divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto
word count: 7.6k
synopsis: Paul Lahote was born to hate vampires. Unfortunately for him, the universe had other plans.
a/n: I have finally wrote something after over a month! A little different from my usual fandoms but I've been feeling nostalgic lately.
You always found the steady drizzle of the Pacific Northwest to be comforting. But after three centuries of wandering the earth as a nomad, a quiet exhaustion had settled deep into your cold bones. Lately, life had become entirely lacklustre. Staring out at the monotonous, heavy grey skies and the permanently drenched terrain, the magic of the endless forest had faded. Everything mostly just felt damp and dreary.
As a nomadic vampire, you didn't belong to a coven. You preferred the absolute freedom of the open road, answering to no one but yourself, though you shared the strict "vegetarian" lifestyle of your "cousins," the Cullens and the Denalis. Because you chose to abstain from human blood, you occasionally dropped by the rainy town of Forks to hunt the abundant wildlife and exchange pleasantries with Carlisle and Esme, who always welcomed you with open arms.
But even a welcome guest had to respect the rules. Because of the ancient treaty established between the Cullens and the local shape-shifters, you knew the exact layout of the boundary lines down to the millimetre. You stayed strictly on the Cullen side of the Hoh River whenever you came to visit, and you never tried to push your luck. You had lived for three hundred years by being smart, and poking a pack of giant wolves was never on your itinerary.
Until this particular grey afternoon.
You had been tracking a particularly meaty mountain lion for miles, the thrill of the chase briefly cutting through your dark, existential boredom. The large cat was fast, and the adrenaline of the hunt sent you tearing through the brush, matching its speed stride for stride. But your excitement had made you careless. The chase pushed you entirely too close to the treaty line, and just as you braced your legs to spring and make the kill, the mountain lion panicked. It bolted straight across the invisible border line, disappearing into the forbidden Quileute territory.
You skidded to a sudden halt right at the edge of the tree line, the damp earth groaning under the sudden force of your boots. Your bright topaz eyes, glowing with the hunger of a vegetarian vampire who hadn't fed in days, tracked your escaped meal as it vanished completely into the dense, foggy thicket of the reservation.
You let out a long, irritated sigh, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. As hungry as you were, you weren't about to instigate a problem over a snack. Carlisle would be disappointed, and honestly, you just didn't want to deal with the headache of fighting off a pack of wolves.
But just as you turned on your heel, preparing to leap back into the mossy canopy and find another trail, the heavy air shifted.
The wind blew from the west, and a sudden, overwhelming scent hit you like a physical blow. It was thick, intoxicating blend of woodsmoke, crushed cedar, and the distinct, muskiness of a wet dog. It was a smell so strong, it was nearly overwhelming, making your long dead heart give a strange, phantom twitch.
Before your brain could even fully process the frantic, heavy snapping of thick branches, the underbrush exploded.
A massive, silver-grey wolf burst from the thicket, its colossal paws tearing up the damp earth as it skidded to a violent halt just feet away from you, right at the precipice of the treaty line. The beast was easily the size of a horse, its powerful muscles bunching beneath a thick coat of silver fur. Its dark lips were pulled back in a vicious, terrifying snarl, exposing a row of razor-sharp, dagger-like teeth. A lethal, vibrating growl rumbled deep within its chest, a sound so low and resonant that it caused the small pebbles by your boots to tremble against the dirt.
You didn't flinch or stumble back, like most would when faced with such a creature. You were a three-hundred-year-old vampire; fear wasn't really a concept that existed in your emotional vocabulary anymore. Instead of fleeing, you merely tilted your head to the side, your bright topaz eyes sweeping over the creature with genuine, unbothered fascination.
So, the shape-shifter legends Carlisle mentioned are actually real, you thought to yourself, a spark of true interest finally breaking through the dull boredom that had plagued you for years.
You knew, conceptually, that beneath the wild, predatory exterior of the animal laid a human man. But looking at the wolf before you, you couldn't deny that he was truly majestic, a perfect specimen of raw nature and power. As your awe-struck, curious gaze lifted to meet his, you watched a sudden, inexplicable shift overtake the beast.
The wolf froze instantly, locking up as if he had been turned to solid stone.
The low, menacing growl died abruptly in his throat, cutting off into a sudden silence. The fierce, dark eyes dilated so completely that the irises nearly swallowed the whites. The massive beast stumbled backward a step, his front legs buckling slightly beneath his weight as if he had just taken a physical, crushing blow directly to the center of his chest. He stared at you, his chest heaving with shallow, ragged breaths. Even trapped in a wolf's form, he was particularly expressive, and you watched in utter fascination as the blinding, lethal hostility completely melted away, replaced by a look of profound, paralyzed shock.
You raised a single, perfect eyebrow, entirely unaware of the ancient, cosmic magic taking place right in front of you. You had no idea that the universe had just snapped its fingers, or that this boyâs entire world had just re-centered itself around the very breath in your lungs. You just thought he looked incredibly confused.
"Did I break a rule just by looking across the river, puppy?" you asked, breaking the heavy silence. Your voice came out as a smooth, melodic, if not slightly taunting purr, that rang clearly through the damp forest air.
The sound of your voice seemed to snap the wolf out of his trance instantly. A violent, chaotic shudder ripped through his massive frame from head to tail, his fur bristling in a sudden panic. He gave you one final, deeply conflicted glare before he whirled around with a desperate burst of speed, tearing back into the deep woods and vanishing into the fog as quickly as he had arrived.
You stood alone at the riverbank for a moment, listening to the distant, frantic thudding of his heavy paws fading into the distance.
"Well," you muttered softly to yourself, a slow, entertained smirk finally tugging at the corners of your cold lips as you looked back toward the empty tree line. "That was interesting."
The moment Paulâs paws hit the damp earth in a frantic, desperate sprint, his mind exploded.
He was running blind, tearing through the thick underbrush of the Quileute forest, his powerful chest heaving as he tried to put as much distance as humanly possible between himself and the treaty line. Between himself and you.
But he couldn't run from his own head. The second his focus cracked, the pack telepathy slammed back into his consciousness, loud and overwhelming and too chaotic for Sam and Jared to make of.
âPaul?! What the hell is going on? Paul, answer me!â Jaredâs voice echoed in his mind, sharp with sudden panic.
Paul didn't answer. He couldn't. His thoughts were a chaotic, swirling vortex of images he couldn't control, and because of the pack bond, Sam and Jared were seeing every single one of them.
Through Paulâs eyes, they saw the flash of flawless skin. They saw the curtain of hair catching the dim forest light, the impossibly graceful tilt of a head, and worst of all, the striking, brilliant glow of topaz eyes.
âIs that... a leech?!â Jared shouted mentally, his thoughts recoiling in disgust. âPaul, did a bloodsucker cross the line? Did you fightâ?â
âNo!â Paul roared back in his mind, a deafening, mental snarl that made Jared wince within the bond.
âThen why does your head feel like itâs imploding? Let me see, Paul,â Sam commanded, pushing past Paulâs chaotic mental walls.
Sam didn't just see the memory; he felt the echo of what had happened to Paul the exact millisecond his eyes had locked onto the vampire. The sudden shift of Paul's universe. The way the gravity of the earth had suddenly detached from the center of the world and re-anchored itself entirely to a beautiful, cold monster standing across the river.
The telepathic link went dead silent.
âOh shit,â Jared breathed, his voice dropping into a shocked, hushed whisper. âOh, man. No way. PaulâŚâ
âItâs not happening!â Paul screamed internally, his paws digging viciously into the mud as he pushed himself to run faster, trying to outrun the literal laws of physics. âItâs a mistake! Sheâs a parasite! Sheâs dead! I don'tâI don't feel anything!â
But he was lying, and the pack knew it. They could feel the terrifying, absolute devotion that had just taken root in Paul's soul. They could hear the echo of her voice ringing in his head like a beautiful chime, âDid I break a rule just by looking across the river, puppy?â and they could feel the agonizing, furious heat of Paulâs humiliation and desire.
âPaul, calm down. Come to the clearing by the old mill,â Sam ordered, his mental voice surprisingly gentle now, filled with a heavy sympathy that only made Paul angrier. âWe need to talk about this.â
âGet out of my head!â Paul snarled mentally, severing his conscious thoughts from them as best as he could, locking himself behind a wall of pure, unadulterated rage.
He didn't go to the mill. Instead, he tore toward a secluded, deeply wooded ravine near his house where he knew heâd be alone. His silver-grey form was a blur of frantic motion until he finally collapsed into a dense thicket of ferns, his massive body trembling violently.
A choked, human sound forced its way out of the wolfâs throat. With a horrific, echoing crack of shifting bones, Paul forced himself to change backâa feat that nearly surprised him considering how volatile his emotions currently were. His body convulsed, muscles snapping and reshaping, fur retreating into skin until he was lying face-down in the wet dirt, entirely human, gasping for air as if he had been drowning.
He dragged himself up against the trunk of a massive cedar tree, still shiveringânot from the cold, but from the raw, terrifying power of the imprint. He reached into a hollow in the tree roots, pulling out a pair of beaten-up denim shorts he kept cached there, shaking as he pulled them on.
His skin was burning hot, a fever pitching through his blood. He buried his face in his hands, his fingers gripping his short, dark hair so tightly his scalp ached.
He could still smell you. Even miles away, the scent of the forest seemed completely devoid of meaning compared to the memory of her. He could still see her perfect, mocking smile, could still hear that slightly taunting purr that had completely dismantled his entire existence in a matter of seconds.
"Damn it," Paul choked out into the empty forest, his voice shaking with a mix of fury and absolute helplessness. He slammed his fist into the dirt, leaving a deep crater. "Damn it, no."
He was a protector of his tribe. He was meant to hunt the cold ones, to rip them to shreds and burn the pieces. He was Paul Lahote, the pack's muscle, the one who hated them most.
And now, by some sick, cosmic joke, his soul belonged to a leech.
Two days later, you found yourself lounging on a thick, mossy branch near the treaty line, idly tossing a pinecone up and down in your pale hand. Ever since you had encountered the massive silver wolf, you had been dying to see him again. The lingering curiosity had been humming beneath your skin for forty-eight hours, until finally, the temptation was simply too much to resist.
You had only been waiting for about ten minutes when the sharp sound of approaching footsteps reached your ears. They were human steps, not the heavy, padded thuds of a four-legged beast, but the scent cutting through the rain was unmistakably the sameâthat scorching, intoxicating blend of woodsmoke, cedar and wet dog.
A few moments later, a tall, powerfully muscular boy stormed through the trees. He was wearing nothing but a pair of torn denim shorts despite the chilly Pacific Northwest rain, his bronze skin radiating a visible steam, due to his abnormally high internal temperature. His chest was heaving with erratic breaths, and his jaw was clenched so tight you could literally hear the bone grinding from twenty yards away.
Your head tilted much like it had the first time you saw him, but this time, you were studying his human form. He was remarkably handsomeânot like vampires, who possessed a flawless, frozen perfection, but in a way that was entirely wild and rugged.
He stopped dead at the edge of the treaty line, glaring up at you in your tree with dark eyes full of fire.
"You," he spat, his voice dropping an octave into a gravelly, dangerous threat. "Leech."
The corners of your lips twitched into the ghost of a smirk, instantly amused by his explosive temper. "You must be the dramatic puppy from Tuesday," you said, your voice a smooth, melodic purr that drifted down from the canopy. "Are we jumping straight to pet names, or shall we make a proper introduction?"
He looked like he wanted to rip your head off right then and there, but beneath the mask of his fury, there was a bizarre, frantic desperation bleeding into his eyes that completely contradicted his aggressive posture.
"You need to leave," he commanded, his voice shaking with a strange, ragged intensity. "Leave Forks, leave Washington. Get out."
You leaned forward and leapt down from the branch, dropping through the damp air with absolute weightlessness. You landed soundlessly on your feet just inches away from him, separated only by the invisible boundary of the treaty line. Cocking your head, you met his blazing stare with an unbothered, glittering gaze.
"Why?" you asked, your tone light and conversational. "As far as I can see, I'm breaking no laws. I haven't hunted on your side, and Carlisle says I'm perfectly within my rights to be here."
"I don't care what Carlisle says!" he growled, the words tearing out of his throat.
A sudden tremor ran through his broad shoulders, and you felt the temperature in the small clearing instantly spike. The air around him grew incredibly hot, heavy with the suffocating warmth of a furnace as his body vibrated on the verge of a physical shift.
"You're a monster," he hissed, his chest heaving as he fought a losing battle against his own skin. "A parasite. You shouldn't exist, and you damn sure shouldn't be... shouldn't be doing this to me!"
Your brows furrowed slightly as you tried to piece together exactly what you could have done to him. Yet, absolutely nothing came to the forefront of your mind. He was the one who had hunted you down, after all. But naturally, seeing how easily he was unraveling, you decided to push his buttons.
âWell, thatâs a little rude," you murmured, adjusting your stance and letting your lips form a perfect, exaggerated pout. "And here I thought this modern age was all about acceptance and inclusivity. Where are the manners, puppy?"
"Shut up!" he barked, the sound echoing like a gunshot through the quiet woods. His hands curled into tight, white-knuckled fists at his sides.
A dangerous, rhythmic ripple passed directly under his skinâthe telltale sign of a shape-shifter on the precipice of exploding into a giant beast. The sheer heat radiating off him was making the damp mist around his bare chest evaporate into wisps of steam.
"Don't tempt me, leech," he threatened, his jaw locking so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek. "I'll tear you to pieces, treaty or no treaty."
"I'd love to see you try," you dared softly, stepping a fraction of an inch closer to the invisible boundary line.
You flashed him a dazzling, flawless vampire smile, your perfect teeth glinting like polished porcelain in the dim, grey light of the forest canopy. You let your eyes trail slowly down his trembling, muscular frame before bringing your gaze back up to lock with his burning stare.
"I havenât had a good tussle in a while," you purred, a wicked, teasing spark igniting in your topaz eyes. "And you know, they say hate sex is particularly appealing after a brawl. Iâd be more than interested to try it if you are. Being mortal, biological enemies would certainly make it an interesting night to remember, don't you think?"
Paul choked on his own breath, the dark bronze of his skin rapidly darkening into a furious, deep crimson at your shameless offer but unlike him you were centuries old, shame was also another thing no longer in your emotional vocabulary.
"Youâyou fucking psycho," Paul stammered, his gravelly voice cracking under the sheer weight of his humiliation. He stared at you, his eyes wide and completely unhinged by your shameless teasing. "You think this is a joke?"
"Oh, come now," you laughed, the sound a bright, chiming cadence that mocked the heavy gloom of the forest. You shifted your weight, leaning hip-first against a massive, moss-covered boulder right at the water's edge, entirely comfortable in your own skin. "Don't tell me a big, bad wolf is afraid of a little experimentation. I'm just offering a creative solution to all that pent-up aggression you're carrying around. If youâre gonna hate me, we might as well make it fun with some benefits.â
"Get bent," he spat, though his eyes involuntarily flicked down to your lips before snapping back up to your eyes with a look of pure self-loathing. He took a sharp step backward, away from the tempting, intoxicating scent of your proximity. "I'd rather eat glass, leech. Keep your disgusting, cold mouth away from me."
"Your loss, puppy," you chirped, giving him a little wave of your fingers. "But if you change your mind, you know exactly where to find me. Clearly."
Paul let out a final, furious yell of pure frustration, turned on his heel, and stormed back into the dense foliage. He kicked a rotting fir log so hard the damp wood exploded into a shower of splinters and moss, his heavy, angry stomps echoing through the valley until he finally phased somewhere deep in the reservation.
You leaned your back against a cedar tree, a breathless, musical laugh escaping your chest. He was a puzzle, an explosive, dangerously hot puzzle, and for the first time in three centuries, you found yourself entirely cured of your boredom.
Oh, yes. Poking the wolf was going to be an exceptional way to pass the time.
Over the next three weeks, your little routine escalated into what could be considered an art form.
You quickly learned that Paul Lahoteâthe name belonging to your delightfully angry wolfâpossessed the shortest fuse of anyone you had ever encountered in your three hundred years of existence, with the singular, spine-chilling exception of Caius Volturi himself. But unlike the ancient, genocidal Italian ruler, Paulâs wrath was loud, expressive, and incredibly fun to provoke. You made it your personal mission to light that fuse as often as humanly possible, finding a wicked thrill in watching how quickly his composure could disintegrate under the weight of a single, well-placed taunt.
As the days blurred together, you weren't the only ones attending these strange, borderline theatrical standoffs. The other wolvesâthe stoic, deeply burdened Alpha, Sam Uley, and the taller, lankier one youâd come to know as Jaredâstarted showing up in the brush occasionally. They never crossed the line, and they never spoke a single word to you, keeping their distance. Instead, they would stand just inside the Quileute tree line, watching Paul's explosive, vein-popping tantrums with expressions of deep, utterly exhausted sympathy. They looked at Paul the exact way a tired parent looks at a toddler having a meltdown in the middle of a crowded grocery store. More than once, as Paul's body would begin to violently blur on the precipice of an involuntary phase, Sam would step forward, placing a heavy, grounding hand on Paul's shaking shoulder. You could practically feel the invisible weight of the Alpha's command cutting through the air, forcing the younger boy to forcibly calm his racing blood before he caused a catastrophic, treaty-breaking international incident.
And then, of course, there was Paul himself.
Despite his endless growling for you to leave, his colourful vocabulary, and his daily, incredibly detailed promises to rip you to shreds and burn the pieces, he never missed a single day. Not once. You started testing him, purposely showing up ten or fifteen minutes late to your usual spot on the riverbank just to see what would happen. Without fail, every single time you delayed, you would find him already there, pacing the muddy bank of the opposite side like a caged wolf. His dark, wild eyes would be scanning the high mossy canopy with a frantic, almost desperate urgency, his chest heaving as if he were physically suffocating.
But the exact millisecond your feet touched the branch, the very moment his eyes locked onto yours, the change was staggering. The borderline manic panic tightly gripping his chest would visibly ease, his shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch as a heavy wave of relief washed over his features. A beat later, he would remember himself, instantly settling back into his usual, comfortable mask of defensive rage and snap an insult across the water to cover up his slip.
You weren't stupid. You were an old, highly perceptive predator who had survived three centuries by reading the hidden motives of both humans and monsters alike. You knew with absolute certainty that whatever was truly happening between the two of you, it wasn't just simple, straightforward hatred. There was a tether. A thick, invisible cord pulled completely taut across the rushing waters of the Hoh River, binding your cold, unmoving, timeless existence directly to his scorching, vibrant, and fiercely chaotic life force. You werenât entirely sure of the exact terminology or the ancient magic behind it, but you knew with a supernatural certainty that it had everything to do with the nature of the wolf beneath his skin.
You probably couldâve asked Carlisle for some clarity, but Edward was currently throwing a massive fit because some human girl in town happened to be his bloodsinger. The whole ordeal was causing an absurd amount of tension throughout the entire Cullen house, so you had been giving them a wide berth while they sorted out their dramatic coven issues.
"You know, for someone who hates me, you sure spend a lot of time staring at my mouth," you teased one evening, sitting gracefully on a moss-covered boulder right at the edge of the river.
Paul, who had been pacing like a caged animal on the opposite bank, froze dead in his tracks. In the dimming twilight, you watched the dark bronze of his face flush a deep, dark red. "I'm watching your fangs, monster," he snapped, his voice rough and defensive. "Making sure you don't try anything."
"Mhm. Sure," you murmured, a playful hum vibrating in your throat. "But there's just one little problem with that, puppy. We donât actually have fangs. As someone who hunts vampires, shouldnât that be a fairly crucial detail for you to know?"
You teased him ruthlessly, shifting your weight to slide down from the boulder and move even closer toward the invisible boundary line. Your eyes locked onto the rhythmic trembling of his broad shoulders. "You're shivering, Paul. And definitely not from the cold."
"I don't get cold," he growled, though his chest gave a heavy heave as his breathing suddenly became shallow and restricted.
You tilted your head, looking at him properly this time. Really looking at him. Beneath the layers of explosive anger, the harsh, venomous words, and the desperate masculine bravado, you could see the sheer, crushing exhaustion etched into every line of his face.
The relentless desire to poke the wolf suddenly evaporated, completely replaced by a strange, foreign pang of genuine concern deep inside your cold, unbeating heart.
âAre you alright?â you asked softly.
Paul blinked, completely caught off guard by your sudden, drastic change in tone. The venom vanished from his eyes for a split second, and he looked down at the rushing water separating the two of you, his rigid shoulders sagging just a fraction before he caught himself. His jaw tensed immediately. âIâm fine.â
âIâm over three hundred years old, darling. Iâm filled with life experiences," you scoffed playfully, trying to ease the heavy, suffocating tension that had settled over him. "Iâm practically offering you free therapy right now."
Paul let out a sharp, bitter breath that wasn't quite a laugh, but it lacked his usual venom. He didn't look back up at you, keeping his eyes firmly glued to the swirling eddies of the river.
"I don't think you have a license for that," he muttered, his voice barely carrying over the sound of the water.
You watched him silently, your supernatural vision effortlessly picking up the subtle, persistent tremor in his hands and the way the muscles in his neck were strained to the point of snapping. The teasing, lighthearted facade you usually wore around him began to feel inappropriate, slipping away to reveal the ancient, deeply observant creature beneath. You stepped right up to the very edge of the riverbank, the damp earth shifting slightly under your weight, your perfect posture loosening into something genuinely receptive.
"No license, but I have an infinite amount of time on my hands," you said softly, your voice cutting through the damp forest air like a soothing melody. "Come on, Lahote. What's eating you? Besides me, obviously."
Paul's jaw worked. For a tense second, you thought he was going to turn on his heel, shatter another log, and storm away into the fog like he usually did when his emotions overwhelmed him.
"I don't need therapy from a leech," he grumbled, though the insult felt half-hearted, lacking any real sting. It was an instinctual shield, a habit he was clinging to because he didn't know what else to do.
"Suit yourself," you said, crossing your arms and leaning your hip against a sturdy birch tree. "But 'fine' doesn't usually involve looking like you haven't slept since the turn of the century."
He lifted his head, his dark eyes burning into yours with a sudden intensity that made your playful banter die instantly on your tongue. The defensive anger was still there, but it was incredibly thin, cracking open right before your eyes to reveal the staggering weight he was carrying underneath.
The truth was, Paulâs life was a chaotic storm, and he was completely drowning in it.
When the shape-shifter gene had finally activated in his blood a few months ago, it had felt like an explosion. Out of the three shifters currently running the forests of La Push, Paul had supposedly taken to the wolf the easiest. Where Sam and Jared had deeply struggled with having to abruptly cut off and ignore the people in their lives to keep the tribal secret, Paul didnât have that struggle. Phasing into a massive, silver-grey beast felt almost natural to him because he had spent his entire life carrying a baseline of nuclear-level rage. To Sam and Jared, he appeared to effortlessly embrace the unbridled, primal power of the spirit-warrior.
But the reality was a living nightmare. He was a teenage boy who had been abruptly stripped of his normalcy, forced into a supernatural pack bond that offered absolutely zero privacy. Every dark thought, every flash of insecurity, and every bitter memory of his failures was broadcast directly into the minds of his pack mates whenever they were in wolf form.
In truth, inheriting a sacred tribal legacy didn't magically erase the wreckage of his human life. It only magnified it.
His home life was its own quiet, miserable war zone. His father was a deeply bitter, abusive drunkâa man who spent his days drowning his own failures in cheap whiskey and his nights taking his frustrations out on whatever, or whoever, was within arm's reach. Before Paul phased, he had spent years taking those hits, absorbing the venom and building up a dark reservoir of hatred that threatened to swallow him whole. Now that he was a protector, now that he possessed the supernatural strength to tear a car in half with his bare hands, the dynamic at home had become a precarious tightrope. Every time his father stumbled home, slurring and swinging, Paul had to physically lock his entire body down. He would grip the edges of the kitchen counter until the wood threatened to snap beneath his fingers, utterly terrified that if he lost his temper for even a fraction of a second, he would accidentally murder his own father.
Because of that suffocating terror, he barely spent any time at home anymore. He practically lived on the run from his own house, taking refuge at Sam and Emily's place just to have a safe haven. On the nights when the shame and embarrassment of overstaying his welcome grew too heavy, he wouldn't even stay in a house at all; he would sleep out in the dirt and the damp woods as a wolf, letting the wild weather numb him.
He was entirely, utterly exhausted. He was so tired of the total lack of privacy between him and the pack, so tired of the lingering trauma of his childhood, and deeply weary of carrying the thankless burden of protecting a tribe that ultimately viewed him and the other boys as nothing but delinquent, good-for-nothings. He was a walking powder keg, and his hair-trigger temper felt like a bomb ticking away in his chest, waiting for the spark that would blow his entire world to pieces.
And then, to make a total mockery of his entire existence... there was you.
Paul ran a rough hand over his face, pushing his damp, dark hair away from his forehead. He looked at youâat your perfect face, the gentle curve of your mouth, and the bright gold of your eyes. He stared at how you seemed to stand so peacefully across the river, utterly unaffected by the biting rain, the freezing cold, or the crushing misery of the modern world. You were a creature of frozen grace, a timeless masterpiece carving a quiet space into his chaotic nightmare.
He hated how much he needed to be near you. He loathed the primal desperation that gripped his throat every single hour he spent away from this riverbank. But more than anything, he hated the terrifying truth that the endless, agonizing thoughts in his headâthe fury at his father, the pack's telepathic intrusion, the burden of the tribal legacyâ completely stopped the moment he was right here, standing across a river from a creature he had been born to kill. Your presence was an oasis of escape in his loud, violent world.
"You don't get it," he muttered, his jaw tightening so hard the bone beneath his bronze skin looked sharp enough to cut. He looked down at his own trembling hands, watching them clench and unclench into tight fists as if he were trying to physically hold his sanity together.
"I'm supposed to hate you," he whispered, his voice cracking violently under the staggering weight of the confession. He didn't look up, his gaze glued to his hands. "I try so hard to hate you. I can't sleep. I can't think. Every time I close my eyes, my head is full of your voice, your face, your stupid, mocking smile. Iâm supposed to want to rip you to pieces. Iâm supposed to want to kill you. Instead, Iâm spending every single second of my day fighting my own body, making sure I don't cross this goddamn river just to be near you. It's making me lose my mind."
You stared at him, your ancient mind rapidly recontextualizing every single interaction youâd had over the last three weeks. The pacing, the panic when you were late, the heavy, sympathetic looks from Sam and Jared. You knew there was some kind of bond, but you didnât realize how hard it had been on him. You didnât know it was an all consuming need that his biology had forced upon him, and he was tearing himself apart trying to fight it.
A heavy, suffocating silence descended on the riverbank, save for the wild, rushing water churning over the jagged rocks below. For the first time in three hundred years of wandering the earth, through every empire you had seen fall and every coven you had seen break, you felt completely, utterly speechless. The wit that usually defined you, the clever, taunting armour you wore to keep the lacklustre world at bay, dissolved into nothingness.
"Paul..." you started, your voice barely louder than a whisper, stripped entirely of its usual taunting edge.
"Don't," he choked out, his fists clenching tight at his sides. He looked at you one last time, a look of profound defeat and agonizing longing warring on his rugged features, before he turned sharply and vanished back into the shadows of the Quileute woods.
You stood entirely frozen, staring at the empty tree line as the first heavy droplets of a gathering storm began to fall through the canopy, the cold rain washing over you as the echo of his confession rang in your ears.
"Paul..." you started, your voice barely louder than a whisper, carrying a soft, aching weight you hadn't felt in centuries.
"Don't," he choked out, his fists clenching so tight that his entire body began to tremble with that dangerous, pre-shifting heat. He lifted his head and looked at you one last timeâa look of profound defeat, raw exposure, and agonizing, heartbreaking longing warring on his rugged featuresâbefore he turned sharply on his heel. With a desperate burst of speed, he vanished back into the deep, unforgiving shadows of the Quileute woods.
You stood entirely frozen, your immortal body locking into the stillness of stone as you stared at the empty tree line. The silence of the forest rushed back to fill the void he left behind, and the first heavy, freezing droplets of a gathering storm began to pierce through the high canopy, splashing unnoticed against your cold skin.
The turning point came on a night when the storm was loud enough to drown out the very sound of the forest. Thunder clapped in deafening, rolling waves, and the rain fell in thick sheets, blurring the world into a chaotic haze of grey and green. You were hunting a few miles out, tracking a deer, when the air suddenly carried something that made your entire body lock upâblood. Intoxicating, heavy, human blood, followed instantly by the sweet scent of a rogue vampire having moved through the area.
Your predatory instincts flared, but it wasn't hunger that seized you despite how tempting the human blood smelled. It was a cold, paralyzing jolt of panic. As you tore through the woods, tracking the fast-moving scent trail, you realized with growing horror that the vampire had already went straight across the Hoh River. The nomad had most likely attacked the hiker directly onto Quileute land.
And your very first, consuming thought went to Paul.
You crossed the river without a second thought, your feet barely skimming the rushing water as you launched yourself deep into the forbidden territory, driven by a desperate, frantic need to ensure he was safe.
By the time you burst into the hidden clearing, the brutal reality of the hunt was already unfolding. The human hiker was gone, likely fled or worse, but the clearing was a battleground. A massive, silver-grey wolf was locked in a horrific, snarling grapple with the red-eyed nomad. They were a blur of teeth and claws, tearing up the mud, but the rogue had gained the upper hand, pinning the giant wolf beneath his weight. In his pale, stone-like hand, the nomad gripped a heavy, jagged rock, raising it high and aiming it straight for the wolf's eye with lethal force.
A primal, deafening screech tore from your throat. You didn't think. You just launched your body across the clearing, tackling the rogue vampire off of Paul a split second before the rock could descend. The blinding velocity of your collision threw the nomad violently through the air, sending him crashing into a massive, ancient cedar tree with a force that cracked the thick trunk right down the middle.
Before the nomad could even hit the ground, you dropped into a low, lethal crouch directly in front of Paul. Your clothes were soaked, your posture was entirely feral, and your topaz eyes seemed to shine in the darkness as you shielded the silver wolf with your own body.
"Don't touch him," you hissed, the words vibrating with a venomous, unyielding threat that rang clearer than the storm.
The nomad scrambled to his feet, rubbing his chest where you had struck him. He straightened up to his full height, his dark crimson eyes darting from your protective stance to the panting, bleeding wolf behind you. A look of profound, sickening disgust contorted his pale features.
âYouâre defending a mutt from your own kind?â he spat, his voice laced with utter disbelief.
Behind you, Paul let out a low, ragged rumble. He was struggling to push himself up, his heavy paws slipping in the slick, blood-stained grass. You could feel the intense, furnace-like heat radiating from his massive body, practically baking the skin of your back. Even injured, his instinct was to push past you, to put himself between the danger and his imprint. But you didn't give him an inch. You stood like a wall of solid marble, unyielding and fierce.
The rogue nomad narrowed his red eyes, assessing the situation. He looked at the cracked cedar tree, then at your lethal posture, and finally at the massive silver-grey beast snarling behind you. He was fast, but he wasn't stupid. He was outnumbered, outmatched, and facing a vampire who looked entirely ready to tear him limb from limb.
âDisgusting parasite,â the nomad hissed, backing up a step into the shadows of the ferns. âYouâre a disgrace to our kind.â
With a sudden, fluid movement, the rogue whirled around and launched himself high into the canopy, vanishing into the blinding sheets of rain as he fled, tearing away from the reservation.
You pulled your phone out of your pocket, your cold fingers moving with supernatural speed to send a quick text to Jasper. You gave him a brief heads-up on the runner's description and where he seemed to be headed, knowing with absolute certainty that the Cullens would handle the rest. They wouldnât want dangerous rogues hunting anywhere near their territory and drawing unnecessary human attention.
Silence descended on the woods, save for the heavy, laboured panting of the giant wolf behind you.
You turned around slowly, your vampire grace suddenly feeling incredibly clumsy. Paul was already shifting back, the gruesome, rapid sound of cracking bones echoing in the quiet night. He quickly pulled a pair of shorts from a hidden cache in a hollow tree and stepped into them.
You waited for him to yell at you. Your cold muscles tensed as you stood your ground, bracing for the inevitable explosion. You had broken the treaty. You had crossed the river. By all rights and laws of his tribe, he could try to kill you right now.
Instead, Paul walked right up to you. The anger that usually defined him was completely gone, replaced by a fierce, burning intensity. He stopped inches from you, his body heat radiating off him like a furnace, pushing away the damp chill of the night.
"You crossed the line," he whispered.
"He was going to take your eye out, Paul," you said defensively, crossing your arms over your chest as your chin tilted up to meet his gaze. "I couldn't just stand across the river and watch."
You looked at him, truly looked at him, and for the first time in three centuries, you felt a lump form in your throat. You swallowed hard, a purely human reflex that you hadn't needed in a regular conversation for a very long time, and shifted your gaze away from his. You couldn't bear the raw, bleeding exposure in his eyes. There was something about this shape-shifter, something about the searing warmth of his presence and the terrifying depth of his devotion, that made you feel human again. It was a feeling you had thought lost to time, a dangerous, beautiful spark breaking through the timeless numbness of your nomadic life.
âI broke your law," you murmured quietly, the words feeling heavy and hollow on your tongue. "If you want me to leave Forks and never come back⌠I will.â
It was all heâd been yelling at you to do since the exact moment you two had met. For three weeks, he had growled, demanded, and threatened you to disappear, and you were finally offering him exactly what he wanted on a silver platter. You figured that maybe with you gone, he might finally get some peace of mind.
The silence that followed your offer was deafening, stretching out between you even as the thunder rumbled overhead and the heavy rain continued to batter the ancient canopy. You kept your eyes trained on the muddy ground, watching the steam rise off his bare feet where they sank into the earth. You were bracing for the relief you expected to feel from him, the agreement that he wanted you gone.
But the relief never came. Instead, the air between you grew impossibly hotter, thick with a sudden, sharp spike of panic that was so potent you could practically taste it.
Paul felt his chest gave a sharp, violent heave, a ragged breath tearing out of his throat as if your words had physically struck him.
Instead, what you expected never came, he reached out. His large hand was trembling slightly, as he slowly, hesitatingly, rested his warm, calloused palm directly against your cold, wet cheek.
You gasped, a phantom shudder ripping through your unmoving veins. Your eyes snapped back up to his, wide and startled. His skin felt like liquid fire against your ice, a contrast so sharp, it nearly felt as if you were being burned, but it didn't hurt. In fact, it made you feel undeniably, beautifully alive. For three hundred years, you had walked the earth feeling nothing but the same boring cycle of a world that couldn't touch you. But right now, under the pressure of his hand, your entire universe shrank down to the singular point of his warmth.
âNo. Iâve been an asshole to you," Paul muttered, his voice cracking as he forced the words past the tight knot in his throat. His dark eyes searched yours with an open, bleeding sincerity that laid him entirely bare. His thumb moved slowly, gently tracing the smooth, porcelain line of your cheekbone, wiping away the cold raindrops. "Every single day since I met you, I've done nothing but scream at you. I called you a monster. I called you a leech. And you just crossed the treaty line and risked your life to save mine."
Looking up at him nowâcompletely exposed, completely stripped of the defensive, hot-headed bravado he used to shield himself from the wreckage of his lifeâthe familiar, playful spark finally flickered back into your topaz eyes. You couldn't help it. The wit was your defence mechanism, your own way of handling the terrifying weight of what seemed to be blooming between you two.
"I told you before, Lahote," you whispered, your voice a soft, melodic purr that leaned into his warm touch just a fraction of an inch. "I like poking the wolf. I can't exactly let a rogue nomad break my favourite toy."
A breathless, genuine laugh broke from Paul's lipsâthe first real, untainted sound of amusement you had ever heard from him. It made his eyes crinkle at the corners, the harsh, severe lines of his face softening into something so breathtakingly handsome it made your dead heart ache.
"You are infuriating, you know that?" he murmured, the corners of his mouth lifting into a small, wry smile as he leaned his head down, resting his forehead gently against yours. Ice met fire in the middle of the dark, rain-slicked forest, and for the first time, there was no war.
"I've been told I have a certain charm," you replied softly, your pale, slender hands tentatively rising to rest against his bare, broad chest. Beneath your palms, you could feel the frantic, heavy thumping of his heart, a rapid, fiercely alive rhythm that seemed to echo in the empty space of your own chest.
"Yeah," Paul sighed, closing his eyes as he finally let go of the anger, the guilt, and the fear that had been tearing him apart for weeks. He wrapped his strong, trembling arms securely around your waist, pulling your cold body flush against his furnace-warm chest and you couldnât help but relax into him. He held you like you were the only solid thing left in a world that was constantly shifting beneath his feet. "Maybe you do."
The storm raged on around you, the thunder shaking the earth and the rain washing the blood from the clearing, but as you stood there in the forbidden territory, wrapped in the arms of the boy who had been born to kill you, the dull grey of the world finally began to fade away.
Warning: SPOILERS FOR WAKANDA FOREVER!, war, bloodâŚminor angst, but a happy ending.
The sky smells of ash and fire, colored red with billowing smokeâa distant scream withers in the wind. You do not smile upon your victory, a cost came with the fire of your people. A heavy toll of loss, for both sides as you sit upon the throne of iron. A chair fit for no one⌠Your finger thrums against the arm, chin lifting as you nod to each passing soldier.
They bow their heads and move along: âLady Al-atâŚâ You hum, closing your eyes and bowing your head in return. This city was known for its slave labor, its treachery and malpracticeânow it is rubble at your feet.
That name no longer belongs to you, it has changed many times throughout your long lifetime. Evolving as religions shifted, allegiances begin and end, and empires riseâonly to fall.
In some ways, as you sip your coffeeâeyes locked on the beaches edge. You do not seem as prolific to the untrained eye, a young womanâno more than that.
A symphony of praise falls off the lips of mortals, above all elseâtheir goddess Anat does not fail. A pantheon of gods and goddesses affirm their confidences. Yet as you look down on the mortal world below, you do not smile. For the bodies of the beaten and broken, are still chained.
Now you are just Y/N, someone who has lived far too many millennia. Tired of humanities endless cruelty, you begged the world to remember its history, but they never did.
The sweetness of the tart is comforting, familiar to the ones youâve had before. The sound of waves opening and breaking on the sand, begins to become a rhythmic music.
âLady AthenaâŚâ You look up at the soldier who is both wide eyed and bloody, too young, but still he followed you here with vigor. You imagine too much.
âYes my child?â
âDid we win?â You nod, swallowing and looking awayâtrying to push away the image of how he held his insides in with his palm, they won. Yet you were not as proud as you once would be.
Cutting your eyes away, you turn your focus to your phoneâmindlessly scrolling through Instagram. The world has changed more than anyone realizes, parts of you have changed with it. Eons of history built into a tiny black screen, and yet, war still continues. It is the only constant, the source of your strength, but their is no glory. No respect. It is as mindless as these screens, unable to tell who the real enemy is.
Echoes of prayers reach your ears, the people of Ireland often empassioned with raw confidence. You were seen as three deities, but you were only oneânotably, you recall how war became filled with glory once more. It mattered. For the Irish were fighting for something, and then nothing at all⌠The same cycle that left you humming along to the prayers. Wishing they would stop altogether.
You often catch yourself wondering: is this it? Is the time of true war with purpose coming to an end? Am I?
Only you remained, the existence of war kept you youngâeven with your other interests, hundreds with every persona you took on. None of it held a candle to the power war gave you. The sand shifts as the seat across from you is pulled out, familiarity settles in your gut.
âKâukâulkanââ You bow your head, having met the Winged Serpent God quite a while backâyou were shocked to receive a message from him. An intent prayer directly to you, to meet him here.
âIt is I, who should bow to you, Y/N.â He gives a smile, it lifts his cheeks and then drops away almost instantly. âThe Great War goddess.â Y/N was your chosen name, the one that was not chosen for youâone that was yours alone.
It silenced the voices, and for the first time since your creation⌠You were happy to finally be in the dark. To silence the prayers once and for all, maybe you should be thankful. Those prayers gave you life for so very long.
Instead, you welcome the quiet.
âI trust this is not a meeting to compliment me further?â Air escapes his lungs, as he nodsâbowing his head a little.
âPerceptive as always.â
âThereâs always a catch with you, Namor.â You emphasize the name given to himâthe one that mirrors the many you have had yourself. It is the one that strikes fear into people.
âFor many moons, my people have devoted themselves to the god, Huitzilopochtliâa name once given unto you.â A name familiar, the sacrifices of the past coming to mind. So much of your worship happened to be tied into blood. What once set you afire, sent you into the dark as you think of it now.
âI know your true name, Y/N and I call upon you one last time, to defend Talokan from the surface.â Something about the request is no longer of interest, it stiffens your resolve and heart to him.
âDo not request such things Namor. As a deity, I have asked to be left alone.â You take another bite, meeting his eye which does not shift. âDo not act above the rest, war is a complicated affair and no one wins anymore.â There is no victory when youâre living in a world of ash.
You stand, dusting yourself and straightening the sleeves of your jacket. âYou will call me again, I am certain. But if it is at the expense of innocent blood I will not fight at your side.â
The prayer comes weeks later.
Not the kind hurled upward in desperation or sharpened into a weaponâbut fractured, ragged around the edges. It reaches you in the quiet hours before dawn, when even the city seems to hold its breath. You are half-asleep on your couch, television humming softly, when the pull tightens around your ribs like a familiar ache.
Namor does not speak your name this time.
He does not need to.
Talokan answers you as it always hasâwater folding back in reverence rather than command. And then shielding you in a quiet embrace. Bioluminescent paths bloom beneath your feet as you descend, light brushing your skin like memory. Your feet never touch the sandy bottom, but you walk as if you do. The city is quieter than you remember. No songs carried on the current. No drums. Only vigilanceâand pain.
You find him not on his throne, but in a chamber carved deep into stone and coral, guarded by none.
Namor kneels.
Bloodâtoo dark, too muchâthreads through the water around him, drifting lazily like fallen banners. One wing hangs wrong at his back, torn and scorched, the skin along his ribs split where Wakandan steel and surface fire had kissed too deeply. His shoulders are rigid, pride holding him upright when his body clearly cannot.
For a moment, you simply look at him.
So many gods you have seen fall screaming. So many kings dragged into the dirt by their own certainty.
Namor looks up at you without shame.
âYou came,â he says quietly.
âYou called,â you answer, already kneeling before him. Your hands hover, not yet touching. Consent matters, even between gods. Especially between gods.
His jaw tightens. âI did not ask you to fight.â
âNo,â you murmur. âYou asked me to listen.â
At that, something breaks in himâjust slightly. Enough that he nods.
You place your hands over the worst of the wounds, and the water around you stills completely. Power does not roar out of you anymore; you learned long ago that healing is not conquest. It is patience. It is remembering how bodies were meant to be before war taught them otherwise.
Warmth spreads from your palms, ancient and careful. Bone knits. Flesh remembers itself. The torn membrane of his wing trembles as it reforms, delicate as a newborn star. Namor exhales sharply, head tipping forward until his brow nearly touches yours.
You stay there longer than necessary.
Long enough for the quiet affection you have both denied to settle between youâunspoken, but undeniable. Two immortals who have watched eras burn, recognizing something gentler and far more dangerous than hatred.
When you finally pull back, he is whole again. Tired. Humbled. Alive.
He looks at you thenânot as a god, not as a weaponâbut as something closer to an equal.
âTell me,â he says, voice low, stripped of command. âYou who have been named for it⌠what is war?â
You lean back on your heels, considering him. Considering yourself.
âWar,â you say slowly, âis what happens when grief is given armor and told it is righteous.â
His eyes never leave your face.
âIt begins as protection. As love twisted by fear. It convinces kings they are gods and gods that they are necessary.â You glance at your hands, still faintly glowing. âIt devours the innocent first, then the faithful, and finally the ones who started itâif they live long enough to see the cost.â
Namor swallows.
âThere was a time,â you continue, softer now, âwhen war had rules. When it ended. When surrender meant survival. That time is gone. Now it is endless. Directionless. Fed by pride and remembered only by the dead.â
You look back at him, and there is no judgment thereâonly understanding.
âWar is not glory,â you finish. âIt is a wound that pretends to be a crown.â
Silence stretches between you, thick and heavy as the ocean itself.
At last, Namor bows his headânot in submission, but in acknowledgment.
âI thought victory would save my people,â he says. âI see now it would have only buried them deeper.â
You reach out, resting your hand briefly over his heart. It beats strong. Steady.
âThere is still time,â you tell him. âFor Talokan. For you.â
He covers your hand with his own, fingers warm despite the water.
âAnd for us?â he asksânot as a ruler, not as a god, but as something far more vulnerable.
You hesitate.
Then, just barely, you nod.
âFor as long as we choose peace,â you say. âAnd not a moment longer.â
The light of Talokan brightens around youânot in celebration, but in quiet resolve.
For the first time in centuries, the war goddess does not feel the pull of battle.
Only the weight of a choice.
The chamber is dim when you wake.
Not darkâTalokan never truly isâbut softened, the bioluminescent veins in the stone walls pulsing slowly, like a living thing at rest. The water beyond the open arches moves lazily, currents brushing the room in a steady rhythm that feels almost like breathing.
You are not alone.
Namor lies beside you, close enough that your knees touch, close enough that you can feel the heat of him through the thin barrier of sheets and water-cooled air. His bed is not ornate. No throne disguised as comfort. Just stone smoothed by centuries of use, layered with woven kelp-fiber linens that smell faintly of salt and crushed flowers.
You stare at the ceiling for a long moment, grounding yourself.
You do not sleep often. Not like this. Not deeply. Not without the weight of a thousand voices clawing at your mind.
But hereâhere is quiet.
Namor shifts beside you, careful, as if afraid the smallest movement might send you vanishing back into myth. One arm rests across his chest, the other bent beneath his head. His wings are folded tight, healed but still sensitive, the membranes catching soft light.
âYou stayed,â he says quietly.
It is not a question.
âI said I would,â you answer, voice rougher than you expect.
Silence settles again, comfortable in a way that surprises you. Gods are not meant to be comfortable. You were carved for chaos, sharpened by worship and bloodshed. And yet, here you are, wrapped in sheets beside a king who once asked you to burn the world for him.
Namor turns his head to look at you. Up close, stripped of armor and ceremony, he looks⌠tired. Older than he lets his people see. Older than the legends.
âThey will speak of this,â he murmurs. âOf you being here.â
âI no longer belong to their stories,â you say. âNeither do youâat least not the ones they tell.â
His gaze flicks to your mouth, then away again. Careful. Always careful with you. As if desire itself might be another kind of war.
After a moment, he says, âWhen I was defeated⌠I thought it would break me.â
You turn toward him then, propping yourself on one elbow.
âAnd?â you ask gently.
âIt did,â he admits. âJust not in the way I expected.â His jaw tightens. âI have never known what to do with failure. Or mercy.â
You reach out before you can stop yourself, fingers brushing the back of his hand. He stills instantly.
âNeither did I,â you say. âThat is why they made me into something terrible. It was easier than letting me be unsure.â
His fingers curl around yours, slow and deliberate, like he is learning the shape of trust.
âI have waged war for my people for centuries,â he says. âAnd yet⌠lying here, with youâthis feels more dangerous than any battlefield.â
You almost smile.
âBecause this requires you to be seen,â you say. âNot feared.â
He exhales, a sound halfway between a laugh and a confession.
âI do not know how to be soft,â he admits.
You slide closer, your forehead resting briefly against his shoulder. âYou do not have to be,â you whisper. âJust honest.â
His arm comes around you then, hesitant at first, then firmâprotective without possession. You fit there easily, as if some ancient geometry has finally resolved itself.
For the first time in your long existence, no one is asking you to fight.
No one is asking him to conquer.
The war goddess and the winged serpent lie entwined in the quiet aftermath of loss, not as myths or monstersâbut as two beings choosing, for one fragile moment, not to be alone.
Outside, Talokan drifts on, unaware that something far rarer than war has taken root in its heart.
Warnings: grief, loss, descriptions of violence, death, some mild language.
The innocence of youth is often deceptive, a curved path of deceptionâ12 Grimmauld Place stands like a haunted omen. It happened in the darkness, shadows loom and hover. Shifting in the wind, but your shadows, they are permanent. Etched into your skin, burningâaching.
All it takes is a knock.
A pattern, a thoughtâmemories youâd rather lose than remember, but they remain.
You stand at the threshold, still cloaked in the black robes of your arrival, damp from rain and weighed down with more than weather. The room stills when they see you.
You donât flinch. You donât let the years show.
Not in front of them.
Sirius is the first to speak, but not in the way you remember. No witty quip. No bark of laughter. Just a low, broken murmur.
ââŚYou.â
He looks older. Gaunter, sadder, haunted by Azkaban and ghosts with your face.
Remus is slower to look up. When he does, itâs worse. His brown eyes are soft, not from fondness, but from hurt. Like he doesnât want to believe it. Like if he doesnât blink, youâll vanish again.
âHello, boys,â you say finally. Your voice is calm, even, precise. The same voice that used to tease them under the giant beech tree by the lake. The same voice that used to whisper to Remus about the stars until the fire in the Gryffindor common room died out.
Now, it sounds wrong in your mouth. Stained.
McGonagall clears her throat, casting a look around the Order. âSheâs here at my request. She has information. Valuable information.â
âInformation?â Siriusâs voice rises, sharp now. âFrom where, the Dark Lordâs lap?â
His fury doesnât sting. Not the way Remusâs silence does.
You draw back your hood slowly. The years have changed you. The falconâs eyes that used to gleam with mischief are now watchful, weary. Your wand rests visibly at your hip, a deliberate statement: I wonât pretend Iâm harmless.
âIâve been under for years,â you say simply. âSince before his first fall. Dumbledore knew.â
âYou lied to us,â Sirius snaps, stepping forward, and Tonks grips his arm out of instinct.
âI did,â you agree. âAnd if I hadnât, Iâd be dead. Or worseâyou would be.â
Finally, Remus speaks.
âYou left Hogwarts the same week I came back,â he says, voice softer than Siriusâs, but not gentler. âYou wouldnât even see me. Why?â
You look at him now, really look. Thereâs silver in his hair. Thereâs exhaustion in his bones.
Because you loved him. Because you still do.
âI couldnât face you,â you say quietly. âI couldnât face what I did to you. To all of you.â
His jaw clenches. He looks down, then back up. âAnd now youâre here. Why?â
âIâm here because heâs back,â you answer, stepping into the kitchen fully. âAnd I know how he moves. Who heâs reaching for. What he wants. You can hate me all you want. Iâm not asking for forgiveness. Iâm offering a weapon.â
âYouâre offering yourself,â Sirius spits.
You turn to him. âI offered myself the day I let my father brand my arm to earn their trust. Iâve worn his mark for years. Burned for it. Every day. Itâs the only reason I know what I know.â
Silence falls again, this one heavier.
Itâs Remus who moves first. Not away. But toward.
He stops just a foot in front of you. Searching for the person that he knows, the one who he still thought of from time to time.
Thereâs a flicker in his gaze. A falter. Because he remembers them. The one who became an Animagus just to follow a werewolf into the woods so he wouldnât be alone. The one who once fell asleep on his chest in the Astronomy Tower because you were too busy arguing constellations to notice the time.
Itâs not forgiveness you feel in the air. Itâs possibility. A thin thread of it. Worn, frayedâbut not broken.
McGonagall sighs, drawing out her wand and a scroll. âLetâs begin. We need every advantage we can get.â
Sirius storms past you, brushing your shoulder with a bitterness you expected. Remus doesnât move. Not yet.
⢠⢠⢠⢠⢠⢠â˘
Itâs a rare, warm night. The kind that made Hogwarts feel like a sanctuary instead of a fortress. The Astronomy Tower is yours, as it often is during these nights â a shared secret between you and the Marauders. James is absent for once, having finally convinced Lily Evans to accompany him to a late-night stroll by the lake.
Sirius wonât shut up about it.
âI swear to Merlin,â he mutters around a mouthful of stolen Honeydukes chocolate, âif I have to hear James say âEvans smiled at me todayâ one more time, Iâm going to hurl myself off this tower.â
You grin, lounging on your back beside Remus on a thick blanket. âYou say that every week, and yet here you are. Alive and tragically overdramatic.â
Remus chuckles softly beside you, flipping the page of his astronomy chart, the corner of his mouth twitching like heâs fighting a smile.
Sirius throws a chocolate frog wrapper at your face. âSod off. Iâm the picture of restraint.â
âYouâre the picture of something,â you murmur.
âAlright, enough,â Sirius says, brushing imaginary dust from his robes and standing. âIâm off. If I stay, Iâll start making moon-related jokes, and Moony will murder me in my sleep.â
Remus glances up. âYouâve made worse jokes. You survived.â
âI know,â Sirius smirks. Then he pauses, as if considering something. His gaze flicks from you to Remus, and then he sighs loudly, dramatically. âFine. Fine. I can take a hint.â
You raise a brow. âA hint?â
âOh, donât play coy,â he says, wagging a finger. âThe two of you practically breathe in sync. Iâll be downstairs. Donât be boring.â
He leaves in a whirl of black hair and robes.
Silence falls, and you feel it. Not awkward, but charged.
You donât dare look at Remus right away. You focus on the stars, on the gentle night breeze. Untilâ
âYouâre quieter than usual,â he murmurs.
You glance at him. His face is bathed in moonlight, gentle and open. You swallow.
âSo are you,â you say.
âI always am,â he replies with a faint grin. âBut you... Youâre only quiet when youâre thinking too hard. About something you wonât say.â
You bite your lip, fingers twisting in the edge of the blanket. He always sees you. Too much.
âYou ever wonder if weâre⌠going to stay like this?â you ask softly. âAll of us. Together. Laughing. Safe.â
Remus turns his head toward you, eyes dark and soft.
âIâd like to think so.â
âIâm not so sure,â you admit.
âWhy not?â
You hesitate. âMy familyâs⌠complicated. There are expectations. Things they say Iâll need to do when I come of age. Things Iâm supposed to. believe.â
He frowns. âYou donât have to do any of it.â
You glance down. âThey donât see it that way. Iâm already⌠disappointing them. They call Gryffindor a phase. That Iâll grow out of it.â
âTheyâre wrong,â he says firmly.
You smile faintly. âMaybe. But sometimes I wonder if thereâs a part of me thatâll always belong to them. That maybe the sorting hat made a mistake.â
Remus shifts toward you then, propping himself up on one elbow. His eyes search yours, deeper now.
âI donât think it made a mistake. Youâre brave in ways people donât see. Brave in the quiet moments.â
You look at him. Really look. The way his eyes glint, soft but intense. The way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you, but heâs too afraid.
You wonder if he can see it â the shadow beginning to creep in. The pull of blood and duty starting to poison the edges of your thoughts. You want to tell him.
But you donât. You smile instead.
âYou always make it sound like Iâm better than I am.â
âMaybe I just see who you could be,â he says.
The moment stretches.
You donât kiss him. Not yet. But you lean your head against his shoulder, and he lets out the softest breath like itâs a gift.
Above you, a falcon glides across the sky â small and fast and sharp against the stars.
The fire crackles in the drawing room. Shadows dance against the walls, distorted like memories. You're standing at the window, watching the street below through the parted curtains.
You hear him before he speaksâof course you do. You've known Sirius Black long enough to read his footfalls like a curse.
âYouâve got nerve,â he growls behind you. âShowing up here.â
You turn slowly, spine straight, chin raised. âThen throw me out.â
He crosses the room in three strides. âDonât tempt me.â
Your mouth twitches. âWould you really? Or would you rather scream and feel something?â
He doesnât smile. âYou donât get to do that. You donât get to psychoanalyze me like weâre still friends. Like you didnât choose them.â
âI chose survival.â
âYou chose to watch our world burn. You let him take everythingâJames, LilyâHarryâs parents!â His voice cracks. âAnd what did you do? Sit in meetings with the ones who killed them?â
Your expression hardens. âYou think I wanted that? You think I didnât throw up every time I had to sit beside them and pretend I was one of them? You have no idea what I did to stay in that position. The things I had to become.â
He sneers. âA spy? Or a coward?â
The word slices through you, cleaner than you expect.
And it makes you angry.
âYou think rotting in Azkaban gives you a monopoly on suffering?â you snap, stepping toward him now. âI didnât get the luxury of being locked away, Sirius. I had to walk among them. Lie with them. Watch children tortured. Watch families torn apart and smile because I couldnât break cover. I spent years praying for Dumbledoreâs signal to get out. It never came.â
âBullshit,â he spits. âYou had us. You couldâve come to me.â
You laugh, but itâs bitter. âYou? The boy who nearly hexed Snapeâs face off because he looked at me the wrong way in sixth year? Youâd have burned the world down just to see me free, and that wouldâve gotten me killed.â
He stops. Just enough hesitation to let the silence slip between you.
âYou let me think you were dead,â he says, lower now. Hurt rather than furious.
âI thought it was safer,â you murmur. âFor you. For Remus. Iâ I wasnât the same person anymore. I knew what Iâd become.â
âAnd Remus?â Sirius presses. âDid you let him think you were dead, too? Or did you just enjoy breaking his heart?â
Your breath stutters, and the quiet confirms what you both already know.
ââŚYou never stopped loving him,â Sirius says, voice shaking now. âEven when you wore that mark.â
âI never loved the cause,â you snap. âBut I did love him. Still do. I left because I couldnât stand the look on his face if he knew what Iâd done. What Iâd become. What I was capable of.â
Sirius paces, fingers raking through his hair. He looks like a storm barely held together.
âI donât know if I can trust you,â he says finally.
You nod. âGood. Donât. I wouldnât trust me either. But trust that Iâm here now. For Harry. For Remus. For us, if there's still an us left.â
He looks at you. Really looks.
And for a moment, the firelight reflects not a Death Eater, not a spyâbut the girl who once chased him on broomstick through the Forbidden Forest. The girl who punched Lucius Malfoy for calling James a mudblood lover. The girl who used to sit with Remus in silence after every full moon, wiping blood from his jaw without flinching.
ââŚI donât forgive you,â Sirius says.
âI didnât ask you to.â
âBut Iâll fight beside you,â he adds reluctantly. âFor now. Because the boy upstairs deserves every protector he can get.â
You nod once. âThatâs enough.â
He turns, his back to you as he walks awayâbut just before the door, he stops.
âTell him,â Sirius says quietly. âTell Remus. Before this war takes one of you again.â
Then heâs gone.
And youâre left alone in the firelight, trembling with all the things you wish youâd said years ago.
⢠⢠⢠⢠⢠⢠â˘
You kneel.
Marble floors chill your bones through the thin fabric of your robes. The room is too still. Even the fire crackles in obedience.
Lord Voldemort paces in silence, fingers laced behind his back. Every step he takes echoes like a heartbeat before a killing curse.
âYouâve returned sooner than expected,â he says. His voice is not loud, but it consumes the space.
You keep your eyes on the floor. âThe Order has moved. Theyâve begun using the boy as bait â they think heâs safest surrounded by them.â
A quiet, satisfied hiss. âAnd the werewolf?â
You hesitate. A mistake.
His eyes narrow, slits of crimson ice.
âStill soft for him, are we?â Voldemort whispers, now suddenly beside you, cold fingers beneath your chin. âStill dreaming of the half-blood mongrel?â
You donât flinch. You canât.
âI dream of his death,â you lie, voice flat.
He smiles.
âYou were such a clever child. And yet still, I wonder⌠if cleverness can survive sentiment.â
You swallow. The mark on your arm pulses faintly. You nod. âI wonât fail you.â
âSee that you donât,â he murmurs. âOr Iâll have to remind you⌠where your loyalty lives.â
His smile is softer than death.
The firelight makes everyoneâs shadows longer, thinner. Like ghosts waiting to be seen.
You stand at the edge of the room, arms crossed, posture stiff. Dumbledore is absent tonight, and without him, the silence in the Order feels different. Like everyoneâs holding their breath.
Tonks throws a wary glance your way. Mad-Eye grumbles something under his breath about âbad habits dying hard.â And Siriusâhe doesnât look at you at all.
But itâs Remus who approaches. Always him. The soft-footed one, the quiet storm.
He doesnât say your name when he stops beside you.
Just, âRough night?â
You almost laugh. âAlways is.â
He nods slowly, eyes searching your face. Youâre not sure what he sees anymore. Guilt? Decay? Hope? Perhaps the physical, the fresh bruise blooming beneath the surface of your cheek.
âHow long can you do this?â he asks softly. âPlay both sides?â
âIâm not playing anything,â you answer. âThereâs only one ending to this story. I know that.â
Remusâs jaw clenches. âThen why do it?â
You meet his eyesâtired, gentle, kindâand feel the weight of everything you once could have been pressing down on your shoulders.
âBecause someone has to walk into the fire,â you whisper. âSomeone who already burned.â
Heâs quiet for a moment. Then, âYou donât have to do it alone.â
You look away.
âI already am.â
⢠⢠⢠⢠⢠⢠â˘
When you first realized you loved Remus, more than anything elseâyou were certain that youâd sacrifice it all. Knew that loving him, meant surrendering to the idea of dying. Seeing him again, hearing his voiceâbetrayed, but an underlying tenderness.
You knewâyou were going to die for him. One way or another, your story was going to end by his hand or Voldemorts.
You sit at the dinner table later into the night than you meant to, echoes of your past lingering just behind your eyes. A lifetime a sadness as your coffee goes cold, nearly two decades of never quite being enough. Playing two sides that never fully trusted you.
âWhyâd you do it?â Harryâs voice was not soft, but razor sharpâcutting the quiet that never seems quiet enough.
âYouâll have to be more specific.â You try to sound nonchalant, to hide behind the shield that has helped you survive. The solace in the silence.
âWhy did you betray my parents?â He didnât mince his words, carved out by his own trauma.
âI donât think I know anymore.â That doesnât seem to satisfy Harry, his green eyes hold a fire that you used to recognize.
âYouâre a coward, just like Sirius said.â The bite in his voice unmistakable.
âHarryââ But the softness in your voice is drowned out by Harry.
âYouâre probably the reason theyâre dead.â Your eyes shift as your back stiffens considerably, an uncomfortable feeling settling in your stomach.
âHarry.â Thereâs a firmness to your voice, but still quiet in the ways that matter. Still he steps forward, voice raising.
âI wish youâd have died instead!â There is a distinct harshness as lean forward, anger writhing deep within. The careful mask slipping.
âI do too!â He stumbles back, your voice waivers, sincerityâhe believes you as you slump back into the chair. Harry doesnât move towards you, but watches.
As you roll back your sleeve and reveal the dark mark, a stain. A scourge against your skin. You do not touch it, do not give it the satisfaction, but you trace the scar like lines with your eyes.
âI sold my soul when I got this.â You pause, even without touching you acknowledge the weight. âI thought I could protect my friends and honor my family. Thought this was my only chance.â
You meet his eyes, even though he doesnât speakâyou read him the same way you read his parents, so much of them in him.
âHarry I may have chose the wrong side, but I never would have given them up.â You roll the sleeve back down, not defending your choice, but hiding it beneath the fabric of your shirt. âNever.â
You feel a gentle pulse of admission, the guilt does not lessen, but you continue. âI loved them all more than anything else. Still do.â You meet his eye, inhaling as you rise from the table. âBut I made my bed sometime ago, so now I must lay in it.â
Remus had been standing in the hall, Sirius close byâthey were looking for Harry, but were surprised to hear you. A breath away, your admission hanging on the air as you turn the corner. Sirius does not move, but Remus moves back quickly as you turn the corner.
The weight of forever hanging inbetween, âApologies.â You lower your gaze, moving between them and out the front door. Never looking back, but Remus couldnât ignore the pound in his chest. The way his expression tightened.
âDo you think they meant it?â He glances over at Sirius, the words catching in his throat.
âBloody hell if I care.â But they both cared in their own ways, more than either were willing to let on even as you slip out through the front door.
Even as they wonder if itâll be the last time.
â˘
â˘
There it isâthe untidy ending, but really, if you guys like this, let me know. I do have some ideas on how to continue this imagine. If thereâs interest
Warnings: blood, near death experience, some language
Sam Uley X Demigod!Reader
The wind at the cliffâs edge isnât just a breezeâitâs a living thing, pushing and tugging at your clothes like itâs trying to decide whether to shove you forward or pull you back. The salt in the air sticks to your lips, bitter and damp. Somewhere far below, the ocean churns in violent, endless motion, its black-blue surface frothing white as the waves smash against jagged rocks.
Youâve never been afraid of waterâfire is in your blood, yes, but water has never been an enemy. Still, staring down into that restless deep, you know instinctively that you wouldnât last five seconds in it. The waves here donât break. They devour.
The sharp snap of a branch cuts through the wind.
You spin, heart jerking into your throat. Your hands twitch toward instinctâheat pricks at your palms, ready to flareâwhen your eyes lock on a figure half-hidden in the treeline.
Sam.
For a second, you think your mind is playing tricks on you. But then he steps forward, and the sight slams into you like the force of the ocean below. His skin is pale, almost sallow under the overcast light. Dark circles dig deep beneath his eyes, making the red rims stand out even more. Heâs bigger than when you last saw him, muscle filling out his frame, but itâs the kind of bulk that looks hard-earned through survival, not training. He looks like heâs been living on the edge of collapse.
Weeks. Itâs been weeks since you saw himâsince that close call you both nearly didnât walk away from.
You donât move. Neither does he.
But in his eyes, you see it: the push-pull of wanting to close the gap and being terrified of what might happen if he does.
The two of you have been orbiting each other for years. Since you left for camp at nine, itâs been a cycleâpull close, break apart, drift, find each other again. Not magnets. Something looser, stranger. Like two people who keep colliding in random places: the same parking lot, the same playground, the same bakery. And nowâthis cliff.
Where you are, Sam is. And where Sam is, you are.
Before you can say a word, heâs crossed the space and wrapped you in his arms. His chest is solid and trembling against yours. His breath is warm against your ear.
âDonât go.â
The memory hits before you can stop itâthe last conversation you had.
Youâd told him you were going back to Long Island. Heâd stared like youâd spoken another language, waiting for you to grin and say you were joking. Waiting for you to admit you meant a week, not years. Youâd said it flatly, like it was nothing. Like it didnât matter.
No one else can see Sam the way you do. And no one sees you the way he does.
âWhatâs on Long Island?â His voice had been sharp, but the question had hung heavy between you.
âIt doesnât matter.â
His jaw had tightened. âWhatâs his name?â
Youâd narrowed your eyes. âStop being jealous.â
âNoâthen what else is there?â
Youâd never told him about the gods. About the monsters. About the wars. About the fact that your life wasnât one you could explain to anyone who didnât already live it.
âIt doesnât matter.â
When you turned to go, his hand had clamped around your arm, spinning you back. His grip was tight enough to tremble, his face a storm you couldnât quite name.
The anger turned him into someone that you barely recognize.
âSam, let go.â
And he had. Instantly. Like your voice had broken through the haze. And then thereâd been nothingâjust the empty space between you, heavier than the wind off the ocean.
Now, in the present, you hold him as tightly as heâs holding you, your face pressed into the curve of his neck. His scentâwoodsmoke, pine, and something uniquely himâwraps around you.
âI couldnât go,â you murmur.
Youâd tried. Bags packed, train ticket in your pocket. But the closer you got to the station, the more wrong it felt. Camp had always been home. But now, the thought of leaving felt like tearing out something vital.
Home wasnât a place anymore. It was a person.
âI donât think I could stand it if you did,â he says quietly.
â˘
A year passes in a heartbeat. You live together now, and the secrets you carry grow heavier by the day. The longer you stay, the more the monsters comeâtoo many, too often. You hide the weapons. The bruises. The burns. The way the fire in your palms itches to escape at the smallest provocation. Times when Sam almost caught you chasing the bumps in the night, and creaks in the attic.
You could go back to Camp Half-Blood. You could live in safety. But you know you wouldnât last. Youâd always look back.
Youâd always want him.
âBabe?â Your voice echoes into the quiet house as you drop your backpack. No answer. Probably for the bestâyou need to wash the dirt and ash from your skin before he sees you like this.
The shower water runs black at first, spiraling dirt and blood into the drain. Your muscles ache as the steam wraps around you, loosening knots you didnât know you had. You scrub until the scent of smoke fades from your hair.
You dress in the quiet, a towel draped around your shoulders, wandering into the bedroom. The sharp glare of the sun beaming through the window draws your eye. Down in the clearing, Sam walks with Paul and Jared, their laughter carrying easily through the open glass. You drink in the soundâwarm, unguarded, rare.
Then your gaze shiftsâand your blood runs cold.
The towel hits the floor as you bolt for the stairs.
The front door slams open.
âMove!â you shout, fire already blooming in your palm. The Minotaur bursts from the treeline, horns glinting, breath steaming in the cool air. You fling a burst of flame into its face, the smell of scorched hair thickening the air as it roars.
âY/N?!â Samâs voice is sharp, panicked.
âInside!â You keep your eyes on the monster, your stance tight and ready. You shouldnât be able to hear the Minotaur over the roar of blood in your ears, but every sound is crystal clear: its hooves scraping dirt, the low growl in its throat.
Then you make the mistake of glancing at Samâjust for a heartbeat.
Itâs enough. The blunt end of the ax slams into your chest, the impact knocking the air from your lungs as you hit the ground hard. Dirt grinds into raw skin.
When your vision clears, a massive wolf is standing between you and the monster, hackles raised, teeth bared. And in its eyes, you see him.
âI guess we both have secrets,â you rasp as you stumble to your feet, pulling out a short dagger: Weâre gonna have a lot to talk about when this is over.
â˘
Later, you sit at the table, facing each other.
âLook, I can explain the fire,â you start.
Sam shakes his head. âThe fireâs not what Iâm worried about. Iâm worried about the ten-foot monster!â
You arch a brow. âSo you turning into a giant wolf is fine? Water under the bridge?â
He leans back, jaw flexing. âMy ancestors were shifters. We turn when cold ones are near. Happened a little over a year ago.â He gestures at you. âYour turn.â
âMy dadâs Hephaestus. Greek god of the forge. Iâve fought in two warsâTitans and Giants. Been doing this since I was nine.â
He swallows. âI imprinted on you.â
You blink. âI produce fire at will.â
âI barely know what Iâm doing as a wolf. Let alone its alpha.â
âI died once. Got brought back with old magic.â
Silence stretches.
Then his hand covers yours. His skin is warmâsolid in a way that makes your chest ache. âIt scared the hell out of me, seeing you run at that thing.â
You squeeze his fingers. âIâve been doing it my whole life.â
âYouâre not alone anymore.â
Your smile is small, but it reaches your eyes. âYeah. Iâm starting to get that.â
Thereâs always an underlying truth to what you and Sam shareâa quiet thought and tension that neither of you gave name to. Something that neither of you understood. You always assumed that he knew what he was getting into when he chose a demigod. Monsters and gods alike. But it never quite clicks that danger lurks around every corner, and that being away from campâis like a neon sign that says: âEAT ME!â.
Being in La Push, means that there is a certain level of risk to every outing.
So when the screen door slams behind you, itâs still rattling as you barely make it two steps before Samâs voice is cutting through the dark. âYouâre bleeding.â
You glance down, the slice on your side is much deeper than you thought with dark crimson seeping through the makeshift bandage. âItâs nothing.â
âNothing?â Heâs already moving towards you as realization mounts, heâs not going to let this go. His eyes locked in on the blood. âYou come home three hours later than usual, smelling like smoke and gods know what else, and you think Iâm gonna let ânothingâ slide.â
You know itâs because he cares, remind yourself thatâs why he does thisâbecause he cares. But as you push past him towards the sink, the words slip out. âI handled it, Sam. End of story.â
His hand shoots out, not hard enough to hurt, but unyielding. âYou think Iâm just going to stand here while you run into danger over and over again? You think I donât notice when you limp through the door, trying to hide the fact that youâre in pain?â There is an ache in his voice, one that reassures you of the truth that he cares, but your own temper flares, raw and sharp.
âI told you what my life is! Monsters donât care that I live in La Push now. They donât care that Iâm dating you. They come, and I fight â thatâs how it works.â
His jaw flexes, the muscle ticking. âAnd what about me? You think the imprint doesnât tear me apart when youâre out there, bleeding, alone? You think I can just⌠switch it off? Pretend I donât feel it every second youâre in danger?â
You glare, heat rising in your chest. âI didnât ask you to imprint on me, Sam.â
The words hang between you like a blade. His grip loosens, but his expression hardens.
âNo, you didnât. But I did. And it means youâre mine to protect â whether you like it or not.â
âProtect?â you bite back. âIâve fought titans. Giants. Things that would turn you and your pack into ash before you could blink. Iâm not some helpless girl waiting for a savior.â
âYouâre not invincible!â His voice rises, deep and edged with a growl that doesnât sound entirely human. âAnd one day youâre going to come back too hurt for me to do anything about it!â
Your side throbs under the force of your heartbeat, the pain making your vision pulse. âThen maybe stop trying to control me and accept who I am!â
His breathing turns ragged, his hands trembling at his sides. You see the faint shudder in his shoulders, the way his frame seems to swell â like the wolf is clawing right beneath the surface.
âSamâŚâ you say, softer now, but itâs too late. His whole body is vibrating, skin hot under the effort it takes not to shift. His eyes are burning gold, the wild in him straining to break free.
He turns away, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whiten. The kitchen is silent except for his rough, uneven breaths. You can almost feel the heat rolling off him in waves, the air thick with the electric tension of what heâs holding back.
âSam, I don't want to be saved.â
Your words are still hanging in the air when Samâs hands curl into fists so tight you hear his knuckles pop. His chest rises and falls in harsh bursts, the sound almost a growl.
âSamââ you start, but the shift is already overtaking him.
It happens too fast. His body jolts forward, bones snapping and reforming with a sickening crack. Fur bursts along his arms, his frame widening, muscles twisting. You back up, the counter digging into your hipânot out of fear, but because you know what this means.
âSam, stop!â
The wolf tears free before your words can sink in, towering over you, teeth bared in a soundless snarl. Youâve seen the pack shift before, but never him â not like this, not with the heat of your blood still in both your veins.
And truth is, there was nowhere for you to go.
His movement is a blurâa lash of instinct, not intentâand then white-hot pain explodes across your side. You barely register hitting the floor until youâre looking up at him, your hand clamped over your shoulder.
The claw marks are deep, four jagged lines tearing from your collarbone to your ribs. Blood soaks through your fingers, warm and steady, dripping onto the tile. Every breath sends a fresh wave of agony through your chest.
It was an accident, the shift came so quickly and he hadnât meant for you to be so closeâtoo close.
He freezes, golden eyes wide in something like horror. His sides heave, the sound of his breathing harsh and panicked.
You force yourself upright against the cabinet, biting back a groan. âSamââ Your voice shakes. âItâs me. You need to calm down.â
He steps back, head shaking, a low whine breaking from his throat. The wolf in him wants to flee; the man in him wants to fix it. But right now, neither is in control.
You push through the pain, both hands out in front of you. âLook at me. Iâm not afraid of you. You didnât mean toââ Your breath catches as the pain spikes. âSam. You have to breathe.â
He lowers his head, trembling so violently the muscles in his legs twitch. His claws scrape against the tile, his ears pinned flat. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the wildness straining at the edge of reason.
Blood loss makes the edges of your vision pulse black, but you keep talking, voice low, steady. âIâm here. Iâm still here. Youâre not going to lose me.â
The thought of cauterizing your wounds crosses your mind, but you hardly can bring a spark to your fingertips. Nothing makes sense.
For a long moment, the only sound is his labored breathing and the drip of blood on the floor. Slowly, the tension in his frame begins to ease â the gold in his eyes softening, the bristling fur along his shoulders smoothing. He inches forward, nose brushing your knee, a soft whuff of air against you.
Even hurt and half-dizzy, you rest your hand against his massive head. âItâs okay,â you whisper. âWeâre okay.â
Youâre not sure if youâre saying it for him or for yourself.
The sound of the shift back is ugly â bones snapping like dry branches, tendons twisting, the wet pop of joints realigning. When itâs over, Sam is kneeling on the kitchen tile in front of you, bare and shaking, his chest slick with sweat. His breathing is ragged, his eyes still flecked with that molten gold that means the wolf hasnât fully let go.
He doesnât touch you. His hands hover inches from your side, fingers curled like claws, as if even the air between you might hurt you more.
âY/nâŚâ His voice is shredded, so low it almost disappears under the sound of your own pulse pounding in your ears. âOh God⌠what did Iââ
Your whole left side is wet with blood. Itâs soaking through your shirt, dripping in lazy rivulets down your ribs and pooling against your hip. The claw marks burn and throb in uneven pulses, each one a deep, tearing reminder of just how close his loss of control came to killing you.
âSam.â You force the word out evenly, even though your breath trembles. âLook at me.â
He does and you see it: the absolute horror, the disbelief, the guilt already carving into him like a blade.
âYou didnât mean to,â you say, keeping your voice calm, clipped, the way youâve been trained to be when youâre hurt and you canât afford to panic. âIt was an accident. Youâre here now. Thatâs what matters.â
He shakes his head so hard itâs like heâs trying to fling the words away. âI hurt you,â he grits out, voice breaking. âI swore I would neverââ
âWe canât waste time on guilt,â you cut in, sharper this time, because the floor is tilting under you and the black at the edges of your vision is eating away at the room.
You draw in a shallow breath, every expansion of your lungs a lightning-strike of pain down your ribs. âSam⌠you need to hold pressure.â
He flinches like the suggestion itself is an accusation. âI canâtââ
âYou have to.â Your voice has steel in it despite the tremor. âCall 911, put your hands here, and donât you dare let go.â
Something in your tone gets through. He lurches forward, pressing both palms to your side. His hands are huge, the heat of them searing into the wound, and theyâre trembling so hard you feel the shakes in your bones. Heâs breathing too fast, eyes darting between your face and the mess of blood under his fingers.
You feel yourself slipping â itâs harder to keep your gaze locked on his, harder to keep your voice from floating away. âSam.â
His head snaps up instantly, panic roaring in his expression.
âIâm gonna pass out,â you tell him, and you hate how faint you sound. âSo you need to listen to me. Right now.â
Heâs shaking his head before you finish. âDonâtâdonât you close your eyes on meââ
It stops him cold. The way your eyes seem to lose focus, fear creeping in as his entire world shifts. As his mouth opens but nothing comes out, the words stolen by the look in your eyes. His grip tightens, pressing hard enough that you almost cry out, as if he can keep you tethered to him by sheer force of will.
Your vision is collapsing in on itself now, the world narrowing to his face â wild-eyed, desperate, sweat dripping from his temple â and the unbearable heat of his hands.
The last thing you hear before the darkness swallows you is your name, torn from his throat in a voice so raw itâs almost unrecognizable. Not the voice of the Alpha. Not the voice of a man. The voice of someone who thinks heâs already lost you.
Thereâs a blur after the kitchenâvoices, movement, the feel of strong arms lifting you off the tile. The heat of Samâs skin is replaced by the cold night air as he carries you outside. You catch fragmentsâthe crunch of his bare feet on the gravel, the slam of a door, the sharp command in his voice as he shouts for someone to call an ambulance.
By the time the paramedics arrive, the world is a series of snapshots: flashing red lights in the dark, the sterile smell of antiseptic from the kit they carry, hands tugging your shirt away from the wound. Samâs still pressing on your side, refusing to let go until someone physically pulls his hands back.
âSheâs losing too much,â one of them says.
Samâs voice is low, urgent, but steady. âWe were out hiking, barely a mile from hereâa bear came out of nowhere. She tried to fight it off.â
No one questions it. Youâre in La Push. Bears arenât rare here. And no one looks twice at Sam cradling his girlfriend, his forearms and chest streaked with her blood.
They load you into the ambulance. Sam climbs in without asking. His knees are braced wide to steady himself against the jolts of the road, one hand gripping the rail above, the other hovering over you like heâs still afraid to touch.
Your head lolls to the side and you catch flashesâthe glow of passing streetlights across his face, the set of his jaw so tight it could crack, his eyes fixed on you like if he blinks too long, youâll vanish.
âStay with me, y/n,â he says, low enough that the paramedics canât hear. âJust a little longer. Youâre gonna be fine. Iâve got you.â
You want to tell him youâre trying, but your lips barely move. The effort of breathing feels like itâs pulling you under.
The hospital swallows you in white light and noise. Hands move fast, voices overlap. Someoneâs cutting the rest of your shirt away; someone else is sliding a mask over your face. Samâs still there, talking to anyone who will listen, repeating the bear story, the word bear rolling off his tongue like itâs the only thing keeping them from asking more questions.
And then a nurse is blocking his path. âSir, you need to wait outside.â
âIâm not leaving herââ
âSir.â The word is firm, final. âWe need to work.â
You feel him hesitate, torn between obeying and fighting them off. Finally, his face appears above you again, just for a heartbeat. His palm brushes your hair back, his touch unbearably gentle after the violence of earlier.
âDonât go anywhere,â he murmurs, voice breaking on the edges.
The black is pulling at you again, but you manage to force your eyes open one last time. Heâs there âbare, disheveled, covered in your blood, looking more wrecked than youâve ever seen him. You wish you could reach for him, but your arm wonât move.
The nurse tugs him back, the door swinging closed between you. And then heâs gone.
The first thing youâre aware of is the beepingâslow, steady, mechanical. The second is the dry ache in your throat and the dull, constant burn in your side, muted by something heavy and chemical in your veins.
The light is soft, filtered through the blinds. You blink a few times, disoriented, until your gaze catches on the figure slouched in the chair in the far corner.
Sam.
Heâs still shirtless, a thin hospital blanket draped haphazardly around his shoulders. His hair is a mess, sticking out in every direction, and thereâs a dark smear on his jaw that might be dried blood âyour blood. His elbows are on his knees, his head bowed, fingers knotted together so tight his knuckles have gone white.
You can tell by the lines on his face he hasnât slept. Not really. The set of his jaw is hard, but his eyesâwhen they finally lift and meet yoursâare raw, rimmed red, and wet.
âY/n.â The word comes out like heâs afraid to breathe it too loud.
You try to smile, but your lips barely twitch. âHey.â
Heâs on his feet in an instant, crossing the space between you. He stops at the edge of the bed, though, like thereâs an invisible barrier heâs not sure heâs allowed to cross.
âIââ His voice cracks. He swallows hard, tries again. âI thought I lost you.â
âYou didnât.â Your own voice is a rasp, but you keep it steady. âI told you⌠Iâm not going anywhere.â
His jaw tightens, but you see the tremor in his hands. âI swore Iâd never hurt you. And the first time I lose controlââ
âSam,â you interrupt, your tone firmer despite the ache in your ribs. âYou didnât mean to. You were trying to keep from shifting and it happened. Iâm still here. Thatâs what matters.â
Something in him cracks at that â his breath shudders, and the next thing you know, heâs sinking into the chair beside your bed, his head bowed against the mattress. One of his hands finds yours, enveloping it completely, his thumb brushing over your knuckles like heâs memorizing the shape of them.
âI donât deserve you,â he says into the fabric of the blanket.
You squeeze his hand, weak but certain. âToo late. Youâve got me.â
He huffs out something that might be a laugh if it werenât so broken, then lifts his head just enough for you to see the tears clinging to his lashes. âI love you.â
âI know.â Your eyes start to drift shut againâ exhaustion heavier than gravity.
He doesnât let go of your hand. Not when your breathing evens out. Not when the nurse comes in to check your vitals. Not even when the doctor tells him visiting hours ended hours ago.
By the time you fall fully back asleep, the last thing you feel is the solid weight of his hand wrapped around yours â as if letting go isnât an option.
We just surpassed 500 followersâand Iâve never been so grateful!!! đŤś
Itâs been three years since I revamped this account, and since then you guys have steadily enjoyed my writing. Iâve gone through writers block, life changes, and it always brings me back to you â¨
⢠I am so thankful and grateful, and humbled by all of you â˘
I just read your âUntil Dawnâ fic and it had me SEATEDDDDD. And when I saw ur requests were open I got really excited lolll. So I was wondering if u could write a Legolas x reader where they meet at a tavern and the reader is gets the whole tavern dancing once the band starts playing. Similar to the scene in Tangled when Rapunzel gets the townsfolk to start dancing in the circle! Hope this makes sense lol
Take as much time needed and have a wonderful day đ
By the Babbling Water
Legolas Greenleaf X human!Reader
The tavern was louder than most places Legolas Greenleaf had ever set foot in. Earthy scents of spiced mead and roasting meat mingled with laughter and off-key singing, humans crammed elbow to elbow in a warmth that no Elven hall could replicate. It was strange⌠and oddly comforting.
Aragorn sat beside him, nursing a drink with his usual ease, though his eyes scanned the room out of old habit. Legolas, however, sat still, ever the watchful observer. Until you passed by.
You werenât just another figure moving through the crowd. You glided. A tray balanced with impossible grace in one hand, hair tucked behind your ears in a way that framed the brightness in your eyes. Your laughter rang out like chimes in the wind, and it was so genuineâso invitingâthat people leaned toward it like sunflowers seeking warmth.
Legolas stared. He didn't mean to, but he did.
âCareful, my friend,â Aragorn muttered, following his gaze. âYouâre staring like a stunned deer.â
âIâŚâ Legolasâs voice faltered. âShe laughed. The room shifted when she did.â
âYouâve been traveling too long if that surprises you.â
But it did surprise him. In a world filled with shadows and scars, you were a flame that didnât flicker. There was life in your step, kindness in the way you remembered every patronâs name, and something enchanting about the way people *gravitated* to you, like you held court and didnât even know it.
And then your eyes met his.
It was brief, a flicker of recognitionâhe hadnât spoken a word to you, yet you smiled, like you already knew him. Like his face was one you wouldnât forget.
âYou two traveling through?â you asked when you finally made it to their table. The tilt of your head was playful, curious, and Legolas found himself at a loss for words. âHavenât seen you before, but I never forget a face.â
âWe are,â Aragorn replied, clearly enjoying the rare sight of his Elven friend struck dumb. âPassing through to the north.â
You turned to Legolas. âYouâve got a look to you,â you said, narrowing your eyes. âLike you belong in a song.â
His lips parted slightly. âI⌠do not sing often.â
You laughed, delighted. âPity. Youâve got the eyes for it.â
His gaze lingered on yours longer than it should have, but you didnât shy away. In fact, you leaned in slightly, lowering your voice conspiratorially. âI always know when someoneâs more than they seem.â
Before he could gather his wits, you were off again, swept into a tide of patrons calling your name, laughter trailing in your wake. Legolas watched you move, that quiet little smile still ghosting his lips.
Aragorn leaned over, voice low. âSheâs got the heart of a fire, that one. Careful you donât get burned.â
âI do not fear the flame,â Legolas murmured, still watching you. âOnly that I will not feel its warmth again once I leave.â
Aragorn raised an eyebrow. âThen perhaps you should stay a little longer.â
Legolas didnât answerâbut the next evening, he was back. And the evening after that. And every evening until you were the one saying, voice gentle, âYou donât have to leave when the road calls. Sometimes, the road leads you where youâre meant to stay.â
And for the first time, the prince of the Woodland Realm wondered if perhaps the world of men, with its clamor and song and fire-hearted barmaids, had something to teach him after all.
They came again, like alwaysâjust before the fire was lit and the mugs had begun to overflow, boots wet with road dust and wind in their cloaks.
You were already in the thick of itâgreeting the man whoâd lost his wife last winter with a gentle squeeze of his shoulder, handing off warm cider to the merchantâs twins who always shared one between them, slipping behind the bar to kiss the cook on the cheek and tease a plate of bread from him.
It was like watching someone command a kingdom built of stories and laughter, of faces you never forgot and names you always remembered.
When your eyes met Legolasâs across the tavern, your smile bloomed like it always didâlike seeing him was part of your ritual.
âWell look who the wind dragged back,â you said as you approached their table, swiping a mug off a tray and setting it down in front of Aragorn without asking. âStarting to think you two are putting down roots.â
âNot roots,â Aragorn replied with a grin. âJust fond of good company.â
âAnd better dancing,â you added, tossing Legolas a playful look. âWhat do you say, my lord of the woods? Think youâve got another jig in you?â
âI survived the last,â Legolas replied, voice low, though his eyes never left your face.
You laughed, radiant, and leaned in just slightly, enough for him to feel the warmth of your breath. âThen youâll survive this one too.â
As if summoned by your words, the music struck up againâquick and lovely, the kind of tavern song that needed no introduction. Just a beat. A clap. A stomp.
You straightened with a grin. âThatâs my cue.â
And just like that, you were off.
The crowd parted without protest, a hush of eager anticipation giving way to cheers as you moved into the center of the room. Your skirts twirled with every step, and you clapped your hands onceâsharp and sure.
âCome on now!â you called. âDonât make me dance alone!â
The old man by the hearth was first. You caught his hand and spun him gently, laughing when he stumbled on purpose. A young girl next, all freckles and wide eyes. Then a woman with a baby on her hip who managed to sway with you as the music built.
Then a farmer. A boy barely tall enough to reach your waist. An old woman with silver in her braid and laughter on her lips. One by one, you pulled them in, weaving a circle of stomping feet, flushed cheeks, and joy so real it made the tavern walls feel too small to contain it.
Legolas didnât move.
He just watched.
Watched the way you danced without care for grace, how your steps were uneven but sure, how your laughter sparked every time someone missed a beat or made up their own. How you never paused, never hesitatedâhow you belonged.
It was all too human. Messy and alive. Fleeting.
And somehow, watching you felt like aching.
âYouâre staring again,â Aragorn said under his breath, smiling into his mug.
Legolas didnât answer. He couldnât.
Because the room spun with you, filled with the noise of hands clapping and feet stamping, and for a heartbeat, it was as if the whole world had been reduced to this moment. To you. To the sound of your laughter wrapped in fiddle strings and the weightless pull of something he didnât have a name for.
You caught his eye again. Not by accident. A look passed between youâplayful, knowing, soft.
And even as the dance went on without pause, it was clear:
You didnât need to take his hand to pull him in.
You already had.
The music didnât stop. If anything, it soaredâfiddle climbing, drum thumping, boots slapping the old floorboards like theyâd been waiting all week for this very song. The tavern was alight, hearts pounding, ale sloshing, voices raised in tune and laughter.
You spun again, cheeks flushed, hair wild with movement. The circle was wide now, a glorious mess of partners changing hands, people twirling and stomping in the wrong places and not caring a bit.
Your eyes found his, right where he stoodâstatue-still, too composed, golden hair catching the firelight like something ancient and unwilling to give in.
You turned as you danced, facing him fully.
âGonna make me ask, little leaf?â
It was loud, clear, and shameless. Half the room laughed. The other half watched with baited breath.
Legolas blinked. Something flickered behind his eyesâsurprise, something like indignation, and something else too: heat.
Then a woman caught himâliterally. A short redhead from the far end of the room grabbed his arm with a shout of delight. âCome on, pretty thing! Donât let her down now!â
And he was in.
He stumbled, just onceâhis boots not made for this kind of clatterâbut his instincts were quick, and his grace never failed him long. He found the rhythm, awkward for only a breath before he spun the redhead expertly into the arms of another, and was swept toward a broad-shouldered farmer, who grinned and slapped him on the back before sending him spinning again.
You laughed, breathless, catching glimpses of him between partnersâtall, lean, so out of place in this raucous dance but trying. Trying because you asked.
And he was watching you too. Every time a new partner took your hand, he found you again. Every spin, every clap, every laughing stumble that passed between you bothâyou found each other. Again and again and again.
It became a game. Who could catch the otherâs eye fastest. Who could hold the longest. Who could hide the smile and who couldn't.
The music was rising nowâfaster, brighter, louder. The final stretch of the song. The room whirled, people tossed from hand to hand in a joyful chaos of bodies and movement and song.
And finallyâfinallyâas the last beat built to a crescendo, you turnedâ
And he was there.
Right in front of you. Chest heaving. Eyes bright. Hair disheveled. A flush in his cheeks that had nothing to do with embarrassment.
You didnât hesitate. Both your hands slid into his, your fingers curling firm around his palms, and with a shared breath, you spun together. The music crashed into its final noteâfeet stomped, hands clapped, voices shoutedâ
And the room roared.
You landed breathless, grinning, still holding him. He didnât let go either.
âDidnât think youâd make it,â you teased, laughing.
Legolas, winded and dazed, looked down at your hands in his. âI am⌠frequently underestimated.â
You leaned in just enough for your smile to soften. âNot by me.â
For a beat, neither of you moved.
The tavern was still ringing with applause, but for a moment, all Legolas could hear was the echo of your voice, and the thunder of his own heart.
And for the first time, maybe, he realized something.
He hadnât just been caught in the dance.
Heâd been claimed.
The tavern had settled into a gentler rhythm nowâmugs clinked, voices dropped to soft hums, and the musicians had retired to a corner, the last song still echoing in everyoneâs bones. A few regulars lingered, half-asleep by the hearth or curled into quiet conversation over lukewarm cider.
You were drying mugs behind the bar when you saw himâstill there.
Legolas, seated by the fire, hair loose from the dance, boots dusted and damp, his cloak draped across the back of his chair. He looked like he belonged in a forest clearing, not this room full of noise and stories and spilled drinkâbut there was something in his posture now, in the way his shoulders werenât quite so tense, that made him seem closer. As though, without quite meaning to, heâd let the place in.
You wiped your hands and made your way to him without fanfare.
He looked up as you approached, that same unreadable softness behind his gaze.
You didnât sit right away. Instead, you offered him a steaming mug, fresh and fragrant. âMulled cider. With a splash of something sharper,â you said, smiling. âOn the house. For surviving the dance.â
His lips twitched. âYou have many talents. Humility is not among them.â
You grinned. âWhat fun would that be?â
You sat beside him, just close enough to feel the warmth from the fireâand from him.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
The crackle of the logs, the low murmur of distant laughter, the pop of pine in the hearth. You let the silence stretch, not awkward, just easy. Like both of you were still catching your breath.
Finally, you spoke, quieter now. âYou did well, you know. Most men fall flat on their backs trying to keep up with that tune.â
âI had a good reason to try,â he replied.
You looked at him then, surprisedâbut not too much.
His gaze held yours. Calm, steady. Like he wasnât afraid of silence anymore. Like he wanted to sit in it with you.
âYou know,â you said after a beat, your voice softer than before, âYouâve been coming here for nights now, always quiet, always watching. Iâve met enough travelers to know most keep moving, especially elves. But you⌠stay.â
A pause. Firelight flickered across his cheekbones. âThe world has many wonders,â he said, almost like he was speaking to himself. âMountains that breathe mist, forests that sing. And stillâŚâ
He turned his head, eyes finding yours again.
ââŚsomehow, this place calls me back.â
You could feel your pulse in your throat. Not fast. Just aware.
âIs it the cider?â you teased lightly, just to ease the weight in your chest.
âNo,â he said, barely a whisper. âItâs you.â
The words hung in the air, fragile and too-honest. Not dressed up or guarded. Just true.
You didnât know what to say to that. For once, words felt too small.
So you just sat there. Close. Warm. Quiet.
Outside, the wind brushed against the tavern walls. Inside, the fire crackled low.
And Legolas, Prince of the Woodland Realm, stayed at your side long after the last mug was emptied.
Warnings: Imagine included sexual acts, and some violent depictions (non-sexual).
AN: May the 4th be with you⨠Iâve been saving this one for a while, almost forgot to post it.
Blasterfire lit up the alley in a staccato rhythm, red bolts flashing like lightning in a bottle. You pressed your back to the wall, breath steady despite the chaos around you.
Your targetâa slimy, blue-skinned con artist named Kess Praloâwas holed up behind a speeder wreck, whimpering between his useless return shots.
âPralo,â you called, voice low and smooth, âyouâre surrounded. Or you will be in about fifteen seconds when my thermal detonator goes off.â
âWait! Wait! Donâtâ!â
Thunk.
The sound made you look up. Someone else had landed on the rooftop above the alleyâsomeone cloaked in beskar and silence. He dropped to the ground with the weight of certainty, his rifle already trained on the cowering conman.
âYouâre late,â you muttered, stepping out of cover, blaster aimed steady.
âI wasnât trying to be early,â came the calm, modulated voice.
The Mandalorian.
You hadnât seen him in nearly two cyclesânot since the botched job. Back then, he was quiet, efficient, and unbothered by things like allies. He still seemed that way⌠but something lingered in his helmetâs tilt as he looked at you.
âDidnât think Iâd see you again,â you said, toeing your boot against Praloâs dropped weapon. âYou usually ghost your way through a job.â
He slung his rifle over his shoulder, stepping closer, visor never leaving your face. âYou handled it well.â
âYou watched that long before stepping in?â
âLong enough to see you almost talk him into giving up,â he said. âThat doesnât happen much.â
You smirked. âSome of us have skills beyond brute force and a carbonite chamber.â
That got a low hum from him. Maybe amusement. Maybe respect. With Mando, it was hard to tell. But he lingered longer than you expected, his silence almost⌠curious.
âI was thinking of tracking him,â he said, nudging Praloâs whimpering form with a boot. âBut Iâll defer. You got here first.â
You raised a brow. âSince when does the Mandalorian play nice?â
âSince I started valuing company that doesnât get killed by the end of the job.â
You froze for just a second. Not because the words were threateningâbut because they werenât.
A compliment. Maybe.
âNext time,â you said, binding Praloâs wrists with cuffs, âdonât be a stranger. You might like having someone who can match you.â
He turned, but his voice lingered behind him.
âI already do.â
And just like that, he vanished into the shadowsâsilent, cloaked, and gone.
But something told you this wouldnât be the last time.
â˘
The twin suns of Arvala-6 hadnât risen yet, but the wind carried grit like tiny razors. You crouched low on a ridge overlooking a weathered outpost, the bounty puckâs holo flickering beside you. Your mark was inside, surrounded by offworld raiders and too much firepower for one person.
Good thing you werenât alone.
âI told you this wasnât going to be a clean job,â you muttered, barely turning your head.
Behind you, the gravel crunched.
âI wasnât looking for clean.â
You didnât jumpâdidnât have to. Youâd recognized his footfalls before he spoke.
âI thought you worked alone,â you said, glancing over your shoulder.
âI do,â he said. Then added, âUsually.â
The Mandalorian crouched beside you, visor scanning the outpost. His presence was like a storm frontâquiet but heavy, pressing at the edges of something you couldnât quite name.
âHowâd you find me?â you asked.
âYouâre hard to miss.â
You arched a brow. âThat a compliment?â
âI donât do compliments.â
âCouldâve fooled me, last time.â
He didnât answer. Just a tilt of the helmet, the kind that felt like a shift in gravity. You felt it again nowâthat uncanny tension, the pause between two sparks right before the explosion. It hadnât faded. If anything, it had grown.
You both waited in silence, side by side in the low light, watching.
Then, he broke it.
âIâve had a few jobs since we crossed paths. Kept thinking about that alley on Nevarro.â
You looked over, slower this time. âWhy?â
âYou didnât flinch,â he said. âEven when you knew I had the shot. You werenât afraid of me.â
You held his gazeâor at least the visor where his eyes might be. âShould I have been?â
âNo,â he said. And then, after a beat, âThatâs the problem.â
You couldnât help the dry chuckle. âYouâre not used to someone not flinching?â
âIâm not used to someone staying.â
That quiet between you grew sharper. Not uncomfortableâbut brimming. He looked at you like he didnât know what to do with the feeling you stirred in him.
âI can take the left side,â you said finally, voice quieter. âHit them when they least expect it.â
âIâll cover you.â
âAnd afterward?â
There it was againâthat pause. Like he hadnât considered there was an afterward.
He turned toward you, and for a second, the wind didnât exist. âThen maybe⌠you stay.â
You blinked, the tension settling deep in your bones. A flicker of heat, not from the suns or the adrenaline.
You nodded slowly. âThen letâs make it worth surviving.â
He didnât say anything elseâbut the way his shoulder brushed yours before you moved into position told you everything.
The Razor Crest creaked softly in the stillness of orbit. You stood near the wall of the dim cargo hold, body still humming with leftover adrenaline, dust and sweat clinging to your skin like memory.
He stood a few feet away, silent in his armor, visor tilted ever so slightly toward you.
âYou didnât have to come back for me,â you said, arms crossed to keep your voice steady.
âI know.â
âCouldâve taken the bounty, flown off, and never looked back.â
âI didnât want to.â
The air tightened between you. You took a step forward. Then another.
When you reached him, your fingers brushed the cool beskar of his chestplate. He didnât flinch. Didnât move.
âI donât want your face,â you said, voice quiet but steady. âI want what youâre willing to give.â
His breath hitched through the vocoderâjust slightly. But his hands came up, slow and searching, pulling you close like the restraint he usually wore was cracking open at the seams.
Your fingers slid to the exposed skin at the back of his neck where the armor endedâwarm, real, human. He stilled.
âThere are other places to kiss,â you whispered, âbesides the lips.â
That made him exhale, sharp and low. Almost a groan.
He grabbed your hips and pulled you flush against him, a hand sliding up your back to your neck. You kissed the line of his jaw under the helmet, your lips brushing the warm skin where it peeked out near the baseâthen lower, against his throat, lingering where his pulse thudded hard beneath it.
He made a soundârough, guttural.
And then everything unraveled.
His gloves were off. Your shirt was lifted. The cargo hold became the site of something wordless and hungry. He touched you like heâd gone too long without the weight of another body, without the heat, the contact, the closeness.
Every movement was rough, his hands navigating you like a man desperate to know every part. The way your lips felt like sin against his chest, his abdomen, as he laid himself back on the small makeshift bed.
You let him take. Let him give. And gave it right back.
He never removed the helmet. You never asked.
And that restraintâyour willingness to navigate the spaces around itâsomehow made it more intimate than anything else could have.
Later, when your heartbeat settled and the silence returned, you sat side by side near the foot of the ramp, not touching now, but changed.
âI wonât ask what this was,â you murmured, fingers resting on your thigh.
He didnât look at you. âI wouldnât know what to call it.â
You smiledâsmall, bittersweet. âYou donât have to.â
The ramp hissed open.
Neither of you said goodbye.
â˘
The cantina was warmer than you remembered. Still rebuilt from the ashes of the old guild hall, its edges were cleaner, brighterâbut the smell of fire, spice, and old violence clung to the walls like an echo. You sipped something strong at the back table, half-listening to the music droids and the murmur of passing smugglers.
Your ship was grounded for repairs after a hard exit from Sorgan. You hadnât planned on lingering.
Until he walked in.
At first, you didnât lookâjust felt it. That ripple in the air. Like a shift in gravity. Then came the sound: familiar boots on stone, the low hum of beskar plates, and a presence that hadnât left your memory since the last time you touched it.
You turned your head slowly, keeping the smile in check.
Mando stood near the threshold of the tavern, cloaked in armor and shadow. But what stunned you wasnât himâit was the child cradled in his arms. Tiny. Wide-eyed. Green.
You blinked.
The Mandalorian had brought something soft into a hard world. And he looked⌠changed. Not less dangerous. Justâmore human.
His gaze swept the room, and then landed on you.
A flicker. A shift in his stance.
He didnât move for a beat. Thenâhe started walking toward you.
You rose from your chair just as he reached the edge of your table.
âDidnât expect to see you here,â you said, that familiar glint in your eye. âYou still make a dramatic entrance.â
He tilted his head slightly. âYou havenât changed.â
You smiled faintly. âNoticed that, did you?â
âI always did.â
Your eyes fell briefly to the child, nestled in the crook of his arm, half-asleep but peering at you with startling curiosity.
âWell, youâve changed,â you said, voice softer. âI see you picked up a new partner.â
Mando glanced down at the child. âSomething like that.â
You met the childâs eyes, and the corner of your mouth lifted. âHeâs special.â
âHe is.â
He watched you longer than he needed to. Watched the way you stoodâstill, centered, not threatening, but⌠present. You hadnât even reached for your blaster. You rarely needed to. There was something in your stillness, the way your eyes read a room without speaking. Like you were listening to something deeper.
It clicked, somewhere deep in him.
You didnât just move like a bounty hunter.
You moved like someone who used to be something else.
He didnât say it out loud. But the realization landed like a quiet stone.
Jedi?
Or⌠not quite.
Something else.
But you didnât offer the truth. And he didnât ask.
Instead, you gestured to the empty seat. âSit. Unless you're just here to stare at me again.â
He hesitated. Then sat.
The child climbed curiously onto the table, reaching toward your cup before Mando gently pulled him back. You laughed, light and unguarded.
For a few moments, you shared nothing but silence. Then, you leaned in just slightly.
âNice to know the galaxy hasnât worn you down yet,â you said. âThough I guess it takes a different kind of armor to raise someone like him.â
Mando studied you through the visor. Your face. Your voice. Your calm. He remembered your hands. The warmth of your breath near his neck. The way you never asked for his name, or his faceâbut still left a mark like you'd seen both.
And now⌠you were still here.
Still not aging.
Still untouched by the years and the weight of war.
âYouâre not just passing through,â he said finally.
âNo,â you admitted. âI think I was meant to cross your path again.â
And deep down, though he didnât want to believe in fate or anything beyond survival, Mando felt it too.
Because the child was staring at you nowânot with curiosity.
But recognition.
Mando hadnât said a word in over a minute. Not since you joined him at the table. But the Child had. Not aloudâjust with his eyes.
He hadnât stopped watching you.
Not unlike a child watching a stranger. More like someone remembering.
You glanced his way again, offering a soft smile, and reached toward himânot touching, just allowing space. The Child blinked, then let out a low, pleased gurgle.
Mando stiffened slightly.
You noticed.
âItâs alright,â you murmured. âIâve spent time with beings like him before.â
Mando tilted his head. âBeings?â
âSensitive ones.â
He went still, and the air around the table changed. Not tense. Just heavy.
Your gaze flicked to the child, and your voice lowered. âI knew someone once who could move stars without lifting a hand. He was kind. Strange. Lost. This little one reminds me of him.â
âYou were close?â
You looked at Mando carefully, that unreadable expression in your eyes againâthe one he remembered from that night on the Crest.
âWe were⌠aligned, for a time. Heâs gone now.â
Mando didnât ask what happened. He didnât have to. The look in your eyes said it was the kind of loss that never fully left.
Before he could speak again, a voice called across the roomâ
âMando!â
Greef Karga, flanked by Cara Dune, gestured from the doorway.
Mando stood, but paused before turning. âYou coming?â
You blinked. âThat an invitation?â
He hesitated. Then, âItâs not not one.â
You scoffed, but stood anyway, brushing past him as you picked up your gear. âLead the way, Mandalorian.â
The husk of what used to be an Imperial facility loomed like a wound in the rock. You moved with the othersâCara on point, Mando at the flank, Greef handling the rear. But every few steps, the Child peeked out from the satchel on Mandoâs chest to look at you.
Watch you.
Feel you.
And you let him.
There was something in you he recognizedânot the same power he had, but a cousin to it. Yours was quieter, older. Like stone weathered smooth by centuries of wind.
When the stormtroopers cameâpanicked, outnumberedâyou moved through them with lethal grace. Blaster low, blade hidden in your boot, you struck with an ease that made Greef pause mid-shot just to stare.
âShe always move like that?â he muttered.
Mando grunted. âYeah.â
But he was staring too.
Not just at how you foughtâbut how you knew when to fight. You didnât waste a shot. You didnât lose your breath. And when the last trooper fell, you were already turning to the Childâwho stared at you with wide eyes, as if seeing something that had always been there.
You crouched near the child. âYou feel it, donât you?â
The child reached toward you.
Mando stepped closer. âHe doesnât do that often.â
You met Mandoâs gaze, voice quiet. âHe knows Iâve walked close to the Force. Iâm not one of themânot Jediâbut Iâve touched it. Been touched by it.â
Mando said nothing. But inside, he felt the old weight of questions. Things heâd trained himself not to wonder.
And now you were back. Still unaged. Still silent. And carrying something ancient beneath your skin.
Not Jedi.
Not Sith.
Something else.
â˘
The stars outside the viewport bled into lines as the Crest jumped into hyperspace, its battered frame groaning gently with the shift. You sat in one of the co-pilot seats, eyes on the blue swirl beyond the glass, but your thoughts werenât out there.
They were behind youâin the hull of the ship, where you could hear soft, shuffling feet, and Mandoâs low voice speaking to the child in that quiet way he thought no one noticed.
It hadnât been a request, not at first.
Youâd caught up to him near the hangar bay, dust still clinging to your shoulders, and without turning to you, he said, âYou should come.â
No explanation. No pretense.
Just: You should come.
You hadnât needed to ask why.
And now, as the door to the sleeping chamber slid shut and his footsteps echoed back into the main cabin, your pulse ticked faster against your throat.
You didnât look at him when he returnedâbut you felt him. Every step, every breath. The quiet weight of his gaze on the side of your face.
He sat across from you, in the bench bolted to the wall. The helmet was still on. Of course it was. You didnât expect anything else.
âI wasnât sure youâd say yes,â he said.
âI wasnât sure youâd ask.â
The hum of the hyperdrive filled the silence between words. Not uncomfortableâjust familiar.
You finally turned to look at him. âYou were different, today. With the child. You care for him?â
âI do,â he said quietly. âMore than I expected to.â
âIs that why you trust me now?â
He didnât answer at first. But you watched his shoulders shift under the armor, slow and tense.
âI never stopped thinking about that night,â he said. âEven when I told myself I should.â
You smiled faintly. âI didnât expect to see you again. Thought maybe it was just⌠a moment. A passing star.â
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. âIt didnât feel like a moment.â
Your eyes met the blank visorâand still, somehow, it felt like looking directly into him.
âDo you ever wonder,â you said softly, âif the people who find you, the ones who get closest⌠are the ones who see past the armor? Even if they never see your face?â
He went still again. A silence more vulnerable than words.
âI remember your breath,â you said, voice barely above a whisper. âThe way your hands shook for a second. Like you werenât used to being wanted without demand.â
You leaned back in the chair, eyes half-lidded.
âThere was something holy in that,â you murmured. âTo want, without asking for more than someone can give.â
He was quiet for so long, you almost closed your eyes.
Thenâhis voice, low and hoarse.
âI remember how you kissed my throat. Like it meant something.â
âIt did.â
The quiet swelled again, a pressure neither of you released.
You glanced back, and the Childâs soft snores drifted in from the back. A presence warm and fragile. Like hope made small and sleeping.
You spoke againâquieter now, with a tired edge to your voice.
âYou donât know what youâve brought into your life, Mando.â
He watched you. âYou mean the kid?â
You hesitated.
âNo,â you said. âMe.â
He didnât flinch. Didnât move. Just tilted his head the slightest bit, as if trying to read the face behind your words.
âI donât know what you are,â he admitted. âBut I donât think you do either.â
That stung more than it should have. Mostly because it was true.
Youâd carried the weight of your survival for so long that the shape of it had begun to blur. You werenât Jedi. You werenât Sith.
But what were you?
The Force had marked you. Twisted something in your bones. Preserved your breath when the rest of your kind had turned to dust.
And now it was pulling again. Toward a child. A Mandalorian. A path you hadnât meant to follow.
âWhy did you ask me to stay?â you asked suddenly.
He didnât answer right away.
You turned to face him fully. âIs it because of what I can do? Because Iâm useful? Or is it something else?â
Din didnât shift. But there was something in the air between youâdense, unspoken.
âYou were already staying,â he said finally. âI just gave you permission to admit it.â
That silenced you.
Not because he was right. But because you didnât know if he was.
Outside, hyperspace swirled on endlessly. But inside, the silence thickened. You didnât move. Neither did he. The distance between you felt both endless and razor-thin.
You turned back to the stars, jaw tense.
âYou should sleep,â you murmured.
âSo should you,â he said.
But neither of you moved.
And neither of you wouldâfor a long, long time.
he ground was ash beneath your boots. Blackened bark cracked under every step. Mando walked ahead, the Child nestled in the sling at his chest, but you kept to his flankâsilent, alert, and oddly aware of how the air had shifted the moment you landed on this world.
You felt her before you saw her.
Not the way most would. Not in sound or heat or shadow. But through the strange weight that pressed behind your ribs, coiling tight like a string drawn too far.
She felt you too.
Ahsokaâs approach was fast and precise. And the moment she leapt from the trees, igniting her twin sabers in that silent-white glow, you already knew the strike wasnât for Mando.
It was for you.
You moved fast, drawing no weapon, only stepping into her line with an arm raised. âStopââ
White light halted inches from your shoulder. Mando didnât breathe. The Child let out a small, startled coo.
Ahsoka narrowed her eyes, staring at you with an intensity that felt ancient. Her voice, when it came, was not surprised. Not truly.
âYou.â
You met her gaze. âAhsoka Tano.â
âI felt you before I saw you.â
âAnd now that youâve seen me?â
âI still donât know what you are.â
Her sabers didnât lower.
Mando stepped slightly between you, tense. âTheyre with me.â
âTheyâre not Jedi,â Ahsoka said flatly, ignoring him. âBut sheâs something.â
You gave her a faint, tired smile. âIâve heard that before.â
She circled slowly, eyes never leaving you. âI knew someone like you. A long time ago. A being who touched the Force, but didnât follow it. Not Jedi. Not Sith. Something in between. He burned alive trying to find meaning in it.â
You didnât flinch. âAnd yet here I stand.â
âWhy?â she asked.
Mando looked at you, tooâbut his gaze was softer. Quieter. Heâd been wondering the same thing since Nevarro, but hadnât spoken it aloud.
You looked down at the Child, who was staring between the two of you, wide-eyed and still. His little fingers curled around Mandoâs tunic.
And then, softly, you answered.
âBecause something wanted me to stay.â
Ahsoka exhaled slowly, sabers deactivating with a hiss. âThatâs not always a kindness.â
âI never said it was.â
A long silence fell between you, layered with things unspokenâlives lost, orders fallen, choices made in grief and fury.
The Childâs ears twitched.
Then Ahsoka stepped back, finally turning to Mando.
âYouâre here for the child.â
He nodded.
Her voice lost none of its edge. âThen come. All of you.â
You followed them deeper into the forest, but Ahsoka kept her distance from you. Even as she sat across from Mando, even as she gently opened her mind to him, you felt the flickers of her attention driftingâback to you.
To what you were.
To what you still might become.
And when night fell and the Child, now known as Grogu slept in Mandoâs arms by the fire, Ahsoka finally came to sit beside you at the edge of camp.
She didnât look at you when she spoke.
âThereâs still a chance to turn away.â
You glanced sideways. âFrom what?â
âFrom becoming something even you wonât recognize.â
You let the firelight dance across your fingers before replying.
âI already donât recognize myself.â
Ahsoka didnât speak again.
But she stayed.
Because like you, sheâd known what it was to be made of fragments. To walk through fire and still not burn.
To be chosen by something that never asked if you wanted to survive.
â˘
Grogu was asleep again. Mando had carried him off into the Razor Crest to rest, pausing only to glance back onceâat you, at Ahsoka, at the strange distance between you.
You sat with your back to a scorched tree, fingers absently tracing patterns into the dirt beside your boot. The fire crackled low. Orange light danced across your features, softening the edges of the exhaustion you wore like a second skin.
Ahsoka didnât speak for a long while. She sat across from you, eyes half-closed, hands resting in her lap like a statue carved by silence.
âI wasnât sure it was you,â she said at last.
You lifted your gaze. âYou thought I was someone else.â
âNo,â she said, slow and sure. âI knew you werenât him. But you reminded me. The same⌠stillness. The same ache beneath the surface.â
You leaned back against the bark. âWho?â
She hesitated.
Then: âQuinlan Vos.â
You stilled.
The name rippled through the space between you, carried like smokeâfamiliar, dangerous, mourned.
âHe wasnât like me,â you said.
âNo. But he stood where youâre standing. On the edge of the Force. Close enough to wield it. Far enough to be consumed by it.â
There was something unreadable in her tone. Not accusation. Not quite sorrow, either. Something more⌠unfinished.
You breathed in slowly. âI heard he died.â
Ahsokaâs eyes flicked toward you. âSo did I.â
The silence was heavier now.
âYou said he burned alive,â you murmured.
âHe did,â she said. âBut not in fire. In grief. In the fracture between what he was and what the galaxy made him become.â
You looked away. That hit too close.
âHe trusted too much,â she added.
âAnd I donât trust enough,â you replied.
âMaybe,â she said, almost gently. âOr maybe youâre just afraid to.â
You felt the pull in your chest again. That ache that never left.
âI donât age because I donât live the way others do, my people on my planet, they lived immortal until they chose to settleââ you whispered. âI exist. I survive. But I donât move forward. I donât let myself. Not really.â
Ahsoka nodded slowly, watching the flames. âThatâs what I saw in you. Not darkness. Not power. Just⌠drift. Like a being suspended between now and then.â
You laughed under your breath, dry and low. âAnd yet he asked me to stay.â
âThe Mandalorian?â
You nodded.
Ahsoka tilted her head slightly. âHe doesnât ask easily.â
âNo,â you said. âHe doesnât.â
A longer pause.
âIâm not what Grogu needs,â she said after a while. âBut maybe you are.â
You blinked. âWhat?â
âI canât train him. Not without risking the path Anakin walked.â
You winced at the name, but didnât speak.
âBut youâŚâ Ahsoka trailed off, watching you carefully. âYou walk a line so thin it disappears beneath your feet. And still youâre here. Still trying.â
Your mouth felt dry.
âI canât guide him,â you said. âI donât even know where Iâm going.â
She looked at you, steady.
âThen maybe,â she said, âyouâre exactly the one who should walk beside him.â
The silence in the chamber was unreal. Not peace. Not stillness. Just absence.
Grogu was gone.
You could still feel his presence clinging to the air like warmth after fire, but he was no longer in Dinâs arms. No longer his to protect. No longer yours to tether you to the path you hadnât known you were walking until it ended here.
Din hadnât moved for a long time after Luke Skywalker carried the child away. He just stood there, hands at his sides, his breathing loud inside the helmet. Like heâd forgotten how to exist without someone to carry.
It was just the two of you now, beneath the humming wreckage of a war that had cost more than either of you were ready to count.
You stared at himânot with judgment. Not even pity.
JustâŚunderstanding.
âYou let him go,â you said softly.
Din didnât answer. He didnât have to.
âI thought I was the one who couldnât,â you added. âTurns out⌠youâre braver than I am.â
He stood completely upright.
You froze. Not out of fearâbut reverence. He had only done it for Grogu, thatâs what you told yourself. Youâd never ask. Never take that from him:
Heâd revealed himself to Grogu, but with his back to you, all you could see was the dark curls that hung loosely. Unkempt. But when he turned to face you, you could finally see.
Because there he was.
Eyes rimmed with red. Skin marked by hours under steel. A face that looked too human for the armor he wore. Vulnerable. Raw. Quiet.
Youâd imagined it, once. Wondered. Dreamed.
But nothing had prepared you for the weight of it.
He looked at you the way a man looks when thereâs nothing left to hide.
And you didnât look away. Because in that moment, you felt that time clock in you start. Felt your soul snap into place and you knew, Din Dijarin, helmet or notâwas always meant to be your ending.
Your voice cracked as you whispered, âNow I know your face.â
He swallowed, jaw clenched. âI wanted you to.â
The honesty in it nearly knocked the breath from your lungs.
You took a step forward, slow. Careful. Like you were walking toward something sacred.
âIâm not who you think I am,â you said.
âI donât care.â
You blinked. âYou should.â
He reached out, fingers barely brushing yours. âI donât.â
And that was the moment.
Not the helmet. Not the look. Not even the touch.
But the knowing.
Two people who didnât belong anywhere, finally seeing something in each other that did.
He didnât kiss you.
You didnât ask him to.
You just stood there, eye to eyeâtwo survivors, stripped down to nothing but truth and quiet and the ache of goodbye still echoing in both your bones.
hiii!!! I saw your request were opened and got really excited lol
can I request a Legolas x reader having an angry love confession with a happy ending? U can add as much angst or fluff wanted !
I hope your day goes well <3
Until Dawn
Legolas X half-elf!half-human!Reader
The clatter of hooves and voices cut through the stillness of the late afternoon. You glanced up from behind the bar, pausing mid-wipe of a glass, your fingers tightening around its rim. Travelers were common in this stretch of the woods, but not ones with such purposeful strides or cloaks woven with the threads of old legends.
The door creaked open, and a gust of wind swept in with the first of them. A tall figure stepped throughâand your breath caught.
Silver-blond hair. Eyes like starlight through a winter sky. Legolas.
You didnât realize youâd frozen until he looked at you, recognition flickering across his face like sunlight on rippling water.
âYou,â he said softly, a smile ghosting over his lips. âI had wondered if the stories were true.â
âWhat stories?â you asked, setting down the glass carefully.
âThat the half-elf who once sang Dwarvish drinking songs and shot arrows through the dark of Mirkwood now runs an inn... and claims to be done with the road.â
You huffed a laugh, masking the sudden twist in your chest. âI made a promise to myself. No more goblins, no more dragons, no more running for my life. Just quiet, warm beds and decent ale.â
The rest of the Fellowship trickled inâAragorn with his wary grace, Gimli grumbling about the cold, and a pair of curious Hobbits looking like theyâd never seen such a place before.
âI never thought Iâd see you again,â you admitted, voice softer now, carrying only to him. âI thought you stayed in the Woodland Realm.â
âI left,â he said. âThere are greater shadows moving now. The kind that threaten all lands, even quiet glades like this one.â
You met his gaze, the old bond between you sparking back to life as though no years had passed.
âIâm not the same as I was,â you said quietly.
âNo,â he agreed. âYouâre stronger now. But the world still needs you.â
You turned your back, pretending to straighten a bottle on the shelf. "The road nearly broke me, Legolas. I don't know if I have it in me again."
A pause. Then his voice, low and sure: âYou donât have to decide tonight. Just share a meal with us. Rest. Then listen to what the world is asking.â
You closed your eyes for a moment, then turned back to face him. âOne night,â you said. âNo promises.â
He smiled. âThatâs all I ask.â
And somewhere, in the quiet beneath your ribs, something old and restless stirred.
As the last of the Fellowship settled into the great hall, shedding cloaks and weariness like autumn leaves, you quietly made your way to the front door. The bell above gave a faint chime as you opened it and stepped into the dusky twilight
You looked out at the fading sun, your jaw tightening as you reached up and flipped the wooden sign to closed. The familiar scrape of it swinging into place felt heavier tonight. You didnât want your usuals wandering in, recognizing faces from stories they'd only half-believed, orâworseâasking questions youâd buried under hearth and routine.
When you returned inside, your two staff members were waiting by the counter, mid-laugh over something. You didnât smile.
âHere,â you said, pressing coin into their palms, âHead home early. Lock the back on your way out.â
They exchanged glances. One opened her mouth to protestâyou never sent them off this abruptlyâbut you shook your head with a tone that brooked no argument. âNot tonight.â
A beat of silence passed. Then, with hesitant nods, they slipped away. As their footsteps faded, the inn fell into a deeper quiet. It was just you and the Fellowship now.
You lit the hearth anew and began preparing a meal: roasted root vegetables, venison stew, fresh loaves warmed over coals. The motions were old, soothingâuntil a familiar footfall approached behind you.
âI remember when you could barely cook a rabbit over a fire,â Legolas said lightly.
You didnât turn. âAnd I remember when you were insufferable.â
âThat cannot be true,â he said with a faint laugh.
Your hands stilled over the chopping board. You breathed in through your nose.
âI was not the one who kept dwarves as company.â
You exhaled slowly. The knife in your hand trembled.
âDonât.â
His grin faded instantly.
âDonât bring them into this,â you said, voice hoarse. âI live with their ghosts every day.â
Legolas was silent for a long moment. You resumed chopping, though your cuts were no longer even. Each thunk of the blade echoed too loudly in the warm space between you.
âI thought you might want to remember them,â he said softly.
âI do remember them. Every night. Every time I close my eyes. Kili, grinning as he handed me his last dried pear. Thorin, bloody and dying in the mud, telling meââ Your voice cracked, and you pressed your fist to your mouth. âYou donât get to walk in here and open that door, Legolas. Not like this.â
A long silence stretched. You kept your back to him.
Finally, he said, âI am sorry. Truly. I didnât come to wound you.â
You swallowed, forcing the knot in your throat down, back into the place where you kept it buried.
âI know,â you said at last.
He didnât leave. But he didnât press. You felt him step closer, and for a moment his presence was a comfortâbut still a dangerous one. A reminder of who you were. Of what the road takes.
And still⌠it stirred something in you. Something old. Something that had once burned with purpose.
You set the knife down and stared into the hearth.
The inn was warm now, the fire casting golden light over old wood and tired faces. The Fellowship ate in relative quiet, grateful for the food and for the brief peace. You worked behind the bar, polishing mugs and pretending not to watch them.
But you felt it. The way some of them looked at you with curiosity, as if trying to place youânot just as an innkeeper, but as someone... else.
Frodo was the one who finally broke the silence.
âYou were in Bilboâs journal,â he said gently.
You looked up, a mug still in your hand. âWas I?â
He nodded, setting down his spoon. âThere was a drawingâalmost like a sketch from memory. A half-elf woman with a braid down her back, and a scar across her temple.â His eyes flicked to the faint mark just beneath your hairline, still visible in the flicker of firelight. âHe said you moved like moonlight with a blade. That you fought like someone trying to outrun the end of the world.â
You didnât speak at first. You returned to your task, cloth circling the rim of the mug, slower now.
âAye,â you murmured at last, âThat was a long time ago.â
Aragorn watched you then, thoughtful, but said nothing. The room held a breath.
Frodoâs voice was quiet. âHe wrote about how you fought in the Battle of the Five Armies. Said you moved with the grace of the Eldarâbut when you struck, there was something in it... a fury, raw and burning. Like the world had wronged you.â
You paused again. Set the mug down.
âHe wasnât wrong,â you said, your voice steady, though your eyes flicked to the fire. âI lost my brothers that day. Kili... and Thorin. Perhaps not by blood, but in every way that matters.â
âIâm sorry,â Frodo said, with the quiet sincerity only someone still young in the world can offer.
You nodded once. âWe all carry ghosts. Mine just sit closer to the skin.â
Legolas, across the room, didnât look at you, but his hand rested lightly on the hilt of his bladeâas though remembering the same battle. The same blood.
âI remember that journal,â he said quietly. âBilbo called you ElunethâMoon-blessed. Said you were the only one who could outdrink Bofur and outrun a Warg in the same night.â
That pulled the faintest smile from you. âHe embellished.â
âNo,â Gimli grunted, lifting his mug, âHe didnât. Bofur still complains about it.â
A small ripple of laughter lightened the air, but your smile didnât reach your eyes. Your fingers curled around the barâs edge.
Frodo tilted his head, studying you. âIf you were part of Thorinâs Company⌠why did you stop?â
You looked at him, really looked. At the way his shoulders tensed with questions and quiet burden.
âBecause I gave enough to the road,â you said simply. âIt took my youth, my friends, and my peace. I thought if I built something steady, something safe⌠maybe the world would leave me be.â
âAnd has it?â Aragorn asked, his voice low.
You met his gaze. âYou tell me. Youâre sitting in my hall with war on your heels.â
The silence that followed was heavier than before.
You picked up the next mug and began to polish again. âEat while the foodâs warm. Sleep while the roof holds. Tomorrow, the world finds you again.â
And as you turned away, your voice softened to a whisper meant only for yourself.
âIt always does.â
The inn had gone still. The fire burned low, its glow casting soft shadows across the stone hearth. The mugs were cleaned, the food cleared away. The Fellowship had long since retreated to their rooms or bedrolls, lulled by warmth and weariness.
But you sat alone in a worn chair near the fire, half-empty bottle of mead at your side, boots kicked off, legs curled beneath you. One hand rested on your knee, the other held a cup you hadnât taken a sip from in a while. You stared into the flames, jaw slack, thoughts thick with the weight of old wounds.
The softest creak of floorboards stirred your awareness, but you didnât look up. You knew who it would be.
Legolas appeared like a memory made flesh, moving without sound until he stood just beyond the firelight, arms loose at his sides, hair unbound from travel.
âYou always drank honey-mead when you were thinking too much,â he said, a half-smile on his lips.
You raised the cup, but still didnât drink. âAnd you always appear when I least want company.â
He tilted his head, undeterred. âThen Iâm exactly where I need to be.â
You sighed, glancing sideways as he stepped closer and took the seat opposite you. For a moment, he just watched the fire with you, like you were back in some forgotten camp beneath the stars.
âI was thinking,â he began, tone light, âabout the first time I saw you. You were being dragged into Thranduilâs halls, soaked to the skin, shouting at GlĂłin for getting you caught.â
You snorted softly. âHe did get us caught. He sneezed. Loudly.â
âI remember.â He smiled wider now. âAnd you, snapping at the guards in three different languages before turning that fury on me.â
âI didnât know who you were.â
âYou called me a pompous tree-weasel.â
You choked on a laugh and finally sipped your drink. âSounds like me.â
He leaned back slightly, eyes gleaming with some old, private amusement. âBut I watched you. Even then. I couldnât place what you wereâelf and human both, but more than either. You didnât carry yourself like someone trapped. You watched the halls like a soldier would. Like you were already planning how to get out.â
You didnât answer. The fire cracked softly between you.
âWhen you escaped with the dwarves,â he continued, voice lowering, âI told my father I saw you leap into a barrel like it was a warhorse. And later, in the woodsâwhen you fired into the trees to cover their retreatâyour arrows flew like mine. No hesitation. No fear.â
Your jaw clenched. âYou donât have to say these things.â
âIâm not saying them to flatter you.â He leaned forward slightly, hands resting on his knees. âIâve met warriors across all the ages. Elves, men, even the proudest Dwarves. But I never forgot the look on your face that day. You werenât fighting to win. You were fighting not to lose anyone else.â
A beat passed. You looked into the fire, and for the first time that night, your voice wavered.
âI loved them. Not all of themâbut enough to bleed for. To die for.â
âI know.â
âI would have taken Thorinâs place in that final charge,â you said quietly. âI would have stood before Azog myself if I thought it wouldâve bought him another breath.â
Silence wrapped the room again.
âI think thatâs why I watched you,â he said. âBecause I knewâif I blinked, Iâd miss you burning.â
You met his gaze now. And there it was: the truth of it, sitting between you like a long-unspoken vow.
âIâm tired, Legolas,â you whispered. âAnd I donât know what I have left to give.â
He reached out, not touching, just resting his hand close to yours on the armrest. âThen donât give anything. Not tonight. Just sit with me. Let the ghosts rest for a while.â
You looked down at his hand, then at the fire. And though you didnât say it, you didnât pull away either.
In the silence that followed, there was no war, no crown, no past. Just you, and the elf who never stopped watching.
The fire had burned low, now little more than glowing embers nestled in ash. The bottle beside you was empty, your cup untouched for hours. Legolas had fallen asleep in the chair across from you, arms folded, head tilted slightly to the side, his expression softer than youâd ever seen it in battle or daylight.
You watched him for a while, feeling a strange pull of comfort and sorrow. He always looked younger in sleep. Less of a prince, more of the curious elf who had once tried to understand why you, a half-blood stranger, would ever choose to walk with dwarves into death.
But sleep didnât come for youânot anymore.
The silence wrapped itself around you like a too-tight cloak, and slowly, the weight of memory began to stir.
Thereâs a flicker in the fire and suddenly you were laughing again. The clamor of a camp at the edge of Mirkwood, Bofurâs wild song about mountain goats and bad ale ringing in your ears. Kili throwing a twig at you because you said he couldnât grow a real beard yet. Youâd thrown it back, striking him square in the forehead.
âTell me Iâm not the prettiest one in this company,â he had said once, arms spread dramatically. âGo on, say it. You canât, can you?â
You had smirked, braid half-undone, fingers calloused from the bowstring. âYouâre lucky youâre not my type.â
Heâd clutched his heart as if youâd shot him, then winked and walked off into the trees.
The warmth twisted.
Another flickerâand you were in Erebor.
Blood in your mouth. Thorinâs hand in yours, his grip weak, eyes clouded with too much pain.
âI was wrong,â he said, voice rasping like wind through broken stone. âI see it now. I see you.â
You had begged him to hold on. Promised him that the sun would rise, and that he would see the mountain whole again. But his breath had rattled in his chestâand stilled.
You had sat there for a long time, knuckles white around the hilt of your blade. Kili lay not far. Fili, already taken.
Only silence answered you.
You pressed your fingers to your eyes, willing the sting away, but it clung, thick as smoke.
The ghosts didnât answer. They never did. But the ache of their absence filled the room all the same.
And yet...
There were other memories too. Softer ones. Bifur teaching you Dwarvish insults you were far too proud of. Balin telling stories until sleep took him mid-sentence. Bombur slipping you extra rations when you looked pale. Thorin, once, catching you singing in Elvish to calm your nerves and saying nothingâjust sitting beside you, silent, as though listening to a memory he couldnât name.
And Legolas. Always watching from the edge. Distant at first. Then fascinated. Then something else.
The present curled around your shoulders again, and you looked over at him, still fast asleep in the chair, the rise and fall of his chest steady.
You reached for the blanket draped over the nearby bench, quietly laying it across him. He stirred but didnât wake.
As you sat back down, hands loose in your lap, you whispered into the dim room:
âI don't know if I can face another war. But maybe⌠I don't want to be the last of us, either.â
You didnât sleep that night. But for the first time in years, you didnât feel completely alone in the dark.
Dawn crept in slowly, brushing the sky in pale blue and soft gold. Birds sang tentative notes outside your shuttered windows, but the inn remained hushed.
The hearth was cold now. The chairs had been returned to their places. Tables were wiped clean, mugs polished and shelved, the rooms above emptied of guest linens. The scent of firewood and rosemary lingered, but your innâthe life you had built to keep the world outâwas closed.
Literally.
The sign on the door now read âGone traveling. Indefinitely."
When the Fellowship awoke, one by one, they descended the stairs expecting breakfast and soft beds to still be theirs. Instead, they found you standing near the door, your pack slung over one shoulder, traveling leathers worn like a second skin, bow strapped to your back, and a dagger resting easily at your hip.
Sam blinked in confusion. âAre you⌠going somewhere, miss?â
You gave a nod, small but sure. âAye. With you.â
Frodo froze mid-step. âYouâreâwhat?â
âI packed light,â you said, adjusting the strap on your shoulder. âCanât say Iâm thrilled about sleeping under stars again, butâŚâ You trailed off, eyes briefly scanning the group before settling on Legolas.
He was already watching you.
There was no surprise in his face. No shock like the others. Only a quiet calm. Like a note held long and true finally finding its resolution.
âI knew it,â he said, lips tugging into a faint smile.
Aragorn stepped forward, brows knit. âWhat changed your mind?â
You met his gaze evenly. âNothing. Everything. I remembered that the world doesnât stop turning just because I pretend it has. And if it falls while I sit behind a bar, what did I survive for?â
Even Gimli seemed speechless for a moment. âHmph. Well. If youâre coming along, I hope you still remember how to march.â
âBetter than you remember how to bathe,â you quipped.
That drew a snort from Boromir and a laugh from Merry and Pippin, breaking the stunned silence.
As they gathered their things, still murmuring about your choice, Legolas stepped closer, his voice low for only you.
âYou were never going to stay behind,â he said, almost gently.
You looked up at him, your voice steady. âNo. But I had to believe I would, until I didnât.â
He nodded once. âThen let us walk forward. Together this time.â
You studied him a long moment, then gave a small, wry smile.
âTry to keep up, princeling.â
You pushed open the door, letting in the crisp morning air. The road waited, as it always had.
But this time, you didnât face it alone.
The quiet had ended.
The road to Moria had been long and steep, but nothing compared to the cold weight that settled on your chest the moment you passed through the threshold of the once-great dwarven realm.
Darkness clung to the air like dust, and even your elven blood couldnât soothe the dread coiling in your gut. These were not halls of glory now, not the shining marvel Gimli had spoken of with such pride.
They were tombs.
Your steps echoed too loudly as you walked. The Fellowship moved in a hush, each bootfall and breath drawing the stoneâs attention like an unwanted guest.
Gimli had fallen silent long ago.
You watched him, the way he held his axe tight to his chest like a lifeline, eyes wide as he passed shattered archways and collapsed pillars. His gaze darted toward dark corners, as if hopingâachingâfor a familiar face to emerge.
But none came.
And then you reached the Chamber of Records.
The skeletons lay still where they had fallen. Weapons rusted. Dust thick on old shields. It was not war that filled the space now, but mourning.
Gimli moved to the tomb at the center like a man in a dream. You followed without meaning to.
He brushed aside what little remained of a helm and whispered a name: âBalin.â
You froze.
Balin.
Old, kind, sharp-eyed Balinâwho once told you riddles on long rides and always made you take the last bit of stew. Balin, who had held your hand when Thorin died, his voice cracking as he promised to carry the kingâs memory home.
Your throat closed.
âHe was the best of us,â you murmured.
Gimliâs shoulders shook. âHe was our hope. Our history. And nowâhe is dust.â
You stepped forward, placing a hand gently on his arm.
âHe believed in this place,â you said. âAnd if he had known it would take him, I think he would have come anyway. That was the kind of dwarf he was.â
Gimli didnât speak, but he nodded once, tightly.
âI thought the ghosts I carried were mine alone,â you continued, voice softer. âBut grief⌠it finds us all. And when it does, it binds us.â
He turned to you, eyes wet and fierce. âDo they ever stop speaking to you? The ones you lost?â
You hesitated, your gaze falling to Balinâs tomb.
âNo,â you said. âBut sometimes, they stop screaming.â
A long moment passed between youâtwo remnants of the Company, survivors of a story carved in blood and stone. Then Gimli nodded again, slower this time, and placed a rough hand over yours.
âThank you,â he said.
You squeezed back. âWeâll carry them forward. As we always have.â
Behind you, the Fellowship waited in silence. Even Legolas, usually still and watchful, looked at you now not with curiosity, but understanding.
The grief had found you both. And for this moment, you bore it together.
They came like shadows with bladesâgoblins pouring from the walls, the ceilings, the dark. The tomb of Balin was barely behind you when the Fellowship was forced into motion, swords drawn, feet pounding over cold stone.
You loosed arrows until your fingers ached, each one flying trueâsome finding skulls, others throatsâbut they kept coming.
âRUN!â Gandalfâs voice cracked through the chaos, ancient and fierce.
The Fellowship fled, boots striking the echoing halls of Moria. Behind you, the goblins shrieked, relentless, swarming like ants through the cracks in the stone.
The drums of war pounded.
Dum. Dum. DUM.
You passed dark pits and crumbling bridges, pillars shattered by time. You didnât dare slow. You barely breathed.
And then came the heat.
A low rumble.
A deeper shadow.
The Balrog.
It wasnât just fire. It was rage made flesh, born from the ancient pits of a forgotten world. You stopped when you saw itâjust for a heartbeatâbut Gandalf didnât.
He turned on the Bridge of Khazad-dĂťm, staff in hand, sword gleaming like starlight in the dark.
âThis foe is beyond any of you. Run!â
You didnât want to leave. Every part of you screamed to stay.
But Aragorn pulled Frodo. Boromir shielded the hobbits. Legolas grabbed your arm as you hesitated, your eyes locked on the wizardâs back.
âGo,â he said. âNow.â
You stumbled forward, breath ragged, until you stood with the others at the far end of the bridge. Just in time to see the Balrog crash forwardâflames licking the stone as it advanced.
And Gandalfâbrave, maddening, kind Gandalfâstood alone.
âYou shall not pass!â
The blast of light from his staff shattered the dark for one blinding moment. The Balrog falteredâthen fell, crashing into the abyss.
Relief struckâuntil the whip lashed back, curling around Gandalfâs ankles.
You saw his eyes then. Not fear, not regret.
Resolve.
âFly, you foolsâ!â
And then he was gone.
Silence fell.
And it screamed.
You didnât remember how you escaped the mountain. Only that your feet moved and the world blurred and somehow, sunlight burned your eyes when you emerged from the tunnel.
The Fellowship collapsed to the grass and stone. Frodo sobbed quietly. Sam sat staring at the dirt. Gimli hung his head in shaking silence.
You stood apart from them.
Legolas approached, hesitant. âWe must move onââ
âDonât,â you snapped, voice sharp.
He paused, his expression faltering.
You turned to him, and for the first time in years, your grief burned through the surface like wildfire through dry wood.
âI have already lost Balin in this cursed mountain. And now Iâve lost Gandalf too.â Your voice cracked. âAnd itâs only just begun.â
Legolas reached for youâslowly, gentlyâbut you stepped back.
âI donât know how much grief I have left to carry,â you whispered. âAnd I donât know whatâs left of me when it runs out.â
He didnât speak.
You looked down at your handsâscarred, steady, stained by years of bloodâand saw the ghosts rise behind your eyes.
Balin, laughing over a campfire.
âYouâll never beat a dwarf at riddles, lass, but Iâll enjoy watching you try.â
His eyes always twinkled like he saw more than he said.
Gandalf, placing a steadying hand on your shoulder as you trembled in Ereborâs aftermath.
âEven the fiercest fire cools, child. But your spiritâit will forge something new from these ashes.â
You had believed him then.
But now⌠now the fire only took.
You sat down hard in the grass, legs finally giving out, and stared at the distant sky. The others were quiet. No one had words left.
Even the sun, warm as it was, couldnât thaw what had been lost.
The Golden Wood greeted you in silence.
The moment you crossed into LothlĂłrien, it was as if the weight of the world loosened, only slightly, from your shoulders. The air shimmered faintly with magicâageless, slow, and watching. Sunlight pierced the canopy in golden beams, illuminating the green and gold leaves like fire frozen mid-dance.
The others seemed to feel it too. Their steps grew quieter, breath deeper. The grief from Moria still clung, but here⌠it was dimmed.
Muted.
You stayed near the back of the Fellowship, your presence quiet and inward. Even Legolas, who normally hovered close, let you beâwatching you with unreadable eyes.
Then came the soft sound of approaching boots across leaf-laden ground.
You turned at once, bow half-liftedâthen lowered it instantly.
âHaldir,â you breathed.
The elf smiled, and it was like watching a tree in springâstill, serene, but warm beneath the surface.
âI thought the wind smelled of old fire and bowstring,â he said. âI dared not believe it.â
You stepped forward without thought, and for the first time in what felt like daysâmaybe longerâyour posture softened. Haldirâs hand found your shoulder, and yours settled on his forearm, a brief clasp of warriors, friends, kin.
âI did not think Iâd see you again,â you murmured.
âI often think the same,â he replied. âAnd yet, here we are.â
There was laughter in his voiceâgentle, low. It stirred something in you that had been buried under stone and blood: memory. Of laughing beneath moonlight. Of shared patrols. Of long talks in old trees about the stars and the silence between them.
With Haldir, there was no past to bleed from. Only stillness. Understanding.
Legolas watched from a few paces away.
He did not speak. But his jaw tightened slightly as your laugh, soft and fleeting, reached his earsâsomething he hadnât heard in days. Not since Moria. Not since Gandalfâs fall.
You barely noticed him at first. Only when Haldir led the Fellowship toward the inner woods did you catch the way Legolas lingered back, gaze not on the treesâbut on you.
Later, as you stood beneath the trees, hands brushing bark that had seen centuries pass, Legolas finally approached. You didnât turn.
âI didnât know you were close with Haldir,â he said.
âHe was my first real friend,â you replied, voice distant. âBefore the Company. Before Erebor. When I didnât know which world I belonged to.â
Legolas was quiet for a beat. Then: âYou laugh more easily with him.â
You turned to him slowly. âBecause he doesnât ask me how I feel. He knows.â
There was a sharpness in your toneânot cruel, but edged by truth. Legolas flinched, just barely.
âI have tried to be patient,â he said. âTo understand.â
âI know,â you said. âAnd I⌠I donât fault you for it.â
You looked away, gaze lost in the gold-lit forest.
âBut everything hurts, Legolas. I canât breathe for the weight of it. Balin, Thorin, KĂli, FĂliâGandalf.â You shook your head. âI donât know how to laugh with you. Not yet.â
He said nothing, only studied you with eyes full of sea and silence.
You stepped away. âGive me time. I still want to be near the light. I just donât know how to stand in it.â
And you left him there, beneath a barren treeâwhere even the sun seemed reluctant to intrude.
â˘â˘â˘
The sky over Helmâs Deep was heavy, dark with the promise of death. Rain lashed the stone walls and wind howled through the crevices like a warning too late to heed.
The keep bustled with urgencyâarmor strapped on, arrows sorted, blades handed out with shaking hands. You moved among the chaos with steady steps, your cloak already damp, your bow newly strung. You had prepared in silence, your choice already made long before the gates had shut.
Legolas found you as you stepped out from the inner keep, near the passage leading to the women and children. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the sword at your hip, the set of your jaw, the steel in your eyes.
âYouâre not going,â he said, water running down his cheeks like tears he would never let fall.
âNo,â you replied simply.
âYouâre meant to be with the othersââ
âWith the helpless?â you cut in sharply. âYou forget who I am, Legolas.â
âI forget nothing,â he hissed, stepping forward. âBut you were supposed to survive this. Do you not understand whatâs coming?â
âI do,â you said. âAnd Iâll face it.â
He looked at you, truly looked at you, as if seeing the shadow of every battle youâd ever survived and fearing this one would be your last.
âIâve already watched you fall once,â he said, voice low, taut. âWhen you lost them. KĂli, Thorin, Gandalf. You say you donât know how much grief you have leftâbut do you know how much I have? How much more I can bear if you fall too?â
You looked away, breath catching.
âIâm not a memory to protect, Legolas. Iâm not something fragile to lock away.â
âNo,â he said. âYouâre not fragile. But you areââ he stopped, jaw clenched, the words fighting their way out. âYou are important. To me.â
That gave you pause.
The rain softened. For a moment, the world blurred around you, only his face in focusâhis pain, his fear, his heart laid bare in the spaces between sentences.
âIâm still going,â you said, more gently this time.
He nodded, slowly. âThen I stay with you. On the wall. Not a step behind.â
You gave a quiet breath of what might have been a laugh, or a sigh. âThen try to keep up, princeling.â
He almost smiledâbut it didnât reach his eyes.
As the horns of war blew in the distance and the thunder of Uruk-hai boots echoed closer, you stood together on the ramparts. He watched the enemy. But sometimes, you felt his gaze shift to youâsharp, quick, as though checking you were still there.
Still standing.
Still his.
The night deepened. The sky wept.
Beneath the thunder and screams of wind, the walls of Helmâs Deep trembled. The Uruk-hai approached like a black sea, endless, armored, merciless.
You stood on the battlement beside Legolas, scanning the dark, arrow ready. His expression was unreadable, though his hand never strayed far from his quiver. Every so often, his eyes flicked to youânot in doubt, but in worry worn raw.
Then came the horns.
Not the harsh blares of the enemyâbut something ancient. High. Clear.
Hope.
The gates creaked open and light spilled inâsilver cloaks, golden armor, moonlit helms gleaming beneath the rain.
Elves.
And at their headâHaldir.
You froze, a breath caught in your throat, disbelieving.
He moved like moonlight through mist, every step purposeful, calm amidst the storm. And when he saw you on the wall, his smile broke through the rain like dawn.
You descended the stone steps as he approached. The moment you reached him, you embracedânot as warriors, but as those who had feared they'd never meet again.
âI hoped,â you whispered. âBut I didnât dare believe it.â
âLothlĂłrien does not forget its own,â he said. âWe came as soon as Galadriel sent word.â
You pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. âYou always arrive when I need you most.â
A flicker of amusement touched his features. âIsnât that what friends are for?â
Nearby, Legolas stood still as stone. His gaze hadnât left you.
He watched the ease in your voice, the soft warmth you rarely showed. The way Haldir touched your arm when he spoke, the familiarity in your closeness. A part of him hated itâhated that Haldir saw a version of you he feared he no longer could reach.
Later, as the elves took positions and soldiers prepared for the siege, you and Haldir stood beneath the battlements, heads bowed close in quiet conversation.
He looked at you, studying your face. âThere is pain in you.â
You nodded. âThere always is.â
âBut there is strength too,â he said. âEven when you forget it.â
You offered him a tired smile. âThatâs why I keep you around. To remind me.â
Haldir placed a hand over yours. âAnd I always will.â
Above, Legolas stood watching, eyes narrowing just slightly.
He had never been jealous of Haldirâs grace, his skill, his rank. But thisâthe effortless way Haldir stood beside you, anchored youâthis unsettled something in his chest.
Not because Haldir had it.
Because he used to.
The horns sounded againâcloser now. The enemy was nearly upon you.
And still, you stood beside Haldir. And Legolas waited, bow in hand, fire in his heart.
The night would be long. Blood would fall like rain.
But not before Legolas promised himself: Whatever the morning heldâhe would be the one standing beside you when it came.
The sun rose, but it did not warm you.
The battlefield stretched beneath it like a scarâblack blood soaked into the mud, bodies sprawled across the ruined stone and grass. The air reeked of smoke, steel, and silence.
You stood where Haldir had fallen.
His body had already been taken, wrapped in elven cloth and carried with reverence by the survivors of LothlĂłrien. But you had stayed behind, rooted, staring at the bloodstained spot where he had died defending the wall at your side.
He had smiled at you, even as the blade struck true.
And you had screamedâonly onceâbut it had broken something in your throat.
You hadnât spoken since.
You didnât hear Legolas approaching until his hand wrapped gently around your arm.
âYou should rest.â
You didnât move.
He stepped in front of you, his face pale beneath the dirt and ash, his eyes rimmed redânot with tears, but restraint. âYou fought with honor. He did too.â
Your voice was a rasp. âYou pulled me back.â
A beat of silence.
âYes,â he said. âYou would have died.â
âI was ready to,â you snapped, stepping back from him. âWe were overrun. I was going to cover the retreat and youââ your voice broke, rage surging into the hollow place grief had carvedââYou should have let me go!â
Legolas flinched as if struck.
âI could have died beside him. I should haveââ your voice cracked, your fists clenched, ââinstead you dragged me back, again, and Iâve lost another piece of myselfââ
âBecause I canât lose you too!â he shouted, voice sharp and cutting through the morning like an arrow loosed in fury.
You froze.
He stood there, eyes wild, chest heaving, all the composure of an elven prince burned away by the fire of emotion long held back.
âI watched you grieve them all,â he said, voice quieter now but trembling. âThorin. KĂli. FĂli. Balin. Gandalf. Haldirâgods, even Haldir. And every time, I saw something break in you.â
He stepped forward, unflinching. âAnd I stayed quiet. I stayed patient. I gave you space because I thought itâs what you neededâbut Iââ he faltered, then whispered, âI love you.â
The words hung between you like a war cry stilled in the air.
âI have loved you from the moment you argued with me in the Woodland Realm, stubborn and wild and brave. I watched you fight beside KĂli and Thorin. I watched you mourn them, one by one. And still, I loved you.â
Tears had slipped down your cheeks before you realized theyâd come.
âI couldnât let you go,â he said. âNot when Iâve already watched you die in pieces.â
You stared at him, all the fury ebbing into pain.
âI donât know how to be what I was,â you whispered.
âYou donât have to be,â he said, stepping closer. âJust be with me. Whatever pieces you have leftâIâll carry them too.â
You let out a shuddering breath.
And finally, your forehead dropped to his chest, the storm within you breaking. His arms wrapped around you, steady and warm.
There were no promises. No healing words.
But in that moment, grief found company. And that was enough.
The final battle was chaos.
Fire lit the sky in sickening huesâred, orange, and gold twisting like dragons of ruin above the field. Screams tore through the clamor of clashing steel. The very earth trembled beneath the weight of death.
You had lost sight of Legolas.
Not for longâbarely minutesâbut it felt like a lifetime in the heart of war.
You fought like instinct made flesh, your blade slick with blood, arrows gone. The battlefield blurred around you, faces unrecognizable, only movement and threat. But when you spotted the flash of silver-blond hair through the smoke, something within you slammed into place.
Legolas.
He was on the rise of a broken wall, drawing his bow, loose and preciseâuntil the enemy swarmed behind him. You screamed his nameâhe didnât hear itâand your legs moved before your mind did.
A troll's iron mace came down, fast and merciless.
You hit him hard in the side, sending you both tumbling behind a shattered wall of stone as the blow cracked the earth where heâd stood. You rolled, breathless, until you landed hard, half atop him, body shielding his.
There was silence.
Thenâ
âIâm fine,â he rasped, blinking at you, winded.
âDonât say that,â you breathed.
Your hands were braced on his chest, bloodâthankfullyâwas not his. But the fear was.
You were shaking.
âYou couldâve died,â you whispered. âYou should haveââ
âBut I didnât.â
You stared down at him, and for one unguarded moment, you let the horror in your chest bloom. âI canâtâI canât lose you too.â
His breath caught. His hands came up to gently hold your wrists. âYou wonât.â
Tears stung your eyesâhot, unwelcome. You pressed your forehead to his, trying to steady your breathing as the sounds of war surged around you once more.
âStill here,â he whispered. âIâm still here.â
You closed your eyes.
You hadnât made him any promises. You still werenât sure if you could. But you could hold him close for now. You could fight for his life like he had fought for yours.
For once, it was not about loss.
It was about not letting go.
The White City gleamed beneath the morning sun, banners fluttering high above the citadel. Flowers carpeted the stone, thrown by joyful hands, the scent of hope and new beginnings thick in the air.
Aragorn stood crowned and robed in light, the roar of the crowd still echoing down the mountainside.
You watched from the edge of the crowd, quiet.
For the first time in an age, there was no battle ahead. No blood under your fingernails. No grief hiding behind your teeth.
Just stillness.
And you didnât quite know what to do with it.
You lingered until the sun began to lower, until the crowd thinned, until the laughter dimmed to celebration-song in distant halls.
And then he found you.
Legolas.
He approached without armor, dressed in white and silver that caught the dying light, golden hair gleaming. He looked like heâd stepped out of a songâageless, beautiful, unreal. But when he smiled at you, tired and small, he looked only like himself.
âI didnât think youâd stay this long,â he said gently.
âI didnât think I would either,â you admitted.
You stood side by side in the garden, the flowers beneath your boots crushed underfoot, the sounds of merriment muffled by trees and stone.
âItâs over,â he said. âAnd weâre still standing.â
You let out a soft breath. âSomehow.â
You looked at him thenâreally looked. And for the first time, there was no fog of war, no heavy grief veiling your gaze. You were just⌠you. Bruised. Whole. Tired. Alive.
âI thought if we made it here, Iâd know what to say,â you murmured.
Legolas turned to face you, head tilted. âAnd do you?â
âNo,â you said honestly. âBut I know what I feel.â
His eyes searched yours, and you saw it thereâhope, held back so long it looked like sorrow.
âYou pulled me from the edge,â you whispered. âAgain and again. Even when I didnât want you to.â
âBecause I love you,â he said, quiet and sure, no hesitation now.
You reached up, fingers brushing his jaw. âThen you should know... Iâm not whole. I may never be.â
âI donât need you whole,â he said, leaning in so your foreheads touched. âI only need you with m.â
You closed your eyes, the warmth of his skin grounding you. Your hand found his, fingers threading between his own, and this timeâyou didnât pull away.
How about Kotetsu x Gender Neutral! Reader where he told them he still wishes that people acknowledge his efforts, even though saving people is still his first priority. They reassure him that he will always be their hero as they seen how hard he tries & they never want him to stop doing what's right! They admire him & told him that he inspired them to be a hero like Mr Legend to him. They also bought his hero cards with his original & current designs too. Is this ok?
My Hero
Kotetsu X GN!Reader
Warnings: violence, blood, almost dying, some language. An 'age gap', y/n is in their 20s vs Kotetsu is 38.
Ngl this request completely kickstarted my urge to get into writing again, after a hiatus that lasted months. So it may have gotten a little more detailed than the original request(and by detailed I mean that I got super carried away like 7K words carried away), but I hope you like it!
Kotetsu T. Kaburagi had always been good at saving people. It came with the jobâand the powersâbut it wasnât until he met you that he realized how powerless he could feel outside of a fight.
You were fast. Not just in speed, but in everythingâthought, speech, the way you moved like the world never quite caught up. A NEXT with the alter ego Shockwave, although he knew you by Y/N. You are in your twenties with a kinetic energy that made people stop and stare, even when you werenât glowing. Kotetsu was well past that kind of attention, these days. His joints ached more often than heâd admit, and he had to squint at his phone sometimes to read the messages without his glasses.
He felt the years between you like a physical thing, especially when you smiled at him. Not polite. Not hero-to-hero. Just... warm.
Too warm.
âI donât get it,â he muttered, sitting with a half-empty can of coffee on the edge of the training deck.
Barnaby glanced over. âYou donât get a lot of things.â
Kotetsu sighed, rubbed the back of his neck. âHow do you even tell if someoneâs just being nice, or if theyâyâknowâlike you?â
âYou could try asking.â
He scoffed. âRight. âHey, I know Iâm like ten years older and mightâve pulled my back last week, but are you flirting with me?â That wonât get me slapped at all.â
Barnaby raised a brow. âYou like them.â
âOf course I like them. Theyâre smart and brave and... and they believe in making the right choice.â Kotetsu paused, voice dropping. âI just donât know what Iâd look like beside them. Like some washed-up has-been hero?â
âMore like a reliable partner,â Barnaby said. âBut thatâs your call.â
You found Kotetsu alone later, half-bent over a vending machine like he was losing a war with it.
âNeed a hand?â you offered, already pulling your glove off to short-circuit the stuck machine with a controlled spark.
The can thudded free.
Kotetsu blinked. âYouâre scary good at that.â
âIâm good at a lot of things,â you said with a grin that made his brain short-circuit a little. âBut youâre not bad yourself, old man.â
He laughed, but the phrase caughtâold manâand his smile faltered.
You noticed. âHey. I was kidding. That didnât bug you, did it?â
âA little,â he admitted. âNot because of the words. Just⌠I know thereâs an age gap. And I donât wanna misread anything. Or make you uncomfortable.â
Your expression softened.
âKotetsu,â you said gently, stepping closer. âYouâre one of the most genuine people Iâve ever met. You never pretend, even when itâd be easier. That matters more to me than any number.â
He blinked. âSo you...?â
You nudged the can into his hand. âI like you, idiot.â
His power flared for exactly one secondâjust enough to trip over his own feet in shock.
You caught him before he hit the ground. âStill a hero,â you teased.
Breathless and red-faced, he looked up at you and smiled like a man who just realized maybe he could still catch up.
Even if it took a second or two longer.
You often felt like there was extensive uncertainty in that department, but things came to a swift beginningâhe was your friend, best friend in the league.
He gave you advice and often spent hours together, and when your feelings became real. It left you at an impasse. Youâd never ask though.
Not when it meant that he might not feel the same. It wasn't just light banter or some flirting, you saw him and knew. Almost instantly. That he was it.
He was the one.
You were training, lifting heavy and hoping your body didnât collapse under the weight. As the distance became longer, the weights and time became heavier. The bar presses down on your shoulders, back straight as you bend into a squatâa stream of sweat beads down your cheek and your teeth clench together.
A rush of exhaustion hits fast and your eyes widen, only the weight doesnât come instead it lifts off your shoulders entirely. Clicking back into place, you lean over onto yourselfâexhaling heavily and then standing upright.
âWhatâs up Kotetsu?â His arms have crossed over his chest, compared to some he is average stature, but to youâ he feels massive. Your eyes trailing up to look at him, a knot forming in your stomach and in your throat.
âWe gotta talk?â Your teeth bite the inside of your cheek, eyes drifting down to the ground.
âAbout???â You drag the word, wiping the sweat and hoping that itâd be about training.
âWhereâd ya go, kid?â Your lip twitches at the stupid nickname, that ball of nerves in your throat is threatening to choke you. He leans his back onto the machine, arms still crossed as you shrug.
âIâve been here the whole timeâŚâ You pause, âtrainingâŚâ But you know thatâs the not the answer he is looking for, not even close. A loud sigh leaves your lips.
âSee that, I can tell somethings up. But youâre just goneâŚâ You too feel the miles of distance, it felt like it happened overnight, but still when you find it in yourself to look up at Kotetsu. Your thoughts stumble.
âIâm right here.â You assert, of course you know thatâs not the truthâthat you are trying to put miles and miles of distance to protect yourself. Afraid. Kotetsu already had his one true love, and you would never try be anything close to that. Hell, he even has a daughter. The age difference is there, something that seems to even bother him. But if you're honest with yourself, you just donât know if you could say it outloud.
âYouâre not though. I look forward to our Thursday night outs and every other day, movie night. I love that you always burn the popcorn. But itâs always changing, here and there. I know Iâm noââ He runs a hand through his hair, making a funny face. "It's hard to read when it keeps changing."
âLook, Iâm no good at this, I havenât even thought about it before now. But you canât just stop, because I donât want you to stop. To ya knowââ His words seem to be falling off his tongue, and you can hardly stop your head from spinning. Is your heart supposed to be in your throat? Choking you? Drowning out every other noise, except for your heartbeat?
âKotetsuâŚâ His name coming out of your mouth silences him, he goes completely still and slumps onto himself. âYouâre rambling.â You half smile, partially genuine and partially forcedâgod, he means the world to you and he doesnât even know it.
âI know. I know, but I just donât know how to explain it. I like knowing youâll be there every night, and most of those nights, all I want is to hold you.â You had wanted to hear those words before, pleaded with the fates to give you the chance to hear them. You had completely given up hope of ever hearing them, settling in with the thought youâd only ever be his friend. Itâs almost too good to be true.
âProve it, Kotetsu.â You swallow, turning so that youâre facing him, eyes upcast to meet his. Warm and brown, and full of life. âBecause Iâve spent a long time trying not to cross any lines, terrified Iâd do the wrong thing and youâd be gone." You whisper that last bit, you wish you could scream, but a whisper will do.
Turns out, kissing Kotetsu was almost as good as cuddling up to watch a movie, or show. It was quiet and calm, needy, but too much.
It was warm, and all those good feelings people talk aboutâand it was right.
You didnât mean to fall for him.
Honestly, you thought it would just be admiration. Respect, even. Kotetsu was a legend, after allâone of the few heroes who never let the spotlight change him. Rough around the edges, sure. Loud, disorganized, sometimes a walking disaster. But he cared. He saw people. He saw you.
Even when you were still getting your footing in the hero world, he never treated you like a kid. He'd wait when you were figuring something out, even if it meant getting singed a little in the crossfire. He listened. He laughed at your bad jokes. He believed in you when you werenât sure if you deserved it.
So maybe falling wasnât the surprise.
Maybe the surprise was how hard it hit you.
You knew he felt the age thing. You could see it in the way heâd hesitate after a compliment, or change the subject when someone mentioned âthe old days.â Like he thought he had to be the past, and you were the future.
That brings you to where you are now, beside him on the edge of the rooftop, the city below scattered in golds and soft blues. He was fiddling with the tab on his can, trying too hard not to look nervous.
âSo,â you said, letting your knee brush his. âYou gonna tell me what you were actually thinking back at the vending machine?â
Kotetsu scratched his cheek. âThat obvious, huh?â
You nodded. âYou get this scrunched-up look when you're trying not to talk.â
He huffed a laugh. âCanât hide anything from you, huh?â
âYouâre not that sneaky.â
A beat of quiet.
âI was thinking I didnât expect you to like someone like me,â he said, voice low. âNot just the age thing. Iâve got a kid. Iâve got baggage. Iâm not exactly... a shiny new hero.â
Your chest tightened.
You turned to him fully. âI donât want shiny. I want real.â
He looked up at you, surprise flickering behind his eyes.
âI want someone who fights even when itâs hard. Who looks out for everyone else before himself. Someone whoâs got a big, dumb heart and laughs too loud and makes terrible coffee.
He blinked. âMy coffeeâs not that bad.â
You leaned in, resting your head lightly on his shoulder. âIt is. But Iâd still drink it every morning if it meant being with you.â
Kotetsu went still. You could feel the tension humming off him like electricity.
Then, slowlyâlike the moment needed to breatheâhe let his head rest gently against yours.
âYouâre gonna break my heart, yâknow that?â he whispered.
You smiled. âOnly if you run from me.â
He didnât run.
Didnât even flinch.
Instead, his hand found yoursâcalloused, warm, a little unsure.
And he held on.
Sternbild had seen the fair share of heroes and all of them seemed above reprise. It felt as though there should be no crime or violence, a picturesque city of cooperation. Yet whether there are heroes, there is always crime.
When you first came to Sternbild, you felt like the whole world was against you in the big city. No one really gave you a handbook on how to be a big-time hero.
Sure, your training took you far, but not nearly far enough for it to matter and a violent fight a lot of people and most of the sponsors thought you were powerful, but not enough to be assigned into the big leagues.
When it all came down to it, you stood out enoughâ got quite a few high profile saves and Hero TV couldnât sign you faster. Thatâs also when Kotetsu first noticed youâŚhe couldnât explain the connection or interest, it made no sense.
Kotetsu thought for a very long time that he was content, that he had everything he wanted in life and more. At all hours, Kotetsu was in awe of you and everything that you had accomplishedâso much so that he couldnât even put it into words.
Thereâs a shift on the couch as Kotetsu shifts himself closer, his arm wrapping around the top of your shoulder. The TV playing in the back ground, but you can tell something is wrong with him. Although youâre not able to see into his mind, but he has not spoken a wordâleaving you in the dark.
You were looking for the right moment to ask him about it, but when heâs quiet like this, your mind begins to wander. When heâd go quiet, itâs been half the night worried terrified of losing him to whatever you might have done. Then other times you would go down the rabbit hole of thinking that youâre no more than a distractionâyou know Kotetsu has already had his one true, but Kotetsu is that to you.
He was the one that made the world go round.
You lean onto his shoulder, the sensation of his palm is warm on your bicep. His fingers flex to grass you a little tighter and a heavy sigh escapes your lips.
âWhatâs going on?â Your eyes go wide and you glance over, only able to manage that much for a few moments.
âNothing.â
âCmon, I know thereâsââ You interrupt him, spitting the words out as quickly as you can manage.
âIâm just worried about youâŚâ Kotetsuâs eyes seem to shift, his attention moving completely to youâthe tv off in a few seconds. âYou just seem soâI donât know. Withdrawn.â Your concern is real, even from his word he seemed withdrawn and it left you feeling more insecure. âSometimes I worry you think I canât handle the truth.â
That seems to trigger something because Kotetsu shifts until you were facing each other his palms warm resting on your waist, and you are all too aware of the sensation of how close. The way he circles your skin with his thumb, even through the shirt he is comforting.
âNo.â He drags the word, âNo. Nothing like that at allâI justâŚâ He sighs, âI didnât realize you thoughtâŚâ Itâs as if he is talking to himself, but you remain close to him and observant. Watching the way he exists in front of you, seemed to be so present in this conversation.
Kotetsu was always difficult to read, so good at putting on a performance. So it made it hard to know the truth. âIâm not really a hero anymore.â His admission is shocking you expected it to be the pressure or anything else. âYouâre even outselling me on cards in your first six months than I have in five years, even in our duo pack⌠People are only buying it for youâŚâ You place your hand on his arms, keeping yourself attentive to his expressions. âPeople come to our panels to see you.â
Your own thumb runs along his arms, trying to imagine a more peaceful moments. You sigh: âNow itâs a good cardâŚâ Your eyes can see the way he gains light, his expression softening at what you imagine is your card illustration. Thereâs a flush of pink under his cheeks: âA great card even.â He adds a little laugh out, but there is a great deal of sadness in that laugh too. âBut all I wanted to be was a hero, to mean something to someone.â
You smile up at him softly, reaching up to trace the stubble of his chin with your thumb. âYouâre my hero.â
His eyes soften as he draws you closer, âI know. I know, but thatâs what youâre supposed to say.â
You hush him with your eyes, a look that silences him. âNo. I really mean it. You inspired me in so many different ways.â You feel the breath hitch in his chest, smiling at him. âEven before I came to Sternbild. But when I got here, I collected every one of your cards, you were always so strong. So good.â You smile up at him, trying to share your joy and warmth with him.
You rest your hand over his heart with a smile, recalling every card you ever found. âYouâre a good hero. A great hero.â Mocking how he spoke about your card, âYouâre my hero.â
Kotetsu smiles, finally finding it in himself to breathe again. Leaning his head forward until your foreheads touch, his hands wrapping themselves around yoursâbringing you close. âThat's probably the sweetest thing anyoneâs said to me.â
You shut your eyes, smiling lightly at the confession. Thatâs the thing about Kotetsu, he always does the right thing. No matter what.
Kotetsu had faced mad men, killer robots, even his own mortality.
But nothing made his palms sweat like this.
He sat across from Kaede at their favorite little soba place, a quiet corner booth by the window. She was home from school for the weekend, already halfway through her bowl and telling him about some new internship like it was no big deal.
She was growing up too fast. Smarter than him. Stronger, probably. And somehow still patient enough to humor her mess of a dad.
He should just say it.
But every time he opened his mouth, it felt like a noodle was stuck in his throat.
âSo,â Kaede said, finally eyeing him with suspicion. âYouâre doing the thing.â
âWhat thing?â
âThe thing where you fidget like youâre hiding something. Spill it.â
Kotetsu rubbed the back of his neck. âOkay, okay. Jeez. Canât put anything past you.â
Kaede grinned. âNope.â
He took a breath. âSo, uh... Iâve been seeing someone.â
Her chopsticks froze mid-air.
âYou what?â
âNotâlikeânot a lot yet. Itâs new,â he stammered. âBut itâs serious. Or, I think it could be. I just didnât wanna drop it on you out of nowhere.â
Kaede blinked, then set her bowl down. âWait. Like dating? Youâre dating someone?â
He nodded.
She stared.
Then leaned in, eyes narrowing. âWho is it?â
He hesitated.
ââŚYou know Shockwave, right?â
Her jaw dropped.
âYouâre dating Shockwave?â she repeated, voice climbing.
Kotetsu flinched. âIs thatâokay? I mean, I know theyâre a bit younger and all, butââ
âDad,â Kaede interrupted, wide-eyed. âThatâs not why Iâm freaking out.â
ââŚItâs not?â
She shook her head, slowly breaking into a smile.
âI love Shockwave! Theyâre so cool! Oh my god, does this mean Iâm going to have to start pretending not to know when theyâre flirting with you in the kitchen?â
Kotetsu groaned, burying his face in his hands. âKaedeââ
She was laughing now, full and bright.
âIâm happy for you, really,â she said, more softly this time. âYou deserve someone who makes you feel seen. And safe. And a little less like a disaster.â
He peeked at her through his fingers. âThanks, kiddo.â
Kaede reached across the table and squeezed his wrist. âYou think youâre old and rusty, but youâre still you. Anyone would be lucky to have you.â
His heart cracked a little at thatâright down the middle in the best possible way.
ââŚSo youâre okay with it?â he asked, still a little breathless.
Kaede grinned. âOnly if I get to tease you both endlessly.â
âDeal.â
The alert came through during dinner.
Kaede had insisted on staying overâpartly to keep the mood light after the conversation the night before, and partly to help her dad reorganize the disaster that was his living room.
Theyâd just finished teasing each other over burnt gyoza when the HeroTV emergency broadcast lit up Kotetsuâs phone.
A rogue NEXT. Downtown. Civilian casualties reported.
Your name listed on the active response team.
Kotetsu felt his stomach clench.
The news station cut to aerial footage before HeroTV could sanitize it. The city skyline blurred behind you as you chased the NEXT across the rooftop gridâblindingly fast, like lightning barely tethered to a human form.
You were holding your own.
Until you werenât.
Kotetsu watched it happen in one gut-wrenching second.
The enemy pulled a fake-outâredirected a collapsing beam mid-air with their telekinesis, fast enough that you didnât see it coming. The metal crashed down across your back, and the feed flickered with static and screams.
Your body hit the rooftop.
Hard.
âKaeâKaede, give me the remote!â Kotetsuâs voice cracked as he fumbled to turn up the volume. âWhereâs their vitals? Where the hellâs the statusâ?!â
Kaedeâs eyes were wide, frozen to the screen. âOh my god. Dadââ
Kotetsuâs hands were already trembling. âWhy werenât they with backup? Whereâs the rest of the teamâ?!â
A second camera cut in, shakierâcloser. You were down, unmoving, but alive. The rubble around you glowed faintly from your residual energy, flickering like a dying ember. Blood stained the side of your uniform. Too much blood.
And still, you tried to get up.
Kotetsu stood so fast he knocked his chair over. âI have to go. I have toââ
Kaede grabbed his arm.
He stopped. Looked down at her.
âYou canât,â she whispered. âYouâre not cleared. Youâll just slow them down. You know that.
He wanted to scream. Wanted to tear through the screen and grab you and carry you somewhere safe.
But he couldnât.
He could only watch.
His heart split in two.
âPlease,â he whisperedâto no one, to whatever gods might still be listening. âPlease, donât take them from me.â
Kaede leaned against him, quietly, her hand still on his sleeve.
Neither of them said anything for a long time.
It was Kaede who looked up at him after a few minutes, "You gotta go to them." Her voice seems to not reach him, as she tugs at his sleeve. "Go to them." She says it with more force.
Kotetsu meets his daughter's eye, before nodding. Not needing another word or explanation as he stormed towards the door, out of the tower and through the streets.
Even when his ability failed.
Even when no one moved, and he had to push through as he ran.
Kotetsu never stopped.
He arrived just as the medics did, colliding roughly with the barrier as he slipped on his mask and hopped the barricade.
Nothing mattered, other than you. Not even the numerous camera clicks, the live footage of him breaking rank and rushing to your side.
You were unconscious. Hands slick with blood, but you were alive and that's all that counted as the medics finally made it through.
â˘
â˘
Beeping.
Distant, rhythmic, too slow to be yours.
You cracked your eyes open to sterile white light and the low hum of machines. The ceiling above you was unfamiliar, but the tightness in your chest and the searing ache in your side were not.
You remembered the fight. The beam. The blood.
And his name in your throat as everything went dark.
âBack with us?â a nurse asked gently, glancing up from her chart. âDonât try to move too fast. Youâve got three broken ribs and a punctured lung. Couldâve been worse.â
Couldâve been worseâbut it wasnât good. You werenât wired to sit still. The idea of lying here while people were still out there, still getting hurt.
No.
You shifted, trying to sit up.
Pain lanced through your torso. You hissed, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood.
âStop that,â the nurse warned. âYouâre stable, not invincible.â
âHave to move,â you gritted out. âI need toââ
âYou need to stay in bed.â
You ignored her.
She moved to gently restrain you, but you shoved her hand awayâweak, but stubborn. âIâm notâI'm not broken. I just need to breatheââ
âY/N, stop.â
The voice came from the doorway.
Your breath hitched.
Kotetsu.
He looked like hell. His jacket was half off, tie undone, eyes dark with worry and exhaustion. There was dried blood on the edge of his sleeveâyour blood, maybeâand his jaw clenched when he saw you halfway out of the bed, pale and trembling and still trying to fight.
âYouâre not going anywhere,â he said again, stepping forward. Softer now, but firmer. âNot like this.â
You stared at himâchest tight, pain forgotten for a second. âI have to do something.â
âYou did. You lived.â
You looked away, hands fisting in the sheets. âItâs not enough.â
Kotetsu crouched beside your bed, voice quiet but charged. âIt is to me.â
That landed like a punch to the ribsâalmost worse than the real ones.
You blinked fast. âI thought I was gonna die out there.â
âSo did I,â he whispered. âAnd I couldnât do a damn thing but watch.â
Silence.
The kind that makes the world feel too loud around it.
His hand found yours, warm and shaking. âYou scared the hell out of me.â
You finally looked at himâand everything cracked.
The fear. The pressure. The guilt.
âI didnât want you to see me like that.â
He smiled faintly, painfully. âI want to see you any way, as long as it means I still get to see you.â
Your shoulders sagged, tears burning at the corners of your eyes.
He squeezed your hand gently. âStay. Just for now. Let me be scared and hold your hand through it.â
You closed your eyes.
And, for the first time since you woke up, you stopped trying to leave.
You woke to the sound of his snoring.
Soft. Steady. Just loud enough to make your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with the bruises.
Kotetsu was slumped in a visitor chair, head tilted back against the edge of your bed, one hand still wrapped around yours. His hat was gone. So were his glasses. His coat had been draped over you at some pointâprobably when the nurses werenât looking.
He looked exhausted.
And he hadnât let go.
You watched him in silence for a moment, heart full and heavy. You could feel the tremor in your chest start to rise againâless pain, more emotion. You almost didnât notice the soft murmur of the television on the far wall.
It was a news report. HeroTV recap. Volume low, captions scrolling. A familiar drone of polished voices and commercial gloss.
â...unexpected collapse mid-chase left the young NEXT hospitalized after sustaining serious injuriesâŚâ
â...concern growing over lack of oversightâespecially with veterans like Kotetsu T. Kaburagi breaking protocol to rush the sceneâŚâ
You blinked. Sat up slightly.
The anchorâs voice didnât change. Calm. Detached. Clinical.
âWhile Kaburagi is no longer an active lead on many high-risk missions, his arrival at the scene sparked debate onlineâsome calling it heroic, others asking why a man in his forties is romantically linked to someone over a decade youngerâŚâ
Your blood went cold.
âOne user wrote, âWhy is a washed-up hero playing white knight for their new intern?â Another added, âHeâs old enough to be their dadâthis feels more sad than sweet.ââ
You didnât realize your grip on his hand had tightened until he stirred.
âHm?â he mumbled, voice groggy. âHeyâhey, youâre awakeâŚâ
You looked at him, wide-eyed.
âKotetsu,â you whispered. âTheyâre talking about us.â
He blinked. Sat up. Turned toward the TV.
The color drained from his face.
He reached for the remote. You stopped him.
âI heard it.â
He hesitated. âItâs just noise. People always talk.â
You shook your head. âTheyâre saying youâre pathetic. That youâre⌠clinging to something you shouldnât have.â
His expression twistedâlike he wanted to argue, to fight, but didnât know how to swing without hitting something that wasnât there.
âI donât care what they think,â you added quickly. âBut I care if you do.â
He looked at youâreally looked at youâand something in his shoulders collapsed.
âI knew this would happen,â he said quietly. âI knew the second they saw us, theyâd twist it. Make me into some desperate old man chasing something too good for him.â
Your breath caught. âYou think Iâm too good for you?â
âI think you deserve someone who doesnât come with baggage and a reputation people can tear down in one headline.â
You let that sit in the air for a beat.
âFunny. I thought I deserved someone who shows up when Iâm dying under a building and doesnât let go.â
He looked stunned.
You sat up, still weak, but steady. âThey can say whatever they want. But I know you. And I love you. All of you. Even the parts that flinch when people talk.â
His eyes glistened.
âIâm not leaving,â you said firmly. âSo unless you want to runâŚâ
He shook his head before you could finish. âNo. Never.â
You reached out, resting your palm against his cheek. âThen let them talk.â
The lights were too bright.
Kotetsu had done hundreds of press conferences before. After missions, after accidents, after funerals. But this one felt differentâmore like standing trial than giving answers.
He sat center panel, flanked by PR staff and a moderator, the HeroTV logo shining like an accusation behind him.
âMr. Kaburagi,â one reporter began, not even bothering to smile. âSome are calling your decision to leave your post and rush to the scene impulsiveâreckless, even. Do you consider your personal relationship with Shockwave a conflict of interest?â
Kotetsu exhaled slowly. âI responded to a priority call. I didnât even know they were involved until I got the footageââ
âBut you left the tower without clearance.â
âIâd do it again,â he said without missing a beat.
That caused a ripple through the crowd.
Another reporter jumped in. âIsnât it irresponsible, though? Youâre in your forties. A veteran hero. Shouldnât you be setting an example, not chasing after someone half your age because youâre emotionally compromised?â
He flinchedâjust for a second. But they saw it.
âWould you have done the same for anyone else?â someone else called. âOr was it because youâre trying to relive your glory days through someone younger, fasterââ
Thatâs when the back door of the conference room slammed open.
You.
Still in recovery gear. A bandage visible under the collar of your coat. Eyes blazing.
The room went dead silent.
You stormed up to the edge of the panel. âSay that again.â
The reporter blinked. âExcuse meâ?â
âI said say that again. About him. Right to my face this time.â
PR staff started to rise from their seats. Someone whispered into a headset. But Kotetsu didnât move. He couldnât. He was frozenâhalf in awe, half in fear of what you were about to do.
You stepped in front of the panel, between him and the press.
âYou want to ask about recklessness? Letâs talk about mine. I jumped headfirst into a fight with incomplete intel because I knew people were in danger. I wouldâve bled out under that building if he hadnât fought tooth and nail just to make sure I lived. He ran 10 blocks with no abilities, just to help a fellow hero."
Cameras clicked like gunfire.
âHe didnât show up because he was âemotionally compromised,ââ you snapped. âHe showed up because heâs a hero. One of the only ones left who gives a damn about more than ratings and contracts.â
Murmurs spread. You didnât stop.
âYou want to question the age gap? Fine. Go ahead. But donât act like heâs some old man trying to relive the past. Heâs better than half of us in the field. Heâs smarter, tougher, and he cares more than anyone Iâve ever met. Thatâs why I love him.â
The room exploded.
Gasps. Flashes. A chorus of whispers.
Kotetsuâs breath caught.
âI love him,â you said againâsofter this time. âNot in spite of who he is. Because of it.â
And then you turned toward him, eyes locking on his like there was no one else in the room.
âAnd if anyone else has a problem with that⌠They can talk to me directly.â
Dead silence.
One person clapped. Then another. Then more.
It wasnât everyone. But it was enough to shake the room.
Kotetsu stood slowly, stepping beside you. He didnât speak. Just took your handâdeliberate, steadyâand laced his fingers through yours for the world to see.
And for once, the world listened.
The room reeked of polished wood, synthetic calm, and corporate panic.
Three executives sat across from you, smiles just a little too tight, voices just a little too rehearsed. The head of PR kept folding and unfolding her hands, like she wanted to be holding a leash. Probably yours.
You werenât giving her the chance.
âWe appreciate your passion,â she said, with that faux-empathetic tone that made your skin crawl. âTruly. And your loyalty to Mr. Kaburagi is admirable. But we need to think long-term. About optics.â
You leaned back in the chair, bandages pulling slightly under your clothes. âRight. Because optics are what matter most after someone nearly died.â
âWeâre not minimizing what happened,â one of the producers said quickly. âBut thereâs been⌠backlash. Social media is split. Sponsors are nervous. And the age-gap narrative has becomeâwell, distracting.â
You stared at him.
ââNarrative?ââ you echoed. âI nearly bled out doing my job, and youâre worried about a narrative?â
The PR woman cleared her throat. âAll weâre asking is a small clarification. A joint statement. Reframe the story. Maybe suggest that emotions were high. That your words came from adrenaline, not commitment. You donât even have to walk it back entirelyâjust... soften it.â
Your blood boiled.
You stood, slowly. âLet me make this easy for you.â
All three of them leaned in slightly.
âIf you think for one second Iâm going to stand in front of a camera and pretend that what I said about Kotetsu was anything but true, youâve picked the wrong hero.â
âShockwaveââ
âNo. Shut up and listen.â
That worked.
âIâm not here for fake ratings and glossy smiles. Iâm here to do my job. And part of that jobâthe most important partâis protecting people. That includes him. So if this network wants to twist what we are into something shameful just to make nervous old men in suits feel comfortable, then Iâll walk.â
They went dead still.
You took a step closer.
âIâll walk,â you repeated, calm but lethal. âOut of HeroTV. Out of your contracts. Out of your entire goddamn system. Iâve had cameras in my face since I was seventeenâI wonât let you weaponize them against someone I love.â
PR looked pale. One of the execs looked like he was about to faint.
âIâve got enough injuries to prove I donât bluff,â you added. âSo try me.â
Then you turned, walked out, and didnât look back.
Kotetsu was watching the footage on a tablet in the Tower lounge, Kaede beside him, both of them slack-jawed in silence as your voice cut through the speaker like a lightning strike.
âShe really said that,â Kaede whispered, somewhere between horrified and awed.
Kotetsu didnât speak.
Didnât blink.
Just smiled, slow and stunned, like someone whoâd just realized the person they loved had set the world on fire for themâand would do it again.
The city always looked softer from above. Like maybe it wasnât all fire and chaos when you werenât right in it. Like maybe you could forget how ugly people could be, even for just a second.
Kotetsu stood at the edge of the rooftop, hat in hand, watching the street lights flicker like stars too stubborn to stay in the sky.
Heâd just seen the HeroTV statement go live.
âWe at HeroTV stand firmly behind both Shockwave and Kotetsu T. Kaburagi. The strength they bringâindividually and togetherâis an example of the very best of what our heroes represent: loyalty, courage, and the power to protect not only lives, but each other.â
It wasnât perfect. Carefully worded. Safe. But public. And that made it real.
He didnât know how youâd pulled it off. Didnât know how youâd scared executives into defending a man they used to call a relic.
But he knew one thing: it was you.
And it terrified him.
Footsteps behind him. Light. Familiar.
You stopped beside him, bandages still peeking out from under your collar, posture relaxed like this was just another night.
He glanced over. âYou see the statement?â
You nodded. âThey folded after I left. I told them I meant every word.â
âDid you⌠threaten them?â
âMaybe.â
ââŚDid it work?â
You smirked. âWhat do you think?â
He huffed a laugh. Looking back at the skyline.
âYou said youâd walk. Really walk. Were you serious?â
You didnât even blink. âYes.â
Silence.
The kind that doesnât echo, just sinks.
He looked down, jaw tightening. âDamnâŚâ
You turned to him. âWhat?â
He shook his head, tried to keep it light. âI justâI guess I thought, deep down, that this would be the line. That if it came down to it⌠youâd pick your career. Your future.â
You stared at him like heâd grown a second head. âKotetsu.â
âI mean, itâs not like I havenât seen people run before. Iâm used to being the one whoââ
âKotetsu,â you cut in, firmer now.
He met your eyes.
âI didnât even hesitate.â You stepped closer, voice low, intense. âNot for one second. Iâd burn it all down if it meant you got to breathe easy. You think Iâd trade you for a camera crew and a paycheck?â
He tried to smile, but it faltered.
You reached up and rested a hand on his chest. âYouâve been told youâre disposable so many times, you started to believe it. But I donât. I never did.â
His throat worked silently, and his eyes dropped to the hand on his chest like he couldnât quite believe it was real.
You added, softer now, âYouâre not a footnote in my story, Kotetsu. Youâre the reason Iâm still in it.â
And finally, something inside him cracked.
He pulled you in gently, holding you like he was afraid youâd still disappear. âYou scare the hell outta me, yâknow that?â
You smiled into his shoulder. âYou love it.â
He did.
God help himâhe really, really did.
The towerâs lounge buzzed with quiet energyâTV murmuring in the background, energy drinks stacked like neon totems on the table, the sharp scent of takeout hanging in the air.
Everyone was pretending they werenât waiting.
You sat beside Kotetsu on the couch, arm resting lightly against his. The team had gathered for a "debrief," but so far, all they'd done was rewatch the press conference and trade half-glances over greasy noodles.
Fire Emblem was the one who finally broke.
âSo,â he said, dramatically crossing one leg over the other, âAre we going to talk about the literal soap opera that just played out live on national television, or are we still pretending?â
Blue Roseâs eyes flicked from her cup to you, sharp and curious. âYou two looked pretty comfortable on that stage.â
Origami Cyclone nodded from the corner. âThereâs been⌠speculation.â
Sky High blinked, chip in hand. âWait, youâre dating?â
Everyone turned to him.
âYou didnât know?â Rock Bison muttered.
Sky High looked confused. âI thought it was just HeroTV trying to spice up the ratings againââ
Kotetsu sighed. âItâs not a PR stunt.â
The room stilled.
All eyes on him now.
You watched his jaw twitch slightly as he sat forward, rubbing the back of his neck. âItâs real.â
He didnât look at them.
He looked at you.
And that glanceâsoft, steady, full of something that didnât need to be spokenâanswered everything.
No flashy declarations. No overcompensating.
The room fell silent.
Then Fire Emblem smiled, wide and wicked. âWell, itâs about damn time. I was starting to think you two were going to keep orbiting each other forever.â
Blue Rose scoffed. âYou knew before I did?â
âI see things,â Fire Emblem replied, flipping his hair. âItâs a gift.â
Origami Cyclone offered a quiet bow of approval. âWeâre happy for you.â
Sky High held up his drink. âTo unexpected but welcome developments!â
Rock Bison slapped Kotetsu on the back hard enough to rattle his bones. âLook at you, old man! Still got some fight in you after all.â
Kotetsu just laughed, cheeks a little red, eyes still on you.
You leaned in close and said, low so only he could hear: âTheyâre never gonna let you live this down.â
He shrugged. âWorth it.â
You grinned. âYouâre damn right it is.â
The first time you stood on a rooftop again, your lungs clenched like they remembered the last time.
Sirens howled below. Wind tugged at your coat. You could see the distanceâthe edge of the building, the exact place youâd fallen. Your ribs didnât hurt anymore, not physically. But your chest? It squeezed with every heartbeat.
The call had come fast: NEXT suspect with volatile powers, two hostages, barricaded inside an industrial plant. You and Kotetsu were closest. Backup was ten minutes out. The kind of call you used to answer on instinct.
But now you hesitated.
Your hands trembled slightly as you crouched by the skylight. Breath shallow. Vision blurring, just for a second. You could feel the phantom weight of the beam that hit you. Smell the blood. Hear your own gasp echo.
âHey.â
Kotetsuâs voice, quiet beside you.
You looked upâhe was watching you, brows furrowed, worry barely hidden.
âIâve got you,â he said, voice low and firm. âYou donât have to prove anything.â
âIâm not trying to prove anything,â you murmured.
âThen what?â
You hesitated. Then: âI just donât want to freeze when it matters.â
âYou wonât,â he said without missing a beat. âBecause youâve already been through the worstâand you didnât break. Youâre here. Youâre breathing. Youâre still fighting.â
You stared at him.
Then nodded. Once.
âLetâs move,â you said.
It didnât go perfectly.
The suspect was erratic, his power unstable, crackling with kinetic pulses that shattered windows as you moved in. The air stung with static. For one terrifying moment, he locked onto youâeyes wild, hand raisedâand you froze.
Just a second.
But it was enough.
Kotetsu moved fast, intercepting the blast with his shield gauntlet, taking the brunt of the hit as you rolled clear.
And that snapped everything back.
You surged up, focused, controlled.
Your power wrapped around the suspect like steel wire, locking him down mid-strike. Dropped him to the ground. Cuffed him.
Done.
The hostages were safe. The suspect contained.
You stood over the scene, chest heaving, hand scraped rawâand alive.
And this time, you were still standing.
The lights were back. So were the reporters.
But this time, the only thing buzzing in your chest was fire.
You stood at the podium beside Kotetsu, mic angled toward you, cameras flashing. One reporter called out: âShockwave, this was your first return to active duty since the incident. There were concerns you might not be readyââ
You cut in smoothly. âI was ready. I am ready.â
Another question: âThereâs been a lot of talk about the emotional impact of what happened. Was there any hesitation returning to the field?â
You looked out over the sea of faces. Then turnedâjust slightlyâto Kotetsu, who gave you that same soft look he always did when he was proud of you.
You faced the crowd again.
âThere was fear,â you said honestly. âBut I didnât go back out there alone.â
âIâm stronger because of him. Because Kotetsu never let me forget what Iâm capable ofâeven when I doubted it myself. Thatâs why I came back. And thatâs why Iâll keep showing up.â
Flashbulbs popped. Whispers spread.
You didnât care.
You turned to Kotetsu, just for a second. He was smilingâsoft, amazed, maybe a little misty.
Could you write something where Adrian goes into a Spirit-induced depressive episode after a long day of tutoring Lissa? Heâll turn to Gaurdian!Reader for comfort since she quickly noticed his change in demeanor. Maybe heâll use compulsion to drink her blood in his room though sheâll be willing soon enough. I actually wanted to base this off the dorm scene Rose and Adrian had but couldnât find the right words to describe my request.
Intentionally Close
Adrian Ivashkov X F!Reader
Warnings: mentions of depression, blood, minor swearing.
AN: Sorry this took forever, it got buried in my drafts and Iâve been cleaning it out. And saw this! I went a little different than the scene with Rose, itâs been a while since I read the books, but I like how this turned out! I hope you enjoy!
You knew better than to get close to Adrian Ivashkovânot only of his reputation, but also his intensities. Thatâs the right wordâhe was a devil in disguise, one of the worst if youâre honest.
He dangled himself on a line, and you were a fool for your own lack of inhibition. Time spent with him was like waiting for the ticking time bomb to finally go off, and it did manage to mount eventually. The tension had become thick, and while you had thought youâd be the one to pull the trigger.
It was Adrian. He had spent the day watching you closely, every inhale and exhaleâthe subtle rise and fall of your chest. He watched your lips as they spoke, only sometimes he didnât even know what words you had said.
For every time you considered him mildly attractive, he found you absolutely ravishing. Completely consuming his every thought. You made him both strong and weak, his little dhamphir. He quite liked the way your visits went, the comfort that came from being so close. Not too close, but painfully so that he could just shift slightly and touch you. Brush his arm against yours. Let his fingers slightly bump into your hand, an accidental touch. Sometimes he was even certain that you were chasing him with just as much vigor.
Around and around, a never ending cycle between the two of you. A game of cat and mouse.
Coming home that night was like dragging himself through cement, he felt overwhelmed and a tad off. Lissa had excelled today, but it meant more taxing training and more work from Adrian. A longer day than he had planned. It took nearly every ounce of his being to keep himself upright, but coming into the room to find you in his bed.
Boots neatly tucked by the door were the dead giveaway that you were there, but seeing on top of his blankets. Your eyes trained on the stake twisting about your fingers, a part of Adrian seems to snap into place.
His room is quiet when he steps inside, almost too quiet, like the air itself is holding its breath. Adrian stands at the edge of the bed, his usual cocky mask missing-no smirk, no careless charm. Just him. Bare, beautiful, and broken in a way few ever get to see.
You look up when you hear the door close, his eyes catching yours in the dim light. There's something haunted behind the greenâsomething that doesn't quite match the silk shirt rumpled on his shoulders or the expensive scent that still clings to him.
"You came," he says, quietly. Like he didn't think you would.
You cross the room, with both caution and reverence. "You said you needed me."
His throat works as he swallows, gaze dropping to the floor. "I hate needing anyone."
But you're already kneeling in front of him, lifting his chin so he has to look at you. "But you do."
He closes his eyes. "It's not just hunger," he murmurs. "It's you. It's always you."
The silence stretches between you, heavy with things unspoken. Then, carefully, he touches your arm, fingers trembling just enough for you to teel it.
"I can't ask this of you," he says, voice raw. "Not again. Not when it... takes something from you."
You tilt your head, exposing your neck without a word.
His breath catches. "Donâtâ" he whispers. "Don't make this easy. I don't deserve easy."
But he leans in anyway, helpless against the pull.
When his lips press against your skin, it's not a kiss-it's a confession. The sting of his fangs is sharp, but what follows is deeper: warmth, longing, guilt wrapped in intimacy.
His hands are shaking as he drinks, holding you like you're something fragile, something sacred.
You feel the way he tries to pull back, to stop himself-but he lingers, and you know it's not just about the blood.
When he finally withdraws, he presses his forehead to your shoulder, breathing hard. "I'm sorry," he says, so softly you almost miss it. "You make me feel human again... and I don't know if I can live with that."
You feel the way he tries to pull back, to stop himself-but he lingers, and you know it's not just about the blood.
When he finally withdraws, he presses his forehead to your shoulder, breathing hard. "I'm sorry," he says, so softly you almost miss it. "You make me feel human... and I don't know if I can live with that."
You touch his hair, smoothing it gently. "Then don't live with it," you whisper. "Just... feel it. With me."
He doesn't replyâbut the way he holds you tighter says everything.
You don't stay in Adrian's room long after. Once his breathing evens out and the trembling in his hands fades, you quietly gather yourself. He doesn't ask you to stay. He just watches you with those tired, stormy eyes, like he's already bracing for the weight of the silence you're both about to carry.
By the time you slip out into the hall, the guilt is clinging to your skin like smoke.
You don't make it ten steps before you hear your name.
"Hey!" Rose's voice, sharp and familiar, cuts through the quiet. She's leaning against the wall outside the lounge with Lissa beside her, arms crossed and eyes narrod with suspicion.
"Where the hell have you been?"
Your heart stumbles in your chest. Lissa watches you with that Spirit-user intuition-soft, silent, but all-seeing. Rose, of course, doesn't wait for an answer.
"You weren't in your room. We thought maybe something happened."
"Nothing happened," you say quickly, too quickly.
"I just... needed some air."
Rose lifts a brow. "In Adrian's wing of the dorms?"
You force a shrug, keek. s your face neutral. "I just... needed some air."
Rose lifts a brow. "In Adrian's wing of the dorms?"
You force a shrug, keeping your face neutral. "I ran into him. We talked for a bit. That's all."
Lissa tilts her head. "You look pale."
"I'm always pale," you say with a faint smile, hoping the joke deflects enough. "Maybe I'm coming down with something."
Rose doesn't buy it. She never does. "You weren't with him again were vou?" Her tone is laced with a venom you didnât understand, there was no way she know, but Rose was guarded now. Protective. And you know she's not just talking about conversations.
You pause for half a heartbeat too long.
"No," you lie, soft and practiced. "It's not like that."
Lissa's eyes soften, but not with beliefâmore like disappointment. Or maybe she just senses the ache you're carrying, the residue of something deeper.
They don't push, not today. Maybe because know, deep down, that if they asked again, the truth might unravel something none of you are ready to face.
You walk with them back to the dorms, your fingers brushing the side of your neck where his bite is already fading. But the memory lingersâ his voice, his guilt, the way he held you like you were the only thing anchoring him to this world.
You lied to protect him.
But part of you wonders if you're just protecting yourself.
â˘
â˘
â˘
The door to your room closes with a soft click, and the silence that follows is deafening.
You lean against it for a moment, eyes shut, willing your heart to stop pounding. But it doesn't. It won't. Not with the taste of Adrian's voice still echoing in your mind. "You make me feel human again."
You should feel needed. Wanted. Loved.
Instead, you feel... hollow.
Crossing to the mirror, you tug down your collar and study the faint bruising left behind. It's already healing-fast, like always-but your skin remembers. Your body always remembers. Not just the bite, but everything that came with it: the way he clung to you lik you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart. The way it hurt, not physically-but emotionally. Spirit doesn't just drink blood. It drinks pieces of you.
You press your fingers lightly to the spot, then pull your hand back like it burned.
You told them it was nothing.
Rose would call you out. Lissa would look at you like she knew, like she felt it all through the threads of Spirit. But you couldn't tell them. Not just because of Adrianâbut because admitting it would make it real.
And you don't know if you're strong enough to carry what that means.
So instead, you do what you've been doing every time it happens: you bury it. You climb into bed without turning on the :. You wrap your arms around yourself, clutching the pillow like it might anchor you.
And in the dark, you whisper the truth to no one but the silence:
"I want to be there for him."
But there's no one to answer back. No one to reassure you that being there isn't slowly breaking you apart too.
So you close your eyes and pretend the ache in your chest is just exhaustion. Not love. Not guilt.
Just tired bones.
Tomorrow, you'll smile. You'll laugh when Rose teases you and nod when Lissa asks if everything's okay.
You've gotten good at pretending.
â˘
â˘
â˘
You stop showing up at the court garden where you used to cross paths by accident-on-purpose.
You don't linger in the lounges near the Moroi dorms. And when your friends make jokes about Adrian, you laugh too easily-too forced.
Adrian notices.
He's not as careless as people think. Behind the sarcasm and the lazy elegance, he sees everything. Especially when it comes to you.
So one night-when the silence gets too loud and the ache of your absence starts crawling under his skinâhe finds you.
You're in the training gym after hours, long after even Rose has called it a night. Your punches are sharp and angryâpowerful in ways no one, but him understood. Not entirely. He leans against the doorway. Arms crossed.
"You always fight like that when you're trying not to feel something," he says softly.
You don't stop. Don't even turn around.
"Don't you have a bottle to chase or a party to crash?" you reply, biting.
He pushes off the wall, walking toward you slowly. "I'd rather chase the one person who actually means something."
You freezeâjust for a second-but it's enough.
He sees it.
You lower your fists and finally look at him.
There's a wall in your eyes now. Not anger. Not coldness. Just distance. The kind that wasn't there before.
"You said you hated needing people," you say, voice barely above a whisper. "I think I started hating it too."
Adrian stops in front of you, hands shoved in his coat pockets like he doesn't trust them not to reach for you. "I never wanted to make you feel that way."
"You didn't mean to," you say. "But you did."
The words hang heavy between you.
He looks down, swallowing hard. "Is it the bite?"
"It's not just the bite," you say. "It's what it means. What it takes from me every time. You ask like you're giving me a choice, but we both know I could never say no to you."
He flinchesâactually flinched.
"I thought maybe being with you would make me stronger," you continue, "but lately, I'm starting to feel like I'm disappearing."
Adrian steps closer, and this time, he does reach outâgently. Hesitantly. His hand brushes your arm, but you don't lean in.
"You're the only thing that keeps me grounded," he says quietly. "But if holding onto me is making you lose yourself... I'd rather let go."
There's a rawness in his voice that cracks something inside you. You shake your head. "I don't want to lose you."
"But I can't lose you either," he says. "And I will, if this keeps being something you survive instead of something you chooseâthen youâll lose yourself... I'd rather let go."
For once, there's no charm in his voice. No wit.
Just a scared, hurting boy who's finally realized that love isn't just about needing-it's about giving. About not asking someone to bleed just so you can feel whole.
â˘
â˘
â˘
It's late when you find him again.
His room is dark, the curtains drawn tight like he's trying to shut out the world. You don't knockâyou just open the door and step inside. Adrian is on the couch, half-sunken into it, staring blankly at a canvas that hasn't been touched in days.
He looks up slowly, eyes tired, like he wasn't expecting anyone. Especially not you.
But the moment he sees you, everything stills.
His breath. His sadness. Like for a second, you've pulled him back from the edge again.
You close the door behind you.
"I've been thinking," you say softly, stepping toward him. "About what you said. About what I said.â He says nothing. Just watches you, eyes flicking to the way your hands tremble slightly at your sides.
"I didn't come here to survive this," you whisper. "I came because I choose this. I choose you."
Adrian stands slowly, like he's afraid to move too fast and shatter the moment. "You don't have to _"
"I want to," you cut in. "But only if we stop pretending this doesn't mean something. I need it to be real. Not just hunger. Not guilt. Us."
The words hang in the space between you, and then carefully he steps closer.
When he cups your face, it's not with urgency or hunger. It's reverent, as if he is beneath the heavens itself.
His forehead presses against yours, and you feel the way he's shaking. "I don't deserve this," he breathes.
"Maybe not," you whisper. "But I do. I deserve to choose this."
You tilt your head, exposing your neck--not out of obligation, not because he needs itâbut as a gift.
One last time.
Adrian's lips tremble against your skin. And when he bites, it's different this time.
It's not desperation. It's not the darkness. It's love.
The pull of Spirit is still there-electric and intimate-but you feel it in your chest, not just your blood. It doesn't drain you. It connects you.
And when he pulls away, there are tears in his eyes. "You didn't disappear," he says, voice cracking."You came back."
You touch his face, smiling through your own tears. "| never left. I just needed to remember who I was. And that I'm not afraid of what you need... not if it's with me.â
He leans into your touch like it's the only thing keeping him grounded.
And for the first time in a long time, the ache between you isn't pain.
It's loveâloud and honest. With a choice only you could make.
Iâd like to request something based on ThĂŠodenâs travel from Rohan to Helms Deep. A love triangle with fem Elf!reader, Legolas and Aragorn had already been present. What I was thinking is during the chaos of battle, she gets her belt stuck on a Wargâs saddle (it wouldnât be Aragorn going over to cliff this time), Legolas and Aragorn wouldnât notice until itâs too late. But the Orc had grabbed hold of the necklace that Legolas had given her. Put as much angst and hurt/comfort as youâd like!
Symphony of Hearts
Legolas X elf!Reader!love triangle X Aragorn
Warnings: violence, angst, some graphic descriptions.
If there is one thing youâre certain of, itâs that joining this company was a mistake. What once was a quiet affair had become all too blatantâLegolas had loved you since you were children, but Aragorn loved you from the moment you met.
There are two emotions that never quite aligned, the simple love shared with Legolas and the pining that came with falling for Aragorn. And truthfully, neither ever forced a decision. However, by joining the company, the close proximity of the trio had left you listening to endless questions of choosing.
And how could you? When it meant youâd lose the other entirely, they made that abundantly clear when a quiet bickering turned into a silent treatment between them one evening.
No one gave you a manual when deciding, or a peek into the future other than the knowledge that thereâs people who depend on you. Thereâs always been people, and glancing at Legolas you recall all of the people you have helped with him.
You battled beside him with Tauriel in the Battle of the Seven Armiesâand following him was easy as breathing. He was like a breath of fresh air, always there, but it was always give some and take some. There was a balance, not that you minded much.
But with Aragorn, there was devotion beyond all else. There was no need for anything other than himâyou hardly knew air once he was within sight. You didnât need to give anything, he was more than willing to take on every burden.
However, as the days continued on and the journey grew heavierâyou found yourself riding at the front of the march to Helms Deep. Your body ached in ways you could not explain, and the least of your worries was which of the two would stay at your side.
You didnât have time to think of that.
In truth you couldnât help the way your mind began to wander, thoughts of the nights before coming to mind. Their memory seeming to haunt you.
The sun had just begun its descent, casting long, golden beams across the verdant fields of Rivendell. The cool breeze stirred the trees, carrying with it the scent of pine and wildflowersâa scent you had always associated with peace and home. You stood in the center of the practice ring, your boots digging into the soft earth beneath you, and before you, Legolas, your oldest friend, readied himself.
You hadnât seen Legolas for many years, not in the way youâd once known him as a child. You had both been inseparable once, growing up together in the lush woods of Mirkwood. You had laughed under the stars, trained side by side with swords and bows, and shared secrets that only the two of you would understand.
But time had changed things. The world had changed. And now, after years apart, you found yourself standing across from him, just as you had when you were both young, but this time the stakes were higherâwar loomed, and the weight of destiny hung in the air.
He smiled at you, that familiar glint of mischief in his bright eyes, but there was something deeper there too, something that spoke of the years he had spent away from home, of the battles fought and the losses endured. The years had made him into the warrior he was todayâstrong, precise, and relentless.
âIâll warn you, Y/N,â Legolas teased, his voice as light as it had always been, âIâve improved since last we sparred.â
You met his playful gaze with a raised brow. âYouâve always been a little full of yourself, Legolas,â you replied with a smirk. âLetâs see if your arrogance can match your skill.â
Legolas grinned, clearly delighted by the familiar banter. He was poised, his twin blades glinting in the fading sunlight as he waited for your move.
You didnât disappoint. With a quick fluid motion, you darted forward, your twin short swords slicing through the air, meeting his blades with a sharp clang. The sound of steel against steel echoed, but you both moved effortlessly, almost as though you were oneâtwo friends, two warriors, locked in an ancient dance.
Legolasâ eyes gleamed, his steps graceful as he countered your moves with precision, always just a step ahead. His blade clashed with yours, and for a moment, you were transported back to the time when you were both young, training beneath the canopy of trees in Mirkwood, full of dreams and promises.
But now, the sparring was different. There was a weight to each movement, an intensity you hadnât expected. You couldnât help but notice how his eyes lingered on you for just a heartbeat longer than they used to, how the tension between your blades seemed to carry more than just friendly competition.
You were no longer just the childhood friend. He was no longer the mischievous boy you had once known. Time had forged him into something elseâsomething more.
With a swift movement, you broke away, taking a few steps back, eyes narrowing. Legolas followed suit, but there was something else now, something unspoken in the way his eyes traced over you. The smile was gone, replaced by something deeper, more contemplative.
âSomething on your mind?â you asked, trying to keep your voice light, though you, too, felt the change in the air.
He hesitated for a moment, his eyes never leaving yours. âIâve always wonderedâŚâ he began softly, his voice almost wistful, âwhat it would be like if things had stayed the same. If we were still the children we once were, running through the forests, careless and free.â
Your heart skipped a beat. You hadnât expected him to say this. You had spent so many years wondering if he still thought of those moments with the same fondness you did.
âI think about those days often,â you said, your voice quiet. âBut we are not children anymore, Legolas. The world has changed, and so have we.â
He stepped closer, his gaze intense, his eyes searching yours. âNot all change is for the worse, (Y/N). Not all of it.â
You swallowed hard, feeling a shift in the air, a pull between you that you hadnât felt in years. The silence between you seemed to stretch for longer than it should have, the weight of his unspoken words hanging in the space.
You had always been close, yesâbut this? This was different. There was something deeper, a longing in his gaze that you hadnât seen before, not even when you were younger.
And just as you opened your mouth to speak, a voice from the edge of the training ring interrupted, pulling both your attention away.
âItâs beautiful, isnât it?â Aragornâs voice was low, almost too quiet, as he stepped into view, his gaze fixed on you and Legolas. He had been watching you for a while now, though neither of you had noticed him. âThe bond you two share.â
Legolas turned his head, his expression unreadable, but you could see the flicker of something, something that betrayed his calm composure. His relationship with Aragorn had always been one of mutual respect, but this momentâthis felt different.
âAragorn,â Legolas greeted him, though there was an edge to his voice, a subtle shift in his usual demeanor.
Aragornâs gaze lingered on you for a moment before returning to Legolas, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were weighing something. âYouâve been spending a lot of time with Y/N lately,â he said, his voice even, but there was something in itâsomething more. Something heavier.
You caught the shift in Aragornâs eyes. There was a weight in them that hadn't been there before, something deep, something conflicted. You knew Aragorn well enough to recognize it: a subtle flash of realization.
You and Legolas had always been close, but Aragorn was seeing something now that he hadnât before. And as you glanced between themâbetween the quiet tension in Aragornâs gaze and the understanding that passed between you and Legolasâyou realized that something had shifted. Something had changed in Aragornâs heart, though he hadnât yet come to terms with it.
Legolas caught your eye for a brief second, his expression softening. âWe were just reminiscing,â he said, his voice calm again, though you could hear the undercurrent of something more.
Aragornâs gaze lingered on you, then shifted to Legolas. His eyes flicked between you both for a heartbeat, and in that brief moment, something clicked within him. The realization settled in his chest like a stone, heavy and undeniable. He had been too focused on his duties, too involved in the weight of his responsibilities, but now it was clear.
The tension in the air thickened, and Aragornâs gaze softened, but not with the warmth you were used to. This was differentâa quiet, internal battle playing out behind his eyes, and though he didnât speak it aloud, you knew.
He loved you.
It was in the way he looked at you now, in the way his eyes followed your every movement. You werenât just a companion. You were something more. Something he hadnât allowed himself to see until now.
The moment passed, and Aragorn gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod, his expression carefully neutral. But you saw the flicker in his eyesâthe silent acknowledgment that he was beginning to understand his own heart.
And as you returned your attention to Legolas, who stood by, his expression softening with something that wasnât quite friendship, you realized the delicate balance between all three of you had shiftedâirreparably.
The weight of love, of history, of unspoken feelings, hung heavy in the air.
And none of you knew where it would lead, but in that quiet, fleeting moment, you all knew this was only the beginning.
You were distracted, the memories seemed to haunt you in more ways than oneâeven as the orcs descended, as the attacks came and went. As you cut them down, and dealt blow after blow. None of it mattered.
Because one second you were defending the people, trying to take out an orc, and the next your wrist was tangled up.
Eyes widening, fingers scrambling, but it was too late because before you know itâyou are flying off the edge of the cliff.
The world goes black the moment you hit the water.
One second you were sprinting toward the orc on the cliffside, your blood singing with the rush of battle, and the nextâwell, the earth is gone beneath your feet.
You donât scream.
The fall is silent, almost peaceful, and thenâimpact. Cold. Darkness.
Your lungs burn. Limbs heavy. Everything fades except the weight in your chestânot water, but memory.
You see Aragorn first. His weathered hands tying a bandage around your forearm after you went and got yourself injured. You tended to do that, act first and think later.
"You should be more careful," he murmured, eyes downcast.
"And miss your tender touch?" you teased. But the way his gaze lifted to yoursâsoft, uncertain, lingeringâit wasnât a jest anymore.
He didnât kiss you. He wanted to. You can see that now in the darkness.
Then the memory shifts. You can feel the echoes of your life trying to pull you to the surface, but you remain still, floating.
Legolas, beside you on a high branch, both of you wordless as the moon filtered through the leaves.
He didnât speak often of love, but he didnât have to. It was in the brush of his shoulder, the way his bow always found your enemies first.
"I would follow you beyond the sea," he said once, not looking at you. "If you asked it."
You hadnât answered. You didnât know how.
Your eyes snap open. Breath floods your lungs like fire.
Youâre not dead. Youâre on a riverbankâmuddy, shivering, alone.
No sword. No bow. No Aragorn. No Legolas.
You sit up slowly, body aching. Every movement feels like dragging yourself through more than just mudâthrough memory. Through guilt.
Somewhere out there, they must think youâre gone. And yet you survived.
Now comes the hardest part.
Finding your way back.
And choosingâif you still can.
The forest is dense, the shadows deep. You move silently between the trees, every step forward bringing another memory. Another fracture in your heart.
You walk alone nowâbut you haven't been alone, not truly, in months.
The wind howled across the plains. You stood outside the Golden Hall, your cloak flapping wildly, fingers still stained from the skirmish that day.
Inside, Aragorn leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, watching you.
"You move like the wind," he said, stepping closer. His eyes searched yours. "But I feel it pull me with it. Every time you go."
You smiled, but the ache was sharp. "And yet, it is Legolas who follows."
He didnât flinch. He only said, "Yes. He always will. But I would wait."
You wanted to say something more. You didnât. The wind took it.
â˘
You stumble now on a tree root, nearly falling again. The irony bites, but you catch yourself. You always do.
Your path turns toward Helms Deep, and the trees whisper as you passâstrange and watchful. You half expect to see Legolas emerge from the gloom, bow ready, smile soft.
But thereâs only silence.
Until your memory speaks again.
Night fell gently in that elven realm. You sat beside Legolas near a silver stream, both of you barefoot, toes brushing the water.
"You are not like them," he said. "You do not belong to time the same way."
"Neither do you," you replied, leaning back on your hands, watching the stars blink alive.
"But I have never feared it. Not until I met you."
You turned your head then. His face was close. He didnât kiss youâbut his hand found yours, and it stayed there, warm, grounding.
He never asked for more. He just gave.
The path ahead forksâone toward Helmâs Deep, the other toward the river that leads back to Gondor. You pause.
They could be either place.
You close your eyes, breathing in the wind, the trees, the memory of two men whose hearts you still carryâone a king, bound to duty and shadow, the other a prince of starlight, silent and enduring.
The path doesnât matter anymore.
You will find them.
Or they will find you.
â˘
â˘
You smell fire before you see itâsmoke on the breeze, faint and familiar. Someone camps nearby.
You crouch low, slipping through underbrush like a ghost.
And then you hear it. A voice.
"I told you she would live."
Your heart stops.
Legolas.
A second voice, quieter, ragged with disbelief: "But she fell."
Aragorn.
You rise slowly. Your steps are silentâbut the moment you emerge into the clearing, both men turn, and for the first time in weeksâperhaps everâtheir eyes hold nothing but you.
Aragorn rises first. He looks older. His expression crumbles and reforms all in a breath.
Legolas doesnât move. But his gaze pierces through you, as if to be sure you're real.
You say nothing.
Neither do they.
Until Aragorn whispers, "We mourned you." He let himself feel your loss, the weight burdening his shoulders.
And Legolas, "I never did." He knew you would return, or at least hoped enough. That was Legolas, he bottled it up.
Choose AragornâŚ
The moon hung high above Helms Deep, its firey glow casting long shadows across the quiet path. There is not gentleness to the defensive walls, long overbearing shadows and echoes of people along the way. The world felt suspended in time, almost as if the very land itself were holding its breath.
You and Legolas had always shared a bond, one born of shared history and countless memories, but something in the air had shifted. It wasnât just the training anymore. There was more between you twoâsomething deeper.
And then there was Aragorn.
You hadnât missed the subtle tension between him and Legolas, nor the quiet change in Aragorn's gaze when he had watched you and Legolas spar some time ago. It was impossible to ignore how his eyes lingered on you longer than usual, how his demeanor had shifted so subtly, yet so definitively. Something had changed in him, and it had made your heart ache in ways you hadnât expected.
You hadnât expected this⌠feeling.
You had spent the evening alone, trying to sort through your emotions, but the quiet, the stillness, only made your thoughts spiral more. Trying to clean yourself of the trauma, of falling off a cliff. Finally, you decided to take a walkâalthough you werenât ready to face what secrets Helms Deep had to offerâand as you made your way through the stoneâyou found yourself outside. The cool night air wrapped around you like a cloak, and you took a deep breath, letting the fresh scent of pine soothe your troubled mind.
And that was when you saw him.
Aragorn.
He was standing at the edge of the courtyard, his back to you, staring out at the moonlit landscape. The battles to come hang on the air, a stillness to the world around them. His stance was rigid, as though lost in thought, his cloak rustling softly in the breeze.
You hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to approach him, but the pull to speak with him was too strong. You knew that something had changedâhad been changingâand you needed to understand what it meant, for both of you.
âAragorn?â you called quietly, your voice breaking the stillness.
He turned slowly, his dark eyes meeting yours. For a moment, his expression was unreadable, but you could see the weight behind his gaze. The internal struggle that had been brewing since earlier in the day was written all over him.
âYouâre out late,â you remarked, trying to keep the mood light, though you could sense the heaviness in the air between you.
Aragorn didnât immediately respond, and for a long moment, the two of you stood in silence. Then, his voice came, low and heavy with something you couldnât quite place.
âI couldnât sleep,â he said quietly. âToo many thoughts. Too many things Iâve been avoiding.â
You took a step closer, your heart racing in your chest. âWhat things?â
He took a slow breath, his eyes not meeting yours now, as though he couldnât bring himself to face you directly. âIâve spent so much time focusing on the battles ahead. The task at hand. The lives we must save. ButâŚâ His words trailed off, his hands clenching at his sides.
âBut what?â you pressed, stepping a little closer.
He turned to face you fully, his eyes meeting yours now, dark and full of unspoken emotion. There was no more hiding behind his usual calm demeanor. In the moonlight, you saw itâhis vulnerability. The walls he had carefully built around himself for so long were crumbling, and in that moment, you could see the man behind the ranger. The man who had always been there, but who had never allowed himself to truly be seen.
âIâve been fooling myself for too long,â he said, his voice quiet but raw. âFocusing on everything and everyone else. And all the while, Iâve beenâŚâ He paused, as if searching for the words, his breath shaky. âIâve been denying something that has been so clear to me. To my heart.â
Your pulse quickened. His words hung heavy between you, and you felt a stirring deep inside you, a mix of hope and fear.
Aragorn took another step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. âY/N, Iâve spent so many years with you by my side. Fighting side by side, protecting those who cannot protect themselves. But Iâve come to realize⌠itâs you that Iâve been protecting the most. Itâs you who IâŚâ He faltered for a moment, his eyes glistening with something that wasnât just the reflection of the moonlight. It was something deeper. Something far more personal.
Your breath caught in your throat. âAragornâŚâ you whispered.
âI love you,â he said, his voice barely audible, yet each word was carved into the silence like a truth he could no longer keep hidden. âIâve always loved you, Y/N. But I was too blind to see it. Too afraid to admit it⌠to you, to myself.â
The world seemed to stop. The sounds of the night faded into nothing. All that remained was his confession, hanging between you like a weight, grounding you in that moment.
Your heart hammered in your chest, the truth of his words settling into your bones. You hadnât dared to hope for thisâhadnât dared to believe that Aragorn, the man who carried the weight of Middle-earth on his shoulders, could feel the same way. But now, in the quiet of the night, it was undeniable.
You took a step toward him, reaching out to place a hand gently on his chest. The warmth of his body beneath your touch made your heart race even faster, but the tenderness in his eyes, the vulnerability, made it all feel so real.
âI didnât knowâŚâ you began softly, your voice trembling. âI didnât know you felt this way. I thought⌠I thought I was just a friend to you, Aragorn. A comrade. A companion.â
He shook his head slowly, his hand reaching up to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. âYou are so much more than that to me. You always have been. But I was a fool to let fear keep me from saying it. Fear of the battles ahead. Fear of the war. But in truth, the greatest fear I have now is losing you⌠before I ever had the chance to tell you what you mean to me.â
You felt a lump form in your throat, your emotions rising up to overwhelm you. Aragorn, the king-to-be, the ranger, the protectorâhad never been so open, so vulnerable before. And now, standing before you, admitting his love, he had never seemed more human.
âIâve loved you for so long,â you whispered, your voice barely audible. âI thought I was the only one who felt this way.â
Aragornâs eyes softened, his hand gently cupping your face. âYou are never alone, Y/N. Not in this.â
The distance between you closed in an instant, and before you could stop yourself, you kissed himâa soft, lingering kiss that held the weight of everything unsaid, of every moment that had led to this one. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, as if he couldnât get enough of you. The kiss deepened, but it wasnât just passionâit was everything: the years of friendship, the battles fought, the distance between you finally vanishing.
When you pulled away, breathless and shaky, you looked into his eyes, the uncertainty finally gone. âWhat now?â you asked softly.
Aragorn smiled, his thumb brushing over your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. âNow, we face everything together. Whatever comes, whatever the future holds.â
You nodded, knowing in that moment that whatever battles lay aheadâwhether on the fields of war or within your heartsâyou would face them side by side. Together.
The And for the first time in a long time, the world felt a little less heavy.
Choose LegolasâŚ
The moon hung high above Helms Deep, its firey glow casting long shadows across the quiet path. There is not gentleness to the defensive walls, long overbearing shadows and echoes of people along the way. The world felt suspended in time, almost as if the very land itself were holding its breath.
You and Legolas had been inseparable since childhood, both of you the sons and daughters of Mirkwood, growing up together under the canopy of trees. Your bond was forged through shared experiences, and despite the distance and time that had passed, it had never weakened. But now, as adults, there was an undeniable pull between youâa pull that went beyond mere friendship.
The training sessions, the quiet moments in the forests, even the small glances shared across the campfire⌠everything had changed, and yet neither of you had spoken of it. Not aloud, at least.
Tonight, however, something felt different.
You had found yourself near what used to be the training grounds, as if drawn here by some invisible thread, and there he wasâLegolas. He was standing by the fountain, his eyes focused on the water as he traced the surface with a delicate hand, lost in thought. His usual playful demeanor was gone; there was something more serious about him tonight, something that reflected his inner turmoil. He hadnât noticed you at first, but you could sense the weight of his thoughts.
Taking a deep breath, you finally took a step forward, breaking the silence that had stretched between you both. âLegolas.â
He turned toward the sound of your voice, a soft smile curving on his lips as his blue eyes locked with yours. âY/N,â he greeted, his voice warm but tinged with a quiet sadness. âI didnât expect to find anyone out here at this hour.â
âYouâre always out here,â you said, smiling faintly. âI thought maybe I would find you.â
He raised an eyebrow playfully, his expression softening. âAnd why is that?â
You paused for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts. The words you had been holding in for so long were suddenly rushing to the surface, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. You had always been able to talk to Legolas, but thisâthis was different. This was something more.
âYouâve been different lately,â you said softly, taking a step closer to him. âIâve noticed it. Itâs like youâve been carrying something, something youâre not telling anyone.â
Legolasâs smile faded slightly, and he lowered his gaze, his fingers trailing across the stone of the fountain. âItâs nothing, Y/N,â he replied, his voice distant, guarded. âThere are many burdens on my mind. The journey ahead, the war, you falling off a cliff⌠all of it.â
You could tell he was trying to deflect, but you knew him better than anyone. You had seen his strength, his bravery, but you had also seen the quieter side of himâthe side that was vulnerable, that carried the weight of his responsibilities on his shoulders.
âItâs not just the war, is it?â you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. âThereâs more to it, Legolas. I know you.â
He met your gaze, his eyes darkening with a mix of emotionsâconfusion, sadness, and something else. Something that made your heart ache.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you filled with unspoken words and memories. Then, finally, you couldnât hold it in any longer.
âLegolasâŚâ you began, your voice shaking slightly. âIâve spent so many years beside you, and Iâve always felt that connection, that bond. But lately⌠lately, Iâve realized something. Something I canât ignore anymore.â
Legolas looked at you, his brow furrowing slightly, as though he were trying to read the emotions behind your words. âWhat is it, Y/N?â he asked, his voice soft, his gaze intense.
You took a step closer to him, feeling the rush of emotions swirl inside youâlove, fear, longing. You had always been by his side, always supporting him, but now, in this moment, you could no longer pretend that your feelings were anything less than deep.
âI love you, Legolas,â you confessed, the words spilling from your lips before you could stop them. âIâve always loved you, in a way that goes beyond friendship. I donât know when it started, but itâs always been there, and I canât pretend itâs not anymore.â
There it wasâthe truth, hanging in the air between you. You held your breath, waiting for his response, unsure of what would come next.
Legolasâs expression softened, a mixture of surprise and something deeper that you couldnât quite place. He seemed to struggle with his words for a moment, as if trying to process the weight of what you had just said.
âIâŚâ he began, his voice catching slightly. âI didnât know.â
You nodded, your heart sinking. You knew he hadnât expected thisâhadnât seen it coming. You had kept your feelings hidden for so long, not wanting to risk the precious bond you had built over the years.
âI didnât want to ruin what we have,â you said quietly, your voice trembling. âBut I canât keep it inside any longer.â
Legolas took a slow step toward you, his face softening as he reached for your hand, his fingers gently brushing over yours. âYou never could ruin what we have, Y/N.â He said, his voice low but filled with warmth. âOur bond is not something so easily broken. ButâŚâ He paused, his gaze searching yours. âIâve been a fool, too. Iâve been blind to what was right in front of me.â
Your breath caught in your throat as he stepped even closer, his presence overwhelming you with both comfort and uncertainty.
âI care for you more than words can express,â he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. âBut I never thought it could be more than that. I never allowed myself to see it. To see you, the way I should have.â
The ache in your chest lessened, replaced by something warmer, something that wrapped around your heart like a delicate, fragile thread. You stepped closer to him, feeling the distance between you shrink.
âSo⌠what now?â you asked, your voice soft, almost afraid to hear the answer.
Legolas smiled, a slow, tender smile that was both a promise and a question all at once. âNow⌠we figure it out, together.â
And with that, the distance between you both disappeared as he leaned forward, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle, tentative kiss. It was everything you had longed forâsweet, filled with the years of friendship and love, and yet, new and fresh, like the beginning of something both familiar and unknown.
When you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. âTogether,â you whispered.
âTogether,â Legolas echoed softly, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close as the world around you seemed to fade away.
For the first time in so long, you felt completeâlike the universe had finally aligned, and the love you had kept buried deep inside had finally found its place. And in the quiet of the night, beneath the stars, you knew that this was only the beginning of something beautiful.
Was definitely surprised to get two requests for this over the last few months, so I figured I should post them back to back.
There is no such thing as an easy life, but you always felt that you were under the spectrum of simple: not because you had money, but because your family had a position. People flocked to the family step, believing that if they curry favor then they suddenly hold the same position, but that is not how it works. It has never worked like that. You know who is there as a friend, and those who are phonies. No matter what, you will never accept strangers into your way of life-- they can bring as many gifts, propose in the most extravagant ways, but you will never see them as equals. No way to forget what you already know-- that they are just there to earn the right to be a part of your world.
âY/N?â You glance upwards, placing your spoon onto the table as you smile up at your father.
âYes?â There is a moment of hesitation, you watch his eyes flicker upwards and then back towards you-- the apple of his eye and only daughter. Yes, he has three sons who are all very successful in there fields, but it is you who brings him joy.
âSince you turned seventeen-â Your eyebrows furrowed together as you breathe in deeply, completely sure of one thing as your corset tightens as your lungs expand-- that he wants you to do the one thing you donât want to do. âIt is time for you to marry.â With that, you stand abruptly, dress moving and swishing with your movement as he places both hands on the table.
âYou cannot expect-â He cuts you off, silencing you with his dark gaze-- disappointed, angry, emotions that you had never seen him express towards you. Then you are gone, unable to speak or force the words out of your throat. Unable to face him, so you disappear into the courtyard and into the night.
Bella stares at you with perplexion as you whisper out the words, it has been well over four hundred yearsâyou were born in the early 16th century, in the center of Italian society. With time, you were able to move forward with your new immortal life, however, there will always be pain. You never got to apologize, or see your father again. You never saw your brothers. After that night, all you knew was the Volturi and their cruelty.
âDemetri was drawn to my gift.â You pause, trying to find the right words to explain what happened to you. How it changed you into the person you are today. âWhen I entered the courtyard, I thought about the possibility of marriageâI thought I wasnât ready to give up my freedom, but I wanted to make my father proud. I was about to re-enter my house when I was grabbed, I couldnât scream or breathe.â You purse your lips together tightly, trying to imagine a darker time in your existence than those first hundred years.
âBella, I spent two decades trapped with the Volturi--just two⌠But I spent the next century rampaging through Europe and then the Americas. I wish I could say I didnât remember, but I do--â You pause, your eyes flashing darkly as memories of your Ripper years invade your mind. âI was a Ripper. I didnât kill to feed, I killed to kill. The hunt was fun, and the blood was just blood.â You shrug, even heavily pregnantâyou can see Bella shifting as you speak hushly.
âI was worse than James.â You the knowing look in her eyes as she recalls one of the scariest moments, the fear. The way you knew how he thought, because it was you. It made sense.
âAnd we never thought twice.â Her sweet voice is soft, tender and lovingâmore kind than sheâs with anyone else, but you arenât just anyone.
âIâm not telling this to scare you, but you need to know what youâre getting yourself into. The risk that comes from being a vampire and the truth that you might not be epic like everyone else.â You pause, your gift is not unique but it does harness enough power. Itâs a form of manipulation, you can say anything and it just sounds so true. So convincing, as long as you touch them. Your white gloved hands look so pristine against the dark blue of your pants. âYou could be a Ripper. You could be anything, and I canât let you believe that this is going to be easy.â Rosalie keeps you close, chin resting on your shoulder as your voice trails off and leaves Bella sullen, Edward will probably smack you upside the head later for scaring her, but it's the truth.
Thereâs comfort as you walk away from Bella, following the gentle tugs of Rosalie as she takes you towards the bedroom. She doesnât say a word because thatâs a part of the agreement, no one gets to say a word about the pain or the bad things youâve done. You three decided that a long time ago, before Bella and before Forks.
Even as the door shuts, the click that eases your mind as she finally meets your eye. You imagine she had beautiful eyes as a human, violet as she called them, but you imagine them as gems. Too rare to be labeled with such an average color, because it's Rosalie. Your Rose. She smiles, you see the ghost of your past and the guilt rises until you are forced to look away.
Yet she does not keep your eyes linger on the floor for long as she lifts your chin so you look her in the eye, to her--you are beautiful. Her smile is not so sad, but it has warmed and that warmth attracts your hands to her waist. Beautiful. You trace her hips, fingers trailing as you imagine loving a more beautiful creature.
The innocence of touch.
You had thought it would be easy to forget the way her touch felt, to wallow in your self-pity a few minutes more, but she doesnât let you. She never has. Her thumbs rest on the highest point of your cheeks and it silences the voices, and you cave. Your eyes shutting tightly as you learn into her touch, grabbing her tight and pulling her close. She sets you on fire, and you try to remember what it feels like to cry because thatâs what you would be doing right now.
âI love you, Y/N.â She makes all the voices go quiet, âUs finding you was never a mistake.â
Your chest heaves, but it is. You are tainted, burned and scarred, skin raised from the abuse of your existence. Every fiber of your essence is stained red, it bleeds into your palms and now youâre this. The silent stoic. Rose is frigid. And Emmett, heâs just the purest form of all the good in the world. What a group you make⌠Such a broken mismatch trio, but it worked--they made you feel something.
Emmettâs arms sneak around the pair, his grasp is tight as he buries his face in your hair--pressing a kiss to the top of your head and then leaning over to press a kiss to Roseâs. âIf I had known you both would be in your feels before I got back, I wouldnât have left at all.â His voice is not judgemental or harsh, but it flows off his tongue and lulls your fear. It tucks it all away into a box and the lightness to his tone.
âY/N told Bella.â He breathes out an âohâ: these are his girls, his beautiful and amazing wonders that sit before him every day. The ones that choose him everyday despite them being two gorgeous creatures that could run off together, but they donât.
âI had to. She has to know.â Ripperâs arenât rare at all, usually the Volturi takes care of them, but sometimes they don't. Sometimes they just let things fall as they do, and hope they donât take it too far.
âWell we love you as you are.â Emmett doesnât hesitate, and you smile reciting the mantra back.
Nothing quite like an evening at the mountain peak, especially with such a wonderful woman at your side. You glance over, noting the perfection that is your wifeânothing quite like it at all.
The way she tucked her legs up under her as she leaned into your side, her left hand twisting circles in your hair. Her right hand intertwined with yours. In the sunrise, you both shimmered, but she seemed to shineâher eyes shut as the sunlight brushes her cheeks. Is this heaven?
Your hum, seemed to call to her as she glances in your direction. Nothing short of perfection. "Are you ready to head back?" You shook your head, adamant that you want to stayâyour cheek against her hair, enjoying the dance of sun off the blonde curls.
"I could stay like this forever..." She smiles, you hum again and return the gestureâyour fingers tightening their grasp as she slides closer.
A scream cuts through the silence, splitting the mountains in two as a breeze shifts the air. The thick scent of blood that sings like a song you once sang.
"Y/N?" You look back, realizing you had stood and were now at the cliffs edgeâyou swallow, there is concern in those amber eyes. An emotion that often clings to her, she worries too much, but nowâin this moment, you can't explain the song. You tug her hand, eyes shifting in the direction of the scentâbegging her listen, pleading her to hear your pleas.
Rosalie always understood, but now, she hesitates. You were older and more compassionate, you had more controlâmore experience. You were simply a better person.
In this moment, you felt different.
She notes the purse of your lips, the way your eyes shifted ever so slightly. She notes the way you tugged her hand again, this time more forcefully. Ready to take the leap, with or without her, and she'd never let you jump alone.
That was the day you found Emmett, you can recall the bloodlust with a perfect clarity, until you saw the way Rosalie looked at him. Even in that moment, even knowing the song his blood sangâyou were content in waiting back.
Watching as her gentle fingers brushed his curls and whispered comforts as she carried him. Now as you watch them, you smile fondly at the pairâembracing the chaos of their many personalities left you whole in ways you did not understand.
Ways you felt you did not deserve.
"Y/N!" Emmett makes grabby hands in your direction, the way Rose was tucked in his chest already as he lounged across the bed.
You smile, notating the way he seemed to brighten with the gesture. The way his blood once sang, now it was simply him. Rosalie, she was your lover, a mate, and Emmett was your singer. A connection that could hardly be matched, except by a mate. It seemed perfect when you all connected, falling into rhythm like a symphony.
.
.
.
"So Y/N can't talk?" Bella asked Edward, as he explained his family dynamicâone of the elder Cullens, you didn't go to school like the rest despite being similar in age.
"More like doesn't. Y/N wasn't changed by Carlisle and only joined him a few months after he left the Volturiâa lot of their human memories are fuzzy, but they were maimed in an experimental procedure." Bella's eyebrows furrowed, trying to imagine why you wouldn't speakâyou seemed so sweet, but never spoke a word.
"Ho-?" The word didn't even finish before Edward interrupted her.
"Someone crudely removed their vocal cords among other things, so when they turned. They healed, butâ" Edward inhales, glancing over at Bella in the passenger seat.
"But they never quite recovered. Y/N is roughly 200, but only found Rosalie in 1933 and Emmett 2 years later. She spent her first 100 years alone and unheard, Rose helped her find a voice again." Bella notes his smile at his adopted siblings.
"They still don't talk?" He shakes his head.
"But they sing."
Rosalie could hear the velvety sound of your voice, it seemed to carry warmth and comfort. Every word echoes off the walls of the cottage as the rain patters on top of the porch roofâyou spoke next to nothing, but your voice seemed to bury itself in song.
There were no reservations, the piano seemed to harmonize with the rain. Rosalie leaned her head onto the doorframe, just listening as everything poured out of your soul.
You never let Rosalie walk alone, every strain and stress was your burden to share. Your love was never questionable to her, held no strings or stipulationsâshe never had to earn it.
She felt Emmettâs presence, close, but too close. His eyes shimmering a brilliant red, you were quick to bring him here. The little getaway cabin where you spent many years with Rosalie, enjoying her without the shame. âHave they always talked?â
He couldnât remember ever hearing you say a word, but he remembered your face with perfect detail. The way you smiled. How Rosalie gravitated to you.
âItâs complicated.â She smiles softly, never looking away. âTheyâll sing everything youâll ever need to hear.â You use ASL mostly, Rosalie had taken it upon herself to learn years ago, but you kept to yourself.
Emmett had found this new life complicated, it felt intricate and challenging, but these two women. You and Rose. It didnât seem impossible.
âItâs about you isnât it?â She hmmms, you smile through the lyricsâplaying out the notes. Emmett gestures, âThe song. Itâs about you.â Rosalieâs expression is soft as she looks at you.
âMaybe itâs about you too.â
Looking back, youâre almost certain that was the moment Emmett realized he would never be alone again. That he would always have someone on his side, no matter what.
Introspectively, you knew from the first minute, he was simply meant to be in your life. The same with Rosalie, she had been changed with the intent of being for Edward (a perverted thought that bothered you even now), but once you saw her. Heard those screamsânot even Carlisle could deny it.
You didnât move for three days as she begged you for death, and the silence that followed her change. âIâm so sorry he did this to you.â she recalls the whisper as she met your eye, âI never would have wanted this for you.â
It was the first and only time you ever spoke to her, your voice was soft and tenderâit felt broken, she could feel the broken in your tone. Now she understands you more, loves you deeper than then.
âRose?â Emmett looks up at her, before glancing at you across the room. Thereâs something so curious about quiet need held within his eyes. âY/N?â You look back, practically coming to them instantlyâyou bent to their needs at all hours.
Emmett folded your hand in his and then hers, the dynamic felt natural as he summoned some courage. âI want to go with the others to school, with you Rose.â You smile, not feeling at all bothered that he felt ready to explore himself more. To venture away from the home the three of you builtâin these four walls, it was just the three of you.
You nod, folding your other hand over his with eagernessâyou place it over your heart, knowing you wouldnât join them.
âI donât want you to feel leftââ You donât even let him finish as you shake your head, moving your joined hands over his own heart. âButââ You lean up to give him a quick kiss, âThank you. For always loving me.â
You feel Rosalie snake her arm around you, enjoying the way she leans down to kiss the top of your head. Was Emmett always this sentimental, no, but he always meant it.
â˘â˘SMUT BELOWâ˘â˘
Rosalie laid out beneath you, lips hovering above her clit as your tongue rolled across the sensitive point. Your thumbs rolled circles in her thighs as your face buried itself in between, the soft pull of her fingers in your hair encouraged you. Her back arches as her body shivers beneath your mouth, she tasted like perfection.
The soft moans you elicited from her etch into your brain, as you pull awayâher legs draped across shoulders and grin as you lick your lips. Even without needing breath, her chest heavesâthe soft mounds of flesh grabbing your attention as they rise and fall in perfect harmony.
"Do you like what you see?" It felt like a dare, and she swears your eyes seem to come alight as you drop her legs and drag yourself upwards between them. Your bare stomach pressed against hers as you hover above: "Cmon love, I'm not going to break." You lower yourself, keeping your eyes locked on herâmemorizing the face she makes as your lips lock over her nipple, tongue flicking as you grasp the other. Her eyes close, lips parting to let out another moan.
Letting go of her breast, you let your fingers drag across her soft skinânot an imperfection in sight. Without a second to breathe, you palm her mound with your handâresting your middle finger just above the clit. Giving it just enough of a touch, to remind her exactly what it means to be yours. "Please..." You comply with the plea, sliding your finger downwards to touch her entrance before sliding inside.
Rosalie didn't shy away from moaning your name as you work her entrance, pacing yourself as you begin to kiss the other breast before bringing your lips up to kiss. Hoping she can taste herself on you.
You start slow with only a single finger, only entering half an inch before removing. After a minute, you place a second fingerâdriving it deeper as her lips part. Sweet noises bringing your closer as you increase your pace, working your thumb along her clit as you drive three fingers into her.
Large hands reach around your chest as the mattress shifts under Emmett's added weight. He palms your breasts in his hands, thumb and forefingers rolling your nipples. "I go out hunting, and almost miss all the fun." His tone is light as you smile at him, retracting your fingers and bringing them to his lips. He wraps his mouth around them, before smilingâlooking down at Rosalie who was still breathless. "Oh Rose, you taste wonderful." He leans down to place a kiss between her thighs, never breaking eye contact as she bends to them both.
They were safe. They were warm and good, and everything icy about her melted beneath their fingertips.
Emmett wraps his hand around yours as he brings it back to her pussy, "I love when you do that.â
Your legs on either side of her thighs, one hand bracing while the other works Rosalie. You feel Emmett lay down on the end of the bed before his lips kiss your entrance. You shiver in anticipation, feeling him grasp your hips and pull you lower as his tongue moves through your folds and onto your clit with precision.
Rosalie came quickly again, her insides quivering as kisses you deeply enjoying the way your moans feel against her lips. She could feel your pleasure in every hesitation when his tongue hit the right spot. You felt warm like the world was on fire, as you remove your fingers from Rosalie and bury them in her hair.
Skin to skin, and you still attempted to bring her closer. Her breasts against yours, you felt high as you came. Breathing heavily as Emmett enjoyed every drop of your climax, loving your taste as he slid out from under you.
The mattress shifts as he lays beside you both, spooning your forms as Rosalie moves to lay inbetween. Her facing Emmett as you spoon her from behindâyou can think of no better place than behind Rosalie Hale.
âRemember our first?â The memory lights up your mind as you recall your first time with the pair. Youâd been with Rosalie before, but with them both, everything felt like it clicked into place.
Emmett was gentle with his touch, hesitant to get close to either of you knowing your past. But he wasnât them, and as you guided his hands to grip onto Rosalieâs hipsâyou felt his confidence growing.
You smile up at him, sitting up with your head resting against your fist. Giving a soft nod, Emmett cannot explain how it feels to love you both.
It felt like a warm spring after a cold winter. A soft autumn breeze to cool the summer sun. It was the lull of water against the sand, or the roar of the falls against the rocks.
Emmett didnât have many words and was never one for poetry, but that seemed to be a good start.
You were starved of both ocean and sky, born a Velaryon who could not reside at Driftmark and a Targaryen whose dragon egg did not hatch. By some miracle you had found sanity within Kings Landingâthe whispers were loud, but your name eased off their lips once you came into yourself. The eyes and beauty of your mother, but the skin and curls of your father.
Similar to your cousins, Rhaena and Baelaâyou were clearly the only of your siblings to be true born.
âAemondâŚâ You note how when you say his name, his jaw tightens. âDo not make me say itâŚâ He doesnât speak, he simply looks further than you could see. Youâre losing him to his own mind.
âAemond! You are every bit as sweet as you are bitter, I do notââ The words get all caught up in your throat, âNo. I will not let you believe otherwise.â Something in that moment left Aemond still, but his gaze seems closer. As if he could still see you.
âI may be of my mother, but even more than that, I am yours. What can they say of that desire? That need?â
âYou are meant to marry Lord StarkâŚâ Every word is forced, like it had been locked up in a box and your closeness had set them free.
âTo the seven hells with marriage. I speak only of my heart, which has been taken with you for many moons.â You had gotten so close to him that he wasnât sure he knew how to breathe properly. Your hands ran up to his neck, fingers resting upon his shoulders. âLet me hold you. On the eve of this wedding, let me feel you beneath my touch.â
If it were anyone else, Aemond would have taken them thereâinnocent or not, but this was you.
Y/N Velaryon. ďżź
âIf I am to have you, it will only be as my wife.â
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You were young and naive then, to marry Aemond was one of the worst mistakes you could make. He was as much intoxicating as a glass of wine, a bitter taste upon your tongue. He was the one thing you should not have, and yet you did exactly as you should not.
Deep in your womb, you carried his child but the sorrow of your loss burns deeper. Lucerys was gone. You had no explanation as to how it happened, only that he fell in Shipbreaker Bay. The same place that Aemond just so happened to beâa coincidence you could not blindly ignore.
âY/N.â You turn your eyes to his voice, knowing that your next words would be the last youâd share with him. âMy love.â
You were a prisoner of war, with child and no dragon to carry you to dragonstone.
âDo not flatter me with kindness, I fear that I know what you have doneâŚâ You purse your lips, a tightness existing with your chest you could not fathom. âI wish I did not, but I doâŚâ Meeting his eye did not seem possibleâa marriage you hoped would mend the broken pieces between your family and his, it shattered. So quickly, slipping right through your hands.
The swell of your belly was clearer as you stood, finally finding the courage to look at him which made you more certain. âI stood aside as Aegon took my motherâs birthright. I thought, perhaps peace is still possible.â You were not idle in your words, you spoke against usurping when you could. No one listened to the 2nd born daughter, but you did as you could.
âBut to kill my brother, Aemond, thatâs an unforgivable act.â
He does not defend himself, knowing it would only push you further from him. You already exist so far. âHe is hardly your brother.â
You leave the shared room without as much as another word, making a slow trek through the halls.
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Ser Erryk Cargyll came to your room in the quiet of the night obscured by a cloak of black. Shrouding your face and silvery hair beneath the shadow it casts, and until you are through the gatesâyou are unable to breath, it felt as though every step left you a second away from collapsing.
You were afraid.
âWeâll make it to dragonstone before daybreak.â The boat rocked with the waves, it seemed to rest and roll in the gentlest of waysâthe trip was kind to you.
âWhy did you come back?â You seem him adjust, the way he seems uncomfortable under your gaze.
âHer majesty was distraught knowing you were stuck in Kings Landing.â
âThank you, Ser Erryk.â He kept quiet, knowing you recalled the last meeting you shared. The quiet silence after you confessed your fear to him, when Viserys death was certain. Those words rested upon his shoulders for many moons, you were kind to him and he felt guilt knowing he left you.
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Dragonstone was quiet, it seemed no one was within its wallsâthe unrest ran deeper than you expected. Even here. âYour highness.â Set Erryk bows and leaves you to your rooms, tucked away from prying eyes. Where you inhale deeply, even as the tears begin to fallâlike a weight both relieved itself and landed back upon your shoulders.
âYour highness, the council is meeting.â You nod, unable to recall how much time has passed since arrived.
âHas my mother returned?â The lady shakes her head, to which you nod and rise from your chair. Adorned in your house colors, you make your way to the council room.
. . .
âLady Y/N of house Velaryon.â You did not wait for them to finish announcing to enter the room, your presence seeming to shock the men within the room.
âYour highness, we did not expect you to make the trip to dragonstone in your condition.â You did not crack a smile, but instead take your place at the table.
âMy condition is of no concern to you, but I ask, what is the state of this council that you would meet without the presence of the Queen, or the Prince royal?â
âOur forces require direction, and even with their unplanned absence, direction must still be taken.â
âIf youâre not careful, one might think you see yourself above your Queen.â
None said a word, as you overlooked them even this close to laborâyou encouraged a deep respect from the Lords, you knew why. You were true bornâa sea of fire and stone.
Labor came quick in the night, dragon stone echoes your cries as you bare down with hands tight on the bedframe. You sent away your ladies and the nurses, their hands left unease as you recall your aunts passing. Your grandmother. Your mother.
The women who passed too quick as they took up the battle of baring a babe.
No husband. You think back to when he would smile at you, the way it sent a shockwave from head to toe. He used to love you more than power.
No mother. She mourned Lucerys still, absent from court and no way to tell her.
You feel another wave of pain run through your body, pressure building in your core as grit your teeth.
âNurse!â Your voice quakes, it seems shattered by the pain. âPlease! I think itâs time!â They seemed to manifest, figures appearing at your side as one of the older ladies lays hands upon your shoulders. Her eyes meeting yours.
âMilady, this is going to hurt, you will bleed and cry, and scream. And that is fine.â You nod, another wave of pain running through your muscles as they contract. âBut I wonât leave your side, I will carry you through, so for nowâjust breathe.â She wipes away the sweat, âPrepare to push.â You nod again, inhaling deeply and note the way your breath feels as it leaves your lips.
Finding comfort in a stranger. âHer highness is ready.â No husband. No mother. Just you, a bed, and nurses. The nurse guides your hands to the frame, and you trust herâfeeling her hand rest just beneath your belly button. The other on your back, as another nurse rests a cold cloth against your face.
âNow, when I say push. I need you to give it everything.â You exhale, putting your weight into the bedâcentering your feet. Saying a word a quick prayer. You feel it start in your abdomen and spread, that wave of pain. âNow.â You release a guttural scream, one that comes from the deepest parts of your soul.
âVery good.â You lean forward, head against the wooden pillarââPrepare.â Your face contorts as you feel the relief fade into pain once more, âNow.â
Aemond takes your hand quietly as the party fades off in the distance, the affair had become very real as he spins you into his arms.
âPerhaps as your husband, I would dance with you until dawn?â It was playful as he begins to sway, the music seeming to be hushed by the walls.
âPerhaps as your wife, I would never leave your side?â He smiles down at you, as you were the only person who always saw him.
âPerhaps as your husband, I would shower you in all the love you deserve?â You return the smile.
âAs your wife, Iâll kiss you like this.â You lean up to meet his lips, one that grows deeper as his shock wears off. Neither ended the gesture for a minute, and neither said a word as Aemond left quickly. Your eyes widening as you realized you were alone.
It wasnât until that night, in the darkest time, when a knock came from the door. It echoed as the palace slept.
âAemond?â You look at the man beside him, âWhat?â
âMarry me?â Your eyes widen, a priest and a ringâone that shines in the warm light of candles. âIf I am to have only oneââ he takes your hand and slides the ring onto your finger. âThen I shall have you before I cannot.â
You brush the outside of your finger along the small and supple cheek of your babe, their sweet eyes still shut as the lull of their breath calms your soul. Something so small, and preciousââLaenor.â
A boy. An heir. You hum a soft song, as you take on the name of your son. His silvery tendrils of his hair giving away his heritageâanother Targaryen prince.
âSweet girl.â Your eyes shift upwards, smiling at your grandmother who enters the room with a steadfast gentleness. âWhy did you not call on me?â
You glance down: âHe came so quick.â The bed dips as she eases beside you, looking at him. âHow perfect is he?â
âThat he is.â She holds out her hands, and you pass the sweet child to her without fear. âWhat is his name?â You watch as she cuddles him into her, with the knowledge that this is her blood before her.
You smile: âLaenor.â Her eyes widen before settling back on the babe, your son.
âA strong name. Just as his grandsire.â
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âTo claim a dragon requires more than blood.â You hear the echo of your motherâs voice, âIt requires sheer will.â
You imagined the day you faced a dragon, you would be claiming Seasmoke, but face to face with Vahaemionâthe ancient beast of caverns. She hid deep in the mountains many years ago, and recently was spotted nearby.
You never thought you would take the leap, but you did, staring down the beastâyou keep yourself upright.
âLykiriâŚâ She was once ridden, A Targaryen war dragonâ âLykiri Vahaemion.â She growls, but bends to the will of words. Lowering her head but never quite relaxing.
You do not hesitate, âDohaeras.â You hold out your hand, âLykiri.â
Sir Criston Cole sees a dragon breech the skyâl sporting a rider of silver hair. The dragon is large as well, with scales the color of soot. His eyes widen, one notable trait being the silvery purple scales that shimmer across the dragons chestâVehaemion.
A bell rings out as you circle Kings Landing, your eyes set upon the balcony of your shared room. Knowing he would rise to see the commotion, called upon as a protector.
He sees you, instantly drawn as he makes contact and for a moment, you think he smiles. Upon neutral soil, you wait upon the cliffs edge for his arrival. Knowing it is time to face your sin.
âI always knew youâd claim a dragon.â His voice is as you remember, although it used to sound sweeter. âYou and I are alike in that way.â
âI had hoped youâd ask of our son.â Your face remains stone, Aemond has trouble reading your expression.
His face brightens in a way that you do not appreciate, âA son?â
âHeâs healthy. A beautiful boy.â You add quietly, knowing just as well that he would not care if it were a girl. âThe Aemond I loved would have asked.â
âLaenor.â But he knows that, know you enough to know that is his name. He did shy from the idea, did not seem phased. For a moment you saw, Aemond. âCome home, Y/N?â
You shake your head, âAemond I canât. Youâve spilled too much blood. My blood.â Your grandmother. Your brother. There is too much.
âY/N.â And for a moment, you let yourself enjoy the way he says your name. âItâs war.â Even now he admits it, heâd be on his knees if you asked. You are strong, look strongâdragon rider suits you. For a minute, you kiss him and let yourself have a moment with your husband. With the first and only love youâve had. Just this moment.
You pull away, âyouâre right. It is war.â You mount your dragon, leaving a part of you to die in that mountain. Knowing the next time you saw Aemond, you would be on opposite sides of the field.
