#they lit a part of forest on fire once

[confusedskykid]

If my sky kid were released upon the ancestors full force I think they’d be a public enemy and wildly known as

“DONT LET THAT ONE IN-“

Why?

Well where do I start—

[not-neverland06]

How About a Nuke?

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V

The ghoul x fem!reader A/N: I just want to thank you all for the love, support, and wonderful messages you’ve been sending me because of this series. Summary: You’ll never survive if you don’t learn to depend on yourself. But this world is harsher and crueler than you’re prepared for. Still, you can’t let that hold you back, you need to try and live without Cooper.

He shot up at the sound of a gunshot. It echoed through the trees, closer than he was comfortable with. Instinctively, he reached out to shake her awake, prepared to tell her to grab her shit and run. His hand hit nothing but air and he sighed when he remembered the way she’d stalked off. 

He threw his bag over his shoulder and made his way towards her. He couldn’t see much until he rounded the tree, her bag was gone and so was she. Another shot rang out through the forest. He sighed and made his way back towards the fire. He grabbed a lit stick and used it to illuminate the forest floor to get a better look at the footprints around the area. 

As far as he could tell no one else had passed through here while he’d been sleeping. So where the fuck was she? Another shot went off followed by the sound of her scream. “Fuck,” he ripped the gun out of his holster and followed the tracks as best he could. 

The closer he got, the more it sounded like two wild animals fighting. She was cussing up a storm, screaming at whoever was trying to grab her. He still hadn’t managed to get a good luck at where she was. It seemed darker in this section of the forest, like it was purposefully trying to keep him from her. 

There was the thud of a body hitting the ground and then someone was running. He could hear them trampling through the undergrowth going right past him. Someone was whimpering in pain and he instantly thought of her on the ground bleeding out. Without much aim he shot in the general direction of whoever had run off, he heard a yelp but they didn’t stop. 

“You alright sweetheart?” He heard more than saw anything as she scrambled to her feet and ran off into the forest. “It’s only me!” He gave her a minute to realize she’d run from the wrong person before he figured that she knew exactly who she was running from. She must have still been pissed at him for what he'd said earlier. Rolling his eyes he tracked her limping gait through the steps in the mud. 

“Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck,” you whimpered, teeth digging painfully into your lip while you peeled your clothes away from the wound on your side. You slowed down, unable to stay on your feet with how quickly the blood was oozing out of the hole near your ribs. You slumped over, letting yourself fall against a tree and stripped off the top half of your clothes. 

Your fingers pressed weakly against the hole and you let out a choked sob. Dammit, hurt like a fucking bitch. With shaking hands you dug blindly through the bag at your side. You’d lost most of your supplies in the fight but you were hoping the stimpak Cooper had given you earlier was still in here. 

You weren’t sure exactly how these worked but he’d told you it would heal nearly everything. Though, he’d said if a wound was bad enough even a stimpak couldn’t bring you back from the edge. You were praying that this would work, but after the past few days you didn’t have much faith in your luck.

The injector shook in your hands and you knew if you didn’t use it soon you weren’t going to make it. Taking in a deep breath you slid the needle into the skin, as close to the wound as you could get it. You could feel holes on your back and front, you were grateful at least that you didn’t have to worry about trying to dig a bullet out. 

You pressed down and let yourself sink back against the tree as medicine rushed through you. You ripped the injector once it felt like you’d gotten everything. 

With nothing to occupy them your hands fell limply to the ground. You needed to get up, try and reorient yourself and make it to Filly. But you were so tired. You barely noticed the way the wound continued to pulse, the slow dribble of blood leaking onto your hands. All you could see were the stars, so many more than you were used to. 

With no one left to pollute them, they were boundless. You let out a weak sigh and your eyes drifted shut. You thought of Cooper before it all went black. The way he was before, the way you were before. 

It was too dark to really track much but he was sure he was getting close. He could hear her whimpering in pain and figured she’d slow down soon enough. She shuffled around like a wounded animal, graceless and stumbling. 

He tried and justified this to himself, he needed her to deal with Ma June. Honestly, though, he knew he didn’t. He could just give up, set up camp again and wait for morning to come. She’s the one who decided she didn’t need him anymore. No fucking reason to keep going after her. She’d dug her own grave, it was time to let her lie in it. 

Still, he kept going. He ignored the nagging voice that pushed him to stop and turn back around. He pushed anything down that wasn’t useful in the moment. 

She should stop soon, she was just putting herself in more danger by continuing on like this. But, he figured she was pissed off and just didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of needing his help. She had always been stubborn to a fault, he guesses even that hasn’t changed. 

Though, if she wanted to make it out here she was going to need tougher skin. It didn’t matter if what he said was true or not. You can’t afford attachments out here.

The sooner she learned that the better. 

There was a loud cry of pain and then he heard the sound of her keeling over against a tree. He grinned, ready to pounce on the opportunity to get on her about being so fucking stupid. “See, this is why you shouldn’t run!” He called out. 

Something lit up the path ahead and he ducked behind a tree instinctively. He peered around the trunk and marked the direction the torches were coming from. They weren’t close enough to be a problem, not yet at least. If he was lucky it would just be some travelers. He might even be able to get some supplies off of them. If he wasn’t, it would be raiders. 

Seeing as she seemed to be his own personal jinx, he figured they only had a few minutes until the raiders were on them. She wouldn’t be much use to him bleeding out. He strode over to her curled up form, she had a hand wrapped around her stomach and in the dark he could barely make out the blue of her uniform. “Come on, let’s go.” He nudged her with his boot but she didn’t move. She didn’t even make a sound. “Come on,” he tried again, kicking harder this time while he watched the torchlight get closer. 

Angry, he knelt down and rolled her over. But the face staring up at him wasn’t hers, it was some fucking raider. Must have been whoever she was fighting with. Shit, that meant he’d shot her. Cooper rubbed his forehead in irritation. Nothing could ever be easy with her could it?

Footsteps sounded closer and Cooper knew his time had run out. Whoever this woman on the ground belonged to had come to collect. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

Cooper’s hand moved to his holster and he looked up at them, a grin on his face, “Gentlemen.”

“Grab her legs. Come on, hurry up, don’t have all day!” Hands wrapped around your ankles and you jolted awake. You kicked out, eyes blind to anything but the memory of the raiders from before. The old woman at your feet jumped away from your weak attack and frowned down at you. 

“Well, shit, she’s alive.”

An old man walked out from behind you. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He crouched down, groaning as his knees cracked in protest. He leaned towards you and you flinched back, eyes wide as you watched him reach out to you. His hand hovered your face and you braced yourself for an attack. He only poked you, though, frowning when you winced away from the prodding of your bruises. “I’ll be damned, she is.”

The old woman sighed and threw a bag over her shoulders. You watched in horror as she tucked a pack of surgical tools into the pocket of her large skirt. Were these people about to carve into you?

What the fuck was wrong with this goddamn place?

The old man held out his arm and she limped over to him, taking it and walking away from you. You glanced around, still confused on what the hell was going on. “Hey!” You croaked. Your hand wrapped around your waist, prodding the wound. You were shocked to find it healed over, only a dull ache left in its place. “Hey!” You shouted again. 

The woman turned around and glared at you. “What?” She screeched and you winced at the way it echoed through the trees. 

“Where’s Filly?”

She shared a look with the old man and they both stared at you like you were crazy. “Right behind you,” they walked off without another word, seeming sorely disappointed that they hadn’t been able to dig into you. 

You groped blindly through the dirt and grass around you until your fingers felt the handle of your bag. You curled your hand into a weak fist and tugged it towards you. You felt completely drained. But you couldn’t stay here, not unless you wanted to be turned into someone’s next meal. 

You groaned and forced yourself to your feet, head swimming with pain and nausea. You zipped your suit back up and winced at how it stuck to your skin. Your blood still hadn’t dried completely, you looked down and grimaced at the crimson stains covering you. No wonder it hadn’t dried, it looked like someone had dunked a bucket of red paint over you. How the hell were you still standing? 

You’re not sure what’s worse right now, that you’re not surprised you got shot or that you can’t figure out whether he shot you on purpose or not. 

He’d made it clear what exactly you were to him. A hole to fill, as he’d so eloquently told you. And you’re pretty sure you’d made it clear that you weren’t interested in filling that role for him ever again. At least you hoped you did, last night was an adrenaline fueled blur and you weren’t positive you were remembering everything properly. 

You can barely recall that raider jumping you, you just know you’d shot your gun off and made a run for it. The bullet hole hadn’t even caught up to you until you were about half a mile away. Maybe Cooper had shot you on purpose. It’s not like you contributed much and you doubted he really needed your help in Filly. 

Made you wonder why he bothered keeping you around for as long as he did. 

You could hear it now, Filly, you’re not sure how you didn’t before. You couldn’t see it yet, but you could hear people calling out their wares and haggling about prices. You hurried as much as you could, one leg dragging behind you slightly. You’re not sure when that got hurt, but you could barely work your right hip properly. 

Little houses were popping up around you. They were sparse and resembled shacks more than anything, but it was just another sign that you’re one step closer to not having to worry about getting shot at every five minutes. 

In front of one of the nicer homes was a clothesline. You slowly approached, eyes on the clean clothes that were beckoning you closer. You kept your hand on the handle of your gun just in case the owner of the home spotted you. What you really didn’t need was getting killed over a shirt. 

You glanced around, not seeing anyone watching you. Your gaze went back to the clothes and you frowned. If there was one thing Cooper taught you it was that no one asked in this world, they took. You ripped the clothes off the line and ducked behind a tree to change. 

Even with the blood still caked onto your skin, you felt cleaner than you had the whole time you’d been up here. Getting rid of that ridiculous suit was good for a few things. You’d blend in better with the people here in a tank top and ratty old brown pants. And you almost felt like you were getting rid of the memories attached to that suit.

It was as close as you could get without grating your skin off at least. 

You dumped your old outfit behind the house and near their clothesline. A transaction of sorts. They could have your blood soaked clothes and you could have their clean ones. Not a fair trade, but better than anything else they’d find up here. 

It didn’t take long to find the entrance to Filly, once you did you found yourself nearly cowering at the sight of all the people bustling through. Sure, it wasn’t a lot compared to California. But you’d been traveling with no one but Cooper for the past week through a barren desert. Not counting the raiders as human, you’d almost forgotten that other people existed. 

A man jumped at you and shoved a skewer of meat in your face. “Dogmeat, get your dogmeat!” You grimaced and backed away from him. So, not as civilized as you’d hoped, but you’d take what you could get. 

The biggest one nodded towards him, “Grab him.”

He grinned and shook his head, “I wouldn’t.”

The boy on the far left had his head blown off before he could even try and charge at him. He ripped the shotgun off his back and shot the other two in quick succession. He didn’t bother with them, seeing if they lived or died. He kicked at the woman at his feet again and she winced in pain. 

“The woman you fought. Where is she?”

She shook her head and curled further into herself. He sighed and grabbed her chin, wrenching it up to his and letting her get a good look at his disfigured face. She tried to shrink away from him but he tsked and shook her so hard he could hear what few remaining teeth she had rattle. 

“I don’t know,” she cried out, batting uselessly at his hands. 

“I really think you do.”

He reached down, groping over her torso and digging his fingers into the bullet hole on her side. She cried out in agony, writhing like an animal caught in a snare. “Filly, she was heading for Filly!”

He grinned and dropped her to the ground, her head thudding loudly against the large tree root. “Thank you kindly, ma’am.”

She looked up at him in fear, “You’ll let me go?”

He tilted his head, looking her over and taking in the sight of blood on her clothes. “Well, you did attack my friend,” he lifted his gun and she cowered away from him. “I don’t take well to others damaging what’s mine.”

Her brain splattered against the trunk and he stepped over her twitching body to follow the light he noticed further down the forest. He didn’t often find himself exploring these woods at night, he figured he was close enough to Filly but he needed her to confirm it. 

For a moment he lets himself doubt that she was really abandoning him in the middle of the night. Maybe she’d gotten up for a piss and been caught off guard. He dismisses the idea when he remembers that she’d taken her bag with her when she’d gone. 

He doesn’t let himself linger on it too long, pissed off that it’s bothering him at all. 

He’d seen the hope starting to form in her eyes when she’d look at him. She was getting a little loose with what she was calling him too. A little while longer together and he’s sure he’d be hearing his name again. Saying what he had was a favor to them both. Better to cut that off before anything came of it. 

Stupid fucking girl, he shouldn’t even be thinking about this anymore. He shouldn’t be looking for her, either. The confirmation that she’d left him was enough. Their time together was done, it should have ended a long time ago. He’s pretty sure he liked it better when he just thought she was a two-timing slut. 

Hate was easier than whatever the fuck this was. 

He spotted smoke through the trees and then the raiders camp. They were laughing at something and ripping into a roast that looked suspiciously like a human leg. He pulled his gun out and snuck behind them. He just needed a distraction, he’d be over this once he helped himself to their meals and their bedrolls. 

“What?” 

“Caps,” the girl’s voice was distorted by whatever metal oddity she had connected to her throat. She glanced at you, completely uninterested once she’d realized you didn’t have any payment for her. Not that you really understood the payment required. 

Who’d decided bottle caps were a good currency? 

“Well, do you know where I could get them?” She nodded towards a building adjacent to her stall and you frowned. 

The store she pointed to you clearly advertised, WE BUY TEETH. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Or,” you glanced at her with hope, “you go to that alley over there and get on your knees. You could probably get five caps off someone if you suck good enough.”

You glared at her and started walking away from her stall in anger. “I’d get more for my fucking teeth!” You shouted over your shoulder. She shrugged and went back to fiddling with the metal tools on her table. 

You stood in the middle of the marketplace, desperately trying to figure out where you should go. You almost missed Cooper right now, he might be a dick but at least he understood how this place worked. 

You felt an intense ache of betrayal and longing and immediately dismissed any thoughts of Cooper. He could go and get himself shot for all you cared. You loved him, and would have loved him no matter how he looked. It didn’t matter that he was changed, disfigured, you didn’t give a shit about any of that. You just wanted him. And all he cared about was having a pretty body warming his bed. 

You would do this without him. 

You glared against the bright sunlight, scanning each storefront and trying to find something that could help you. You’d already tried to talk to Ma June but she hadn’t been as pleasant as you had been hoping. She wasn’t looking for workers and apparently not charity cases either. 

You didn’t think you were a charity case but apparently having all your fingers and teeth made you an outsider here. You needed to get out of this sun, you didn’t want these clothes to start stinking with sweat so soon. You were trying to keep them as clean as possible for as long as you could. 

You spotted the bar and decided to try your luck there. Maybe you could be a waitress or something. If they still had whores they had to at least have servers here. 

Right?

Maybe you were a fucking charity case. You shook off the thought and ducked inside. You were never going to get far on your own if you kept doubting yourself. You might be a bit naive to how this world works but you’re a fast learner, you’ll catch on soon enough. 

You still wished someone was here to help you. 

He sat down on a log, ripping a piece of meat off the skewer and sinking back into his seat. He ate his food and picked at his teeth, bored while he surveyed the damage he’d done to the camp. She wasn’t exactly a heavy conversationalist, but at least she was something. 

It was startling just how quiet and still the night felt without her sitting across the fire with him. He loathed to admit it, but her company had at least provided him with some entertainment if nothing else. Now everything felt too quiet, too lonely. 

He sighed and shook his head, this was stupid. Two hundred years he’s been on his own. A few nights with her wasn’t going to change who he was. It wasn’t going to fix him and magically turn him into her Prince Charming again. 

Unbidden he thought of her face when he’d grabbed her from those raiders in the old neighborhood. It’s the first time anyone’s ever looked relieved to see him since he’d changed. He’d had to pry her off of him and even then she seemed like she barely wanted to let him go. 

He hadn’t made anyone feel safe in a very long time and he worried a bit for her sanity if she thought he was trustworthy. He was only doing more harm trying to go after her. But something in him couldn’t let go. It was like the love you used to share had been warped alongside him. 

He didn’t like the idea of anyone else getting their hands on her. She was his to fuck with and torment, anyone else would push too much. He felt confident, despite tonight’s incident, that he knew how to poke her without going too far. 

Once he was full he shoved a freshly killed raider off their bedroll and settled down to sleep. He figured he’d have better luck recognizing where he was once the sun came up. 

The next morning he went through the raiders’ pockets and bags, lucky enough to find some Radaway among their junk. Maybe he was right, maybe she was a bad luck charm. Maybe he was being stupid last night, thinking about what they used to be. There’s no point in dwelling in the past, he can never go back to that and neither can she. 

Still, he could leave her alone. Give her a chance to make it on her own without him there to torment her. 

He considered it for about two seconds before he dismissed the thought. You’d both had a deal and she had rescinded on that deal. He didn’t take to kindly to people screwing him over, he’d just have to teach her not to fuck with him. 

He tossed his bag over his shoulder and made his way out of the raider’s camp. He had a better idea of where he was now. It wouldn’t be much further until he reached Filly and found her again. He was intent on making sure she stayed with him this time. 

He’d leash her if he had to. 

“There’s nothing I could do for a few caps?”

“I could think of something darlin’,” a man hollered at you from across the makeshift bar. The building was in pretty good shape, though the alcohol looked questionable. The owner seemed nice enough, a wrinkled old man whose hands shook too hard for him to pour a drink without spilling it. 

“Don’t need any help.” The old man muttered under his breath, tottering over to the other side of the room to pour another cup. He ended up knocking it into the man’s lap and cussing as the alcohol poured across the floor. 

“Right,” you muttered. You let your head fall in your hands, rubbing your face in frustration while you tried to think of what to do. You’d made a deal with yourself that if you couldn’t find work by the end of the day, you would sell your teeth. 

You were hoping it wouldn’t come to that, but with the way your stomach was rumbling and how everyone seemed to keep turning you away it was seeming more and more likely. You slumped over the bar, trying to think of a solution or another idea. 

You’d been propositioned by enough men to know you could make plenty of caps in the back alley behind the bar. But everytime you even remotely considered it, you felt yourself shrinking up. Your adrenaline would spike like you were readying yourself for a fight. 

You figured it would be a while before you could even safely consider that. “You seem a might rundown, hun.”

You didn’t bother lifting your head. You knew it was the man who’d been staring at you since you walked in. You could smell him even with your head down. You did your best to ignore him but he didn’t seem to take too kindly to that. 

“Hey,” he shoved at your shoulder and the impact was enough to force your head up. “Are you fucking deaf?”

”No,” you muttered through gritted teeth. Your hand hovered behind your back, itching for the gun tucked in your pants. “I’m not fucking interested.”

He lifted his hand and muttered, “Bitch,” a loud smack followed and echoed through the bar. Your head whipped to the side so hard you worried it might fly off. You clutched your cheek, spitting blood onto the wood of the counter. 

Your hand was already on your gun when you heard the sound of a hammer being pulled back. “Oh,” you turned, shocked to find Cooper standing behind the man. His gun was leveled with the man’s face and he shook his head in disappointment. “I really wish you hadn’t done that.”

Men stood up from their tables and drew their guns, pointing all of them at Cooper. You’d seen the signs with the anti-ghoul symbols but you didn’t think they’d really follow through. Apparently it was the only law they obeyed around here. 

Cooper smiled as the men cocked their guns, eyes alight with a challenge. Then they landed on you and he frowned again. He raised his hands in surrender and tucked his gun back in his holster. He darted forward and grabbed you. He yanked you into his chest and you stumbled over your feet, scowling at him. He leaned next to your ear, gravelly voice sending chills down your back, “We’re leaving.”

He didn’t leave you much choice, dragging you despite the way you tried to fight against him. “The lady stays,” the man who’d hit you ordered. His friends took a step forward, blocking Cooper from the exit. He chuckled and glanced over at the man. 

“That was a mistake, friend.” Before you knew what was happening he was shoving you to the ground and shots were going off. Not willing to get shot again, you crawled on all fours towards the door. The sound of bullets whizzing over your head had you ducking every now and again, trying to protect yourself as much as you could. 

You could hear Cooper taunting them, and after every remark another body would hit the floor. You yelped and jumped back when one fell in front of you. A bullet embedded itself in the floor beside you, the wood splintering and exploding upward, just barely missing your face. 

You crawled over the dead bodies and threw yourself out the door, trying to outrun the sound of gunfire. But it was too late. The rest of Filly had heard the fight and those that were stupid enough to stay were starting to draw the fight out into the marketplace.

It was almost like a game, ducking under bullets and the spray of blood. Whatever Cooper was shooting them with was making them light up like the Fourth of July. By the time you’d managed to hide yourself behind a building, you looked like you’d been hosed down with blood. So much for keeping the clothes clean. 

Your head thudded against the side of the building and you clenched your eyes shut, breathing heavily through your open mouth. You could feel your heart pounding against your chest. But you didn’t feel like you were going to have a heart attack this time, maybe you were starting to adapt to all this. 

Feet scrambled across the sand and someone threw themselves down next to you. You tensed and opened your eyes, you didn’t relax much when you realized it was Cooper. He grinned at you and glanced over his shoulder, checking no one had seen him. 

The other’s didn’t seem to care that the man that had started the fight was no longer a part of it. You’re pretty sure they just needed an excuse to shoot each other. Cooper popped his gun open and reloaded the chamber. 

He glanced at your blood soaked form and scoffed, “You look like you’re doing well.”

You refused to look at him, “Yeah, no thanks to you.”

He didn’t take well to the way you were avoiding him. He darted forward, fingers digging into your chin and forcing you to look at him. “Sweetheart, who left who?”

You ripped your face out of his hand and glared at him. “Don’t try and pretend like you didn’t leave me a long time before I woke up. You wrote me off copper. You assumed the worst about me and you gave up.”

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something when a noise behind you interrupted him. He gave you a long look and got to his feet. “If you’re not here when I come back, I’ll shoot you. Understand me?”

You looked at him for a long moment, body tensed with rage before you nodded your head. “Understood.”

SERIES TAGLIST: @pixelatedprofilepic @o0mellowdramatic0o @bisasterbisexual @julianmarie @v3nix @coolrobloxkid28 @sunnexaltation @fiftyshadesofokay @ktdragonborn @ambivertdreamer @one-of-thewalkingdead @hellolettuce444 @ghcstvibess @qardasngan @foreverwing223 @leo4242564 @1-800shootmeplease @awkwardly-bucky @fallout-girl219 @the-faceless-bride @milk-ducts @dramaticpandabear @ladiadia @rockerchick05 @raviolisenpai @cupid-club @alastorsw1f3 @sarapaprikas-blog @sgt-barnesveins @weakling-grace

end. — I do not own the characters or the game/show Fallout, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[lovelybluebirdie]

The pale chef

Astarion x f!Reader

Summary: Astarion attempts to cook for you, but things don’t go as planned.

Word Count: 1,7k

A/N: I got the idea that Astarion naturally struggles with preparing food, so I had to write some fluff about it! Hope you enjoy :)

[ AO3 ]

Astarion stirred the pot in concentration, holding a wooden spoon in his hand and wondering what exactly he was doing here. 

This whole endeavour resulted from your constant need to be nice to him, he thought with a sigh – apparently it made him want to be nice as well. 

It started the other day when you mentioned how you would kill for a mushroom soup. At first he thought nothing of it, but for some reason the idea stuck to his head, so Astarion decided to roam the forest and gather some mushrooms. Unfortunately it turned out rather quickly that he lacked essential knowledge on the matter, so he had to consult Gale of all people. 

Putting his pride aside, he asked through gritted teeth which ones were edible and which to avoid, since he had no desire to poison you by accident. Due to Gale being Gale, the wizard not only lectured him on different kinds of fungi, he had also given a detailed instruction on the soup’s recipe.

Astarion chuckled at the absurdity of the scene. He had never thought that one day he'd voluntarily prepare food for another person – and yet he found himself bending over the hearth and mixing different ingredients, hoping for the best.

He even wore an apron borrowed from said wizard, therefore he was more than glad that his companions had left for a supply run, while you were waiting in your shared tent so he could attempt this little surprise in solitude.

Gale's voice echoed in his mind: Chop the mushrooms, add them to the broth, stir until thickened, season with salt and pepper and sprinkle a few herbs on top – that’s it! Absolutely foolproof, even for someone who prefers to appease their hunger solely with blood.

The mushrooms had been the easiest part. His dexterous fingers cut them into perfectly bite-sized pieces, but Astarion bloody forgot how long the meal should rest on the fire.

Suddenly a burning smell lingered in the air, and he sensed in horror that the soup was boiling over.

“Fuck!” He grabbed the pot with haste and put it away from the heat.

Well, he thought as he gazed at the bubbling mass, that probably meant it was done.

With utmost care not to spill more of his precious loot, he grabbed a ladle and filled a large portion for you. If he already took the effort for such a novelty, you should at least get your belly full.

Astarion slipped out of the apron and made his way back to you. He assumed you were already growing impatient, as this entire affair had consumed far more time than he had anticipated.

“Hello, darling,” he purred when entering your tent, skilfully balancing the bowl in his hand. 

“Finally! I thought you'd kept me waiting all night – wait, what's that?” You put the book you were reading aside and eyed the dish in his hands.

“I’m not quite sure myself, but according to Gale's recipe it should resemble a mushroom soup.”

Your eyes lit up. “Hold on – you prepared this for me? You know that’s my favourite, right?”

“I suppose I do.” Astarion offered you the soup with a coy smile. “Although you should remember that I’m not particularly versed in the culinary arts, so it might be best to treat this with caution.”

You took the bowl from his slender fingers. “Hah, let me be the judge of that! Besides, it was about damn time you returned the favour of feeding me for once, hm?”

“I couldn’t try it myself for obvious reasons, but I doubt that this could compete with your delicious blood,” Astarion replied jokingly and sat next to you, curiously watching as you sniffed the soup.

“Smells not bad…” you affirmed while blowing on the steaming broth resting on your spoon. “Now comes the delicate part – the taste test.”

The spoon disappeared in your mouth, and suddenly your face twisted into a grimace. You swallowed hard, a cough forcing its way through your pressed lips.

Astarion couldn’t help but snort over your clumsy attempt to keep the soup inside. “So – I sense I failed you miserably?”

“What? No – I mean, it’s not… terrible,” you stuttered. “It’s… Well – did you let it burn by chance?”

“Maybe.” He dragged out the syllables dramatically and shrugged. “Be honest, my dead heart surely can take it – shall we save this mess for Scratch and the owlbear?”

“Of course not!” you exclaimed with widened eyes. “I’m not hesitant to share, but not something you specially made for me. Also, some things tend to get better once you get used to the flavour, you know.” 

Before Astarion could intervene, you put another spoon to your mouth and eagerly gulped it down, followed by a second and a third. 

“There’s certainly room for improvement,” you eventually muttered with full cheeks, “but it’s not that bad.”

“I’m afraid you’re a poor liar, my love.” Astarion gently grasped your wrist to prevent you from taking another mouthful. “So please let me stop you right there, before you seriously upset your gut. I’m sure we can get you something more nutritious for the evening.” Then he took the spoon from your hand and put the bowl aside.

“If you insist,” you said with fondness in your eyes while wiping soup from the corner of your mouth. “But honestly – thank you, Astarion. This was… unexpectedly sweet.”

Heat rose to his ears as he rested his hand on your stomach, starting to draw circles. “Well, let's just hope my failed culinary attempt won't kill you tonight.”

“I guess in that case Lae’zel would avenge me, so you’d better start preparing yourself.”

“Mh… You think she’d stake me?” Astarion questioned and continued to caress your belly.

“Who knows what her creativity will lead to in the end. Knowing Lae’zel, she’d probably come up with something worse,” you pondered while tapping your chin. “But I guess you wouldn't let your preferred blood supply die that easily after all, would you?”

“Oh, don't sell yourself so short,” Astarion countered in feigned bewilderment. “You know that you mean way more to me than that.”

“Is that so?”

“Well, you also keep me warm at night, sparing me the coin for a thicker blanket. You know how expensive those things can get.”

You playfully raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with his response. “And if you had to give a genuine answer this time?”

Astarion clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “I thought my sentiments were rather obvious by now.”

“And yet I don't seem to tire of hearing your appreciation for me,” you teased.

“Getting greedy now, aren’t we? Fine, you're ... quite decent. Despite your constant need to do something heroic, of course.”

You poked his shoulder and turned away with an exaggerated pout.

Astarion chuckled, before he cleared his throat. “Alright – perhaps you’re more than that.” 

He drew you in his arms and breathed against your cheek. “One might also say you're the first person I truly came to care about. Deeply.”

Your lips brushed over his contours, searching for his own until you kissed him tenderly. “See? Wasn’t that hard, was it?”

Astarion rested a peck on your forehead and embraced you closer, a pleasant flutter spreading in his chest. 

You were right, he thought as his lips curled into an affectionate smile – with you, everything seemed surprisingly easy these days.

*

The next morning Astarion woke to a rumbling. He opened his eyes and could only make out your silhouette as you hastily rushed outside, leaving the flap of your tent wide open.

“Love, are you alright?” he asked in concern and immediately got up to follow you.

“Don't worry, I’m fine,” you huffed under your breath.

Astarion knelt beside you in the grass and frowned. “Are you sure?”

“I said… it’s alright…” You gagged between your words. “But perhaps the soup… Ugh–”

“Don’t be stubborn,” Astarion said softly, when he noticed that you were still wearing his shirt from the other night. “And for the love of the gods – please be careful not to stain my clothes.”

“That's what you’re most concerned about right now?”

“No, of course not! But – That’s my favourite,” Astarion mumbled while he reached for your hair, smoothing it back over your shoulders.

“FANGS, what did you do to her?!” Karlach’s voice erupted like a thunderstorm from the other side of the camp as she spotted the two of you.

“Nothing – I only prepared some soup for her last night!”

“Shadowheart! Hurry up, we need you – Astarion poisoned our leader!” Karlach was already marching in the cleric's direction.

“What – no!” You both spoke almost simultaneously, causing you to laugh.

“I seem to have a sensible stomach,” you managed to add before retching again.

Astarion turned serious as he rested his hand on your back. “I'm terribly sorry, my love. That wasn’t meant to happen at all.”

You offered a weak smirk. “I know, and I appreciate the thought. Besides, that means your next dish can only improve.”

Astarion gazed at you in disbelief. “You’d consider letting me cook again after this entire debacle? Those mushrooms must have gone to your beautiful head.”

“Well, on second thought–” You couldn't finish your sentence as your stomach’s content finally emptied onto the grass.

Astarion felt a twist at his ribcage seeing you like this. “We’d better make sure I haven’t actually poisoned you, shall we? – SHADOWHEART! Get yourself over here – now!” 

“I'M ON MY WAY!” Shadowheart shouted from afar.

“I think the worst is already over–” you began to explain, when another voice cut you off.

“Tsk’va! What is going on?” Lae’zel poked her head from her tent, obviously annoyed by the sudden tumult.

“Please, don’t let her stake me,” Astarion whispered and continued to stroke your back.

“Be glad that I love you, otherwise I’d probably let her get away with it this time,” you replied mischievously.

Astarion’s chest filled with warmth as he grasped for your hand. “My sweet, I truly am.” Then he bowed his head to place a kiss on your hair. “And I love you too. So much in fact, that I might consider forgiving you for ruining my shirt.”

You squeezed his hand and grinned. “Prick.”

Astarion returned your grin before his expression turned soft. “But honestly, I promise I’ll make this up to you.”

Next time he would surprise you with something less nauseating, he thought as his fingers entwined with yours – a safe choice like bringing another stray to your camp, or a nice perfume perhaps.

Masterlist

[jar0fhoney]

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 (NSFW) - PART 4 - PART 5 (NSFW) - PART 6 - PART 7 (NSFW) - PART 8 (NSFW)

This picks up right after the previous part 5. Enjoy :)

“Come home with me, y/n.”

The question barely met your ears, whispered in a half-awake stupor. The pad of Khargaad’s thumb rubbed soft circles into your shoulder-blade.

“What do you mean? We’re already here-“

“I mean home, y/n. My homeland.”

You sat up, looking down at him through his long eyelashes. It was a ridiculous thought, to leave this place right now. To leave this place anytime.

“Khargaad,” you reached down to curl your finger around one of his chestnut ringlets, “I can’t just… take a vacation-“

“I didn’t say anything about coming back.”

He sounded more awake now. More sure. The silence hung stale between the two of you, the only disruption being the night sounds of the forest outside his tent. What could you possibly say? An unpleasant feeling began to well in the pit of your stomach, your face betrayed your feelings.

The chains which bound you to this place were wrought by the abandonment of your father. And this included your drive to protect your mother.

“You think I would just abandon her?” Your voice was harsh and accusatory. It jostled him into an upright position. It was the exact opposite. The feelings that burned inside of him for you were because of the exact opposite. Your passion, loyalty, and spirit lit a fire in his soul. It truly made him feel unwell that he had not made this clear to you.

“Do you know the courage I had to muster, that first day I leaned in through your shop window.”

You crossed your arms, “Don’t ignore my question-“

“You were so sharp with me… you were like nothing I ever expected. I was struck… literally and metaphorically.” He huffed a small chuckle and rubbed his temple, “And then that other day, you walked right up to me and those two idiots. Like you didn’t have a fear in the world. Like it was nothing.”

His cheeks were red, but he swiveled his body to face you straight on. “You walk with fists curled but mind open. You wouldn’t abandon someone you love.”

Khargaad’s eyes practically glimmered in their unbroken gaze at your features. Your own gaze softened, “So what do you mean then? Are you saying that… me and my mother leave with you?”

“Yes.” He leaned forward and nuzzled his face into the crook of your bare neck, “it’s been a few years now, came out here to hunt and make a lot of coin. It’s always felt like I’ve been waiting… or looking for something.” His ivory tusks nudged into your jaw as he peppered little kisses along your neck.

This was all so overwhelming. What really was keeping you here, if not your mother? Khargaad sensed your unease.

“You don’t have to give me an answer now. You don’t have to say anything. I’m sorry to put this all on you at once.”

You sighed, lying back down into his plush pillows and furs, “I’m exhausted.” There was that familiar feeling of the world on your shoulders, teetering dangerously close to crashing down.

“Of Course.” He laid next to you, not pulling you close sensing you needed space. His instinct is correct, but you find yourself inching your open palm to him so that he can trace slow circles into the sensitive skin.

Here I am 4 WHOLE MONTHS later with an update🩶 Had a pretty major surgery between then and now, with work and school. Had to step away but I’m back :)

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[deanbrainrotwritings]

— colder than my heart, if you can imagine

SUMMARY : you and soldier boy can’t seem to get along, but it may be because of something deeper than hatred or jealousy. 

PAIRING : soldier boy (ben) x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : Payback

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), soldier boy cloak-hating, dirty talk

WORD COUNT : 2.3k

A/N : title from a day to remember’s song. this fills the square rivals AU on my @jacklesversebingo card. I know, no smut in the presence of soldier boy?! what?!! xx 

This was it.

This was where he belonged. Soldier Boy. In the field. Well, it was a forest.

But this was home to him. 

The sound of weapons firing, bullets hitting trees and leaves and dirt. Soldiers on both sides and his team were shouting in every direction. 

Thick smoke clouded his vision, coppery blood and gunpowder invaded his nose, and stale sweat filled the air to make it all better. 

He inhaled deeply as a group of poorly-armoured men headed in his direction, their guns were immediately pointed at him. He smirked and counted them in his head as he drew his gun from its holster with impressive speed.

Faster than he could pull the trigger, though, he watched you drop down from the sky like the fucking Devil getting cast out of Heaven. A loud boom shook the ground, the trees shook, dirt rose and shot outwards, and all the smoke ran from you. 

Your cloak snapped at him mockingly and he clenched his jaw, nearly broke his gun in half as you stole the fucking spotlight again.

There you fucking were, a neon sign that begged to be shot at. 

Ice cold sheets travelled in front of you as soon as you hit the ground, your knees bent in what he could only imagine was your graceful pose. 

Arrogant little shit.

The ice searched for warm bodies, freezing everyone in icy cocoons within fifty metres while you stood there in your brightly lit, colour changing suit, and your stupid fucking cape.

He’d heard of you. 

Winter’s Wrath. 

Unstable. Literally. As expected, with a name like that. 

He watched you jump upwards, three times the length of your body before you smashed back down and every pillar of ice that was once a person, shattered into nothing. The ice quickly melted in the summer of South America, as if those glacial shards could do so only with your permission. 

“I had that,” he grunted, stomping forward to get in front of your face. Your dark grey cloak was lit by delicate, fine wires of light that changed colour: red to orange to yellow to green to blue to violet, and finally to pink before going right back. 

“I’m just here to help,” you assured him softly. 

Your eyes met his, but it was like he was only a ghost to you. Your gaze was distant at first, then you blinked once in confusion, and finally focused on him. He realised quickly, you were just watching the lights of your armour change and brighten his face. 

Yup. There was something wrong with you in the head, at least that’s what the other Supes said about you. 

“Stay out of my way,” he warned, his voice nearly a deep growl as he stood in your personal space. You considered his words with a blank face and he huffed out a breath of irritation when you stared at him for a good minute. Then, he stepped away and walked forward to rendezvous with his team. 

He heard the soft press of your feet against mud and the quiet ruffle of your cloak before he heard the gentleness of your unused voice. 

“Can’t,” you said more playfully, “I’m part of your team for this mission.” 

It’s like you knew he wanted anything but that. Someone that would outshine, outperform, and outdo him. He hated it. Everyone was already terrified of you. But he especially hated the colourful lights that followed you and the stupid sound of your cloak whipping your armour as you walked. 

“Got a problem with that, Ben?” You asked when you started to match his pace. He stopped to answer and expected you to do so, too, to listen to him like everyone else always did. Instead, you continued to walk forward while he remained behind you. He growled softly when you passed him and told him, “talk to Stan Edgar.”

He couldn't wait for them to put you back on ice. Preserved. Asleep. Like you always ended up after being awake any longer than a month.

For whatever reason.

“For three years, the CIA and the DEA have been trying to bring down Victor Santiago,” you heard over your ear piece. 

You spaced out as you admired the green of the Ecuadorian forest. A smile tugged at your lips as you breathed in the fresh air of untouched atmosphere, petrichor, wood. Leaves kissed each other, branches bent to touch their companions with quiet creaks, and animals sang their songs of peace and joy. 

Finally away from the city. 

“Santiago got his hands on sensitive Vought information. You’re here to keep Vought’s secrets safe from whatever Santiago has planned. Push into the forest, find his base, and take him out.”

It didn’t take long for you to remember that you weren’t actually alone. 

“It’s so fucking hot,” Tessa complained, mostly to her twin brother. 

“And all this fuckin’ leather doesn’t make it better,” Tommy agreed. You heard him stretch the leather away from his body and snap back at his skin when he got enough fresh air in. 

You rolled your eyes at them and instantly smelt the irritating stench of cigarettes from Soldier Boy. He made his way next to you and took a deep long drag that turned the butt of the cigarette red before releasing the smoke from his lungs in front of him like a damned smoke grenade went off. 

Leave it to the assholes in Payback to ruin what would have otherwise been a great time. 

“All right, fuckheads,” Soldier Boy started, walking a few feet in front of you as he adjusted his shield. “You know what to fuckin’ do and don’t forget…” He turned around and locked eyes with you—even pointed accusingly at you. “…Victor’s mine.” 

You bit your lip to hide your smug smirk, but settled for a fake cough as ideas to ruin his day swarmed through your mind. 

He ventured deep into the forest with Payback spread out to cover more land. 

He could still hear the buzz of Swatto’s wings on his left and caught glimpses of the Crimson Countess a few feet away to his right. 

But most importantly, you were off elsewhere, somewhere he couldn’t see. 

He didn’t want to see you or even feel the coldness of your existence near him. 

He’d had enough of the way everyone seemed to be drawn to you because of your abilities. His team, Stan Edgar, other Supes, and people who wrote articles about you—practically worshipped you. 

He could always control his team and keep them beneath him, within the shadow of the name he built for himself through Vought. But you were impossible to tame, like a blizzard. You froze everyone so they could only stare in awe at you, even himself. And he hated every second that you captivated him, caught up in your powerful presence. 

But it was inevitable. You were inevitable.

No matter how big the forest was, he’d converge with you one way or another as you and his team made it to Victor’s compound around the same time.

But you made sure it was clear that you were there first. 

He felt the ground shake and a gust of cold wind bit his cheeks when he entered to find the enemy forces that you came across completely frozen.

He knew you were doing it on purpose, leaving their fully frozen bodies untouched for him to finish off. He wasn’t going to play that game with you.

He ignored the call for his name and the red sphere from Crimson Countess that shattered the bodies when Ben hurried to catch up with you instead. 

He joined you when you came to an entrance where the guard stood, he could feel you start up again. The coldness of you beat down the heat of him, an ice pack to a swollen joint. He might literally become nothing if you climbed your way up above him.

You left the guard beaten, out of his mind in pain, and focused your attention on freezing the door until it burst open. He shot the guard carelessly between the eyes, his fiery gaze burned into you, but you were unphased.

You turned to face him, your lashes fluttering prettily at him. Smug. Challenging.

If he didn’t hate you, he might’ve liked the way you looked at him. 

But you left him standing at the entrance, looking over your shoulder with a tiny smile on your lips as you came near to a new, massive space with shipping containers and an infantry of what were most-likely henchmen.

There you went again.

Delicate. Elegant. But so irritatingly powerful. 

You took most of them out with the wrathful frost of your abilities. A fresh skiff of snow fell to the ground, on his armour, on his warm skin. He felt the shiver run up his spine but he ignored it to keep up with you. 

That’s when his team finally caught up and it gave you a chance to leave the remaining henchmen to Payback. It was still a race to you, the childish game you were playing annoyed him, but it provoked him into playing along to prove he was the best. He ignored his struggling team and stayed a step behind you as you made it to an old elevator where a small group of goons attempted to escape.

He grunted as he was shot at and punched. He staved off a few attacks with his shield, he punched at whoever got in his way, stabbed at whoever tried to stab him first, and finally was able to reload his gun while he watched you hold the elevator in place.

He joined you once he killed the last few henchmen and helped you drag the elevator all the way down. The thick wires creaked and snapped and blazed at the force of his pull. 

Your laughter distracted him momentarily. Your hood fell back and your soft hair swept over your flushed face when you leaned down towards the three men. You dragged the two of them out by their ankles with a playful grin.

Their attempts to shoot you were futile, the bullets fell from your body like rubber hitting metal. You still kicked away their weapons and pressed your boot into one of the men’s neck. Ben killed the other two as you began questioning the squirming, fearful man.

“Where’s Victor?” You loosened the force of your foot on his neck and the man gripped the bottom of your boot for a proper breath. 

“Come on, fuckface,” Ben urged impatiently, “answer the lady or you’ll end up like these guys.” The man hesitated and considered you and then him. You looked indifferent and cold and Ben looked furious and hotheaded. 

The man conceded with a vehement nod. “T-There's a base underneath.. That's w-where you'll find V-Victor.” 

Ben watched you release him entirely and you went to help the man up, but Ben shot him—casually. The man’s fingers grazed yours and he flopped back down in a pool of his brains and blood. 

You turned to glare at him.

“Yeah?” Ben rolled his eyes at you. 

“Why’d you do that?” 

“He gave us the information,” he shrugged, then made his way to the elevator with you close behind him for the first time since the mission started. 

“It’s not gonna be an easy path leading up to Victor, Ben,” you berated him. He rolled his eyes at you again and pounded the button on the wall with a fist to take you both to the lowest level. “He could’ve made it easier for us.”

“Well, since it bothers you so much, I give less of a fuck than I did before.” You scoffed at him and your jaw clenched. He smirked at your reaction and reloaded his gun to be fully prepared for the next fight. “I don’t think we’ve ever been together in such a small space for this long before,” he pointed out hotly and stepped closer. 

He really didn’t like you, but damn you were hot. Your ass looked so damned tight in your irritatingly light-y suit. He really wanted a piece of you, maybe, especially because you frustrated him. 

Your eyes narrowed at his tone. You looked up at him boredly. “That's because I don’t like you.”

“No?” 

“Yeah, no.” 

“I could make you cum like all your ice went through a fuckin’ heatwave.” He watched your eyes drift away as you pondered his words, your cheeks suddenly frosted with pink. He bit his lip at your reaction.

But the elevator shook as it stopped, landing on the floor where Victor would be. And you were out of there before he could add more to his offer. 

You continued to push through more loyal soldiers, making your way deeper inside. He helped you navigate several hallways and eliminate more enemies. You both split up again, but you always ended up at a nexus point, a hallway that led to a dead end up ahead.

He watched you go into a hallway across from him, but when he emerged from his, you didn’t meet him at the centre. 

He knew you must have found Victor. 

He swore angrily under his breath and stomped into the hallway you’d disappeared into. The lights flickered above him, there was a frozen path you’d created leading into the room he assumed you were in. 

He didn’t expect it, but you kept Victor practically untouched—he just didn’t know why. His feet frozen to the ground, there were no weapons near him. You were sitting on top of a desk, a frozen dagger began melting with warm blood in the head of Victor’s right-hand-man.

He looked away from them, away from Victor with a patch of ice over his mouth to muffle the sounds of his voice. You bit your lip and gazed up at him seductively when he contemplated you with wary eyes.

“Truce?” 

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do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

[livefromthedas]

That Time Flirting Accidentally Worked

By ClickClickBoom

(Also here on AAO3)

Chapter 2: The Pnemoix

Summary:

Rook Ingellvar, a dumpster fire amongst Mourn Watchers, manages to fall face-first into dating one Emmrich Volkarin.

Nice.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

It was a little hard at first, being surrounded by such opulence when Rook knew as well as anyone how sorely so many people were suffering in the same breath. Venatori had overrun the streets of Minrathos. Ancient artifacts of varying degrees of calamitous power were taking lives in Arlathan Forest, and the Antaam had an iron grip on the daily lives of citizens in Treviso. Never mind whatever brutish machinations the Evanuris were planning to unleash next.

But Navarra City stood strong, as bustling a lavish gem and the seat of their nation’s powerful elite as ever. Art and culture bejeweled the landscape in all directions. Even more so, the city dazzled at night, as bone-chillingly dark and cryptic as it was beautiful.

When questioned about their unusually quiet stroll from the Necropolis Eluvian to the threshold of the Pnemoix, from which, unsurprisingly, a line of patrons spilled out of the door patiently awaiting their reservations call, Rook admitted, a bit bashfully, her guilt over the genuine delight attempting to overtake the the degree of seriousness she knew their responsibilities entailed.

Compassionate as ever, Emmrich smiled. Gilded fingers gestured thoughtfully to usher her inside as the maitre d’ called for the reservation of one Emmrich Volkarin.

“My darling Rook,” the Senior Necromancer crooned at a volume meant solely for her, “If not for exactly this, whatever are we fighting for?”

——————-

The Pnemoix was Navarran pageantry at its finest. Part fine dining experience, part elaborate performance art, it was not entirely unlike stepping into a smaller, darker, more sensual version of the Fade. Spirits and the necromantic arts, live music and a whole host of finely dressed Navarran well-to-do’s mingled.

Rook, for once fully doe-eyed herself, couldn’t help but ogle the theatrics with an enraptured sort of joy, the small orchestra filling the space with notes as delicious as its menu. Wisps lit much of the venue alongside the palpable shimmer of magic that crackled in the air.

Emmrich had been grinning the whole while, clearly proud over just how breathless his company was over the experience.

“Wine for the both of us if you would, dear boy. Ah, and blood orange salad to start?” He shot Rook a glance, her favorite hometown appetizer still fresh in his mind.

Rook had smiled and nearly nodded to confirm as a menu was passed her way, when - - -

“…Professor?”

Emmrich’s brown eyes went wide in a rare moment of diffidence - Not for the first time where where Rook was concerned, she mused, thanks to a handful of less than subtle and a little more than crass flirts lobbed his way over the past many months - but his propriety was recovered as quickly as ever.

“Augustus Durchdenwald!” He declared with charming enthusiasm. The young man, who had momentarily frozen amidst passing Emmrich a menu and barely looked old enough to hold down a job, seemed to shake off some of the awkwardness of discovering his aging professor on a date by sheer will of the Senior Necromancer’s delight, “My dear boy, how are you? How has the semester treated you so far?”

“Oh… good, good. Thank you, ser,” The teenager managed, “I’ve been able to start field work a semester early, just this week.”

“Rook, darling, Augustus here was easily one of my top students just this past semester. Remarkably astute for such an early grade,” Emmrich boast.

Augustus went beet red and probably would have disappeared into his doublet if he could. It struck Rook in that moment that Emmrich seemed far more focused on assuring Rook herself felt comfortable in the situation than the young man squirming beneath such praise.

Rook stifled a chuckle, sounding not unlike the Professor as she afforded the boy a cordial nod, “Charmed.”

“The Shakshouka for me, if you would,” Emmrich was quick to order his meal, “Rook?”

“Navarran Curry,” Rook replied.

“Right,” Young Augustus scrambled to recollect his menus and gave a quick, courteous bow, “With you shortly. Good evening, Professor. Uh… Ma’am.”

The young master Durchdenwald disappeared as quickly has he’d stumbled onto the scene.

“Given the chance,” Rook teased, trying and failing to stifle a laugh in the moments that followed, “Do you think he’d have preferred death by a thousand cuts, or a public hanging over absolutely anything that just happened there?”

Emmrich’s eyes glistened with barely stifled bemusement of his own, “Dear boy. Let us hope his recovery is swift.”

His tone managed to be *just* serious enough to shatter Rook into a fit of laughter.

——————-

The crown jewel of the Pnemoix’s festivities for the evening was a sweeping gallery show featuring fine art - Mostly sculpture - that seemed to blur the lines between physical materials like glass and stone, and very real, raw magical energies. Built around the theme of dragon slaying and its integral importance within Navarran culture, each sculpture's energy illuminated its glass components like molten fire despite remaining cool to the touch, and its light undulated around the space like the auroras seen in the skies to the north.

Rook was enraptured with the display - She’d never experienced anything quite like it. It struck her that she spent so much time studying the ancient and the arcane of Navarra’s distant past, that she rarely bothered to poke her head up and see how creative minds chose to express their experiences today, and she mentioned as much to Emmrich.

“I had hoped you would enjoy it so,” Emmrich smiled, before adding with a sweet sort of seriousness, “If our journey together thus far has reminded me of anything, it is that one must remember to look up from time to time, my darling. There are boundless experiences to be had outside the comforts of solitude and books.”

“Professor Volkarin, did you just tell me *not* to read?” Rook couldn’t resist teasing.

“Oh, Never,” he assured, mischief glinting in his eyes. A warm gloved hand faell to the small of her back as he guided the pair of them along to the next luminous display of artistry, “Books tend to travel remarkably well, after all. Or so I’m remembering for the first time in a very long while, thanks to you.”

“This is a new leaf for me,” Rook grinned, wrinkling her nose in a way that she, only recently, realized made something about the spark in Volkarin’s eyes go just a hair shy of feral, “Rook Ingellvar - The *good influence.* I dare say the late headmaster would never believe it.”

At Emmrich’s raised eyebrow, she laughed, admitting, “I really did give that poor old man hell for a couple of years, there.”

“Your reputation did proceed you, if I recall,” he agreed, trying to look serious but once again failing just enough to bait a laugh from his lovely companion. “And it is remarkable, Rook. To see how far you’ve come.”

Rook went surprisingly somber at that, a tinge of shame worming its way into her typically unshakable confidence, “Emmrich, love… I’m less than a year off from what was essentially a soft banishment from the Necropolis. I’ve the destruction of two undead nobles on my record, and enough pissed off patrons to make sure it could take years - If I’m ever able to reintegrate into the order.”

“Yes, as you’ve told me,” Emmrich said evenly, “At length. And I maintain that between what you have explained to me in confidence, and based on the intuitive competency I’ve seen you display every step of the way thus far, that I have every belief you acted in a way best befitting the moment.” He slowed his pace to a stop, the pensive woman on his arm stilled with him, noting softly, “You are no longer a child struggling to find a place to be, my dear. Surely you see you are so much more.”

Rook found her hand fluttering to press warmly upon his chest. Something in his gaze just then made her suspect he’d needed to hear those very same words, once. Perhaps not that long ago.

It was unlikely to the point of absurdity that Emmrich would have dared kiss her in such a wildly public space - certainly not so soon, and not in a social gathering a stone’s throw from the Necropolis, where half a dozen patrons and the majority of the staff seemed to know him by name. But, quick and chaste, her tiptoes afforded her a kiss to his cheek before he ever saw it coming.

It was the first time Rook was quite certain that, despite the mottled light and deep shadows of their surroundings, she ever saw the Senior Necromancer blush.

Notes:

Shit, they're cute.

Also, Gallery shows making for a hot date is a hill I will gladly die on.

Thanks for reading, you beauties!

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Bad Idea, Right? - Part 8

Eris x Reader/Azriel’s Daughter

If things go according to plan, Eris and Y/N’s first official date could end in hot, steamy sex. Or, it could end in complete and utter chaos - because when do things ever go according to plan? Azriel almost has a good time, until he doesn’t. We also FINALLY meet Tamlin’s daughter.

Part 7 Part 7.5 Headcanon

Warnings: Alcohol, language, smutty content, assault with non-consensual kissing, breeding kink (kind of)

An evening breeze blew through Velaris sending a slight chill through the champagne golden silk dress I’d chosen for the evening. A caress of warmth rose up from the fingers I’d threaded through Eris’, heat continuing up my arm and throughout my body, counteracting the mild chill.

When he’d shown up to my door right on time, dressed in a deep forest green tailored suit with the top unbuttoned and a turtleneck that was - For one, so perfectly molded to his torso that I practically salivated as fantasies of licking his abs flashed through my mind. And two, conveniently matched my dress perfectly - I almost said “Fuck the date.” and jumped on him then and there.

He’d arrived carrying three things. A bouquet of hydrangeas for my mother, symbolizing gratitude for her grace with the current situation. Freesia bulbs for my little sister to add to her Sprite garden if she wished, a symbol of friendship. I realized the double meaning of it, to draw in sprites with wishes for friendship but also to symbolize their new budding friendship. My mother smiled softly as she realized it too.

For me, he’d brought a “Fire Poppy”, apparently native to his court. His hesitance to express the meaning of the flowers, told me enough. Fire. Passion. But the incredibly faint dust of pink on his freckled cheeks left me wondering if perhaps there was something more.

Father only appeared at the last moment to kiss my forehead and likely give a seething look toward Eris while doing so that warned, Just because I haven’t killed you yet doesn’t mean I won’t. Eris paid no mind.

And now here we were, walking through the streets of Velaris hand in hand. Eris’ focus remained intently upon me as I pointed out various shops that I would frequent. I pointed out one that I loved as a child and Azalea still adored. The window was decorated with paint splatters of primary colors that blended together into a rainbow mirroring the Sidra and inside floated hundreds of miniature fae lights imitating the skies of Night Court.

Eris paused as we stood before the shop. “Can we take a look inside?”

“Why?” I asked, genuinely perplexed by his interest in this shop of all the ones we’d wandered past.

“It’s a surprise.” He stated.

Because why would anything with Eris be anything but secretive?

Eris read my responding roll of the eyes for exactly what it was. “Surely you realize there is a difference between a surprise and a secret?”

I couldn’t help myself. “Many of your secrets have left me feeling quite surprised, Eris. Certainly you would realize that?”

He huffed a silent laugh leaving me on the street to go into the store. Set in my stubborn ways, I refused to let him win and stood outside waiting.

Eris was back by my side eight minutes later with a small canvas bag. I raised an eyebrow. “What’d you get?”

“Ah, if you wanted to know, you could have come in with me. Guess it’s my secret to keep.”

“Mother spare me. You are insufferable.” I muttered stepping ahead of him down the street. His long strides caught up with mine within a few steps.

He once again wound his fingers through mine. “You love it.”

And I hated that it was true.

“You’re not going to tell me what you got?”

“Just a gift for a friend.”

———————-

Eris had reserved a table at Sevenda’s where Sevenda herself eagerly greeted us. She ushered us to a private section of the restaurant, lit with candles and within earshot of a performing pianist. She’d kissed me on the cheek and given Eris a respectful bow of the head before bringing out a mouthwatering appetizer of some delectable cheese sauce she’d recently added to her menu.

The secluded setting of our table, incandescent glow flickering off the candles, and soft melody floating in from the piano, all flowed together into a very intimate setting. Strange that I had bared myself to this male so many times, and performed every sexual act imaginable with him, yet I’d never felt so exposed to him as I did in this very moment.

Eris checked his blazer, and gods… I only ever wanted to see him in fitted turtle necks or absolutely fucking nothing again. The male was delicious and his gaze…. He was greedily drinking me in as if he’d splay me out on the table itself and feast. There was no way he couldn’t smell the arousal pouring off of me. I sure as hell could smell his, and it was far more mouthwatering than any of the glorious spices wafting through the restaurant.

Before I could give in to my instincts, Eris’ low tone interrupted. “If you keep looking at me like that, Y/N, I’m not going to make it through this dinner.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to.”

He audibly groaned. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Just as our mutual eye fucking grew so intense that I genuinely wondered if Eris really was about take me then and there, our waiter approached with a bottle of the Inner Circle’s favorite wine. “Compliments of the High Lord.” Making eye contact with Eris, the male suddenly seemed to remember who he was in the presence of as he uncomfortably cleared his throat, “of the Night Court.”

Eris paid no mind and thanked the waiter. Surprise crossed the males face as Eris took the bottle from him and poured our glasses himself.

When the waiter took our orders and returned to the kitchen, Eris’ gaze returned to me. His eyes again roving over my body but lingering on my face. He smirked when he realized I was flushing under his intense eyes. “Are you nervous, little Shadowsinger?” He asked. His tone predatory.

I took the opportunity to send a shadow to caress the shell of his ear, effectively shutting him up.

“Now that we’re alone,” I ran my foot up the length of his leg, stopping the journey just short of where I so desperately wanted to feel him. “How long have you had an an apartment here and why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Ahh yes, excellent talk for a first date.” Eris mused, raising the wine glass to his plush lips and taking a long, slow sip before continuing. “Perhaps, I wanted a place to see you without you having to travel through multiple courts to find me.”

“Do you not wish for me to come to the Autumn Keep any longer?”

Eris’ change in tone took me by surprise as it became stern, the voice of a High Lord and not the bedroom voice of my lover. “Don’t you dare think that for a second. There’s nothing mo-“

He stopped himself mid-sentence shifting uncomfortably. “I enjoy your presence in my keep, in my bed, Y/N. But I also like to have the opportunity to visit you in your home court.”

My heartbeat quickened at the power flowing off of him, the desire in his amber eyes.

“So, Rhys was totally fine with you having a place here, just to hook up with his niece?”

“Diplomacy, darling. It is far easier to have a place here for times that negotiations and other meetings run over. It also benefits him to be able to have eyes on a fellow High Lord, no? It was not a difficult matter to convince him.

And I was going to tell you, you just happened to pick up the hobby of drunkenly wandering the streets before I had the opportunity.”

“I was fine.”

I was not fine. He knew it. I knew it. I was borderline feral that night.

“It wasn’t you I was concerned about. It was the poor citizens running the other way, screaming of a rabid, shadow-creature roaming Velaris in search of its next meal.”

I smiled. “For the second time this evening, Eris Vanserra, you are insufferable.”

“And again, little one, you love it.”

I rolled my eyes and took a swig of wine.

————————

Eris

She was fucking captivating. Eris drunk in every detail of Y/N like she was the wine flowing from her glass.

She had to know she looked like a goddess. Had he told her? She could read him like a well-adored book at this point. She read every look he gave her without him needing to speak a word. I want you. You’re perfect. I need you. You’re more perfect than I ever dared dream. I would kiss the earth you walked on if you only asked.

Shit, could she read that all on his face? Should he tell her how damned gorgeous she was or would she give him that all-too-enticing look of “Spare me the compliments, High Lord, you can strip and ravish me once we’re alone.”

And gods, he was going to. He had plans for his little Shadowsinger tonight, plans involving carefully undressing her and pressing kisses to her silken skin, replacing each bit of fabric slipping off of her body with a press of his lips. Instead of burning that lovely little number that was hugging her mouth-watering curves, he would proudly display it in the Autumn Court’s archives. He was a romantic, after all.

Of course, before putting it behind glass for safe keeping, he’d be binding those pretty little wrists behind her back with said dress. He was also a deviant.

As for his plans after that? They were far too filthy to fantasize about at the table.

“Your aroma is rather fragrant.” Her teasing voice broke him from his thoughts.

“And you’re rather intoxicating. We make quite the pair, love.”

And there it was - the little blush she always tried so hard to hide from him.

If just the term “love” brought that to her face, what lovely shades of pink would her cheeks light up with if he laid it all out right now? If he told her how she’d fucking ruined him for anyone else? That to taste her was to taste the nectar of the gods? That he was so hopelessly in love with her that there was no crawling out of this pit of desire, and he’d sooner drown in his need for her than ever swim up for air.

The urge to do just that frightened him. Why did he think this date was a good idea? As far as his self control went, it was a terrible idea. And as far as he cared at this point, it was the best idea. He was here, in front of her, and nothing else mattered.

————————————

Eris had always thought himself better than the primitive beasts fae turned into when it came to their mates. But he truly realized how wrong he was when after dinner, Y/N had requested to walk very slowly along the river until her stomach wasn’t, as she so elegantly stated it, “bursting at the seams.”

Given that after the wonderful meal they’d devoured, he too was struggling, he obliged her, draping his suit’s jacket as well as his arm over her shoulders. She pressed a hand to her very, very, slightly bloated abdomen, in an effort of easing the discomfort. Such a simple gesture that should have meant absolutely nothing but….

An inferno blazed within him at the thought of her glowing with a round belly, the mating bond’s most primal instinct roaring at him to winnow her away immediately and fill her so utterly full of him that there would be no questioning of whose she was. His.

He prayed to the mother or whomever would listen that the breeze would blow the sickeningly strong scent of his arousal far away.

————————

Y/N

The gallery was packed. Unsurprisingly, anyone and everyone wanted to come out to brush elbows with the Inner Circle and who could blame them? Unlike the other courts of Prythian, Uncle Rhys and Aunt Feyre actually interacted with their people. Well, the people of Velaris at least. Feyre was respected as High Lady but she was revered as an artist. Proceeds from her own work went directly back into the arts district.

“Beautiful.” Eris mused approaching a work of art toward the back wall but keeping his eyes on me. I sipped the champagne an attendant handed me upon arrival, needing it to get through the rest of this evening.

Especially needing it to get through the work of art he was approaching.

“This.” Eris motioned toward the piece, “is stunning.”

“It’s not for sale. Just a work from one of Feyre’s students.”

The art, featuring darkness floating upward from the bottom and a blaze falling from the top, intertwining with licks and whirls of flame and shadow in the middle.

“Cost is of no concern to me, little one. I need it.”

A sing-song voice came from behind us. “It’s magnificent isn’t it?” Feyre asked.

“What can I do to acquire such a fine piece of art?”

“You’ll have to ask the artist.” She nodded toward me.

“Aww, come on my lovely niece. Think of all the supplies it could fund.”

“You’re a busybody.”

She only gave an airy laugh before disconnecting the mental bond and returning to the attendees.

“Wouldn’t it look lovely displayed for all of my court to see?”

My gut lurched and I wasn’t sure if it was from imposter syndrome or excitement.

“Fine.” I’ll make a deal with you, Eris Vanserra. He raised an eyebrow. “This art is very personal to me. And despite the fact that it is hanging in the gallery, I want it to be for your eyes only. Do you agree to hang it in your chambers?”

Eris gave a faux pout. “And not show my lovely lady’s art for all the world to admire?”

My heart raced as I quipped too quickly, not allowing the time to change my mind. “Perhaps I only want to be yours to admire.”

Eris visibly gaped at the statement and my heart sank. Had I read all of his adoration wrong? Was I going to humiliate myself just as I had two years ago when he’d left me on the dance floor and I swore I’d never let him have that power over me again?

He swallowed a lump in his throat. His voice breaking slightly. “And your payment terms?”

“Oh you’ll be paying out the ass for it.”

He grinned. “As one does for the finest things in life. I’ll take it.”

A beat of silence.

“And I’ll take you too, if you’ll have me.”

And with that he leaned in to kiss me, soft and hard, fervently and slowly, wanting more yet only needing this.

A throat cleared behind us as father interrupted. He looked to me and to the art behind me.

“I never realized….” He spoke softly as he took in the work.

I flushed, the work now feeling far too intimate under his gaze.

My father turned to Eris. “You’re purchasing this?”

Eris nodded. “A worthy investment, yes?”

My father remained tense but something in his eyes softened. “A very worthy investment.”

Father leaned in to kiss my forehead. “Enjoy your night sweetheart.”

It was at that moment Adish appeared, his Day Court friends Hem and Apollo in tow along with Nyx and a female I’d never seen before. Nyx looked in my direction with a wink as he saw the piece Eris and I stood before, before heading with the group for glasses of champagne.

Eris spoke, “I’m going to speak with Feyre regarding reservation of the piece before anyone else tries to snag it out from under me.”

“It’s not for sale, Eris. Nobody else would be able to purchase it.”

He pressed his warm lips into mine. “I won’t risk a good thing.”

I blushed, dismissing him.

Nursing my champagne, I perused the various pieces decorating the gallery walls when a female voice came from behind me. “If you wanted your father’s attention, there are better ways than whoring yourself to Autumn Court trash.”

I turned around to see the female Nyx had entered with. Her dark hair and blue eyes fooling nobody. Clever little shapeshifter.

“And I didn’t realize your father was in the habit of allowing females to leave his manor.”

She grinned. “Oh come on, he locked her in ONE time...or at least that’s what he tells me. He really can be an overbearing asshole sometimes.”

I laughed. “I missed you so much, you bitch. Nyx needs to stop hoarding you.”

“Please” she scoffed. “I don’t need Tamlin and Rhys’ melodrama to complicate things.”

“Ha, I’m sure Nyx filled you in on all of the drama in my world recently.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Oh yes, I’ve been living vicariously through your escapades.”

She leaned in to hug me. “So” I took in the brown hair she’d chosen for the evening. “Does the carpet match the drapes?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

“Mmm, as enticing as that would be. I prefer your blonde hair and green eyes. It does something for me.”

“It does something for Nyx too.”

I pretended to vomit before Nyx stepped in. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to spend time with my lady before she decides to leave with you instead and I get stuck with the fireling.”

“He’s quite fun, Nyx. I’m sure you’d enjoy the ride.”

Nyx choked on his drink and whisked Layla away with him, leaving me to take in the art in peace.

A few more minutes passed and my shadows grew restless as if contemplating the same thing as me: Eris should be back by now.

Feyre had returned to the gallery with no Eris in sight. I searched, passing Adish and Apollo, my parents and Azalea, Rhys and Feyre, Cassian and Nesta, even Amren, but no Eris.

Had he left? Did I scare him away?

No, his response was sincere. He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t, right?

I walked down a quiet hallway, stepping away from the crowd. “Eris?” I whispered into the quiet of the hall.

Two shadows returned with no information but another returned frantic. “Bad.” “Go.”

I hurried in the direction my shadows shot out, winding further and further down the hall.

My heart stopped. In front of me was the radiant, gorgeous Hemera, pressed up against my man. Lips crashing into his.

“Bad.” My shadow repeated. Whirling to show me something.

Eris saw me and his eyes blew wide, shaking his head.

Hemera turned, wicked grin contorting her gorgeous features into something cruel.

“Sorry, hon. He’s just so needy and so pretty. Can you blame me?”

Did this bitch really think I’d simper and turn away? Oh no. My shadows continued their whispers.

“Blade.”

“Bad.”

“Blade.”

“Bad.”

A sliver of silver caught the dim lights shining down upon them, a blade held to Eris’ neck.

Eris stared at me wide eyed as my shadows erupted into a frenzy around me in effort to distract the Day Court female.

She jolted and her blade knicked his neck and I felt a sudden spike of fear in my gut but the fear, it didn’t come from me. It was coming from…. Eris.

Holy shit.

Willing all of my power to the surface, my tone turned cold, dangerous. “I suggest you step away from my mate.”

The High Lord of the Autumn Court. Eris fucking Vanserra. My mate.

I gave a tug in return to his emotions. A gentle reminder that I had this under control and he instantly tugged back.

He knew. Holy shit, he had known.

I could be angry later, now I needed to save his ass.

A commotion came from behind me. Adish and Apollo rushing in. “What the-“ Adish started. “Sorry, friend.” Apollo spoke before the fucker cast a sedation spell on him.

Apollo towered over me. “You weren’t supposed to find them. For what it’s worth, you would have been a great friend.”

He moved, but I moved faster. Sending a blast of power knocking the male on his ass. My shadows binding him.

“You talk too much.” I spat.

Turning back to Hem and Eris she held him in front of her. “Don’t make me kill him.” She spoke. Now using him as a shield. With his front exposed, I could see the shackles around his wrists. “This could go much more easily if you let me leave here with him. Why do you want a cheating male? You deserve better than that.”

I needed time to assess. My shadows busy with Apollo. Fuck. This was bad.

I laughed. “I hardly call you forcing yourself upon him ‘cheating’, in fact most would call that ‘assault’. And I have no patience for those who force themselves upon others.”

Just then a flurry of shadows shot into the room, ripping Hem’s wrist and dagger from Eris’ throat. My father winnowed into the room. No, this wasn’t my father. This was the feared Shadowsinger, the infamous Spymaster of the Night Court. His tone promised death as he commanded Hem to step away from Eris. She fought his demand, shaking with fear as she remained in place. “Please, you don’t understand. My father is wrongfully imprisoned in HIS court.”

“And this is how you feel it best to approach?” Father stepped closer, a thick, violent air emanating from him. “I will ask you one final time to step away from the High Lord.”

Hemera knew she was no match as she dropped the knife stepping back away from Eris.

Eris ran to me, in an attempt to shield me from any fallout but there was no more danger as father’s shadows apprehended the female.

Rhys and Feyre raced into the room, Nesta and Cassian on their tail.

Rhys whispered to Feyre. “Let Elain know it’s handled.”

Feyre’s gaze went distant as she communicated to my mother.

Rhys commanded Apollo to remove the sedation spell from Adish as Cassian jerked the apprehended male off the ground.

Nesta’s eyes flared with silver as she stared down Hemera before apprehending her as well. My mother and sister rushed in as we followed Rhys down to the gallery basement toward an empty office where the two would be held until Helion arrived. Since they were denizens of his court, it was only right to determine the next steps with him.

As the group strode toward the office, Azalea began tugging at my sleeve. “Sissy.”

“Not now, Azzie.”

She gasped, her little legs trying to keep up. “Sissy, please.”

“Just a minute, Azzie”

I felt guilty for ignoring her but my mind was coming out of the adrenaline state it had been in and my heart racing with rage and shock as I processed the revelation that Eris was my mate. That he knew and didn’t tell me.

Ironic considering that I always found Aunt Feyre and Aunt Nesta to be overly dramatic for their reactions to finding out about their own mates.

They were good, loving males who had enough money to live in lavish comfort for all of their days, and were highly regarded among the people of Velaris. How terrible.

Yet here I was. Fuming. Humiliated. That this male, a gorgeous High Lord and a damn good one at that, with a far softer heart than he’d ever let the world see, courted me because I was his mate.

I thought he wanted me for me.

“Sissy-“ Azalea drew me from my thoughts once again. “What?” I finally asked, raising my voice. But it was too late as the door to the empty office was opened, only to unveil a half naked Nyx, trousers unlaced, his body pinning a no longer shifted Layla with the bottom of her dress hiked up, and breasts fully exposed.

Nyx gaped. Eyes wide and frantic. I sent my shadows out to shield them, my father’s following suit, my hand instantly covering Azalea’s eyes.

Layla only pulled her dress up over her tits as she let out a laugh. “Whoops, we thought this room was unused.”

“I tried to tell you.” Azalea’s little voice whispered.

Darkness erupted through the room as Rhys clenched his fists. “What the fuck?” He growled out to Nyx.

My father only grinned, not caring who saw the smug satisfaction on his face. Fully conveying the look of that’s how it feels, you pompous asshole. Get it now? How’s it feel to be humiliated in front of an audience by the unconventional partner your child has chosen to fuck.

Feyre only covered her mouth, stifling a giggle at the situation. Nesta and mother quietly giggling with her.

I used the distraction to remove the enchanted shackles that were still stifling Eris’ power and apparently his ability to speak.

Fury blazed within me, my restraint failing as I spat out my next words much louder than intended.

“How long, Eris?”

Guilt flooded his features, his head hanging low.

“How. Long? How long have you known that I’m your mate?”

My father choked. The shit-eating grin instantly fading from his face, jaw and fists clenching.

A pitiful sound escaped Eris. “Since the first night… in the alley.”

“Wow.” was all I could manage as the walls began closing in around me.

I stepped away but Eris grabbed my wrist. “Please, Y/N. Just hear me out.” his broken voice pleaded. I couldn’t think. I needed space. Needed to breathe.

“Mom.” I looked to my mother. “Can we go home?”

She gave an empathetic look to Eris. “Come on, Azalea.” She reached out a hand. “Sissy needs us.”

Azalea looked to Eris, letting out a “hmph” as she scrunched her nose and crossed her arms. “That was bad.” She scolded, little wings ruffling with each word.

His face crumpled further as his little friend glared at him with disdain, words failing as she stuck her tongue out and winnowed away with mother.

“I love you.” was the last thing I heard as I spirited away.

———————————————-

A/N: I have had so much fun writing this series! Part 9 will be the final chapter but I may eventually give our main character a name and add a few spin off chapters as well. If that would be of interested to you, let me know!

Tags:

ACOTAR list: @lilah-asteria

Eris list: @angiedsv

Series list: @b0xerdancer-writes @myheartfollower @ang-taylorsversion @acotarobsessed @uniquecolorwizard @justasillylittlegoofyguy @thelov3lybookworm @starryhiraeth @5moremin @azrielsmate3 @coolepowersthings @isa1b2h3 @inloveallthetime @julesofvolterra @deeshag @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @courtofbatboydreams @yourmumsdumptruck @nebarious @glitterypirateduck @mybestfriendmademe

[thyras]

→ of yearning & longing

PAIRING → halbrand | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 4.9k words

SERIES → of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → just LOTS of yearning and longing (y'all are probably sick of that by now), angst

SUMMARY → as fate draws you both ever closer, you can't help but feel the aching of centuries apart and what they have done to you.

AUTHORS NOTE → there is a sneaky celebrimbor x reader in this just cause ya know you do not spend five centuries hanging out closely and not have some non-platonic thoughts at times. i may be going on a little hiatus with this for a little teeny bit due to school starting this week. i have lots of homework and will not have time to devote to this, i have a plan for the whole story but i just need the time to execute it and that may be a couple of weeks. outside life calls.

PARTS → one // two // three // four // five // seven

“Is that really where you came from?” The little voice chimed, trembling with wonder. Her luminous eyes, wide as the moonrise over the woods, looked up at you as though you carried the secrets of the stars in your gaze. Her delicate hands clutched the hem of your robe’s sleeve, and in that touch, you could feel her burgeoning curiosity—a flame that, with care, would burn for centuries.

Your fingers traced the edge of an ancient, weathered page, its texture rough yet familiar, like the bark of the trees you once wandered among. The book felt alive in your hands, a relic of a bygone era, steeped in the whispers of the past. You had carried it through fire and shadow, across the tumultuous escape from Beleriand, a treasure nestled beside your husband’s intricate designs and other tokens of a life left behind. This book, though—it was more than mere parchment and ink. It was a fragment of your soul.

The illuminated script told of your people’s beginnings: the Moriquendi’s deep bond with the earth, their whispers shared with the roots of ancient oaks and the flowing rivers. It recounted the tale of Thingol and Melian, whose love was like a song woven into the fabric of Arda itself. It painted a picture of the grand realms of Beleriand—Doriath’s shadowy, enchanted forests; Gondolin’s shining spires hidden amidst the mountains; Laureandor, golden and resplendent under the eternal sun. Every page sang with memory, each word resonating with the cadence of forgotten voices.

“I came from the earth itself,” you murmured, your voice soft but rich, like the hum of wind over a meadow. “Awoke when Eru sang me into being.”

The little girl’s lips parted, her breath catching as she turned the words over in her mind. Her brow furrowed, and her tiny fingers fluttered in the air as she counted, her thoughts as transparent as the clear forest streams. “But that would make you…” she paused, consulting her fingers again, “over five thousand years old.”

A smile spread across your lips, slow and indulgent, tinged with the mischief of centuries. “A lady does not reveal her age, little one,” you said, tilting your head with mock severity. “It is very impolite.”

Her eyes widened, and her small voice rushed to apologize, faltering with earnestness. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

Before she could finish, you placed a hand gently atop her head, the warmth of your touch silencing her in an instant. The faint scent of the forests clung to her hair, and it brought memories of younger days. Leaning down, you pressed a soft kiss to her brow, a benediction as ancient as you were.

“There is no need to apologize,” you said, your tone tender, carrying the weight of countless ages. “I have lived many lives, seen the rise and fall of kingdoms, and passed through the shadowed woods of Middle-earth. Yet, it is my purpose to pass on what I know, as I was created to be a keeper of memory and a weaver of stories.”

Her wonder deepened, her small face lit by an unearthly glow as if your words had planted stars in her heart. The weight of the book in your hands seemed lighter now, for in her awe, you saw the continuation of the tale, the promise of futures yet to be written.

“Telling wild stories to young ears again?”

The familiar voice carried a hint of amusement, smooth as silver ringing against stone. You turned your head, and there he was—Lord Celebrimbor. His soft brown hair caught the light as he approached, and a genial smile touched his lips. His presence was steady and reassuring, and your own lips curved into a fond smile at the sight of your old friend.

“They are not wild stories,” you retorted, a playful edge sharpening your tone. “They are histories, Celebrimbor.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and rich, and continued his leisurely approach until he stood beside you. His eyes flicked down to the little girl perched beside you on the stone bench. She had been listening with the rapt attention only the young possessed, her small fingers clasped tightly in her lap.

“May I borrow her for a while?” he asked, his voice gentle but carrying a trace of mirth.

The little girl hesitated only briefly before nodding. She turned to you, her eyes luminous with hope and longing. “Can we continue tomorrow?”

You smiled softly, your heart swelling at her eagerness. “Same time,” you promised, inclining your head.

That was all she needed. With a delighted grin, she slid off the bench and ran, her fair hair catching in the soft breeze, flowing like a stream of gold as she disappeared down the path toward the town. You watched her go, warmth flooding your heart, an ache sweet and bittersweet settling in your chest.

All you had ever wanted was a family of your own—a child to hold, to nurture, to guide with the wisdom and love you carried in your light. Yet, unlike Melian and Thingol, such a blessing had never come to pass for you and Mairon. It was understandable. The shadow that lingered on the edges of his soul was not a burden that would be easily tempered. Still, in all the centuries and ages that had passed, the absence of that dream was a hollow place in your heart, a place no other joy could truly fill.

Even if the possibility of his darker nature manifesting more strongly in a child had weighed on your mind, you knew it wouldn’t have swayed your desire. You would have loved them fiercely, shielding them with your light and guiding them toward a brighter path. To nurture, to cherish, to offer a soul unyielding warmth—that was the essence of who you were.

Celebrimbor’s voice broke through your reverie, his tone soft with understanding. “You’re still thinking of it, aren’t you?”

You glanced up at him, surprised by his perceptiveness, but his gaze held no judgment. Only the quiet companionship of someone who had shared lifetimes and understood the burdens carried through them.

“It is a thought that never truly leaves me,” you admitted, your fingers brushing absently over the ancient book still resting on your lap.

He nodded, his expression solemn but kind. “Perhaps, in some way, you already have what you seek. In the little moments, the stories shared, the light you give to others.”

Your lips twitched upward in a bittersweet smile. “Perhaps,” you murmured, though in your heart, you knew the longing would always remain.

For now, you let it rest, soothed by the lingering warmth of the little girl’s trust. It was enough, if only for today.

“Elrond has returned with news from the Dwarves,” Celebrimbor announced, with a gentle smile.

You rose smoothly from the bench, the ancient book pressed to your chest as though safeguarding its secrets. The weight of it was comforting, a tether to times long past. Without hesitation, you moved to step alongside him, your robes swaying with each deliberate stride.

Together, you walked, the rhythm of your footsteps falling into an easy harmony, as if the centuries of shared purpose had been etched into the very earth beneath you. You hoped Elrond had brought good news, because the project was dangerously behind schedule. And there was only so much time left.

With each sway of the ship, Halbrand let the movements cradle him, like a lullaby he could not quite hear. He tried to lose himself in it, to let the rhythm of the waves wash away the heaviness in his chest. Yet his mind wandered relentlessly, tugging him back to places he could not escape. Memories, sharp and vivid as the stars reflected on dark waters, flared to life—pulling, aching, longing.

The burn of this mortal form was sharper, more immediate than the last. Where once he had armored himself against emotion, now they coursed through him unchecked, raw and consuming. He ached for you. For the touch of your hands, the solace of your voice, the brilliance of your mind. His soul felt unmoored without you, a drifting fragment searching for its other half.

When he had awakened in this new life, the frost-laden air of winter biting his skin, his first thought had been of you. He had reached out across the unseen threads of the world, yearning to feel even the faintest echo of your presence. He had scoured the vastness of Arda with his mind and heart, desperate for a whisper, a glimmer, a trace of you among the living. But there had been nothing. The silence was deafening.

The thought of your absence had carved an emptiness into him. You, who were among the first to walk this land, who carried the songs of creation in your very being. It was possible—heartbreaking, unbearable, but possible—that you had faded into the earth itself, surrendered to your grief for him. The thought sent shards of pain through him, sharper than any blade.

Yet, as the days turned into weeks and his strength returned, faint signs began to emerge, like footprints in the snow. In dreams, he found you. Glimpses of your face, your eyes—those luminous, eternal eyes—would appear to him, soft and shining, filled with the golden light of Laureandor’s unending dawns.

In these dreams, you were radiant as you had been in the days of your joy. He would see you wandering among the gardens of that sacred city, the eternal sunrise painting your skin in hues of warmth. He would reach for you, yearning to touch the softness of your shoulders, to trace his fingers along your arms, to hold you as he had in those golden days. He would try, so desperately, to drink in the memory of your scent—jasmine, lilac, and the faint sweetness of raspberries—an essence burned into his soul as deeply as your name.

But it never came to pass. Before you could even acknowledge that he was searching for you—and you almost had, on more than one occasion—the shadows of Morgoth’s curse would rise, relentless and cruel. They dragged you away from him, shrouding your presence in darkness and sending him back into his own mind. Each time, the pain surged through him like a tidal wave, dropping him to his knees in the prison of his thoughts. He would cry out, his voice raw, begging to touch you, to hold you, to feel even the faintest trace of your light once more.

It was not until he had regained moderate strength, his resolve steeled against the ever-looming shadow, that he managed to push past it and reach you again. This time, the veil parted, and he saw you.

The scene unfolded like a long-lost dream: you, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, your beauty ethereal and untouched by the years. You sat at your dressing table, a brush gliding through your hair with deliberate, graceful strokes, and your lips parted slightly as you hummed a melody. It was a song he knew well—one you had sung in the golden days of Laureandor, when life felt eternal and untainted. He had heard it many times, lying in bed and watching you with quiet reverence, soaking in the warmth of your presence, your radiance.

“Mori?” His voice trembled as it left him, his shadows quaking around the edges of your sanctuary, a fragile boundary between worlds. Yet you did not turn. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment met his call.

Moments passed, heavy and laden with hope and despair, until your movements stilled. The brush in your hand hovered above the table, and your gaze fell to the small jewelry box resting there. Your fingers reached out, trembling ever so slightly as they hovered over the box’s delicate clasp, hesitating as though the act of opening it would summon something too painful to bear.

He stepped closer, his presence behind you a silent echo of who he had been. As you unclasped the box, the faint creak of its hinges seemed to reverberate through the room, a sound both tender and haunting. Inside, nestled in the velvet lining, lay a chain and a ring—the very ones he had forged for you.

The sight of them hit him like a blow, a torrent of emotions flooding through him. The memories surged—of molten metal and careful hands, of pouring himself into the craft, shaping his love and devotion into something tangible. He had made the chain and blue jewel to rest lightly against your skin, the ring to shine as brightly as the Two Great Lamps that they were forged under, unknowing of why he yearned to craft a marvel. All when he was your Mairon. Your sweet Mairon.

He reached out, his hand trembling as it hovered just behind your shoulder, yearning to touch you, to reclaim even a fragment of what they had once shared. But the shadows still lingered, cruelly mocking him, as if to remind him that he could watch, he could ache, but he could not hold you—not yet.

You slammed the jewelry box closed and turned away, the sharp snap echoing through the room. The pain of your mark flared again, forcing you to retreat from the part of him that had once been poured so fully into that ring and chain. The sight of your reaction caused his anger to flare, a shadowy frustration that burned hotter as his eyes drifted to your wrist. The mark there pulsed with darkness, black tendrils crawling like living veins up your skin, a visible reminder of Morgoth’s curse.

But then, in a moment that stole his breath, your hand rose instinctively to the golden chain around your neck. Your fingers brushed over the crimson jewel nestled against your skin, caressing it softly. As if in answer, the darkness on your wrist began to fade, the tendrils retreating as though repelled by the warmth emanating from the chain.

His chain.

It seemed to bring you no pain, even in the face of the shadows. Unlike the jewelry in the box, this piece of his work had not been tainted. He realized with awe that the elven hands that had enhanced it in its making had infused it with a power greater than he had imagined. It radiated warmth, a steady comfort amidst the storm of darkness and shadow that plagued you both.

He remembered the night it was placed around his own neck, a gift for a moment of unity and love. He had been hesitant, even fearful, as the chain hovered above him. He had known its nature—that it would burn him if his soul was not pure of light. The stone would have seared his skin and marked his darkened fingers if the darkness in him had prevailed.

But that had not happened.

In your presence, beneath your unwavering light, he had bathed in something he had thought lost to him. The darkness had been pushed back, retreating into the recesses of his being. For that fleeting time, he had become whole again. He had become your Mairon.

You had turned his heart pure, if only for a moment. And in that moment, his whole being had prospered, the shadows receding as the brilliance of your love and light filled the void within him. Even now, the memory of that time was a beacon in his mind, a reminder of who he had been and who he might yet become.

He had pulled away from your mind, granting you a brief moment of solace. But his absence was only temporary. He returned, filling your mind with his deepest, most desperate desires. Shadows crept in again, curling around you as he reached out, hoping—aching—that you might welcome him this time. Welcome him with your warmth. With your light.

“Nightmares again?”

The voice pulled him abruptly from his reverie. Halbrand’s gaze shifted to Diarmid, whose head had lifted from his makeshift pillow, the dim glow of the ship’s lantern casting shadows across his weathered face. The old man’s eyes were sharp, even in the low light, watching him with a curious, almost knowing expression.

Halbrand hesitated. His instinct was to keep his thoughts buried, locked away where no one could reach them. Yet, there was something about Diarmid’s persistent, uninvited concern that made resistance seem futile. The old man had a knack for prying, for picking at the seams of Halbrand’s carefully guarded silence. At times, it irritated him to no end.

But tonight? Tonight, he found himself willing to entertain it.

“Something like that,” Halbrand said at last, his voice low and rough, as though the shadows in his mind lingered still. He leaned back against the ship’s support the cool air brushing against his skin, though it did little to quell the heat of the turmoil within.

Diarmid’s brow furrowed slightly, his curiosity sharpening. “Dreams, then? Or memories?”

Halbrand’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Does it matter?”

The old man shrugged, sitting up more, but his gaze remained unwavering. “Only if you think it does.”

Halbrand said nothing, his eyes drifting around the cargo hold. The waves lapped against the hull, their rhythm both soothing and relentless, much like the memories that refused to leave him. He could still feel the ghost of you in his mind, the ache of what he’d shown you, the fragile hope that you might yet answer his call.

He exhaled slowly before speaking. “I’ve done evil,” Halbrand admitted, his voice low and rough, his gaze fixed on the shifting shadows of the night instead of the old man beside him.

“All of us have done things we care not to admit,” Diarmid replied, his tone laced with a quiet understanding.

Halbrand chuckled bitterly to himself. If he only knew. His mind drifted back to you, to the weight of his greatest sin: the evil he had cast like a shadow over your life. Even now, he could feel the heaviness of your hairpiece tucked into the waistband of his pants, the cold metal pressing against his skin. It was a token he could not part with, tarnished by time and freezing temperatures, yet priceless beyond measure.

He had gone back for it, braving danger and decay to retrieve a piece of you. To him, it was a relic—a tangible fragment of the happiest memory he possessed. He clutched it like a lifeline, wishing with every fiber of his being that he could bask in the light of that moment once more. But that light was gone, and the darkness of his choices had set a path that could not be undone.

His plan, even now delayed, was in motion. And with every passing day, he drew closer to you.

“That trinket you carry,” Diarmid’s voice cut into his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. “A family heirloom? Or perhaps a token of a lost love?”

Halbrand’s eyes darkened as they snapped to the old man, his glare sharp and unyielding. But then, to his own surprise, he spoke the truth.

“It was my wife’s,” he murmured softly, his voice a shadow of itself.

“Lost, then?” Diarmid asked, his expression solemn but kind.

Halbrand shrugged, the gesture dismissive, though the pain in his chest betrayed his indifference. “I am unsure.”

Diarmid nodded slowly. “Did she know of this evil that you had done?”

Halbrand’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. The truth of it was inescapable. You had known. You had always known. And despite that knowledge, you had remained devoted to him, loving him with a fierceness that sometimes bordered on blind faith. You had stood by him, willing to follow wherever he led, even when it cost you dearly.

To be worshipped by the one he loved—by you—had been a divine feeling. One that lingered even now, haunting him.

“Then do not dwell in what was,” Diarmid said after a moment, his voice calm and steady. “For all is forgiven to her.”

But Halbrand knew better. Forgiveness was a lie. He had burned your world down, not once but countless times over. He had tried to repent, to make amends for the ruin he had caused, but when the cost became clear—eternal separation, eternal damnation for the both of you—he had fled. He had run from the truth of what his true repentance required. Not able to accept the words of beings that had once hunted him down like an animal.

“Now you must find forgiveness in yourself,” Diarmid continued, breaking through the silence. “You are here, with the hope of seeing her once more, wherever she might be. All because you have chosen good on this day.”

“And what of tomorrow?” Halbrand asked, his voice heavy with the weight of his doubts.

“You choose it again,” Diarmid said simply. “And then the next day, and the day after that, until it is part of your nature.” A soft smile crossed the old man’s lips, his words as gentle as the first light of dawn.

Halbrand said nothing, his mind swimming with memories of what he had once been.

Mairon had been good. He had loved, deeply and without restraint. He had danced in the light, sung with his whole fëa, and devoted himself to the one who had been his guiding star. Day after day, he had chosen to be admirable, to be worthy of the love you gave so freely.

Sauron, though… Sauron was irredeemable in the eyes of all but one.

Yours.

You had clung to the hope that the light could penetrate the shadow once more. You had believed in him when no one else did, holding on to the belief that the spark of goodness within him still existed. And he had told you once, long ago, that his light was embedded in you, waiting to return to him when the darkness had faded.

But the darkness had never faded.

And now more than ever it crept even closer, begging to swallow him further.

Over the weeks, you had lingered in the hazy solace of your dreams, refusing to wake from the gentle caresses and whispered promises of your husband. His touch, his voice, his presence—it all felt so real in the quiet sanctuary of your slumber. You clung to him desperately, even as he faded, unwilling to release him to the waking world. For when you did, you knew you would wake to the cold emptiness of your bed, the hollow ache in your heart once more reminding you of the loneliness that consumed your days. The sunlight seemed dimmer now, as if mourning alongside you, its warmth unable to pierce the sorrow that wrapped itself around you. His words of patience echoed in your mind, but the longing you carried was shifting—slowly, insidiously—into grief once more. And the shadows whispered to you, their call growing ever louder.

“Everything well?”

Celebrimbor’s voice broke through your reverie, and you startled slightly before turning to him. He stood across the small forge, his keen eyes watching you with gentle concern. You offered him a cheerful smile, though it barely masked the weariness tugging at your features.

“Yes, of course, my lord,” you replied, trying to sound lighthearted.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I can tell when you’re lying, Thilwen.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you quickly turned back to the parchment before you. The last bit of correspondence for the day was nearly finished, and you placed your quill back in the inkpot with careful precision. Blowing on the ink to dry, you focused intently, determined to ignore Celebrimbor’s prying gaze. Though he rarely ventured into matters of your personal life, he worried for you on occasion. He had seen the signs: your faraway stares, the way you flinched at the faintest creak of a door, the late-night strolls through the courtyard where you seemed to murmur to no one.

“I am fine—” you started, but Celebrimbor crossed the room in a few strides and placed his hand firmly on the parchment, cutting you off.

“Go,” he said, his voice gentle but resolute. “You look exhausted. I will finish this.”

“But—” you began to protest, but he shook his head.

“No buts. You’ve been working harder than ever, and I need your mind sharp once the forge is complete. We’ll have plenty of work ahead of us.” His expression softened as he added, “Rest, Thilwen. Truly rest.”

You hesitated for a moment, but the warmth of his concern and the firmness in his tone left no room for argument. But instead of rising you only sat back in your chair as you moved to rub your eyes, you wanted to rest more than anything but it would only make your grief and sorrow flourish.

“Thilwen?” Celebrimbor prompted with a raised brow.

“I can’t sleep,” you murmured, a shred of truth in the words. Celebrimbor moved to sit across from you. “I keep having dreams.” You paused, hesitating wether or not to even tell Celebrimbor, but he was one of your oldest friends and was always full of wisdom, even more than you. A child of Ilúvatar.

“Nightmares about your husband again?” Celebrimbor’s voice was careful, yet tinged with the barest hint of curiosity. It wasn’t entirely off the mark, though to call it a nightmare felt wrong. If one could call being driven to the edge by the ghostly caress of your husband’s touch a nightmare, then perhaps he was right. But that was none of Celebrimbor’s business.

“Some nights I see the white towers burning,” you began, your voice steady though your chest felt tight. “Others I see fellow elves—”

You didn’t have to finish. Celebrimbor’s hand reached across the small space between you and settled gently on your arm. His touch was soothing, an anchor in the storm of your words.

You weren’t lying. There were nights when your husband’s presence didn’t soften your dreams, when his whispers didn’t guide you into a fragile comfort. Instead, there were nights when the weight of old memories and distant faces overwhelmed you.

You saw them clearly—people you had loved, places you had walked—now all reduced to ruin. The brilliance of their existence snuffed out beneath the crushing weight of your husband’s oppressive hand. The burning white towers haunted you, their light extinguished by shadow, and the faces of those you cherished twisted with pain and betrayal.

Celebrimbor’s touch tightened slightly, grounding you. “You are not alone in this grief,” he said softly, his voice as steady as his presence. But in your heart, you knew your grief was far more complex than he could ever understand.

Because no one but you could love the hand that had wrought such destruction—and still long for it in the dark of night.

“It is alright; all is in the past. We have endured the darkest of days with our kin, and now we look to craft a brighter future,” Celebrimbor said, his voice steady and filled with quiet conviction. His hand gave your arm a gentle squeeze, a small gesture of comfort before his tone turned teasing. “But please, do go get some rest—you look awful, my dear.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound lightening the heaviness in your chest as you stood and pushed your chair neatly under the table. Stepping closer to him, you placed your hand on his cheek in a warm, familiar gesture. Celebrimbor’s smile softened at your touch, a warmth radiating from him that you had come to know so well over the centuries.

For five centuries, you had known his affection. Though it was unspoken and never crossed into anything beyond platonic, it was evident in the way he treated you. Others had noticed, whispering of how his gaze lingered on you longer than it did on anyone else, how his words carried a gentler tone when they were meant for you, and how his kindness toward you surpassed what he offered even his closest smiths.

But no matter what others said, Celebrimbor knew your heart belonged to another. He carried on with his immortal longing for greatness, his own ambitions burning brightly. Perhaps, somewhere in the depths of his heart, he held a quiet yearning for you as well. Yet, he had always respected the boundaries of your devotion, never once letting his affection compromise the steadfastness of your bond.

For your fëa sung for only one being.

The melody you shared with your husband was eternal, unshakable. It was a song that no other could replicate, a harmony woven in the light that existed between only the two of you. Even in his absence, even in grief so profound it threatened to consume you, you knew you would never betray that song. To do so would be to betray yourself.

“I will try to do so,” you said, letting your hand fall back to your side. You turned toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance back at him. “Good night, my lord.”

“Good night, my lady,” Celebrimbor replied with a small bow, his voice soft and reverent as you stepped out into the quiet night, carrying with you the weight of an unyielding love and the memories of what had been.

[weepingchronicles]

yan!azula (atla) getting back reader 🙏🏻 (headcanons, or one shot please!)

yandere azula x airbender reader (part 2) platonic or romantic tw/cw: yandere, choking, death threats, verbal abuse, possessive behavior a/n: erm guys.. it's getting kinda scary  😰 😰 (part 1)

being with aang and the others was unlike anything you've ever experienced.

when you first met everyone you were scared- but they all welcomed you with open arms. katara emphasized with you, having her mother also die at the hands of the fire nation. sokka tried to flirt with you, which you were oblivious to, until aang and katara told him to knock it off. after that, you became like katara to him, like a younger sibling who'd he protect.

you were so naive to the world, never stepping foot outside of the fire nation before.

when aang had told you his story, how he was in a iceberg for 100 years and was the avatar, but more importantly one of the last airbenders- you could hardly believe it.

the more the gang told you their stories, the clear it became that the fire nation had took away your parents, your culture and your freedom. you knew azula was evil, but you still believed you had no other choice but follow her.

you told aang that you had no airbending ability, you thought you'd be discarded away, just for being useless

but aang did no such thing, just offering a smile and saying he's just glad he has someone from home.

and you did feel at home.

You woke up to shaking, and your eyes immediately lit up. For a minute, you were back in the palace. Azula waking you up so she could sleep beside you. It was when we were in our younger years and Azula would wake you up at odd hours of night, slipping with you under your blanket. You assumed it was because she had nightmares, you did too, but you never dared ask her about it, fearing you'd end up with a scar like Zuko's.

You woke up from your flashbacks and took in to the actual scene in front of you. It's Aang.

"What's wrong?" "It's someone. They're following, come on, we need to get onto Appa."

You all pack your sleeping bags and ride on Appa. It's still the middle of the night, and the cooling wind blowing past your hair is not making your exhaustion any better.

Finally you all spot a place to settle down, it's in a middle of a forest which will be hard for anyone to navigate through

You lay out your tents and sleeping bags again to finally rest. You find yourself somewhat missing Azula, when she would be nice for once and fall asleep beside each other until morning. You push back those thoughts, remembering how she treated you. If she really cared she'd let you go and be happy.

With all these thoughts swirling in your head, you don't notice yourself start falling asleep.

You feel a hand on your mouth causing you to snap your eyes open. There she is, Azula. It's only been a week and she's already found you. Your eyes look to where the rest of the gang were sleeping but instead they're gone!

"Aw, don't look so surprised. You really thought I wouldn't go looking for my favorite pet?" The nickname made you cringe and Azula removes her hand from over your mouth, but both her knees restrain your arms to the ground.

"Where's Aang, Katara and Sokka!?" You spit out, but you instantly regret when you see Azula's sly smirk turn to an expression of jealous rage.

"Really? I could kill you right now but you're more worried about your friends!?" Before you could reply, her hand slapped over your neck, squeezing around your throat. Perfect manicured nails dug into your flesh, practically leaching the breath you had left in your lungs out of you. Azula's eyes leaked of fiery rage, pure fuel and the truth is you've never seen her like this. She's dangerous, more dangerous than ever before but she is not as calculated. You knew that Mai and Ty Lee couldn't defeat the Avatar on their own so she must know that, but instead she came for you.

Still, your heart ached for your friends, the only true ones you've made all your life. You yourself felt a fire deep inside you, not as fiery as Azula's, but it was ignited when you first met Aang.

"Please.. don't hurt them." was all you could manage out before you start turning purple. Azula's face turned shocked, like she couldn't believe you care more about your friends than her. She dropped her claw-like grip on your throat, you let out a gasp of air before rolling to your side and coughing.

While you were coughing, Azula let go of your arms and stood. "(Y/N), they don't truly care for you. At least not like I do, look at what I have done for you! You really think a pesky water tribe girl, a non-bender and a 12 year old Avatar really care for you? Tell me, do you really think the Avatar would save you if you weren't from the Air Nation?"

You were on your side, refusing Azula to see your face. Was she right? It's true that Aang came for me because we are both air but Aang is a good person! He would definitely rescue me even if I were someone else.. right?

You felt Azula's hand cup your cheek and turn your gaze towards her. Her eyes now are half-lidded and the fire was just warmth now.

"(Y/N), please, come home now and we can forget about this. This is silly." She tucked a piece of hair away from your face, which would have been loving but all it made you feel was owned. Like you were a pet, something to leash and expect obedience from. You wanted to show her you were nothing like her, and she did not own you.

Without even thinking you smack her hand away, a surge of strength powering you as you stand up. You moved to shove away Azula but as you did so, a gust of wind flew her back more than 8 feet away from you.

What?

You look down at your hands and back at Azula wobblily getting up, pure shock but also confusion on her face.

You turn around, hearing a familiar girls voice calling you.

"Katara!" You yell, running back to her. "Come on, we have to go! This girl somehow took away my bending." The girl Katara was saying about sounded Ty Lee but you knew you had to get out before Azula fully recovers. You finally made it back with the others and flew away safely on Appa. You look down as fly away, Azula's form getting smaller and smaller by distance. Aang speaks, finally pulling you you of your daze.

"(Y/N), are you okay? How did you manage to fight off Azula?"

"I.. I don't know." The group looks at you with confusion but you're more confused than they are.

You were safe from Azula for now but you knew she'd be back for the Avatar, especially now since he wasn't the only Airbender..

And that's a wrap! Sorry it took so long, I got really busy and I couldn't figure out an ending I liked. Comment or request whether you'd like reader to fully escape Azula or not, or something completely different!

[ohwaitimthewriter]

Would you be open to writing another pota Caesar x human!reader? whatever you’re comfortable with, love your blog! :)

Hi, hi 👋🏻

Thank you so much for asking it and I'm also sorry it took me a hundred of years to answer your request!

But I got a little something and I hope you'll enjoy it! I might write a bit more about it, I don't know yet, but here we go!

Enjoy your reading!

Title: Under one sky

Pairing: (slightly implied) Caesar x human!reader

Warning: the kind of fluff which holds some melancholia.

Summarize: You long for a friend who looks at the same sky above you without knowing it

Words: 596 (a small one!)

Planet of the apes Masterlist.

It was a peaceful night. One of those rare nights when only the ambient sound of fireflies would stroke your ears in a restful lullaby. The little fire you'd lit to warm your body had long since gone out, but your mind had never wanted to sink into the arms of Morpheus. With your gaze glued to the glittering black immensity you could see between the shadows of the highest branches, you silently counted the stars.

It had been perhaps an hour or two since you'd given up trying to sleep, your head full of images of a past you'd been trying hard to reclaim. A past that had been snatched away from you overnight, and which had only collapsed, like a small stone triggering an avalanche.

You'd never been able to forget him, and ever since the day he'd never come to join you in the wooden shack at the back of your garden, he'd left a void embedded in the space where the childlike heart you'd once been was supposed to be. And you'd grown up with this space to be taken and never given to anyone else, yet how could you ever replace him? The only friend who had turned your dreary days into a ray of sunshine and thanks to whom you could now claim to have had a happy childhood.

You kept dragging that damaged heart of yours around with the sole certainty that you were living under the same starry sky as he was. It was perhaps the only thing that kept you looking for him, despite everything, despite the virus, despite the tiny chance of finding him in this forest, sharing the same sky became a warm comfort that stitched the ripples of your torn heart.

And you pictured him, somewhere, perhaps looking up at that same sky, wondering if he ever missed you, as much as you missed him, without knowing that Caesar was looking up at this very same sky, the same question venturing into the meanders of his thoughts. Thoughts preoccupied with the safety of his own people. A security he would have liked to be able to grant you, if only he'd been able to return to that little wooden hut. In that place where you had first found him in his younger days, when all he wanted was to find something to play with and amuse his childish heart.

Caesar wondered what had become of you. Had you survived? Perhaps he'd rather not answer that question, when the answer was surely no, as the virus was taking humanity in its wake. He gazed up at the cloudless black sky, where multitudes of stars shone freely, reminding him that today, apes were also free to build their lives in this part of the forest. The twinkling white stars watched over their brothers and sisters with black and brown fur as they evolved under their distant gazes.

Then, a star, brighter and stronger than the others, caught Caesar's eyes, and in a silent agreement, he wished to see it watch over you, wherever you were, since he could no longer do it himself. Were you thinking of him as much as he was thinking of you? Despite his constant worries, that face of the child you used to be always managed to find its way to him, and in front of that star, he hoped that the version of you he didn't know could see it too. And if you could, he hoped you'd know he was the one who'd sent it to watch over you.

[hidden-snow]

✦┈⋆┈ ⋞ 〈 Ｒｕｎｎｉｎｇ Ｈｏｍｅ ｔｏ Ｙｏｕ 〉 ⋟ ┈⋆┈✦

Summary // You thought your relationship was as special to him as it was to you. You thought he loved and cherished you as much as you loved and cherished him. But when his family leaves the Omatikaya and all he has to offer is ‘I’m sorry’ when you beg and plead for him to stay with you, you realize that you were so, so wrong about him. Heartbroken and defeated, a girl barely seventeen years old, you decide that you will never love again. After all, it hadn’t meant anything to him. Years later and you are the best of the best. A strong warrior and an even better hunter, you provide for your people in every way except for a child to add to the next generation of Omatikaya people. They respect your wishes but you can hear the whispers. You can feel the concerned gazes from your parents, too old to conceive a sibling to make up for your lack of children. When he comes back, it throws you through a loop. Handsome, mighty, and different, he comes to you right away. But you promised yourself.

Warnings // Angst, a bit of stalker Neteyam, some fluff, mentions of drinking, heartbreak

Word count // 1,103

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7

You tossed and turned all night. In the mornings, you’d wake up in a cold sweat that prickled on your skin, dripping down your face and soaking the black strands of your hair.

During the day, you tried to pretend that everything was normal. Following a routine that you used to enjoy, you realized that you were no longer happy. Everything was bland without Neteyam nearby.

He seemed to realize you’d moved on. He no longer looked over you, no longer haunted your activities.

Instead, often enough, you’d find him talking to other women, smiling and chatting as if he’d known these people all of his life.

In a way, he had known these people from childhood. So did you. Many of the women that flirted back with him had mates of their own, children that they should be caring for instead of giggling at everything he said.

Whenever you saw this, you’d clench your hands into tight fists and stalk off, anger fuming hot in your veins. You never saw how it started, but you were certain that this was his next plan at how to win you back.

And, even though you swore up and down that the anger was because of the unfaithfulness of the women who reciprocated his flirtatious moves, you had realized that the anger was actually jealousy-based.

You were jealous.

Jealous that he’d managed to quite easily move on from you and that so many women had his attention instead of you now.

Not that you would ever admit it. Especially not to him. Not after that little fight in the lush forest of your home. You knew that if you mentioned the fact that you saw red everytime you caught him hitting on a woman to Neteyam, he would realize right away that you had been lying when you’d said you had moved on.

Neteyam may be a people pleaser and an skxawng by leaving you like he did, but he wasn’t stupid. He was very smart. He would figure it out.

So you bit your lip and forced your limbs to move, taking you away from wherever he was so that you didn’t have to wrestle with yourself over confronting him or not.

Unfortunately, he saw you several times. He saw the way a fire lit in your eyes whenever a random woman would touch his arm and giggle at his words. He saw the way you fought with yourself. And, once your back was turned, he would smirk and excuse himself from the conversation to follow you.

He stuck close, watching you attempt to pretend everything was just fine.

You were a shit liar, though. Even to yourself.

If only you’d open up to him, let him back into your life and heart. Life could be full of love and joy again, if only you’d let him in.

»»——⍟——««

You’d had a long day. Off of your game, one could say if they’d seen the way you’d gone about. Your aim was crap. Your body seemed to be fighting against you with everything you tried to do. You just wanted to go home and lay on your mat, pretending you were somewhere far from here. Far from Neteyam.

As you neared your family alcove, though, you heard laughing and chuckling. Confusion sparked, before dying quickly when you poked your head in.

Neteyam sat with your parents, sipping on a clay cup as they swapped stories over the past three years.

You slip back out, contemplating. Yeah, you could probably survive one night on the ground. But did you really want to sleep outside when you had such a comfortable mat inside the warm little cavern in the wall?

After minutes of contemplation, you finally enter, pretending not to notice Neteyam, though he definitely notices you.

“Ah, Y/n, my daughter. Come sit with us. Neteyam has been telling us of his wonderful adventures. I think you will enjoy the stories,” your mother calls softly. She’s just trying to ease the awkward tension that had begun to build, but her attempts were in vain. You roll your eyes, walking to where you sleep without acknowledging what she’d suggested. You didn’t even acknowledge his existence. You didn’t want to.

You hear him say something quietly to your parents and they eagerly nod, excusing themselves to leave you alone with Neteyam.

“Rough day?” he asked, his voice gaining a softness to it that almost convinced you that he thought he was talking to a scared, wild child rather than a full-grown warrior of the Omatikaya people.

You throw him a cold look as you drop your parcel of arrows by your mat.

“Come on, Y/n. I’m trying to reconnect with you. Not as… courting or anything like that. I just want to be friends again. Like we were back when we were children. Is that really too much to ask for?”

The pleading is back again and you hesitate, not wanting to say no or yes. Because then, it’d feel like the final word in a decision. What could you say?

Yes, Neteyam. It’s too much to ask to be friends again when you’d ripped my heart out by choosing your dad over me.

Or even better, no, Neteyam. It’s not too much to ask for. I’d love to give you a second chance so that, if the time comes, you can stab me through the chest once again.

You keep your lips pressed tight against your teeth, not giving him anything despite his urging.

He sighs, running fingers through his braided locks, before setting the cup down on the rocky ground.

“Why don’t you come for a ride with me, Y/n? Just for a bit. It’ll help you feel better and maybe it’ll ease this awkward feeling between us? C’mon. You know you want to. Riding was always your favorite thing out of all the things we could do as children.”

For a moment, you want to tell him no. But what would be the harm? After all, if he tried to push you to talking, you could always ditch him and come back home.

You meet his eyes calmly, giving him a single nod.

“Okay, Neteyam. No pushing though. I’ve already told you that I don’t want to open up to you.”

He lights up, like he’s won some sort of surprise, nodding eagerly, and you can’t help but feel a little sorry for him. After all, you knew Neteyam. You agreeing to a flight with him; that was like agreeing to mate with him in his mind. He was too optimistic for his own good.

Taglist // @earthling55

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 27 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: Jace and Valeana go for a horseback ride in the Godswood. What could possibly go wrong? Word Count: 4492 CHAPTER WARNINGS: menstruation blood, menstruation talk

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: Tryin' to to be upset over the fact that I didn't get as much reception from last week's chapter than I thought it was.... But's fine. I'm totally fine [says in a Ross voice]. lmao, but for real, thank you to those that did. Aside from Aemond motorboating dem tiddies, it was the first ~real~ smut scene that wasn't a dream sequence, so I hope it was enjoyable.

“You’re quiet,” Jace pointed out at last, now that they were sufficiently down the walking trail in the Godswood. 

“Sorry,” Valeana apologized, looking down at her hands as they clutched the reins. “Had a long night of fretful sleep.” 

Not a lie, but a half truth. The aftermath of her tryst with Aegon had left her more indecisive than she previously was. Outside of Aemond’s love affair with her breasts that night, what she had with Aegon was her first sexual experience. The first time she had seen male genitalia (that close, anyway, and on a grown man), the first time she had ever touched a man in any intimate capacity. Hells, she had never even kissed anyone, and yet she had a cock in her hand, twitching and hard until it painted her fingers with pearlescent seed. 

His member was intimidating at first glance, though she had no basis of comparison. Were all men of that size? He was heavy in her hand, her fingers just barely wrapped around the width of it. How is something like that supposed to fit anywhere in her body? Yet despite the intimidating size, it filled her with a primal need, something inborn in every living thing that needs to procreate. Had Valeana not started on her monthly bleed that very night, things might have progressed to a point of no return. Perhaps the Mother did that on purpose. 

Her face heated up, mostly from embarrassment. With her legs straddling his thigh, hips rutting into the rough fabric of his breeches, she had nearly forgotten about it. That was the closest thing to man touching her privy parts, and contact that wasn’t her own conscious fingers, was a new sensation entirely. The roughness assaulting her pearl, while at the same time being prodded internally by the twig of cotton she had inserted before bed. It had never occurred to Valeana that she was even allowed to be sexually aroused while she was bleeding, or if her body was even capable of it. But Aegon lit the match and it was immediately a forest fire.

 It was more intense than those moments she satisfied herself, but then again maybe it was the added stimuli. Unfortunately, she had not reached her peak that night. Her anxiety got the best of her, and she was concentrating too hard on Aegon’s pleasure than her own. When she reached her bedquarters, she desperately wanted to finish herself off, but she was forced to pull out the sopping wet cotton and replace it, effectively killing the mood. She had leaked right through it, decorating her lenin shorts in pink streaks of blood. Surely she bled on Aegon’s thigh as well, and that thought brought her immense dread. 

Her middle cramped, as if reacting to her musings. Valeana ran a hand over her stomach when Jace wasn’t looking, and tried to keep her face neutral.

“Sorry to hear that,” he glanced over at her, giving her a once over.

She was wearing riding clothes, the first time in weeks where she was in breeches. Her prosthetic was well hidden under the leather, and she was wearing a pair of tall riding boots that lace all the way above her knee. Her cream coloured tunic was tucked into her breeches, but she wore a long leather vest with a belt that fit snugly around her waist. 

Valeana raised an eyebrow at his staring, “Are you undressing me with your eyes, Jacaerys?”

He gave a short laugh, galled at her boldness. With a tinge of pink on his cheeks, he turned and took a glance at their shadow. Ser Steffon, riding an intimidating red stallion many yards away. He was too far away to hear a single word, but his eyes never strayed away from them. 

“No–” He fumbled with his words, then cleared his throat. “It’s just… I’ve never seen you in breeches. I’m surprised you’re riding astride. Don’t most young ladies prefer side saddle?”

“No one prefers side saddle, Jace,” she adjusted herself on the speckled white and grey mare, aptly named Snowflake. “It is uncomfortable, and easier to fall off if you do not keep balance.”

Jace nodded, “I suppose. But doesn’t riding astride… cause your maidenhead to break?” Valeana turned to him with a look of disbelief, and he quickly tried to save himself. “I only bring it up, because I’ve heard it can be painful–”

“Do not worry about my maidenhead, Jace,” Valeana shook her head, laughing despite herself. “I’ve been riding for years now; my gelding back home is a racing horse, and I take him jumping frequently. If it were to break, it would have happened already.” 

Shaking his head with a smile that betrayed his amusement, Jace conceded, “Fine. I shall not think about your maidenhead any longer.” 

Valeana raised an eyebrow at him, wondering if she should take the bait. A mischievous little smirk coiled across her face, “Until you have to.” 

Jace’s head whipped in her direction, which caused her to cackle. His expression was priceless; brown eyes wide, face a deep rouge, mouth agape.

“Val-Valeana!” His grin slowly widened at her gall.

“Sorry! Sorry, my Prince, I could not resist,” Val took in a deep breath to steady herself. She blamed Aegon for her sudden crassness. 

Jace peered at her, his grin pulling into his own fox-like smirk, “Is this your way of saying you wish to marry me, Valeana?” She scoffed at that, but he went on. “It is a rather churlish way to propose to me, but I am not against it.”

“Do not get ahead of yourself, Jacaerys,” she rolled her eyes. “I am merely pulling your leg.” 

He hummed, leaning his head back to shake out the curls from his eyes. Jace went pensive for a moment, the sound of hooves on dirt and birds chirping filled the gap. “I have been hearing a lot of things about you.”

Valeana gave a slow blink of irritation, not because of him, but because she is constantly being told a new addition to her reputation almost every day. It was getting tiresome. 

“Things that are not flattering,” he goes on, his lips in a pout. “Things that I do not think people will want for a future Queen of Westeros.”

She sent him a quick glare. Her teeth dug into her tongue. Like your mothers reputation? It was quite hypocritical if Rhaenyra rejected Valeana as a daughter-by-law due to an unsound reputation, given the one she obtained. One she got at an age younger than Val. 

“Rejecting me already, Jace?” She wasn’t entirely sure why she was so angry about it, it wasn’t like she was taking this courtship seriously. Jace complicated her life, even if he was in all actuality, the safest choice out of the three. Her mind briefly thought about what Daemon said the other night about her mother settling for her father.

“No,” he turned to her, his brows knitting a bit in concern over her sudden change of demeanor. “My family is no stranger to conjecture and rumour. My mother has been subjected to it her whole life. I just wish to hear your side of the story, so if it comes to it, I will be able to defend you and your honour.” 

His answer honestly surprised her. Her mouth popped open and shut like a fish, at a complete loss for words, “That’s… That is kind of you, Jace.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Only because the only impression I have of you isn’t a positive one.”

He shrugged, smiling a bit, “I am a man now.”

Valeana gave him a once over, “Oh, look at that. So you are.” 

The prince chuckled. His teeth ran over his bottom lip to contain it, so he could resume their more serious discussion. “So, tell me, what is true, and what isn’t?”

“That depends on what you’ve heard,” she sighed, idly stroking Snowflake’s mane. 

“You ran all over the castle in the dead of night, completely inebriated.”

She sucked in her lips; the word ‘guilty’ written across her forehead.

“Are you serious?”

“I was not alone,” she waved him off. “It was me, Lady Wylla and Lady Ellyn.”

“You got drunk with Cregan’s sister, and Lord Borros’ daughter?”

“They’re very good drinking companions.” 

Jace shook his head, though out of amusement, not disappointment. “Alright. How about a tryst with Aegon in a closet?”

Heat bloomed at her cheeks, “He was trying to flee my sister and pulled me into a closet as his captive. He was a nuisance, that is all. And because I know this will fill you with joy, I beat him with a broomstick afterwards.” 

Jace grins broadly, “You are right, that does fill me with joy.” He then clears his throat, “And your courtship with him… is that conjecture too, or…?

Images of Aegon’s cock in her palm flashed in her mind. 

“No,” she forced herself to say. “That… is true.” 

He stared at her, face full of incredulity, “I was hoping that to be untrue. Valeana, why on earth would you be courting Aegon, of all people? He has not changed, at all.”

“It is a long and complicated story,” she sighed, “One I am tired of explaining.” 

Jace was unconvinced, though. No matter the reasons, whether they were rational or not, he was determined to convince her otherwise. 

“You remember how Aemond was the only one amongst us that did not have a dragon?”

Valeana stared at him for a beat, “...Yes. And you lot teased him relentlessly for it.”

“Aegon the most, if you recall,” Jace briefly glanced at her before returning his eyes to the path. “One day during our training at the Pit, Aegon told him that he–we had a dragon for him. Luke brought forth a pig with wings strapped to his back, and they called it The Pink Dread. Later on, I heard from Aegon that Aemond tried to claim a dragon in the pit, and nearly got burned alive for it.” 

Her brow was furrowed as she digested what he told her, “He never told me about that.” Aemond rarely told her about any of the cruelties that his brother and nephews inflicted on him, but she was usually aware. A lot of the times it happened right in front of her, or she would spot it from a distance. But he’d never let her defend him, as much as she wanted to, as much as she tried. However, she felt that would have been something he would tell her about, given that he made an attempt at claiming a dragon.

“Probably because Aegon jested that you were his pig mount. Called you  Sowleana Pigletar,” Jace chanced a look at her, and regretted it when he did. Valeana was looking down, her face pulled into a full frown, and the creases in between her brows were deep. “Valeana, I had little part of it. I was not even aware of it until the day of.”

“But you were complicit,” She shot back, not bothering to look at him. Instead she gently spurred her horse so she was trotting forward to get ahead of him. It all made sense now: the oinking from Aegon and Lucerys, Aemond’s avoidance of her during the last weeks of their friendship. “You realize that had it not been for the three of you, Aemond would not have pushed me? You drove him into hating me.” 

“Valeana– you cannot blame others for what Aemond did to you,” he spurred his horse, trying to catch up with her. “He made the choice. He chose his pride over his friendship.” 

It was true, but she scoffed at it nonetheless, wanting to hear none of it. She spurred her horse more, but just so she could pull the reins and have the mare cut Jace off on the trail, forcing him to look at her. 

“You never answered my question at the ball. Would you be trying this hard if I was still fat?”

“Valeana, I–”

“You wouldn’t,” she answered for him. “You know you wouldn’t. You have no interest in who I am beyond my body – just like every other man. And the only reason you are trying is because you realize that pleasing your mother is now more worth it than it would have been if I still looked the way I did when we were children. But you now have obstacles that you did not think would be in your way. 

“Jace, we are simply not compatible. I do not wish to be with a man who only loves me with conditions, because he was told he has to by his mum.” 

They both stared at each other, she with challenge and pain in her eyes, and he with guilt and a crumbling resolve. Finally, with a taut jaw, Jace nodded, conceding to her words. 

“You are right. You are right… I do not want that for myself either.” 

Valeana nodded, then inhaled deeply to sigh, “I know you aren’t the same person, Jacaerys. And you must believe me when I say that neither is Aegon, as much as he appears to be.”

Jace nodded, despite the fact he was not willing to accept what she said was true. “Is he what you want? Is he going to love you without conditions?”

“I do not know,” she surprises herself by admitting the truth. “And… I don’t know what I want.”

A small smile crept on his face, “Aemond.”

“What?”

“You want Aemond. And he wants you… I’ve seen how he looks at you. All of the damn court sees how he looks at you.”

Biting her lip, she looks down at her fingers. She didn’t want to talk about Aemond, at least not with Jace. Another complicated matter that she didn’t even know how to explain to herself, let alone to others. 

“And what do you want, Jace?” She changes the direction of the conversation, pulling the reins of her horse to move back toward the trail, before Ser Steffon could catch up with them. “Mayhaps I can help point you in the right direction.” 

He considers her offer while resuming his trot alongside her, “My position makes it so that I do not have much of a choice. I have accepted my fate of simply being a piece on the chessboard, and I know that my future bride will have to be one that would benefit my mother’s side, should there be… contention after my grandfather’s death.” 

She eyed him as he talked. The impending possibility of a war of succession was a taboo topic amongst the courtiers. Everyone thought about it, but were afraid to bring it up. Valeana loathed the topic of war above all else, and tried to avoid thinking of the possibility. What she dreaded most was having to choose a side, when she was so hopefully in the middle. 

“I want peace. That’s really all I want… And–and,” His cheeks reddened a bit as he struggled to find his words. “There is only one who could ensure that will be the case. One woman in the entire Seven Kingdoms that is capable of helping me achieve that goal.” 

A slow smile crept on Valeana, instantly knowing exactly who he was referring to. “Have you talked to her since you arrived?”

“I tried to,” he admitted. “She is…”

“An enduring mystery,” She finished for him.

“Indeed.” 

“Have you thought about this for a while?”

“Since we were children…” He trailed off, suddenly bashful. “I’ve never thought she was strange, just simply… unique. Always thought that we would be betrothed; it made the most political sense, uniting our families. But the proposition was thwarted in a Small Council meeting… I had assumed that Alicent wanted her to wed Aegon. Yet that did not happen.” 

“It would be the King’s doing that they are not already,” Valeana added. “Though I fear that the Hand and the Queen will try to make it happen.” 

“Unless you choose Aegon,” Jace smirked jokingly. 

“Unless Helaena chooses you,” she mocked back, earning her a sheepish smile as he looked away. 

“You should talk to her, Jace. See if she is interested in a courtship… Because I agree with you. Alicent would not want to make a natural enemy out of her daughter, and Otto wants at least one of his grandchildren to be a king or queen. Helaena is smart enough to understand that.”

He nods, “I say she is the wisest of us all. The problem is approaching her… It is difficult to understand her mind, as much as I wish to.” 

Valeana thinks for a moment, tilting her head up to look up at the branches that blocked the sun. “Bring her milkweed.” 

Jace tilted his head at her like a confused puppy, “Bring her a weed?”

She nodded, “Milkweed. It is what Monarch butterflies use to lay their eggs, and their caterpillars will live upon a leaf until it is entirely devoured. Then they will cocoon themselves to be transformed. She will love it, especially if there are eggs already attached to it. And, I dare say she will understand the symbolism immediately. Monarch butterflies, Jace. It’s practically a proposal.”

He pouted his lips as he considered it, “Alright. I trust your wisdom… But I am going to need help identifying milkweed.” 

Val snorted, “Of course you do.” 

The rest of the walk fell into casual chatter. Along the way, Valeana pointed out the milkweed, even so much as getting off her horse and pointing out what the eggs looked like. When he asked how she knew, she just told them she actually paid attention to Helaena when talked about her insects. 

“Men need to listen to women more often; you’ll learn a thing or two.” 

After a while, they had made a lap around the forest, and were not far from the gate. Looking over her shoulder, Valeana could make out Ser Steffon, still a distance away, and has not dawdled too far. 

“That knight of yours has a stare that could burn down castles,” Jace remarked after looking over at the knight. He gave a tentative wave, but was not given a response back. 

“Yes, Ser Steffon is terrifying. Let’s outrun him.”

“What? Are you serious?” 

“We’re almost there, and I’m sure Snowflake would like to do something other than trot along a path. Isn’t that right, girl?” She gave the animal a pat on her neck, receiving a little snort in return. 

“Alright, but if he pulls a sword on me, I am hiding behind you.” 

“That’s fair,” she turns to look at Steffon, and even from a distance she can see that he’s starting to grow suspicious; they keep on looking over at him. “On the count of three… One…two…”

“Three!” Jace kicked his horse and darted off. Valeana shouted after him after doing the same. The two stared to speed along the train, hooves kicking up dirt and thumping loudly, causing birds to fly away. Ser Steffon did not take long to react though, and was soon cutting through the forest shouting for them to stop. 

“I’m going to beat you, princeling,” Val shouted as she galloped next to him. 

“We’ll see about that, Celtigar! Last one to the Heart Tree owes the winner two golden dragons!”

She guffawed, “You’re on!”

Valeana leaned forward, spurring her horse faster and getting ahead of him by a foot. Every once in a while, they had to duck and move around branches that would flick in their faces, or rocks that were in the way. Eventually, Val veered off course when the pathway got too narrow to have them both racing side by side. Steffon was also closing in behind them, yelling at his charge for not staying on the path. Too exhilarated to listen, Valeana continued her pursuit of victory. Despite the uneven terrain, she was able to get ahead of the two men, until a fallen tree blocked her way. Undeterred, she urged Snowflake forward and the mare took no hesitancy in leaping over the log. 

The jump was high, the leap was far, the motion made Valeana’s body lift in the air and fall squarely on the saddle. It was like a gut punch when her bottom landed on the hard back of the horse. She let out a loud groan, and immediately folded in on herself, hands grasping at her pelvis as Snowflake slowed down to a trot before stopping. 

“Lady Valeana!” Steffon raced over to her, followed by Jace. 

“Valeana!” The prince got to her side before the knight had. “Valeana? Are you alright?” 

As the dull ache started to subsided, she lifted her head to glare at Jace, “I’m fine.” 

“Lady Valeana, did you break anything? Should I fetch a maester?” The knight trotted to a stop on the other side of her horse, his hand reaching out to grasp her shoulder. 

“I broke… something,” Valeana sat up straighter, huffing away a strand of her hair that fell out of her braid. “But I am fine, Ser Steffon.”

The two men eyed her curiously. The younger glanced down to where Val’s hands balled in front of the apex of her thighs, and that was when he started to chuckle uncontrollably. 

“What did I tell you?”

She growled and glared at him, “Ser Steffon, Jace is making fun of me! Unhorse him!” 

Valeana was in desperate need of a bath and the moment she had returned to her family’s apartments, she demanded one to be made. Her thighs were sore, though not quite as much as her core, or her pride. She still can’t believe she broke her maidenhead while horseback riding. How incredibly cliche. And with Jacaerys as witness, no less! 

Her family’s wing was blessedly empty when Rosy prepared her bath. She stripped off her leathers one by one, starting with her boots, so she could free her left leg. All the while, she told Rosy of what happened, and the maid did everything in her power to conceal her amusement. 

The bath was infused with lavender oil, raspberry leaves, and dried chamomile flower buds. As predicted, her cotton plug was sopping wet once again, though she wagered it was from the fractured hymen. At least it would save her from a painful first-coupling, but she couldn’t help the feeling that she was worth less now. Afterall, it was drilled into the heads of all gently bred girls that their worth is determined by their virginity, and the proof of that was a piece of stretched skin tucked deep inside her.

And now that was gone. 

When Rosy left, Valeana submerged herself in the tub and sat in the water for a while. She did not know how long “a while” was, but when she surfaced, she was still alone, and the sun was lowered sufficiently enough for the sky to have an orange and purple ombre. 

Minutes later, after Rosy returned to help her out of the tub, Valeana stuffed herself with more cotton before redressing into a much more comfortable dress. A simple burgundy thing, with long sleeves and a belt loosely hanging at her hip. While she strapped in her leg again, Rosy plaited her wet hair after she wrung it free of any more water.

Once all cleaned and dressed, Valeana found herself far too exhausted to even leave the apartment. Instead, she trailed into her shared bedroom, closed the door, and slumped to the end of her bed before collapsing in it nose first. Grumbling in the covers, she moved around to make herself comfortable, resting on her cheek as she stared at the balcony doors…. That were slightly ajar.

Beyond the window she could spot something blue sitting on the stone bench that was situated in the center of the modestly sized balcony. Blinking and furrowing her brow, Valeana pushes herself to get out of her bed despite the protests of her exhausted limbs. As soon as she opened up the door, she instantly recognized the bouquet of blue and purple hydrangeas; the branches were tied with a piece of white lace. 

Val slowly approached it cautiously, as if it were a trap.

 And it was. 

“You take incredibly long baths.”

She jumped, yelped, and twirled around ready to give the fight of her life, but when she saw who it was, she growled, “Seven Hells, Aemond.” 

He hummed his laugh, the curve of his smile dimpling his cheeks, effectively melting her into the floor. Oh, what she would do to see that smile every hour of every day. Aemond was sitting on the balustrade railing, one leg hanging off the end, the other laying straight while he rested his back against the castle wall, away from the window’s view. When she took a step towards him, he pulled himself off and met her halfway with a few short strides. 

“How did you even get up here?” She cranes her neck to look up at him. 

His hands reached out to run it down the length of her thick, long braid, still damp but not enough to soak the fabric of her dress. “I climbed.” 

“You climbed?” Val looked over the railing, and then back at him, “Aemond, we are four stories above ground! You could have fallen.” 

“Heights do not frighten me,” he gave a shrug, still toying with her braid. “It was worth it… Though I could have used your hair to help me onto the balcony.” He gave the plait a playful tug, making her swat at his hand. He silently laughed again before moving his hands to cup her face and pull her close. Aemond then pressed his nose against the crown of her head and inhaled deeply. Like muscle memory, her arms grabbed onto his sides to fill the gap, laying her cheek on his chest while her arms circled his waist. 

“I’m sorry I did not come to you sooner,” he said while his hand smoothed down her hair, and rested his chin upon her head. Aemond’s arms caged her shoulders, enveloping her into his embrace with a sense of desperation. “I was detained at every corner.”

“It’s alright,” she spoke to his chest, inhaling his scent deeply, trying to wash her mind of her transgressions. Valeana suddenly felt incredibly guilty, now with Aemond in her arms. Part of her thought he was a dream, a trick of her mind, a delusion she came up with at the Ball in her inebriated state. But he was here, on her balcony, risking his life on a steep climb to give her a bouquet of hydrangeas. And here she was, willfully debauched by his brother… with a broken maidenhead, thanks to a horse. And Jacaerys.

“You’re here now,” she buried her face into his chest, trying to hide her shame. 

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT SNEAK PEAK

“Lord Borros visited me today, proposing a betrothal between you and his daughter, Lady Maris,” His father began, surprising Aemond little as he had suspected this topic would come up eventually .  Aemond’s tongue rolled around in his mouth, his eye not meeting the King’s. “What did you tell him?”

Notes: This one and the next may be a little on the short, but I promise you, it's worth it, and the next two chapters are heavy on Aemond. I honestly think the longest chapter I have so far is actually 29. So, couple of things: I'll be posting the cast list hopefully soon. There will be two, one of the main cast, and one of the side cast. Another is I decided that I'm going to wait until TPD is over before posting Aegon's spinoff, because of how much I've been dragging my feet with these chapters. I need to focus on catching up to my original 10+ chapters ahead I had before.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel, @t0biasparabatai

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[kusanagihaku]

i will turn into clouds sanguine 

⭢ lyca and mc, 1.2k

q is for qilin. ˖⁺‧₊⟡ alphabet series | ao3

The front door of Obscuary creaks open under your touch. 

Rui must have left it unlocked for you after you texted him earlier today about leaving paperwork for some new missions – you step inside and let the heavy door groan closed behind you. You make a left turn into where you told Rui you’d leave the files…

…only to come face to face with Lyca and a huge, huge canvas. 

You blink. Woah. 

It lays flat on the Obscuary dining table, long and white and half-covered in fine, black pen strokes. If you had to guess, it’d be Lyca’s height when propped upright, with a width double that. 

“You’re here,” Lyca says. He flicks a glance at your shoes. “Did you get lost?” 

You flush. You did make a wrong turn or two in the forest but… you made it, didn’t you? “Um. No.”  

Lyca sniffs, frowning. “You smell like the soil from Rui’s garden. That’s not on the way in.” 

“…maybe?” You can’t help the sheepish grin that breaks onto your face, and are rewarded with Lyca’s triumphant snort. “Anyway, what’s this?” 

Lyca glances back down at the corner of the canvas he’s bent over. “Rui asked me to draw something we could hang in the bar. He promised he would buy me paints if I did it, so I did.” 

You walk closer to the canvas to get a better look. The fine lines coalesce into four large shapes under the dim dining room light, vaguely reminiscent of mythical creatures you might have read about once upon a time. “What are these?” 

Lyca points to his left. There is a small book propped open beside the pen he has just set down – comparing the yellowed page to his canvas, you realise he must have been using it as a reference for most of the details. “The idiot grandpa gave me this book and told me to do this. It was the only thing he suggested that Rui agreed to.” 

You wince; you don’t want to imagine what else Ed suggested to Rui. You turn your attention back to the tangle of black strokes on the white surface. 

Nearest to you is a completed tortoise, mouth open and claws pointed and sharp. It is seated atop a stone, and is angled to face a phoenix floating down from the top left. The phoenix, despite being only rendered in swift, short lines, is striking – its wings are outstretched and its glare fierce. Hidden under the furrow of its eyes is a desperate sort of determination you had no idea could be captured in pen. 

In the top right corner, snaking down from a hastily sketched set of clouds is a majestic beast, teeth bared and horns like fire. Scales slick off its back in flames, and its claws extend towards the foreground. It is lit in part by the warmth of the overhead light, but in part by the soft moonlight streaming in through a nearby window; the silver of moonlight makes the creature almost glow. 

You let out a low whistle, impressed. “Is that a dragon?” 

Lyca nods. “They’re supposed to be the four is- es- suspicious beasts.” 

You pause for a moment. “…auspicious?” 

Lyca scrunches his nose. “Yeah. Anyway, Ed says Rui is supposed to be the dragon.” 

You wrack your brain for mentions of the Four Auspicious Beasts – you know you studied something similar for a class two or three months back. “Isn’t it supposed to symbolise power or strength, or something like that?” 

“Yeah.” Lyca scratches the back of his neck. “Rui has the most power out of all of us. Given his curse and all.” 

You half-smile. Once upon a time you’d have said Ed was the strongest in Obscuary – knowing him now and thinking about the dynamics of the house, it makes more sense that their harried and lively vice-captain would be their dragon. 

“What about the tortoise?” 

Lyca frowns, as if it is obvious. He picks up his pen. “It’s that moth-eaten Casanova, of course. Slow and can’t do anything but make gross jokes.” 

Well. You can’t refute that.

“Also, he said it was supposed to represent longevity and stability,” Lyca adds, adding a few pen strokes, “and he’s supposed to live forever, so.” 

You look carefully at what Lyca is sketching. It is half-complete, details on its face yet to be finished. “Is that you?” 

He nods. “Rui said this was a…” he squints back at the tiny reference book, “a Qilin.” 

Makes sense. From what you remember, the qilin symbolised righteousness and integrity, both qualities Lyca possesses in bounds. 

You hum, watching his hands work. “Did you know that qilin are said to be so gentle and respectful of life they don’t step on blades of grass?” 

Lyca looks up at you, briefly. “I step on grass.”

It pulls a laugh out of you. “Yeah, well, but you’re still one of the most respectful ghouls I know.” 

You feel Lyca straighten a little at that, almost like he’s holding back a beam. He lets out a small huff. “Well. That’s what Suba told me to do.” 

If his tail was out it’d be wagging. You bite back a smile. “That’s good!” 

A silence lapses over the both of you for a few minutes as you watch his pen glide across the canvas. Your eyes wander back, again, to the eyes of the phoenix. 

Come to think of it, aren’t there only three occupants in Obscuary? You know that the set needs all four to be complete, but if Rui was the dragon, Ed the tortoise and Lyca the qilin, who was the phoenix? 

“Lyca, who’s that supposed to be then? Since there are only three of you.” 

Lyca slides a glance at you, brows furrowed as if he cannot fathom why you would be asking. “Isn’t it obvious? That’s you.” 

You blink. 

He taps the back of his pen on the reference book. The little taps are heavy on the lump growing in your throat. “The old man said phoenixes mean rebirth. After you’re cured, you’re gonna have your second life, right?”

His tone is so matter-of-fact, as if he has never had a doubt that you’d be cured, that whatever response you might have had swells in your lungs and stays there. 

The weight of his conviction sinks into the surface of your mind. You know the Mortkranken ghouls have been working overtime for you, you know the Hotarubi ghouls have been poring over dusty old tomes for more information, you know the rest of the ghouls have been working on your curse in their own ways and yet… 

And yet some part of you has never dared to hope for the success of a cure. 

You swallow. 

But here they are, holding a torch you have never dared to light – you will break your curse before the year is up. You will be cured. You will get to return to normal, life irrevocably changed by your time at Darkwick and bound to the ghouls that you’ve helped and been helped by, for better or for worse. You will get to live. 

Your nose burns. 

Lyca looks at you curiously. 

“Nothing,” you say, quickly. You cough to cover up the thick in your voice. “The fact that you’d accept me into Obscuary… that’s really nice to hear.” 

Lyca snorts. “Of course you’ll be with us. Where else would you be?” 

You grin. It comes out watery, probably, but you don’t care. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

[moonchild701]

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A Thawing Heart

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Summary: A snowstorm hits and you meet someone unexpected

Pairing: Dabi/Gen Reader

Content Warning: Pre Relationship, SickFic (kinda), Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Mentions of blood, Implied Murder (off screen, not reader), SFW

Word Count: 1.6k

Disclaimer: Character belongs to Kohei Horikoshi

A/N: This is the 9th part of 12 fics for a 12 Days of Christmas event. Enjoy and Happy Holidays!

Prompt: Stuck in a snowstorm

My Masterlist

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Harsh winds whip through the trees of the forest, the falling snow and rain thick enough to blot out your surroundings.

Multiple layers of warm clothing are rendered useless as the wet mix is mercilessly soaked into gaps in the fabric, leaching away whatever heat you had.

You just wanted to go on a nice stroll in the scenic wintry woods, but then the weather took a turn, so you're on your way back to your cabin.

Just wanting a holiday getaway from everything and everyone, you decided a little trip to your dad's old cabin in the snowy mountains of Hokkaido was the perfect place to do so.

You'd gotten there the day before, and all packed and settled in, you wanted to go exploring a bit. It was beautiful and peaceful, and the weather seemed nice enough at the time, only very lightly snowing.

That was a while ago. You'd stuck to the path precisely, and when the winds picked up, the air getting colder than it had any right being, you spun right around to head back to the cabin.

On the way back, it started snowing heavier, and then came the rain.

Eventually, you manage to break through the treeline, with the cabin in sight.

And between you and said cabin, is a dark lump on the snowy ground, slowly but surely being covered in snow.

Creeping closer, you notice it's a person,and they're bleeding, and you speed up your steps.

As you reach them, you see familiar eyes the most gorgeous shade of blue you've ever seen peering up at you, before they roll back in his head.

*****

Dabi.

You're dragging Dabi, one of the most wanted villains in the country, back to your cabin.

But really, what else are you supposed to do? He's injured right in front of you, and it's not like you can call for help.

You don't listen to the annoying voice in your head inquiring if it's just because of the faulty reception and not because you don't want him to get caught.

Because to you, he's your hero.

You doubt he'd remember you, roasting your would-be attacker to a crisp in an alley all those months ago after happening upon it. You don't like to dwell too much on what might've happened if he never stepped in, but the fact that he did, means the world to you.

So if you can help him in return, you will.

Not to mention that you've seen the video. The video of his past, of how he came to be, and you can't help but sympathize.

So you bring him into the warmth of your temporary little home to patch him up and help him however you can.

*****

Somehow, you manage to get him inside, taking off his jacket before settling him on the couch and lighting the fireplace. You quickly strip off your icy, wet clothes and change into something warmer.

Now behind closed doors, the difference is stark. Where it was once freezing, it's now just a bit chilly, with the air slowly warming up; where the air was previously occupied with howling, icy winds, it's now filled with the sound of the crackling of fire.

The room is dimly lit from the flames, casting deep shadows and patches of dancing orange light around the room, the few lightbulbs dull, not really adding any more light, but you get to work with what you have.

With the room slowly warming, you strip him out of his wet clothes, starting with his boots and pants, taking care to not jostle his wounds, and you throw a blanket over his legs. He's bleeding from his shoulder, so you have no choice but to cut him out of his shirt.

As more of his chest is exposed to the air, goosebumps appear along his skin. The fibers stick and pull at the wound, and you try to be gentle, but from the pinched expression on his face, he's beginning to wake up.

You're proven right when, just as you get the last of the fabric off, cerulean eyes just as icy as the outside world snap open, glaring at you as a heated hand grabs your wrist tightly. Or as tightly as he can in this state. He's rather pale.

"Who the fuck are you?" Dabi's voice is rough, guarded.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know you should technically be afraid, but all you could focus on is that his eyes are on you.

But also, his grip is starting to get uncomfortable from the heat.

"The owner of the cabin you were bleeding out in front of." you say calmly, tugging your wrist free. "I'm trying to help you."

That gives him pause.

"Why? I could burn you to a crisp," he says, rightfully suspicious in his position, to be honest.

"Well, yeah," you admit. "But then I can't patch you up, hm?"

He looks at you skeptically, "You didn't answer me. Why are you helping me? I'm sure you know who I am."

You sigh, telegraphing your movements as you reach for the first aid kit at your side. "You helped me once. Saved me really. I'm returning the favour to my hero."

He's taken aback at your words, at your soft smile and the gentle look in your eyes as you look at him.

A myriad of emotions flash over his features, before settling on a scowl. "I'm no hero."

You can't help the snort of laughter that escapes you. "I know very well that you're not a hero, Dabi. It was a hero, a sidekick, that you saved me from." Then, gentler, "You're not a hero, you're my hero, and that's all to it."

He seems at a loss for what to say, so you move along. "I'm gonna clean you up, okay?", you say, gesturing toward the wound on his shoulder. After all of the fabric was removed, pulling away whatever scabs that were forming, it started bleeding again, albeit sluggishly, and it needs patching up.

He's snaps out of it at that, nodding stiffly as he looks away.

Smiling softly, you grab the roll of gauze and get to work.

You work in a comfortable silence for a while, before your curiosity gets the better of you.

"Can I ask what happened?" You ask softly, not wanting to disturb the fragile peacefulness, but feeling the need to ask anyway.

He doesn't say anything for a while, to the point that you think he's not going to answer, before you hear him sigh heavily and mutter, "Recruitment went wrong. Guy had an ice quirk and managed to stab me with an icicle before I torched him."

He's watching you closely, watching your reaction, but you just hum, continuing to gently wrap and tape down the wound.

"You got nothin' to say about the guy I killed?" His voice is mostly taunting, but you can hear the underlying curiosity and disbelief lacing it.

"I'm sure you had your reasons, and again, I know you're a villain. Stop trying to scare me." You roll your eyes, putting away the leftover supplies.

He looks at you incredulously, but you ignore it, standing up. "Stay here, try not to jostle your shoulder. I'll be right back.", you say, not waiting to hear a reply before leaving.

He's left staring at your retreating form, perplexed and slightly concerned if he's being honest. Because that can't be it, right? That's it? He thinks he vaguely remembers you; you do seem kind of familiar, but really? Him, your hero? He knows the system is fucked, but this is a whole new level, where someone has to consider a villain their hero.

Shaking his head lightly, he's pulled out of his musings when you return, a glass of water in hand. "Here, take this. Pain meds." You hold them out to him.

He eyes it skeptically, slowly taking them from your hands and you have to sigh. "Seriously? I just used most of my supplies to patch you up and you think I'd try to poison you now?"

You understand his paranoia and caution, what with how he lives and what he does, but come on.

He rolls his eyes and shrugs, muttering, "You never know.",  and downs the pills.

Satisfied he's complying, you finish cleaning up.

And then he says something stupid.

"Well thanks, but I gotta go." He mutters, grunting as he tries to prop himself up to stand.

You hurriedly but gently push him back to lie down.

"Absolutely not, you need to rest. Besides, go where? How?" You scold, exasperated. "The storm is still going strong, so there's shitty reception, and even if that weren't the case, your phone's busted."

He scowls, grumbling but complying, lying back and letting you pull the warm blanket back over him.

"I'm gonna make some hot cocoa for us, okay? Just rest for now. Please?" He goes to retort, complain really, but the words get stuck in his throat. You're looking at him so earnestly, so concerned and tender.

He doesn't remember anyone ever really looking at him like that, not for a long time.

And it's possibly the worst time to realize that you're fucking pretty. Beautiful really, in a way that makes his scars itch with the flare of heat beneath them.

He swallows thickly, turning his head away to look at anything other than your pretty, pretty eyes staring at him.

You sigh, standing back up to go make some hot cocoa.

Something tells you that Dabi could really use it right now.

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[themotherofblood]

mene payi taabahiyan | d.t x reader

part one | masterlist

synopsis; inspired by the song O bedardeya. The aftermath of Baelon being engaged to reader, you and Daemon battle through the fall out and the agony of it all

smut warning: unprotected, hate fuck (kinda? more like sad fuck) exhibitionism, against a tree.

There was no air left in the Throne Room, your hand clammy against Baelon’s hand clasped over yours. You were sure that if your hand had not rested against the larger palm of his - you would fall, face flat - a deer learning to walk again, your legs had begun to lose its function. How were you to bow with honour and nor could you look at your brother. Baelon pulled you down with him, as the static noise of applause finally filled your ears, the madness that was to follow lingered in your mind. Lords and Ladies took turns approaching both Targaryen princes, Daemon shuffled his way out of the Throne Room, leaving his new bride to be flushed and irked. Baelon received appraisals on your behalf as people simply put your blanked nervousness as you being overcome with emotions. 

Your own lack of breath might have left you looking maniacal, your brother Quentel followed you out, his larger legs easily catching up to your hasty steps, his palm yanking you back. While his own heart ached seeing your distraught face, your broken pleas finally graced your lips. “wh- why wasn’t I told?” your bottom lip quivering “I won’t fight this, but why?”

“It was always the deal, my children would have but my sons cannot, sweet sister,” he tucked a piece of your hair behind, “You will be Queen-” his eyes coated with concern “it would end the wars, once and for all,”

“I wanted Daemon, it was Daemon,” you nibbled at your lip to stop your tears, “I love, Daemon,” you pulled yourself away from him, finding no strength within yourself as you ran for the stables. Whisking past all attendants and guests, fleeing from the turmoil that wasn’t just the Red Keep but within you. The gown you wore pushed against your chest as you looked for Nysa, the stable boy looked startled as he knew no better than whether to help you or stop you. You raced past the gates, Nysa galloping with all her might as you tore through the streets of King’s Landing to its exit. 

Even with all the air whistling through your hair, your body found it lacking there of, all you knew was you couldn’t pretend to be shy nor accept congratulations for something that should have never happened to either of you. Baelon wanted no woman(very verbally), you  knew of this; why would he? If your devotions for Daemon were any testament, how would you find one to bring your skin ablaze like he did yours. For once, perhaps in the goodness of your heart you thought of Rhae Royce, Daemon would chew her apart if he acknowledged her presence in his bloodline at all. Your heart aching for all four of you, tied to a bargain that neither of you benefited from. All for the Realm, all for the King. All for peace. 

The moon’s milky light lit the damp leaves lining the woods, the darkness was no challenge nor fear to you than the turmoil you already were in. This time you wanted to run, truly run and yet you couldn’t ride Nysa all the way to Dorne, you couldn’t hide behind the viper’s nest if you wanted to. For all you know, it might ruin Dornish relations with the Realm for good, as each Prince or Princess made of hot Rhoynish blood would find something to squabble over. You could stop this once and for all, no more dragons blasting fire on your homeland, no more dead brothers on pyres. 

You stopped right at the edge of the Kingswood, shuffling off your saddle as you twisted Nysa’s reins on your palm. Leading a much confused animal to the dark forest, she an animal yet found herself aware of your sorrow. Smaller fireflies along with the moon gave you a sense of direction as you walked deeper in the darkness, your gown catching onto twigs that you paid no mind to, you wanted away from here, you wanted to go far away…with Daemon. Oh, Daemon

He might have beaten his hands bloody against a sparring dummy, which in truth he did. After weaning himself away from his new betrothed, he stomped down to the courtyard, screaming and shuffling off weapons to the ground as in rage he punched a dummy. The pain tearing through his knuckles. Much of his attention was occupied by brutalising a sack of leather and cloth, nothing mattered to him. You stood there, shoulder against his father and refusing to look at him as if you knew, perhaps you knew. If you didn’t, he knew you, your rage and your heart. You would have pulled away but you never did. 

You walked along him, you were no longer his, his lover, his princess. You were the princess royal now, you would be the Queen now. Sat below a man who swore to never touch another after Daemon's mother died, his mother. All the rules he broke yet he couldn’t understand what he did to deserve this, like air pulled from his own lungs - he knew not how to breathe, how he was without you. 

The sound of hastened anklets echoed past the halls, very distinct anklets, the only anklets in all of King’s Landing. You hurried fast, a blur of yellow silk hurtling past the dim walkway towards the stables, it took a while for Daemon to realise who it was but when he did. His eyebrows pulled to a tight frown as he found himself mindlessly following behind, you long gone until he mounted a brown mare of his own. Galloping towards the Dragonpit, hoping to catch a glimpse of you from the skies, no horse could ever outmatch the affliction for speed Nysa had. 

Caraxes swayed in the air like the Wyrm he was named, flying lower to find his rider’s lover. The shuffle of trees below, lining right under the green of the Kingswood, Caraxes landed himself right at the edge. Daemon lit a torch, you should have never ventured into these forests alone. Even in the pain, he couldn’t not worry, you were his responsibility until you said the words with his father at the Sept. You would always be his responsibility. Daemon waked into the dark, much aware that his dragon looked behind to prevent any harm coming to him, he knew where you would be. Where you’d always sit with your legs tucked together, only this time he wasn’t sure you were of yourself. 

You sat at the edge of the hill, tears coating your face. The silence in you had engulfed yourself and began to cause you more pain, so far lost in the relentless hammering of your heart against your chest you couldn’t pay mind to rustling in the woods. Perhaps it was a boar, waiting to have you pummelled to death so your physical body would be just as mangled as your mind was. Instead out poured the silver of your lover’s hair, eyes weary as he looked around to find you, and found he did. You waited for his eyes to soften like they always did when he saw you but they never did, the tight frown his eyebrows curled to never ease. Even in the darkness, the glow of his anger that glimmered within the purple of orbs was apparent, violent and unforgiving. 

The cries you wanted to form words now were long gone and the angered lecture Daemon was to present you with, too was long gone. With many stressors felt, not a word shared between the two of you. Such silence wasn’t comfortable, nor was it seductive. It was painful, like a white hot iron rod met human flesh, it stung and it stained. Daemon resorted to pacing as you turned back to the blackened scenery, rustles of his footsteps against the leaves and the night call of grasshoppers within the bushes only added to the comical misery of it all. 

“We refuse it, we refuse it and we wed each other at Dragonstone,” Daemon rambled, groaning the harder he thought “grandsire cannot wed us if we are already wed to one another, he won’t compromise his deal with the Seven.” He scoffed at the thought of it, it sounded bitter, resentful. 

“And have you, exiled? Much less my head on a spike,” you said, speaking only the truth of the matter for King Jaehereys had done much worse to his own blood for evading his orders. It was a fine thought yet a foolish one, to be wed and then be exiled away to Essos to live your lives as you see fit. Though you understood Daemon, if not his grandsire he would come to resent you for the pain of losing his family would eat at his wounds sooner than later. 

“What do you propose we do then, huh!” He yells, full throated, it echoed through the woods. His eyes wide and breath hot, his frustration bubbling to a tipping point. “Do you want to be Queen, forsake us for this…this farce?” 

“Do not yell at me Daemon!” You scolded him back, finger pointed hot at his face as you stood up to approach him. The Gods themselves would have found this argument rather entertaining, for their evil devices have now put you in this predicament: “this… marriage was a political arrangement, my brother gave his word!” 

“Oh fuck his word, you cannot mean it,” he groaned approaching you with much haste, his fingertips digging into your forearms “he is my father, father!” Even in the glow of the moon, gloss over the lilac of his eyes remained apparent. 

“Don’t you - I,” you rambled, yanking yourself away from his turmoil because to thicken the air around you “don’t you think I know that, I know that!” you shook your head, there wasn’t a way out of this. Not without hurting your family and by extension putting your House in jeopardy. “It would soften over many political troubles, Daemon truly.” 

“Just keep your mouth- you are mine, you are mine and I am yours,” his eyes furious and glaring, his already bleeding heart being gaped open of its wounds by your words “say it, damn it.” he reached forward once more to yank your head back, he couldn’t handle you not looking at him. Yet he regretted seeing the torn frown spreading on your face, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. There was a vicious sense of destruction covering the anger his sorrow was turning to. The words that fell after weren’t him, but perhaps the fires within him “we could let them talk, couldn’t we princess? Let them know the sweet Martell flower sullied with dragon seed? Hmm,”

“Who would want a soiled Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” his nostrils flared, his words rarely sounded sharp in his own head until a sharp slap rang down his ear, the sting radiating through his cheek. You pushed him away, on the verge of losing any last shred of composure holding your body on your feet. 

“Fuck you Daemon,” you scoffed, chest heaving as the two of stared each other down, the moments away filling both your souls with such harrowing empty, a punishment worse than the black cells of the Keep. You wouldn’t survive this, you couldn’t. This time you charged at him, fingers digging into his jaw as you stood on your feet. Pressing your agony onto him through your lips, his own weight directed you backwards to the bark of the tree behind you. 

Your lips never once left one another, the tasted of salted tears mixed with the taste of spiced wines on both your lips. Palms wet, as you pulled one another closer, not close enough - it wasn’t enough. That if you were to end this love, let it destroy you both once more. Daemon’s hands shuffled lower, skilled and hasty he felt the silks of your small clothes. His fingers swiped over your clothed core, perhaps your conscience swatted your moral back into you as you protested. You couldn’t, not her and not with the apt protection of lemon heads. 

“Please,” Daemon whimpered, whimpered. Something you had never heard, when you pulled away you realised it was not just your own tears you had tasted. His forehead rested against your own, his breath hot against your lips. 

You rested your head back on the bark, stroking the back of Daemon’s head. “Take me, take me Daemon,” you said, what other consequences were left to suffer than the fate you now had to face. You pulled at your skirts, bunching them at your hips as Daemon returned to lay his salacious affections upon your neck, letting his fingers yank down your small clothes as your fingers did his trousers.

You upper back nearly rubbed raw as you indulged into the arms of your lover, his head buried in your shoulder with your legs wrapped around his hips. The sweet sensitive tingling between your legs only made you cry harder as you pressed your lips against his temple “I’ll never love again,” you weeped, choking on your words as another moan ripped through your body. 

“I’ll never live for anyone but you again.” he groaned, rutting his hips harder against yours as he chased his completion. His fingers rubbing tight circles upon your pearl, hoping to perhaps feel your cunny clench him empty one last time. The small yelps of pleasure echoed through the woods, the rustling of the leaves in the wind shielding this moment, frozen and intimate. You were sure search parties would be sent out to find you in no time. Your teeth sunk into the velvet pad upon Daemon shoulder, muffling the pleasure moans mixed with your tears as he snapped his hips to completion. 

For the days to come, you succumbed to the orders of courts. Picking flowers and fabrics, being told what you liked, in which Baelon visited once to agree upon the fabrics of his doublet for the wedding. His late wife’s signet ring still adorning his little finger, you weren’t sure how any of this might take place. Were you to kiss at the altar and never see each other again? Baelon spoke of having you sailed to Dragonstone, said you might find comfort there but not once did he speak to you. 

You had been summoned to the Small Council chambers once, to discuss a sensitive matter, one that wouldn’t have come to pass had the Old King not been so incessant about the number of heirs he had, with merely four left on the roster, your duty had only just begun as the Council demanded of a bedding ceremony. Their words had been far more colourful, painting all the reason why a room full of men should witness the deflowering of a young princess. Your body was rigid, there was nothing to deflower, you were no maiden and they would know. Baelon protested, palms slamming into the Council table with his fingers pointed at his father. This ordeal, painful as it is, he defended you, spoke of your honour and yet refused to let his soon to be wife suffer such humiliation in the name of customs. 

You supposed the temper Daemon inherited had been apparent in that moment, as the proper Prince Baelon, spewed tinted words of his abilities to couple and create a child. The discussion dwindled to this, they wouldn't watch but remain in the chambers to ensure the deed was done and inspect the sheets. There wasn’t going to be a fight about this. You monotone motions as you followed your routine of lacing your arm with his as if you were to entertain together. You stopped him and he still escorted you to your chambers, you couldn’t look at him. They would find nothing. 

“Daemon and I,” you began with a stutter, pulling yourself closer to step away from any onlookers “we -“ you shook you head, willing the words onto your lips “they won’t find blood.” 

“They will,” Baelon’s voice stern yet understanding, you opened your mouth and closed it yet again. His silence willing you to believe whatever he might have devised to save your shame. “I have yet to apologise to you,” he hung his head. 

“And I you,” you said moving away from the doorway of your chambers, Baelon looked to you confused. “It is no easy thing, you are forsaking much for the Realm,”

“You are wise darling,” he patted your palm rested on your knee. “I’ve watched you grow in these halls, you will be my wife in name, yes. You needn’t be afraid of me,” he gave you a tight lipped smile, a broken giggle tore through you and perhaps in weeks someone finally saw the pain you were in. After your night in the woods, Daemon drank himself silly in the tavern’s of Flea Bottom, with a fortnight he earned the title of the Prince of Flea Bottom. 

Daemon’s wedding was to resume first, while his bride to be still seemed aloof to the tensions around her, Jaehereys had the City Watch contained to keep his grandson from running away, though hidden somewhere deep in the city. Daemon returned the night before his wedding, only to tear apart his chambers in a drunken rage, refusing to marry Rhea Royce still, how you often wished you were a Prince or Lord, then even you could exclaim you distaste in such a manner. Baelon tried to contain his son, rumours swirled that one could hear the proud Prince weep to his father, the reason unknown and many speculated that Rhea was too old for Daemon's tastes. How you wished it were true, that age is what kept Daemon so curt to his betrothed.

The night before the wedding, you couldn’t sleep as you paced or lounged staring at a wall the entire night, you were willing him to come to you. He never did, having fled to the brothels once again, you picked apart the embroidery on your shift the entire night. The sun peaked through when you realised sleep hadn’t visited you once. Your handmaidens took much care in dressing you, the hems of gowns dropped, more conservative. You looked at yourself and you couldn’t find yourself, merely the shell of the lady you were meant to be, the Queen. 

The procession had gathered in the Iron Throne, parts of the court divided between the Throne Room and the Grand Sept where Daemon should have been an hour ago, the people of King’s Landing flocked to the streets to witness yet another royal wedding. Perhaps catch a glimpse of the bride to be or their notorious Prince. The halls called to you as you ventured towards Daemon's apartments, your own betrothed away from the feasts and sure to be barking sense into his son. The thrashes and sound of darkened protests could be heard from three floors below. 

“Get your fucking hands off me!” Daemon bellowed, jangles of armour followed after as he screamed and fought. Jaehaerys too had been in his rooms, the King ordering his grandson be hauled to Grand Sept. You hid behind a seated section, watching as the King slowly descended the steps. How could a man cause such strife within his family and continue on? 

For much love that you adorned each other with, instead of earning each other’s names, destruction came knocking down your door. You regretted it, the second the image of Daemon’s face reddened with anger graced you, the urge of running away creeped up with bile around your throat. Jaehaerys already departed for his wheelhouse, leaving just you, Daemon and Baelon in the corridors. The small interruption of your figure popping from behind the curtains allowed Daemon to truly yank himself off the Kingsguard men. 

It felt merciless, far too merciless as you stood in front of him. Bound to duty instead of him, yet you wanted him still. Daemon had wanted to hate you, for nights since your last encounter in the woods. You were deceitful, you were merciless in your decision. Fucking away any memory of you on painted whores and yet he couldnt, noting was soft enough, nothing was you. His lover, his cruel lover, you were subjecting him to this misery while you quietly lingered on your own. Heart of stone behind the yellow of your dress but your eyes still wet, he didn't need your pity as he shook his head, praying that seeing him in his maroon doublet would fill you with sense, mayhaps flee why you still had the chance. Even at six and ten, for you? He would cut through his grandsire’s Kingsgayrd like meat. You approached him, cautious and stiff, your arms engulfing him once more, just once more. 

“Please go Daemon, without anymore quarrel,” you whispered in his ear, squeezing him harder. Even in the warmth of your embrace, his heart shattered, scattering to a million tiny pieces. Taking the final honour, he never expected you to, he expected you to fight for him, fight for your love and here you twist the knife harder in his green wounds. He went rigid, he lifted his head from your shoulder. Purple eyes, lifeless purple eyes looking over your face with one sorrowful smile. He pressed his lips to your forehead pulling away, the Kingsgaurd stood ready once more to drag Daemon to the Sept but this time he walked, his princely stride thudding down the steps without a second look to you, his tyrannical lover with your black heart. A decision of much political gravitas, your loyalty to your house, earned you nothing but the carnage of black burning bodies of what was you and Daemon. 

Having witnessed the worst of it, the words Rhea and Daemon shared, their hands wrapped together, the gold and red woven cloak of House Targaryen upon her shoulders, the kiss that sealed their union in front of the eyes of the Seven, “cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder” the High Septon had said, could your future be anymore cursed then it already was? What was the next worst thing, your death? Mayhaps his? The feasting said and done, Daemon not once made any efforts to dance with his bride as he revelled in his cups, Rhea, the poor lady made an offer and attempts to perhaps ease the scowl settled on her husband’s face to no avail. His daggered eyes steadily remained on your figure, conversing and laughing, laughing with other ladies of the court. Many of whom flocked around you to perhaps make your roster of ladies in waiting. 

The worst of it was Daemon resuming to his bedchambers to find Rhea, dressed in her corsage, dressed to stir his loins. A good bride awaiting to be bed by her noble husband, he didn’t mean to be curt but all he could do was scoff at her, a beautiful maiden and all he could think of was you. He couldn’t bed his new wife with the same indelicate manner he did with the whores of Silk Street. As he turned to leave, Rhea, annoyed by right, held onto his forearm “please, it is improper not consummate- we have to,” she urged him, feeling the brunt of what she had shrugged off for weeks. Her husband did not want her. 

“I don’t have to do anything,’ Daemon yanked his hand free before leaving Rhea alone to sleep through her wedding night. 

The days after followed the same, ships loaded in for the royal wedding for every inch of Known World. Your gown finished and resting in your receiving chambers, you too rested under the loopy haze of Nightshade prescribed by the Maesters, the misery apparently resulted in you forgetting to eat, or even having much water or wine. Your head pounded for days as you were thrusted up like a doll in front of the mirror, your gown being altered, the veiled being fitted and the gowns for formal receptions after. As ladies in your bedchambers giggled and gossiped, feasting on candied lemon cakes, your mind so heavily focused on the lace across your waist. You fell, gasps and attendants rushing to your aid as you laid unconscious on the stone floor. 

Baelon was the first to be informed about his bride to be’s condition, your brother Quentel there after, when Daemon finally returned from the brothels, stinking of ale and far more salacious than when he left. As Daemon heard of your fall, his feet were quick towards your chambers. The curtains pulled to shield away the light of day, you laid rested against a mount of pillows. Aemma sat next to you, a book comically rested against the hard swell of her belly as her other hand caressed your head.  Daemon curled his lips inot his mouth as he approached your sleeping frame. 

When Aemma spotted him, she gave him a sympathetic smile as she kept stroking your head. Even in your sleep a frown framed your angelic face, Daemon wanted nothing more than to soothe it away but his heart still held its resentments. He looked up to his good sister, opening his mouth to speak but she knowing all too well of his queries, filled him in. 

“I hadn’t realised she was hurting so,” Daemon whispered, your palm clutched in his hands as he stared up at your face, the frown, the darkening under your eyes. He should have seen the agony but in his own selfish ideations he didn’t. “We don’t have much liberty in these matters Daemon, she cannot whore or break things as you do,” Aemma lectured Daemon, tutting at him as he shuffled a little too hard.  

“I was so consumed by her decision, I didn’t see why she made it,” he said sadly, still rubbing circles onto your palm. Aemma lightly chuckled. 

“Us women never have a choice, it was already made for her she had to adhere to it with a stiff lip,” Aemma said, looking down at you with melancholy. 

Daemon returned to his own bedchambers that night, still lingering in the thoughts of the conversation he had with his good sister, a woman learned and wise that lectured some sense into the prince. “Us women never have a choice,” any other prince of reason would respect the predicament their lover had put themselves in but Daemon was going to make a choice for you. A choice maligned by all the laws of Westeros, his name forbade him to do so, but he wouldn’t be his mother”s son if he didn’t. He dressed himself in armour and armed himself with Dark Sister. A boy, making the choice of a man as he pushed open the passage door from his bedchamber and made hasty steps towards yours.

Your sleeping form, just as warm and dazed as he left your moments before. This time he bent down down to kiss away the frown on your face before wrapping the black blanket over your body and scoping you up. A darkened bundle of bones and flesh in his hand, his love, his heart he smuggled through the walls of the Red Keep. His heart hammering against his chest, as skirted past the watchful eyes of the night guard. He walked with you in his arms, a hood pulled over his head to shield away the glaring blonde of his hair. 

“Ñuha dãrilaros?” the dragonkeeper questioned as he looked at Daemon with you covered in black blanket, he would question some more until Daemon glared at him 

“If you do not wish to be fed to Caraxes, get the fuck out of my way,” he sternly whispered, though the strong effects of nightshade kept you under, he didn’t want to test his luck any further to night. With much care, Daemon bundled you closer to him as he fasten you to his saddle, and tightened the blanket around his waist “sovetes,”

Come morning, the private council called was a rage,a missing prince and princess. Daemon, though finding comical responsibility, left a note. Jaehearys in his old age coughed orders of bounties, as Baelon read over the written note by Daemon, one written with haste and yet with perfected penmanship. “Forgive me father,” Baelon began to chuckle, putting away the parchment as he couldn’t process the hilarity of the situation. All he could think of was Alyssa, Daemon was her son, through and through, defiant, fiery. A dragon. Jaehaereys began to bark at Baelon over the fit he had been in, “come now, father,” he coughed to halt his laughter “what did you think would have happened?”

Jaehaerys near the end of his life might have passed right there, having felt the rage he did with Saerra he never understood why his kin must always go beyond his orders, always. “My son has become more a man than I am, there throw a feast,” 

“He has a wife, he must return!”

“Unless you wish to outlive Viserys and I, this is one crime you must let go unpunished!” this time Baelon raised his voice, “for once, think about my boy and not about the Realm,”

Daemon had not planned where he would head, but Westeros wasn’t his home for now. You were, just as you always would be. 

[uhhlifeig]

Folklore - October 5 - word count: 619 - @wolfstarmicrofic

“So,” Sirius began, casting a glance around the group, his voice lowering in mock seriousness. “Who’s got a proper spooky story for us?”

Marlene snorted. “You? Asking for spooky stories? You already know you’re going to try and outdo everyone.”

Sirius’s grin was almost predatory. “Well, that depends. Anyone brave enough to go first?”

Regulus, sitting quietly with James’s fingers absentmindedly playing with his hair, raised an eyebrow. “I’ve got one.”

James’s eyes lit up, his face breaking into a wide grin. “Oh, this should be good. Reg here’s got a creepy mind, don’t let him fool you.”

Regulus elbowed him lightly but gave a small, wicked smile of his own. “Ever heard of the curse of Grim Hollow?” His voice was soft, making everyone lean in slightly.

“No,” Lily replied, eyes narrowing with intrigue, “but now I want to.”

“Well,” Regulus started, “there was once a family who lived in an old, crumbling manor on the edge of the forest- Grim Hollow, they called it. People in the village said they were cursed. No matter how hard the family tried to leave, they were always drawn back. Each generation died young. Some said it was the house itself that kept them there. Others said it was something… darker.”

James leant onto Regulus’s shoulder. “What happened to them?”

“No one knows for sure,” the younger boy replied, his voice dropping lower, “but according to folklore, if you walk near the ruins at night, you can hear the whispers of the family trapped there, begging for release. And if you’re not careful-”

Sirius interrupted. “Please, spare us the cliché ending where they drag you into the house. That’s weak.”

Regulus smirked. “They don’t drag you in. They try to follow you home.”

A chill settled over the group as silence stretched, broken only by the crackle of the fire. 

Peter shifted nervously. “That’s… unsettling.”

Sirius scoffed. “Alright, that was decent. But let me show you how it’s done.”

Remus, who had been contentedly quiet, leaned in closer to Sirius with a smirk of his own. “Oh? And what’s your masterpiece going to be?”

Sirius met his gaze, an impish gleam in his eyes. “I was thinking of something based on true events. You see, in the castle, not too long ago, a certain boy had the nerve to challenge his prefect to a race on broomsticks-”

“That’s not spooky, that’s just idiocy,” Remus interrupted, chuckling.

The noiret turned, dramatically placing a hand on his chest. “But wait- there’s more. This boy didn’t know that the Whomping Willow had been enchanted to-”

“Nice try,” James cut in, laughing. “It’s not spooky. It’s just angry.”

“I don’t know, it’s pretty spooky how many of you get hit by it,” Regulus deadpanned, earning laughs from the others.

“Alright, alright,” Sirius conceded, holding up his hands. “No more trees. But I was just getting to the best part, you see-”

“You fell off your broom,” Remus finished for him with a grin.

“Which is completely irrelevant to the story!” Sirius said, indignant. “But I suppose if you’re going to ruin the ending, I might as well keep it short.”

Lily groaned, rolling her eyes. “And here I was expecting an actual spooky story from you, Black.”

James leaned back, pulling Regulus with him as he chuckled. “I don’t know, Sirius falling off a broom sounds plenty scary to me.”

“Especially if it’s my broom,” the Slytherin added with a smirk.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “I guess we’ll leave the ghost stories to Reggie. I’ve got better ways to spend the night.”

Remus nudged him with his elbow, blushing furiously. “That’s not subtle at all, you know.”

Sirius grinned, shrugging. “I wasn’t trying to be.”