."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with the weight of what they mean. Aegon Targaryen, the King, your uncle—his blood is on your hands now, as much as Cannibal’s. But you feel no guilt, only a cold, burning anger that flares to life at Aemond’s accusation.

"Like you killed Luke," you snap back, your voice laced with venom. The shadow of your father, Daemon, looms large in that moment, his defiance, his unyielding spirit echoing in your words. "You think I care for your brother’s crown when you stole my brother’s life?"

Aemond’s lips twitch, the barest hint of a smile forming as he watches you, admiring the fire in your eyes. It’s as though he expected this from you, and it pleases him to see you still have that flame burning within. He takes a step closer, his expression softening into something dangerously close to affection.

"Always so fierce," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a tone that is meant for you alone. "Just as I remember. Just as you’ve always been."

You can’t decide whether to move away or to stay rooted to the spot. His presence is overwhelming, intoxicating, and despite everything, a part of you aches for the connection you once shared. Before the bloodshed, before the war tore you apart. But the uncertainty gnaws at you, and you remain still as he reaches out, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"Even now, I find myself drawn to you," he admits, his tone almost wistful. "Your strength, your fire... It’s what made me want you then, and what makes me want you now."

His words lull you, and despite yourself, you feel the tension in your body begin to ease. There is something in his voice, something genuine, that pulls at the frayed edges of your heart. But before you can fully comprehend what is happening, a shout cuts through the moment.

"My Prince!" Ser Criston Cole’s voice is sharp, commanding as he approaches. His armor is still bloodied from the skirmish, his face set in a stern mask. "Seize her! She is an enemy, a traitor to the crown!"

Aemond stiffens, the tender moment evaporating like mist in the sun. He turns to face Cole, his expression darkening as he steps protectively in front of you. 

"I will do no such thing," Aemond says coldly, his voice hard as steel. "She is mine."

Cole looks shocked, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Prince Aemond, this is treason. The girl—"

"Is to be my wife," Aemond cuts him off, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We will wed in the tradition of Old Valyria. She will be my queen."

Cole’s face pales, his eyes darting between you and Aemond as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. "This is madness," he insists, his voice rising with urgency. "The council will never accept it. The people—"

"The people," Aemond snaps, his patience wearing thin, "will accept what I tell them to accept. And if they do not, they will burn for their defiance. As will anyone who dares stand between me and her."

The threat is clear, and Cole flinches, realizing the seriousness in Aemond’s tone. He knows better than to challenge a dragon when its fire is so close to the surface. But still, he tries once more, his voice lowering in an attempt to reason with his prince.

"Think of the consequences, my prince," Cole urges, almost pleading now. "This could tear the realm apart."

Aemond’s gaze never wavers as he replies, his voice chillingly calm. "The realm is already torn apart. If it must burn, then it will burn with us as its rulers."

You watch the exchange with a mix of awe and dread. Aemond’s declaration sends a shiver down your spine, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. He’s serious—deadly serious. And in that moment, you realize there’s no escaping the path that has been set for you.

Aemond turns back to you, his expression softening once more as he reaches out to take your hand. His grip is firm, but not forceful, as though he’s offering you a choice, even if you both know that choice was taken from you the moment you leapt from Cannibal’s saddle.

"Come," he says softly, his voice a stark contrast to the fury he directed at Cole. "Let us finish what was started so long ago."

You look up into his eye, searching for some hint of deception, some sign that this is all a cruel trick. But all you find is resolve—and something else, something that looks very much like hope.

Before you can answer, Vhagar releases Cannibal, the great dragon rising from her position with a low, rumbling growl. Cannibal stirs, but he does not attack. Instead, he rises slowly, his eyes locked on Vhagar as he acknowledges her strength, if not her dominance. There’s a truce in the air, fragile as gossamer, but for now, it holds.

Aemond squeezes your hand, his gaze never leaving yours. "Together," he murmurs, his voice filled with a dangerous promise. "As it was always meant to be."

And as you stand there, caught between what was and what will be, you realize that there is no turning back. Not for you, not for Aemond, not for the realm. The dance is far from over, and now, it will be danced to a different tune—a tune of fire and blood, of love and hate, of destiny and defiance.

And you will dance it with him, until the very end.

[alyrasturnz]

can you do a professor matt fanfic please

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ TEACHERS PET

❐ summary » when y/n finds herself on the brink of failure, desperation seeps into her every action, driving her to seek assistance with an intensity that borders on frantic.

❐ pairings » professor!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » oral (m receiving), cream pie, overstimulation, age gap

❐ a/n && w/c » jake peralta is so hot 😕 do we want a jake peralta fic • 3.02k

you were the paragon of virtue, the golden child who navigated the treacherous waters of youth with unwavering precision. your report cards gleamed with the brilliance of straight a's, and your name was synonymous with diligence and integrity. teachers sang your praises, and trouble was a distant storm that never touched your shores.

but now, the winds have shifted. the once-clear skies of your academic journey have darkened with ominous clouds. your grades, once as steady as the north star, have begun to waver, dipping and diving like a ship caught in a tempest. the whispers of concern have grown louder, and the familiar path you tread has become fraught with uncertainty.

your once-sterling grades, once the envy of your peers, had begun a slow, inexorable decline, and you found yourself adrift in a sea of confusion, unable to pinpoint the cause of your academic descent. it was this very uncertainty that had prompted your professor, a figure of authority and wisdom, to summon you to his office, seeking to unravel the mystery behind your faltering performance.

he was the professor that every student coveted, the one whose lectures were attended as much for his intellectual prowess as for his undeniable allure. his presence commanded the room, and his striking appearance only added to the magnetic pull he had over his students.

thus, you resolved to seize this moment as the ideal opportunity to weave a spell of seduction around him.

it was a win-win situation. you would have the chance to engage in a clandestine affair with the most desirable professor on campus while simultaneously navigating a path to academic redemption.

your fingers brushed against the cold, unyielding metal of the doorknob, the sensation sending a shiver up your spine. with deliberate slowness, you began to turn it, each millimeter of movement accompanied by the faintest creak, until finally, a soft, almost imperceptible click echoed in the stillness. the door yielded to your touch, swinging open with a quiet sigh.

he was seated at his desk, the soft glow of the laptop illuminating his features. his fingers moved with a practiced grace, dancing across the keyboard with a rhythm that spoke of both familiarity and focus. each keystroke seemed to weave a tapestry of thoughts and ideas, a silent symphony of intellect and intent.

you bit your bottom lip, a mischievous smirk playing on your face as you sauntered in, the air around you charged with a palpable sense of anticipation.

his gaze snapped towards you, eyes narrowing with a mix of curiosity and intent. “y/n, take a seat," he commanded, his voice a low rumble as he closed his laptop with a decisive click. you closed the door behind you, the soft thud resonating in the room, and with a stealthy twist, you turned the lock. your heels clicked on the hardwood floor, each step echoing the tension that hung in the air.

you gracefully lowered yourself onto the seat in front of his desk, your eyes keenly observing as matt rummaged through his drawers, his movements deliberate and methodical. he eventually extracted a stack of papers, each one seeming to carry the weight of unspoken secrets and untold stories.

"how have you been?" he inquired, placing the papers on his desk with a measured precision before leaning forward, resting his elbows on the polished surface. his gaze locked onto yours, penetrating and earnest. "anything going on at home?"

you shook your head gently, a subtle motion that spoke volumes. "i've been fine," you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper. he nodded in response, the gesture carrying an unspoken understanding.

"well, y/n, it has come to my attention that your grades have been slipping. any idea why?" he inquired, his eyebrows arching in a display of both concern and curiosity.

you offered a soft shrug, your gaze falling to the floor, a silent admission of uncertainty. he sighed, the sound heavy with unspoken worries.

"look, you're a good student. i know you can do better than this," he said, his fingers threading through his hair, pausing momentarily as if seeking solace in the familiar motion. his hand lingered, then slowly swept back, a gesture that conveyed his deep-seated concern and earnest hope for your improvement.

your voice took on a softer, more alluring tone, each word carefully chosen to convey sincerity. "professor, is there anything i can do to improve my grade?" you asked, your eyes searching his for a glimmer of understanding and guidance.

he furrowed his eyebrows, deep lines etching across his forehead as he tried to decipher your intentions. "what are you implying, y/n?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of confusion and curiosity.

"well... i have a couple of things in mind," you said, batting your eyelashes with a hint of playful mischief. as you stood up and walked towards him, you twirled a strand of hair around your finger, each step deliberate and filled with subtle allure.

for a moment, it seemed like he might give in, his gaze softening ever so slightly. but then, with a resolute shake of his head, his expression hardened, becoming stern and unyielding. "no, y/n. sit down and let’s discuss this properly before you do something you’ll regret," he commanded, his tone strict and authoritative, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

you sighed and sat down, the weight of his seriousness settling over you. as he began to outline a plan for extra lessons, his voice steady and methodical, you nodded in agreement, all the while your mind was already weaving the threads of your next move, plotting a new course of action.

he had handed you a stack of meticulously prepared worksheets, each one brimming with questions designed to test your understanding and earn you extra credit.

you placed the tip of your pen between your teeth, leaning back in your chair with a thoughtful demeanor. your eyes lingered on your professor, a blend of curiosity and contemplation dancing within them. as you observed him, the gears of your mind visibly turned.

he was diligently grading tests on his laptop, his gaze unwavering and intense. his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, creating deep lines on his forehead, as he meticulously assessed each answer with a discerning eye.

you decided to adopt a different strategy. with a deliberate motion, you unbuttoned your shirt slightly, allowing it to fall open just enough to reveal the delicate lace of your bra, a subtle yet provocative gesture meant to shift the dynamics of the moment.

you “accidentally” let your pen slip from your grasp, and as it clattered to the floor, you stood up with measured grace. bending over slowly to retrieve it, you couldn't help but notice the fleeting flicker in his eyes, a brief betrayal of his struggle to maintain a veneer of professionalism amidst the subtle tension.

"y/n, stop it," he finally uttered, his voice laden with strain. a smirk played on your lips as you sauntered towards him, each step deliberate and charged with intent.

"what am i doing, professor? do you think i'm attempting to seduce you?" you asked, batting your eyelashes with feigned innocence. "perhaps it's you who desires me, and you simply can't bring yourself to admit it," you continued, your voice dripping with a mix of challenge and allure.

his jaw tightened, but he struggled to maintain his composure. "just focus on your work, y/n," he commanded, his voice barely concealing the tension. but you merely smirked, the challenge in your eyes unmistakable.

you could see the conflict in his eyes, a tempest of emotions swirling within as he waged an internal battle against his own desires. each fleeting glance and furrowed brow betrayed the struggle he faced, torn between his sense of duty and the undeniable pull of his longing.

you gracefully settled yourself onto his lap, your hands finding their place upon his shoulders. as your touch connected, he let out a shaky exhale, the breath escaping him like a whisper of surrender.

you leaned in close, your lips a mere breath away from his ear. in a voice as soft as a summer breeze, you whispered, "professor, don't you want to feel alive?" your words hung in the air, a tantalizing promise of forbidden exhilaration.

it was the breaking point. the dam of his self-control shattered, and in that moment, his resolve crumbled. before he knew it, his lips crashed against yours in a fervent and passionate embrace, the culmination of all the suppressed desires that had been simmering beneath the surface.

your fingers became entangled in the silken strands of his hair, while his hands instinctively found their place upon your waist, anchoring you both in a moment of shared intimacy.

he swiftly reached down to unfasten his belt, the sound of the leather hitting the floor echoing in the room. all the while, he kept your lips connected, not breaking the kiss even as he deftly unzipped his jeans.

he reluctantly disconnected your lips, allowing his kisses to trail slowly down your skin, each one a lingering promise. as he descended, he deftly pulled his length free from the confines of his boxers, his movements deliberate and filled with a restrained intensity.

you felt his length make contact with your abdomen, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips. the sensation was both unexpected and electrifying, sending a shiver through your entire being.

your eyes fluttered open, drawn downward to the sight of his length. your lips parted involuntarily, a silent expression of the myriad emotions coursing through you.

you felt the cool, almost electrifying touch of his fingertips as they brushed against your thigh, sending a cascade of shivers through your body. his grip tightened momentarily, a silent promise of what was to come.

with a practiced ease, his hand journeyed to your core, deftly sliding your underwear to the side. as his fingers began their slow, deliberate exploration, each movement was a symphony of sensation, resonating through every fiber of your being. your breath hitched, anticipation and desire intertwining in a dance as old as time itself.

a soft moan escaped your lips, intertwining with his guttural groan. "you’re so tight," he grumbled, his voice a rough whisper of desire. with each thrust of his fingers, a rhythm was established, an intimate dance of passion and need. your body responded instinctively, arching towards him, each movement a silent plea for more.

he continued to pump his fingers in and out, each movement more deliberate and intense than the last. your breath quickened, your body trembling with each wave of pleasure that coursed through you. his eyes locked onto yours, a primal hunger evident in his gaze. “so wet f’me,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. you could feel the tension building within you, every nerve ending alight with sensation.

he withdrew his fingers, leaving a void where ecstasy once thrived. the intense pleasure that had enveloped you began to wane, replaced by a sense of longing. a soft whine escaped your lips, a testament to the sudden absence of his touch. the air seemed to thicken with the lingering heat of your shared intimacy, a silent plea hanging between you.

he patted your thigh with a firm yet gentle touch, his voice a commanding whisper, "stand up." the words carried an undeniable authority, compelling you to rise. his eyes bore into yours, leaving no room for hesitation.

"on your knees," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. without a moment's hesitation, you slid off his lap and sank gracefully onto your knees, your movements a fluid response to his authoritative directive.

he seized your head with a firm grip, guiding you with a forceful urgency. his length thrust into your mouth, each movement deliberate and unyielding, leaving you to adjust to the intensity of his desire.

as he continued, the rhythm grew more insistent, each thrust a testament to his overwhelming need. the room seemed to pulse with the raw energy of the moment, every sensation heightened, every breath a shared experience. your senses were engulfed, the world outside fading into insignificance.

the intensity of the connection left you breathless, every fiber of your being attuned to his movements. the room seemed to blur, the only clarity found in the rhythm you shared. your hands gripped his thighs, grounding yourself in the midst of the overwhelming sensations.

he thrust into your throat with an unrelenting force, causing your eyes to water as you struggled to accommodate his length. the intensity of the moment was palpable, each movement drawing forth a fresh wave of sensation, leaving you on the precipice of surrender.

soon enough, his movements became more urgent, pounding into your mouth with a final series of thrusts. you felt the warm, liquid release stream down your throat as he let out a deep, guttural groan, each sound resonating with the culmination of his desire.

you stood up, and he followed suit, swiftly positioning himself behind you. with a firm hand on your back, he pushed you against his desk, the suddenness of the movement eliciting a gasp from your lips. the unexpected force left you breathless, the cool surface of the desk contrasting sharply with the heat of the moment.

your chest pressed firmly against the cool surface of his desk as he tore your underwear apart with a swift, decisive motion, the fabric ripping audibly before he discarded it onto the desk. the sensation of the sudden exposure sent a shiver down your spine, heightening the tension in the room.

"hey!" you exclaimed, turning your head back to face him, your voice carrying a mix of surprise and indignation.

"i'll get you a new one," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive promise as he ran his tip along your folds. "so wet," he whispered, the words dripping with a mixture of admiration and desire.

a sigh escaped your lips, a soft, involuntary response to the sensation that coursed through you.

and without warning, his hips collided with yours, sending a blinding cascade of stars across your vision.

"fuck!" you cursed, feeling your walls violently pulsate against his girthy length, each throb a testament to the overwhelming intensity coursing through you.

his hand flew to your mouth, stifling any sound as he momentarily withdrew his hips, only to thrust back in with a force that elicited a loud, unrestrained moan from your lips.

"keep quiet. you can do that for me, hm?" he gritted through his teeth, his voice a strained whisper. You nodded, your eyes fluttering shut, surrendering to the command with a silent promise.

"mhm," you moaned out, a soft sound escaping your lips. he smirked, removing his hand from your mouth, and began to rut his hips against yours with a deliberate, primal rhythm.

he picked up the torn garment, forcefully stuffing it into your mouth, effectively silencing you as you let out a muffled moan.

"such a whore, fucking your professor," he tutted, his voice dripping with condescension, as you responded with inaudible moans, your body betraying your struggle for restraint.

he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear, whispering, "i wonder what they'd think if they knew." your moans grew more desperate, each sound a testament to the tangled web of desire and shame enveloping you.

his hand trailed down your body, fingers dancing over your skin, igniting sparks of sensation. "do you like this?" he murmured, his voice a low, taunting whisper. your body responded with a shiver, an involuntary arch of your back, as you let out another muffled moan.

he smirked at your reaction, his eyes darkening with a mix of satisfaction and desire. "i thought so," he said, his tone dripping with arrogance. his hand continued its journey, each touch a reminder of the power he held over you, as you struggled to maintain control over your own body.

as his length found that exquisite nexus within you, your eyes fluttered shut, rolling back in sheer ecstasy, while he relentlessly drove into you, each thrust a merciless symphony of pleasure and intensity.

"sir—" you moaned, your voice barely a whisper, lost in the symphony of your shared ecstasy.

“hold it," he commanded, his voice a low growl, even as he continued his relentless, unyielding rhythm, each thrust a testament to his unwavering dominance.

your body quivered under his command, every nerve ending ignited by the intensity of his movements. you struggled to obey, the overwhelming sensation pushing you to the edge.

each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, making it nearly impossible to comply. your breaths came in ragged gasps, and you clung to the last threads of control, desperate to hold on as he demanded.

your eyes fluttered shut, rolling back as the knot in your stomach coiled tighter, a tempest of sensation threatening to consume you entirely.

each wave of pleasure built upon the last, cascading through your body with an intensity that left you breathless, teetering on the brink of surrender.

tears welled up in your eyes, a testament to the overwhelming flood of sensations that coursed through you, each one amplifying the other in a symphony of overstimulation.

each tear that escaped carried with it the weight of the pleasure and intensity, a silent testament to the depths of your experience, leaving you on the precipice of surrender.

"please," you murmured, your voice a mere whisper, almost lost amidst the symphony of sensations, a desperate plea woven into the very air around you.

he leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear, and whispered, “give it to me, slut.” finally, with a knowing smile, he granted you release. the tension that had built up within you snapped like a taut string, and the waves of ecstasy crashed over you with an overwhelming force.

your body trembled, each convulsion a testament to the intensity of the moment, leaving you breathless and utterly spent, yet deeply fulfilled.

he thrusted into you, his movements becoming more urgent, and with a final, powerful thrust, his release surged through you, intertwining with your own, creating an intimate blend of shared ecstasy.

[fakeredhead95]

Mark Grayson X F Best Friend

First ever time writing so be nice!

CW: MDNI, SMUT, 18+ ,

1183 WORDS

The salty air whipped through your hair as you watched Mark chase the retreating waves, his laughter echoing across the empty beach. “This is the life y/n!” He was a whirlwind of energy, always moving, always joking.  You’d known him since you were kids and even though you were both in your late twenties now, he still managed to make you feel like a giddy teenager whenever you were together.  “Come on Mark let's get you out of the sea before it gets too dark” you called. “You do remember I’m a superhero right?” called Mark. “Just shut it and hurry up” you laughed.

You’d come to the beach for a night of stargazing, a spontaneous decision fueled by a bottle of wine and a shared craving for the ocean. The sky was a canvas of glittering stars, the moon casting a silver sheen on the water. It was one of those nights that felt like a secret, a moment just for you two, tucked away from the world. 

Mark returned, his hair damp from the spray, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He sat beside you, shoulders slightly brushing against yours a warmth spread through you. It wasn’t just the summer night, it was the way he looked at you, the way his eyes held a depth you’d never noticed before. “This is so beautiful,” Mark remarked. You couldn’t help but smile this moment was perfect, this evening was perfect.

You talked, not about anything profound, just sharing stories and silly jokes. But the laughter felt different this time, laced with an undercurrent of something deeper. You found yourself wanting to reach out to him and want to touch him, to feel the warmth of his hand in your own. 

As the night wore on, a blanket of clouds rolled in, obscuring the stars. The air grew heavy with moisture, and the first drops of rain began to fall. “Quick y/n let's go” Mark got up and grabbed your hand leading you to seek shelter with him under a dilapidated pier, the wooden plank creaking under your weight. 

The rain intensified a relentless downpour that seemed to wash away the world under you. You were trapped together with only the sounds of the drumming rain and the pounding of your heart.

You’d noticed Mark was still gripping onto your hand, this sent jolts of electricity through you. You looked into his eyes, the rain reflecting their depths, and you saw something you’d never seen before; a vulnerability, a longing that mirrored your own heart. 

Mark's thumb brushed against your cheek, “y/n I can't hold this in any longer”. He leaned in and his lips brushed against yours in a soft tentative kiss. You couldn’t quite believe what had just happened but it felt right. The world seemed to dissolve, leaving only the feel of Marks's lips against yours, the scent of salt and rain mingling with his cologne.

The kiss deepened when all of a sudden Mark shot up “ Oh my god I'm sorry y/n I should’ve never kissed you i’ve crossed the line” you put your hand over Marks mouth and said, “ No Mark this is exactly what I want. I want you now”. He leaned back over to you and kissed you deeper becoming a passionate dance of tongues and hands. You felt a surge of exhilaration, of pure, desire.

“Oh my god y/n I need you” Mark whispered into your ear. 

“I’m all yours baby” Marks hands began to wander and he began to grip your tits, a wetness between your legs started to form. You then began to find your way to Marks waist and you can feel his muscles beneath his shirt as you trace your fingers up and down his chest. 

Marks lips leaves yours for a moment and he starts to trace kisses down your neck, and you shiver with pleasure, and let out a soft moan. He grabs the bottom of your tshirt and lift it over your head exposing your erect nipples. He sucks your tits taking you all in then he pinches one of your nipples between his fingers.

“Mark…” you pant your voice barely above a whisper. “I want you to fuck me… right he right now”. Mark’s eyes darken with desire as he hears your words. He pulls you closer leading you to lay down, he grabs your underwear and rips them off by the seams. “Oops sorry about that” he remarked.

Marks eyes rake over your naked body, taking in every inch of you. He reaches out and grabs you by the waist pulling you closer. He was between your legs still fully clothed you could feel his rock hard cock against your wet entrance. He wastes no time and rips his tshirt of his head and pull his shorts down revealing his fat cock pressing against your stomach, and you know that you need him inside you. “Enough teasing now Mark, please fuck me, please just fuck me” you whined.

He lines himself up with yout entrance, his eyes locked onto your as he pushed inside you “FUCK y/n” Mark called out, you cry out as he pushes inside you. “Im so fucking wet for you” you moaned. Your walls stretching to accommodate his fat throbbing cock. Mark begins to move, his hips thrusting against yours as he fucks you with a raw, primal need. You needed him each thrust your bodies together in a dance as old as time itself.

You lie there, your body trembling with pleasure as Mark Grayson’s hand wraps around your neck. It’s not a tight grip, just enough to hold you in place as he fucks you. You call out his name, your voice hoarse with desire.

“Oh fuck, yes oh fuck, harder, Mark harder” you begged your hips bucking to meet his thrust. 

His eyes dark with lust as he watches you, his hand never leaning your neck. The sensation of his rough palm against your skin only adds to the pleasure building inside you. 

You reach up, your fingers tangling in his hair, as you pull him closer, deeper. Marks rhythm falters for a moment before picking up again, his breath hot against your ear. “ You like that, dont you?” he moaned.

“Yes, Yes I love it” you moan your body on the brink of release. Mark’s fingers dig into your hips as he pounds into you, his pace frantic and desperate.  You can deel the orgasm building inside you, your muscles tightening with each thrust. 

And then, one final push, you shatter. Your body convulses with pleasure as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over you. Mark’s thrusts become errates as he reach his own climax filling you up with his warm cum, his body collapsing onto of yours. You lie there, panting and spent. Mark rolls off of you, pulling you into his arms.

“Fuck y/n you’re amazing” he murmurs, his lips pressed against your forehead. You smile, your body still humming with pleasure. “I know” you reply, snuggling closer to him.

[grogusmum]

A Dark and Stormy Night (oneshot)

werewolf!FRANKIE MORALES X F!READER

W/C: 3500ish

RATED: E (18+)

WARNINGS: well, monsterfucking, oral sex (f recieving), rough sex, unprotected PiV sex (it's a fantasy y'all you know what to do!!). As always, if you see something, say something. Message me in my DMs, I'm happy to add something I missed.

SUMMARY: You stumble into a lighthouse to get out of a storm, and meet the handsome light-keeper, who has a secret, but is irresistible.

A/N: Oberyn and the Merling was technically my first foray into monsterfucking, but that was like teenagers humping in the back of a car...this is, well, it's as no holds barred as I've ever gotten. I hope it doesn't suck, lol. Anyway wish me luck! 💚

This was posted as a multipart fic, but when I finished the second part it made more sense to be all one piece. I may write more for these two, but as it stands, it is a oneshot.

You follow a boardwalk that becomes a path as the clouds roll in, obscuring the moon. You know you need to find cover before the storm.

Focusing on the shifting sand under your feet, as the rain begins, you speed up. The skies continue to darken; soon, you reach the first rocks of the jetty while the rain comes down in sheets. Looking up, you find yourself at the base of an old lighthouse. The lens swings across the black water as it lights up the dark and stormy night for those lost at sea.

Beach rose thorns tear at your sweater as you race up the slope. Beyond, scrub pines and pin oak trees create a small amount of cover; the wind picks up, but not before you hear the baying of a wolf… no, not a wolf. A coyote, there are no wolves in these parts. But there's something different about the howl; you speed up and bang on the door of the great beacon.

"Hello?" You shout, "please! Is anyone there?"

As if in answer, another howl rings out, making you jump. After a crash of lightning for good measure, you try the latch and push the door open, willing to disregard good manners. Looking for a switch or a lamp, you find only a candle in a heavy brass holder on a small shelf and a black matchbox holder attached to the curved wall. 

Running the wooden match across the strike pad, it sputters to life, and you light the candle. Slipping your finger into the brass ring of the candle holder and carrying it before you, the Gothic horror mood of the whole situation is not lost on you. With a sigh and a shiver, you wind up the spiral stairs.

"Hell-lo? I don't mean to intrude, but…" you call again and then with a chuckle in an undertone, "Our car broke down a few miles up the road. Do you have a phone we might use?"

Shivering in your soaked clothes, you reach the first level, which contains the living quarters. You can't help but rush to the woodstove, which warms the round room.

You hear a creak below as you take off your shoes and socks. Did you forget to latch the door entirely? Biting your lip in worry, you continue to listen; bracing yourself, you pull a poker from the coal scuttle.

You wait and wait. Time spins out—the only measure is your heart’s tattoo, like a rabbit's. As the adrenaline clears your system, you become exhausted. Swaying where you stand, the iron poker clangs on the pine floor, bringing you back. Deciding it must just be “old house sounds,” you move to the bed and sit, and without so much as a yawn of warning, your eyes slip closed.

In the middle of the night, you feel a weight on your chest, soft and warm. Your eyes flutter open, and blocking the light coming from the woodstove is an enormous shape pressing on you; as your eyes focus, it huffs a breath, and you recognize it as a sleeping dog sound. It's huge, with pointed ears. How did you not see or hear it when you came in? Whether a watchdog or not, wouldn’t it have come to investigate? The trunk of the animal is on you, its muzzle at your collarbone, a front leg on either side of you, fully caging you in. Your hand comes up, fingers sinking into its plush fur, like a wolf’s… you shake your head, not a wolf, of course, but those dogs that look like them. Its steady heartbeat and relaxed breathing lull you back to sleep; elk-hound, that's what the one, you think, as you drift under again.

Waking again at full light, you find yourself tucked into a patchwork quilt, your shoes placed under the stove, warm and dry, no dog to be seen. The smell of eggs and bacon draws you up the stairs, halfway up you can hear the food sizzling on the stove. You feel this need to check yourself over, but you seem fine. You fell asleep on the bed of a stranger, who is apparently back- you shake your head at how unbelievably dangerous that was. Then you remember the dangers outside… it's a calculated, if hastily figured, risk.

His back to you, in front of the stove, you presume, is the light-keeper, a cable knit sweater stretched across his broad shoulders. 

"He-hello?"

He turns, soft brown eyes, brown curls standing up as though he’d run his fingers through them just a moment ago, a sharp nose that suits him, with crease of his bottom lip that accentuates his mouth’s natural pout. Not that you had any real expectations on what a lighthouse operator looks like but... maybe like some old-salt sailor type with a beard and pipe. Silly, of course. You remind yourself that you are not a cod fish and close your mouth.

"Morning," came his rich baritone voice.

"I'm so sorry, I- I - the storm-” you stumble as you try to pull yourself together.

"Don't worry about that. I hope you slept alright. "

"I did, thank you, but  I- should get going." You start putting on your shoes, “ I really didn't mean to fall asleep, " ...on your bed.

“'S not problem, really; that was one hell of a storm last night.”

“I should go-”

Well,” he says, bringing breakfast to a simple pine table, “that's the tricky part…” 

“W-why?”

“The roads are impassable and there's more rain on the way.”

“Oh.”

“Nothing to be done about it right now,” he says, “have something to eat.”

You begin to eat, and after a bite or two, you introduce yourself.

“Where are my manners- I’m Frankie. Spending too much time on my own, I guess.”

“Are you kidding, I burst into your house like Goldilocks! Found sleeping in your bed.”

“And was it just right, Goldie?” He smirks.

You fluster a little; he is very handsome after all, and broad and was that flirting… 

“Better to be Goldilocks than Red Riding Hood, I suppose.” He says you get the feeling it wasn’t meant to be out loud. “I guess that depends on who the huntsman turns out to be…” 

He notices your eyes widen and smiles apologetically, brushing his comment aside. “Sorry, like I said, spend a lot of time on my own.”

"S-speaking of Red Riding Hood, where’s your dog? It came and slept with me last night.”

“Hmmm?" Frankie murmurs as he sets the table, "Oh, he’s- around.”

“Well, he kept me very cozy last night. What a cuddle bug; what’s his name?”

“His, um - it’s Cisco. You better dig into those eggs; they're gonna get cold.”

“Right,” you take up a fork of scrambled egg, “I will be able to leave today, though, right?”

“We’ll have to see,” is all he says before digging into his breakfast.

Frankie goes about his light-keeper duties, including hunting for his lost skiff. You aren't sure what to do with your time-

“Is there something I can do to help? I kind of feel weird just sitting around-”

“Well, the weather isn't going to let us do much outside safely, but-”

Frankie pulls off his ball cap, ruffles his hair, and plops it back on his head, thinking, “I mean, you could help clean the lantern glass …”

“Really?” You stand, excited to do a real lighthouse job. 

“Sure, hard to mess up… no offense, and safe.” 

You take no offense; on the contrary, you clap happily to yourself, to which Frankie chuckles.

After showing you the supplies and giving you a quick demonstration, he starts down the stairs to continue with his other duties and then stops and turns-

"Thanks, Goldie," he winks and then descends the stairs.

After a time, you see him out on the rocks despite the wind starting up again from the east. He must be looking for his rowboat. You decide to scout the circumference of the lantern room, looking out the windows to see if you can see the craft. 

To the northwest, you see something red against the rocks. It doesn't look good.

You step out onto the gallery. Luckily, this isn't a particularly tall lighthouse, but it's tall enough, and the iron balcony was small enough that you feel a touch of vertigo looking down. It doesn't help that the wind's really kicking up now, reminding you that this is just a break in the storm. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and open them.

"Uh, Frankie!" 

Frankie looks up, hand going to the bill of his cap.

"Is that your skiff?" You point to the red “something” half in the water. 

He hollers his thanks and jogs over to where you are indicating, and you can see his frustrated huff as his hands hitch onto his hips in a disgruntled fashion.

Cleaning all that glass takes time, and your shoulders can feel the real work of it. You stop only when your stomach screams for lunch, and you find a sandwich under plastic wrap for you, but you haven’t seen Frankie, Lighthouse Keeper, the rest of your time working on it, nor Cisco, the Lighthouse Dog. 

He had brought the boat to a shed and disappeared inside it. When and if he came out, you didn't notice. You also realize you haven’t seen any signs of a pet anywhere; no bed or bowls. When you come down the spiral steps, you smell of the concoction used for cleaning the glass and lens; watered-down isopropyl alcohol and Woolight - but mostly the alcohol. 

“You'll want to wash your hands with this,” Frankie hands you a bar of soap at the first landing of the spiral stair. “It'll take care of the rubbing alcohol smell and keep your hands from drying out.” 

Frankie gives a crooked smile of apology at your startled jump. Murmuring your thanks, you take it and smell the bar that looks so small when in his hand. Fresh. Your mind wanders to how this fresh scent might mingle with Frankie's natural one. The bubble of revery is just a millisecond and pops like one the moment your eyes land on Frankie, who looks like he knows exactly what you're thinking.

When you join him in the kitchen, where he is again standing over the stove, the delicious scent of savory soup reminds you of coming home after a long chilly walk from school. The wind is howling now, and you can hear the crash of the waves, as high tide approaches, the pound of them like rumbling thunder. Its only rival is the whip crack of the actual thunder chasing the lighting strikes illuminating the windows. 

“Where’s Cisco?”

“Weather like this he likes to be below,” Frankie says after a beat, back still turned, “I have him set up with his bed down there so he doesn’t get anxious.”

“Oh,” you feel a little more at ease about not seeing neither hide nor hair of the beast of a dog all day.

“It'll be dark early due to the storm, and I’ll have duties up above. I’m going to ask you to stay in the living quarters. I’ll sleep up there, so, um, just - make yourself at home.”  

You do your best, but your mind is on Frankie in a way that makes what you would be doing at home, not at all appropriate, even when told to make yourself at home.  His dark eyes, big hands... him calling you Goldie. How many times your mind has gone back to him asking you if his bed was just right, you dare not admit, even to yourself. You don't know him, you remind yourself.

Suddenly, there's a bang and scuffle. Then you hear a yowl.

“Cisco?” You go to the door, preparing to go down to where you assume he's been set up, but a second sound confirms it's coming from above, not below… where Frankie is.                   

You turn and look up the spiral stairs. “F-Frankie?”

Your foot hesitantly lands on the first step -

“D-did Cisco follow you? 

More shuffling and a loud thunk on the floor bring you up short. Frankie asked you to stay below, but maybe he hurt himself, or Cisco made his way up there and was scared of the storm. Your feet start moving again up the winding steps. 

You pause, your head just above the landing, eyes adjusting to the strange light of the lantern room. Instead of finding a dog, on the floor is a pile of clothes, folded neatly, with Frankie's cap placed atop it. As you look up, you see Frankie from behind, sitting in the one chair the room affords. His skin gleams with a layer of sweat, and he gives a sudden quake.

“Frankie! A-are you alright? I heard-”

His head whips around and then down as you are still only partway up the stairs. 

“I told you to sta—” the lightning flashes, and you see Frankie's eyes have changed. They are no longer warm, sweet brown but glowing amber. 

“Wh- you- you're-” Everything in you screams to run as far away as possible, but when Frankie contorts in a new wave of pain, you scramble up the stairs. He almost wails in despair as you approach the chair. “Frankie, what is happening? How can I - hel -”

“ C-can’t, go G-gold-ie, please!” 

“I don’t understand, Frankie. What’s happening?” 

The light-keeper takes a steadying breath as if fighting every molecule of his changing form, Though he knows it’s too late. Too late to shield you. 

“C-come here,” he breathes.

Lighting flashes again, the boom of thunder right on top of it. When your eyes adjust yet again, you go around the chair to face him. Frankie takes your hand; long claw-like nails have sprouted, and you have cottoned on. Frankie is - 

While he has a firm grip, he causes no pain. Your brows knot as he pushes up your sleeve. 

“I will remember,” he says, as much for himself as for you. Then he presses his nose to your wrist, inhaling deeply, and his eyes flick up to yours. The storm rages, the lens does its steady turn, and Frankie continues to smell you. He stands, eyes never breaking contact, his bare skin glistening in the light.

 You had tried not to look down at his body. But he's so close, and when he stands, your resolve breaks. Frankie is strong and somehow more broad across the shoulders than when in the confines of his fisherman’s sweater but has a trim waist. His Adonis belt is so enticing, as is his soft belly. Below that, his uncut cock has an enticing curve. Your eyes travel back up. You find his waiting for yours; he lifts his head away from your wrist and pulls; you stumble a step closer, and his face burrows into your neck. He breathes in your scent.

“Didn't harm you last night, I won't… I’ll remember, promise. You smell so good, Goldie.”

The warmth you feel low in your pelvis is combined with a shiver as you clench on nothing.

“S-so, you-your…” you stammer as his clawed hands wrap around your waist; he tastes your collarbone, licking a long stripe as he finds his way below your ear. Your knees buckle, but Frankie has a firm grip on you. “Cisco?”

“ ‘m ssorry,” he slurs, his nose nestled where your ear and jaw meet. “You taste as good as you smell, Goldie… I wonder-” 

What Frankie is wondering is interrupted by a long canine whine as he pulls back, face contorted in pain as his teeth elongate into fangs.

The blood has surely left your face, and you're shocked as you become aware that it has rushed to lower regions. You can feel the wetness between your legs, and  Frankie, closing his eyes, breathes in how your scent has changed. 

The sinful look he gives sends more heat between your thighs; you know you're soaked by now. You can still see the handsome light-keep though his eyes glow, his ears are now pointed, and his hair is shaggy. A hungry tongue moves over sharp teeth. Teeth made for tearing your throat out.

The next thunderclap shakes the lighthouse, and it's only then that he breaks his grip on you. He cries out as his body continues to transform. It snaps you out of your trance. You run down the iron stairs, passing the kitchen, down to the living quarters, and you're brought up short by a full wolf bay sounding from above. 

“What am I doing? What am I doing!?” you look up the stairs, and almost against your will, you look through the doorway to the bed—the bed where Frankie had lain atop you as the wolf. Then your eyes drift upward again, biting your thumb in indecision. Or perhaps fear at the decision you're apparently making. You slowly undress, leaving the door open; you spread out on the soft bed and wait to see what happens.

How much time before you hear the click of canine claws on the treads of each step, you aren't sure. You only know the twist of arousal you feel arches your back, and Frankie hasn't even touched you. Are you afraid? Not as much as you think you should be. It's there; this danger lights up your brain and sends adrenaline coursing through you. But he didn't hurt you last night, and he said- he-

The wolf growls around the door; he is not on all fours but hunched, one front paw occasionally touching the floor. 

“F-f-” you stammer as his front paws press heavily on the bed. He is enormous, and he hulks over you. His snout investigates every crease and crevice. You close your eyes as he noses at your mound. “-fuck.”

The wolf's tongue dips between your legs, and you gasp as your legs open like an involuntary response, and Frankie seems to seize the opportunity to open you further, pawing at your thighs, opening them, holding them where he wants them. Claws press on your sensitive skin as he laps at you.

“Frankie!” Your fingers dig into the thick, soft fur as the twist in your womb tightens and you pulse. 

How much of the man is still present, you have no idea. You are, of course, banking on it, and you figure praying to every deity that he is there, keeping the beast from tearing you to shreds, can't hurt. 

You can feel the rumble from deep in Frankie's throat, and when his long tongue breaches your pussy, he is immediately rewarded with a gush as lights pop behind your eyelids and the coil in your belly snaps.

You cry out, and he drinks sloppily at your entrance. He doesn't stop until you start to come down from your high, your chest’s rise and fall finally slowing.

Then the beast towers over you, his cock weeping. In one swift move of inhuman strength, he's suddenly flipped you onto your stomach. His large paws holding your hips, he brings your backside up, and in one fast motion, he's sheathed himself to the hilt. 

As ready as his tongue had made you, you still are stretched beyond anything you've ever experienced. He is deep inside, and his snout nuzzles into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, making you feel utterly consumed by him. His brutal pace lifts your knees off the bed when he begins to move. His rhythm takes your breath away, his length hitting that delicious spot inside you that most find elusive, and it isn't long before the telltale swell of another orgasm begins to crest.

When you clamp down around him, he howls, and you know he has come right along with you. His rhythm stutters and slows. Frankie's tongue lazily drags over your shoulder blade, and he whines as his nose nudges at your hair.  As you both float back into your bodies, opening your eyes, the round room is drenched in moonlight. The storm has passed. 

The beast allows you to roll onto your side before covering you again, as he had the night before. He gives a chaste lick to your cheek, and you huff a laugh, wondering if you will even be able to look him in the eye in the morning. But you're too exhausted and drift to sleep before shame can take its turn to feast on you.

The morning sun blazes as it has a way of doing after a storm; shorebirds herald the day, and again, you wake to the smell of breakfast, sausage, coffee, and eggs. You're again tucked into the worn but well-cared-for quilt. Your eyes rove the room as you try not to overthink, and just as you reach for your clothes (which are neatly laid out at the end of the bed), Frankie, the man, comes in with a tray heaped with food—the smell of his delicious cooking filling the room.

“ ‘Morning, Goldie.” he smiles shyly. His eyes are not quite meeting yours, and he keeps himself busy with the breakfast tray. You return his smile, somehow his sweet bashfulness making you feel less self-conscious- 

“G’morning, Fran- Fran-cisco!”

Brown eyes sparkling as Frankie's smile widens.

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[d0llcuries]

Hi dear! SOOOOO I would like you to write a one shot reader × neteyam! It would be like: neteyam is almost dying at sea with his siblings and everyone "accepted" that he would die and all tears BBBBBUUUut a childhood friend of his was fighting with they and she was like "NUH UH" she saves him somehow and bla bla bla Then when they came back with neteyam half alive, ronal took care of him and everything, right? Then when he REALLY WOKE UP the reader came and slapped him in the face while fighting and then hugged and kissed him. That's what I would like :)

MWAH a kiss from brazil

WHEN YOU WAKE

pairing(s): neteyam x fem!na'vi reader

summary: when neteyam is gravely wounded in battle, everyone braces for the worst—except his childhood love, who refuses to let him go. determined to save him, she risks everything, but when he finally wakes, her greeting is… less than gentle. love, stubbornness, and a well-deserved (?) slap.

author's note: oh my gosh,, this is so freaking epic MY SECOND REQUEST!!1!1! i love request sm oh my god they r so amazing to write i love requests please FLOOD MY ASK BOX. pls don't abhor yn for the last scene and remember that she is literally just a girl 🤓☝️(a very valid argument actually). also strap in bcuz this is a long one.

the sea was chaos around them. only moments ago, the water had raged with the violence of battle, the clash of metal and bone, but now, an eerie silence had fallen over the scene. the fighting had ceased, and in its wake, the sky people’s ships smoldered on the horizon, their fires licking at the darkening sky. the metkayina, exhausted and bloodied, had pulled back, retreating to the safety of awa'atlu to regroup, to count their wounded. but on this desolate rock, the only thing that mattered to yn was neteyam, lying still on the jagged surface, his blue skin pale, his breaths shallow.

the rhythmic ebb and flow of the ocean had turned into a dreadful, mocking soundtrack to the sight before her, as if the waves themselves were whispering the inevitable truth no one wanted to face. blood, dark and stark against his skin, seeped from the gaping wound in his chest, mixing with the salty spray of the sea. his life was spilling out onto the rock beneath him, too fast, too much.

"he is dying," neytiri’s voice trembled like a fragile thread about to snap, her face streaked with tears and grief. the mighty warrior, always so fierce and unbreakable, looked shattered as she knelt beside her eldest son, her hands shaking as they hovered above his body, unsure whether to hold him or let him go. lo'ak sat beside her, wide-eyed and motionless, as though he couldn’t believe the sight before him was real, his face etched with disbelief and horror. tsireya clutched his hand, her knuckles white, her gaze darting between lo'ak and neteyam, tears threatening to spill from her wide eyes. kiri knelt by neteyam’s side, her fingers digging into the wound, trying desperately to stem the bleeding, but it was useless. it was slipping through her fingers like sand, and with it, so was neteyam's life.

"no." yn’s voice was the only thing that cut through the quiet devastation, her words harsh and desperate, her hands trembling as she reached out, pressing them against his cooling skin. she could feel it beneath her fingertips—the rapid, weakening pulse of his heart, the uneven rise and fall of his chest. it was all too real. the warmth of his blood, sticky and thick on her palms, seeped into her bones, chilling her to the core. the weight of it settled in her chest, a cold, suffocating pressure that made it hard to breathe. "he will not die."

she couldn’t let him die. the thought was unbearable, impossible to accept. she was just his childhood friend, yes—someone who had grown up alongside him, shared her secrets, her dreams, her laughter with him. someone who had chased him through the forests of the omaticaya as children, who had learned to fight with him, laugh with him, loved him. she had watched him become the warrior he was now, had loved him long before either of them had ever spoken the words aloud. they were still young, yes, but they had a future together, one that the sea itself was pulling it from her grasp. she couldn’t let it end like this. she wouldn’t.

"yn," kiri’s voice cracked, raw with the weight of her own helplessness, the defeat hanging heavy in the air. "there is nothing we can do. he—"

"do not say it!" yn’s voice lashed out like a whip, cutting through the silence, cutting through kiri’s words. she couldn’t hear it. she couldn’t let those words hang in the air like a death sentence. she couldn’t bear to hear anyone say that neteyam was gone. "there is something we can do."

her mind raced, desperate for a solution, for anything that would keep him tethered to this world. she was young, too young for something like this. the rational part of her knew that. she wasn’t a healer. she didn’t have the knowledge or the skills of a tsahik, but ronal did. ronal, the fierce tsahik of the metkayina clan, who could heal wounds with a touch, who could pull someone back from the brink of death with her chants and her herbs. yn had seen her work miracles. she had seen ronal heal wounds that should have killed, infections that should have spread. if anyone could save neteyam, it was her. but ronal was back at the clan, and neteyam was here, bleeding out on this cold, jagged rock. it would mean leaving him, and the thought of that almost brought her to her knees. how could she leave him like this, so vulnerable, so close to death? how could she turn her back on him when he needed her the most?

but if she stayed, he would die. that much she knew. if she left, there was a chance, slim though it might be. a chance was better than nothing.

"i have to go," yn said, her voice trembling but resolute, her gaze fixed on neteyam’s still face. he looked so peaceful, as if he were merely sleeping, but the blood that stained his chest, that pooled beneath him, told a different story. she turned to neytiri, her voice firm, even as her heart raced. "i have to find ronal. she can save him."

"you cannot leave him," neytiri’s voice was barely a whisper, broken by sobs, her hands clutching neteyam’s limp one as if she could anchor him to life by sheer will. her face, usually so strong and fierce, was twisted in grief, her eyes wild with the horror of watching her son slip away before her eyes. "he is dying, yn, my son is dying—"

"no!" the word exploded from yn’s throat, raw and full of fury, as if her refusal alone could change the course of fate. she couldn’t bear the sight of neytiri, of jake, of all of them huddled around neteyam, as if they had already given up. she couldn’t let them accept this as the end. "he is not dying. i will not let him die. i cannot let him die."

jake’s presence beside her felt like a heavy weight, grounding her in the reality of the moment. his hand came to rest on her shoulder, firm but not unkind, and she met his eyes, saw the shared pain, the shared hope. "you’re right," he said, his voice steady in the midst of the storm. "go. go, find ronal. we’ll stay with him."

yn gave a short nod, the knot of fear tightening in her chest, but she couldn’t afford to let it consume her. her body moved on instinct, driven by the knowledge that she was running out of time. neteyam was running out of time.

without a second glance, she turned and sprinted toward her ikran. every step felt like a battle against the panic that threatened to drown her, but she couldn’t let it. not now. the familiar weight of her ikran beneath her as she mounted it and made the bond gave her a brief moment of comfort, a second to catch her breath before she shot into the sky.

the world below her blurred as the wind whipped her hair back, stinging her cheeks, but all she could think about was neteyam lying on that rock, the life bleeding out of him. every beat of her heart was a painful reminder of how little time she had. the sea stretched out endlessly before her, a vast expanse of blue that felt more like an enemy than a lifeline. the waves that once brought her peace now felt ominous, mocking, as if they knew the battle she fought was a losing one.

she pushed her ikran harder, faster, her fingers tightening around its rein as the village of awa'atlu came into view, a shimmering oasis of safety amidst the chaos of war. her eyes scanned the shore frantically, searching for ronal among the gathering metkayina. they were preparing, regrouping, but she didn’t care. all that mattered was neteyam. she spotted ronal, her regal form unmistakable, standing at the water’s edge, directing her people with the calm authority of a leader who had seen her share of battle.

yn barely had time to think before she was landing, stumbling off her ikran in her haste, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she ran toward ronal. "ronal," she gasped, her voice thick with desperation. "neteyam... he has been shot. he is dying. please, you have to help him. please."

ronal’s sharp gaze met hers, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence between them. yn’s heart pounded in her chest, each second feeling like an eternity. she knew what she was asking was impossible—too far, too little time. but she didn’t care. ronal’s eyes narrowed, assessing yn’s desperation with a cool detachment that made yn want to scream, to shake her, to make her understand how important this was. but before yn could say anything more, ronal gave a small nod and gestured for her to follow. ronal swiftly gathered a small pouch of healing herbs, woven bandages, and a vial of bioluminescent sap from her hut—essential tools she would need to tend the boy's wounds.

"bring me to him," ronal said, her voice calm and steady, as if the world was not unraveling around them, as if there was still time, as if hope still lingered on the horizon.

yn wasted no time. without another word, she whistled for her ikran, grabbing ronal’s wrist and pulling her towards the beast. the tsahik of the metkayina was not one to be rushed, but yn didn’t care. they didn’t have the luxury of patience. they mounted, and with a swift call, her ikran leapt into the sky once more, cutting through the air in the direction of neteyam’s lifeless form.

each beat of her ikran’s wings felt like a ticking clock. the journey back to the rock felt like an eternity, the cold wind biting at her face, but yn kept her eyes fixed on the horizon, on the place where she had left neteyam. the sun had sunk lower now, the soft oranges and pinks of eclipse blending into the deep purples of night, and with it, the world around them seemed to grow darker, more foreboding. yn’s heart clenched painfully in her chest. the longer she was away, the more the fear gnawed at her, growing into something monstrous, something unbearable. was he still breathing? was his heart still beating?

when the rock finally came into view, yn’s breath caught in her throat. she could see the figures of neytiri, lo'ak, kiri, and tsireya huddled around neteyam’s body. the sight of his still form sent a sharp pain through her chest, as if a knife had been driven straight into her heart. the sight of his blood, black in the fading light, made her stomach turn.

they landed, and yn barely waited for her ikran to touch the ground before she was rushing forward, practically dragging ronal behind her. "here," she gasped, falling to her knees beside neteyam, her eyes darting to his chest, willing it to rise, to move. "please, he is still alive."

ronal dismounted with a grace that felt out of place in the urgency of the moment. she knelt beside neteyam, her sharp eyes already assessing the wound. her expression was unreadable, calm even in the face of death. she moved with a precision and certainty that yn envied, her hands immediately going to work, pressing down on the wound to stop the bleeding, muttering words, the chants of a healer.

yn knelt beside her, her hands hovering over neteyam, unsure of what to do, afraid to touch him in case it would break whatever fragile connection was keeping him tethered to this world. "will he—?" her voice broke, and she couldn’t finish the question, couldn’t say the words aloud.

ronal didn’t answer. she didn’t need to. her silence said enough. this was a battle with time. a battle they might lose.

ronal worked swiftly, her hands moving with the expertise of someone who had saved lives, who had been through wars and healed the gravest of wounds. but this was no ordinary injury. it was the work of the sky people, of their weapons, of their violence. the bullet had torn through neteyam’s chest, severing veins, shredding muscle. it was a wound not easily healed, not by herbs, not by chants.

minutes passed in agonizing silence, broken only by the soft mutters of ronal’s voice, the rustle of neytiri’s sobs in between pleadings to eywa followed by kiri's own prayer. yn’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps as she watched ronal work. her fingers curled into the rock beneath her, nails digging into the stone. it was all too much, too slow, too uncertain.

but ronal didn’t falter. she continued her chants, her hands glowing with the light of eywa’s blessing, her energy focused entirely on neteyam, on keeping him here. yn watched, her breath held, as ronal placed her hands over his heart, her eyes closing, her chants growing louder, more urgent. the tension in the air was palpable, thick and heavy with the weight of hope and despair.

then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, neteyam stirred.

it was a faint movement, just a twitch of his fingers, but it was enough to send a wave of relief crashing through yn’s body. she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as she stared down at him, hardly daring to believe it. his chest rose, ever so slightly, with a shallow breath. his heart, weak and faltering, continued to beat beneath ronal’s hands.

"he is not out of danger," ronal warned, her voice sharp, though her hands never stopped working. "he is still very weak. he will need time, rest. he will need the ocean’s healing."

ronal looked up, her eyes suddenly meeting jake's. "take him back to the clan."

he didn’t need to be told twice. with lo'ak and spider's help, they lifted neteyam’s still form onto his skimwing, his body limp and unresponsive, but alive. it was enough.

the next few days passed in a haze of worry and exhaustion, a blur of sleepless nights and constant vigilance. neteyam lay still, his body fighting to heal itself, his breaths shallow but steady. the air inside the marui was thick with tension—every creak of the woven shelter or shift of the tides outside felt amplified in the quiet. the others drifted in and out, checking on him, offering small comforts where they could, but it was yn who remained by his side. her body was aching with fatigue, her fingers numb from holding his hand for so long. but she stayed, watching over him, waiting, willing him to wake.

each time she closed her eyes for even a brief moment, images of him dying on that rock flashed in her mind, his blood staining the sea. the silence of the nights was the hardest; in the stillness, doubt would creep in, whispering terrible what-ifs into her ear. would he ever wake? had they been too late?

but she wouldn’t leave him. she had promised to bring him back, to see him open his eyes once more, and she would stay by his side until that moment came.

and then, one morning, it did.

the first light of dawn slipped through the cracks in the marui, casting a soft glow over his resting form. neteyam’s chest rose and fell gently, his face still pale but peaceful. yn sat beside him, her hand resting on his chest, feeling the slow, steady rhythm of his heart. it had become a comfort, that subtle rise and fall, reminding her that he was still with them.

as the light crept further into the space, she felt a faint movement beneath her palm. her eyes snapped to his face just as his eyelids fluttered. a second later, neteyam’s eyes opened—dazed, unfocused, but alive.

yn froze. her heart leaped into her throat, her hand trembling against his chest as she stared at him, wide-eyed. for a moment, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. it was as if time itself had stopped. her lips parted, but no words came. he was awake—after days of uncertainty and fear, here he was, his golden eyes blinking up at her in confusion.

but instead of joy, relief, or anything resembling tenderness, the only thing she felt was a sudden rush of anger—pure, hot anger that burned through the fear and worry she had carried for days.

before she could even think, her hand shot out, and with a swift motion, she slapped him across the face.

the sharp sound of the slap echoed in the marui, and neteyam winced, his face turning in shock. “what—”

“you absolute skxawng!” her voice trembled with fury as she glared at him, tears welling in her eyes. “you—you almost died, neteyam! you reckless, stubborn fool!” her hands balled into fists, her shoulders shaking with a mix of frustration and relief. “do you have any idea what you put me through?!”

neteyam blinked, still disoriented, his hand slowly reaching up to touch his stinging cheek. “i—what happened?” he rasped, his voice weak and hoarse from days of silence.

yn’s breath hitched as she looked at him, the weight of everything crashing over her all at once. her anger faltered, giving way to the overwhelming relief that he was here, that he was alive. her tears spilled over, and before she knew it, she was pulling him into a tight embrace, burying her face in the crook of his neck. “do not ever do that to me again,” she whispered fiercely, her voice cracking, “do not ever leave me.”

neteyam, though still groggy, managed to wrap his arms around her, holding her close, his heart heavy with guilt. “i am sorry,” he murmured, his voice soft as he pressed his forehead to hers, “i am so sorry, yn.”

for a long moment, they stayed like that—wrapped in each other’s arms, the soft sounds of the morning and the distant calls of the ocean filling the space around them. yn’s heart still raced, but now it was steadier, beating in time with his, as though they were finally in sync again. his presence, his warmth, was all she had wanted for days, and now that she had it, she wasn’t sure she could ever let him go.

when she finally pulled back, her fingers brushing against his face, she looked into his eyes, the anger and fear slowly fading, replaced by something softer, something raw. “do you not know how much i need you?” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

neteyam’s gaze softened, his thumb gently wiping away the tears that clung to her cheeks. “i know,” he whispered back, his voice filled with quiet regret. “i will never leave you again.”

and for the first time in days, yn let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. it wasn’t a promise she could ever fully believe, not in the world they lived in, but in that moment, with him alive and safe in her arms, she would take it.

maybe iʼm overthinking things but i feel like i can smell the angry comments about yn's behaviour so before you magically morph into an unemployed twitter user consider the following argument:

yn’s behavior, while intense, isn't selfish—it’s the result of overwhelming stress and the emotional turmoil that comes with nearly losing someone she loves. at such a young age, she's thrust into an impossible situation, forced to watch the person she cares for most teeter between life and death. her emotions aren’t coming from a place of malice or impatience but from the raw fear of almost losing neteyam forever. she’s exhausted, scared, and under the immense pressure of her own feelings, so her reaction—slapping him awake before embracing him—is a release of all that pent-up anxiety.

plus as the author, i feel an obligation to honor the request for this fic. “your wish is my command” ahh.

consider this second argument:

i'm in your house (˶◜ᵕ◝˶)

[villains-core]

An Offer

pairing: halbrand (sauron) x f!reader series: his dark queen (a collection of halbrand x reader drabbles) word count: 1k words warnings: G (just flirting) summary: you offer lord halbrand something but come out even more confused by the enigma that he is.

“Have you come to patronize me?” His voice said as you approached the Statue of the Sea. You raised a brow at the figure standing near the cell’s bars. When he was in the throne room earlier, you could tell he had noticed you, and the magnetic pull of his gaze had brought you here at this moment. 

“No,” you replied as you finally came face to face with the man. He was taller than you thought and seemed to hold an aura of darkness and danger. One that had not been there earlier when he had been presented to your queen. He smiled and moved to press his face against the bars. Those darkened eyes watched you closely before they traveled up and down your attire. 

“You’ve come to ask me about the Elf,” That was not your intention, but it was a straightforward cover story for the guards. 

“Not entirely,” You started, placing your arms behind your back. Your fingers to your left hand clasped around your right wrist as you tried to stand a little taller against his gaze. “But I assume you heard me speaking with the guards.” Halbrand inclined his head with a smile as he leaned against the horizontal bar of the cell. 

“Then humor me, my lady,” he started, staring into your eyes. You could not help but feel the warmth filling your face as his eyes watched you. “Why do you want to speak to a common brawler such as myself?” 

“You are not just some common brawler,” A hint of something flickered in his eyes but then disappeared slightly. 

“Then what am I, Lady y/n, to you at least?” You chewed on the inside of your cheek as you took another step forward. 

“A broken man who is hiding a secret.” Halbrand chuckled, and you felt your pulse increase at the gesture as he turned and sat down on the bench. You were attracted to him in his rugged, handsome way. His face was still recovering from his earlier brawl, blood staining his nose and upper lip, just adding to the darkness that seemed to surround him. 

“And how would a lady in waiting for Queen Consort Míriel know so much about a man’s character.” You stepped closer, peering into the cell as Halbrand stared at the bars across from him. 

“I see many people walk into those halls, and I have learned a lot by watching how people act and present themselves.” You paused. “You are a cocky man, boisterous, and overly confident, but you use it to cover how broken you are. How much you wish to find peace in this world to replace those broken parts of you.” His head turned toward you, and those dark eyes had now softened slightly at seeing you. But they still held an edge of warning. 

You were always a good reader of character, and it was why the Queen kept you around. Not to mention, you were adequate with a blade, but she trusted your judgment. This man, though, had taken some time and thought to figure out, though he was still an enigma to you. One that drew you in more each time you thought about him. His hold on your mind and heart clouded you, but after years of loneliness, you were happy to try to find comfort in helping this man. 

“What are you offering, my lady?” He spoke in a low voice laced with some sort of acid. “Let me correct myself, what is your queen offering?” You pressed your face against the bars, and a smile filled your lips. 

“I’m offering that peace you desperately wish for, a refuge from your tortured past.” Your delicate face was already softening as you saw him stand up and walk over to you. 

“And what does your queen wish for in return?” A dark, playful smile filled his lips. “Because one does not offer something like that without getting something in return.” 

“My queen did not send me,” You swallowed hard as his hand reached up to cup your chin through the bars. A whimper stifled in your throat as his touch was as cold as a winter’s day. That deep, firey scent engulfed your senses as his dark eyes penetrated your soul. You wished to tell him everything about your past and desire to escape this place. You wanted to travel with him back to Middle Earth and return to a life you knew did not exist anymore. It was the deepest secret you wished to keep, but you wanted to let it be known here and now, underneath this man’s gaze. “I wish nothing in return, Lord Halbrand,” 

“But you do,” he breathed against your face, fingers tightening against your chin’s soft, regal skin. “All beings wish for something, little one,” Your toes curled in your shoes, and your eyes closed as he spoke those words. All beings did wish for something, and from the moment you saw him, you hoped for him. That boisterous persona pulled you in, and now you hoped he would grant you at least a chaste kiss. But none came, and his hand dropped from your chin before he stepped away from you. 

It felt like a blade had punctured your abdomen by the sudden warmth now returning to your skin. Your eyes opened and saw that he had returned to the bench. His fingers were playing with the charm on his necklace. “I am pleased being in my cage with my thoughts, Lady y/n,” You inclined your head. “It’s probably best for everyone if I stay here.” A smile lifted on his lips. “Good night,” 

You turned away from the cell and strode back towards the statue as his words rang in your ears. It’s probably best for everyone if I stay here. What an odd and peculiar thing to say. You thought as you tried to shake the thoughts from your head before exiting back onto the darkened street back to your chambers. 

[mcntsee]

cold

summary: Y/N faces hypothermia after a dangerous mission. Kaz helps her warm up by the fire, their bond growing stronger.

warnings: The story contains scenes of peril, violence, and life-threatening situations. Kaz is not fully ok with y/n’s touch, but he fights trough it. Ooc Kaz.

notes: Posting this again because it won’t show up in the #

On a moonlit night, the crew moved stealthily towards their next heist, anticipation electrifying the air. The target: the elusive Heart of Nebula, a gem said to hold secrets from the stars themselves, and worth even more, now resting within the hold of a formidable merchant ship. Kaz Brekker's mind hummed with strategies as he and his crew prepared to infiltrate the vessel, a symphony of darkness and cunning.

The assault began with a fierce volley of blows and flashing knives, the Crows expertly weaving through the chaos of the guards. Amidst the clash of metal and cries of alarm, Y/N's prowess shone bright as she fought with a grace that belied her strength. But in the midst of the turmoil, the situation took a turn.

One of the guards managed to corner Y/N, his arm snaking around her neck while a cold barrel pressed against her temple. The edge of the ship loomed dangerously close, its abyssal depths waiting hungrily. Kaz's icy eyes snapped toward the scene, his cane slicing through the guard before him with lethal precision. Without hesitation, he moved toward the guard who held Y/N captive.

The guard's voice rang out, its venomous tone laced with desperation. "Make them leave, Brekker, or the girl takes a plunge."

Kaz's gaze was as unforgiving as the sea's depths as he assessed the situation. A subtle nod towards his crew was met with hesitation, a collective tension palpable in the air. Yet, the Crows trusted their leader's decision and reluctantly retreated, fading into the shadows like wraiths.

With the other Crows gone, Kaz approached the edge of the ship, his voice a chilling breeze. "They're gone. Let her go now."

The guard's laughter was mirthless, his grip on Y/N relenting just enough for her to catch her breath. "You're quite the strategist, Brekker. But this time, you've lost." Kaz's eyes darkened, "You're the one holding the losing hand."

The guard's response was a cold, harsh warning. "One step closer, and I'll blow her brains out, Brekker."

In the deadly hush that followed, Y/N's eyes flickered to Kaz's, a subtle nod passing between them like a secret shared only between souls deeply connected. In the space of a heartbeat, Y/N's hidden blade flashed into her hand, finding purchase in the guard's leg. The gun wavered, and in that instant, Y/N twisted her body, pushing the gun skyward. The guard's grip slipped, and Y/N tumbled over the edge, disappearing into the inky depths below.

Kaz's gloved hand tightened on his cane as he stared at the fallen guard, fury simmering beneath his calm façade. With a swift, efficient motion, he rendered the guard unconscious, the cold weight of his cane delivering justice.

Breathless seconds ticked by, tension thick in the salty air. Kaz's sharp gaze scanned the dark waters, searching for any sign of Y/N. Relief flooded him as her head broke the surface, her voice piercing through the night. "I'm fine!" A sigh of relief escaped Kaz's lips. Y/N's determination was palpable as she called out, her voice carrying above the water's gentle lapping. "I'll swim to shore. Go ahead."

Kaz watched as she began to swim, her strokes strong and determined. With a final glance at the ship, he turned and walked away, his steps resolute and measured.

As Kaz reached the shore, he cast his gaze over the moonlit waters, waiting anxiously for Y/N’s return. His heart was a relentless drumbeat, matching the rhythm of the waves. The moment her form emerged from the darkness, shivering and weakened, he closed the distance between them. Urgency propelled his actions.

“Get rid of the clothes,” he instructed firmly, his voice laced with concern. “They’re wet and will make you colder.”

Y/N’s nod was slow, her trembling fingers fumbling with the soaked fabric as she undressed. Kaz turned his head, a gesture both respectful and protective. In a deliberate and almost rehearsed motion, he removed his coat and held it out to her. She accepted it with a shaky “Thanks.” her voice barely above a whisper.

As Kaz’s sharp eyes examined her, a surge of worry pulsed through him. The sight of her pale, chilled skin and lips tinged with blue sent an unexpected pang through his chest, a haunting echo of memories long buried. But he shoved those ghosts aside, focusing on the task at hand. Y/N needed him now.

“Y/N,” he heard her voice, fragile and wavering like a whispered plea. “We have to get you somewhere warm.”

Nodding at her, he guided her towards the Slat, their steps slow and deliberate. But soon, it became apparent that her strength was waning, her movements faltering as her eyes fought to stay open. Kaz’s instincts kicked in, and he brought them to a nearby safe house. “Stay awake, Y/N,” he urged, his voice a lifeline.

With the gentlest touch, he grasped her sleeve, guiding her with utmost care. Inside the safe house, the dim glow of the fireplace greeted them. Kaz moved with practiced efficiency, gathering wood and coaxing flames to life. “Take the coat off,” he instructed softly. “I’ll get you blankets.”

Y/N’s trembling grew more pronounced. Her weakened state made even the simple act of unbuttoning her coat a struggle, her shivering fingers fumbling with each button. Kaz watched for a moment, concern etched on his face, before taking a step forward.

“May I?” he asked, his voice low and filled with a rare tenderness, pointing towards the buttons. Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze meeting his as she nodded slightly. A barely audible “Please” slipped from her lips as he delicately unbuttoned her coat. His movements were careful, his touch a lifeline, as he worked the coat off her shoulders.

He noticed Y/N’s weakened posture, her struggle to remain upright, and her eyes that threatened to close for longer with each blink. A gentle tap to her cheek accompanied his soft words, urging her to stay awake. Once the coat was removed, he set it aside, then settled Y/N close to the warmth of the fireplace.

Debates waged within his mind as he assessed the situation. Should he fetch a blanket or offer his own warmth to stave off the cold? Y/N’s sudden cessation of shivering tilted the balance, a sign that he couldn’t ignore. He quickly discarded his clothes, his urgency matched only by his fear. Ghosts of his past slowly attacking his mind. But that fear was replaced with a resolute determination as he reminded himself that he had to help her. For fuck’s sake. She’s dying, do something!

“Y/N,” he called softly, his voice a lifeline in the quiet room. He moved swiftly to her side, his heart pounding with a mix of trepidation and purpose. He hesitated for a moment, the depth of his feelings surfacing before he banished them, replacing them with a driving need to save her.

“Y/N, look at me,” he whispered urgently, his hands cupping her face gently. The storm in his eyes met the battle in hers, a silent affirmation that they were in this together. “Stay awake, Y/N.”

With quick, precise movements, he guided her closer, his arms enfolding her delicate form. He drew her legs over his lap, holding her securely, a barrier against the cold that threatened to steal her away. His heart raced as he whispered her name, a litany of small pleas and encouragements, willing her to hold on.

His hands moved over her body, a desperate attempt to generate warmth. His touch was gentle yet purposeful, rubbing and caressing in a rhythm meant to bring life back to her numbing limbs. A sigh of relief escaped him as her body began to respond, her shivers returning.

“That’s good, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of relief and reassurance. “That’s good.”

Y/N’s voice trembled, her weariness evident as she spoke of her desire to rest, if only for a moment. Kaz’s response was a gentle yet unwavering plea. “Hold on a little longer, Y/N. You’re doing good.”

As the warmth of the fire seeped into the room, color began to return to Y/N’s face, a welcome transformation that Kaz couldn’t help but watch with a mixture of relief and gratitude. Her lips, once tinged with blue, regained their natural hue, easing the knot of worry in his chest. He assessed her carefully, the weight of his concern slowly lifting as she regained strength.

Gradually, he eased her down, his touch gentle as he ensured she was comfortable before he rose to his feet. “I’m going to get you some blankets, Y/N,” he announced, his voice soft. Y/N met his gaze and thanked him, her gratitude a quiet melody in the stillness of the room.

Kaz put his pants back on before he climbed the stairs, his steps measured, his mind focused on the task at hand. In the closet, he found a collection of blankets, each one a comforting refuge against the cold. When he returned to the room, he laid one blanket on the ground for Y/N to sit on, then carefully wrapped a second one around her, his movements deliberate yet tender.

Settling back down beside her, Kaz draped the third blanket around himself, creating a barrier of warmth between them. The room was filled with a palpable sense of quiet, an unspoken understanding that permeated the space. Moments stretched on, the fire’s crackle and pop providing a gentle rhythm to their thoughts.

Y/N, who looked remarkably better now, broke the silence with words that carried a depth of meaning. “Thank you, Kaz.” Her voice was soft yet sincere.

Kaz’s response was equally quiet, his tone carrying a hint of vulnerability. “No problem.”

Y/N glanced away briefly before turning her gaze back to him, her eyes holding a mixture of gratitude and something more. “I’m sorry you had to do that,” she said, her words holding a weight that was both apologetic and appreciative. “I know it must’ve been hard.”

Kaz’s mind churned, reflecting on the moments they had shared, the emotions that had surged through him. He hesitated, grappling with his own thoughts before the words emerged, honest and unfiltered. “For you, I would do it again,” he admitted, his voice a gentle affirmation of his feelings.

In response, Y/N’s smile was soft, her eyes reflecting a warmth that mirrored the fire’s glow. “I would do it for you too, Kaz. Anything.” Her words held an earnestness that touched him, a willingness to stand by him no matter the challenge.