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neovillains · 24 hours ago

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DEATHBED | PART TWO

( HE'S NO DEADBEAT : NANAMI KENTO ) nanami believed he raised his son well, only for him to turn into a deadbeat right in front of his eyes. don't worry, he'll make it up to you. | watch time: 3.8k words.

── gilf!nanami & fem-bodied!reader, she/her pronouns, single mother!reader, adopted grandfather!nanami, deadbeat!yuuji itadori, high age gap, cunnilingus, clit stimulation, unprotected sex, multiple (2) orgasms, creampie, pussyjob, etc.

note. i am going so feral over my own series. like,,, i want to gnaw on the skin of gilf nanami so bad !

“I just don’t understand,” Nanami sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he throws his head back in the stress of all this. “You told me a couple of months ago that you love the girl. Now, you’re going back on your word the moment the child’s born? This is not the man I raised you to be.”

“Yeah, well,” Yuuji mumbles on the other line. “I’m sorry for disappointing you, but I just— I don’t think I’m cut out to be a father. I didn’t— I didn’t—”

“You didn’t realize how much responsibility it would be?” Nanami finishes for him. “How old are you again? I thought we were over this conversation the moment you left for college.”

“Why are you giving me so much shit?” Yuuji groans, voice getting more agitated the more his adopted father continues to chastise him. “(Y/N) and I had already had a discussion about things and I would financially provide for the child. That should be enough.”

“That should be enough?” Nanami scoffed, baffled by the words of the pink-haired fool on the other line. He could tell that Yuuji was still naive and idiotic to think that money would be the only thing that you needed to provide for a child all on your own. “What about doctor appointments? Emergencies at school and (Y/N) having to call off work to get them— did you consider instances like that? One person isn’t supposed to juggle the job of two.”

“I’m pretty sure she’ll be fine,” Yuuji hums. “You’ve done it with me—”

Nanami couldn’t take anymore of it, pulling the phone from his ears and immediately clicking on the red button to end the call. With a sigh, he brings himself out of the kitchen and towards the leather recliner that’s starting to fade. The burnt umber starting to dull in its color and having more of an orange hue to it. Relaxing in the seat as he leans back, he shuts his eyes. Over the years, he’s finally gotten a chance to relax. Slaving away in an office for hours and hours nearly everyday and coming home to provide for a young Yuuji, it’s brought a toll on his body. Gradually letting himself go, his stomach has grown a bit more pudge to it and the blond of his hair has completely dissipated to white.

When Yuuji had found you, bringing you home to meet his father, he was happy for his son. You were such a sweet person who managed to handle Yuuji’s outgoing nature. You were someone who could provide him stability, something that Yuuji was in dire need of. However, Nanami should’ve seen this coming when the two of you had been together for ten years and he never mentioned the idea of dropping down to one knee.

“Fuck,” Nanami curses as he rubs circles into the temples of his forehead. He thought that at some point Yuuji would get it. That he’s no longer a child and has responsibilities to tend to. But instead, he’s still running from adulthood instead of embracing it, coming to terms with it, and stop solely feeding into his inner child. Though it could be a gruesome thing, aging did have its perks. It was sad to see that his son didn’t seem to find that within you and his son.

He wondered how you were doing. How you truly were doing. Reaching for his phone, he had never called you so periodically before. However, when he heard that you were pregnant, he wanted to be a present grandfather. But when he heard how Yuuji had broken your heart after so many years together, he felt ashamed to have ties with the younger lad.

Last contacted: Two Weeks Ago.

With a heavy sigh, he presses the call button and waits. He’s expecting you to decline the call but after four rings, your voice— soft— sounds from the other line. “Hello? Nanami?”

“Hello, (Y/N). How’ve you been?”

—

You’re a very eclectic person. That’s what Nanami has learned about you from over the years. When you and Yuuji moved in together, you had taken over all aspects of interior design, having a more maximalist approach to things as countertops were littered with drinkets and pieces that were so vibrant and full of color. He couldn’t tell what your style was— bohemian chic with a mixture of rustic and historical? You mismatched a lot of things, but they always seemed to be coordinated in some sort of way. In the end, your home was an organized chaos that he’s come to admire.

However, as he sits down on your couch, half of those decoratives and staples to your home are gone. Packed away in boxes as you’re ready to raise a child. Conversations between the two of you were short and brief, that light in your eye that he’s so accustomed to is starting to blow out and he can’t help but feel guilty for the role he has to play in this.

“How’ve you been holding up, (Y/N)?” He asks out of the blue. “And be truthful with me. Don’t worry about me relaying the message back to Yuuji because I’m not— if that’s what you’re worried about.”

For the first time in the two hours he’s been here, you chuckle. The newborn laying on your chest as you rock your little boy to sleep, you shake your head as the corner of your lips rise. “I’m not worried about that, trust me. I’m just trying to think about that as much as possible, to be honest. It’s been a rough couple of days. With postpartum and everything, it’s taking a toll on me while I’m trying to keep it together.”

“Has he been sleeping well?” Nanami gestures to the baby. “If you need any help with him, you know I’ll be here as much as I possibly can.”

“You know,” you hum. “He’s really not that bad. I don’t want to jinx it, but he’s been good at night. The days, too. He’s been easy so far.”

“Probably because he can detect what you’re going through,” he lets out the comment absentmindedly before clearing his throat. “It’s good that he’s not giving you much trouble though. All you need is easy right now.”

By the fourth hour, Nanami removed himself from your home. Seeing him out, you were about to shut the door when he stopped abruptly. “And I mean it, (Y/N). Call me if you ever need help. Don’t try to do everything on your own. I’ll be there for you as much as I possibly can.”

Your eyes glisten with tears as you nod. “Thanks, Nanami. I really appreciate that.”

—

Nanami had taken the initiative to do what Yuuji couldn’t. Making regular visits to you to spend time with you and help with the baby as much as he can. Months passed by and gradually you were forgetting about Yuuji. Even with Nanami in your presence, you no longer cared about the guy you had been with for ten years as the older man seemed to be filling this void inside of you as you didn’t feel alone. And when Yuuji would call, you’d always keep conversation short as your voice gained a bit more pep and you were able to get more decent amounts of sleep.

There was something stirring inside of you when Nanami was around. It was like he made the sun shine brighter.

Was this right— to be on the verge of developing plausible feelings for your son’s grandfather, your ex’s father? Adopted father, your brain corrected. Nonetheless, Nanami raised Yuuji as if he was his own. Were you just trying to fill that hollow void inside of you that was yearning for connection?

You loved Yuuji. He was childish and didn’t want to hold any responsibility, oftentimes making you do the brunt of things. Truthfully, you shouldn’t have stayed so long. But, you loved him. His childishness made you smile, his want for fun made the days go faster. However, you ended up getting the short end of the stick because of his ways. But still, you loved Yuuji.

Nanami was a tie to Yuuji. And whatever that was going on in your mind was still tied down to Yuuji.

The pipe was running for far too long that it called for Nanami’s attention. Stepping inside of the kitchen, he stands behind you and reaches to turn off the pipe. He looks down at you when you jump, your back hitting into his chest. Making eye contact, you smile sheepishly as he looks down at you in concern. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t ask if there’s something wrong, he knows that something is. And in the whirlwind of your mind, you blurt, “I think it’s best if you go now.”

The immediate switch up is perplexing, catching Nanami off guard as he instinctively takes a step back. “Huh— did I do something wrong?”

“No, but— but I think it’s best if you stop your little visits,” you continue on, turning your back away from him as you grab the sponge, squirting soap on it.

“(Y/N), talk to me.”

“I don’t think I want to talk anymore.”

“I don’t care if you don’t want to talk anymore, you’re going to,” he pulls at your wrist, dragging you away from the sink. “Tell me what’s with the abrupt decisions?”

“I—I—” you groan in frustration, flinging yourself against Nanami as you pull him in for a kiss. It lasts for only a second before he’s pushing you off of him, trying to collect his thoughts and understand what just happened. Your face heats up feeling like a complete fool.

“I’m so sorry. I just— This is why you need to—” However, before you can even finish your sentence, he’s pulling you back into his embrace. The warmth of his body makes you melt as you taste his lips, fingers scrunching in the baby blue t-shirt hanging off his body. The tension from inside of you is relieved as your hand goes to drape around his neck as you let out the slightest of moans. It’s then that he pulls away, a string of saliva following.

Nanami’s brown eyes stare into you, no longer filled with the youth of his younger days like how you’ve seen in his photo albums. However, you can see how they brighten up with you in his hold. In a low and raspy voice, “If this was what you were scared about, I would’ve assured you a long time ago that you’re safe with me.”

He plants another wet and chaste kiss on your lips, adding, “Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to take care of you for the rest of the years I have.”

With your son fast asleep, the two of you become so enamoured in each other’s lust that reality slips past. Nanami’s veiny hands grip onto your hips with purpose and pull you closer into him. From the time he’s been spending with you, you’ve made him realize how much he’s missed out on companionship. How he had been so occupied with work and providing for Yuuji that he never took the chance to really connect with anyone. Aside from the occasional women and a few sporadic dates, his life was one of loneliness. Your lips are soft and full of life, transporting him back to his late twenties— blond hair and unblemished skin, green-tinted spectacles that hid his beautiful coffee-toned eyes. He was stressed out then, but imagine if he had found someone like you back then? Closer in age and held the same stupor that would make him realize his mistakes much sooner, he wouldn’t have ended up in the predicament he is in now. Kissing on a girl that’s nearly half his age, the mother of his grandson. He should feel ashamed of himself— disgusted— but his body craves this. Craves you.

You manage to guide him to your bedroom without his knowing, his mind so preoccupied that the moment you gently shut the door, he’s disoriented. The two of you have moved so seamlessly in the heat of things that it makes this all too real. But still, even when you’re sitting on the edge of the bed and he’s climbing over your body, he can’t stop himself. Lust-blown eyes that gaze into yours, he breathes heavily. “You’d willingly love an old man like me?”

“Yes,” you breathe with a faint nod. “Need someone to take care of me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Nanami breathes. “You’d let an old man use this beautiful body of yours— ruin it with his old cock?”

You go to cup his face, eyes gleaming when you say, “You could never do that, Kento.”

He grounds his erection into your covered heat, pressing his lips down on yours before haughtily saying, “Oh, but I want to.”

And your eyes say it all, giving him permission as you feel the fire that ignites in between your legs. Arousal continues to build up as Nanami’s breathing gets heavier. Aging lines that protrude the skin, cheeks sucked and exhausted eyes that reflect those many years of labor. You remember the words of your ex telling you about him, speaking so highly of his father and how he worked endlessly. Yuuji always said that his father needed a break, and finally does it feel like he is. Spending leisure time buried inside of your pussy.

Nanami knows he has to be careful not to strain the bones inside of his body, knowing that one bad ache can be detrimental. However, he’s eager— way too eager to have a taste. Traversing down your body, he stops himself at the hem of your shorts. One leg on the floor with the other knee pressing into the mattress of the bed, he grabs at the elastic of it and slowly drags it down. Your hips rise up from the sheets as your thighs press together before he’s flinging the two garments down to the ground. Your body was slowly getting back to what you used to recognize it for. After going through labor, your stomach had felt like it became a deflated balloon, gaining more and more stretch marks than you originally had. When you took Nanami up on his offer to help you, he encouraged you to get out of the house as much as you can. It had helped, but you were still coming to terms with the new you.

However, with every gentle touch that Nanami places on your body, it feels like nothing has changed. The way he caresses your waist, gently tugging you down to his lips. Hands pushing at the hem of your shirt and making it rise as your stomach is exposed. The gentle kiss to your left inner thigh and the soft rub to your stomach is a simple gesture that makes sparks fly. He spreads your legs slowly, but his eyes glued on yours as his hands come to travel higher up. He’s so close to you, his breath dancing over your pussy as he mumbles, moreso to himself than to you, “God, so beautiful.”

Simple gestures and simple words that give you enough validation as you say his name, Kento. Your legs tense up before relaxing, your body beginning to jitter the more he gets so transfixed with it. It’s only for the palm of his hand to stop and relax you before spreading you open even further. “Don’t get shy on me now, love. I’ll take care of you, just like you need to be.”

The first kiss to your lips is short, a simple taste test to your nectar— you’re the finest honey he’s ever tasted. Your arousal has him addicted, pressing his nose into your clit as he inhales your scent. Intoxicating and tantalizing, he finds himself getting lost in a matter of seconds. Your body shudders, making your spine arch with the way his tongue presses down into your warmth. One hand digging into your sheets while the next knots inside of his hair, pulling at the thinning strands of his scalp. However, he couldn’t care less as he finds himself impeccably lost. Your short tugs has him moaning, a sign of encouragement for you to continue those savoury sounds as his hand goes in search for the next to guide it where it belongs.

With both of your hands tangled in what used to be blond, your legs trap him inside your heat as his arms wrap around your waist. There’s an ache settling inside of his legs, but he keeps himself still as his pink tongue prods at your folds. You’re a mewling mess as your eyes are shut and basking in this bliss. Your breathing becomes heavy as you can only think of the man making you feel so good. You gnaw on your bottom lip in hopes to ground yourself as his tongue swirls against your labia, nose nuzzling into your clit as he presses the muscle deeper and deeper within you.

Wet sounds start to seep within the air as Nanami’s not caught up for breath once as you’ve got each other locked in each other’s hold. His moans are deep and from the soul, his arms tightening around your waist as he can feel it before you can. That coil deep within your body, shortly undoing and bringing you to the brink. Arousal dressing his taste buds, your juices continue to seep out as your back arches off the bed and your fingers get tighter. “K-Ken… Kento!”

“I know,” he pulls up for a first. “And I’ve got you.”

Nanami tips you over the edge, knocking you out of breath the moment he presses a finger to your clit. A high-pitched gasp leaving your mouth as you close your eyes shut and cry out in pleasure. “Kento, ohmigosh!”

You drag out a long-winded ‘oh,’ building up pride in the older man as a smirk graces his lips as he laps up your orgasm. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull as your upper body falls back into the sheets and your chin points to the ceiling. Your breath is ragged as you slowly fall from your high and feel the bed shuffle. A deep groan settles from off of his chest as Nanami has to take a moment to stretch out his limbs. He reaches to pull off his shirt and undo his pants, the tight-fitted boxer briefs resting on his lower half when your eyes start to flutter open once more. Chest rising and falling, you admire the chub of the man before you.

He dropped the habit of working out in his early sixties the moment he realized the amount of strain it was putting on his body. And no longer did he care for it, not bothering to wake up in the early mornings or get ready in the evenings for it. Instead, he opted in for daily walks and called it a day. But even those had become a biweekly hobby. He was no longer sharp and strong as he used to be, but the remnants of it and the roundness of his body was more comforting than ever. Eyes lingering to the bulge inside of his undergarments, you ogled at the size of it, white hairs leading down to it. Inching towards you, he brought your attention to his face. Your glossy eyes no longer transfixed on the length hiding under the elastic cloth as he inched down to you. One hand cupping your face as he breathes heavily, giving you a once over.

“My son,” he starts before clearing his throat. “My son never knew how to handle a woman like you.”

It was gradual. You didn’t know when he had managed to slip free of his underwear. “Could’ve never taken care of a woman like you.”

You didn’t know when he managed to hike your legs up over his waist, his tip kissing at your clit and making you absentmindedly shudder. “That’s why you need me.”

It isn’t until you feel the press of his cock head inching inside of your heat that you’re taken out of your trance, your mouth falling open into an ‘O’ as a whimper leaves your lips. “Only I can take care of you. Be everything my son isn’t— a man.”

“Yeah,” you agree with a meek nod, feeling the intrusion of his cock seer through you.

“Yeah?” Nanami hums, pressing deeper and deeper into you until he’s fully sheathed. His breathing staggers a bit before regaining control. “I’m the only man you need. The only man that can give you what you need, hm?”

“Yes, Kento,” you whine and whimper, feeling how he pauses to get you acclimated. “I only need you. You’re perfect for me.”

One more chaste kiss before he’s pulling out of you, the head prodding at your entrance. A thought he’s unaware he’s said out loud, And you’re perfect for me.

His length is thick and stretches open your walls, making you feel fuller than you’ve ever felt with any of your past partners. His hips don’t move with that same motion he had in his younger years. No longer languid movements, but growing rougher in age. Each thrust is calculated and hard against your pussy. His deep groans and grunts make your mind spiral and your eyes constantly flutter as each sound spills from his mouth. At some point, he comes to hold your face and does nothing else. A small and simple gesture that makes you melt into him.

Your pussy, while used, sucks him up in a tight grip that doesn’t make him want to ever leave it. He finds himself stuck at the thought of leaving the sweetness that it is, your cunt a gift to him from heavens themself. Your hands wrap around his neck, nails digging into his fragile skin and sure to bruise as your legs tense up around him, his eyes flutter shut. “Gosh, it’s like your pussy was made for me to enjoy.”

And when he brings you to orgasm, you entrap him with your legs and call for his release as well. You milk of what he’s worth, letting him empty himself out into you without any concerns of the repercussions. You let out high-pitched mewls and moans when he rolls to the other side of the bed, having to take a moment to catch his breath. However, with your body running ablaze, a heat still sparked inside of you, you tiredly move yourself to hover over his frame and catch him off guard. “Wha— What are you doing?”

“I need more of you.” The tip of his cock still leaking his seed and your pussy dripping of your intermingled cum, you press your cunt against his length. Grinding yourself against his softening length in hopes to liven him up again, you watch as he chuckles exhaustedly. “A pretty thing like you will surely lead me to my deathbed.”

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yourownutopia · 3 days ago

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Ultraviolent Heart Part II

╰┈➤ A year has passed since you walked away from the hunter world, from him. The ache in your chest never left, but tonight, you let yourself surrender to it, if only for a moment. That’s when you feel it—a faint flicker of mana. Hope surges, fragile and desperate, at the thought that it could mean Jin Woo. But as you follow the spark, something goes horribly, irrevocably wrong.

[Part I]

Crywolf - ultraviolent [she sang to me a language strange]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚--~

“What if I manage to kill you and your puppets as well?”

Jin-Woo’s voice was cold as ice, his eyes glowed, and his face was smeared with blood as he stared at the half-destroyed statue, which was looking back at him with a hint of panic.

The power emanating from the young Hunter made the room tremble. The room where everything had begun—the room he could now finally return to, only to discover that the creator of his powers was also the root of all evil.

The half-destroyed statue responded, its jaw already shattered, and deep gashes marked where Jin-Woo’s daggers had struck.

“I am the architect of this system. If you were to kill me—”

“—I’d become an E-rank again?” the black-haired Hunter finished the sentence, sweat glistening on his bloodstained forehead as a manic smile spread across his lips.

“I’ve already considered that possibility… but a system that exists won’t simply collapse if its creator vanishes, will it?” His grin widened, and the statue realized what that meant.

By the time its own system denied it access, its fate was sealed.

“I used to think I had no choice but to follow the system, that I’d become nothing more than an avatar, bend to its will” Jin-Woo whispered, tightening his grip on his blades. The glowing aura around him and the second heart he just got beating in his chest quickened his movements—each beat releasing more mana.

“I’ll just devour the entire system,” he declared, preparing to strike. But then the Architect said something that froze him mid-attack.

“̴H̵a̵v̷e̶ ̵y̴o̵u̴ ̷n̶e̷ver̷ wo̵n̴de̷r̴e̶d̶ ̶w̷h̶e̵re̴ ̷s̴he̷ d̷i̵s̶a̴p̷p̶e̵a̵r̵e̵d̵ ̵t̵o̷?̵”̴

The Voice began to tremble, static and flickering – like a broken TV.

The Shadow Monarch’s eyes remained unchanging, and he kept the statue in his sights. Was this a dirty trick? Was it trying to exploit his only weakness—you?

The Architect’s tone shifted as he noticed the young Hunter’s hesitation. He had struck a nerve. Not even a second heart could fill the gaping hole in his chest that you had left behind. But the thought of what the system might have done to you made uncontrollable rage boil within him.

He’s just playing with you, Jin-Woo. Don’t listen to him.

Your voice was loud and clear in his head—or at least the voice he still remembered.

Maybe he had a screw loose, or he was completely losing his mind, but after some time of your absence, your voice began appearing more and more clear in his mind. Especially in situations that were inherently dangerous, when adrenaline coursed through his veins. It wasn’t real – he knew that too well, but it was enough to give him strength.

Suddenly, it all made sense—the reason why he couldn’t find you anywhere, not even a single clue about your whereabouts, no matter how long and intensely he searched. Who could let you disappear, if not the System itself?

As he followed this train of thought, a massive knot formed in his stomach. The mere idea that he might have done something terrible to you—who knows what—was enough to drive him to the brink of madness.

His grip on the dagger tightened, the weapon creaking under the sheer force of its wielder. His entire body burned.

“What have you done?”

His voice trembled with fury—a rage that sent fear coursing through his shadows.

A rage with the potential to turn this dungeon—no, the entire city or even the world, to ashes.

And he likely would if it meant avenging you.

A deep laugh filled his ears as the battered statue laughed.

"That's the funniest part of all this, I didn't have to do anything", its voice was smug, less panicked. Now, he had enough time to do what should prevent his death.

What did he mean by that?

"You did this for me" the architect added. Jin Woo felt a sharp pang in his heart at the thought that he was responsible for what had happened to you. If only he had looked after you better…

"She left on her own."

The wounds inside him, which he had sporadically patched up, ripped open again at the thought.

He didn’t want to believe it—couldn’t believe it. Not coming from the mouth of this monster, yet his words ate their way into his mind.

His voice distorted, as though there was interference, but the grin on the stone shell didn’t fade—in fact, it grew wider.

The black-haired man didn’t want to listen any longer and prepared to attack, but a voice—your voice—stopped him. So clear and distinct, as if you were right beside him. And then he saw you out of the corner of his eye.

“Jin-Woo?” you asked softly, almost hesitantly. Your [E/C] eyes shone. This time – your Voice rang crystal clear in his ears, as if you were just beside him. It felt too real. His whole body reacted to your voice, a shiver ran down his spine.

His mistake: he turned his gaze away, just to finally see you again.

The world stood still for a second as he looked at you, his mouth opening to say something, anything—but by then, it was already too late.

The stone spear of the statue pierced his stomach, sending waves of pain through his entire body.

Blood gushed from his mouth, his eyes wide in shock. He had… fallen for it.

He saw his HP plummet drastically, his vision blurred, and his strength drained away.

Was this the end? Would he die here?

The sharp scream of his name that came out of Hae-In’s mouth, who stood with the other S-Rank hunters not far from the battle, didn’t reach him.

Everything around him grew dark, his eyes fluttered, and he shut out all the sounds surrounding him—only your image remained.

He was tired, so unbearably tired. He didn’t want to continue; it was all too much. And knowing he would never see you again shattered the last bit of resolve that had driven him forward.

What reason did he have to keep suffering? He might as well succumb to the darkness and finally let his soul rest. Stop fighting, at last.

This feeling… death reaching for him, pulling him to the other side.

Was the Double Dungeon truly to be his eternal resting place after all, despite escaping it the first time? How ironic.

“It’s okay” your voice gently reached his ears.

Could he finally be happy with you if he gave in?

He exhaled one last time and closed his eyes.

Peace, at last.

“You’ve fought enough; you can let go” you said softly, and he felt the warmth of your hands cupping his cheeks.

When he opened his eyes, the Double Dungeon was gone—everything around him was white, and he gazed into your beautiful [E/C] eyes, your face framed with a soft smile on your lips.

Was this an illusion? A figment of his imagination to ease his passing?

“You can let go, Jin-Woo” you said calmly, your lips mere inches from his.

But just before you could unite your lips with his, something dawned on him, something that reignited life in his limbs.

“N…” he began, but only a raspy sound escaped on his first attempt.

“Hmm?” you asked.

“Ne…ver…” Jin-Woo made a second attempt.

“Never” he finally croaked, and your eyes widened.

“[Y/N] would never say something like that”, he declared, his numb limbs moving again.

You had always cheered him on, stood by his side, and motivated him to keep going, even when he didn’t want to. You had taken his hand and encouraged him to surpass himself, to never give up.

“When you’re backed into a wall, tear the damn thing down”, you had told him after you’d both barely survived Cerberus, when the situation seemed hopeless—but you had pushed through and pulled him along.

The illusion began to crumble around him, and the soft smile of your mirage twisted into a knowing, satisfied grin. As if Death himself was satisfied with his own Defeat, almost proud of Jin Woo’s resistance.

Jin-Woo straightened up, his hands instinctively gripping the spear in his stomach. The light disappeared, along with your form, and his eyes snapped open. Life flooded his body, and the second heart in his chest pumped even more pulsating mana through his veins as he pulled out the Speer, blood dripping down to his feet.

The triumphant grin of the statue shifted to pure horror at the sight of him getting back in action, after it had already claimed its victory.

“You really don’t know her if you think she’d ever say something like that”, Jin-Woo said as he spat the blood from his mouth, the metallic taste still lingering on his tongue.

In a flash, he sprinted forward and cleaved the statue’s face, its terrified eyes staring at him. It was over.

“Apparently…” the statue began to speak, its voice growing quieter toward the end, but its horrified expression turned into one of satisfaction—a faint grin.

What now? Had he underestimated something?

No, Jin-Woo could feel the presence of the Architect fading—it was clear, its mana dwindling. And yet, the creature acted as though it had won.

“I’ll leave her a message from you,” were the monster’s final words, spoken with just enough strength for a wide grin, before its presence faded.

Jin-Woo’s eyes widened at the words. No—this couldn’t—.

He reached out. No way would he let this monster go wherever you were, no matter where that might be.

When his hand finally felt something warm, he gripped it as tightly as he could and felt his body being pulled along.

A blinding light forced him to shut his eyes, a wave of energy surging toward him so intensely that he could only grip tightly onto whatever threatened to slip from his grasp. Suddenly, the ground beneath him vanished, leaving him weightless in the embrace of a strange warmth.

The warmth seeped into his wounds, and the pain vanished instantly.

For the first time in months, the crushing weight on his chest lifted, and he could breathe freely. It was a sensation he hadn’t felt since your absence.

The warmth enveloped him, soothing his battered soul like a gentle, healing touch. For a fleeting moment, everything felt right. But then, just as quickly, the feeling disappeared. The light receded, the emptiness returned, and the electric hum of mana that usually coursed through his veins was gone.

His feet hit cold concrete, dizziness overtaking him as his back slammed against the ground. The impact forced the air from his lungs, leaving him gasping as he lay motionless. The screech of tires pierced the air, snapping his head upward—only to be blinded by a pair of glaring headlights.

Jin Woo flinched, squeezing his eyes shut as he instinctively raised a hand to shield himself. Confusion flooded his mind; the abrupt change of scenery and his sluggish reflexes left him utterly perplexed.

Moments later, the car door creaked open, and a voice rang out—both alarmed and irritated.

"You can’t just run out into the road like that, man! What’s wrong with you?!"

His head whipped toward the source of the voice as a figure stepped into view. Worry flickered in the stranger's lavender-colored eyes as he crouched down to examine Jin Woo, who looked thoroughly disoriented.

"Are you hurt?’’, the man asked, his initial anger giving way to concern, likely born of the shock.

For a moment, Jin Woo didn’t answer, his breathing uneven as he tried to process his surroundings, before Jin-Woo crouched back.

But his movements were… slow. Far too slow. What was going on?

It felt as though he had no Mana left at all.

He immediately glanced down at his body, only to find the gaping wound in his stomach gone, along with the blood on his clothes—and even his shirt was no longer completely shredded.

It felt as though all the Mana in his body had vanished. An icy wave of panic clawed its way through him.

"Beru?!" Jin Woo called out; his voice edged with urgency. He expected a response, a reassuring presence—but there was nothing. Silence pressed in around him. He was truly alone.

Instead, the stranger in front of him gave him a puzzled look, clearly unsure who—or what—Jin Woo was calling for.

The man had striking lavender eyes and stark white hair, the contrast making his features all the more vivid. Jin Woo’s gaze lingered on him for a second too long before snapping away.

"I'm fine," Jin Woo replied curtly, though the sharp edge in his tone was undermined by his obvious disorientation.

The stranger raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. And who could blame him? Jin Woo looked far from "fine," his body tense and his expression filled with panic.

"Are you sure?" the stranger pressed, leaning in slightly, his tone gentler now.

Jin Woo let out a defeated sigh. He couldn’t afford to waste time arguing, not when something was clearly wrong. He swallowed hard before asking, his voice quieter than before:

"Where are we?"

-‘๑’-

A Year

It had been a year.

Exactly one year since you had returned home and turned your back on the world of Hunters.

A year spent trying to move forward, even though your heart had shattered into a thousand pieces.

A year filled with bitter truths—because you no longer had a place to return to.

It became painfully clear that no one remembered you—not your parents, not your friends. As if you had never existed.

But that pain was nothing compared to the emptiness you felt when you realized your decision was final.

The moment your mind caught up with what you had done, you had screamed. You had cried out prayers to gods you didn’t believe in, slammed your fists against the ground in desperation, hoping your pleas would be heard—that the System would reappear.

But it had all been in vain.

By leaving his world, you had also left behind your abilities as a Hunter—or a Player.

All that remained were memories and the emptiness in your heart, proof that you had ever been part of that world—that his warmth, his fingers intertwined with yours, the joy in your heart when he laughed—it had all been real.

Eventually, after weeks of unbearable pain, you managed to pull yourself back together.

You pushed the dark thoughts aside and tried for a fresh start.

You got a job, found an affordable place to live, and finally felt like you had regained a sliver of control over your life. Things were getting better—just a little. But every now and then, the memories caught up with you. The questions crept in: How was he doing? Were he and Hae-In happy now, while you were still mourning someone who was never truly yours?

And today, on your "anniversary," the weight of those memories was especially crushing.

You flinched as something cold brushed against your cheek, snapping you back to reality.

The dull music that had filled your ears became sharp and clear again.

Your head jerked to the side, where a glass filled with dark brown liquid hovered inches from your face. Behind it was the concerned face of your best—and only—friend, as well as your roommate: Nika.

Her lavender-colored eyes studied you with a mixture of worry and exasperation.

“You’ve got that look again,” she said, her voice loud and direct as she slid onto the barstool next to you.

“What look?” you asked, taking the glass from her hand. The amber liquid inside swirled lazily as you turned it in your hand.

“The ‘I don’t belong here, someone save me’ look,” she replied with a faint smirk, taking a deep sip of her own drink.

“What are you thinking about this time?” she asked, setting her glass down on the counter with a dull thud.

You knew you couldn’t tell her the truth. She was aware of your heartbreak—though you had spared her the details—but she hated it when you wasted even a single thought on him.

After all, it was Nika who had painstakingly put you back together, who had offered you a place to stay after you confessed you’d been sleeping in a rundown motel.

You had been nothing more than coworkers, yet she had taken you in.

She had seen through your sadness, the pain you carried with you—the nightmares that haunted you, the lack of sleep, and how little you left the apartment. Eventually, she’d had enough and confronted you, practically dragging you out of the house.

At first, you resisted, but the sobering realization that you could now drink yourself into oblivion again since your hunters’ powers were gone, had quickly changed your mind. So much so that even Nika occasionally worried about your drinking habits.

Apparently, your “it’s nothing” had taken too long, because her piercing gaze told you she wasn’t buying it.

“You can’t be serious,” she said, letting out a heavy sigh—as though your pain were her own. You understood why. In moments like this, you felt so small again, like you’d made no progress, like the pain had never truly gone away and happiness was something you’d never feel again.

“I’m sorry, it’s just… it’s been a year now. The melancholy kind of sneaks up on you,” you admitted, offering her an apologetic smile.

“I get it—you loved him, yada yada. But life moves on. We’re young. We’re hot. He didn’t deserve you anyway. I mean, look at you.”

Her voice brimmed with confidence, the complete opposite of your own. She was strong, self-assured—a little reckless, sometimes abrasive, but her heart was always in the right place.

Her enthusiasm was infectious, and despite yourself, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s time you finally realize what you’re worth. I mean, guys hit on you all the time. Grab one and have some fun. Or reject them—that’s fun too,” she said with a playful grin before downing the rest of her drink in one gulp.

Then she grabbed your hand.

“Come on, we’re going dancing,” she declared, pulling you off the stool.

“Wait,” you protested, but she shot you a knowing look.

Her grin widened as you downed your own drink in one go, relishing the burning sensation before letting her drag you to the dance floor.

Maybe she was right. At some point, you had to let go. Jin Woo was your past, a closed chapter in your story.

Maybe it was time to try something new.

-‘๑’-

You felt the cold wall against your back as two strong hands gently but firmly pushed you backward, and you instinctively wrapped your hands around his neck.

Perhaps you had followed Nika’s advice and gotten involved with something… or rather someone, whose hands were now sliding under your black dress, leaving a warm tingling on your skin. Whether it was the alcohol this time, or if you simply wanted to prove to yourself that you were finally over Jin-Woo – you had no idea. But his hands on your skin made you feel desired again, something you hadn’t felt in a long time. Even if it was just a quick fling, right here in this moment, it felt good, even though the icy cold grazed your bare skin because you had left your jacket in the coat check.

His warm breath brushed against your neck, and you could clearly feel how your body wanted to give in.

At least, until the moment when his lips were only a few centimeters away from yours, and you wanted to close your eyes.You jolted upright as a familiar feeling coursed through your body, snapping your attention away. Your head whipped to the side, toward the source of the aura.

It couldn’t be—it was impossible.

And yet, you had felt it.

Mana. Nearby.

There was no mistaking it. That distinct surge of a mana stream—something you thought you’d never feel again.

That spark was enough to reignite something within you, something you had thought long dead.

Hope.

Hope that you might see him again. That you could apologize. Say all the things you’d never allowed yourself to say. Could it really be?

“Are you okay?”

The black-haired man in front of you had stopped immediately, concern in his striking green eyes.

You stared at him, unable to form a coherent thought as the sensation consumed you, blotting out everything else for a fleeting moment.

“I’m sorry, I…” you began, disentangling yourself from him, unable to meet his gaze.

You didn’t owe him anything—not really—but you wouldn’t have let this happen if you’d known it would end like this.

He was probably angry—disappointed at the very least. Bracing yourself for the worst, you were surprised when no harsh words came.

Instead, he simply nodded, understanding in his eyes, and stepped back, releasing you.

“It’s okay. You don’t need to explain,” he said gently, his green eyes following you as you began to turn away.

“Thank you,” you whispered before rushing off in the direction of the mana stream.

The sky above was clear, dotted with stars. It was late December, and the temperature had plummeted below freezing.

Your lungs burned, and the cold lashed at your exposed skin, but you didn’t slow down. You couldn’t risk losing this chance, couldn’t make the same mistake again.

Tears welled in your eyes as Jin-Woo’s face filled your mind—his warm smile, the one that had always sent butterflies through your stomach.

No. You wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

You rounded a corner into a dark alley and came to an abrupt halt, gasping for breath. Your exhalations formed small clouds in the freezing air as your heart pounded like a drum in your chest. Blood rushed through your veins as you scanned the shadows ahead.

You barely noticed the biting cold. Your eyes were locked on the figure hidden in the darkness.

For a moment, you bent over, bracing your hands on your thighs as you caught your breath.

-‘๑’-

“What do you mean, she’s gone?!”

The white-haired man’s voice rang out sharply over the car’s speakerphone, his focus fixed on the road ahead.

The voice on the other end was trembling, frantic.

“I—I don’t know. Oh god, it’s my fault. I told her she should—”

“Calm down. It’s not your fault,” Hide interrupted, his voice steady but his body tense. Jin-Woo, sitting in the passenger seat, could clearly see the strain in the way Hide gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening, his eyes darting nervously. Still, his voice remained calm—for his sister’s sake.

“Take a deep breath, Nika. I’m coming to pick you up, okay? We’ll find her. I promise,” Hide said reassuringly.

A small, muffled sound of agreement came from the other end of the line before the call ended. Hide exhaled heavily, running a hand over his forehead.

Jin-Woo had been staring out the window in silence, his thoughts a tangled mess, his gaze fixed on the blur of passing buildings.

He was still in Seoul, but something was wrong. He had no connection to his Shadows, no access to his abilities. The System had gone silent, leaving an ominous knot in his stomach. He felt weaker than he ever had before—even weaker than when he was an E-Rank.

Had he made a mistake?

The white-haired man—Hide—was the one who had almost run him over. Out of guilt, he had insisted on giving Jin-Woo a ride so he wouldn’t have to walk all the way home. But their route had taken an unexpected detour when Hide received the call.

“I need to make a quick stop. I hope that’s okay,” Hide said apologetically, glancing over at Jin-Woo.

“It’s fine,” Jin-Woo replied quietly, his eyes still fixed on the dark street ahead.

Hide wasn’t much of a talker, which Jin-Woo appreciated. But now, perhaps sensing the tension, maybe it was time to break the Silence.

“Mind if I ask what’s going on?” Jin-Woo asked, his gaze finally shifting to the driver.

Hide leaned back slightly in his seat, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. A half-hearted chuckle escaped his lips.

“My sister and her friend went out. Apparently, they got separated. Probably nothing serious,” he replied, stepping harder on the gas.

Jin-Woo nodded slightly. That sounded exhausting. Thank goodness Jinha wasn’t into partying—it would’ve been a headache he didn’t need.

By breaking several traffic laws, the white-haired man managed to get them to their destination quickly.

Hide slammed on the brakes and parked the car by the roadside when he spotted his sister.

She stood at the entrance of the club, neon signs casting colorful reflections on the ground. A cigarette dangled between her lips, and she held [Y/N]’s jacket in her arms—retrieved from the coat check.

Her eyes darted nervously, scanning her surroundings. The moment she saw her twin brother’s car, she ran toward it as Hide stepped out.

Jin-Woo watched the scene unfold through the side window, clearly hearing their exchange thanks to the slightly ajar driver’s door.

Hide placed his hands on his sister’s shoulders, speaking to her in a calm, soothing tone. The resemblance between the two was striking—save for their height and gender, they were unmistakably twins.

“Take it easy. Start by telling me what happened,” Hide said, his voice steady. His sister stumbled over her words as she tried to explain.

“She was so down again, so I told her to relax and have some fun. I should’ve kept a closer eye on her, but the guy seemed so nice…” she trailed off, the glowing cigarette in her hand entirely forgotten.

Jin-Woo, sitting silently in the car, wondered what kind of strange drama he’d stumbled into. His musings were interrupted when the white-haired girl suddenly bolted.

A young, black-haired man had just exited the club, and she charged toward him.

“You! Tell me where she is!” she demanded, her tone sharp as she nearly leaped at him. The startled man raised his hands defensively.

“Whoa, take it easy,” he said, taking a step back. Before she could get closer, Hide intervened, holding her back.

“Calm down, Nika,” he said, though she fought against his grip.

“That’s the guy! He went outside with [Y/N]!” she exclaimed.

Jin-Woo’s eyes widened at the sound of your name. A sharp, unbearable ache tore through his chest as vivid memories of you filled his mind. Your radiant [E/C] eyes, your angelic smile—the one he had loved so deeply.

Your voice echoed in his head, louder and more persistent the longer you were gone. How many times had he thrown himself into battles, eschewing his shadows, because your silhouette seemed to appear in his mind when adrenaline coursed through him? You had given him strength, even in your absence.

Regret burned through him—leaving you, failing to reach out, being so selfish.

No. It couldn’t be you. He convinced himself it was just someone with the same name.

But his fragile hope shattered when the black-haired man responded to a question Jin-Woo hadn’t caught:

“Oh… You mean the little one? [H/C] hair, [E/C] eyes?”

Without thinking, Jin-Woo’s hand shot to the door handle, and he stepped out.

Hide noticed Jin-Woo from the corner of his eye, his head slightly lowered. Despite his calm demeanor, his posture was tense.

“Where is she?” Jin-Woo’s voice cut through the air like icy arrows, forcing the dark-haired man to turn his attention away from the white-haired woman beside him. She, too, turned to look at Jin-Woo.

“Who are you?” The dark-haired man’s green eyes darted to Jin-Woo, who immediately grabbed him by the collar, yanking him forward.

“Tell me where she is,” Jin-Woo demanded, his voice carrying the weight of his former power as the Shadow Monarch, as though he could crush the man in an instant.

“Hey—calm down,” Hide said, startled by the sudden shift in Jin-Woo’s demeanor. But Jin-Woo ignored him completely.

“Whoa, take it easy! I didn’t do anything to her,” the man stammered, raising his hands to show he had no intention of fighting.

“We just... messed around a little. I didn’t know she had a boyfriend,” he added, apologetically misreading the situation.

Jin-Woo’s eyes widened at his words. Pain pierced his chest at the mere thought of you having any sort of involvement with this man. Anger flared at the idea of him even touching you.

“Besides,” the man continued, “she blew me off before anything serious happened. She ran off like she’d been chased”

The dark-haired man was about Jin-Woo’s height and likely much stronger. A fight without Jin-Woo’s powers would not end in his favor. The only reason the situation hadn’t escalated was the stranger’s defensive stance.

For a brief moment, Jin-Woo’s grip on the man’s collar tightened, his gaze piercing. But the sincerity in the man’s voice was evident, so Jin-Woo reluctantly let go.

“Who the hell even ARE you?!” the white-haired woman snapped, her lavender eyes burning with intensity. She had just been released by her brother and now glared at Jin-Woo.

When Jin-Woo looked at her, realization struck within her. His Appearance fitted the one [Y/N] gave her.

“YOU!” she spat, pointing an accusatory finger mere inches from his face.

“Do you even know how much you hurt her? How much she suffered because of you?!” Her voice trembled with fury as she threw the rhetorical question at him. She wasn’t waiting for an answer; her anger didn’t need one.

“How dare you show up here after a whole year?!”

Jin-Woo held her gaze, unflinching, but for the first time in a long while, he felt powerless. It wasn’t just his lack of strength – no, her rage overwhelmed him, her emotions exposing just how much you meant to her.

He stared at her coolly, but her words cut through him like a thousand tiny knives. What had he done? What on earth had happened?

The thought of how you must have felt had already cost him countless sleepless nights. But now, faced with the real consequences of his neglect and selfishness, it hit him harder than ever before.

Suddenly, the Architect’s words made sense – how he had said you’d left willingly.

Jin-Woo froze. His stomach churned, a dreadful feeling settling deep within him.

He had followed the Architect’s trail to stop him, but by the time he arrived, the Architect was gone – and now, so were you. It couldn’t be a coincidence. He had to find you before he did.

The guilt and regret eating away at him wouldn’t ease as long as he knew you were safe. But the guilt he’d feel if something happened to you? That would destroy him.

He took a sharp breath, shoving aside the rising panic that crept into his entirely human body.

“Stay out of this. I’ll find her,” he said, turning to leave. But a rough grip stopped him mid-step.

“Wait!” the white-haired woman barked. Her voice was firm, but she let go of his coat as soon as he turned toward the direction the dark-haired man had pointed out.

Jin-Woo tuned out her loud protests, vanishing into the streets. His steps quickened.

At least his physical conditioning hadn’t failed him. Mana or not, his rigorous training paid off.

He sprinted through the dark streets, his breath forming clouds in the icy air as his sharp eyes scanned his surroundings. It was 2 a.m., and the streets were deserted. The dark night sky stretched endlessly above the city, stars visible despite the light pollution. But Jin-Woo didn’t notice.

His heart pounded wildly in his chest, his palms sweaty. With every passing minute, the panic threatening to overwhelm him transformed into fear, clouding his rational thoughts. He couldn’t think straight at the idea of something happening to you

You were strong – he knew that. He’d fought beside you. But in this world, where neither of you seemed to have powers, and with no knowledge of your current condition, anything could happen.

And it would all be his fault. He could live with he blame that he left you – that he hurted your feelings. But he would never be able to forgive himself if something happened to you.

He froze when he heard a muffled scream and felt a brief flicker of mana. His head snapped toward the source, and he pivoted on his heel, his body instinctively going on high alert.

“Please, just hold on a little longer, [Y/N],” he muttered, his feet carrying him in the direction of the mana surge.

-‘๑’-

Breathless, you stared at the shadowy figure stepping out of the darkness.

Could it really be him?

“Jin-Woo?” you whispered, your hoarse voice barely audible.

But your hopes shattered when a tall figure stepped into the dim streetlight.

It was a man, perhaps in his early to mid-thirties. His hair gleamed a fiery orange, and his dark red eyes sent a shiver down your spine.

Your hand instinctively clutched your aching chest, the old wounds flaring at the realization that it wasn’t Jin-Woo.

How foolish you felt – incredibly foolish. You’d run here as fast as you could, all because of a feeling. A naive hope.

A hope that the unrealistic scenario you’d played out in your head thousands of times might actually come true.

That you’d get your happy ending – or at least the chance to explain yourself, to cast off the burden of guilt and regret weighing on your shoulders.

Why had you been so unbelievably stupid? Hadn’t you learned anything? Who else but you would be foolish enough to run through the streets in the middle of the night, dressed lightly, with no phone – all because of a feeling?

Your body trembled, the cold raising goosebumps on your skin. You swallowed back your tears, lowering your head.

It suddenly felt like every ounce of strength had drained from your body.

,,Disappointed?’’, the voice rang into your ear.

"Uh... uhm, sorry. I was expecting someone else," you said, feeling a little embarrassed as the stranger approached you with slow, deliberate steps. But...

You looked at him, and the smile on his lips sent a shiver down your spine. Who was he?

Something about his presence felt familiar, yet you couldn't sense any Mana from him. Still, you were certain he had been the source, he seemed... out of place, almost inhuman.

"Oh, don’t tell me you don’t recognize me?" he asked with feigned surprise, glancing down at himself as though he were just now noticing his appearance. His hands reached for a strand of his orange hair, which he stroked thoughtfully with his thumb.

"Fascinating. I didn’t expect to get such a realistic body," he said, his red eyes locking onto yours again.

Your confusion seemed to amuse him. What was he talking about?

"Come on, [Y/N], use that little brain of yours," he laughed, his steps slow and deliberate as his red eyes gleamed at you challenging.

No matter how hard you thought, you couldn’t make any connection. He knew your Name…

He was now standing in front of you, looking down with that same unsettling smile.

Clearly, he had grown tired of waiting. His red eyes sparkled, and his voice distorted as he spoke:

"Do you really want to leave the game? Yes or no?" he asked playfully.

Your eyes widened in pure shock at his words, at the distortion in his voice—it sounded exactly like...

"The Architect?"

Your voice trembled as you voiced the thought aloud. That couldn’t be.

The sheer shock on your face seemed to excite him. He relished every ounce of your fear and disbelief.

"Bingo!!! But you can call me by my real name. I think it’s only fair, given your naive foolishness saved my life. Thanks for that, by the way," he said casually, his voice dripping with mockery as you stared at him, dumbfounded, unable to process his words.

This couldn’t—mustn’t—be true. Kandiaru, the Architect of the System—the one Jin-Woo had eliminated after Ashborn denied him access to the System. How in the world had he ended up in your world? Did this mean Jin-Woo had lost? How had the timeline gone so awry when you’d gone to such lengths to prevent exactly that? You didn’t even want to imagine what this meant for Jin-Woo.

"How—" you began, but he cut you off immediately.

"Oh, do you think it was just a coincidence that you ended up in our world?" he asked with a smirk, disdain evident in his voice.

"I needed someone knowledgeable—but not too knowledgeable. And your disgustingly kind heart? That was just the icing on the cake," he said, his fingers gripping your chin and tilting your head up, forcing you to look at him.

"Through your world, I saw my future and devised a Plan B to ensure I’d survive."

Slowly but surely, his facade of calm began to crack. His piercing gaze and the unhinged grin spreading across his face triggered every instinct in you to flee.

The alcohol clouded your thoughts, but even in this state, you felt a shiver run down your spine—a strong sense of danger.

You needed to run. Now. But your body wouldn’t move.

"It was only a matter of time before your love for him forced you to make a choice. After all, there’s no future for you and him," he continued as you stood there, helpless to do anything but listen.

"And with that, you weakened him—severely. Longing is such an ugly emotion, isn’t it?" he whispered, pulling your face closer to his. His grip was unyielding, and any resistance you managed was useless.

The gears in your head began to turn. He had... used you from the very beginning? Known all along that you’d return with a broken heart, leaving Jin-Woo vulnerable?

No, he hadn’t just known—he’d banked on it. He had meticulously planned everything, using you as a pawn for his own survival.

"If it were up to me, I’d have handled things differently, but it was hard enough keeping my intentions hidden from Ashborn. Truly tedious," he muttered, clearly irritated at the thought of the Shadow Monarch, who had tasked him with finding a suitable human.

"But no matter. I can just as easily plunge your world into chaos," he laughed, gazing up at the dark night sky—until your hand gripped his wrist, pulling at his sleeve.

His laughter stopped abruptly as his eyes darted down to you, his head tilting to the side.

"Hmm?" he asked, amused by your defiance.

Your actions were no longer rational, driven instead by a simmering rage. Deep within, it boiled and churned. All the pain and effort... for nothing?

"Oh no, did I make you angry?" he taunted, mockery lacing his words.

"You’re a filthy bastard," you spat, your [E/C] eyes glaring fiercely at him. You couldn’t hold back anymore.

For a brief moment, Kandiaru looked surprised before bursting into laughter.

"Oh, oh, such harsh words from such a pretty mouth."

He leaned down, his hot breath brushing against your face as his fingers dug painfully into your chin. His eyes roamed over your form, taking in your exposed skin and the black dress that hugged your curves.

"I can see what he sees in you," he said with a wicked grin.

That was the last straw. Without thinking, you swung at him. Your fist collided with his open palm as he released your chin to block your weak punch.

He gripped your hand tightly, the pressure forcing your fingers to ache as you let out a pained gasp and dropped to your knees.

"Know your place, human. The only reason you were ever strong was because of my power—but here, you’re nothing. Just another insignificant human among many."

The playful tone in his voice vanished as if a switch had been flipped. His gaze turned icy, his voice cold as he looked down at you.

Your bare knees scraped against the rough asphalt. He eased the pressure slightly—enough to avoid breaking your fingers—but his words burned themselves into your mind.

He was right. You had no real power, no special abilities. You were just a human. A powerless, ordinary human.

He let go of you, obviously not wanting to deal with you any longer. As he turned his back to you, every fiber of your being screamed at you to stop him—no matter how.

“Wait,” your voice trembled slightly as you got back on your feet, the cool night wind brushing against your bare legs.

He sighed, clearly annoyed by your persistence, but turned his head slightly in your direction. “What now?” he asked gruffly, throwing you a sidelong glance.

“What… happened to Jin Woo?” you asked then. You had to know—had to know if he was okay. He couldn’t have lost to him. That just couldn’t be true.

The Architect paused for a moment, as if thinking. Then, a smile returned to his lips. He could tell you anything, and you would believe him.

“Oh, right. I should pass on his last words,” he said, his voice growing quieter.

“Although… he never got the chance to say them.”

Click.

His words flipped a switch in you. Overwhelmed with anger, you charged at him. Every part of your body wanted to tear him apart, even though you knew you didn’t stand a chance.

With a loud scream, you stormed toward him, your hands clenched into fists—your body tense.

“Oh, man,” Kandiaru muttered, rolling his eyes as he lazily prepared to block your feeble attack. But to both his and your surprise, your punch carried far more weight than the last one.

So much so that he stumbled back a step, staring at you in confusion.

It was nothing compared to your former strength, but the fury and adrenaline gave you power. And apparently, his body wasn’t as strong as the one he had in his own world.

“You’re really starting to get on my nerves,” the Architect growled, his expression darkening with irritation. He was slowly but surely losing his composure.

“I really hoped I wouldn’t have to kill you,” he sighed, reaching behind him.

A shimmering dagger appeared, its blade catching the light of the streetlamp as he moved.

Your eyes widened at the sight—it bore a resemblance to Baruka’s dagger, but this one was deep red.

“That’s enough,” he said, and in an instant, the weapon in his hand began to pulsate. The mana flowing from it was the same as the one that had drawn you here in the first place—but now, it was far stronger.

He didn’t give you time to think. He lunged at you.

Unlike his strength, his speed wasn’t inhuman, which allowed you to dodge his strike.

The blade grazed your cheek, and your back hit a wall painfully as you tried to evade.

His crimson eyes locked onto you, the grin returning to his face as he saw the fear in your eyes.

Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, terror flooding your body as you stumbled to the side. The dagger embedded itself into the wall where your head had just been.

He really intended to kill you—out here, in the open!

Blood trickled down your cheek as you broke into a sprint, his footsteps echoing right behind you.

“Come on, [Y/N], don’t make this harder than it has to be,” his manic voice called out from behind, steadily catching up.

Your legs grew heavy as you ran through the alleys, panic gripping your throat. Was there really no one around? No one to help?

The fear was suffocating. The walls to your left and right hemmed you in—you had no choice but to keep running straight.

But his steps drew closer, and when he caught up to you, you saw the dagger flash toward you from the corner of your eye.

Your life flashed before your eyes—the last image in your mind was that of the black-haired Hunter.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered faintly as your foot twisted, causing you to lose balance.

Resigned to your fate, you were weightless for a brief moment—only a fraction of a second. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for the pain.

But the pain never came.

Instead, your body collided with something hard and warm.

An arm wrapped around your waist, pressing you tightly against the warm figure in front of you.

Your cheek rested against soft fabric, beneath which a warm body rose and fell with irregular breaths.

“Get your hands off her.”

Your entire body reacted to the voice. The chest you were pressed against vibrated as he spoke, and your eyes flew open.

Tears welled up in your eyes, darting upward.

The familiar scent filled your nose, the warmth spreading through your chilled body instantly.

It was him.

You wanted to look at him, to confirm that he wasn’t an illusion—but he held you firmly in place.

Warm blood ran down his arm, dripping onto the ground beneath him. The sharp pain coursed through his entire arm, but it was nothing compared to the relief he felt as he held your body against his. The warmth that flooded him as he inhaled your scent. His body had longed for this for so long. The deep hole in his chest stopped aching.

Kandiaru didn’t hesitate for a second. He pulled the dagger free and jumped back several steps,

“How did you—?” Kandiaru began, disbelief laced in his voice.

Jin Woo, however, simply glared at him darkly, his eyes narrowed to slits and his arms protectively wrapped around you. Not for a second did he let any weakness show, despite his lack of abilities.

Only when the orange-haired man retreated slightly did Jin Woo turn his half-focused attention to you.

“Are you alright?”

The tone of his voice, directed at you, was gentle and warm. You had almost forgotten how it felt when he spoke to you like that.

You pulled away slightly to look at him, your [E/C] eyes brimming with tears.

He hadn’t changed a bit—only his eyes hinted at the deep sorrow and suffering your disappearance had caused.

In contrast, you had changed a lot. You had lost weight, your cheekbones were more pronounced, and the dark circles under your eyes spoke volumes Jin Woo didn’t need to read to see that you hadn’t fared any better than he had.

So many sleepless nights, so much unnecessary pain, so much longing and desire that had haunted you both equally.

His hands now rested on your shoulders, and you noticed the blood on his arm. Worry surged through you, but the gentle pressure he applied—wordlessly telling you it was okay—brought your attention back to his face.

All at once, everything came rushing back—all the words you had never been able to say.

“Jin Woo, I—”

You wanted to beg for his forgiveness, to tell him how terribly you had behaved and how foolish you had been.

The black-haired man interrupted you with his index finger pressed gently to your lips, silencing you softly. His lips curved into a faint smile.

His eyes told you everything you needed to know in that moment. Even after all this time, you still understood him without words.

A hot tear rolled down your cheek, dampening it before dripping off your chin. You nodded in understanding.

It could wait. For now, the most important thing was getting both of you out of here in one piece.

The Architect, meanwhile, had quickly recovered after realizing that Jin Woo no longer radiated any mana. In this world, he was weaker than even an E-Rank.

“Jin-Woo Sung,” Kandiaru called, his eyes flickering with pure murderous intent as he lunged forward, dagger in hand, its blade pulsating.

“It’s my pleasure to cut you to pieces,” he laughed as he charged at you both.

Jin Woo tensed and pushed you behind him, ready to somehow fend off the attack. His reflexes might no longer be those of an S-Rank Hunter, but he still had close combat experience and enough muscle strength.

The energy radiating from the blade was palpable in the air—electrifying and oppressive.

Everything happened so fast, you had no time to react. The black-haired man shoved you aside with gentle force, pushing you out of the line of fire.

You stumbled but managed to catch yourself in time to avoid falling.

Wide-eyed with fear, you spun around.

Jin Woo had deflected the attack with a skillful move, pushing the orange-haired man’s hand upward at the right moment.

Tension gripped your body, and you sucked in a sharp breath.

Your head darted around, searching for ANYTHING that could help you.

Jin Woo could do nothing but block the Architect’s relentless attacks. Kandiaru struck with brutal force, slashing with the dagger in his other hand.

More cuts appeared on the Hunter’s skin as he was forced back. Kandiaru gave him no reprieve, and you could see sweat gleaming on Jin Woo’s forehead. His movements slowed as the fight dragged on. He couldn’t hold out much longer.

Jin Woo slammed into one of the parked cars as the Architect grabbed him by the throat and threw him. Jin Woo was hopelessly outmatched.

Blood clung to his forehead as Jin Woo’s eyes briefly flicked toward you before focusing again on the orange-haired man, whose wild grin remained as his red eyes sparkled with malice.

He struggled against the grip on his neck, which tightened, choking the air out of him as Kandiaru pressed him harder against the vehicle.

A sharp pain shot through the back of his head, and a choking sound escaped his throat as the lack of oxygen began to affect his brain. His vision blurred, and he felt the burning in his lungs.

This was it. For the third time, he was losing to this monster, but this time, it would be the last.

Kandiaru raised his weapon, holding Jin Woo firmly in place.

“It’s been a pleasure,” he laughed, ready to strike, when suddenly his grip loosened, and he was shoved to the side.

You had thrown yourself against him with all your might, sending him staggering.

Your body hit the cold asphalt hard, scraping your hands and knees as a searing pain shot through your arm. Kandiaru also met the ground—the force of your impact had hit him with full strength.

Jin Woo’s lungs filled with air again, adrenaline pumping blood through his body. Suddenly, he could see again, gasping for breath.

The dark red dagger clattered across the cold ground, sliding several meters away, but the Architect quickly scrambled to his feet and grabbed his weapon.

“You damn whore,” he growled, his psychotic grin replaced by pure rage, his focus now on you.

Jin Woo had also gotten back to his feet, his entire body aching with pain. He took a brief moment to overcome the stabbing headache.

This human body severely limited him, but his will to protect you drove him forward.

You were a good distance away from him, and with his battered body, every step felt like twenty.

You gasped in pain, your knees burning like fire and refusing to cooperate as Kandiaru set his sights on you.

Fear flooded your senses, robbing you of reason and freezing you in place as the Architect charged at you, dagger in hand, its tip glowing brightly with small bolts of lightning sparking from it.

“[Y/N]!” Jin Woo’s sharp cry reached your ears as he realized he wouldn’t make it in time to save you. His voice trembled as he stretched out his hand toward you—but it was in vain.

You didn’t even have time to scream. All you could do was reflexively close your eyes.

The faint hum of an engine barely reached your ears.

An ear-piercing screech enveloped your body, bracing itself for incoming pain—but none came.

Jin Woo stood frozen, his wide eyes trembling as his hand quivered at what had just unfolded before him.

For the moment, nothing else mattered to him except you. You were still sitting motionless on the ground.

‘’[Y/N!]’’, you didn’t react.

Without hesitation, he hobbled toward you, dropping to his knees and placing his hands on your shoulders, shaking you gently.

“[Y/N]!”

No response.

“Can you hear me?!” Jin Woo’s usually calm voice trembled with fear. Unknowingly, he held his breath.

Finally, your eyes fluttered open, and your [E/C] irises met his stormy gray ones. The tension visibly melted from his face as he let out a shaky breath. Relief washed over him like a tidal wave, but you still said nothing.

You blinked a few times, dazed and confused.

“What?” you whispered faintly, your mind struggling to process what had happened.

Jin Woo’s worried expression softened further, and without warning, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest.

“I… I thought…” His voice cracked, and whatever words he meant to say dissolved into silence. The walls he had painstakingly built around his heart during your absence crumbled entirely. His body trembled, and his embrace tightened.

Never in all the time you had known Jin Woo had you seen him so consumed by fear.

As the shock in your own body subsided, you, too, began to sob uncontrollably. Your hands clung to the fabric of his black shirt as you returned his embrace.

The two of you clung to each other like drowning souls, finding solace only in each other.

Abruptly, Jin Woo pulled back. Your tear-filled eyes questioned the sudden separation until he cupped your face with his hands and pressed his lips to yours.

Finally.

He had waited too long for this moment, envisioned countless scenarios where it might happen, and convinced himself repeatedly that it had to be perfect. But now he understood—it didn’t need to be perfect.

The moment was messy, far from ideal. You were both battered and bruised, covered in blood and sweat, adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

And yet, that kiss was the most beautiful thing Jin Woo had ever experienced.

All the longing, the yearning, and the love he had carried for you poured into that single, imperfect kiss.

Tears streamed down your face once more, but this time they were tears of joy.

It felt as though his love seeped into the cracks of your heart, slowly but surely filling every void and healing every wound.

You only broke apart when a voice disrupted the moment.

A quick exchange of glances was all you managed before both your heads turned toward the source of the sound.

“HOLY SHIT, NIKA! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?!” a male voice yelled as a car door swung open.

Only now did you notice the lifeless body lying on the ground, orange hair splayed in all directions.

Hide tugged at his hair, staring in wide-eyed disbelief at the unmoving figure in front of his car, then at his sister climbing out of the driver’s seat.

“Dear brother,” Nika began in a calm, angelic tone, inhaling deeply.

“DID YOU MISS THE PART WHERE HE WAS THREATENING [Y/N] WITH A FREAKING GLOWING KNIFE?!” she screamed, her tone switching to pure outrage as she glared at her brother.

“YOU CAN’T JUST MOW HIM DOWN!” Hide yelled back, utterly floored by her reckless driving and lack of judgment.

,,OF COURSE I CAN, DIDN'T YOU SEE??!'', she yelled back.

“WE’RE BOTH GOING TO JAIL! How the hell do you plan to explain this to the cops?!” he paced frantically, running his hands through his hair.

But Nika ignored his panicked questions entirely, her focus shifting as she spotted you and Jin Woo. Without hesitation, she sprinted toward you.

“[Y/N]!!!” she cried, her voice thick with emotion, throwing herself to the ground beside you and wrapping her arms tightly around your neck. Jin Woo had to shuffle aside to avoid the collision.

She clung to you desperately, sobbing uncontrollably.

“I’m so sorry,” she wept, pulling you even closer.

Your tear-filled eyes drifted to Jin Woo, who gave you a soft, knowing smile.

You felt nothing but overwhelming gratitude that everyone was safe.

-‘๑’-

“Take good care of her,” Nika said firmly, releasing you from her embrace and shooting Jin Woo a stern look.

He paused briefly, his gray eyes locking onto yours before he gave a gentle nod.

“With my life.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips as a blush crept onto your cheeks. Jin Woo’s sweetness still left you in awe, and it was hard to grasp that all this love was directed at you.

It had been a week since Jin Woo had entered your world, and now it was time to return home.

The Architect’s body had not been human; it dissolved into mana before merging with his dagger upon his death. That blade turned out to be the System, manifest in an object, and it allowed Jin Woo to create a Gate back to the Hunter world.

Explaining this to Nika and Hide had been…challenging. Even after witnessing it themselves, disbelief lingered in their expressions. Without the firsthand evidence, they might have deemed you insane.

As for destiny? The events that unfolded proved that the System’s claim of inevitability wasn’t absolute. Its deletion was imminent, and you now believed you could shape your own story.

Jin Woo, however, wasn’t leaving anything to chance.

He refused to let you out of his sight, constantly staying close and cherishing every moment together. “For all the lost time,” he would say.

Now, you both stood before the Gate Jin Woo had conjured. The Twins in front of you.

“Go on, before I start bawling,” Nika said, wiping at her teary eyes. Leaving her behind hurt, but you had to return. There was still so much left to do, so many monsters to fight.

What mattered most, however, was that you were together again.

You nodded, biting your lip to hold back tears.

“Shall we?” Jin Woo extended his hand.

Without hesitation, you intertwined your fingers with his, meeting his eyes. His reassuring squeeze grounded you.

Together, you stepped through the Gate, returning to the Hunter world.

[Welcome back, Players.]

ღ ◌ ͙۪۪̥˚┊❛~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ❜┊˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ ღ

Holy shit i finally did it. It took so much thinking and rewriting because i wasn't happy - there were so many thinges that changed during the writing process. I am not fully satisfied, but i hope you like the second part as well! :)

As i already mentioned in my last Post - there will be a few side Stories, adapting this Two Shot~

Thanks for all reblogs, likes & comments.'*•.¸♡ I really appreciate it <3 ♡¸.•*'

~Utopia ༊*·˚

I hope i didn't forget anyone!! :)

@phisen @bunniotomia @mysterylilycheeta @uchihaclan27

#jin woo x reader #solo leveling x reader #fanfic #angst #solo leveling #jinwoo sung x reader #shadow monarch #one shot #jin woo sung

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msfantasy · 16 hours ago

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Moving Day

Ghost Spirit x Reader

Summary: You buy an abandoned property

“Okay- something’s is clearly wrong with this place. There’s no way the selling price is this cheap.” You say to the realestate agent who stands nervously at the door. Her eyes darting around the house fearfully.

“The initial owner passed away suddenly in this house.” Your heart clenches painfully at that fact. “A lot of potential buyers have been disturbed by this.”

“That’s terrible…” You mutter sadly looking towards the rooms in question.

The agent swallows nervously. “Well- there are some owners and tenants claiming to feel the presence of a ghost. We even had some break their leases because of it.”

“Seriously? I would tolerate it for this price.” You really weren’t kidding. It was either this aesthetic family home or the more expensive mouldy apartment.

Stepping inside of one of the rooms, you are instantly hit with nostalgia. The room looks like it hasn’t been touched since the early 2000s. “Why has no one touched this room? Is there something wrong with it?” You call out to the agent that seems to be turning more pale.

“No one’s stayed here long enough to change it.” Now that’s peeked your interest.

“Really? This is actually so cool. If this were my house, I would just clean it up and leave as is- it’s like a time capsule.” The agent smiles kindly at you but you can see she’s antsy to leave. “Where do I sign? I love this home.”

Moving day was painfully long.

After all of your furniture moved in and the boxes were allocated to its intended room, you start with cleaning up the room filled with early 2000s decor.

You stripped down the bed and washed the sheets. Dusted all of the surfaces and vacuumed the floors. You even found a closet full of clothes that look well preserved but decided to wash them and fold them all anyways, just to keep them fresh. The room was sparkling clean when you were done with it. By the end of it, you were too exhausted to finish the rest of the house since you pretty much spent the whole day finding nostalgic items, and gushing on how you ‘always wanted this’ or ‘I use to have that’.

You took a long shower to wash off the days grime, feeling the sensation of being watched. After that, the presence only grew stronger as you pranced around your towel looking for your box of clothes, but you inevitably resign yourself to loosing your clothes box and end up taking some of the owners baggy boxer shorts and shirt. “Good thing I washed them!” You praise yourself for your accidental forward thinking and end up ordering some pizza and coke for dinner.

When the food arrived you prance happily back to the bedroom and put on Rush Hour on DVD and giggle happily at all the nostalgia of eating a huge pizza in a 2000s bedroom.

It wasn’t long until you fell asleep, letting the movie continue playing in the background.

It’s amazing what you can sleep through, especially with a faceless man hovering over your sleeping figure as he tugs your hair behind your ear.

You felt the sensation of someone watching you again as you pull out your box of pyjamas from the fridge… “What the hell?” As soon as you went to take a seat on the dining chair you felt the sensation of sitting in someone’s lap, which caused you to shoot back up and inspect your empty surroundings.

But other than that, the ghostly presence seemed to just enjoy observing you. It never got in your way or taunt you- it would just watch. You really weren’t sure what the big deal was.

Except on the odd occasion when you feel the sensation of someone’s hand touching yours. That was a little unsettling but not completely unpleasant.

“Girlllll~ congratulations! You’re officially living in this creepy ass house.” Your best friend says over your FaceTime call. He leans into the camera, his eyes fixating on your background. “Girl, you better hire a damn priest or somethin’ to cleanse this house. There ain’t no way you volunteered to live in a haunted home like some dumb movie character.” Victor lectures with a dramatic flare.

“Relax- it’s fine.” You reassure yourself more than anything. “If it wanted me dead by now then I would be.”

Victor gasps at your statement. “Bitch! Are you crazy? Don’t dare the damn thing!” Victors reaction has you in stitches. “Do you think it’s a male or female?”

“Male. Definitely male.” You say, looking down at your screen to see Victors brow shot up.

“Miss Ma’am, how are going to be answering that so damn confidently.” You giggle again, scanning your surroundings as if you were checking to make sure the ghost wasn’t there … as if you could even see him.

“Sometimes when I shower-“

“Oh my gawd - you have yourself a crazy ass ghost that watches you shower?! Bitch it was nice knowing ya.” Victor says cutting you off, flailing in shock. “Wait a damn minute-“ Victor says, leaning into the call his brow raised. “You got yourself a lil ghost boyfriend?”

You belt out laughing. “Victorrr.” You drawl.

“Wha? I’m just saying it’s convenient! You get you a lil ghost boyfriend, you didn’t even have to leave the house which is a bonus for you.” He list on his fingers, before giving you a cheeky smile. “And maybe the ghost sex would be mind blowing!” Your giggling was interrupted with Victors screams.

“Victor?! What’s wrong?!” You ask worriedly watching Victor properly flailing around in a panic.

“Bitch did you not hear that?! How did you not hear that?!” Victors continues to panic waving his arms.

“Hear what?” You press, your heart racing.

“I heard a man’s voice literally say ‘I like him’! Girl I told you not to move into the ghost house and now the damn ghost is talking to me!” You begin to sweat nervously at Victors panicked reaction.

“Victor stop scarring me!” You whine, jumping up from the couch and taking refuge in your bedroom. Only you can’t. Your bedroom door remains locked, the door not budging and the handle remaining stuck.

“Oh girl I knew it! The ghost is trying to bed you!” Victor flails as you roll your eyes.

“The house is just old- sometimes the doors expand and get stuck…”

You look down at your screen and see Victor giving you the eye.

“Right … right… so you gonna sleep in his bed now?”

“…yeah.” Victor hums in a ‘I told you so’ tone.

“When you end up fuckin’ I wanna hear what it was like.” Victor states signing off for the night.

There’s no way … right?

#tw teratophilia #monster boyfriend x reader #monster boyfriend smut #monster x reader #monster smut #monster boyfriend #ghost smut #ghost x reader #spirit x reader #spirit smut

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burrowkit · 3 days ago

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Ah, on phone so this’ll have to be ugly and quick. I’ve got a jealous cat.

Over the last year or so, I’ve finally done it. I’ve grown in power. My ability to heal has extended to all life and souls.

I have raised my armies.

They kicked me out. They told me I wasn’t needed. That they could survive on fast potions thrown together by idiots.

They have no idea how much time and effort it takes to make each potion! I had crafted each healing effort, carefully tailoring them for each member of our party.

Like Carl. Thanks to me, his eyes were fully restored, and then some.

And Sean. Sean, Sean, Sean, Sean, Sean. His wheelchair fell apart, and he was a captured by our enemy. Their enemy.

When we recaptured him, they’d mangled his ears badly enough to never hear again.

Or so they thought.

I’d carefully healed his ears, enabling him to hear from great lengths.

And the leader. Rick. Real rich if him. A potion doesn’t cure a pile through the brain!

But you know who could? Who already did it once for him?

Yeah, that’s right. I did.

He was on the brink of death. By all common sense, none of them should have survived.

But they did.

Over the last year, I’ve been consumed with enacting my perfect revenge.

I head out, the world seemingly to twist and twirl to make travelling that much quicker. My power weaves into the world around me. Into my very being.

I know where they’ll be.

It seemingly takes me no time to reach them.

I prepare my attack, watching their cabin.

I wait until it’s dark, summoning all the predators of the woods. All the ones I helped bring back from the brink of death.

At least THEY know loyalty.

We approach the cabin. It’s surrounded.

I open the door, my loud argument prepared.

The words die in my throat.

They weren’t hiding in this cabin to scout out their next mission.

Around them, I see marks of a dead parasite. One incapable of being destroyed by a healer. Only by the death of all those around it.

I move forward, careful not to touch the parasite itself. Its magic is dark, so I shouldn’t be able to heal it. Still, I dare not chance it.

Rick, the gun in his hand, his face frozen, eternally unable to decompose due to the toxins in the parasite, in an expression of complete grief.

Sean, slumped into his wheelchair, as if he… collapsed. As if he were once a doll held by strings which were now… cut.

I look for Carl, finding him just by the kitchen door, a gunshot there.

The temptations to bring them back are there. Despite my hatred. My plans…

Of maybe because of my plans. I want to bring them back just for that.

I turn back to the table, and find a single journal. One written my Rick.

I skim it quickly, terrified of lingering.

I find the note for the week before I was ‘dismissed’.

Carl could see the enemy in the distance, attempting to watch us. Sean said he could get closer to listen in.

I read the next note.

Sean brings troubling news, their latest attempts to thwart us involve a parasite. I’ve perused Jane’s books. I’m so sorry, Jane for touching them. Forgive me, I had to know what to look for.

Next page.

Carl says he sees what Jane’s books have described. But worse. Sean fears for our safety. This parasite… it loves to prey on those that run from it.

We cannot leave. We can only prepare. It’ll hunt our group until it kills us all.

Another page…

Lying to Jane is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. She’s the only one who can defeat The King. She does not yet know of the parasite. She can run from it. She won’t know she’s leaving it behind, nor that the rest of our fates are tied.

And the final one…

If you’re reading this, Jane. I am deeply sorry. You were like our little sister. You have gifted us each a gift we were unworthy to receive. And yet, we used these gifts to ensure your safety.

We lured the parasite here, trapping it with us.

I will do what I must to prevent it from chasing after you. It needs a host. It cannot survive long outside of a living host.

Please forgive us.

It’s dated for a month after I left.

After I was thrown away… no. Not thrown away like trash.

I was shoved into a life boat and told that I wasn’t needed to keep the ship running and here… now I’m back with my armada…

The ship I was on has sunk. Destroyed. A leak in the hull no one shared with me.

They kept the burden to themselves.

They traded their lives for mine.

Tears roll down my cheeks, and I leave the cottage, willing flame to lick it clean. To wipe away the remains of a fierce parasite.

Fire. A simple trick I learned as a child to cauterize a wound. Now?

Now, I’m ready to burn the world down.

To take my newfound abilities to destroy those that wish me and my loved ones to perish in terrifying ways.

“Let’s kill us a king,” I inform my army, walking past them.

They howl and cheer in the way they can. One of them nudges me, encouraging me to ride on it.

I take the offer.

After all, it always looks more terrifying when the villains arrives on a wolf.

And me?

I’ll be the villain to the tyrannical king who was once the hero of these lands.

I just hope that when all is said and done…

I can be seen as a hero to his villain.

As I ride, I let my magic nudge around the destroyed cabin, encouraging the forest to swallow it in plant life.

What better way to guard their deaths than by wrapping them in one last bubble of my healing magic?

“To slay the king!” I shout.

My army returns my shout in the way they can. I grin, relaxing slightly.

No one should ever have to lose what I lost. Not at the cost of trying to do right in this world.

Your a healer and was kicked out of the hero’s party because “Healers aren’t needed, just use potions”. You become powerful using your hate and distain for the hero’s party as a driving force. Only to learn, they kicked you out to protect you

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #writers

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milliesfishes · 2 days ago

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౨ৎ꣑ৎNobody's Son, Nobody's Daughter౨ৎ꣑ৎ

౨ৎThere's many different ways that you can kill the one you love (The slowest way is never loving them enough)꣑ৎ

[fem reader] contains: pregnancy, angst, mentions of sexual activity, miscarriage, struggles with eating, weight loss pairing: coriolanus snow x fem reader summary: coriolanus has always resisted the unexpected. you surprised him author’s note: some coryo angst for you my loves Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

Regret is a disease, in Coriolanus' opinion. It starts small, a thought in the back of one's mind, something that couldn't possibly be true. But time waters the roots until it towers over you, until you are unable to live anywhere but in its shadow.

There were things he wished he didn't do. Or, more accurately, things he wished he didn't have to do. But every movement was careful, every notion considered. He wouldn't be where he was today if it weren't for all he'd done. Both good and bad. It wasn't easy being the man of the house, a title he'd worn for more time than not.

His family was taken care of. Tigris was seeing a flourishing career in fashion, her designs paid for by the highest bidders. The Grandma'am had long passed, but her funeral was as regal and fine as any could be, true to the way she had lived. Coriolanus saw that fresh roses made their way to her grave regularly.

So really, it had all been worth it. He himself was doing more than fine, one of the youngest politicians in Capitol history. The pay gave him an extremely comfortable lifestyle, enough to provide for his cousin too, if she ever needed it.

Quickly though, he learned it didn't matter how much money he had now. Spending his formative years starving in every way possible had cut its mark, leaving a scar he wished he could cover up. The most frequent content of his nightmares consisted of being back in that dreary old penthouse, squeezing his feet into too-small shoes and gulping down a mouthful of watery cabbage before running off to school to maintain an image that had long died. He woke up in cold sweats, fisting his silk sheets, heart pounding. He'd look to the open closet door, where there was an entire row of shoes just in his size, and then ring for tea that was more than just boiled water.

These inner demons caused him to feel reckless. He kept it within for the most part, terrified at the prospect of lost control. Even though there was very little to hide anymore, he was well aware of how quickly good fortune could turn sour. The state of his savings was an indication of that, packed to the brim just in case something went awry.

It wasn't just money or lost investments to worry about. Coriolanus' entire career was dependent on the public eye, his perfect image. Of course, it was easier to maintain now that he wasn't lying about finances, giving him an up from when he was at the Academy. Other less than pretty facets of his past were well hidden, where only one who knew what to look for would find.

He was the only thing he couldn't control.

Being both the only person he trusted and the person he trusted the least was conflicting to say the least. On one hand, he knew himself. On the other, he knew himself. Knew that no matter how much he had, he would always crave what he wouldn't allow himself to have. The list wasn't long, but the contents took up a great deal of space.

Coriolanus had known he'd have to take a wife at some point. Politics were a family man's game. Being head of a household boded well for those wanting to lead the country, apparently. If that were the only requirement, he would have been president years ago. He held off as long as he could. It clearly wasn't that important if he'd been able to get this far.

Still, the higher he climbed, the more of an issue it became. At dinners with his colleagues, he was the only single man attending. During parties, he discovered there was only so much he could do without a partner at his side. A wife would help him make connections, soften his image. He was aware of how he came off because he'd gardened himself to be that way. Getting married was the only way to fix it without changing himself.

The requirements were more than generous. Someone young, pretty, who could hold her own. Beyond that, he couldn't care less. The dreaded L word was so far out of bounds that it was the opposite of a necessity. He observed debutantes with a critical eye, approaching the few he found to be acceptable. Going as far as calling on one or two, he resigned himself to mediocrity, even looked forward to it. This would open doors he'd long wanted to get behind.

Coriolanus met you at a dinner hosted in your father's home. You were seated next to him, beautiful posture and face not unnoticed by him. When you spoke, he heard music, and he didn't even like music. But there must have been a siren in your mouth, because he found himself hanging onto every word that fell from your lips. And then when you turned to him, asked his name with eyes that reminded him of the stars, he knew he was gone.

He'd sworn off love long ago, resisted the strongest of temptations in every facet of his life in order to stay perfect. But you were an aphrodisiac tuned to his senses; a poison hidden behind a flower. You'd smiled at him so sweetly, asking him questions about himself that he hardly heard through the beat of his own heart. At the end of the night, he was forced to accept the truth- that he was wholly enchanted by you.

This was the opposite of what he wanted. Coriolanus told himself to distance himself now that he'd identified the problem, to turn to one of the other girl's he'd picked out and make himself content. The last thing he'd expected was to be swept up in a single girl, to have her face in his mind during waking and sleeping hours. His nightmares turned to dreams of you sitting beside him at the fireplace, lips ever so close but never touching.

This was worse than the nightmares. He could reassure himself that those weren't real. Sleeping pills weren't something he'd touched before. Too addictive, too risky. He started taking two with his nightly tea.

Dreamless sleep didn't fix his waking hours. He couldn't help inquiring about you, learning every tidbit anyone could tell him. You were an accomplished student, raised to perfection for society's prying eyes. Various accounts detailed your charm, your beauty, your genuine sweetness. The vice within him only bloomed with every new detail, until he found himself on the front steps of your dwelling, telling himself he was only going to call. Nothing more. It would satiate his curiosity.

Of course, you were lovelier on your own somehow. A diamond in the rhinestone pool he'd dived into in search of a companion. His calls increased in frequency, the other options forgotten. In what felt like no time at all, the ring he'd carefully selected was on your finger, sitting there like it was always meant to be. Like he'd fixed in the one piece that made you short of the whole puzzle.

He was deep in the whirlwind that was you, under your spell. When he kissed you for the first time, it was dizzying, your touch shutting off his mind. In this way, he claimed you, put his mark where everyone could see it.

All his life, he'd had to guard his possessions, from food to pride to image. He lived at less than half full for the sake of holding onto these things. One sip of posca. Only a few more bites so he could eat tomorrow. Keep yourself alert or they will take everything from you.

You were the one indulgence he allowed himself. He told himself he deserved it, just this one time. Something good on purpose. Something good that was unplanned. Maybe...just maybe. He sobered up quickly on his wedding day.

Seeing you standing across from him, eyes soft, looking a vision in white, it hit him what this meant. He had you. And now he was in danger.

Love had consequences. Love made him blind. Love had almost cost him everything in the past. He'd broken his own rule, made himself a target for tragedy. Worse somehow, he risked you.

Marriage meant sex. Sex meant babies. He'd known that before, of course, but it as staring him in the eyes now, a knife to his throat. Memories of his mother's screaming and her pale, lifeless face were ghosts before his eyes as he recited his vows. His one indulgence couldn't have been a worse one. Your smile suddenly felt haunting, not sweet.

All through the reception, he was making a new list in his head. Now that he'd done the one thing he'd vowed not to, he'd have to deal with the aftermath the only way he knew. Love was a wildfire, and he was prepared to fight it, contain it as best he could. Coriolanus Snow could control the uncontrollable, steer himself away from the wreckage he'd caused.

He had what he'd wanted, even if followed by a worse issue. Till death do us part.

As far as regrets went, you were his biggest one.

Your nightdress tonight was red. A last-ditch attempt. Coriolanus seemed fond of the color, the same as his precious roses, his favorite suit, the Snow family crest. Even his leather briefcase had a maroon tint to it.

When he entered the bedroom, stone faced as usual, he made quick work of unbuttoning his shirt and removing his shoes, barely nodding at you. Sitting up straight, you smiled hopefully, waiting for him to say something about your appearance.

He was quiet as he approached you, getting on the bed and holding out a hand, which you took, heart beating optimistically. His hair was a little messy, eyes unreadable as he took you in. When he pulled you closer, you almost sighed at the feel of his skin on yours, the warmth of it making you want to curl up against him forever. Coriolanus leaned in, and you tilted your head up, hoping for a kiss.

Instead, your husband exhaled, looking at you in a way you didn't understand. Patting the mattress, he slid his hand to your back, nudging it a little. "Come on."

Your heart sank, thudding in your belly. Trying not to let your face show it, you rolled onto your belly, his arm sliding around your waist. Another night of this, and he still refused to look at you.

It'd been the same since your wedding night. He'd come into your room, push up your nightdress, and take you the exact same way, not a hint of emotion in the act. You couldn't have predicted this in your courtship, or else you wouldn't have agreed to be his forever.

A friend had detailed the act, describing it as something painful, a task to be done. But she'd smiled at you after describing her experience. "I don't think it will be like that for you. He really cares about you. Anyone can see it."

You'd believed her. Why wouldn't you? He'd been perfectly doting, telling you everything you wanted to hear and bringing the sweetest gifts. The men you'd been called on by before were generic in their efforts. Coriolanus had remembered things about you, spoken like he understood. It was easy to fall for him.

He was handsome and successful, yes, but there was something more to him that you managed to unlock. It was the way he touched you, the way he spoke to you. It felt as though he cared. You would have followed him to the ends of the earth if he'd asked, so smitten you'd grown wings. He kissed you and it made you weak at the knees, something inside you panting for more. If this was how he loved outside, the way he loved within the bounds of marriage was sure to be life changing.

As a child, you were left at the mercy of nannies and tutors to learn how to live. Your parents were distant, participants of an endless social calendar you had to pen yourself into. All through growing up, you longed for a hug, a kiss, a soft word. You'd gotten a taste now. Coriolanus left you starving.

It was rare now that he touched or even looked at you. A switch had flipped after the wedding, and now he was a version of himself you'd never known. Someone who no longer wanted to speak to you, who only called on you when he needed to be seen at your side.

Obviously, you'd done something wrong, but you couldn't decipher what. Had you said something at the reception? Had someone told him something about you? Either way, you had no idea, and he certainly wasn't going to tell you. So you tried to make up for it in any way you could.

The pretty nightdresses. The photographs at every event. You played the part as well as you could, making yourself completely perfect for him. All the while, silently begging: love me, love me, love me. Want me the way you did before.

You never spoke of it directly, but you knew the goal was to conceive as soon as possible. Why else would he partake in such an activity every night, one that he didn't seem to enjoy at all? Hope was your constant. If you were good for him, things would go back to the way they were before. He would be pleased with you and your sex would morph into lovemaking. And you would be happy again.

The week you missed your monthly, you immediately phoned for an appointment with the doctor, elated that you might finally be pregnant. You held off until after confirming to tell Coriolanus, practically bouncing in your seat on the couch by the door. Every second dragged until he finally entered, looking tired as usual from his time in the office. He was handsome as ever though, and you started daydreaming about what the celebration would be like after you revealed your happy news.

"Darling," he greeted, setting his briefcase on and loosening his tie. Since he would only do so if the door was locked, you leapt to your feet, feeling weightless with excitement.

Coriolanus looked at you curiously, removing his coat as well. "Is everything alright?"

Nodding, you reached up and straightened his collar, wanting to touch him more than ever. He hesitated before setting his hands on your hips, and a jolt of joy urged you forward. Palms flat on his chest, you looked into his eyes, the color of a summer day's sky. Unable to help your smile as you said it, you said, "I'm pregnant."

Silence. You held your breath, watching his face.

Then he leaned forward, kissing your forehead. You closed your eyes, smiling in relief. "Good," he said, brushing your cheek with his thumb. Leaning into his touch, you waited for it to turn to more, for him to pick you up and carry you to your bedroom and tell you how proud he was, how well you'd done for him.

His hand fell from your waist. You opened your eyes in confusion, watching him disappear from sight. Footsteps, the ones you laid awake and waited for every single night, sounded down the hallway until you heard the familiar click of his office door shutting.

The feeling didn't overwhelm you at first. It poked your shoulder, tilted its head at you and settled, curling into your feet before you could ask what it was. It carved a hole into your heart, the spot you'd saved for him. And then you realized that maybe it'd been hollow all along, this just smashed the wall that hid it from you.

You scrambled for something to cling to, coming up short. The new life growing inside you wasn't enough, and neither, it seemed, were you.

Dragging yourself to your room, you didn't bother to change into one of your nightdresses. In the closet, you'd laid out a special one, in deep red and edged with lace, when you were sure tonight would end in triumph. You didn't think you could bear to look at it right now.

Instead, you draped yourself over your side of the bed, facing the wall. Your hand automatically crept to your tummy, but you forced it away, clinging to the blanket under you instead.

There were his sharp footsteps again, getting closer this time. You perked up, but didn't move. Maybe he was coming with good intentions after all. After all, you knew the news of becoming a father must have been shocking. Maybe he'd only needed a moment to collect himself.

You closed your eyes, waiting for him to come around to your side of the bed so you could open them and smile up at him and have all be well. His belt clinked with his pants button when he unbuckled it. You knew every move just by the sound. Shoes off. Unbuttoning his shirt. Pants off. There was a dip in the mattress, and then the light clicked off.

The feeling found you again, coming on stronger this time, winding its fingers around your neck. Tears built up in your throat, and you couldn't suppress a sniffle, hoping he wouldn't hear. Coriolanus muttered your name, but you didn't move.

Perfectly still, you resigned to him.

The loss of you was a chasm Coriolanus tried to skirt. He failed miserably.

You were still present of course, your heart still beating, blood still running through your veins. But you couldn't have been further from alive if you'd tried. Gone was the fresh-faced girl he'd married. You were quiet now, paler and thinner.

He knew it was his fault. Coriolanus bore that burden every day, convinced now more than ever that it would be worse for you if he let himself be near. He'd hurt you enough in the process of conceiving a child. That was enough for a lifetime.

After you informed him of your pregnancy, he was finally able to distance himself from you altogether. There was no more touching, no more sex that left him dizzy and wanting you. You were his forever and that was bad enough for you.

There was a twinge in his heart each time he saw you. He tried to reason with himself. It was for the best. You didn't need the likes of him around while you were already dealing with something like your pregnancy. He could barely process that it was his child. Something he'd done to you.

The doctor's reports that darkened his desk each time you had a check in only grew more concerning in content. Losing too much weight...decreasing appetite...not safe for the baby...

Coriolanus pushed the evaluation to the side, despite the growing pit in his heart. You were seeing the best doctors in all of Panem. Surely, they'd find a way to help you before it was too late. He tried to focus back on his work, picking up his pen and staring at the words in front of him. It was dark, the only light in the room coming from the lamp on his desktop.

His mind wandered. The image of you the last time he'd seen you- gaunt and ghostlike, curled up on a chair and staring at the same page of a book for near twenty minutes- was burnt into his eyes. Even through his avoidance, you would always try to speak to him, ask about his day or chatter about yours. He'd found it painful at the time, when he was forced to brush you off. But now that it was gone, he missed it.

One night, he had decided to go downstairs for dinner, though he usually didn't take meals with you. Telling himself he only wanted to check on you, he entered the dining room and found it empty. Not even a light on. The staff were very consistent about mealtimes. He only grew more confused at the fact that everything in the room appeared untouched.

A single ask, and he learned that you weren't taking regular meals, simply ringing up for tea every now and then. "I send a sandwich or two up with her tray," one of the cooks told him shyly, wringing her hands. "I feel right awful for her, in her condition. And the plate always comes back empty."

It was on his mind as he stared at the doctor's report where he'd pushed it. Tapping the end of his pen on the desk, he tried to suppress the draw of you from your bedroom. It was as if there was a rope tied around his heart connecting it to yours.

He dropped his pen, watching it clatter atop the document he'd tried to study. Pushing back in his chair, Coriolanus stood up, wincing at the ache in his legs from sitting so long. Being holed up in his office for close to days at a time was beginning to take a toll.

There was no thought, his feet took him to your door in an instant. When he opened it, you were right where he'd seen you last, not even trying to pretend to read the book in your lap. Your hands were folded primly. He looked to the wall as if he'd see whatever you were.

Waiting a moment, he stood still in the doorframe. You didn't acknowledge him, not even a head turn.

Finally he broke, making his way over to kneel at your side. "Darling," Coriolanus offered softly. "How are you feeling?" His head was telling him to walk away, but the rope gave a tug, and he remained beside you.

"I'm fine," you whispered, voice raspy. Your hand migrated over your belly, and his eyes went with it. There wasn't much to see yet, but he could immediately tell the difference. The way your belly was rounding with something he'd sworn he imagined until now.

Looking back at you, he suppressed every protest that arose. "Have you eaten yet?"

You finally met his eyes. He found himself suddenly in need of more air. "No."

Coriolanus nodded once, keeping his expression neutral. Tearing his gaze away, he said, "I'll ring for something for you."

When he began to stand, your hand shot out, curling around his wrist. Fire. He was getting burned and he didn't want it to stop. "You're not staying?"

The disappointment in your voice nearly caused him to deny it. But he'd never lied to you, and he wasn't about to start now. "No."

"Oh." The word was a defeated, empty thing and he wanted to scrub it away immediately. Your eyes dropped, and you began to pick at the skirt of your dress.

"I still need to get work done," he explained keeping his tone even. "Eat something. It'll make you feel better."

"I'm sure." That got his attention. Your tone with him had never been anything but soft, but now it was flat, nearly sarcastic.

He stopped. "Is there anything else you need?"

"Nothing you want to give," you said, standing up and smoothing your dress down. "I don't need you to ring. I want tea."

"Darling-" You shook your head, and he felt like a scythe had been driven through his chest.

It was quiet for a moment. The look on your face crossed the bounds of language, and he felt his heart dip.

Every horror he'd endured paled at the hollow space in your eyes. You watched him, seeming to wait for something. When you spoke it was soft, but he was tuned into every word. "What did I do wrong?" It was the unsaid that threatened to bleed him dry. The tears he could hear gathering behind your eyes with five words.

Then he realized what you'd said. Brow furrowing, he shook his head before he could get his response out. "Nothing. You've never-"

"I must have," you interrupted, voice breathy with unborn crying, eyes wide as a baby deer's. Your hand found the sweater material of your dress over your collarbone as your breathing grew unsteady. He was too stunned to do anything but watch. Months of marriage and this was the first time he'd seen this side of you. "You won't touch me. Or even see me anymore." Blinking fast, you whispered, "I thought you would love me."

He spent nearly all his time loving you. "I'm doing what's best for us," he maintained, straightening and ignoring the way you seemed to sink further into yourself. "This is for the best."

"I did do something." You nodded, looking away and swallowing hard. Though he could see the tears in your eyes, you did not let a single one fall.

Then, your posture leveled, and you lifted your chin, and he found himself in the starlight of your eyes once more. "I want to fix it." You stepped forward, grasping his wrist in one soft hand. He forced himself to stay in control, hand limp as you held it with both of yours. "Let me."

Coriolanus nearly crumbled. Every weakness he possessed was urging him into your light. Your touch, your scent, your eyes, your voice. The sight of you with his ring on your finger and his child growing within you.

But he had to. Pulling his hand away, he exhaled, resisting the urge to take you into his arms. "I'll ring for your tea. Eat something."

All the way back to his office, his ears were ringing. He made sure to call for your meal before collapsing into his chair, chest nearly heaving. It had gotten to a point of no return. Everything within him was warring, fighting to be heard. And everything was right.

Never before had he been so wholly consumed by a single person, so much so that it hurt to be apart. Coriolanus pressed a hand to his chest, willing the ache to lessen. There was no point in denying the problem any longer.

You thought it was your fault. He'd never even considered that his distance would cause something like this. And your guilt was literally eating you alive.

It was his fault for being close to you. It was his fault for not being close enough. Both options fought until the image of you bloody and pale reemerged, silencing everything in his head. Even the sleeping pills couldn't prevent this nightmare.

When he went to bed, your tea tray was being retrieved by a maid who kept her head down as she passed him. Both halves of the sandwich were still on the plate.

Shadows. The tile was cool on your cheek, and you were too weary to open your eyes.

Blooming. Your body was burning, a fist tearing something from your lower belly that you would have fought if you weren't so weak. Something wet and sticky pooled at your thighs, but you couldn't move. Your dress was ruined, you knew without seeing it.

This was it. The end of your loveless years. Losing. Every hope you'd gained was shattered at your feet along with the one thing you'd thought could save you.

He crossed your mind, just once. Yet another thing you'd chased away. You'd tried so hard to be perfect that it had driven him from your side. You'd been tricked into life's truest bind, but now you were being released.

The ring on your finger was heavy in a comforting way. It reminded you how desired you once were, that old dream coming back like a fond memory. Oh, to be so naive again.

Someone was calling your name. An angel? You mumbled, waiting for the searing pain to fade into nothingness.

Instead, a pair of hands found your body. Your heart found relief, one desire fulfilled. The most impossible one, you knew, although you couldn't recall what it was.

Your mind cut out before you could remember.

His visions had come true. Coriolanus had been convinced he'd imagined it to life as he'd collapsed at your side and bellowed for help. you barely stirred as he pulled you into him, every wall he'd built shattered into nothingness.

Whispering your name over and over like it was a cure, he'd held you to him until help arrived, leaving him alone on his knees in your blood on the bathroom floor.

The doctor worked quick, apologizing in hushed tones for his loss when he was finished. Coriolanus barely felt it. All he heard was that you were alive, that you would open your eyes once more. He went through the motions of cleaning himself up rigidly, returning to your side as soon as he was able.

His heart was numb. The unthinkable had happened. But you were still here. This upset the balance in his head, leaving him reeling for answers. All his life had been a game of the worst cause and effect. Goodness triggered loss of it. But you were still here. You were still here.

Coriolanus found himself kneeling by your bed as if in prayer. Your breathing was steady, and you looked more at peace than in months. His tight grip on control began to loosen as he watched you sleep, let himself linger on the smooth surface of your skin, the curve of your lips. Every detail he'd pretended not to notice in his destructing act of protection.

He didn't need it spelled out, but the doctor told him anyways. Stress. Of course, the man couldn't possibly know the cause of it. The guilt cloaked him until he sank to the bare truth. He'd be atoning for the rest of his life. Beyond, if he was lucky.

Everything he thought he knew was in ashes. He wanted to retreat into himself, hide away in his office and bury himself in a shallow grave of paperwork. Ignoring everything as if he were a concept and not alive was his usual style. But the lesson stood tall above the wreckage. The only thing worse than having you was losing you.

Succumbing to the wildfire, his eyes didn't leave you when you began to stir. Your eyelids lifted, and he saw stars again.

He wanted to shoulder the weight he'd added to you. With his ring, he'd ruined the perfect girl he'd sworn to love and protect. With one of those notions, he destroyed the other.

Locked in your eyes, Coriolanus hesitated, sentences fading between his tongue and teeth. Everything he wanted to say was beyond words, instances that took more time than he had. There was only this moment to begin. And so, for the first time, he let his heart guide the way.

Reaching out, he almost expected you to withdraw. But when he settled his palm on your cheek, you merely shut your eyes again, tilting your head up into his touch. He had a foot in the door.

When he removed his hand, you didn't react. But when he crossed around your bed to sit beside you, stretching his arm out so you would rest on his chest, you snuggled close, blinking sleepily. His touch was careful, almost sure you would shatter under it.

Your ear covered his heart, listening to it beat for you. His hand smoothed your hair. The warmth of your body distilled the ache for now. Reaching down, he kissed the top of your head, holding his nose there to breathe you in.

The disease had switched courses. Regret now laid in the past, not the future.

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cent-scratchnsniff · 11 hours ago

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tie tying doodles w ramblings on it in tags

#lobotomy corporation #lobcorp #angela lobcorp #benjamin lobcorp #lobotomy corp spoilers #technically? never sure what and what not to tag #its cute.. the idea of benjamin showing her how to tie it. someone else probably dressed her in the first place before she woke up so she #likely didnt know how before. and you know ayin's ass isnt going to do that. besides the tie is reminiscent to benjamin as well #small doodle. wanted to do more i might depending on if i get motivated but her perception would allow her to process it and probably to it #first try. would there be pride? the pride she was able to pick up on such a thing quickly? a promise for later on down the line she would #be able to adapt? perhaps a hope? along with maybe a pride on angelas end for being able to do so. a small joy of able to do it first try.#even if her slower perception granted her a privilege humans didnt. it wasnt so sore of a thing at the moment. the wounds of time and pains #werent as of a all encompasing torrent as the hell she would he sprung into would be. the small joy or pride when she tied it later knowing #the reaction and knowing she got it first try. how capable she was. then for it to fade into monotony and a motion to do. a void of what #used to be there. no one to see and only to remember only to ever remember when she sees the tie that had been so strikingly like his #its like.. the feeling when you were so excited about something maybe you think of being a little silly later. but then it becomes so gutted #and devoid of what used to be there new memories maybe soiling the past experience. only to be left with what a void that you knew had been #filled with a positive light. its not there anymore. 'first try?' what a joke. were now on a try of countless repeats that have lost all #meaning and any ability to even ascribe meaning to.#anyways its only short doodles because im trying to find it in me to make a carmy angela piece and a yesod one rn. little scuffed but i #wanted to draw benj of men and angie #... at least i think she woke up clothed. no damn clue . would make most sense for her to be #it would be a little tortuous if she wasnt. either ayin doing it himself filled with rage and what was created with his own hands that #could never even begin to contain her warm but a mimicry and mockery done by his own two hands #then having to get close and even speak. or order or look at. but if it was in that situation benjamin wouldve done it actually with ayin #just staring through the glass not very respondent as benjamin has to help her into something or tell her what to do. having the man he #followed and was faithful to just... standing there and silent as he tries to help someone confused and only just beginning to become #concious open their eyes for the first time. all in all she was likely clothed before hand. still a bit disconcerting. not even awake or #begining to think at that point all but a body but not even one of flesh but one mechanical and man made - a Doll. given aspects and clothes #benjamin likely gave her a tie at that moment there if she were to be clothed. maybe a small marking of work or pass down?

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wingsofmud · 3 days ago

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The Star-Crossers

Doomed lovers my beloved. I want to make their relationship a lot more messy in my rewrite. So I want to make the shitty and good qualities between them a lot more even. I have so much to say about them so, without further ado:

Info + Heights Below:

What is perhaps the most surprising part of their relationship is that they fell in love at all. Within their own Queendoms, they are quite stunning, but to each other's, not so much. Nightwings look far more like lower circle Icewings than the aristocratic Icewings. And while Nightwings do love a narrow-faced drake, Prince Arctic looks less slender and more severely malnourished at first glance.

Prince Arctic

Queen Diamond's only son and the betrothed of Duchess Snowflake, his life has been determined since before he was laid. Of course, the animus abilities were a bit of a surprise, but the possibility had already been accounted for. Such is the life of a drake in the Everfrost Palace. Arctic was prepared to live an uninteresting life as a fixture in Snowflake's household... until he met Foeslayer.

Big, bold, and a bit vulgar, she caught his eye immediately. Like most Icewings, Arctic had never seen a Nightwing before. She was incredible. Like something out of a fairytale. A knight with shining scales. She had so many stories of her home, of places and creatures he'd never seen and never would see. Arctic fell fast and fell hard in the month she was there.

So hard in fact, that on the eve of his 20th hatchday, his wedding, and the night Foeslayer was to return home, he fled to her quarters and professed his love and intention to run away with her. Things escalated very quickly from there. There were dragons chasing them. Someone grabbed him. There was a scuffle but...well... Icewings, upper circle Icewings at least, don't feel the cold. But there was suddenly blue on his scales and he felt its chill. He'd never seen a body before.

They married that same year. Arctic did not expect to be so...alone. A prince has more allies than friends, but at least he was surrounded by dragons like him. He didn't understand the way Nightwings spoke, their differing formalities, their jokes, their gods, their stories, their food, their...anything really. Not to mention their spirit-forsaken sleeping schedule. Sleep deprivation has become a constant in his life, especially after the dragonets were born.

On top of that, Foeslayer was around less and less often as things escalated between the Nightwings and Icewings into full-scale war. Arctic was often left to care for the dragonets on his own while also having to navigate the Nightwing Court by himself, which was a different beast entirely than the Icewing Court. While Prudence is often there, she doesn't exactly have his best interests in mind. He has little authority in the decisions made surrounding his children.

He doesn't quite regret leaving his mother's Queendom, especially after she attempts to assassinate him, but he does wish he'd done things differently.

Foeslayer

So Foeslayer fell for the elegant little Icewing prince like some sap in a dragonet's romance scroll. Sue her. But, truth be told, Foeslayer had no real intention of marrying Prince Arctic when she first met him. It simply couldn't work. They could have a bit of fun, but she would have to return to her Queendom and he'd be married within Oracle's blink.

Safe to say that having the prince barge into her room the night before his wedding day wanting to elope with her then having to suddenly flee under threat of death for kidnapping a royal thus ruining months of careful negotiations was not exactly on her year's bingo card. It is unclear whether or not Foeslayer would've married Arctic were their situations different. As it were, she could not simply leave him to fend for himself in a foreign land. She loves him, truly, but it would be a lie to say the marriage wasn't at least partially out of obligation.

Yes, perhaps Arctic does have a point that she tends to ignore issues, especially those in the household, but she does not want to return from a bloody, death-ridden battlefield to problems at home as well. She doesn't exactly get to spend much time with her dragonets. And for Imperial's sake, he could stand to lighten up a little. He's not in the court 24/7, he doesn't need to act like it.

While Arctic generally isn't shy making it known when he has an issue with something, Foeslayer tends to keep it all in. She treats personal problems like they'll go away if you ignore them, but of course this only lets them build and fester. Spending days, weeks, or even months at a time on the battlefield does not help. She has... so many feelings about this whole situation, about Arctic, about this war, about her family, but she's unwilling to examine any of them. She's afraid of what she might find if she does.

That isn't to say their relationship is all bad, much of it isn't, but they do seem to be fighting more and more as the children grow.

Height Comparison:

Foeslayer is very big for a Nightwing. Upper Circle Icewings tend to be taller while Nightwings tend to be larger.

Male and female Nightwings are about the same size while male Icewings tend to be smaller than females.

Foeslayer and Arctic are about 2 years apart in age. Foeslayer is older.

#wings of fire #wof rewrite #wof #prince arctic #darkstalker legends #foeslayer #myart #wof arctic #wof au #wof designs #wof art #wof rewings

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rillils · 3 days ago

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pairing: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes rating: T wordcount: 2121 tags: established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff, kid fic, Bucky's metal arm, domestic boys my beloved notes: this smol thing is just an attempt at getting me out of an agonizing writer's block. it fills my @stuckybingo card square O2 - Touching foreheads, and my @wintershieldbingo card square Fluff. I also used this amazing post as a reference for Bucky's (most recent) metal arm. summary: Now, at sixteen months old, Sarah refuses to be laid in her crib for the night unless the arm is laid down beside her. Nineteen pounds of unyielding vibranium, with a grip that could crush a human skull as effortlessly as it could an egg, and she makes it look almost precious. Endearing. Something to be loved; worthy of being loved because she loves it.

You can read it on AO3, or under the cut!

It’s not that Bucky means to circle back to the nursery, tonight. In fact, he ought to head straight to bed and catch some hard-earned zee’s while he still has the chance, now that the princess’ diaper’s been changed, and his teeth have been brushed minty-fresh and his sleep shirt is not smeared with drool, snot, or sticky remnants of Sarah’s dinner. But the pull is too strong, and so here he stands, one-armed and bone-tired and hovering by Sarah’s crib like a lovestruck puppy, unable to walk away. Again.

Yes, it’s a curious predicament.

Made so much more curious by the odd presence in his daughter’s bed – a lumbering silhouette of gleaming metal, peeking out from under Sarah’s favorite blanket like a second, strange-looking baby, that she demanded to have with her.

That one right there, that’s a recent development, and one Bucky can’t truly make sense of just yet. But he can’t look away.

It ties a knot in his chest, his heart squeezed tight in the middle, between his lungs and his stomach and the cage of his ribs, beating wild and fluttery and disbelieving at the sight. At the sharp, cutting tenderness of his daughter wrapped protectively around the log-shape of his prosthetic arm, her little body curled like a parenthesis around it; her tiny fingers splayed over the glossy black plates of his bicep, her warm breath misting the rounded swell where his shoulder is.

It nearly hurts to see it; but it’s a sweet hurt, this one.

The first time Sarah saw Bucky pop the arm out its socket, she was four months old and sitting back against Steve’s chest, happily gnawing on her own dimpled fist as Papa bounced her gently in his arms.

Bucky hadn’t meant to show her; not yet, at least.

He’d been so careful up until then, almost to the point of paranoia, only ever removing the prosthesis when Sarah was already asleep, and dutifully slipping it back on for her late-night feedings; too scared that she might cry, startled by the anomaly of it all; afraid, or so he told himself, that she might simply be too young to understand.

“I just don’t think she’s ready to see that,” he’d shrugged at Steve’s prodding, just a few nights before, curled up in bed with the metal arm still firmly on, comfort be damned, because Sarah had only just dozed off again with a full tummy and a clean diaper, and the sun was about to rise anyway.

Steve had gathered him close, his broad chest pressed like a shield against Bucky’s back, and he’d threaded their fingers, warm flesh and gold-rimmed vibranium, together.

He hadn’t made Bucky say it out loud. That he wasn’t ready yet. Ready to be the thing their daughter was afraid of. The thing that made their sweet baby cry and twist away in fear, sobbing, seeking safety and shelter in somebody else.

But Steve had known.

Bucky had felt it. In the comforting hold of Steve’s arm wrapped around his waist. In the enveloping warmth of Steve’s voice as he rumbled, soft into the tousled fall of Bucky’s hair, their heads sharing one pillow, “It’s all right, Buck. You’ll choose when.”

And then one night, Bucky had simply forgotten himself.

He hadn’t even realized what he’d done, not until Sarah had abandoned her drool-coated fist to burst into happy, cascading, heart-squeezing giggles.

Bucky had seen his own surprise mirrored on Steve’s face. Steve’s mouth was agape, his eyes wide with shocked delight – while Bucky himself stood frozen from head to toe like a deer in the headlights, the metal arm still gripped in his hand.

Steve had spoken first, hot on the heels of their daughter’s first laugh.

“Oh my god, Buck– Do it– do it again.”

And cautiously, careful not to feed the little bubble of hope already blooming in his chest, Bucky had. Eyes locked on their baby, he’d allowed the arm to click back into place; and then, with a trembling hand, he’d popped it off again.

Sarah had lost it, erupting into peals and peals of these sweet, full-bellied giggles that made her little tummy shake under Steve’s hand, and something – something had come loose inside Bucky’s chest. A weight that had been sitting on top of his lungs for longer than he’d realized, stunting his every breath.

He’d cried, after.

He’d wet Steve’s shoulder with his tears, and then he’d laughed, his cheeks still glistening, raking his flesh-and-bone fingers through his hair, almost hysterical with relief.

“Thank God,” he’d half-chuckled, half-sobbed, his face cupped in Steve’s big hands, Steve’s lips warm and soothing against his brow. “Thank God...”

Now, at sixteen months old, Sarah refuses to be laid in her crib for the night unless the arm is laid down beside her.

Nineteen pounds of unyielding vibranium, with a grip that could crush a human skull as effortlessly as it could an egg, and she makes it look almost precious. Endearing. Something to be loved; worthy of being loved because she loves it.

She takes after Steve in that respect.

She can’t have missed Steve’s open doting on Bucky’s artificial arm, he muses: she’s been exposed to it her whole life. Every day since they brought her home, she has been the primary witness to Steve’s relentless displays of affection.

Before she could ever even process her surroundings, she was already watching Papa pepper feather-light kisses up Dada’s shiny metal arm, or lace their mismatched fingers together, or bring Dada’s metal hand to his lips to kiss the black and gold of Dada’s knuckles.

Maybe it was Steve, then: consistently, unwittingly teaching their daughter that this strange part of Dada can be loved, too. Maybe this is all his doing. Or maybe, maybe Sarah decided that all on her own. After all, Bucky muses with no small amount of pride, she’s proving herself to be just as willful a creature as her father ever was.

He reaches down to stroke the softness of her hair, cradling the back of her head in his palm.

His baby. His sweet little weirdo.

“You know you’ve been standing there for like twenty minutes now, right?”

The voice comes in a soft octave, one notch louder than a whisper, but no more than a gentle rumble.

Bucky turns his head, and he finds Steve exactly where he expected to find him: his big body leaned leisurely against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest and a knowing smile curling his lips. Bucky hasn’t been seventeen for a long, long time; but the whispering flutter he feels now in his heart knows no age.

“Shut it, Rogers,” Bucky teases back just as softly, straightening up with one last caress to Sarah’s wispy hair. “Like I didn’t catch you doing the exact same thing just a couple nights ago.”

Steve pushes himself off the doorframe, hands held up palms-out, briefly ducking his head in a humble “guilty as charged” gesture.

“She asleep?” he asks, approaching Bucky and the crib on soundless socked feet.

Bucky nods. He can’t stop his gaze from traveling back to Sarah’s slumbering frame, sweet and cozy under her blanket.

“Out like a light,” he says, and if it sounds even half as hopelessly fond as he thinks it does, well, that can’t be helped, now can it.

He feels Stee’s arms loop around his waist, soon followed by the familiar jut of Steve’s chin hooking over his shoulder, locking the embrace in. It’s a gentle hold, Steve’s thickly muscled arms fitted just snugly enough around him, and Bucky sinks into it with a pleased sigh, happy to soak up all the warmth Steve is so generously offering.

His only hand settles over Steve’s own, where it rests against Bucky’s stomach, his thumb stroking absently over the downy hairs dusting Steve’s wrist.

“I don’t get it,” he speaks quietly into the comfortable silence. “She could have her pick of stuffed toys to sleep with. I mean, we’ve got ourselves a whole-ass zoo up there,” he adds, gesturing towards the shelf currently hosting a small army of stuffed bears, penguins, unicorns, the odd shark, two giraffes, and a pink crocodile he won for her at a fair, which Sarah barely ever deigned with a passing glance, “every shape, size and color under the sun, but nope. She has to cuddle up with the lump of metal.”

“It’s not just any lump of metal,” Steve corrects him, with a meaningful squeeze of his arms around Bucky’s middle. “It’s you. Smells like you. Feels like you. It’s like you’re right there with her, holding her.” His lips know a spot hidden in the crook of Bucky’s neck, and they find it now to place a kiss there; the warmth of it tingles right under Bucky’s skin, dancing like so many sparks of gold down his spine. “That shit beats a measly teddy bear one thousand to nothing, honey.”

That gets a chuckle out of Bucky. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” And he can’t see Steve’s face, but he can hear the smile in his voice when Steve speaks, pouring sweet mumblings in Bucky’s ear as he rocks their bodies gently in his embrace. “This way, she can fall asleep knowing that daddy is here, that daddy loves her. That he’ll keep her safe from harm.”

It feels like a sin to disturb this, but Bucky turns around within the circle of Steve’s arms, coming face-to-face with him. There, there’s the smile he couldn’t see before, private and sweet and only meant for him to see, so genuine it reaches up to the crinkles of Steve’s eyes.

If he were to touch his face right now, Bucky’s sure he’d find that same shape on his own lips.

“You really think so?”

“Absolutely.” Steve’s hands come to rest on Bucky’s hips, giving them a little squeeze hello. “Trust me, I’m an expert,” he murmurs, shining those luminous, earnest eyes of his on Bucky like they won’t steal the breath right out of his lungs. “I know what it’s like to feel safe in your arms.”

Bucky couldn’t say which of them leans in first, but their foreheads touch; and he can see the minute quiver in Steve’s eyelashes, when Steve’s eyes slip closed. Feels the ghost of Steve’s breath, grazing hot like a kiss against his skin.

Steve’s voice drops, ever softer.

“Only place I ever felt safe in my whole life, Buck.”

And it’s lucky, truly – lucky that Steve’s one of the only two people in the whole world capable of cracking Bucky’s heart open like this, and fill it with an ache as sweet as the one pulsing inside him now. And it’s unfair, so cruelly unfair of Steve to make him feel so tender he might just come apart, like he’s a wad of cotton candy and Steve is water, and the first cooling touch of him will dissolve Bucky into drops of pure sugar–

–now, in this moment where everything speaks of home, and they’re standing right here, breathing each other’s air, whisper-talking in their tried and true “the baby is sleeping” voices, socked feet on the cold floor and flecks of copper glinting in Steve’s beard when the lamplight hits it just right, and Bucky never imagined that love could make you feel so full it actually hurts.

He cups the back of Steve’s head, sinking his fingers in the dark gold of Steve’s hair.

“You gettin’ sentimental on me, Stevie?”

Steve chuckles under his breath, leaning back just so he has enough room to gaze into Bucky’s eyes.

“Always, honey. Can’t help but.”

“Well,” Bucky says, casting one last glance towards their sleeping daughter. “I got another arm right here, if you were wantin’ something wrapped around you tonight. Maybe not quite so shiny as the other one, but it still does the trick. Whaddya say, sweetheart?”

Steve looks at him, his eyebrows pinched together and that soft, tiny crease in between that Bucky knows so well, the one that tells him of Steve’s unabashed fondness when Steve himself can’t; the one that tells him, I love you, before Steve has even lined up the words on his tongue.

Bucky wants to kiss him.

Bucky forgets, sometimes, that he can kiss him. That he gets to kiss him, and when he doesn’t, it’s only because Steve beat him to it and kissed him first.

Steve doesn’t kiss him now, though his eyes say that he wants to, with every fiber of his heart he wants to.

“Yeah,” he rasps, soft as a breath and painfully tender. “Yeah, I’ll take that. If you don’t mind.”

Bucky, Steve will learn, does not mind at all.

#stucky #stevebucky #stuckybingo #wintershieldbingo #rillers scribbles #my nerves are all over the place for this one ashdaksdlskd #i wanna ramble but also i wanna hide under the nearest rock forever #aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa anxiety #*lies on the floor*

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seros-girl · 17 hours ago

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braces appointments

katsuki bakugo x f!reader

plot: you accompany bakugo to his braces appointment only for him to come out without a new color

“these appointments cant be that bad” you told him as he drove to his orthodontist office. “easy for you to say when you have natural straight teeth” he grumbles out as he squeezes your hand.

bakugo has had braces since he was in middle school. he’s grown real tired of them now as a third year UA high student who’s on the brink of graduating.

“can i pick your next color kats?” you asked smiling up at him and he briefly glances at you before turning his eyes back to the road. “sure” he sighs softly letting a small smile come out upon seeing your excited reaction.

“hmm you have orange on right now” you mumbled to yourself as you told katsuki to smile for you. “orange powerchain okay” you said thinking of many colors. you thought back to your hero costume its a dark purple and you hit his forearm softly to get his attention.

“dark purple” you said and he nods his head. “dark purple it is” he said as he parked in front of the ortho office. he turned the car off and walked around to open your car door for you. he grabbed your hand and opened the door for you to walk in first.

you took a seat as he walked to the lady at the front desk. “name?” she asks him typing on the computer. “katsuki bakugo” he says and she nods typing on the computer again. “have a seat she’ll be right with you” katsuki nods and sits next to you, hand on your thigh.

“let me see smile kats” you said softly to him holding his face. he smiles showing off the orange powerchain and his rubber bands that helped correct his crossbite.

“katsuki” an ortho assistant calls out and he gets up to walk in. “you’ll be fine here?” he asks you and you nod your head. he walks in and for the next 20 minutes you sit there, gossiping with mina about her date with kirishima the night before.

you looked at announcements iida and momo had put up in the “class A announcements” board you can see through an app they all made you download. “all done katsuki?” you hear and you get up to see katsuki doing his payment for the month.

“yes thank you so much” he says and the receptionist smiles. “next appointment with be in 2 weeks for a check up” she says and katsuki nods putting his card away after paying.

“see you then!” he waves as he walks through the door and to be greeted with your face. “let me see” you said holding his face as he walks the both of you out. “wait babe” he laughed softly careful not to show his smile to you yet.

he closes your door and makes his way around to his side. he props his phone up on the dashboard recording the both of you. you look at it confused and back to him.

“whats with the phone kats?” you asked him smiling softly at him. he smiles at you and you immediately jump up to hold his face.

“you got them off?!” you said excitedly as you admired his new smile. “you look so handsome” you gushed as you laughed. “did it hurt when they took them off?” you asked still having a hold on his face.

“no” he laughs softly at your reaction. “do have to wear these though” he said pulling out a case. “whats that?” you asked him and he opens it only to see the case is empty.

“‘m wearin ‘em. ‘s a retainer” he says smiling at you again and popping off the bottom one with his tongue. “‘s to help my teeth not shift” he explains and you nod in understanding.

“dont forget to wear them” you pointed your finger at him as katsuki pops the bottom one back in, closing the case, and turning on the car. “not letting 5 grand go to waste are you kidding” he says as he backs out of the spot and drives off back to UA.

“everyone is gonna freak” you said holding katsuki’s hand like you always do. “spark plug is gonna make a big deal out of it” he shakes his head. “hey during trainings and stuff would your brackets not break?” you asked him and he shook his head no.

“i know how to be careful with them” he says confidently. “i was a good braces patient what can i say” he shrugs and you laugh. “well you looked handsome both ways” you said leaning back in your seat admiring him.

“nah i looked like a nerd” he says shaking his head and you shake your head. “well you were a handsome nerd” you said and he smiles at that. “does your mom know?” you asked him and he said yes.

“they let her know everything” he shakes his head as he drives up the hill to UA. he parks in his parking spot near the third year dorms.

you immediately see kirishima, sero, jiro, denki, and mina come out waiting for you guys. bakugo gets out and goes to your side to open the door. “thank you” you said and he hums in acknowledgment.

“lets see em bakugo what color are they now” kirishima said smiling so wide. he flashes them a smile and immediately goes back to frowning.

“wait!” denki said and turns to look at sero. “you got them off!” mina said as she told katsuki to smile again. he smiles showing off his white new smile and everyone goes crazy.

“just in time for graduation man” sero claps him on the back as bakugo smiles wide. “mouth will be open all day ‘m not letting 5k go to waste” he mumbled as he grabbed your hand to lead you back inside.

“finally we dont get to hear him complaining about how much his teeth hurt after every appointment” sero teased as denki and kirishima laugh.

“i dont complain!” bakugo fired back and you patted his back to calm him down. “your heart” you always remind him he cant lash out as much as he wanted to now.

“bakubro looks so handsome. y/n wanna share?” kirishima said nudging mina as you whipped your head to look at him. “in your dreams shitty hair” you pouted and katsuki laughs at that.

“kacchan you got your braces off” izuku announces and everyone in the common room gets up to look at his teeth. you stand off to the side with mina and laugh.

“relieved you dont have to care for his dramatic ass after every appointment?” mina says bumping her hip into yours. you watch as iida inspects bakugo’s teeth and you smile. “nah i loved doing that” you said looking as your classmates surround bakugo.

#bnha #bakusquad #bakugou katsuki #class 1a #sero hanta #mina ashido #katsuki bakugo mha #bakugo katsuki x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x reader #mha bakugou

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dobbysimp · 2 days ago

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since this is tumblr after all, i feel like i should go back to my roots so:

things that have been said to or around me, as incorrect marauders quotes

sirius: what kinda fruit would i be? and dont say faggot

mary: imagine getting to absolutely explode inside someone

*30 seconds of silence of picturing it*

🎶iF i WeRe A bOy 🎶

peter: cereal is non binary

sirius: sure if you wanna make it into gay shit

peter: FRUIT LOOPS ITS IN THE NAME

james: if you were a fruit loop color which one w- LETS TAKE A QUIZZ

barty: i don’t just throw it away, i play catch w my sanity

Remus: *mom lore*

Peter: were you an accident?

Remus: oh yeah

Peter: that checks out

sirius: i love cum

james: 🤨

sirius: dont quote me on that

james: im quoting you

pandora to barty: can you stop talking about sperm so i can do my tarot reading?

remus: this might be rock bottom

peter: the thing about rock bottom is you can only go up

remus: we dont know, i have a shovel

peter deadpanning: have you ever even BEEN on minecraft?

sirius: i cant tell if im having a crisis or i just need to wash my hair

peter: furry

sirius: furry

james: furry

remus, defeated: why is this the joke we all roll with?

evan: i was regulus-ing too close to the sun trying to put my emotions in boxes

james, to sirius: the trauma is bouncing around in your head like the dvd logo and only when it hits a corner do you get a second of peace

sirius: I wish I could date myself I would treat me so well

james: I think you just stumbled upon self love

lily, scrolling on tinder: he’s cute

mary: is he?

lily: *swipes left*

James: I have brain freeze on the outside of my head

Regulus: that’s called being cold

sirius: im getting a lot of… brain things

remus: ideas?

remus: *looking smth up about worms, reading the suggested searches* “can paul atreides control worms?”

sirius: would you love me if i was paul atreides?

remus: no

sirius: would you love paul atreides if he was a worm?

remus: no

sirius: would you love a worm if it was paul atreides?

remus: i would have questions about HOW the worm became paul, but probably not

peter: is it… why was i thinking self harm? no wait… masturbation!

remus: what are you, catholic?

sirius: if i ever jump off a building just know it was bc i genuinely believed i could fly not because i wanted to kms

barty: on my deathbed can yall bring me a cup of gasoline? i wanna try that shit at least once

james: dang nabbit, or whatever the fuck white lame virgins say

regulus: i think you had a stroke out loud

james: that was just me doing math

trans reg complaining while doing hw: im just a girl

evan: nO?

sirius, about Minnie: she’s always three spots ahead in the cha cha line

james: she’s in the cha cha line meanwhile im doing the macarena

(playing battleship)

remus: I cant believe you blew up my ship and your response was “tehee”

peter: Top 10 things Adolf Hitler never said

(30 minutes later)

remus: (is losing at multiple board games) IM GOING TO KILL MYSELF! IM DONE- I AM SO DONE…

peter: Top 10 things Adolf Hitler has said

dorcas: evan is emotionally unstable but mature

regulus: one usually leads to the other

dorcas: nah barty is emotionally unstable AND immature

regulus: i said usually

mary: their lives are gonna go up in flames and im gonna sit there watching and tanning

lily: can you tan from fire?

mary: for sure

marlene: do you think people tanned at the salem witch trials?

peter and sirius: *debating*

remus: what did i just walk in on?

sirius: can animagus fuck?

remus: excuse me?

peter: we think yes

remus:… I think it makes sense

sirius: now here’s the real question, if James and Lily-

remus: no.

james: what if i dated regulus just to watch the world burn

remus: the world wouldn’t burn, you would, and sirius would be holding the lighter

sirius, ranting about remus drama: and then this happened and I have never been more distraught… thats a lie i was abused but still

peter, after making 18 your mum jokes: that’s what your mom said

sirius: stop i can only take so much

peter: she said that too!

pandora: im chilling, i could be a budah

regulus: i don’t think you’re chilling i think you’re disassociating

pandora: im budah

remus, ranting drunk: because my parents- my parents pfft i only have one

dorcas: am i being manipulative?

barty: no, I would be doing the same thing

dorcas: that’s not as comforting as you think it is

regulus: Hey google how to find a man that will edge me for hours, no borax or glue

james: i mean i have adhd i could probably do that

sirius, about reg: he’s not even fun anyway

james: siri… he gets abused

sirius: dont we all

peter: i think the bible is a mass hallucination, kinda like the bee movie

pandora: yk how when you buy things in bulk its cheaper? maybe we can get therapy in bulk for all 5 of us

regulus about sirius after he leaves Grimmauld: Bro acts like a Disney kid who just broke the contract

regulus: so, cannibalism as a metaphor, right—

remus: go to bed

sirius: to speak or to die? speak duh, im probably gonna die bc of what I said anyway

regulus: i had a great childhood…

sirius: *side eye*

regulus: you guys are making me age so fast

barty: we are helping you mature!

regulus: barty i get abused, i’ve been mature since i was 10

pandora: *after 10 seconds of silence* beAutiful

regulus: YOU CANNOT SAY BEAUTIFUL TO ME BEING ABUSED

pandora: im gonna be honest i zoned out

marlene: *calls*

lily: *picks up*

marlene: im gonna destroy my hair i thought you’d want front row seats

mary: a mosquito could bite my clit and i would let it

lily: mary what the fuck

alice laughing maniacally: lets actually think of the logistics here

#many of these are just one friend btw #marauders era #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #remus lupin #james potter #sirius black #dorcas meadowes #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #pandora rosier #regulus black #slytherin skittles #mary macdonald #lily evans #marlene mckinnon #incorrect marauders quotes

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maryaandmorevna · 2 days ago

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A Song of Swan and Dragons IV.

Ao3 link

Summary: Following Princess Rhaenyra as one of her ladies-in-waiting, Arianne Swann was woefully unprepared upon arriving at the Red Keep.

No scroll or tome could have captured the astounding amount of gossip that thrived within the Targaryen court. For a mere lady like her, it felt as though she had made a catastrophic blunder before even having the chance to place her pieces on the board.

Yet, if she allowed her heart to guide her—especially toward the man it had chosen—Arianne believed she could endure anything and emerge triumphant. Prince Jacaerys Velaryon would one day be king, and though her father often said that hope was a fool’s errand, she dared to dream she might one day be his queen.

If only his boor of an uncle would stop tormenting her.

Chapters: 4/? (47,745k)

Warnings: safe for now, canon-typical sexism, the story will get progressively darker and will include explicit content, canon character death(s), dubcon, noncon, it's war folks

Tagging my dear @lacebvnny, hope you like it! Our poor Arianne in this one.

I., II., III.

IV. Izula

"People do not see you, They invent you and accuse you." - Helene Cixous

(Arianne)

Clumsy as Seven Hells.

Arianne knew that as long as she kept blinking she might be able to keep tears at bay. They itched, those translucent droplets gathering between her dark lashes.

Prince Aemond offered her one last icy glare before he stalked through the crowd and out of her eyesight.

Her breath lodged underneath her throat.

Out of all the insults in the world, he spat that she had no grace.

Her house prided itself upon it. A swan was...above all, a paragon of grace.

Arianne's clammy hands trembled - she wished to fade into the walls rather than stand in the middle of the banquet hall, surrounded by the joyful crowd of lords, ladies, and courtiers.

Clumsy.

A blight that has no grace and does not belong here.

The low and venomous voice burned through her skin and permeated her flesh.

Less than a tavern wench.

What could she have possibly done to Prince Aemond for him to bestow her with so many insults?

For a moment, she imagined that they had found the mutual language, that they could be cordial, but he threw it right back at her face.

Hateful, hateful, hateful, hateful twat!

"Arianne, are you alright?" Jace came to stand right by her when she took too long to respond to his offered arm. He carried a certain, familiar warmth with him, and the concern bleeding through his tone made her flutter her eyelashes bashfully.

"I'm fine—" Arianne started, but her words faltered, her voice trembling just enough to betray her.

Did Jace think she was without grace? L-like a tavern wench.

Her bottom lip quivered.

She was an embarrassment to her House.

"What happened?" He asked, his dark brows furrowing.

Arianne brushed her palms down her dark skirt, her pinky finger getting stuck against the embroidered feather. The mere attempt to repeat what the One-eyed Prince uttered would have her succumb to hysterics.

Jacaerys Velaryon tilted his head up, gaze knifelike as he followed his uncle leaving the hall and vanishing into the passageways.

"Did he say something to you?" He asked again, his tone colder now.

Arianne pressed her right molars into the inside of her cheek.

'Only that I was clumsy as hell and that no one would accept me as your queen.'

"No… no, of course not," she murmured, though her voice lacked its usual strength.

"He just said he didn’t care about a rematch."

Figures moved around them as another dance began. Jace gently pressed his fingers on her forearm and slowly guided her to safety.

A servant offered her a goblet from the golden tray and she gladly took it. The wine was heady, a blend of dark cherries, ripe plums, and spice—perhaps cinnamon or clove—lingered at the back of her tongue.

"That’s all?" Jace attempted again when she met his dark chocolate eyes over the rim of her chalice.

Arianne nodded, unable to commit to words. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth, not when the sting of Aemond’s insults still made her stomach churn.

"You do not belong here."

"Clumsy blight just like your grandmother - how much does he pay you -"

She realized it wasn't just the words but the way he’d looked at her—like she was fragile, inconsequential, and utterly beneath him.

Besides, what was he insinuating with that? What would they pay her for?

She drew her brows together.

Her company?

Her...her...her... Arianne coughed against the back of her hand, scandalized.

Did he think she was a courtesan?! How preposterous, her family would've disowned her if that were true!

Her mother would have dragged her by the neck to some remote sept and given her to silent sisters - insisting their newly acquired novice be canned for her sins.

Her father -

Arianne's stomach lurched.

Father would consider her dead from that moment on.

Her grip on the goblet tightened, the warmth of the wine doing little to ease the chill coiled in her stomach.

Arianne cursed herself silently for lowering her guard around that malevolent arse and then cursed him into Seven hells, before remembering that cursing was a sin.

'Forgive me Maiden, but truly I do not think you would find Aemond Targaryen palatable either. I think you'd sooner remove his uppity head from his shoulders than let him prattle.'

Ser Galladon he was not.

Jace studied her, the flush of crimson bedecking her cheeks, the tight frown her full lips were settled into - his gaze searching.

'Tavern wench! Tavern wench! How dared he? 'Arianne scrunched her nose - she'd been nothing but courteous! She sought his forgiveness and what did she receive in return? More insults!

The fires of the Freehold, she’d beamed, as though the topic alone could bridge the chasm between them. As though Aemond Targaryen, with his jagged dagger of a tongue and demeanor that would put the Night King to shame, might soften at the shared reverence for their ancestors’ triumphs.

Foolish.

"Naivety, daughter," Her father had tried to lecture her — though clearly in vain —

"is a weakness—one that others will exploit without hesitation. To speak openly, to trust too readily, is to lay yourself bare to a world that feasts on vulnerability."

How could she have let herself believe, even for the briefest of moments, that he might see her differently? Just because she wished it so — because he'd be her uncle by marriage if her dreams came true.

Aemond hated her—clearly hated her. The way he looked at her, with that unnerving pale gaze, piercing through her armor, leaving her flayed and exposed.

"Did my mother put you up to this?" Jace crossed his arms, the movement pulling the fabric of his doublet taut over his broad shoulders. His cape, fastened at one side with a brooch shaped like a dragon in mid-flight, cascaded down in heavy folds of deep crimson velvet.

"My prince?" Arianne blinked, startled.

"Did she ask you to speak to him? To any of them?" he pressed, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "To get close, to learn what they’re planning? Because if she did—"

"Jace," she interrupted, her voice breaking through his rising anger. Arianne batted her lashes in an attempt to clear her mind.

"Gods, no. Nothing like that." She shook her head and took another sip. A thunderbolt charged through her nerves — but his mother had asked her to speak with Lady Tarth! Which she failed to do!

She'd been conversing with that foul boor all night! Arianne returned her chalice to the table lest it slip from her perspiring palms.

He'd appeared there out of nowhere! How was she supposed to breach decorum by ignoring him?! She hadn't managed to gauge Lady Tarth's opinion on the Court welcoming a debate on an already settled succession matter.

"Ah... do not waste thoughts on my uncle then, even his own brother finds him unpalatable. " Jace declared, waving his arm.

A glint flashed in his eyes of molten umber, and he chuckled.

When he spoke again, his voice was tinged with something whimsical.

"Shall I remind that spiteful cur that he cried to his mother over a silly pig in the Dragonpit?"

Arianne pressed her hand to her lips, stifling a giggle. She shook her head as if to seal the conversation.

She would not think about Aemond Targaryen and his wicked words, at least not until she could cry it out in the safety of her chambers.

Yet her mind could not, would not, quiet down - it tumbled and twisted so vehemently that the hall's music, voices, and pleasantries were but a quiet whisper.

"It’s her ladyship’s decision," Aemond had snarled, his fervid gaze locked on her with a torridity that made her stomach churn.

Why had he said that? If he despised her so thoroughly—why would he pretend to leave such a choice to her? What if she had decided to walk the inner courtyards with him? He'd have to suffer clumsy Arianne the Tavern Wench even more than he already did.

Would he have laughed openly to her face if she accepted his invitation?

To humiliate her further?

To remind her how little she was suited to hold any position at court, let alone that of a Queen?

Or—her breath lacerated her throat—he had truly meant it and she scorned him by refusing?

Something tumultuous, something that made her chest tighten and her skin clammy invaded her mind.

No, that would be ridiculous. She pushed the thought away as she knew nothing of men or their peculiar behaviors. They were creatures of whims, mother would often say.

However, if a man wanted to spend time with a lady he wouldn't call her someone's mistress.

It would be absurd.

Utterly, veritably unsound.

Was he the only one who thought her frivolous with her honor?

Her thoughts pivoted suddenly, uncomfortably, to Jace.

" She will be my betrothed."

Arianne blanched, eyes widening as it dawned on her. Her eyes flickered to her handsome, curly-haired prince who had been, thank the gods, distracted with sipping his wine.

The tips of her ears tingled.

Jace had said it earlier, so plainly, as if it were an inevitable truth.

No, she couldn't hope. Hope is a fool's errand, her father always said. Jace only said it...well, because of Aemond...that... But...but..., Arianne pulled on her embroidered sleeve so tightly, she could feel the stitching holding onto fabric for its dear life.

A terrible sort of heat suffused her face, the words settling over her like a cloak too heavy to bear.

"Jace, you..." she began, her voice diminishing as she took him in now, beautiful and princely, his warm eyes set on her.

Arianne tried again, her words stumbling over themselves. "Earlier, you—"

"I am leaving!" Luke's voice cut through her attempt, rendering it inconsequential. He stormed past them, face flushed from anger or something else - Arianne could not know.

Jace sighed, his attention drawn away. "Luke—"

"No!" Luke snapped, his voice cracking from the frustration. "Don’t. I’ve had enough of this place, they are all muttering behind our backs—"

Arianne sucked in her bottom lip, glancing at the crowd from where Prince Lucerys escaped. So many green doublets in Targaryen court. Too many green gowns. Hightower green.

"Luke," Jace interrupted, his tone calm but firm. "We’ll leave together. Just wait—"

Luke pushed past them, muttering under his breath, his shoulders stiff with anger.

Jace turned back to Arianne, his large eyes brimming with something apologetic.

"Let me handle this," he rasped gently. She nodded, unable to say anything else. How awful she must be, selfishly caring about her betrothal when Luke could have his whole life upended if the Crown gives weight to Vaemond Velaryon's accusations.

Jacaerys lingered for a moment, then strode after his brother, his crimson cape trailing behind him in a sweeping arc of fire and blood.

Arianne stared at her half-empty cup, her posture rigid, her pulse racing steadily up her neck. The weight of Jace’s words earlier struck her again, and she pressed her lips together, her hands trembling faintly.

Her heart seized.

Betrothed.

Should she write to her father again? Or her Aunt Johanna?

She'd written to the black swan of Lys more often after settling in Dragonstone, the fear of her lord father finding out diminishing with such distance from Stonehelm. Johanna already knew from her last letter that she would be in King's Landing by now.

'Aunt Johanna would know what a man thought. From Lys to Asshai, men had fought for her favor.'

Arianne surveyed the spacious hall for any sign of Lady Tarth's gray updo yet her luck seemed to have run out - the old lady was nowhere in sight. With another curse upon Aemond's name, she relented and decided to retire for tonight.

A knight she did not recognize offered to escort her but she politely declined - she had memorized her way to the Holdfast.

Her handmaid was still awake, giving her evening prayers to the Seven.

Arianne let her untie the lace bindings at her back with no protest and dressed herself for bed. The unadorned, linen chemise shimmered faintly under candlelight. It clung to her form, falling loosely to her calves, as gentle as a breeze.

"Out with it." Miriam crossed her arms, copper hairbrush in hand, once her young Lady Swann quietly sat to have her hair loosened from the tight hold of the braids and brushed.

Arianne's eyes found her maid's reflection in the brass mirror. Miriam's hair was pulled back in a neat chignon of warm sunflowers and her thin eyebrows were narrowed.

"What do you mean?" Arianne pursed her lips.

She'd been so careful to avoid precisely what she imagined was now brewing.

Were her thoughts and secret pains truly so legible?

Her mother had been right in picking Miriam to watch over her, for nothing escaped her notice.

"If you think you'll be Queen you are simpler than I thought..."

A tremble of discomfort passed through her lower back.

Mayhaps, she was simple because Aemond somehow guessed - no, knew - she'd spent countless nights ruminating on those same premises.

It was a plain syllogism really.

She was Saera Targaryen's granddaughter.

Saera was the worst of the Conciliator's children. Nefarious. A clawed harlot.

Therefore, Arianne had that same taint. It poisoned her blood and made people doubt her good graces.

'I need to be above suspicion. Better behaved, as pious as the Queen, then maybe...'

"You're awfully docile. No argument?" Miriam replied with a raised brow, her voice laced with disbelief.

"You're not even trying to grab that fat book and weasel out of - " She waved the brush in the air.

"-my butcher's hands."

Arianne had to huff at her wording.

Her maid had been as gentle as she could but brushing Arianne’s wavy mass of maple-brown hair was unpleasant because it always got tangled. Always.

The knots seemed to multiply with every pass of the brush, like a wild thing refusing to be tamed.

Miriam had learned long ago not to take offense to the occasional wince or gasp from her lady, and to barrel through her refusal to have it done before going to bed.

"Miriam," Arianne whispered softly at last. She swallowed thickly around the weight in her throat. Her fingers twisted nervously in the folds of her chemise because she knew her maid was poring over her reflection in the brass.

"Do you think I have no grace?" She wondered, unwilling to meet Miriam's keen eyes.

The other woman stilled, hairbrush resting lightly in her palm. Arianne knew her handmaid was trying to see her better, but her gaze just wouldn't leave her knees.

"You are a daughter of House Swann." Miriam offered at last.

Her fingers deftly seized one of Arianne's heavy curls, smoothing it between thumb and forefinger.

"Grace Above All. How could you not have it? It is in your blood."

"I am a rotten fruit then." Arianne muttered bitterly. "One-winged swan. Maybe I was swapped in the cradle. Something is wrong—"

"Where is this coming from?" Miriam cut in and crossed her arms.

"I am clumsy," Arianne confessed, her voice catching as she finally met her maid's eyes in the reflection.

"It's unbecoming. Laughable."

Her breath quivered.

She had collided with Jace before during turns and he waved it off, but now - What if he were to arrive at the same conclusion? Clumsy Arianne Swann. Who'd marry her? Certainly not a Velaryon prince.

One other prince found her so unbecoming he wanted her gone from court.

Aemond snarled that she did not belong there.

"My lady," Miriam replied, with a slight raise of her brow, "if you're fishing for compliments at this late hour—"

"I am not!" Arianne snapped, furious heat tickling her cheeks.

"I really...what was father thinking, sending me to Dragonstone? I'm not..." She faltered, her fingers twisting harder in the chemise.

"My grandmother didn't belong here, how could I?" The question left a hole in her ribcage. What Prince Aemond had said gnawed at her insides, because what if it were true — what if she truly was ill-suited for all this?

"You're nothing like her!" Miriam argued with a surprising fierceness.

"She -"

"I know." Arianne cut in, her voice quieter now, the words weighted down by the obsidian stones of Stonehelm.

Miriam sighed, brushing a stray curl back into place with a tenderness that belied her brusque tone.

"Well, you are as comely as she was."

Arianne's nose scrunched.

Her thoughts flew to the image of her grandmother she conjured in her mind from stories—fabled Valyrian hair that shone like woven starlight, cerulean eyes so piercing they could freeze a room. So, so charming supposedly — when she wished to be.

Arianne had none of it.

Her eyes, mossy green like her father’s, had somehow managed to persist through generations of Swann sons and daughters, stubborn and unyielding against both dark browns and palest of blues.

Her father took after Saera in everything else, much to his chagrin.

His hair, a dazzling white-gold, caught the light like the finest gossamer. He carried himself with an almost dragon-like grandeur, and Arianne often thought that if he’d been given a dragon, many would have mistaken him for a true Targaryen prince rather than a scion of an old Andal house.

After beholding the Old King's portrait, she was rather surprised at how much his grandson — her lord father — resembled him.

Yet, if she ever mentioned it to him, he would have septa whip her palms with a thin birch branch.

"I highly doubt that." Arianne shrugged noncommittally. She adjusted the tiny horses on the lapis-lazuli board before her, trying to feign disinterest.

"I just wished to know if dancing was truly a requirement for a lady's luck with marriage prospects."

Her lips pursed into a pout as she fixed the misaligned pieces. A light horse's value is two-thirds of a heavy horse's. It is one of the most versatile pieces. If she had not accepted the exchange and pursued Aemond's with an elephant...

"I’ve seen her portrait, you know," Miriam said after a pause, her voice quieter now, almost conspiratorial.

"Before Lord Swann had it removed. You favor her."

Arianne’s head turned, and she afforded Miriam with a sharp, incredulous look over her shoulder.

"Well, thank the Seven," Miriam added quickly, raising her hands in mock defense, "—it is only her lovely face you inherited and not her temperament. You are not an evil cow like she was, my lady."

"Miriam!" Arianne gasped, though the corners of her mouth twitched with the threat of a smile.

"It is the truth! You'd think being so pretty would make her kind, but she had all the older serving girls beaten if anything displeased her. And everything displeased her in Stonehelm. My mother told me and she does not lie."

Arianne’s fingers paused above the bronze elephant.

Even among her kin, Princess Saera's reputation was far from flattering. Beauty and high birth had done little to soften her temper or foster any measure of humility.

The older members of Swann's household had spoken of her sparingly, but what they said painted a picture of a woman whose beauty was matched only by her cruelty.

Arianne often found herself wondering if her grandfather loved his Targaryen princess. She had been his wife, but, according to her father, Princess Saera was hoisted on him without much room for debate.

She had not even been a maiden when they wed.

King Jaehaerys had taken the life of a man who deflowered her and forced her to marry after that debauchery.

She abandoned her son when she decided to leave for Essos. My father — then only a babe.

Now her name lingered in her family’s history like a shadow, dark and unwelcome.

"You are an awful flatterer, Miriam," Arianne said finally, her voice tinged with dry amusement, breaking the heavy silence.

"I practice," Miriam quipped, her grin flashing.

"Now, enough of this. I need to brush your hair. Gods know it will tangle into a viper’s nest if I don’t."

Arianne sighed dramatically, leaning back into the chair with exaggerated resignation.

"So, I look like the most hated woman in the Seven Kingdoms, and I have the grace of a tavern wench. What merciful gods—"

"Your embroidery is also atrocious, must I remind you." Miriam tutted, hiding her grin behind the copper hairbrush.

Arianne’s lips parted in a scandalized gasp.

"I take it back, you—"

"But," Miriam interrupted again, her voice softening. "you are courteous and kind, and quick-witted besides. I am certain everything will turn out well."

Kind.

The word did nothing to assuage her distress. Kindness was one of those virtues her father considered a demerit.

Arianne winced as the bristles caught a knot in her waves.

"Being kind does not help me here. I'd rather dance well, sing, and be more like Rhaena." She uttered morosely.

While Arianne's introduction to the Red Keep was as successful as Rhoyne's war on Valyria — courtesy of that evil one-eyed demon, Rhaena Targaryen thrived.

The Hightowers' contempt for Prince Daemon did little to dim her effortless charm. If she were not already promised to Lucerys Velaryon, she would have to chase suitors away with a sword.

She glided along the marble while dancing — engaging in conversations and settling debates — with a poise Arianne could not help but envy.

Jace too, seemed to possess an innate penchant for diplomacy, as though he had been born with the ability to weave alliances.

Even if they muttered behind his back about his dark curls, not one of them could call him an unworthy heir.

Miriam sighed, releasing the strand of her lady's hair she had intended to brush. She set the torture device down deliberately, her hands folding in front of her.

"If you truly lacked any grace, do you think Lord Donnel would have a stack of letters as tall as you, all asking for your hand?"

Arianne huffed.

"It’s my dowry," she replied with a faint shrug. "Not me."

"It is not your dowry," Miriam's huff bled with exasperation.

Arianne’s lips twitched as if to argue, but Miriam pressed on.

"Besides," she said slyly, long fingers curling around the copper brush.

"Prince Jacaerys fancies you."

Her response drowned in the fierce rush of blood, her eyes widening.

"She will be my betrothed."

The beating muscle in her chest billowed turbulently. She couldn't - wouldn't dare hope.

Alas, Arianne's disobedient, grasping heart could envision it.

Jacaerys Velaryon taking his mother's name.

Jacaerys Targaryen, the first of his name, getting crowned, his eyes as dark as storm-tossed waves.

Jacaerys holding her hand and helping her sit on the saddle. Securing them with belts. The air whips at her cheeks as Vermax soars ever higher.

Their wedding feast - his cloak on her shoulders.

Jace feeds her their marital bread, and she smiles, and smiles, and smiles, as Queen Alysanne's golden crown decorates her head.

Pain flared from her left temple as bristles caught in another tangle of her luxuriant chestnut curls.

"H-how would you know?" Arianne sputtered, pinching the bridge of her nose. 'What foolish, nonsensical dreams.'

They would be old before supplanting his mother as King and Queen. Princess Rhaenyra had years ahead of her, gods willing.

"He’s never said anything like it," She added, voice trembling from the echo of the valyrian response he gave to Aemond.

Miriam's hand stilled, her brush pausing midair.

Arianne peered at her maid's exasperated visage.

"Because I am not blind." The older woman declared levelly. One of the burning wicks gave a few last flickers of warm light before dying in a pool of molten wax.

Arianne shook her head, her voice dropping into a resigned whisper.

"Even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. It won’t be his decision."

Because father was right. Princess Rhaenyra might not wish to ally with them through Jace, but rather one of her younger sons.

Lady Swann furrowed her brows.

Joffrey, Aegon and Viserys were just boys and she was a woman grown. Besides, it was rotten luck to marry anything less than a firstborn son — her father would not have it.

He would prefer giving her to Bryen Caron even, she imagined. It did not matter that he was one of the Carons, a simpleton or that he lost half his teeth in a brawl because he was Lord Royce's eldest son. Heir to Nightsong. If she were to wed him, Arianne knew it would be her blood one day inheriting everything — her firstborn son by Bryen.

If she were to wed Prince Joffrey Velaryon, their sons — Lord Donnel Swann's grandsons — would inherit...nothing.

No, father would absolutely not have it.

Jace was Rhaenyra's heir, and no simpleton. If she could marry him, if only...

If gods could be merciful for once, because she liked him and her father would be proud of her — marrying the best firstborn son in the kingdom.

His grandsons would inherit the Iron Throne.

Arianne placed the bronze dragon in front of teal king, isolating him. Her imaginary opponent would suffer a defeat in three. It irked her, the fact that if she had not exchanged her light horse, she might have won against Aemond Targaryen.

But it did not matter that she liked Jace.

Jacaerys Velaryon and her both were little more than tools for lucrative bargains and enterprising alliances. He, something of a rarity, a coveted tool of pure valyrian steel, an heir, and she — a common one of plain iron, just another noble lady awaiting her father's decision about the remainder of her life.

Miriam tilted her chin up with the tip of her index finger.

"Princess Rhaenyra seems fond of you." Her voice was as soft as a goose pillow, and Arianne knew she merely wished to soothe her ache.

Yet, the words tightened around her throat like feral hands.

Princess Rhaenyra expected her to have done what was ordered.

Tears welled in her eyes, so, so full of salt.

She tried to blink them away, but the dam broke before she could stop it.

"She won’t be after tonight," Arianne whispered, her voice cracking.

How was she to explain that she tried conversing with Lady Tarth, when Aemond Targaryen and his venom soured the older woman's mood?

Aemond.

His name had an acrid aftertaste.

Like a curse.

"Mayhaps everything would turn out well if you'd say your prayers for once." Miriam rolled her eyes and spoke no more, intent on detangling her lady's hair for bed.

Prayers helped no one. She ought to strengthen her position like bolstering catapults with a heavy-horse.

With a soft, nearly imperceptible groan, Arianne stood up once her handmaid concluded she'd suffered enough. She lifted a hand to her forehead, rubbing it as if trying to push away the ache that settled there.

The bed appeared irresistibly soft.

Arianne gathered the Fires of the Freehold into her arms and shoved the plush covers aside when Miriam's firm grasp caught her shoulder.

"Do not even think it! You need rest!"

"But only one paragraph-" Arianne insisted, her knuckles paling with the effort to resist her maid's seizure of precious tome.

"Your lack of sleep is why such calumnies weight on your mind, my lady. Give me the book and go to bed."

She huffed, and with a glare, relinquished The Fires. Arianne burrowed beneath the covers, throwing a few pillows to the floor in an unladylike form of protest.

"I do not have to listen to you, you know. I'm your Lady." She muttered.

Miriam snorted and doused the candles.

The hour of the nightingale came with the first, thin rays of sun. Arianne tossed in her bed, reluctant to leave the warm comfort of it.

More so since she had a task at hand. To find Lady Tarth in the Great Hall during the morning assembly. She will somehow have to juggle it with picking out silks for Princess Rhaenyra's new gowns. Her belly was growing larger by the day, as was the babe in it.

Younger princes also had to be escorted to their lessons, but Arianne hoped Lady Massey could cover for her.

'I won't be able to see Jace before supper.'

Knowing her maid would be knocking soon enough, she dressed herself in a simple woolen dress of rather pale pink.

Its sleeves, long and flowing, were adorned with a fine, white embroidery that danced in subtle patterns along the edges, adding a touch of grace to the otherwise modest garment.

She tied a ruby-red silk girdle around her waist. It was Myrish, of pristine quality — its sheen catching the light with each movement, and Arianne adored how the ends of the sash cascaded over her hips. The crimson-painted fabric originated from Tyrosh, where sea snails producing the color were abundant.

The door creaked open, and Miriam entered without a word.

She raised an eyebrow at Arianne's choice of attire but made no comment.

"Has my father written to me?" The young Lady Swann yawned, sitting immobile as her handmaid's fingers deftly braided the hair over the crown of her head.

"I will go and check if any ravens came for you, my Lady."

The single braid kept the hair away from Arianne's face, looping behind her ears like a delicate headband.

The rest cascaded freely down her back.

When Arianne left her chamber the Holdfast was rather empty, save for other ladies scrambling to fulfill their duties. She caught the flash of green once she passed the corridor leading to royal suites.

The Queen?

Alicent Hightower was rushing — clad in an exquisite emerald gown, she passed Rhaenyra's youngest lady-in-waiting without a glance. Beside her walked a knight of the Kingsguard. Arianne curtsied but by the time she looked up they were paces away from her already.

"Delicate situation in the prince's chambers—"

The rest Arianne could not hear because the Queen rounded the corner and disappeared.

She was rather dismayed because she had hoped the most important woman in the realm would have remembered her from last night. Arianne practiced her introduction to perfection, and even, if briefly, managed to speak to Queen Alicent. She was from Oldtown! The most wonderful town in the Seven Kingdoms! The Conclave conducted their meetings there, and the library - the grandest in the Realm! The Hightower itself is the tallest structure ever built!

Arianne asked if she had ever been in the Citadel and the Queen merely smiled. "Rarely I am asked about the Conclave and my House. But no, women are not permitted inside."

Alicent dismissed her gently, as people waited in line to speak to the current ruler of the Seven Kingdoms in all but name, and Arianne was overcome with a soft sort of melancholy.

When she was a slight girl of eight, her mother said the same thing after Arianne had professed she would love to marry a Hightower boy because then she would go live there and read all the books in the Citadel.

' "Lord Hightower does not rule over the Conclave, little pearl. The Maesters choose who can enter."

"Then I will become a maester, mother." She scrunched her nose in childish determination.

"Silly, girls cannot be maesters. They cannot go to the Citadel." Her brother Robb, eleven of age and golden-haired, pinched her cheek.

"Never?"

"No, sweetling." Her mother patted her head. "Only the good Queen Alysanne was granted entrance."

Arianne drew her brows together.

"Then I could become a Queen one day." She declared, much to her mother's chagrin.

Her brother guffawed and chucked a wooden toy at her.

"A Queen of froggy ponds only—" '

The Great Hall was full of murmur — the courtiers forming an endless sea of silks and velvet. The morning sun filtered through the high windows, casting long beams of light that made the polished stone floor gleam.

The stained glass fascinated Arianne, depicting flames in the warmest ochre, the dragons with scales of darkest coal to ivory.

'The white one must be Meraxes.'

She spied Rhaena Targaryen close to one of the gargantuan columns, not far from the throne. She was conversing animatedly while several ladies nodded along with her every word. A young knight seemed to have acquired stars in his eyes as he glanced shyly at the silver-haired daughter of Laena Velaryon.

Taking a breath, Arianne made her way toward Rhaena, weaving through the courtier clusters with a quiet, deliberate determination. A caustic pang of envy almost made her hesitate.

When she finally reached the small circle of conversation, she smiled nervously.

"Arianne," Her friend beckoned her close, and a woman Arianne was certain was one of the Roxtons side-stepped to allow her in.

The others in the group, seeing Rhaena’s welcoming gesture, gave nods of acknowledgment, some of them even offering polite smiles.

"Have you met my dearest cousin, Lady Swann? The Keep's cyvasse champion." Targaryen princess introduced her. Arianne blanched at her choice of words, they were hardly cousins, and she was hardly a champion.

Prince Aemond held that informal title, she had asked around.

Of course, he did. Hateful prick.

"Rhaena," Arianne began, her fingers straightening down her ruby belt. “if I might speak with you in private for a moment?”

Rhaena’s smile faltered only slightly, the faintest edge of surprise crossing her face.

Someone cleared their throat.

The others clearly didn’t appreciate being brushed aside, and Arianne could sense their collective annoyance.

“Oh,” one of the ladies murmured, her voice dripping with a subtle, masked irritation. “How… important, I wonder, that Saera's granddaughter requires private conversation.”

Several nods erupted around the group.

"Is she marrying into Boltons with those colors on her?"

Arianne groaned inwardly. It was important! She had no time for idle chitter-chatter.

The corner of Rhaena's lovely mouth curved into a smile — with just a touch of feigned disappointment.

“Ladies, I do hope you will forgive me. I am terribly needed elsewhere.” She inclined her head apologetically before her gaze returned to Arianne.

“Of course, Arianne,” Rhaena linked their elbows and let the Swann girl lead her away.

“I’m certain these lovely ladies will continue their discussion in my absence.”

Arianne hurried through the mass of people, trying to decide where they might speak without interruptions. They exited the Great Hall before she pursed her lips.

"How do you do it? So easily?" Arianne sighed, eyeing Rhaena from the corner of her eye.

"Do what?"

"The court thing." She clarified as they descended the first staircase. "They all like you."

Rhaena giggled, a charming tinkle of sound.

"Well, I don't ask for privacy when everyone is starved for gossip. It reflects poorly." She squeezed Arianne's arm before they both greeted several of King Viserys' dignitaries.

Once at a safe distance from prying ears, Arianne groaned.

"I hate gossip." Her free hand brushed over her roseate skirts.

Especially when it is directed at me. Bolton? What would she do all the way up North?

The corners of Rhaena's eyes crinkled, lashes fluttering in what one might consider a mild amusement.

They turned the corner, entering the spacious corridor that opened into a long loggia. Between the columns, the view of the lush greenery of the castle grounds gave Arianne's heart a tug.

They seemed to stretch for miles, full of pebbled paths and old trees.

Stonehelm had well-cared-for grounds as well, her mother considered their beauty a reflection of her work as the Lady of the House, but they were perhaps one-third of the size.

One of Arianne's earliest memories entailed her older brother shoving her into the fish pond before running away. His palms have been raw red for weeks from the lashes he received as a punishment.

She pulled at Rhaena's crimson sleeve lightly, not wanting to damage the brocade.

"I need your help." She whispered, pretending to peruse the detailed tapestry on the nearest wall.

Yet her breath caught mid-thought, her eyes widening.

'Wait a moment, are those people bare...?'

The tapestry's scandalous display—a swirl of figures entwined in unmistakably Essosi decadence—left her blinking, her cheeks heating in quiet horror.

She quickly averted her gaze to the stone floor underneath their feet, a sudden and oppressive flush of mortification entering her mind — were those things she would have to do with a husband? The septa said a woman is supposed to lie down and not think about it, but those women weren't lying down, they were on hands and knees and the men — the men —

Would Jace do that to her?

Her vision spun.

"Arianne," Rhaena laughed lightly.

"I think our castle in Pentos would've made you faint. These are rather tame—"

"They are naked!" Arianne quaked, nudging her friend towards the stone bench nestled against the outer columns, safely distanced from those sinful textiles.

"Can you help me, Rhaena?" Her tone was laced with an urgency born of desperation.

"I need to speak to Lady Tarth and last night...well, your cousin Aemond interrupted me and it was...tense. W-would she talk to me again?"

Rhaena tilted her head, her expression poised somewhere between curiosity and suspicion.

"So that is what you were doing with that thief." She flicked her moonlight strands behind her shoulder.

"I wasn't doing anything with him." Arianne retorted quickly, her face flushing deeper.

'Only one dance, after which he proceeded to compare me to a Tavern Wench and found me lesser. Rude twat!'

Rhaena's cheek twitched.

"Hmmm," she murmured, as if deciding whether to let the matter drop. "Let us see what we can do. You do know Lady Tarth plays cyvasse, don't you?"

Arianne blinked.

"No...she does? H-how do you know?"

Rhaena sighed, the sound reminding lady Swann of her mother when she'd caught her sneaking cakes from the kitchens.

"Ser Edric Wylde told me." Her brows, as pale as gossamer threads narrowed at Arianne's confused stare.

"Can you imagine he has twenty-seven younger siblings? And an older brother, Jarlon." She added, tone decorated with the slightest of reprimands.

"You asked me how — by speaking to people more, making them feel important. Men are honestly...they would talk until the end of time if they thought their voice impressed a woman. One of my tutors always emphasized the art of speaking as essential as wielding a sword."

Arianne deflated, peering down at the couple promenading along the grounds. What tutors? She had her septa and castle's maester.

"Speaking of Edric," Rhaena continued smoothly. " his younger sister told me my dragon-pilfering cousin followed you into the gardens that night."

Arianne's throat seized.

"W-who?"

"Aemond." Her friend clarified levelly.

"So, what is happening? I am warning you, Arianne, if you're gonna fancy a man who stole my mother's dra—"

"That is utterly insane," Arianne interjected, her tone sharp with disbelief.

'Fancy Aemond?!'

The thought itself was enough to make her innards twist.

She might as well fancy a Skagosi cannibal.

"I haven't even seen him, so how would I know if he went to the gardens?" The lie left her lips hastily, escaping her clamped throat. The last thing she needed was for anyone else to find out she kicked a prince in the shin and acted in a manner unbecoming of a lady.

Arianne's verdant gaze, in an attempt to avoid Rhaena's, landed briefly on one of the tapestries.

The naked male was kneeling between the woman's legs. 'W-was he kissing her womanhood?'

Her mouth dried.

There were stories, gossip, about Prince Aegon's proclivities, but a brief, and very, very torrid thought made her palms clammy — she'd wondered if that loathsome paragon of vanity ever did engage in carnal indulgence like the bodies — pale as ivory or golden as the sun — depicted here.

The concept itself, of a man like Aemond on his knees sent a strange jolt to the bottom of her belly.

Arianne wondered what could make the man commanding the greatest military power in the Seven Kingdoms - Vhagar - kneel.

Then again, Targaryens were quite strange with their customs.

Her nails bit into her palm violently and she turned back to Rhaena.

'Evening prayers would do me well.'

"Please, help me. I do not want to disappoint Rhaenyra." Arianne's voice softened, the plea woven into her words unmistakable.

Rhaena studied her for a few moments, before relenting.

"Alright. Let us find her first."

She stood up and fixed her exquisite gown made of vermilion brocade. Two young women spoke in hushed tones until they reached the main corridor.

For once, Arianne sensed her luck returning, because Lady Tarth appeared on the stairs leading toward the Great Hall, her mood evidently buoyant.

"Just allow me to speak first, Arianne,"

Rhaena urged into her ear.

Arianne was beaming.

She couldn't even control the light skip to her steps as she returned to Holdfast. Lady Tarth had not held last night against her, and more — Rhaenyra would be pleased with what Arianne had learned.

The older woman thought Lucerys Velaryon was Lord Corlys' chosen heir. He should inherit Driftmark.

This could not have turned better for Arianne.

She hurried to Lady Massey's room to help with the silk delivery. The lingering warmth of her conversation with Lady Tarth left her feeling oddly jovial, a rare sense of triumph settling over her. If she thought on it, the Lady of the Evenstar Fall was rather nice company.

They conversed about the famous cyvasse game between King Jaehaerys and Lord Rogar Baratheon.

Lady Tarth appeared to be impressed by her commentary of the game.

"The trebuchet could've negated the King's spearmen. Had Lord Baratheon noticed the dragon was pinned, he could've trapped the King's king. Death in four."

Lady Tarth had tilted her head at that, her dark eyes glimmering.

"A sharp observation, my dear. A few would dare voice it."

The Lady of Evenstar even lamented, half in jest, that all her sons were already wed. "If they weren't, I would gladly welcome a clever mind like yours into my household."

It brought an influx of warmth to Arianne's cheeks.

Her heart tittered in hopes that Princess Rhaenyra would see her in a similar light.

Arianne knocked on Lady Elinda Massey's door, her incisors biting into her lower lip. 'Gods, let it be Jace, please, please, because if not —

If not him, then who, and whoever it was, they could hardly match the prestige of a future king — Jace, her curly-haired Galladon of Morne.'

Marriage loomed ever large on the horizon, not as a choice but as a certainty.

Father had all but said so — she would be married by the year's end. Eight and ten almost, it was nigh-time.

The only reason he had waited this long was because of Jacaerys Velaryon.

"You are my only daughter, Arianne — my pearl beyond price. I would see you flourish."

If not Jace, then Lord Paramount, she supposed. Father would not settle for less. Not for Bryen Caron. Not for old Lord Horpe.

Arianne hoped he had not meant to offer her to the dreary North, even if Cregan Stark was allegedly handsome and her age. Besides, why would Lord Cregan even want a southron wife?

Her lips twisted into a wry smile at that.

How ironic that she could pin a dragon or corner a king on the board regardless of her opponent, but remained so helpless when it came to plotting her own future.

Just as she raised her hand to knock again, the door creaked open to reveal a rather disheveled Elinda.

"Arianne," She said, her tone hushed and hurried.

"I was looking everywhere for you. But I couldn't find you so..."

“What’s wrong?” Arianne asked, a lilt of unease in her voice. It must have been something of importance, because Lady Massey rarely lost composure, her blue eyes always reminiscent of calm seas.

“The Library’s custodian came by, and…” Elinda hesitated, her expression tightening. “Well, he seemed furious. He had two Septas with him.”

Custodian? What possible —

Arianne felt her pulse quicken, her stomach sinking.

“What?”

“They went to your chambers.”

The words hit her like a thunderclap, her mind scrambling to make sense of them.

'Gods, oh gods.'

Without another word, she turned and rushed toward her chambers, her heart pounding louder with each step.

As she approached, she could already hear the commotion inside.

“You!”

The custodian’s voice, sharp as an executioner's blade, rang out the moment she came into view.

Arianne's palms grew damp.

She swallowed.

His wrinkly face was flushed, and his pointed index finger trembled with outrage.

The door to her chambers stood wide open, and from within, she could hear Miriam’s voice raised in protest against the clipped tones of a woman.

“How dare you steal a tome of such rarity from the library! To think your ladyship even involved a prince in it!”

Arianne halted just outside the threshold, her body locking tightly as her heart plummeted.

'The Fires of the Freehold!

What? How... How in the Known World did he —'

A jagged tightness clogged her throat.

'How could he know? Jace...'

Arianne's lungs refused to expand.

She could not get Jace in trouble!

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to curtsy and step inside, her movements wooden and jerky.

"There she is!" A plump woman, adorned in the simple, gray robes of a Septa pointed a finger at her.

"You'd be wise to offer an explanation for how this came into your hands!"

The taller Septa clutched The Fires of the Freehold against her chest as though it were the crown jewels, her face a mask of disdain.

"I just...borrowed it to read." Arianne felt as though somebody else possessed her body and spoke because she could not.

"I didn't steal it!"

“Thief!” the plump Septa spat, her voice burning like a birch strike against flesh.

'Seven help me!'

“No, no, no, that is not true!” Arianne protested, waving her hands desperately.

“I would have returned it after I finished!”

"Confess it to a Septon and pray the Gods forgive you this foul sin, young lady." The taller one intoned coldly.

"And your princess has already been informed."

Arianne’s vision blurred, her heart lurching violently.

'Rhaenyra knows?

Oh no,no,no,nonononono —'

Her mind reeled, trying to piece it together. She hadn’t told anyone about the book. Jace and her alone know so...

No one, except—

"I am reading The Fires of the Freehold now. Have you read it?"

"Of course. But all known copies, all six of them, are here or the Citadel. How did you get your pretty hands on the tome?"

She froze.

Aemond.

Her stomach clenched painfully, her thoughts spiraling into chaos. The betrayal burned like dragonfire, scorching her from within.

Aemond.

Her chest tightened as white-hot anger whirled inside her vessels, mingling with the iron in her blood.

He offered to help her translate it! Only to...Arianne, you idiotic girl — how could you even tell him —

Aemond.

Arianne curled her fingers.

Aemond — gods curse him and his name.

It had to be him.

It was not her, and it was certainly not Jace.

She dug them so deep into her clammy palms that it hurt, but the pain felt distant - almost insignificant against the reality of the situation.

They told her princess.

She will be sent away. Punished.

Father will —

It was unbearable. The humiliation.

She glanced after the two women as they exited her chambers.

If she explained it to Rhaenyra, then maybe...

Miriam just stared at her, unable to find the right words. Arianne could not fault her for it, because her own throat was rendered useless.

She walked out and followed a corridor until it turned left towards the royal suites. Princess Rhaenyra would not — she would not send her away, would she?

Arianne’s heels clicked softly against the stone floor as she blindly passed several handmaidens and guards.

Why? How could he do this to her? She did not even finish translating the massacre of Quarlon's entire army under the walls of Norvos. The scouring of Lorath!

What had she done to provoke this cruelty? She replayed their conversation about Galendro's work, searching for the moment she had erred so egregiously that he would do this. Was it because she rejected his offer?

How petty! Could a Prince be so spiteful?

Did he not say they were even now? Arianne scrunched her nose. One day she would make him pay for this humiliation — knowing damn well she could not do so now, he was a Prince, but one day - when she weds the Crown Prince — she would make Aemond Targaryen regret it. She would find the thing he cherished most and deprive him of it.

As if Princess Rhaenyra would ever accept her hand for Jace after this, she thought morosely.

Arianne halted outside the large, double doors.

The torchlights along the corridor danced on the carved dragons etched into the wood, their eyes gleaming like rubies in the dim light.

They were slightly ajar and she frowned — Where were all the handmaidens, servants, and ladies-in-waiting?

Then, voices spilled through the crack, low but unmistakable.

"Ah, the maesters." Prince Daemon's voice was a drawl, his disdain palpable even through the thick oak. "Of course. It is they who keep him… addled on milk of the poppy while the Hightowers warm his throne."

"Rhaenyra, if you would see him without it, almost blind with suffering."

Arianne blinked. That voice — the Queen's?

She realized with a jolt that she was eavesdropping. Her fingers hovered near the doorframe, but her feet refused to retreat.

What if they spoke of her transgression? Would Queen Alicent press Rhaenyra to send away her unruly lady-in-waiting? Her cheeks burned at the thought.

"Oh, Alicent, I have no doubt it was… an act of the purest mercy, but tell me, for the King’s suffering, did the maesters also prescribe the removal of Targaryen heraldry and the installation in its stead of various statues and stars?" Prince Daemon snarled.

A barely audible sigh of relief escaped Arianne's lips.

They were not speaking about her mishap with the book.

The silence fell for a few uncomfortable seconds and then the Queen's voice lifted again, all steel and iron.

"The emblems of the Seven serve only to guide us on an uncertain path. To remind us of a higher authority."

"Speaking of authority," Rhaenyra interjected. "what is the Crown's decision regarding Vaemond Velaryon's brazen insult?"

"Insult." Alicent intoned.

"The King's Hand has sent a letter to Driftmark. Ser Vaemond is entitled to petition His Grace to consider this matter."

"When?" Rhaenyra pressed.

"A moon from now," Alicent replied smoothly, her tone betraying no hint of emotion. Or perhaps the heavy wood hid it from Arianne.

"The Books of Law and the Seven’s mercy grant time for the preparation of petitions and evidence."

'A moon? If father reached Griffin's Roost, he should be here by then as well.' She sent a letter there just days ago.

A flicker of hope ignited in Arianne's chest, only to be swiftly doused by cold dread.

A bout of nausea churned in her stomach—not for fear of punishment over the book, but for what one whole month might mean. More than enough time for Rhaenyra to come to an accord with Princess Rhaenys, which would mean —

it would not be her who would marry Jace.

"And with the condition my father is in, who will sit in judgment of my son’s claim on his own inheritance?" Princess Rhaenyra’s voice pulled Arianne from her spiraling thoughts.

"That would be me, " The Queen replied evenly, "and the Hand."

Arianne caught the faint sound of Daemon scoffing, though the noise barely carried before Alicent’s voice sliced through once more.

"But be assured, the Father is just and commands me to forget the accusations you have hurled in this room today."

'What accusations?'

She scarcely had time to process the words before the door creaked, and Alicent swept out, her green skirts rustling.

Arianne's breath breath hitched as the Queen’s sharp gaze fell on her, so utterly unreadable. Hastily, she dipped into a low curtsy, her head bowed in deference.

"Your Grace," she murmured.

For a moment that stretched unbearably long, Queen Alicent stood still, her silence heavy as a drawn blade. Then, with a faint, almost imperceptible nod, she turned on her heel and glided down the corridor like a specter, leaving Arianne to rise on trembling legs.

She swallowed thrice before knocking on the halfway-open door.

Inside, Rhaenyra’s voice was the first to answer. “Arianne,” she sighed, her tone laced with a weariness that only served to deepen the tension in Arianne’s chest.

'Mother grand mercy to your humble daughter, Maiden guide me —'

Adjusting her silken girdle, Arianne stepped into the room.

She lowered herself into a graceful curtsy before both Rhaenyra and Daemon.

“My princess,” she addressed Rhaenyra with the utmost respect, then turned to Daemon, offering the same courtesy.

“My Prince.”

Rhaenyra studied her for a moment, then nodded, her expression unreadable.

“You may rise, Arianne.”

Before she could proclaim and insist how terribly sorry and repentant she was, Daemon’s voice cut through the silence, as biting as the frost.

“They said my aunt Saera stole jewelry from her mother, Queen Alysanne.” He shot Arianne a glance, his blue eyes gleaming with mischief.

“You steal books. Quite the downgrade, if I must speak plainly.”

Arianne stiffened, gaze cast downward.

Well, if mocking was her punishment, she should be thanking the Seven.

Aemond's foul grin flitted through her thoughts. She realized there was a certain similarity, a likeness of sorts, between him and his uncle, The Rogue Prince.

Except, she highly doubted Daemon stalked around reporting people for sneaking books out of the library.

Rhaenyra shot the Prince a sharp, warning look, her brow furrowing slightly.

“Let me speak with her, Valzyris." (Husband.)

Daemon raised a pale eyebrow but inclined his head, stepping back. He sat in one of the armchairs and crossed his arms.

Arianne’s breath caught in her throat as the words tumbled out, almost as if she had no control over them.

“I swear I didn’t steal it!”

"I would never steal anything!"

Her voice cracked, desperation creeping into the edges of her words.

“I just borrowed it! Please forgive me! It was a misunderstanding—"

Daemon, a glint of curiosity in his eyes, shook his head and snorted.

“Who did you anger enough to have them report you?” He shrugged with feigned innocence.

“Everyone sneaks in there all the time and—"

Rhaenyra glared at him sharply, her eyes narrowing with a warning.

Daemon raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, his expression shifting to one of mock defeat.

"Very well, Your Grace," he muttered, then turned and exited the room, clearly deciding to leave the matter to his wife.

Rhaenyra took a long breath, turning back to Arianne with a tiredness to her gaze.

“You are quite adept at following the rules, even at your detriment sometimes. I know you didn’t steal it.”

Oh.

Arianne blinked, the weight of the words grounding her in relief.

Thank the gods —

"Because my son borrowed it for you."

A candle flickered between Arianne's breaths.

Her heart twisted.

She cleared her throat, before shaking her head.

"Prince Jacaerys would not —"

"Oh, he would." Rhaenyra flicked her hand dismissively. She leaned back into the cushioned chair, sharp eyes poring over her lady-in-waiting.

Arianne did her best to keep her trembling hands steady — clasped together in front of her stomach. A sliver of dread tickled her spine.

“And I think I know why,” The Crown Princess continued, her tone pensive.

"He is overly fond of you."

Arianne paled.

She dared not raise her gaze to meet Rhaenyra's.

Fond of her?

How could it be that the one thing she wished to hear more than anything now sounded so damnable? So sinful? So uncomfortable?

Because Arianne knew, or at least, she had an inkling, that Rhaenyra was not going to entertain the idea of an alliance born of an infatuation. Less so, if it incited her firstborn son — her heir — to act unruly.

Rhaenyra studied her for a long moment, her expression inscrutable.

"I will not pretend there isn't," The future Queen paused, perusing the embroidery decorating her sleeves.

"A consideration about a betrothal." Her eyes, now murky as the riotous seas, met Arianne's fearful green ones.

She swallowed yet again.

“But until such time,” Rhaenyra declared, hands resting on her swollen belly.

“I expect you not to encourage him.”

The seas pulled her under. Arianne's face reddened. She was not, was she?

Her mother had told her the same day she had flowered to behave with care. "Men will look at you, daughter — and some of them will look at you differently now. They'll want what belongs to your future husband. A virtuous lady must never instigate such aspirations."

“Your Grace, I would never—”

Rhaenyra raised a hand, silencing her.

“Dragon’s blood runs hot, Arianne. I know it better than most. The Hightowers might whisper treason about his parentage, but he is my son. A Targaryen. He will go after what he thinks he wants.” She exhaled sharply, shaking her head.

“Surely, you must understand the trouble this… fondness could bring. Jacaerys is my heir. He will one day sit on the Iron Throne. His heart belongs to the future of the Seven Kingdoms."

Arianne’s heart twisted, shame and disbelief surging within her. She itched to say so many things — that she considered the future, that she would never bring him trouble, that her heart belonged to it too.

Yet, she could not.

She could not utter any of those things. Tears welled in her eyes.

"I swear Prince Jacaerys had nothing to do with this." The lie tumbled from her dry lips.

Father is going to be so furious with her. How dare that hateful prick ruin her life?! Oh, if she could strangle Aemond —

Before the silence could stretch further, the door to the chamber flew open with a thud.

“It was me, Mother!”

Arianne's long-lashed eyes widened.

Jace burst into the room, still clad in his training tunic, his dark hair in disarray.

Rhaenyra turned sharply, her brows lifting in surprise at his abrupt entrance. He breathed loudly, his chest rising and falling as if he had run the length of the castle to be here.

Green met brown and Arianne's pulse upsurged to her ears. She glanced down first, unable to do anything else under Rhaenyra's stare.

Scarlett heat enveloped her cheeks.

Jace stepped in front of her, as if to shield her.

“Do not blame lady Arianne,” he addressed his mother, though Arianne could not see his expression.

“I borrowed the book for her. It was my idea.”

He is making it worse. Her gallant prince.

While her heart melted at his words, her head knew better. This would only give weight to Princess Rhaenyra's concerns.

His hands were clenched at his sides, his shoulders drawn taut as though bracing himself for a storm.

Rhaenyra’s face shifted as she took in her son's eagerness. She regarded him for a moment, her lips pressed into a thin line, before she spoke, her voice calm but heavy with authority.

"Leave us, Arianne."

Arianne curtsied stiffly, her face ashen as she slowly retreated. Still, she dared not meet Jace's tender gaze.

She could still hear the faint murmurs from within once shutting the heavy door behind herself —Rhaenyra's controlled diatribe, Jace's desperate pleading.

But none of it reached her as she stumbled away, her thoughts a whirlpool lapping at the inside of her skull.

Arianne had barely taken a step before the tears overwhelmed her eyes, blurring the corridors before her.

She leaned against the cool stone wall, sobbing.

She had not even told Rhaenyra about Lady Tarth — not that it mattered now. Rhaenyra was disappointed in her.

With her behavior. With Jace's behavior.

'Oh, gods, I'll never read any book ever again.'

Arianne gnawed on her bottom lip and instant regret flooded her veins. 'Please, just not the books. Leave the books. I didn't mean it.'

Her hands trembled as she wiped furiously at her face, but it only made the tears fall harder.

Arianne slowly made her way through the Holdfast. The weight of Rhaenyra's words crushed her.

Betrothal was possible, but, but, but —

'What would father think?'

Her legs almost gave out and she had to steady herself lest she fall down the polished staircase.

The very idea of him knowing about this, knowing of the whispered accusations and the suspicions cast upon her…

'Stranger take Aemond Targaryen!'

If a word of this were to reach her father—if he even heard a whisper about the borrowed book—he would never forgive her.

He held onto grudges as if they were treasures.

She could plead her case walking barefoot from the Wall to Sunspear and it would be to no avail.

The punishment would be swift, and cruel, and final. Would he marry her off to some old minor lord to put an end to her folly? Some distant, distant noble she could never stand, a man old enough to be her grandfather, shackling her to a life she couldn’t bear? Or perhaps he'd take harsher measures, thinking it a failure of her upbringing.

Silent sisters would await her.

Oh, she'd rather run to Essos like Saera once did.

To Lys, to Aunt Johanna.

She would take her in, Arianne knew. But she would truly be dead to her parents then — their hearts would shatter to learn their daughter had become a lyseni whore.

'Would Rhaenyra write to them about this? Maybe she would not? No one else seemed to even know but her, Custodian, and those septas.'

Arianne rubbed her teary eyes with the back of her hands.

She hurried, crossing the narrow hall and the three ladies seated on the wooden bench. The Queen did not seem to even mention her, she was there to discuss the petition for Driftmark.

Arianne pressed her eyelids tightly together, wishing desperately for the weight to lift, for the tears to stop.

There was nothing to do but wait.

Oh, how much she loathed powerlessness.

If only she could hide somewhere, anywhere, just until this awful sobbing stopped. Her face must look blotchy and ugly from crying.

Arianne continued walking, looking for one of the gardens. She might hide under a pear tree or a rock until the end of her days.

She disappointed Princess Rhaenyra. She couldn't imagine a worse thing happening now.

' W-what if she really writes to my father?'

She hurried along the colonnade, its archways opening into the inner courtyard.

'Father would not forgive this.'

Arianne could see it — a simple carriage without much comfort to send her back home. She'd have to travel the Kingsroad for a month before reaching Stonehelm in disgrace.

Her father would tell her she had no one to blame but herself before giving her hand to Lord Horpe, or even worse, one of the Carons.

If Jace truly fancied her — and she hoped, hoped, hoped it so —

even if everything went to ruin, he could steal her away on Vermax and wed her and —

oh, the infamy! She would never dare!

To even think about it, what unabashed sin!

Wicked Arianne.

Saera's granddaughter in truth.

They could put her on some morally abhorrent tapestry —

Arianne felt her legs tangle and before she could steady herself, her right knee met the cold, stone floor with a resounding thud.

Ouch.

She shot up back to her feet so quickly that the air spun around her.

She at least managed to keep herself from yelping or cussing — which would be utterly unladylike.

'H-how embarrassing.'

Her eyes darted toward the corridor, and she released a small huff of air when she realized there was no one coming in her direction.

"Your education should've included walking it seems."

Arianne's head snapped to her right and her muscles stiffened.

Prince Aemond Targaryen was leaning against the column, his lithe arms crossed.

'Him! Him, gods curse him! W-where did he come from?'

"Your Grace."

She muttered levelly, her fingers curling into fists.

Arianne's first instinct was to flee all the way to Mossovy.

Her heart, however, lurched, rightful wrath towards the silver-haired Targaryen spilling in torrents into her blood.

It wasn't the wry taunt about her clumsiness, it was the abominable crime of taking The Fires of the Freehold from her!

Of ruining her life! She ought to kill him where he stands!

Arianne wished her eyes could pierce through him as she stared. He seemed to have come from the training courtyard by the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. A few shorter strands of his silky hair, pale as the pearl, were strewn across his temples.

Arse!

She couldn't even accuse him. She had no proof, but somehow, she knew it in her bones that it had been him who slandered her to the Custodian.

'She did not steal a book! Jace borrowed it for her.'

In mere moments, Arianne was overwhelmed with all sorts of sinful thoughts about Aemond Targaryen's untimely demise. She would pray to Father to make him suffer, to Warrior to make him a craven, and to the Crone to send an illness his way!

To Stranger itself, to make his rotten heart suffer!

How could he deprive her of a book she told him she stayed up all night reading?!

He in question, merely clicked his tongue at her and hummed.

"Does crying prevent you from curtsying properly? I am a Prince of the Realm."

Arianne sniffled and wiped at her face furiously.

"I am not crying!"

Aemond fixed her with his shrewd, icy eye before drawing himself to his full height.

She observed how his shadow stretched to almost meet hers.

"I do wonder what is it this time, Lady Swann." He stalked toward her, his sturdy dark boots thudding softly against the stone floor. The rhythmic sound seemed to echo her volatile heartbeat.

"One of your suitors decided he'd rather pursue an honorable woman, mayhaps? Or your payment was less than what you'd—"

"Yet I do not find my crying important enough for a prince of the Realm to wonder about it." Arianne retorted, digging her nails deeper into her palm, almost yelping at the pain.

It did keep her grounded when she wished nothing more than to become a swan and peck his remaining eye out.

'Payment? Payment for what? Just w-what was he insinuating again?'

"Humor me," Aemond said, his voice a dark purr of a sound.

Arianne glanced up, observing the high collar of his training tunic rather than his face. She cleared her throat and wiped her hands down her roseate skirts.

"I am Princess Rhaenyra's lady-in-waiting, not your fool." The harsh response made Aemond's blood thrum. So, Lady Swann was avoiding his gaze.

The muscle in his jaw ticked.

Arianne decided it would be for the best that she absconds quickly, lest she truly try to maim him again. 'He would deserve it! Her princess now considered her bad influence on Jace.'

"Your Grace." She dipped in a quick, low curtsy — her knees ached from it, and dashed past him, her skirts swishing around her legs.

Aemond caught up to her in two strides and blocked her way, his arm extending like a gate across her path.

"You forget yourself, woman." He snarled.

"You are mine-whatever-I-decide you are."

"Have you any manners at all?" She shrieked, rather startled by the harshness in his usually melodious voice.

He ignored her outburst and continued, chuckling nastily.

"How is your progress with The Fires of the Freehold going? Did the bastard translate you the scouring of Lorathi islands?" Aemond's defined lips peeled back to reveal his white teeth.

'You evil, evil arse!'

"I know no bastard. And it is going fine." Arianne gritted out.

Aemond's ivory eyebrow lifted.

"Truly? Here I've heard a different tale, Lady Swann." He taunted, his face settling into feigned wonder.

"That they've confiscated the tome from you."

She must've drawn blood from how forcefully she was pressing her nails into her own skin.

'Heard the tale? He mocks me.'

Lady Swann could scarcely believe a prince could be so wicked to not only do it but to torment her over it. Was he still angry over her earrings? She apologized!

Could he think she scorned him last night?

What despicably cruel retaliation, then! Arianne concluded — because now she might never get to read it. Only six copies existed in the Seven Kingdoms. Four were locked inside the Citadel, and now she'll never be allowed to peruse the two housed in the Royal Library.

'Oh, shivers take him, if he truly branded her a thief over some wounded pride of a man.'

She had been nothing but polite!

"You've heard it true," Arianne uttered stiffly.

"Some awful miser told the Custodian I had the book."

Aemond's one, cerulean eye widened.

"An awful miser?"

He tilted his head mockingly. "Or just someone with respect towards the laws and rules that keep our Realm from descending into chaos?"

Arianne had to exert a significant effort not to laugh at his badly performed act of a righteous man.

"And does Your Grace agree with him?"

She glanced at the deep, darkened scar decorating his left cheek.

"Naturally."

"I wouldn't have dared hope otherwise." Arianne's mouth widened into a brittle smile and she curtsied, hoping it was for the final time.

It was him, and she will not forget it!

Rather than to risk another bout of unladylike violence, she turned around.

So what if she had to walk all the way back and confront Miriam about her utter disgrace — it seemed a superior choice than to argue with the evil boor himself.

She wouldn't even refer to Prince Aemond by a name anymore, he'd earned his special title. He was evil boor from now on.

"You should be aware though," He tutted after her, in tones cool and sharp as valyrian steel.

"Those misers will know shall your pretty head try to loot the royal library again."

Loot?

Heat surged through her chest, rushing to her face as indignation overcame her. She peered over her shoulder at the tall dragonrider.

Aemond ran his tongue over his incisors and hummed.

"You've never seen the dungeons, have you, my lady Swann?"

Arianne shook.

How dared he? How dare he speak to her this way, as if she were some common thief, as if her desire to know more was a crime?

Her breath hitched, her muscles locking as she tried to suppress the insults threatening to erupt.

Aemond Targaryen was a blight. He was as ill-behaved as her grandmother had been. Only he hid it better, the capable swordsman, the studious prince, the Queen's favorite son — oh, how blind those courtiers were!

He was sent here by some Stygai demons to ruin her life.

Arianne knew the best way to proceed would be to apologize again, much as it pained her lady's heart. Profess her regret for whatever it was that earned his enmity and bide her time.

One day, when Princess Rhaenyra becomes Queen and Jace the Crown Prince - and she his Crown Princess - Oh, she'll find Prince Aemond the best seat to watch her, graceless bird, become Queen among Dragons, and then she'll exact her revenge. Even if holding grudges was a sin.

Her bottom lip quivered.

Even if it was strategically the most sound approach she could not do it.

She would sooner die than be Aemond's supplicant after what he had done to her.

Her father would sooner let a pirate ship carry her away like it did his cousin Johanna, than to hear she humiliated herself in front of a Targaryen.

A certain something curling around her spine —her pride—would not allow her to walk away from his taunts.

Not this time.

She was a lady of a noble house, her father a Lord of the Marches and her grandmother a princess herself!

Arianne whirled around, the strands of her chestnut hair bouncing with the force of her movement.

The fiery glare she fixed on him could have scorched dragonhide.

"I know this awful miser is you!" she snapped, her voice acidic and unwavering despite the tremor in her hands.

Her words reverberated in the corridor, something that startled even herself. She stomped back toward him, her chin held high. Arianne flicked the heavy curl that had fallen over her shoulder back with her hand — Aemond seemed to follow the motion with his pale eye.

She thrust her finger out in an accusatory jab.

"You told the Custodian I was reading Fires of the Freehold!"

The words were flung like arrows, her voice tinged with the sting of betrayal. She only told him about it because he claimed they loved the same books.

Arianne could feel her pulse thundering in her ears, fueled by the righteous wrath that consumed her.

She’d been humiliated, shamed, and stripped of her dignity—all because of him!

"You malevolent arse!"

Her outburst echoed against the columns. Arianne took in a sharp breath, it sizzled inside her lungs. Oh, Seven!

Her cheeks reddened, and her eyes burned with the unshed tears of frustration.

Aemond stood there, unflinching, his condescending grin deepening, and that infuriating gleam of amusement in his blue eye only stoked her fury further.

She wanted to scream at him, to lash out more, to do anything that might make him understand the depth of her outrage.

He made her look wicked in Princess Rhaenyra's eyes.

Aemond’s delight was immediate and utterly insufferable, a sardonic chuckle that rumbled deep in his chest.

He shifted slightly — one leg stretched brashly forward, fingers tracing idly the pommel of his sword.

The leather strap of his eyepatch caught a sliver of sunlight as if it too mocked her.

"Hontes drējī pykagon perzys issa." (A bird is a spitfire, indeed.)

He muttered it more to himself than her, his lips twitching as though savoring the observation.

Arianne's nostrils flared.

The infuriating ease with which he dismissed her anger was enough to set her blood to boil.

"Rya nopāzma!" (Go to hell.)

She hissed rabidly, remembering all the valyrian insults Luke, Rhaena, and her learned one rainy afternoon.

For the most fleeting of moments, something in Aemond's eye glimmered, disbelief passing through his features.

"My, my what a foul mouth you have—"

"Your deed garners no respect, Your Grace!" she interrupted sharply, stepping closer, emboldened by her fury.

A mistake, in hindsight.

Aemond moved too quickly for her to react, his hand darting out to grasp her wrist with a downright frightening precision.

The heat of an unexpected touch rooted her in place, her breath lodging in her throat.

His grip was firm but not bruising, the strength of his fingers pressing into her skin just enough to hold her there.

Arianne could suddenly not think, hyper-aware of the bared skin of her wrist and the way her blood trashed underneath it — meeting his.

It was utterly improper—by all laws and morals of gods and men—and her mind raced with the implications.

Would he harm her? Kill her? B-break her wrist?

Dread cascaded down and around and through her spine.

No one had ever — well her brother did hit her when they were younger but that had been different. She hit him too — but Aemond could, if he wished, and who'd punish him for it?

He has a dragon — she gulped — no, not just a dragon, he has Vhagar.

Arianne willed herself to remain calm.

For a man of his rank, a Prince, to seize a lady in such a manner...

It bordered on scandalous.

Her gaze snapped to his hand, then to his face, and she felt her pulse mutinying vehemently against the confinement of his grasp.

Aemond's expression was unreadable, his pale eye burning with an intensity that seemed to bore straight into her.

"Unhand me, Your Grace," she demanded, her voice low and strained.

She twisted slightly, testing his hold, but his fingers did not falter.

"What do you imagine would happen if everyone disregarded rules and laws like you, Lady Swann? Hmm?" He crooned, a dangerous undercurrent racing beneath the words.

Aemond leaned closer, his breath warm and steady against her skin.

"If men took what they wanted like you did?" The grip around her wrist tightened briefly.

Arianne gulped, her free hand trembling at her side. She wiped it against her skirts. The proximity was unnerving, the heat of his presence coiling around her like an unwanted tether.

"I did not take it, and your grace knows it! Prince Jacaerys borrowed it and happened to give it to me." She stammered.

Still, he held her, his thumb brushing against the inside of her wrist as if testing her pulse, gauging her reaction. The gesture was both intimate and unsettling, a deliberate breach of decorum that urged her to demand a release and flee.

"B-besides," Arianne continued despite the uncomfortable tightness of her vocal cords. "If men only wanted to read books, I do not see what is so wrong with that. No one is hurt by it. You cannot compare it to raiding-driven subsistence where men just plunder peaceful settlements for land and food."

Her words were hurried, as if she could will the moment to pass faster.

Aemond's hold on her lingered — his fingertips calloused and rather warm against the inside of her wrist.

"Their liege lord was murdered ever so often during the Old Way and they raised rebellions because it would cause instability and—"

"I do not need a lecture on the primitive savagery of Iron Islanders, Lady Arianne." he interrupted smoothly, though there was a clipped edge to his tone.

"Release me, then. I have duties to attend to." Arianne spat, cutting the air between them. Her frustration was mounting.

Aemond’s gaze bore into hers, dark and molten — his single eye burning like the edge of twilight.

He tilted his chin as if weighing whether her demand deserved acknowledgment.

After a few long moments, his fingers loosened, sliding away with an infuriating slowness that made her feel as though she had conceded ground rather than reclaimed it.

But he did not step back.

"What duties,hmm?" he questioned, his voice low, mocking.

"Gallivanting around my Keep, diverting men's attention with those ridiculous dresses you wear—"

"There is nothing wrong with my attire!" Arianne bristled, brushing her skirts defiantly.

Her movements were brisk, her pulse still thrumming incessantly in her wrist where his touch lingered like a scorch mark.

"Nothing," Aemond drawled, his tone dripping with derision.

"If you wished to resemble a strawberry tart."

'A- a strawberry tart?' His explanation rattled her so much, Arianne couldn't muster a proper answer. The insult struck her so unexpectedly that she could only gape for a moment, her thoughts scrambling for purchase.

Her dress was a paragon of modesty!

Perhaps it was a tad bit vibrant with a red silk girdle but how was it Aemond's problem?

Besides, what was wrong with strawberry tarts?

"I don't understand," she confessed at last, her voice tinged with bewilderment and indignation. Arianne searched his face for some clue to his meaning, but his expression was unreadable, save for the faintest twitch at the corner of his good eye.

It now roved over her with a deliberateness that made her spine stiffen, lingering on her rose-tinted woolen skirts before returning to her face.

"Those iron-born savages would ignore every other sustenance if they saw you frolicking and pretending unaware of your womanly wiles."

The accusation hit her like a strike, her cheeks stinging.

"You cannot swindle me though, my lady," Aemond added with a hearty dose of venom in his voice. It was too measured, too deliberate.

Arianne swallowed hard.

"You should talk to a septon, your grace. Imagined slights are a disease of the mind and soul." She snapped, lifting her chin.

Aemond’s expression darkened.

His long, tapered fingers gathered the free end of her silk girdle. Arianne's cheeks colored into the same ruby-red that now gleamed inside his palm. H-he ought not to touch her clothes!

"I would never allow my lady to dress like a Lyseni courtesan." He spat, releasing the fabric.

Arianne balked, her mouth opening and closing before she could form a coherent response.

Her anger surged anew.

"Thank the Seven, I am not your lady!" She hissed, her body trembling with fury.

"Indeed," Aemond replied coldly, though a flicker of something — she couldn't quite make — crossed his features before he masked it.

"Thank the gods. A commoner wife would be preferable to you. She'd know her place, at the very least." He taunted, with something not quite a smile.

"How wisely you speak, Your Grace." Arianne batted her eyelashes several times before the corner of her mouth curled.

"Mayhaps you go court one then, instead of ruining my day."

For a long, tense moment, Aemond said nothing.

Something brimmed in his eye, a brief, almost imperceptible flicker of surprise crossing his features before being buried under a cool, marble-like facade.

His lips twitched, just slightly, as though he could not decide whether to sneer or hiss something back.

Just as his mouth opened, his gaze lifted to focus on something above her, further away.

Aemond stilled, then quickly composed himself as he saw who approached — several courtiers, Ser Tyland Lannister among them.

The group moved toward them with casual grace, their footsteps light on the cobbled stones, yet their arrival seemed to extinguish something in the air.

Aemond's eye sizzled with irritation, but he said nothing—choosing instead to shift slightly away from Arianne, into a proper distance for their stations.

She turned her head and observed them as various voices greeted the Prince.

Tyland Lannister noticed Arianne, his mouth opening in something akin to a concern.

"Lady Swann," he said with a gentle note of surprise.

"Your eyes are rather red. Do not tell me something has made your ladyship cry? You only need let me know—"

Arianne let out a quiet, relieved breath, her expression softening into a smile.

At least now she had witnesses.

'The Lannisters are the Queen's supporters, you foolish girl.'

Even if they were not, she hardly doubted anyone would take her side when the other one had a ferocious beast like Vhagar.

'Would Jace...would he do something about his uncle? If she told him he seized her like...like...oh she did not know!'

Arianne grimaced inwardly. No, she could not tell him. Rhaenyra had made that clear.

He had enough on his plate now, and, not to mention, his legitimacy could be called into question.

Was Princess Rhaenyra telling him now to keep away from her — unruly Arianne?

Oh, curse you, Aemond.

Though, an idea flashed in her mind.

How effortlessly Rhaena moved through the Court, either side welcoming her with open arms!

Perhaps if she tried to speak prettily, too?

"Ser Tyland, you truly are my knight in shining armor."

Her voice was underlined by genuine gratitude—Tyland had given her a welcome reprieve from Aemond’s cruel presence.

'How had Rhaena explained her ease in conversing with people? To give them a chance at feeling important.'

Arianne thought about it briefly, deciding this was her refuge from the evil boor himself.

She straightened, subtly shifting away from Aemond’s imposing figure as she faced Tyland with a new spark of amusement.

"It is true, I’m on the verge of tears."

Arianne let the words drip from her lips as if she were indulging in a great tragedy.

"Prince Aemond has been talking about the taxation system the crown exerts over fiefdoms, and I... I scarcely understood him."

She took in his finely tailored Lannister attire—a richly embroidered crimson tunic with gold thread winding around the edges in intricate patterns.

"Of course, I’ve tried reading the monetary treatises you wrote, but..." She gestured with a hand, her fingers curling in mock defeat.

Tyland’s face brightened at the mention of his work.

"I am honored, Lady Swann. But how could you forget to tell me earlier taxation interested you!" He accused, though his smile was genuine and he was seemingly unaware of the pretense in her tone. Of course, she understood how taxation worked! Arianne gave him a polite nod, her shoulders relaxing.

"But it is all so difficult," she continued with a dramatic sigh, casting a glance toward Aemond, who stood silently watching.

"The prince was clearly bored by my lack of knowledge."

Tyland leaned in, eager to lighten the mood.

"Surely no one could be bored conversing with you, Lady Swann."

He shook his head as if such a thing was preposterous.

"A lady of your wit and beauty would charm a Night King."

Arianne let out a soft laugh, eyes sparkling.

"You flatter me, Ser. I was hoping you had a moment to spare and simplify it for me," she said, a bit more brightly now that Tyland’s presence had dissolved some of the tension.

"I would prefer to have knowledge of such matters. You do mention how several members of a noble house ought to peruse the numbers lest some opportunities slip through the cracks. How fortunate I could be if I learned about gold form a Lannister."

Tyland’s grin widened, clearly pleased. An older lady whose name Arianne did not know nodded eagerly. She wore red and gold as well.

"Ah... of course. Mayhaps you’d offer me a rematch sometime then."

He took a half-step forward, his voice growing more playful.

"I do pride myself on my prowess in cyvasse, yet your maneuver with using an elephant as a sacrificial piece..." He was about to continue, but then, his eyes flickered past her, catching Aemond’s glare.

The prince stood ramrod straight, his icy stare fixed firmly on Master of Ships.

Tyland hesitated, suddenly aware that he had interrupted something.

The easy, confident smile slipped from his face.

"Your Grace," He murmured, his tone shifting to one of polite caution. His eyes quickly regarded Aemond, who had barely moved, save for flexing his fingers in a way that suggested restraint.

The air grew thick and Arianne cleared her throat.

She could practically feel Aemond's fervent glare bore into the back of her head. 'What was he glowering about?'

His distaste for her had been clearer than a mountain lake, so he should be happy she was leaving.

He should be overwhelmed by joy that she could not, in fact, kill him!

Or did the One-eyed Prince think she ought to suffer under his wicked thumb for hours?

Well, regardless of evil boor's opinion, she was going to extricate herself from his unsettling torment.

“Your Grace,” she began, turning to Aemond and trying not to tremble under the hateful attention of his sole eye.

“We would never dream of delaying you from your princely duties. Surely, your loyal subjects are constantly entangled in their own... misunderstandings with books. Perhaps it is your responsibility to rush and report every last one, my Prince of the Realm.”

Tyland shifted on his feet, not really wanting to find out how Vhagar's rider would react to Lady Swann's words—they were nothing more than a very elegant dismissal.

Someone cleared their throat.

The harsh lines of Aemond's face took on a mien of cold indifference.

His blue iris glinted like ice under sunlight.

He clasped his hands behind his back and blinked, before speaking,

"I assure you that every thief will be brought to justice, my lady Swann." His tone could put the deadliest lyseni poisons to shame.

"I suggest caution though, Ser Tyland. Her ladyship trips over her own feet, and often so."

Just as Arianne thought she was safe, his melodious voice made her ears red again.

Her bottom lip quivered from another bout of shame, but Tyland would have none of it it seemed.

Master of Ships stepped forward and proffered his elbow to her.

“Lady Swann,” he declared, his voice as sweet as linctus. “if it pleases you, may I offer my arm? I would be most honored to escort you. And I will explain everything you wish to know about the system of taxation detailed in my treatise."

A fleeting thought of how Rhaena might be the smartest person she knew — because everything she had said was working — invaded Arianne's mind as she smiled.

"Ser Tyland. I would be delighted.”

'I'd be delighted to sail to Skagos to avoid this particular Targaryen.'

Tyland inclined his head, his own smile growing as he turned toward the waiting courtiers.

“Your Grace,” he added with a respectful nod to Aemond, before leading Lady Swann into the courtyard.

Arianne felt the tension in her spine finally diminishing.

She allowed herself a soft exhale, the corners of her lips lifting in genuine relief.

Aemond’s presence had been oppressive, his words mean and uncourteous.

He seized her wrist like some savage.

Now, in the company of Tyland and the courtiers, she felt like she had slipped free from the coiling grip of a dragon's tail.

Would Princess Rhaenyra write to her father?

Arianne didn't glance back, though her mind was still working through fantasies of exacting revenge on the One-eyed twat for taking the Fires of the Freehold from her, all the while crafting small pleasantries to distract herself from the encounter.

When Jace becomes King, and she his Queen, she will have Aemond Targaryen exiled to Yi Ti!

To Sothoryos!

To Grey Waste!

To ruins of Valyria if need be!

31 notes · View notes

echo-riot · 16 hours ago

Text

✞⛧Fading Love (Abby x Reader)✞⛧

Warnings: graphic violence, emotional distress, angst, infection (zombie-related), grief, sad ending

An: Another one from the drafts ✌️😎

The air is thick with dust and the heavy scent of decay. You can feel it in your bones, that oppressive weight that only the world after everything has crumbled can bring. Every scavenger’s mission is filled with the possibility of danger, but you and Abby have become efficient at navigating the wasteland, like two hunters in sync. That’s why this feels different. You didn’t expect to feel so… vulnerable.

The two of you have been out all day, the sun now dipping low, casting long shadows through the overgrown streets. You hadn’t thought it would be a problem, at first, when you spotted that small building—just another old store, its windows long shattered, half-buried under vines and debris. But now, standing with Abby by your side, you wish you had listened to the gnawing sense of unease.

You’ve been in worse places, done worse things, survived worse situations. But as you step into the dark interior of the building, your foot catches on something hidden beneath the layers of rotting wood and scrap metal. You curse, but before you can steady yourself, the creature comes out of nowhere. A click of claws against concrete, followed by the guttural hiss of an infected, and then—pain.

The sting hits your leg first, a hot burst of fire shooting up your calf as the infected’s teeth sink into your flesh. You scream in shock, stumbling backward, but Abby is there—always there—pulling you away, her strong arms gripping your shoulders. She swings her crowbar with precision, the infected’s skull cracking open in an instant. But by then, it’s already too late.

“Shit,” Abby mutters, her voice strained with that raw edge you know so well. She’s already kneeling beside you, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. “You okay?”

The world feels slow, like you’re watching from somewhere far off. Your breath is coming in shallow gasps, but you know what’s happened even before you look down at your leg. The deep puncture marks are already swelling with a sickening tinge of purple, blood welling around the wound. Your fingers tremble as you touch it, knowing full well that the infection is already starting to spread.

“Abby…” you whisper, your voice barely a breath.

Her eyes are wide, and you can see the panic clawing its way up from the pit of her stomach, but she’s fighting it. She’s always so strong, so composed in the face of danger, and yet right now, you can see how utterly helpless she feels.

“Don’t worry,” she says, though it doesn’t sound convincing. Her fingers graze your cheek, and you can feel the tremble in her touch. “I’ll get you back to camp. We’ll figure it out. I’ll fix this.”

But you know. You’ve known from the moment that bite sank into your leg that there’s no coming back from this. The infection spreads too quickly. There’s no cure. No matter how hard Abby tries to save you, the end has already been written.

You force a small, weak smile, but it’s hollow. “It’s okay, Abby.” The words are barely above a whisper, but she hears them, her brow furrowing, a fresh wave of panic clouding her gaze.

“No,” she breathes, her voice tight, almost pleading. “Don’t say that. I can get help. We’ll find a way.”

You want to tell her that there’s no point, but you can’t bring yourself to crush whatever hope she’s clinging to. So instead, you look up at her, your vision starting to blur at the edges. You can see her trying to steady herself, her jaw clenched as she pulls you into her arms. You know what she’s thinking: she’s already planning a dozen ways to save you, even though she knows there’s no saving you from this. The thought of losing you is enough to make her break, to make her desperate.

But there’s a finality to this moment, something that both of you have been trying to deny for months now. That unspoken thing that’s always hovered between you, ever since you first met. The way you felt when her eyes softened just a little too much when you laughed, when you caught her lingering glances. You’d never said it out loud, but you’ve been waiting for it, just like she has. Waiting for the right moment to bridge the gap between you.

You don’t have time for that anymore.

“Abby…” you murmur, your hand weakly reaching for hers, your fingers trembling. She looks down at you, her face drawn tight with worry, but there’s something else too—a quiet sorrow, as if she already knows what you’re going to say.

You reach up, your other hand pulling her closer, your lips brushing against her cheek. You can feel the warmth of her skin against yours, the familiar strength of her body. She’s everything you’ve ever wanted, everything you’ve ever needed, and you’re not sure why you waited so long to let her know.

“I love you,” you breathe, the words tasting like bittersweet honey. They come out so easily, and yet you’ve been holding them in for so long, waiting for a moment that never came.

Abby’s breath catches in her throat. “Don’t,” she whispers, her voice trembling with raw emotion. “Don’t say that. Don’t leave me. Please.”

But you know it’s too late. You can feel the infection crawling up your veins, darkening your skin, numbing you from the inside out. Your heartbeat is slowing, and there’s nothing either of you can do to stop it. The world around you seems to be closing in, but in the distance, you hear her voice, soft and filled with a desperation that makes your chest tighten.

“I’ve wanted this too,” you say softly, your eyes locking with hers, and for the first time in months, you can see the same truth reflected in her gaze. The pain of knowing that it’s too late for anything more, but the desire to feel the closeness before the end.

Abby hesitates, just for a moment, her eyes searching yours, but she knows. She knows what this is. And as she lowers her lips to yours, the kiss is soft at first, tentative and unsure, as if neither of you wants to let go of the moment, even though it’s fleeting.

But the kiss deepens, and everything you’ve been holding inside spills out. The love, the longing, the ache of knowing it’s not enough, that this moment will be your last.

When you pull back, her eyes are shining with unshed tears, her face a mask of anguish, but you can see the understanding between you. The kiss was everything it needed to be: a farewell, a final act of love in a world where so little of it remains.

The world around you fades, the edges of your vision blurring, darkening. Your body grows heavier, the cold creeping up your spine. You know what’s coming, and as much as you want to cling to the fading warmth of Abby’s touch, you feel the sickness crawl deeper inside you. Your heart is slowing, the infection taking its toll on you. You can feel the numbness spreading, and you know, with every heartbeat, that there’s no coming back from this.

You hear Abby’s voice again, shaking with desperation, but it’s too far now. “Please, don’t leave me. I love you…” Her hands are still cupping your face, her fingers trembling as if she can hold on just a little longer, but you know the truth. There’s nothing left to hold onto.

“I love you,” you repeat, barely able to force the words out. It hurts, every breath feels like a weight, but you need her to know. You need her to hear it because you’re not sure she’ll ever hear it again. “Please… just remember that. You’re… everything to me.”

The world continues to darken, and you feel her lean closer, her lips brushing your forehead. She’s crying now, her tears falling on your face, and it’s like her heart is shattering with every drop. But you know it’s inevitable. You know she’s doing what needs to be done, even though it’s killing her inside.

“I’m so sorry,” Abby whispers, her voice breaking between each word. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I can’t— I can’t let you turn. I can’t lose you like this.”

Your eyes flicker open one last time to meet hers, her face a blur of emotion, her features twisted with grief, but you see the love in her gaze. It’s the same love you’ve felt all along, but now there’s nothing you can do to change the outcome. You’ve run out of time.

“Please,” she says again, her voice trembling. “I love you. I’m sorry.”

You don’t have the strength to answer. All you can do is squeeze her hand weakly, trying to tell her it’s okay, that you don’t blame her. But you don’t think she’s listening anymore. She’s shaking her head, her face twisted in anguish as she pulls away from you, her breath ragged, raw with pain.

The sound of her sobs fills the silence, and then you hear the distinct, sharp click of a gun being cocked.

Your heart stops, but you know what’s coming. You know what she has to do. You want to tell her it’s okay, but the words die on your tongue. She’s already made the decision for both of you.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers again, almost too soft to hear. Then, there’s the deafening crack of the gunshot, and everything goes still.

It feels like your world ends in a single, violent second. There’s no pain, no more fear, just… nothing.

Abby’s voice, barely a broken breath, drifts through the empty space that’s left. “I’m so sorry. I love you. I couldn’t… I couldn’t let you go like that. I’m sorry…”

#abby x you #abby imagines #abby headcanons #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson x reader #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x reader #angst #the last of us x you #the last of us x reader #the last of us

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ghouljams · 1 hour ago

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im so so so obsessed with your Hephaestus!Nikto au. i’ve re-read passages several times.

i cant help but imagine reader finding ways to get reactions out of nikto since their most recent interaction. negative attention is still attention, and it kinda seems like nikto enjoys rewarding his wife’s more unruly actions.

i keep sitting and wondering what his thoughts were when she admitted he was the reason she started acting so petty. did he find it funny? irritating? frightening? maybe he sees it as his actions further corrupting her? or maybe hes starting to understand she loves him?

You were so beautiful, your skin glistening with the warm water of the bath, the candles flickering their flames in the reflection of your eyes. But you hid from him. Perhaps both of you were nervous to have the other see you.

Visions of you are a small price to pay for the ecstasy of touching you.

Gods you're soft. Just as good in his hands as he'd imagined, he can't help squeezing your breasts just a little too tight to hear the noises you hold back. Unruly, untrained, and yet you arch into his touch like you could pull more from such a simple motion.

You're in no position to make demands, not when he has every reason to punish you for what you've done.

Discipline is called for, no it's necessary. People will die because of the choices you've made. War is being waged over a woman that you bargained for, what? An apple? If you'd wanted one so badly Nikto would have made one for you, you only needed to ask. What is he supposed to do with you if you can't even ask him for the things you know he can do? An apple is nothing, so why-?

"Because you made it."

That gives him pause, his heart squeezing so tightly in his chest that he's sure it must stop. Because of him?

Was it the quality of the work that you didn't want anyone to see? or had he spoiled you to the point you couldn't share with anyone else even when the toys didn't belong to you?

What else could he make that you'd protect so fiercely?

He smooths his hand over your stomach and resists the urge to sink his teeth into your neck. If he can keep them from your thighs he can keep them from your pulse. You tense, and though that should make him stop, make him reconsider his indulgence, it does nothing to stop his fingers from stroking just at the line of your cunt.

You should push him away, should scream and cry and beg for him to stop. Surely that's why you grip the edge of the pool so tightly, why you bite your lip and whimper against the neat cemetery row of teeth. Or maybe you don't know the extent of his desire, the consumption and corruption that hides like tar behind his teeth.

"We could eat you alive," He warns you, and you tip your head to allow him the room to do so.

Perhaps those nights where tendrils of want coaxed him to press his lips to your thighs, when he was torn from the forge with an ache that gripped his cock like a vice and forced to hold onto himself like a dog ripping at its leash, it wasn't his corruption that beckoned him with stroking fingers, but yours.

#cod x reader #x reader #cod nikto #call of duty nikto #nikto x reader #mwii nikto #nikto cod #nikto call of duty #hephaestus!nikto #aphrodite!reader #f!reader #girl watch out he wants to breed you

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yolobloggers · 3 days ago

Text

Forever After Goodbye (II)

~Summary: The reader has taken some off to mend her heart and move on. What she didn’t plan was falling in love and finding her happily ever after with the powerful original, Elijah Mikaelson.

~A/N: Dear Readers,

Wow, long time. Thank you for patiently waiting for the second part of the The Last Goodbye. As promised, I opted for two alternative endings; one where the reader ends up with Klaus and other other where the reader ends up with Elijah. Elena is not the main lead, I do not have anything against her, its just for the plot. Your feedback is always welcome! Happy Reading xx

~You can refresh on the story here:

The Last Goodbye

Forever After Goodbye (I) - Klaus Mikaelson

~Characters and Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader, Damon Salvatore x Reader(Platonic), The Mystic Gang and The Mikaelsons

~Warning: Swearing.

~Third Person POV:

“FUCK!” Y/N exclaimed, her forehead meeting the steering wheel with a dull thud. Her mind felt like it had split in two—one half applauded her for finally choosing herself, for walking away from the chaos that had consumed her life. The other half screamed at her to call everyone back, to reassure them, to slip back into the role of the ever-dependable, ever-sacrificing Ms. Goody Good.

She leaned back in her seat, staring at the dashboard, and exhaled sharply. Why am I like this? she wondered. Was this an ingrained habit or the psychological fallout of years spent bearing everyone else’s burdens? Shaking off the thought, she forced herself upright and took a long, steadying breath.

The vibrant energy of New Orleans surrounded her—the French Quarter buzzed with life, its colorful streets alive with the soulful wail of jazz, the clinking of glasses, and the allure of trinkets sold at eclectic shops. A faint smile tugged at her lips. For a moment, she allowed herself to lean into the part of her subconscious that patted her on the back. She’d done it. She’d taken a step toward herself.

But the path forward wasn’t easy. She had years of grief to unravel, years of pushing down her pain. Since her parents’ untimely death, Y/N had been in survival mode. She had attended their funeral while shouldering her brother Jeremy’s grief, navigated the endless drama the Salvatores brought into her life, and even let herself fall for one of them—a choice she now regretted deeply. She’d lost so many people along the way, but worst of all, she’d lost herself.

Yet, before she could truly embrace this second chance, there were two things she needed to do: call Jeremy and find Elijah.

Digging through her tote bag, she found her phone, which she had turned off the moment she fled Mystic Falls. With a sigh, she powered it back on, bracing herself for the barrage of missed calls and texts. The notifications flooded in, her screen lighting up with names that once brought her comfort but now only stirred frustration.

Her thumb hovered over Damon’s name as she read his text.

Damon:Y/N, come back home. Everyone is freaking out… Elena is all over the place. She’s very upset. We’ll figure something out. Come home.

A scoff escaped her lips. “Fuck you, D,” she muttered under her breath before hitting speed dial for Jeremy. The phone rang only a couple of times before his worried voice came through.

“Y/N!” Jeremy exclaimed, the relief and panic clear in his tone. “Where the hell have you been? Are you okay? Are you hurt? What’s going on?!”

“Hey, J-bear,” she said softly, her voice calm despite her racing heart.

“What the fuck, Y/N/N? I’ve been losing my mind! Where are you? Are you safe?” he ranted.

“J... J, stop,” she interrupted gently but firmly. “Let me talk. Please.”

She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “Are you alone?”

“No,” he replied hesitantly. “Bonnie, Caroline, and Stefan are here.”

Of course, she thought, biting back a groan. “Fine,” she said, resigning herself to the lack of privacy. “I’ll just get it over with. Look, I’m fine. I needed to leave Mystic Falls, J. I know the timing isn’t ideal, but I had to do this. I need space—from everyone and everything.”

“Everyone?” Jeremy’s voice held a note of hurt.

“Not you, J,” Y/N said quickly, her tone softening. “I love you, and I need you to understand. Please, respect my decision.”

There was a pause on the other end, and Y/N could picture Jeremy processing her words, torn between his protective instincts and his love for her. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter. “I love you too, sis. Just... take care of yourself, okay? And keep me updated. I can’t lose you.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she whispered, “Thank you, J. Take care of yourself too.”

She could hear the commotion in the background—the gasps and hurried whispers of the Mystic gang—but she didn’t care. For once, their opinions didn’t matter.

She ended the call, leaned back in her seat, and glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. She looked like a mess. Her lavender silk dress—picked out by the bride—was wrinkled, her makeup was smudged, and her hair was dishevelled.

“Jeez,” she muttered, grabbing a makeup wipe from her bag. “I’m not going on an Elijah hunt looking like this.”

Once she had tidied herself up, she stepped out of the car and surveyed her surroundings. The memory of her last meeting with Elijah played in her mind—the feel of his arms around her waist, his warm hand brushing her cheek as he whispered promises of loyalty and love. It had been her lifeline then, and it was her guiding star now.

She adjusted her handbag on her shoulder, took a deep breath, and started walking through the French Quarter. The lively streets were packed with people, but Y/N’s focus remained on the task at hand. She passed by charming cafés and quaint shops, mentally noting which ones she’d revisit when she had more time.

Eventually, she found herself at Rousseau’s, a cosy bar that seemed to hum with history. Sliding onto a stool, she caught the bartender’s eye.

“Whiskey on the rocks, please,” she said, flashing a polite smile.

As she waited for her drink, she glanced around the bar, scanning the faces of patrons. Part of her wanted to call Elijah—just a quick call, and he’d be there—but something held her back. She needed a sign, an organic moment to confirm that she was doing the right thing.

The city buzzed around her, full of possibilities. Y/N wasn’t sure what the future held, but for the first time in a long time, she felt like she was moving toward something good—toward someone who had always been her safe haven.

When the bartender set her drink down, she took a sip and let the burn calm her nerves. As her fingers toyed with the trinkets she had bought earlier, she whispered softly to herself, “Where are you, Elijah?”

She knew better than to mention the name “Mikaelson” here. She could tell that there were other supernatural beings here. Gulping her drink, she picked over on her search for the man in the suit.

“Y/N...” The voice reached her through the din of the crowded bar, cutting through the noise like a melody she could never forget. She turned on her barstool, her heart thundering as her eyes met Elijah’s.

Without thinking, she leaped into his arms, tears spilling down her cheeks. She buried her face against his shoulder, clinging to him as though he were her lifeline. “Y/N, are you all right? Why are you crying?” Elijah’s voice was laced with concern as one arm wrapped securely around her waist while the other cradled her head gently.

“I missed you,” she whispered, her words muffled against him.

Elijah pulled back slightly, his hands coming to rest on her cheeks as he examined her face with a mixture of worry and tenderness. His touch was featherlight, but his gaze held depth—confusion, concern, and something Y/N dared to hope was love.

“My dear,” he murmured, his lips curving into a soft smile. “I missed you too.”

His heart ached at the pain he could see in her, a hurt that seemed to radiate from the depths of her soul. He wanted nothing more than to take it all away. But the hushed whispers and curious stares from the bar’s patrons reminded him that this wasn’t the time or place.

“Let’s go somewhere quieter,” he suggested gently, his hand brushing against hers.

“Okay,” Y/N agreed, grabbing her bag and linking her arm with his.

Elijah opted to walk instead of whisking her to the compound. He could sense her fragility, the delicate state of her emotions. This wasn’t a moment to rush; it was a chance—a rare one—to offer her the safety and space she needed.

As they walked, Y/N began to vent. She spoke about Damon, the wedding she’d run out on, and the weight of disappointment that had been suffocating her. Elijah listened attentively, occasionally offering a quiet word of acknowledgment. His presence was steady, calming, as though grounding her chaotic thoughts.

Eventually, they arrived at a grand, timeless structure. Y/N paused, taking in the elegant details of the house, a masterpiece of New Orleans’ golden era.

“Welcome to the Compound,” Elijah said, his voice warm.

“Lijah, this place is... magnificent,” she breathed, her eyes wide with awe.

She turned to him with a shy smile. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he replied, sincerity evident in his tone.

“Does your offer still stand? Do you still have a place for me here? I’d understand if—”

Elijah’s hands came to rest on her arms, halting her words. “Darling, I’m so sorry...” he began, his voice heavy with guilt.

Y/N’s face fell, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Oh,” she muttered, her voice breaking.

“Please, let me explain,” Elijah said quickly, his grip on her firm yet comforting. “I’m apologising for the pain my family and I have caused you. We were careless, blind to the cost of our actions. But know this—you will always have a place here. I made a promise to you, and it’s one I intend to keep.”

Tears streamed down her face as his words sank in. Overwhelmed by the warmth and belonging he offered so freely, she wrapped her arms around his torso and let herself break down.

Elijah held her tightly, whispering soft reassurances as he carried her to his room. She cried against him for what felt like hours, her emotions finally spilling over. Through it all, Elijah remained patient, a steady anchor in the storm of her grief.

When she finally pulled away, her eyes red and puffy, she looked up at him. “I’m sorry, Lijah. I stained your shirt... And thank you. You don’t owe me an apology. Klaus, maybe, but you? You’ve always looked out for me. Thank you for being here and for letting me stay.”

Elijah cupped her cheek, his touch impossibly gentle. “You never need to apologise, Y/N. You are safe here, always.”

In the following days, Y/N allowed herself to feel, to sit with her thoughts instead of running from them. Elijah, ever mindful of her healing, moved her to his loft outside the city—a tranquil space where she could rebuild her strength.

Some days, she found herself mesmerised by the beauty of the world during their quiet walks. On others, she struggled even to get out of bed, overwhelmed by the weight of her emotions. Elijah never pushed her. On those difficult days, he simply sat beside her, offering his quiet presence.

Healing wasn’t linear, and Elijah understood that. The loft became her sanctuary—a peaceful retreat where she could rediscover herself, bit by bit.

One evening, as Y/N sat on the balcony with a journal in her hands, Elijah approached with a cup of tea. “I thought you might like this,” he said, placing it beside her.

She looked up, a soft smile playing on her lips. “You always seem to know what I need before I do.”

Elijah’s gaze softened as he took the seat next to her. “Sometimes, it’s the smallest comforts that make the biggest difference.”

Her fingers brushed his lightly as she took the tea, her cheeks warming. “Thank you, Elijah. For always being here.”

Over time, her feelings for him deepened, though she hesitated to act on them. She wanted to ensure what she felt was real—not a rebound. Elijah, ever patient, gave her all the time and space she needed.

One morning, Y/N woke to the smell of fresh coffee. She found Elijah in the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up as he prepared breakfast.

“You don’t have to do all this for me,” she said, leaning against the doorway.

Elijah turned to her with a playful smirk. “And yet, I enjoy it.”

Her heart fluttered. “Why, Elijah? Why go out of your way for someone like me?”

He set the coffee pot down and approached her, his gaze unwavering. “Because, Y/N, you’re not just ‘someone.’ You’re everything I’ve longed for—a reminder that there’s still light in this world.”

At that moment, Y/N knew. She was undeniably, irrevocably in love with Elijah Mikaelson.

“When can I meet your siblings?” Y/N asked casually as they ate breakfast. “Whenever you’d like, darling. Though may I ask why?” Elijah’s voice was calm, but his curiosity was evident. Y/N shrugged, her tone light. “Because I think I’m ready.” When Elijah didn’t respond immediately, she glanced up from her plate to find him watching her intently, questions swirling in his eyes. “Ready?” he asked, his voice low, as though he was afraid to disturb the moment. Y/N carefully pushed both their plates aside, reaching out to take his hands in hers. “A while back, you and I were dancing in a room full of people, yet I could tell the only person you saw in that room was me. In some ways, I’ve been naive… maybe even disrespectful, Elijah. I knew what you felt for me was more than friendship or pity, but I chose to dwell on my feelings for Damon instead.” She paused, her gaze earnest. “You’ve been nothing but a gentleman to me. You gave me a place to stay, a safe space to heal. That night at the ball, you asked me to let you into my world. Today, I’m asking if I can be part of yours. Your family is your world, Elijah, and I want to be part of it. To stand by you, to care for you, and to love you.” For a moment, silence filled the space between them, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Elijah’s fingers tightened slightly around hers, his usually composed expression softening.

“My dearest Y/N,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, “do you have any idea what those words mean to me?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but he gently pressed a finger to her lips, stopping her.

“Please, let me speak,” he continued, his dark eyes searching hers. “From the moment I met you, I have been captivated by your strength, your compassion, and your light. Even when you did not see yourself clearly, I saw you. I saw all of you, and I have waited for the day when you might see me too—not as a noble, not as a Mikaelson, but as a man who loves you beyond reason.” His voice broke slightly at the end, and Y/N felt tears prick her eyes. “I have lived a thousand lifetimes, Y/N,” Elijah said, his thumb brushing over her knuckles, “but none have held meaning until now. To hear you ask to be a part of my world… I cannot tell you how much it humbles me. Yes, my family is my world, but so are you. And there is nothing I desire more than for you to stand by me, to care for me, and to love me, as I have loved you.”

A tear slipped down Y/N’s cheek, and Elijah reached up to gently brush it away. “You are my sanctuary, Y/N,” he whispered. Before she could reply, he leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. It wasn’t rushed or overwhelming—it was a quiet, unspoken promise, filled with all the emotions he had held back for so long. When he pulled away, Y/N smiled through her tears, her heart full. “So… when do I get to meet your siblings?” Elijah chuckled softly, his composure slipping just enough to reveal his joy. “Perhaps we should wait until after breakfast. I’ll need to prepare them—they have a tendency to be… dramatic.” Y/N laughed, and for the first time in a long while, it felt light and free. “Let them be dramatic,” she said, leaning into him. “I’ll take it all if it means being with you.”

Y/N walked confidently through the grand doors of the Mikaelson compound, her heels clicking against the tiled floor. She had asked for this—demanded it, really. If she was going to be part of Elijah’s life, she had to truly step into his world. That meant confronting not only his complicated siblings but also the pieces of her past tied to them.

Elijah walked beside her, his posture as regal as ever, but there was a faint tension in his jaw. “Are you certain about this, Y/N?” he asked, his deep voice tinged with concern. “You know they can be… unpredictable.”

“I’ve dealt with the Mystic Falls gang for years,” Y/N said, her tone dry. “I think I can handle a few Original vampires.”

Elijah’s lips twitched into a small smile, impressed by her composure. “Just remember, you’re under no obligation to win them over. This is about you and me.”

“Yeah, well,” she said, brushing an imaginary speck off her imaginary blazer, “if I’m going to be with you, I need to deal with them. That’s how families work, Elijah. Even the psychotic ones.”

They stepped into the courtyard, where Rebekah, Kol, and Klaus were already gathered. Rebekah sat elegantly at the edge of the fountain, while Kol leaned against a column, tossing an apple in one hand with a devil-may-care grin. Klaus stood nearby, his usual air of dominance radiating from him as he swirled a glass of bourbon.

“Well, well,” Kol drawled, tossing the apple aside as soon as he saw her. “If it isn’t the fiery Gilbert sister. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Kol,” Y/N said, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. “Still working on perfecting the art of doing absolutely nothing, I see.”

Kol clutched his chest dramatically. “Oh, she wounds me! Elijah, where did you find such a sharp-tongued treasure?”

“Kol,” Elijah said smoothly, stepping between his brother and Y/N, “perhaps you could save your antics for someone who hasn’t already seen through them.”

Rebekah smirked from her spot by the fountain. “Don’t waste your time, Kol. Y/N’s not like the other doe-eyed girls who swoon at the sight of you. She’s far too clever for that.”

Y/N shot Rebekah a quick smile. “Glad someone noticed.”

Klaus, who had been silently observing, finally spoke, his voice low and cutting. “Cleverness didn’t stop you from being at the mercy of this family before, did it, Y/N?”

Y/N turned to him, her posture straight and unyielding. “No, but it didn’t stop me from surviving, either. Which is more than I can say for some of the messes you’ve created.”

Klaus’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, replaced by a glint of something darker in his eyes. “Careful, little Gilbert. You’re in my house now.”

“And I’m here by invitation,” Y/N shot back without missing a beat. “Yours, no. But Elijah’s, which matters a hell of a lot more to me.”

Elijah stepped forward, his presence commanding as he placed a hand gently on Y/N’s back. “Enough, Niklaus,” he said firmly. “She’s not here to rehash old grievances. This is about moving forward.”

Klaus looked at his brother for a long moment before shrugging lazily. “Moving forward, is it? How quaint. Well, far be it from me to ruin your little romance.”

Rebekah rolled her eyes. “God, Nik, must you always make everything so unbearable? Honestly, Y/N, I don’t know how you put up with him.”

Y/N smirked. “I tune him out. It’s a skill I picked up growing up with Damon.”

Kol barked out a laugh. “Oh, I like her, Elijah. Are you sure I can’t steal her away?”

Elijah turned his head slightly, fixing Kol with a look so subtle yet piercing that it made Y/N’s heart flutter. “Kol,” he said, his tone deceptively calm, “don’t push me.”

Kol raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave—for now.”

Rebekah stood and linked arms with Y/N, pulling her away from the tension brewing between the brothers. “Come on, Y/N. Let me give you a proper tour of this place. It’s far more interesting than the constant male posturing.”

As Rebekah led Y/N away, Kol called after them, “Don’t let her bore you with her interior design ideas. They’re dreadful.”

Y/N laughed under her breath, shaking her head. “It’s like dealing with toddlers.”

“You’ve no idea,” Rebekah muttered conspiratorially.

Later, in the Drawing Room

The tension from earlier had eased somewhat. Y/N sat with Rebekah on one of the plush sofas, a glass of wine in hand. Kol was lounging nearby, still full of cheeky comments, while Elijah watched her from across the room, his gaze soft and thoughtful.

Klaus, however, remained distant, his eyes flickering to her now and then with suspicion.

“Tell me, Y/N,” Kol said, breaking the silence. “What’s it like being the Gilbert sister who actually has some sense? Must be exhausting.”

Y/N smirked, swirling her wine. “Exhausting, yes. But at least I’m not the Mikaelson sibling known for being expendable.”

Rebekah nearly choked on her drink, and even Elijah’s lips twitched with amusement.

Kol stared at her, stunned for a moment, before bursting into laughter. “Oh, I think I’m in love.”

Elijah cleared his throat, stepping closer to Y/N. “Kol, I believe it’s time you found another pastime.”

Y/N glanced up at Elijah, catching the faintest glimmer of jealousy in his otherwise calm demeanour. She reached out and lightly brushed her fingers against his hand, a silent reassurance.

“I can handle Kol,” she said softly, her eyes meeting his.

“I have no doubt,” Elijah replied, his voice low and filled with warmth.

From across the room, Klaus watched the interaction with narrowed eyes. Despite his usual bravado, he couldn’t ignore the way Y/N seemed to command respect in a way so few ever did.

For Y/N, it wasn’t about winning over the Mikaelsons. It was about proving, to them and herself, that she belonged—not just in their world, but beside Elijah, where she knew she was meant to be.

It had been a week since Y/N decided to immerse herself in Elijah’s world, and despite her initial reservations, she found herself growing more comfortable within the walls of the Mikaelson compound. Time had softened her edges toward some of the siblings. Rebekah had quickly become a confidante, her blunt honesty and fierce loyalty making it easy for Y/N to trust her. Kol was, as always, the mischievous brother, his flirtatious remarks now more playful than irritating. Freya had been a recent addition to their gatherings, and her warm, composed demeanour was a welcome change amidst the usual chaos.

Klaus, however, remained the elephant in the room. Their interactions were minimal and strained at best, laced with underlying hostility. Y/N’s anger at him lingered—after all, this was the man responsible for so much pain in her family’s life: Aunt Jenna’s death, the torment Elena and Jeremy endured, and countless other manipulations that left scars on her soul. Yet, for Elijah’s sake, she kept her sharp words and biting sarcasm in check when Klaus was around. Barely.

Tonight, the group was gathered in one of the compound’s sitting rooms. A fire crackled in the hearth, its warmth mirrored in the laughter filling the room. Rebekah and Kol were bickering over a board game they’d unearthed, while Freya and Y/N were deep in conversation about New Orleans folklore. Elijah sat close to Y/N, his hand resting lightly on the arm of her chair, their closeness speaking volumes without words.

“Honestly, Kol, your strategy is abysmal,” Rebekah huffed, crossing her arms.

“You’re just upset because I’m winning,” Kol retorted with a grin, earning an eye-roll from his sister.

Freya chuckled and leaned toward Y/N. “This is what I endure every day. Welcome to the madness.”

Y/N smirked. “It’s oddly comforting. Like watching Jeremy and Elena argue over the last slice of pizza back home.”

Elijah’s hand brushed against hers subtly, a quiet gesture that made her heart flutter. His silent support was a balm in the chaos, grounding her amidst the whirlwind that was his family.

Unbeknownst to her, Klaus had been watching from the doorway. His sharp eyes caught the way Elijah’s gaze softened when it landed on Y/N, the way she seemed to bring an ease to his usually stoic brother. It wasn’t lost on Klaus how rare it was to see Elijah this content, and it stirred something unfamiliar within him—something almost resembling guilt.

For days, Klaus had avoided addressing the tension between himself and Y/N, stubbornly pretending it didn’t matter. But seeing her here, effortlessly weaving her way into his siblings’ lives, made him realise that she was no passing fancy for Elijah. She was important. And that mattered.

With a sigh, Klaus stepped into the room, his presence immediately commanding attention.

“Ah, Nik,” Kol drawled, tossing a game piece onto the table. “Come to ruin the fun, as always?”

“Not tonight, brother,” Klaus replied smoothly, his eyes fixed on Y/N.

Y/N stiffened under his gaze, her guard instinctively going up. “What? Did I sit in your chair or something?” she quipped, her sarcasm a shield against his unpredictable nature.

Klaus’s lips twitched in faint amusement before he gestured toward the hallway. “A word, if you don’t mind.”

Y/N exchanged a wary glance with Elijah, who gave her a reassuring nod. Rising from her chair, she followed Klaus out of the room, her arms crossed defensively.

They stopped in a quieter part of the compound, the hum of conversation fading behind them. Klaus turned to face her, his usual swagger replaced with an uncharacteristic seriousness.

“I owe you an apology,” he began, his voice low but steady.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “I’m sorry, what? Did I just step into an alternate universe?”

Klaus exhaled sharply, resisting the urge to retort. “I’ve done unspeakable things to your family. To you. And while I can’t undo the past, I can acknowledge the pain I’ve caused.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, searching his face for any hint of deceit. “Why now? Why bother apologising at all?”

“Because,” Klaus said, his tone softening, “you matter to Elijah. And Elijah matters to me. Despite everything, I don’t wish to be the reason you bring him pain.”

For a moment, Y/N was silent, her emotions warring within her. She had every right to hold onto her anger, but she also knew what it meant for someone like Klaus to admit fault.

“Fine,” she said finally, her voice clipped. “I can’t say I forgive you. Not yet. But I can be civil. For Elijah’s sake.”

Klaus nodded, a flicker of respect in his eyes. “That’s all I ask.”

When they returned to the sitting room, the atmosphere shifted. The tension that had lingered between them seemed lighter, replaced by a tentative truce.

Rebekah arched her brow. “Well, that’s new. Did hell freeze over while you two were gone?”

Kol grinned. “Or did Klaus finally learn how to play nice?”

Elijah’s gaze flicked between Y/N and Klaus, a small smile tugging at his lips as he realized what had happened.

Freya leaned toward Y/N, whispering with a grin, “That’s the closest you’ll get to a heartfelt gesture from Niklaus. Congratulations.”

Y/N chuckled softly, leaning back into her chair. For the first time, she felt like she truly belonged—not just to Elijah, but to the family he cherished so deeply.

And that night, even Klaus couldn’t find it in himself to ruin the peace.

Later that night, Y/N stood on the balcony of Elijah’s room in the compound, overlooking the vibrant city of New Orleans. The French Quarter buzzed with life below, but up here, in the serenity of this room, it felt like a world away.

Her fingers trailed absentmindedly over the cool metal of the balcony railing as she lost herself in thought. The events of the past week had been a whirlwind—meeting Elijah’s siblings, finding her footing among them, and even reaching a tentative truce with Klaus. Yet, amidst it all, there was one constant: Elijah.

“Penny for your thoughts, my love?” Elijah’s deep, velvety voice broke through her reverie.

She turned to see him stepping out onto the balcony, his suit jacket abandoned, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up. The sight of him, always so composed yet so effortlessly alluring, made her heart race.

“You’d need a fortune to get through all of them,” she teased, a soft smile gracing her lips.

Elijah stepped closer, his hands resting gently on the railing on either side of her. He leaned in slightly, his presence wrapping around her like a protective cocoon. “Then perhaps I’ll settle for the one that makes you smile like that,” he said, his gaze searching hers.

Y/N laughed softly, leaning into him. “Just thinking about how far we’ve come. How I went from avoiding you at every chance to... this.” She gestured to the space between them, the connection that was now undeniable.

Elijah’s eyes softened, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair away from her face. “And does ‘this’ bring you peace, Y/N? Happiness?”

Her breath hitched at the tenderness in his tone, the way his touch sent shivers down her spine. “More than I ever thought possible,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Elijah’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. “You mean so much to me.”

He cupped her cheek gently, his thumb brushing against her skin. Y/N leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When she opened them, she found him watching her with a reverence that made her heart ache in the best way.

“You’ve brought light to a life shrouded in centuries of darkness,” he continued, his voice filled with emotion. “You’ve reminded me what it means to hope, to feel, to love. And for that, I am eternally grateful.”

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she held them back, letting a soft laugh escape instead. “How do you always know the exact thing to say to make me melt, Mr. Mikaelson?”

“Perhaps because you inspire every word,” he replied smoothly, his lips now only a breath away from hers.

Unable to resist any longer, Y/N closed the distance between them, her lips capturing his in a kiss that was both tender and fervent. Elijah responded instantly, his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her flush against him. The world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them, lost in each other.

When they finally parted, both were breathless, their foreheads resting together.

“I love you,” Y/N confessed, the words tumbling out before she could second-guess them.

Elijah’s eyes lit up, his expression one of pure joy. “And I, you. More than words can ever convey.”

They stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms as the stars began to dot the night sky. In that moment, nothing else mattered—not the dangers of their world, not the complications of their pasts. All that existed was the love they shared, a love that felt timeless and unbreakable.

“You know,” Y/N murmured against his chest, “we’re going to have to deal with your siblings’ endless teasing now.”

Elijah chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Let them tease. As long as I have you by my side, I can endure anything.”

And with that, they stayed on the balcony, basking in the quiet intimacy of the moment, two souls finally finding their home in each other.

The sun was starting to set, painting the sky in hues of gold and pink as Elijah and Y/N walked hand in hand through the lavender field, surrounded by the fragrant flowers that had once been a playground for Elijah and his siblings when they were children. The field was a rare moment of peace for them both, far from the chaos of their supernatural lives.

Y/N gazed at the endless rows of purple, a soft smile on her face. "You know," she said, glancing at Elijah, "this place is beautiful. It's almost as if it holds the memories of your past... and all the times you've been forced to leave them behind."

Elijah squeezed her hand gently, his gaze softening. "It's more than just a place for me. It’s a reminder of simpler times, before our lives were filled with endless complications and heartache. But it’s better now, isn’t it? With you by my side."

Y/N smiled, her heart fluttering at his words. She turned toward him, standing on tiptoe as she kissed his lips, slow and tender. They were both completely in their own world, the lavender scent mingling with the warmth between them.

When they pulled apart, Elijah looked into her eyes, searching, as though seeing her in a new light. "I don't think I've ever been as certain of anything in my life as I am of you."

Y/N chuckled, her thumb brushing over the back of his hand. "That’s a little dramatic, even for you, Elijah Mikaelson," she teased.

Elijah smirked, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "You think so? Because you make me want to be dramatic. You're worth it."

She laughed, her heart full. It was moments like this—just the two of them—that made her forget the tumultuous past and the storm that was always lingering. Elijah pulled her closer, resting his forehead against hers.

"Promise me you’ll always be with me," Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible.

"I already am," he replied softly, wrapping his arms around her. "And I will be for as long as you’ll have me."

Before they could get lost in each other further, Elijah’s phone rang, interrupting the moment. He glanced at it, his expression turning serious as he looked at the caller ID. Klaus. He dealt with the call.

"We’ve been summoned to the Salvatore Boarding House. We need to head there. It seems that the Mystic Gang, as you refer to them, have landed themselves in a mess again."

Y/N sighed, her fingers still intertwined with his as she pulled away reluctantly. "Can’t we have just a few more minutes?" she asked, half-joking.

Elijah smiled, though the weight of their responsibilities always lingered. "As much as I would prefer to stay here, I’m afraid we have no choice."

The evening sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the Salvatore Boarding House, casting warm, golden hues over the tension-filled room. The Mystic Gang—Damon and Stefan Salvatore, Bonnie Bennett, Caroline Forbes, and Elena Gilbert—sat scattered across the living room. Their expressions ranged from apprehension to outright frustration as they awaited the arrival of the Mikaelsons.

“They’re late,” Damon muttered, swirling the bourbon in his glass. “Typical.”

“Maybe don’t insult them when they get here,” Bonnie warned. “We need their help, remember?”

Elena sat on the edge of the couch, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. She hadn’t seen Y/N in months. The memory of their strained last encounter weighed on her, but she was determined to fix things—if Y/N would let her.

Suddenly, the heavy wooden doors swung open, and in stepped Elijah Mikaelson, effortlessly poised in his tailored suit. At his side, hand entwined with his, was Y/N.

The room fell silent.

Y/N looked radiant, her smile soft but confident as she stepped into the space like she belonged there. Her gaze swept over the familiar faces, lingering momentarily on Elena before she looked away. The Mystic Gang, meanwhile, wore expressions ranging from stunned to incredulous.

“Y/N?” Caroline finally broke the silence, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“Surprise,” Y/N said dryly, raising an eyebrow. She gave a small wave, the corners of her lips twitching upward.

Jeremy stood there, eyes lighting up when he saw Y/N.

"Y/N!" Jeremy exclaimed, rushing forward and enveloping her in a bear hug. "I can't believe you're here! It's been way too long."

Y/N laughed softly, hugging him back. "I know, I know. It's been... a lot. But I’m here now."

The warmth and familiarity of her brother’s embrace made her feel grounded, even amidst the chaos. They pulled apart, and Y/N looked him over. "How have you been? Really?"

Jeremy gave her a small, sincere smile. "I've been good. Missed you, though. Things have been... complicated, you know? But it’s good to see you again."

Elijah watched the exchange with a quiet smile, though his hand found Y/N's, grounding her with a touch that said everything without words.

When Y/N turned to the others in the room, her gaze landed on Elena, who had been standing quietly off to the side, watching the reunion with a mix of uncertainty and hope. Slowly, Y/N approached her, eyes softening as she did.

"Hey, Elena," Y/N said, voice steady but warm. "How are you?"

Elena hesitated, her gaze flickering between Y/N and Elijah before she finally stepped forward. "I’m... I’m okay. Really. I just—I’ve been trying to reach you. I wanted to apologise for everything that happened, Y/N. I should’ve understood sooner... but I was too caught up in my own pain to see yours."

Y/N’s heart softened, but there was still a guardedness in her voice. "It’s not just about you, Elena. I know you’re sorry. But you still haven’t really understood why I had to leave, have you?"

Elena looked down, visibly pained. "I get it now, I do. It was never about me. It was about you needing space, needing to find yourself again. I wasn’t there when you needed me most."

Y/N took a deep breath, her voice firm but not unkind. "I know you’re trying, but it’s going to take time. I’ll speak to you when I’m ready, okay? It’s just... it’s hard. For both of us."

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Damon blurted out, his gaze bouncing between Y/N and Elijah. “You’re with him?”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, her sarcasm cutting through the room like a blade. “Hello to you too, Damon. Always such a charmer.”

Elijah placed a reassuring hand on the small of her back, his calm demeanour unshaken. “It’s lovely to see you all again,” he said, his voice smooth and composed. “I trust this reunion will be...productive.”

“Reunion?” Stefan echoed, his brow furrowed. “Wait, how long has this been going on?” He gestured between Elijah and Y/N.

“Long enough,” Y/N replied, her tone sharp yet unapologetic. She glanced up at Elijah, her expression softening instantly. “And if you’re wondering, yes, we’re very happy.”

Bonnie’s eyes darted to the engagement ring glittering on Y/N’s hand. “Is that…?”

“Yes,” Y/N said, holding up her hand briefly, smiling. Jeremy hugged Y/N again congratulating her.

Klaus entered the room then, with Kol and Rebekah trailing behind him. “Ah, the gang’s all here,” Klaus drawled, his smirk firmly in place. “I see you’ve all met my future sister-in-law. Delightful, isn’t she?”

Y/N shot him a mock glare. “Don’t start, Klaus.”

“Who, me?” Klaus said innocently, earning a snicker from Kol and an exasperated sigh from Rebekah.

Damon looked at Klaus, his irritation bubbling over. “How does she put up with you? Or any of you?”

“Patience,” Y/N said with a smirk, settling into a chair with Elijah gracefully taking the seat beside her. “You’d be amazed what it can achieve.”

Klaus chuckled. “And yet you somehow tolerate this lot,” he gestured to the Mystic Gang, “despite their...endearing flaws.”

Bonnie shot Klaus a warning look, cutting in before the conversation could devolve further. “Alright, enough. We need to talk about the threat we called you here for.”

As the discussion shifted to the supernatural danger facing Mystic Falls, Y/N listened intently, her hand still resting in Elijah’s. Occasionally, their gazes would meet, and the shared warmth between them was impossible to ignore—even to those who didn’t want to see it.

Elena’s eyes lingered on her sister throughout the meeting, noting the quiet strength and happiness radiating from her. It was a version of Y/N she hadn’t seen in years, and it left her both awed and uneasy.

By the time the meeting ended, it was clear that Y/N’s allegiance—and her heart—firmly belonged to the Mikaelsons. And while the Mystic Gang grappled with their shifting dynamics, Y/N couldn’t have cared less.

As she and Elijah left the Salvatore Boarding House that evening, his hand rested lightly at the small of her back, their love palpable in every touch, every glance. For Y/N, it wasn’t just about finding a new family—it was about building a future with the man who had shown her a love she never thought she deserved.

(Gifs credits goes to the rightful owners)

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