#<- listened to flare (cascade cut) again

[katrinasis]

i miss you spades slick

[urfavfrenchgrl]

fuck you

Mattheo Riddle x F!Reader ᥫ᭡ words: 2.7k ᥫ᭡ warnings: 18+ | SMUT | MDNI ᥫ᭡ summary: After a pointless argument, you gave in, letting him do whatever he wanted with you.

Your feet carried you swiftly back to the castle, anger and frustration pulsing through your veins. You rushed to your dorm, hoping the solitude of the bathroom would calm you. You needed to be away from him, away from the whirlwind of emotions he stirred up in you.

Mattheo and you hadn’t put a label on whatever it was between you. Some days you yelled at each other, while others were spent tangled in the sheets. This time, it had been the first option. A ridiculous argument spiraled out of control, leading to your storming off, promising yourself you'd never speak to him again.

"Stupid bastard..." you muttered, stripping off your clothes. The argument echoed in your mind. You tossed your clothes into the corner and stepped into the shower, hoping the hot water might ease the storm raging inside you.

As the scalding water cascaded over your skin, you tried to relax, but your body remained tense, the frustration refusing to wash away. Your mind kept replaying the argument, but beneath the anger, there was something else—a tension you couldn't ignore. You were still thinking about him.

Mattheo had always been a storm in your life, unpredictable and dangerous. Suddenly, the sound of a knock startled you out of your thoughts. You turned off the water, frowning, listening. The knock came again, louder this time, more insistent.

"Y/N?" Mattheo’s voice, softer now, cut through the door. There was a hint of desperation there, something raw. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but he needed you, craved your presence even when all you did was fight.

"I’m sorry, okay?" His voice was rough, but there was a vulnerability to it now. "I didn’t mean to lose it. Can we just… talk?"

Your heart clenched, but your pride held firm. You ignored him, wrapping a towel around your body and retreating to the edge of the tub. He didn’t deserve forgiveness, not this time.

"Please," Mattheo’s voice cracked, more desperate now. "I’m fucking sorry. Just open the door. You know I don’t mean half the shit I say."

Your jaw clenched. You weren’t ready to forgive him. Not yet. Instead, you started brushing your hair, trying to focus on anything other than his pleading tone on the other side of the door.

The silence stretched, but you knew Mattheo wasn’t going to back down that easily. He never did.

Then his tone changed. It was darker now, authoritative. "I’m counting to ten, Y/N. If you don’t open this door, I’ll break it down, and you’ll have to talk to me whether you like it or not."

Your breath hitched. He wouldn’t. Or would he?

He started counting. "One… two…" His knocks grew louder, and your heartbeat quickened with each number. "Nine… ten."

With a crash, the door burst open. You gasped, clutching your towel tightly as Mattheo stormed in, his eyes wild with anger, frustration—and something else. His gaze locked on you, taking in the sight of you standing there, wet and vulnerable.

"Are you fucking crazy?!" you yelled, your heart racing.

His lips twisted into a grin, but his eyes were sharp, focused. "You’ve always known I’m fucking crazy, Y/N. So why do you act like it surprises you?"

"Go to hell!" you snapped, the anger boiling over again.

He moved closer, his presence overwhelming as he stared you down, and you could feel the heat between you rising again. "Oh, or fuck me, right? Isn’t that what you always say? Maybe I should fuck yourself instead." His tone was dripping with sarcasm, but beneath it, you could sense the desire that was building.

"You’re such an asshole!" you shot back, not backing down. But your voice was shaking now, the tension between you more than just anger.

The argument was a smokescreen for what had always been brewing between you. Mattheo’s jealousy was flaring, but so was his possessiveness. He couldn’t stand the idea of you walking away. 

He hesitated for a second, eyes flashing with a mix of anger and lust, before grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the bed. His grip was firm but not painful, the air between you charged with an intensity that left you breathless.

"What does this feel like, huh?" he growled, pushing you down onto the mattress, holding your wrists. His face hovered close to yours, his breath hot against your skin. "You really want to push me? You really want to see how much of an asshole I can be?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you didn’t look away, didn’t back down. "Fuck. You. Riddle."

His eyes darkened with something primal, and a wicked smile curled at the corner of his lips. "No, baby. Fuck you, Y/N."

And before you could say anything, his mouth crashed onto yours. The kiss was hard, demanding, a collision of need and frustration. It was a battle for control, and neither of you was willing to lose.

He kissed you harder, biting down on your lip, pulling a gasp from you as his hands moved to your hips, gripping you tightly. His touch was rough, unrelenting, as if trying to prove a point. He needed to remind you that no one could make you feel the way he did. No one could match this fire between you.

Mattheo’s mind was racing. He didn’t know why he couldn’t stop himself. Maybe it was because you drove him insane, testing his limits, making him burn with a desire he couldn’t control. 

Mattheo gritted his teeth, the intensity between you unbearable. He couldn’t take it any longer. His eyes locked onto the towel wrapped tightly around your body, and without hesitation, he yanked it away, tossing it carelessly to the side. His gaze darkened as he took in every inch of your exposed skin, his breath catching for a moment. His eyes raked over your body, filled with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

He stood there for a second, savoring the sight before him, as if committing every curve to memory. "Fuck, you’re perfect," he muttered under his breath, his voice low and filled with want. 

Then, with an intensity that made your heart race, he leaned down and began kissing you, starting at your neck, his lips trailing over your collarbone, then moving lower. He kissed every inch of skin he could reach, worshiping your body with every heated press of his mouth. His hands followed his lips, exploring, gripping, as if he couldn’t get enough of the feeling of you beneath him.

His mouth eventually found its way to your breasts, and without warning, he took one of your nipples between his lips, sucking hard. You gasped, your body arching into him, your fingers digging into his hair as he switched to the other, giving it the same torturous attention. His teeth grazed your sensitive skin, pulling a whimper from you as the sensation shot through your body.

"Already so fucking wet for me..." he murmured, his voice dripping with arrogance as his hand slid lower, cupping your wetness. He smirked against your skin, his fingers teasing, moving just enough to drive you crazy but not enough to give you the release you craved.

His lips found yours again, shutting you up and he kissed you hard, his fingers continuing to torment you, brushing lightly against your folds, teasing your entrance but never quite giving you what you wanted. The anticipation was unbearable, your body aching for more, for him. Here’s the same section with a little more detail:

"Are you satisfied now, Y/N?" Mattheo’s breath came out heavier, his voice laced with desire as he leaned closer, his eyes dark with hunger. “Pushing me to my fucking limit.”

You could feel the heat between you, the undeniable pull of your bodies. The way his chest heaved, the tension in his muscles—he wanted you just as much as you wanted him. The air was thick with anticipation.

Without thinking, you pulled him in, kissing him harder, your lips crashing into his. You could feel his need, feel him throbbing against you. Between heated breaths, you whispered against his mouth, "Shut up… and just do it."

And then, without warning, he pushed his finger inside you, rough and deliberate. You gasped against his lips, your body arching off the bed as the pleasure hit you hard. He watched you, smirking as he saw the way you reacted to him, the power he had over you only fueling his desire.

"Fuck, Y/N," he growled, thrusting his finger deeper, rougher, as your body responded instinctively to his touch. "Look at the mess you’re making.. Such a beautiful mess," he murmured against your lips, his voice dripping with arrogance. He added one finger and thrusted deeper, rougher, feeling the way your body clenched around him.

You moaned, your hips moving in time with his hand, craving more, even as your mind screamed at you to resist.

"Fuck, Y/N..." he growled, his erection pressing hard against your thigh. He could feel your need, just as desperate as his own, and it only fueled him further.

Without warning, he slid a second finger inside you, his touch rough, determined. "You’re fucking perfect," he breathed, his voice thick with lust. "All mine, and you fucking know it."

Your mind was spinning, lost in the intensity of the moment. You were his, body and soul, and deep down, you both knew it.

Mattheo pulled his fingers out, making you whimper at the loss and wanting more.

With a casual motion, he unbuckled his belt, his gaze never leaving yours as he pulled down his trousers, freeing his erection. The air between you was charged, heavy with lust and anticipation.

"You ready for me, baby?" he asked, his voice thick with impatience, his eyes dark with desire.

You nodded, breathless, barely able to respond, your body already aching for him.

Mattheo didn’t hesitate. He positioned himself above you, gripping your hips firmly as he slid into you, slow at first, as if savoring every second. You moaned, feeling the way he filled you, your body stretching to accommodate him. But the gentleness didn’t last. Without warning, he began thrusting hard and fast, the force of his movements pulling a cry of pleasure from your lips.

The intensity was overwhelming. You had never felt anything like this before, the way your bodies moved together, perfectly in sync. It was as if you were made for each other. No one else had ever made you feel this way.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, Y/N,” he groaned, his grip tightening on your hips as he drove into you harder, faster. His eyes were wild with lust, his teeth gritted as he fought to keep control.

One of his hands slid up to your neck, his fingers wrapping around your throat, applying just enough pressure to send a shiver of excitement through you. His thrusts grew more urgent, more desperate, as the tension between you built to a fever pitch.

Mattheo was rough, but you loved it. Every brutal thrust, every growl of pleasure, only made you want him more. You dragged your fingers down his chest, tracing over the scars that marked his skin, a reminder of everything he had endured. The sight of them stirred something deep inside you—a mixture of sadness and fierce desire.

He groaned, his teeth catching your lower lip as his hands moved to your breasts, pinching your nipples hard enough to make you gasp. "Fuck yes. Just the way you like it," he growled, his voice low and raw as he kissed your neck, biting down gently.

A moan escaped you, your body arching into him, your nails digging into his skin. "Is this what you want, baby?" he whispered darkly in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "You want to be filled by a fucking asshole?"

Before you could respond, he pulled out suddenly, flipping you onto your stomach with a swift, rough motion. You barely had time to catch your breath before he positioned himself behind you, his hand landing on your ass with a sharp slap that made you gasp. And then he was inside you again, thrusting deeper and harder than before, pushing you to the edge of what you could take.

Each thrust was more brutal than the last, driving you closer to the brink of pleasure. You were trembling beneath him, every nerve in your body alight with sensation.

Mattheo pulled back, and for a brief moment, you felt the loss of him. Then, without warning, he slapped your ass again before plunging back inside you, harder, deeper than before. His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you steady as he fucked you relentlessly.

"You’re so fucking perfect for me, Y/N," he growled, his breath ragged as he thrust into you again and again. "When are you going to realize that?"

There was a moment, in the heat of it all, where you almost told him. Almost confessed how much you needed him. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Mattheo’s gaze darkened with a new intensity. Without breaking rhythm, he pulled out of you, flipping you onto your back. His hands gripped your thighs as he hoisted your legs over his shoulders, positioning himself to go deeper. His eyes locked on yours, his expression full of raw hunger and desire.

"I want to watch you come undone," he growled, his voice thick with lust, "I want to see you when I make you lose it."

Before you could respond, he plunged back inside you, thrusting deeper than before, hitting a spot that made your whole body arch off the bed. A loud moan escaped your lips as he set a punishing pace, his hips slamming into yours, your legs trembling from the intensity.

"You feel so fucking good on my cock," he groaned, his grip tightening on your thighs as he drove into you harder. "Look at me, Y/N. I want to see you fall apart on me."

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze, and the intensity of his stare sent a shiver down your spine. The pleasure was overwhelming, building with every thrust, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

"Mattheo… I can’t… I’m so close…" you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper as your body tensed beneath him.

He grinned, his eyes blazing with satisfaction. "Then be a good girl and come for me, baby. Let me feel you tighten around me."

With one final, deep thrust, the tension inside you snapped, and you cried out his name as your orgasm tore through you. Your entire body shuddered as the pleasure consumed you, your legs trembling on his shoulders.

Mattheo groaned, watching your face as you came undone beneath him, the sight pushing him to the edge. "Fuck… Y/N… you’re so tight," he gritted through his teeth, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release.

As you clenched around him, Mattheo’s grip on your thighs tightened, and with a guttural moan, he came, his release hitting hard as he buried himself deep inside you. His body trembled with the force of his orgasm, his eyes never leaving yours as he rode out the final waves of pleasure.

You both stayed like that for a moment, breathless, your bodies trembling from the intensity. Slowly, Mattheo lowered your legs, releasing them from his shoulders, and collapsed next to you, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to catch his breath.

"Fuck," he muttered, that cocky smile spreading across his face as he glanced over at you. "Such a good fucking girl.."

You let out a breathless laugh, rolling your eyes at his arrogance. "Oh shut up.." you muttered, your voice weak and hoarse, still trembling from the intensity of your release.

Mattheo chuckled, his grin widening as he looked at you, pride and satisfaction in his expression. "Make me," he teased, his voice full of that insufferable, arrogant confidence as he pulled you close.

[velteris]

I'm fan translating a Chinese f/f human x mermaid novel!

Attention monsterfuckers!! This author did her biology research and it shows, along with her love for The Shape of Water. Contents include: highly realistic survival (no magic system), anecdotes about rural Chinese life, and a lot of purring. So much purring.

Translation is complete, releases about a chapter every other day.

Summary, tantalising snippets, and translation disclaimer under the cut.

Author's Summary

【Human x mermaid, mutual pursuit, happy ending】 "Love is like water, taking on countless shapes. You may not be able to touch it, but it will gently surround you." —The Shape of Water Movie

[Synopsis 1] In a shipwreck, Yun Xi sinks to the bottom of the sea with the ship.

In the moment before she loses unconsciousness, a pair of soft lips presses against hers.

When she awakens again, she finds herself submerged in a dim pool, lying next to a woman.

The woman is completely naked, her long, wavy hair cascading like thick seaweed, her features strikingly beautiful with an exotic charm, and she has a pale blue fish tail.

The mermaid sways her soft tail, wrapping around Yun Xi’s body like a serpent, leaning close to sniff her scent and marking her with it.

Yun Xi's eyes roll up and she faints again.

[Synopsis 2] After a month of being stranded on a deserted island, kept by the mermaid.

Yun Xi can no longer hold on and decides to go on a hunger strike.

The innocent mermaid, thinking Yun Xi is ill, ventures up the mountain and into the sea, searching for everything edible. She carefully places the food beside Yun Xi, watching her anxiously, nudging her with her nose as if pleading. Eventually, she holds Yun Xi while crying uncontrollably.

Hearing the mermaid’s sobs, Yun Xi’s heart softens, and she ultimately abandons the hunger strike.

She must survive, just like all the other creatures on this island; survival is the top priority.

[Synopsis 3] After a year of living together on the deserted island with the mermaid.

Yun Xi tries to leave the mermaid and live independently.

The mermaid doesn’t understand why Yun Xi wants to leave her. She believes she is different from humans, thinking that’s why Yun Xi doesn’t love her.

She cries and begins to tear off her own scales, bleeding profusely, wishing to become human like Yun Xi so they can be together forever.

A story about survival on a deserted island, while also falling in love with a mermaid.

Snippets

After about ten seconds, the mermaid, swift as a cheetah, lunged from the water. Her tail encircled Yun Xi, shielding her protectively. She swam in circles, nostrils flaring as she sniffed the air. Her ears, like a cat's, swiveled 180 degrees, listening intently to the surrounding sounds. Her glass-blue pupils narrowed into slits, her gaze share with danger. Her scales, standing erect, resembled sharp blades, capable of tearing through any animal's throat. [...] Sensing no immediate threat, the mermaid's demeanor softened. Her gaze fell gently upon Yun Xi, and she nuzzled Yun Xi's cheek with her nose. Her scales retracted, lying flat against her skin. Her tail wrapped tightly around Yun Xi's legs, and she let out a series of purring sounds, like a large cat seeking affection.

On the third day of her period, Yun Xi was still bleeding. The mermaid showed no fear, only immense sadness, as if Yun Xi were about to die.

...at night, when they were drifting off to sleep, Yun Xi would unintentionally roll over. Cangyue, sensing this, would nudge Yun Xi's waist, wanting her to turn back and sleep face to face. She would then purr a few times and utter human words, softly murmuring: "Go home... go home..." She couldn't express "turn around" in human language, only the phrase "go home". Perhaps, in her mind, when she returned home from hunting, it was the time when she and Yun Xi were face to face.

Regarding the translation

This translation is AI/MTL assisted. I received the AI/MTL translated version from my friend, and then heavily edited it while constantly referring back to the original. I know Chinese (Cantonese and Mandarin) but I'm definitely not fluent as an immigrant.

As stated on the website, if someone wants to pick this novel up and do a human translation, we'll take ours down--but given the swathes of untranslated Chinese yuri/GL locked behind the language barrier, we decided to share this one.

You can support the original author by purchasing the novel at their JJWXC site here! JJWXC is one of the major Chinese online novel publishing sites. Sign-up is easy (some guides here and here) and payment can be done via Paypal.

[fenharelsfang]

The Wolf's Heart (3/5)

Previously: The Wolf's Heart (2/5)

Warning: This chapter touches on themes of rape, abuse, and death. Read at your own risk.

Solas

I’ve failed … again.

Time slowed to a crawl around him. The last of Ellana’s beautiful visage faded from his view as she plummeted to her death. He lay on the ground, his chin throbbing in time with his stuttering heartbeat. 

She was gone, slipped right through his fingers.

Memories that had been forced into the darkest recesses of his mind came forth, unbidden. Mythal, lying dead on the ground before him. His oldest friend. In the thousands of years they had known each other, she was his constant companion. He revered her, gave up the Fade for her, sacrificed his morals for her, enacted vengeance in her name. For so long that’s what he thought love meant, to give all of yourself to someone without expecting anything in return. To lap eagerly at the little scraps of affection dangled over your head because all you could ever have. It was all you could ever deserve. Love was greedy. Love was cruel. It was a tool, a means to an end and it was all he knew.

Then he met Ellana and she showed him a different kind of love. Affection wasn't a rarity, it was the norm. Love wasn't a callous transaction. He was never required to cut himself to pieces to please her. She treated him with kindness and tenderness as if the abuses of his past were bruises on his skin. She actively sought him out to listen to his stories, if only to hear the sound of his voice. When he isolated himself to suffer in silence, she reached out a hand to let him know he wasn’t alone. She asked for his wisdom on matters both big and small. He found a missing part of himself in her, the spirit that was almost forgotten. Cracks developed in the walls around his heart. 

He lived for her smile and it came so easily to her face in his presence. He didn't have to fight for it. She kissed away the doubts and insecurities plaguing him. Her touch healed the broken pieces of his soul. But he would never allow himself to take more from her than he was willing to give himself and he would not lie with her under false pretenses. 

When he refused to take her, he was afraid of punishment. Instead, she reacted with patience and understanding.

“I just want to be with you,” she said with a smile before resting her head on his chest. “No matter what form that takes.” 

That warmth was something he had never known before. It was certainly undeserved. She loved him and he loved her. Despite wanting to break the cycle, however, he ended up inadvertently taking everything from her: her heritage, her arm, her happiness.

Now her life.

“No, no, no, no,” he cried, crawling forward on his stomach to peer through a crack in the floor. At this angle, he couldn’t see her.

Solas pushed himself to his knees and clutched at his chest. His breathing was ragged, erratic, agony in his lungs. His heartbeat was deafening in his ears. Ellana was gone and with her went any hope of a different path he could take. 

When Mythal died, the elven empire burned in retribution. And now?

A cry of despair uttered from the depths of his soul and ripped through his throat. The palace quaked beneath him. His magic, so entwined with his emotions, flared out in response to his anguish. It swirled around him like a tornado, growing wider with each passing moment. Elgar’nan tried to breach it, to run his sword through Solas’s gut, but the force of his magic flattened the tyrant against the wall. The archdemon screeched and tried to cover its ears to silence the noise. 

So immense was Solas’s pain that his physical form struggled to contain it. It was a living thing, hammering against his body until cracks formed. They glowed with a blinding white light, as did his eyes. Tears cascaded down his cheeks. The Veil sundered in response to his agony, ripping open a hole in the sky. Demons surged forth, drawn to Solas like stars caught in a black hole. They plunged into his body through his open mouth, filling him up and spilling out through the cracks. Still more wrapped around him, fusing together until they warped him into an amorphous abomination. Its mass blocked out the only sliver of sunlight in the sky, casting the city in an impenetrable darkness and when it spoke, it was a thousand voices speaking at once.

“It is clear to us now that this world is beyond saving. Prepare to face oblivion for your transgressions."

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

Ellana

I have regrets.

Wind rushes past me as I fall. My blood is a crimson streak trailing behind me. Minrathous rises on either side. To my left is the Blight stalk anchoring the Archon’s palace to the ground below. Rook and his team are near the top. He looks my way and I can see his hardened resolve. I've failed, but he won't.

Suddenly, I’m standing in a clearing, staring down at the charred remains of my parents as the Brecilian Forest burns around me. Columns of smoke and ash blot out the sun. Flames still flicker in the palms of my hands.

‘It wasn't your fault!’ a voice in my head screams. It's not mine. It belongs to a young man and it feels so familiar somehow.

Wasn’t it my fault?

The scene shifts, traveling back in time to when the sky was blue and the lea was filled with life. Two little elves, sisters, laugh as they chase each other through the tall grass. They gather flowers that they weave into crowns and place on each other’s heads. The older sister ventures farther than her parents told her to. The younger sister frets about breaking the rules, but the older sister assures her everything is safe. 

Then the humans come. The little sister disappears into the safety of the forest. The older one is surrounded. Her parents rush to her rescue and cover her escape.

‘Run,’ says her mother. ‘Run and don’t look back.’

She doesn’t listen. She runs, but looks to see if her parents are behind her. They lie on the ground with arrows in their chests. The world explodes.

‘You were just a child. You couldn’t have known the humans were there. Your parents were already dead. The fire didn’t kill them.’

Little fists beat against her chest. ‘Mamae and Papae are gone! They’re gone because you didn’t listen!’

‘She was too young to understand. It wasn’t your fault.’

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

The real world comes into focus again. I feel the water of the harbor curl around me like a blanket. This is to be my grave. It's quiet here. The water churns above me, painted red with the eclipse's light. It reminds me of the aftermath of a shark feeding frenzy. 

There's a bright light in the sky above me, blinding in its intensity.

I blink and suddenly I’m waking in my bed. A blanket of halla wool is draped over my naked body. I'm in my aravel. There's art on the walls. Herbs hang from the ceiling. Trinkets from my clan's travels are spread across the dresser. I’m warm, happy, and satisfied. Something has irrevocably changed within me. 

I roll over to see the other side of the bed empty. After dressing, I step outside into the early morning light and make my way to the center of camp where he stands with the other apprentice hunters. He is handsome with short black hair and blue eyes, all muscle and a smile that can make any woman swoon.

I wrap my arms around his waist in greeting and he jumps away from me.

‘What’s wrong?’ I ask. He couldn’t touch me enough last night.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he asks. The other hunters snicker and sneer behind him. My cheeks warm in embarrassment.

‘I just wanted to say good morning, vhenan.’

‘Vhenan? What makes you think that’s what I am?’

‘Because we– I thought you loved me.’

He tosses back his head and laughs. ‘Love you? The clan freak?’

‘But you said–’

‘I lied. We made a bet on how fast I could get you into bed, that’s all. It was easy. All I had to do was smile at you, pretend to be interested, and tell you I loved you and you were willing to bend over backwards for me.’ He waggles his eyebrows at his friends.

The other hunters snort. Some of the girls walk by and whisper to each other, staring at me with contempt and disgust. Now I’m filled with shame and my heart is broken.

I will never be the same.

‘You didn’t deserve what he did to you. He didn’t deserve your kindness.’

Who are you? Why am I seeing all of this?

‘His pain is seeping into you.’

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

I'm in Wycome, standing before my grandmother. My face is bare, my left hand replaced by a gauntlet made of iron bark. 

‘Keeper, please,’ I beg. ‘I speak the truth. Our histories are wrong. Our gods are undeserving of our worship. They enslaved us!’

‘Silence!’ she shouts at me in response. ‘You come here, bare-faced, speaking blasphemy! Tell me, did that shemlen Chantry convert you, Herald of Andraste?’

‘No! That's not it at all. I met Fen'harel. The legends are wrong about him. He freed us from the Evanuris!’

‘He destroyed us! Our gods are lost to us because of him! He is a deceiver! A snake! If you truly crossed his path and allowed him to remove everything that makes you Dalish, then you have betrayed your people.’

‘I love my people! Solas loves our people!’

‘Solas?’

‘That's his true name. He was a part of the Inquisition. He helped us save Thedas. He's a hero.’

Keeper Deshanna understood, then. She could see it as plain as day on my face. I loved him.

‘Did you not learn your lesson the first time, Da'len?’

I'm stunned into silence. Everyone’s eyes are on me. 

‘He loves me,’ I whisper in protest.

‘Leave,’ my grandmother orders. ‘You are no longer a part of Clan Lavellan. Return to your trickster Dread Wolf. I expected better of you.’

But there was no one to return to. I didn't tell her he was gone, that I came of my own accord. Now I'm alone.

Some time later I sit by the pond in Crestwood where I learned the truth. I bring out the knife and cut away my hair. It billows into the wind and sinks in the water.

I am no one.

‘Your Keeper was wrong to banish you. You sacrificed so much to keep them safe. Your love for them burns brightly within you.’

There's the silhouette of a person in the light now, swimming towards me. It's a man, no, an elf. Dark hair. Violet eyes. Tattoos of tree branches framing his face. Then darkness blots out the sky and I succumb to its embrace.

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

I stand in front of a throne made from a dragon’s skull. Many have stood before it in anticipation of judgment, all passed by … me.

Did I make the right choices?

‘You did your best with what you had. You gave hope to so many, Inquisitor: the mages who stood as equals instead of prisoners, Empress Celene and Briala who were reminded of the value and power of their love, and the Grey Wardens who were given a chance at fulfilling their purpose to save the world again. Your capacity for forgiveness softened the edges of the world's suffering.

You were the single ray of light in a very dark night for those who knew you. You encouraged Cullen to let go of the lyrium and regrets that caged him. You urged Dorian to mend his broken relationship with his father, to feel seen and accepted. You helped the Iron Bull break free of his chains of duty and find a family instead. You gave Blackwall the chance at redemption. You reminded Leliana that compassion is not a weakness. You renewed Cassandra’s faith. And you reminded me of who I really am.’

Wait, Cole?

‘Yes! I came to help. You are Hope, Inquisitor, the last bastion of your kind … and you are desperately needed. Only you can save him.’

Save who?

Solas! The world is drowning in his despair and if you don’t reach him, darkness will consume everything.

Only I could save him? No, how could I hope to do that? I already failed to save him twice now. There's really only one person who can and I will never measure up to her. My grandmother was right: I'm a fool. I can't reach him, Cole. His heart belongs to Mythal. All of this he did for her. His grief is for her.

‘You're wrong. He didn't want to do this. He never wanted any of this to happen. She carved him into a weapon of war and then she died, leaving him with their mess to clean up alone. You were the first thing he ever chose for himself. Can you hear his heart? It's crying out for yours, not hers. You were his light, his hope for a better future. He knew true happiness because of you. Do not lose yourself to despair, Hope.’

His face flashes across my mind, all sharp angles and lupine features. Steel gray eyes that danced like firelight when they met mine. Full lips curving into a crooked grin reserved only for me. A scar over his right brow the only imperfection, but even that was beautiful. He is my vhenan and I am his. I will be better than Mythal. I will never forsake him.

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

Ellana bolted upright before bending over and expelling water and blood from her lungs. Painful coughs wracked her body as she fought to breathe in fresh air. She was drenched and shivering. Someone had draped a blanket over her that she immediately gripped tighter around her body. A hand patted and rubbed her back as she cleared her lungs from the last remaining fluid.

“That’s it, lethallan, get it all out.”

More of the world came into focus. She was sitting on a beach with only the light of the campfire nearby and the glow of lanterns in the city to see by. All natural light was gone. There was only darkness. The ground trembled violently like an earthquake that wouldn't stop. Minrathous was collapsing in the distance, buildings falling into the harbor.

“What's happening?” she asked. 

“Oh, you know, the Dread Wolf is just throwing a tantrum,” the elf beside her answered. 

She snapped her head to look at him, noticing his dark locks dripping water. She recognized his violet-colored eyes and Mythal's vallaslin. 

“You were in the water,” she said, bewildered. 

“As were you, lethallan.”

“And you … saved me? Who are you?”

He smiled at her. “My name is Felassan.”

Felassan? That name seemed familiar somehow. 

“You know Compassion.” He tilted his head towards a young man crouched nearby. His face was obscured by an enormous hat, but she recognized the blonde locks and patched-together leathers.

“Cole!”

Ellana threw herself against him, her arms embracing him in a fierce hug. It had been years since she last saw him. A part of her feared he returned to the Fade. Though he belonged there, it didn't lessen the sadness she felt in his absence. 

As always, the young man was a little awkward when it came to affection. He gave her a little pat on the back, but then threw caution to the wind and returned the hug. It was brief, she didn't want to soak him with her wet clothes.

“What are you doing here? How did you even get here?” 

“We used the eluvians,” Felassan said.

“You have access to them?” Ellana asked.

“I would hope so. I led the Dread Wolf's armies through them.”

That's why his name was so familiar! Harding mentioned a Felassan from Solas's memories.

“You're his general.”

“Was his general, among other things.”

She cocked a brow. “‘Among other things’?”

Felassan sighed. “Solas was my best friend. Then he murdered me. Now it's complicated.” He chuckled ruefully and stood up, hands on his hips.

“... Oh.” Hold on, that didn't make sense. “Wait, if he murdered you, then how are you alive?”

“I suppose he technically didn't murder me so much as render me Tranquil. I ask you which is worse: death of the body or death of the soul?” 

She peered at him skeptically. “You don't act like a Tranquil,” she ventured.

“Oh, I'm not anymore.” He jerked his thumb in Cole's direction. “Compassion found me drifting in the Fade. He touched my mind and I returned to myself.”

“I wanted to help,” Cole said.

Her gaze met Felassan's and she could see the pain of betrayal in his eyes. Solas had broken his mind and, though he recovered, it left scars on his soul. What must it have been like to lose all sense of emotion, trapped in your own mind? To be unable to dream? It was a fate worse than death. His friendship with Solas was ruined.

Or was it?

“He destroyed your mind,” she said quietly. “But you’re here. Why? Did Cole ask you to come?” 

“No,” he said, his smile somber. “I came for the same reason you did: to save him. I should hate him for what he did to me. I'm certainly furious at him for it. Instead, I pity him. He was angry and grieving. Imagine waking up all alone to a world worshipping the very evil you fought so hard to rid it of. He tried to tell the Dalish the truth of their gods and they attacked him. He must have felt like nothing he did mattered. That Mythal died for nothing. He was bitter. I befriended the people who scorned him. Perhaps I was the one who betrayed him first. Perhaps he was envious that I moved on while he was trapped in his regrets and loneliness. I don't know.” His eyes shimmered with tears. “But he's my best friend. I miss him. And now … now he has become … something else.” Felassan stared up towards the Archon's palace. “He watched you fall to your death and it shattered what remained of him. Now a pit of all-consuming darkness spreads across the sky. It will devour the world. But he has to be in there … somewhere.”

His words sparked a panic in her. Ellana's hand flew to her sternum. There was a hole in her tunic, but not one in her chest. “I should be dead. Why am I not dead?” 

“That would be the combined efforts of Felassan and yours truly.”

A raven descended from the tree nearby and disappeared in a puff of black smoke and purple flames. Morrigan landed next to Ellana and extended a hand to her, pulling her to her feet.

“Morrigan,” Ellana breathed. “Thank you, both of you – all three of you – for saving me.”

Morrigan smiled at her. It was softer, lacking its usual snark. “‘Twas close,” she said, “but you have a remarkable will to live, Inquisitor, as you've no doubt proven in the past.”

Ellana grinned at her, but a horrible wrenching sound drew their attention to the city. The Blight stalk was falling. As it did, it took part of the Archon's palace with it. The shockwave of its impact with the ground knocked the four of them over. They quickly scrambled to their feet and jogged further inland as a wall of water washed ashore.

“There goes our way up,” Felassan said in annoyance.

Ellana looked to the sky. “We need to get up there! How did people get up before that thing?”

“I assure you the infrastructure that was put in place for such a purpose is no longer intact,” Morrigan said. 

“Cole, can you read anything from Solas? Maybe we can speak to him!”

“There are too many voices,” Cole said, his voice strained. “They are all screaming.”

“Shit!” she cursed. She paced back and forth on the rocks before cupping her hands around her mouth as an amplifier. “SOLAS!!”

“Marvelous effort, but you are a whisper amongst a hurricane,” Felassan said. He seemed oddly amused, all sadness from a minute ago gone. Ellana got the sense that he tried not to take anything too seriously.

He is Joy.

She wasn't sure why that came to her mind, but it did. 

“Do you have any bright ideas, General?”

He shrugged in response. 

Morrigan grimaced before releasing a sigh. “I can get us up there, but we must never speak of it.”

The elves and Cole exchanged confused glances as Morrigan moved further along the beach. Her dark magic swirled around her as her form began to grow. In a bright flash of light, a dragon stood before them, her magenta and ivory wings outstretched. She threw her head back and roared, testing the form she hadn't used since her fight with Corypheus's archdemon. Her talons flexed, digging into the sand. Smoke billowed from her nostrils.

Then she lowered herself to the ground and looked back at the trio expectantly.

“Oh,” Felassan said with a delighted grin, “now we're talking!” 

[tidaldiariessimblr]

🏝️Time on Island: Day 46

AN: See the end of the chapter for an update!

It’s so…hot…

My skin feels like it’s on fire…

Why is it so hot?

An unbearable heat radiates from underneath me, and my hips ache as if I’ve been lying in one position for far too long.

Groaning loudly, I try to pry open my sand and sleep encrusted eyes. The blinding sun is relentless in the intensity of the heat it gives off. Despite the strong gusts of wind around me, the air is stifling and the sand underneath me is hot.

I’m slick with sweat and extremely disoriented.

As I try to blink away the drowsiness, I’m jolted by the sight of Ioannis washed up beside me on the beach, unmoving. Horrified, I realize he's what was underneath me and pull myself off him. A small puddle of rust-colored water seeps from under him—like something had bled out and is now fading away.

Images of our time underwater flooded back—he had saved me.

AGAIN.

And he had been savagely bitten by that strange shark.

My heart stutters at the thought that he might be dying or even dead. Desperate, I attempt to roll him over, but the weight of his tail keeps him anchored in place. How he had managed to maneuver us onto the shore is a mystery to me; he’s a thing of the water, not the land.

Like a punch to the gut, I realize an unknown amount of time has passed, and he’s potentially been lying here, dying under the relentless heat of the sun.

He needs water.

"Io? IO! Ioannis, wake up! You need to get back in the water! IO!" I shout, shaking him.

My voice cracked as I call out again, my throat as dry as this beach. It is eerily quiet, and time feels suspended as I try to shout at him, desperate for any response.

“You are very loud, little human.”

A choked sob escaped me at the sound of his voice. I’ve never been so relieved.

“You’re not dead?” I exclaimed in disbelief.

With a groan, he pulls himself up into what resembles a kneeling position, his tail flaring out behind him. Sand cascades off him like diamonds sparkling in the sunlight. I notice the ends of his tail curling, dry and almost flaky—he definitely needs water.

“Sorry to disappoint, but it seems I have better things to do than die.” He hangs his head and closes his eyes—is he in pain?

I huffed at his unyielding sass, reaching out to him, but where I had clearly seen the shark bite, there’s nothing—no mark, no scar, just smooth, pale skin.

Confused, I asked, “But you were hurt?”

“Hardly,” he breathed. “I used the water to heal myself… and you.”

While his eyes were soft, as he glanced at me there was a flicker of unmistakable anger simmering just beneath the surface.

Startled, I pulled my hand back. “Are you… angry with me?”

He remained silent.

“Io, you can't possibly think I was going to leave you there with that shark?”

“I told you to return to the surface,” he replied coldly. “You didn’t listen.”

It dawned on me that he genuinely believed I should have abandoned him. Yes, he likely would have survived without me but leaving him to face that danger alone was not something I was willing to risk.

“I’m not sorry,” I asserted equally frustrated. “You’ve saved me time and again, Io. If there was even a slight chance to help you, I was going to take it.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “A shark is hardly a worthy opponent—”

“I don’t care!" I snapped, my voice rising. “I don’t care if it was a guppy trying to attack us. I wasn’t going to sit by passively while you were possibly in danger. You may not feel things the way a human does, but I do care, and I don’t appreciate—”

“I do feel—” he started, then cut himself off, as if uncomfortable with his own words.

A sigh escaped him, and he reached out, taking my hand in his.

Initially alarmed, I felt my anger dissipate like the tide as he pressed my hand against his chest. A distinct, strong thumping echoed beneath my palm, taking my breath away. I looked up at him in astonishment.

“I feel." he said softly. “—and I was terrified.”

As I studied my hand resting on his chest, I felt the rhythm beneath my palm—not necessarily slowing, but almost… steadying. It beat in tandem with my own racing heart.

I swallowed hard. “Me too. So…please don’t ask me to leave you behind like that. I don’t know if I can.”

He huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. I realized the weight of my words in that moment, even if I wasn’t ready to acknowledge them. The boundaries of what I considered home had been blurring for some time but now was not the moment to process that.

“Well thank you for saving me…again.”

“I would tear apart the ocean to keep you safe.”

I laughed, believing him. “Good! Because I actually really enjoyed being in your world even for a little while and despite a shark trying to have me for lunch, I would like to do that again.”

He closed his eyes and smiled. “Little human, you are too stubborn for your own good.”

“I know.” I shrugged.

Gently pulling my hand away, I rushed forward to put my arms around him. He appeared taken aback at first, but I held him tightly until he finally responded, wrapping his arms around me in return.

I imagine it feels like when the ocean kisses the earth upon its return to the shore — like coming home.

˚꩜🐚🌊🔱🫧꩜˚

First | Previous | Next

And that's the end—

Just kidding! 🤗

But this is where I envisioned the end of "part one" and though I won't take a break from posting there will likely be some time jumps as we are headed into the "second part" of "season one".

Lots of quotes.

Anyway.

Love y'all 😘

Thanks for supporting and sticking by my story that absolutely 1000% blew up in my own face and went in a completely different direction than I intended it to but either way I am having fun and hope you are too!

[hyunjins-goddess]

"You Know I Can't Leave You Alone..."

A Hwang Hyunjin fanfic based on the song, Red Lights...🥀

(First ever Hyunjin fanfic, I'm shitting bricks lololol)

Is this a game you really want to play with me? You don't know who you're fucking with. You thought, eyes burning into his soul as your jaw clenched, heel tapping in time to the beat of the music.

It was like he was able to read your mind.

Due to the fact that one eyebrow was raised and a smug smirk played on his lips.

You were sat outside of the booth on a chair, leg crossed infront of the other.

He was leaning up against the bar.

Your body felt as if there was an itch you needed to scratch as you glared at each other.

Pulses were quickening, skin was perspiring, yet all you two were doing was staring each other down. Daring one another to make a fucking move.

This godforsaken man you were glowering at was Hwang Hyunjin. His name alone made your temper flare, pussy glisten. A man who must have been kissed by Aphrodite herself.

Inky dipped locks that sported a trendy half up half down hairstyle, strands of hair that cascaded down his prominent cheekbones and framed his sharp jawline. Feline shaped eyes with onyx irises, a beauty mark just below his left eye, it was like a stamp confirming his ethereal beauty. Sensual full lips that looked as if they had been tinted by a rose, texture of its petals.

Standing at 5'10, he was adorned in a satin white shirt that made his slightly tanned skin glow. The shirt really put emphasis on his broad shoulders, black dress pants alluding to his trim waist.

Anyone could tell he was a dancer.

His lean figure and walk made him look like a panther, his predatory gaze locked onto you confirming this.

Your glare never faltered even when a different man approached you, settling into your personal space to tell you how he thought you were absolutely gorgeous, the confession being spilled right into your ear as the music was just so loud that he had no choice but to be within your proximity for you to hear him.

Hyunjin visibly swallowed at this interaction.

Your eyes flashed as if to challenge him and you keened at how Hyunjin was reacting to you getting this attention. You smirked dangerously, continuing to allow the man to babble nonsense in your ear.

What are you gonna do about it pretty boy? You mouthed at Hyunjin in a taunting manner, body breaking out into goosebumps all over as you witnessed him striding over to you.

Your smirk never left as you thanked the other man, politely declining his offer of getting you a drink.

Time seems to fast forward as Hyunjin suddenly grips your arm and you find yourself being thrown up against a bathroom cubicle door, your back arches against it as he locks it.

"Care to tell me what the fuck you were playing at out there?" Hyunjin spat as he towered over you.

Your smirk widened. "He was just being nice. What's wrong with that?"

Oh that rattled him. "Oh yeah? Nice, huh? Were you gonna fuck him? Cause he was just so nice?"

Oof, the audacity.

"Oh PLEASE Hyunjin, cut the shit. You're acting as if I've haven't seen the way women throw themselves at you, you don't seem to mind that."

He smirked. "Oh? Jealous are we?"

You bristled. "No. Just calling you out on your own bullshit."

His face came closer to yours and your thighs clamped together as his breath mingled with yours. "Listen to me and listen to me very carefully." His lips were so close to yours, he could almost speak into your mouth. "You're mine. I can barely function properly, I feel like I'm out of control. I'm staying up all night because I can't get you out of my head. You own my sleepless night, you own my thoughts...You own me..."

Your breathing hitched as you were transfixed with the way his mouth was moving, the rasp in his voice putting you under his spell again.

"I feel like I'm going crazy over you and I know you feel the same, give in to me." Hyunjin almost whined and you were close to reciprocating it. "Every time I close my eyes, all I can see is you."

"I hate you..." You whined, hands bunching into his shirt, pulling his body closer to yours.

In seconds his lips were devouring yours, teeth clashing and biting, moans spilling out into each other's mouths as you ravaged each other. His hands gripped at your face as you pulled him even tighter to your body.

You let out a gasp as he kicked your feet to spread your legs wider, shoving his thigh up against your core. You whimpered unashamedly.

"Tell me again that you hate me baby." Hyunjin rasped against your neck as he kissed, bit and licked at the marks he was printing on you.

"I hate you Hyunjin..." You moaned out, rutting your hips at his thigh like an animal in heat, causing him to growl.

You could feel the hard print of his dick throbbing against you as he hiked up your dress, ripping at the fabric that barely concealed your core. His fingers slid into you easily due to your leaking arousal, you bit down onto his neck to muffle your moans as his fingers hooked into a come hither motion, pressing against that spot that had your eyes rolling back into your head. You could feel the growl build up in Hyunjin's chest and suddenly he was slipping down, keeping a firm grip on you.

You covered your mouth and almost screamed as those lips latched onto your clit, sucking it with gentle pressure to make your back arch.

He moaned against your pussy, causing vibrations as your hands scrambled into his hair, pulling at his scalp.

"Fuck Hyunjin, don't stop..." You pleaded with him as too soon you felt that familiar knot in your stomach, legs shaking as you ended up riding on his face.

His eyes never stopped looking at you, marvelling at the way you were pretty much thrashing against the cubicle door as you finally released into his mouth.

Hyunjin gently kissed your core to calm you down and ground you, he spoke against you.

"I'm yours, Y/N."

Thank you so so much for reading, I really hope you enjoyed! Again this is my first Hyunjin fanfic, I'm thinking about writing for all of them, so please go easy on me okay? Lololol

May make a part 2 to this? Again thank you so much, I hope you are well and taking care of yourself 🩷

[exquisitley-obsessed]

Cardinal Catastrophe

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: Elain reaches out to Azriel after that dreaded Solstice night and they once again meet under the moonlight in the River House - but everything is different now (post ACOSF, Azriel’s the focalizer) 

Pairings: Azriel x Elain, Elriel

Word Count: 13,300+

Warnings: This does get a bit smutty and then there’s some violence towards the end.

A/N: This is like super long. It basically has everything it’s fluff, smut and angst so yeah, something for everyone. This is probably the longest oneshot I’ve ever written, I don’t know where this has come from but it’s taken me way longer to write than any of my other stuff. There’s a lot of catharsis in this and reflection on how I think both Azriel and Elain think of the situation. You’ll also get a bit of Rhys’ pov towards the ned ;)

Preview: With Elain’s eyes closed he allowed himself to greedily devour the sight of her. Just her face alone captured his attention entirely. With his eyes he memorised the curve of her cheekbones, the specific angle of her brows, even the exact chocolatey shade of her lashes. He went over it again, and again, and again, like a worshipper devouring the holy text. Azriel needed the perfection of Elain committed to memory, because he was sure that one day his luck would run out entirely. That soon he would not be permitted to even these meetings in the dead of night, with only a thousand stars as witness to their mutilated fate.

“Elain...” He tried again; his voice softer than he had ever heard it before. The person he became around Elain was foreign to himself. He had never been someone privileged enough to both love and be loved, not like this. Now that he had tasted such passions, he found he could not always recognise himself. Because he was Azriel, and he was cursed and damned, destined to be alone, to be unloved, mutilated both in mind and morality. He could not love; he shouldn’t be able to love - and yet.

MASTERLIST

It was no exaggeration to say that Azriel’s work was of a most gruesome nature. His daily routine involved cutting into people, making them sing to his shadows, working them like a carcass in a machine until they’d spilt their guts to him before painting the walls with those same organs. As the Night Court’s spymaster, Azriel knew things that would bring kings to their knees, secrets that were interwoven into the foundations of courts, hidden information that would dissolve alliances in seconds; and yet, here he was, pacing the room like a schoolboy as he tried to swallow the fluttery ‘butterfly-like’ feeling twisting his gut.

He’d noticed the note the minute he’d entered the room. A tiny slip of paper that glowed in the moonlight from where it was perched on his work desk, a stark contrast to Azriel’s messy, tea-stained paperwork. Azriel had smelt her on it before he read it, in fact, the second he opened the door to his River House bedroom he was surrounded by her faded aroma. She must’ve breezed in and out, not wanting to overstep her bounds as she left him a note no one else was to read. Knowing her, she was probably currently riddled with guilt for entering his private space, even though, quite frankly, Azriel wouldn’t mind her invading on every aspect of his life, personal or not. Not wanting to face what her scent in his room did to him, he’d crossed the room in three strides and devoured the note in seconds; the words still rang in his head.

I need to see you.

Everything had been fine. Ever since Rhysand’s outrageous demand of Azriel several months prior, Azriel had fallen into a routine, stricter than the last, for ignoring Elain Archeron. He was working more than he ever had before, not just in quantity but in quality. Unnecessarily detailed reports were showing up on the High Lord’s desk of situations that were entirely irrelevant to the current political climate and yet, Azriel thought it was only fair Rhysand suffered somewhat from this situation too.

I’m sorry for everything.

While he was anywhere but Velaris, Elain was never anywhere else, specifically in the River House, a place he had thus far avoided with painful success. Until his High Lady had demanded he come to dinner to celebrate Nesta’s birthday, Nesta who was happier than he had ever seen her before, practically glowing with the dreaded mating bond. It still baffled him how much prevalence mating bonds had played in his life the past few years after 500 years of silence, strings of fate which seemed to only bring about the greatest happiness or the wickedest pain.

I just want to make things right.

They were so happy, all of them. Rhysand with Feyre and Nyx, Nesta and Cassian - and though he just wanted to be glad for his family, the miasma of their bliss was suffocating. Because Azriel had never felt more alone, had never been so buried in his work, so achingly tired from the unnecessary flights and dreary missions, and his harmful behaviour was turning his body into something foreign. Azriel never used to have the constant tautness across his shoulders, nor the constant black shadows under his eyes from the sleepless nights, or the aching muscles that never seemed to heal. But it was necessary – if he wanted to obey Rhysand’s order, if he wanted to maintain civility between courts, and for a plethora of other supposed noble reasons – it was necessary.

I miss you.

He just wanted her. Not in any possessive way, he just wanted to be around her. He’d come to find a specific kind of peace in her company, something about that soothed his worries and aches. So, he missed their walks in the gardens, their shared book recommendations, their inside jokes, their unspoken understanding, their healing. And above all he missed her: her smile, her laughter, the shade of her flushed cheeks, her kindness, her silence.

Azriel hadn’t realised what had been happening to him as they had gotten closer, hadn’t realised how far he’d fallen till Rhysand had pulled him out of the air. Now all that was there, was a lacking. He was busier than ever, but all around him hung the privation of her.

Meet me in the foyer when the sun sets.

So he couldn’t be around his family, couldn’t face their overwhelming joy when he was so, so alone. Maybe it would’ve been better if he had never met Elain, or at least if he hadn’t allowed himself to fall for her. But in those soft moments he shared with her, the brushes of fingertips to the sun-kissed smiles, he’d been forced to face just how alone he was, how alone he had always been. Through Elain, Azriel had had a taste of honest, unwavering love - and yet he was expected to turn his back on such a discovery, by his own family no less.

Please.

He would meet her in the foyer when the sun set. He would follow her to the ends of the Earth if she asked him to, because maybe he was just so masochistic that he didn’t mind meeting Elain only to be reminded of everything he couldn’t have. Reading the note Azriel couldn’t help but think bitterly of how the flower-grower was far more courageous than he. That she was reaching out to him after he had rejected her so brutally. Azriel jolted, flaring his wings slightly to stop the train of thought. That pained, confused look in Elain’s eye when he had said that word, haunted him. Mistake. He’d called it a mistake. Azriel raked his hands down his face and sighed.

He wished he were strong enough to either commit or drop it entirely. He wished he had it in him to do something. Azriel should’ve bitten back at Rhysand all those months ago, should’ve just dealt with this catastrophe back then rather than let it fester and rot under the proverbial carpet.

As time passed in Azriel’s knotted thoughts, the sun plummeted towards the horizon. It was a perfect summers evening, and Azriel stilled at the window to watch as the sun melted the sky into shades of pink and purple. He saw it and thought of the colour of her dress tonight, or even that dress she had worn when she’d made traditional Illyrian biscuits and demanded he tried one. He’d taken it in his pocket and only took a bite when he was alone in the shadows of a different court, and he had savoured every bite, quietly smothering his growing adoration as he did so.

Elain, Elain, Elain. His shadows whispered to him, as though they knew they would soon be in her presence. No one had ever had such an effect on his shadows, and around her he was more aware of them being a separate entity to himself. Though they were bound, around Elain they seemed to grow more confident, they acted of their own accord and would often disappear in her presence, as though his shadows knew he wished to be entirely alone with her.

Foyer...Elain...flower-grower...beautiful. Azriel was inclined to agree. And before Azriel could lose himself to shyness, the sun finally dipped behind the curve of the land, allowing a thousand glimmering stars to prickle through the endless black sky.

She would already be waiting for him, and though Azriel was nervous, he had to restrain some part of himself that longed to throw open the door and jump down the stairs two at a time. Instead, he used the shadows, stepping through them to the base of the large foyer staircase. It would be more silent this way. He wouldn’t make the same mistake of not listening to the corridors as they spoke. For Elain’s sake, he would demand the utmost privacy, even from his High Lord and Lady.

He could see her before she saw him. She was leaning of the Foyer’s centre table, fiddling with the bouquet of flowers in a glass vase - of course she was. All he could see of her was the lower half of her pale gown and her dark golden hair, cascading down her back like a waterfall. The moonlight streaming in through the large French windows gave her an angelic glow, whereas the more sensuous light of the flickering candles painted shadows across her thinly veiled curves. Both warm and cold light coming together to worship the woman who seemed to him as light herself. At the sight of her, Azriel involuntarily sucked in a breath and felt her scent hit the back of his throat, his entire body seemed to sing from her aroma alone, as though it were his own personal drug. Dangerous, this was dangerous, to be with her and to be so alone. He didn’t care.

“Elain,” she didn’t start as he spoke into the thick silence. If she had the confidence to call him here tonight, then he must source some of his own. He at least owed her that. Delicately, Elain turned and looked over her shoulder, her beautiful brown eyes finding his and melting the whole world away.

“You came,” She breathed, her shoulders sagging slightly out of relief. She turned to him properly then, and Azriel flickered his eyes over her so quickly she might’ve mistaken it for a mere blink. But he saw her, saw what she was wearing, and some core part of his soul longed to weep at the sight of her beauty.

Elain was in a nightgown, off-white cotton and silk, with cream and dusty pink lace. Pale ribbons pulled the nightdress around her breasts and down to her naval, dipping in a slight ‘v’ before the skirts flowed around her natural curves and then dropped to the floor. The neckline was agonisingly flattering, though Azriel was sure he wouldn’t look twice at the nightdress on anyone else. Her creamy skin seemed browner in the warm candlelight of the house, and as the shadows flickered, he was aware of how her collarbones stretched out to the curve of her shoulders, how she didn’t have freckles on her chest and arms but rather a specific constellation of moles, even how her hair was impossibly thick and, if memory served him well, soft too. Upper sections were pulled away from her face in an intricate pattern of braids and ties, and yet lock after lock of pale brown hair cascaded down her back and over her shoulders, framing her angelic face. Oh, that face. Poets and painters alike would weep at the sight of that face. The small, angled eyebrows that somehow made her doe eyes bigger, the freckles across her cheeks and nose, her plush lips-

“I know that you’re avoiding me,” she began, crashing Azriel back into reality. He shifted slightly, ruffling his wings as though to wake himself up. Her voice wasn’t accusing, but calm and quiet, “I know there’s a reason why you’re never around. For a while I thought you were just cooped up at the House of Wind but Nesta says that she never sees you...no one ever sees you anymore.” Azriel stayed quiet, just holding her gaze. He never needed to speak around Elain, she had quickly understood that when he had something to say, he would say it, but till then, he was comforted by the silence. And so she continued, more nervous now.

“I don’t want to be...narcissistic...but it seems to me that you’ve been distancing yourself with everyone after what happened on Solstice and...” She shifted uncomfortably, her confidence running out as she looked down at the floor and wrung her hands. “I can’t take it. I can’t take being the person whose pushed you away and I...I think we need to talk about it - or not talk about it - I’m not sure. I just, I don’t want you to avoid me anymore, even if that means we pretend that it never happened, that’s fine. I just...”

He could tell her right now the exact reason why he couldn’t be around her. Elain, he would say, I would do anything to be around you. I would kill a thousand men just to have the privilege of your company. But I can’t, Elain. Because when I’m around you, everything turns inside out, I forget everything I’m supposed to be afraid of. I become this person around you Elain, I become someone who I’ve always wanted to be, and I don’t know how to be him, if I even can. I’m not used to this, to wanting something so viscerally it feels as though I might fall apart every day I don’t see you. Elain, I don’t know how to choose happiness, I don’t know how to be selfish in that way, and above all...I don’t know how to fix this.

“I don’t care if you don’t want me like that, not if it comes at the price of your friendship. I still...need you in my life, Az,” Elain was whispering now, her large eyes slightly glassy in the candlelight. 

Azriel couldn’t help but think that Elain was evidentially stronger than him, that she could still want to be around him even if he supposedly didn’t want her. If the roles were reversed, if it had been Elain who had pushed him away, he was pretty certain he would’ve manipulated his work to make him leave the Night Court for at least several years. Of course, she was stronger than him, he was beginning to think she was stronger than them all, because of this exact trait of hers - forgiveness.

“Please...say something,” Elain’s broken voice rose through the silence. She looked at him again, tears threatening to spill. Her looking at him in such a way made something deep in his chest twist, and twist and keep on twisting. 

He didn’t know what to do, so he took a step forward, and another and another, until he was a foot’s distance away from her. The whole time her eyes never left his, her hands still twisting together at the front of her beautiful, beautiful dress. He opened his mouth to speak but once again Elain had rendered him speechless. Where could he begin, how could he begin - how could he fix this?

“Elain...” was all he managed in the end, but that seemed to be enough to soothe her as her eyes fluttered shut and she breathed deeply at the sound of her name mingled with his breath.

With Elain’s eyes closed he allowed himself to greedily devour the sight of her. Just her face alone captured his attention entirely. With his eyes he memorised the curve of her cheekbones, the specific angle of her brows, even the exact chocolatey shade of her lashes. He went over it again, and again, and again, like a worshipper devouring the holy text. Azriel needed the perfection of Elain committed to memory, because he was sure that one day his luck would run out entirely. That soon he would not be permitted to even these meetings in the dead of night, with only a thousand stars as witness to their mutilated fate.

“Elain...” He tried again; his voice softer than he had ever heard it before. The person he became around Elain was foreign to himself. He had never been someone privileged enough to both love and be loved, not like this. Now that he had tasted such passions, he found he could not always recognise himself. Because he was Azriel, and he was cursed and damned, destined to be alone, to be unloved, mutilated both in mind and morality. He could not love; he shouldn’t be able to love - and yet.

“I’m sorry,” He began, his voice barely audible. And by the way Elain’s brows furrowed slightly and her mouth tightened, he knew that she knew he was talking about the last time they’d been here, in this foyer. “I wish things were different,” He whispered, now trying to memorise the exact constellations of her freckles.

“Me too,” She breathed, her eyes still closed. “I wish I was different,” She surprised him by whispering.

“Don’t...” He murmured, silently stunned, “You...you don’t know how you...” But he had to stop himself mid-sentence, had to bite his tongue between his teeth hard enough to draw blood. Because if he started to talk, he wouldn’t stop. He would tell her everything, and he wasn’t quite ready to be so vulnerable, not when he didn’t know how to be vulnerable at all.

“I...” She opened her eyes and seemed to look at him as though for the first time. After a long pause she spoke again, “I wish I had courage.”

“Courage?” Elain paused and shifted slightly from foot to foot, as though she were debating what she would say next.

“I want to be strong, like my sisters...I want to etch out my own path rather than fumble in the dark.” Azriel thought for a moment.

“You are strong, whether you perceive yourself to be or not.” He wanted nothing more than to reach up and stroke his hand along her smooth cheek, instead he dug his nails into his already marred palm and focused on the pain’s bite.

“I will never be a general,” Elain whispered, her eyes still damp, “I will never be a High Lady or a leader, I don’t care for any of that...I wish I did. You can’t imagine how badly I wish I...” Her words ran out and her eyes became slightly glossed over and detached. Again, he felt the urge to touch her, to ground her back in reality, but he just dug his nails in deeper. “I don’t belong on battlefields, though I’d always fight when the world needed me but...I’m not a warrior; and that petrifies me.”

Again, Azriel paused, taking time to absorb every word Elain offered to him under the moonlight. Azriel adored Elain, he could’ve stood there for an hour and listed everything about her that had brought him hope. How her outlook on life had been so foreign to him, so unrealistic when he first met her, that it was extraordinary now just how jealous he was of her ability to look at the morbidity of the world, and still seek out the good.

“In a world of endless bloodshed and bitterness, do not be ashamed of not wanting to be a warrior,” Azriel whispered.

“But I’m useless,” Elain quickly interjected, “I have all this power, I feel it stirring in me and there is no part of me that wishes to manipulate it or-or exploit it.” Elain’s hands came up and danced in the air as she spoke, another quirk of hers he’d both memorised and adored. Azriel thought again, long and hard, before he spoke.

“I’ve been around a lot longer than you, and from what I’ve learnt of people is...that they’re horrible,” Azriel watched as Elain’s eyes widened and drank in his words and something twisted in his chest. People didn’t look at him like that when he talked. His brothers would wink and laugh with him, his enemies cowered and flinched, those whom he bedded would smile slyly or watch his mouth as he murmured dirty things in the dead of night. But no one looked at him like that, as though he were reciting poetry, as though he were beautiful enough to say something worthy of those big eyes and parted lips.

“You wouldn’t believe the horrors I’ve seen, or the court secrets I’ve uncovered. The way people, particular those in positions of power, treat each other, treat those around them and those below them - it’s tragic. It’s merciless and cruel.” Elain was still drinking him in, still hanging onto his every word.

“I think over the centuries, I myself became desensitised to the horrors of power and politics. Especially given my start in life. When you were human I understood your naivety, your belief in the good of the world, especially after your riches had returned and your life was content.

“But what I didn’t understand was how you continued to believe good after everything you went through. After facing the most brutal torture from the Cauldron itself...you still chose to believe in the wonderful and I-I didn’t understand that. Because I couldn’t do that. Because I’d never believed in the good of people the way you do...I had never even believed in the good of myself.

“Please don’t think that kindness is something small, or something that can be overlooked. Because when the world is little more than ruin and rubble, kindness is all we have left. We’ve just been alive so long that we forget about it, us Fae, we’ve spent so much of our lives at war that it’s easy to forget why we’d even engage in such bloodshed. It wasn’t till I met you that I was reminded that such things as tenderness and humanity even existed outside my family, and once the wars were about defending those virtues rather than snuffing them out…I just, I can’t help but think that if there were more people like you in the world, maybe Prythian wouldn’t succumb to carnage every few decades, just so that the heartless noblemen of this land can feel something.”

Azriel hadn’t meant to speak for so long, in fact, he didn’t quite understand where the words had even come from. They were true, of course. He did whole-heartedly believe everything he had just said, he just hadn’t realised how much he’d ached to say it aloud. Elain was still staring at him wide-eyed, and then there was the worst thing of all, a single tear spilling over her damp eyes and trickling down her cheek.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“No,” Elain whispered, suddenly reaching out and sliding her palm into his from where it was hanging limp at his side. Electricity shot through his arm, and he forced himself to look at her in the eye as he tensed his legs so that they didn’t crumple underneath him. “No, it’s good I’m, I’m glad you said it I...”

But again, words seemed to evade Elain as she looked up at him. Azriel was now hyperaware of her how close she was, of her smooth palm that fit so nicely in his own. His body often reacted on its own accord around Elain, and he had spent months leashing his desires into chains, beasts that could only come out in the dead of night. But since that dreaded Solstice night last winter, everything had changed.

Life these past few months had consisted of the battle between two extremes. Either he was drowning in the way his body seemed to ache and beg for her, his mind obsessing over their stuttering relationship as though it were a philosophical debate. Especially since he now knew that some part of her wanted him and had wanted to kiss him even with her mate sleeping upstairs. The fact that he now knew what her scent tasted like, how her voice sounded when it was breathy and desperate - it all fuelled the fantasies that haunted him the moment he made it back to his room. He could be on the other side of Prythian and somehow the presence of Elain Archeron would find a way to him.

The other extreme was complete and total deprivation. The reality that he hadn’t seen her for months, that she would soon exist more in memory than experience. Even though his fantasies of her were so visceral, so tangible, the reality that she was not in the room with him always came crashing down by the time his head had cleared - and then he’d feel more alone than ever before.

But when he was here, with her, the argument ceased. The torture and the pain, the writhing mind and aching debates, it all fell into beautiful silence. And so, looking at her now, he was unable to help himself. And without thought, he reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear as he murmured under his breath, no more than a whisper, “Elain Archeron...saviour of the cursed and damned...”

As Azriel’s fingers grazed Elain’s cheek, a horribly confused and upset look twisted her face. She seemed to freeze at the contact and Azriel halted at her discomfort, internally berated himself for pushing her too far, for being so arrogant in thinking he could touch her in such a way.

“I...Azriel...I don’t understand,” Elain’s breathless voice seemed to caress him, and once more he found himself tensing his legs so that they wouldn’t give out under him. “You don’t want me...you said it was a mistake...” Azriel stilled, and he caught her eye in a moment of alarmed sobriety.

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

He couldn’t stop the words before they spilled from his lips. It didn’t matter how soft, how quiet, his voice was, the words were innately harsh and something deep against his spine lurched at the thought of her hurting her - of hurting her again.

But Elain didn’t flinch. Her eyes, instead of widening in shock, stayed stoically still and calm. And then Azriel watched as those honeyed eyes he loved so much lapsed darker and darker, the floral musk of her arousal drifting to him like a moth to a flame, the same scent he’d been dreaming of for months, the memory of it alone making his body achingly hard and taut, as though his own skin existed only to respond to the call of hers.

The scent surrounded him, sending blood to his cock which was now throbbing viscerally against the seams of his leathers. His arousal had never felt so tight before, so extreme and sudden. He felt it, heavy in his lower abdomen, twisting and knotting his guts in both pain and pleasure. That was familiar, that he’d felt a hundred times before, but for Elain Acheron his whole body seemed to sing. His blood burned under his skin as it pounded through his body, whilst his heart was light and fluttery in his chest, as though it might edge up his throat and fall from his lips. His eyes felt heavy lidded as though he were drunk, and even though he were standing stoically still, even though he hadn’t done anything yet, he found himself short of breath.

He had never wanted something more - never. Not Mor. Not a job. Not a secret, not information. Not salvation, not mercy. God, it seemed as though in this instant, Elain had invented want for him.

He would beg for her. Right now, in the foyer where he’d first tasted this personal drug. Had Elain not been holding him up by her eyes and a single palm he would already be on his knees. He moved to fall down before her, like a worshipper at a temple, when movement at her mouth caught his eye. Azriel watched as her delicate, pink tongue slowly dragged along her lower lip to wet it as she blinked innocently at him. Azriel’s resolve was gone in a puff of smoke.

Fuck Rhysand. Fuck Lucien. Fuck the Mother, the Cauldron, the world. Fuck anyone who stood between him and Elain who he knew, he knew, wanted him as badly as he wanted her. Because of course she did. Because whatever this was, whatever was happening between them, was otherworldly and impossible to ignore.

And good luck to them, was the last though Azriel had before he leaned in. Good luck to anyone who ever dare stand between him and her, because he’d kill them - he’d fucking kill them.

Despite his body beating like a drum for Elain’s melody, he did not kiss her right away. Once he’d accepted that he would kiss her, once he’d come to that inevitable conclusion it felt like a thousand doors of golden light opened before his eyes, and it took everything he had to not sob with joy.

All those fantasies he had revelled in for the past year that had been shrouded in a miasma of fantasy and shame, rolled through his mind clear as day. He could kiss her lips. Those soft pads of blushing rose that he had already committed to memory. Or he could trace down and press his lips to the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder, a crook of intimacy that he’d already figured out from watching her protect it with her hands when someone stood behind her. He could kiss her temples, her cheeks, her throat - every fucking inch of her.

Now that his resolve had snapped like an elastic band stretched too far, he found that he was finally free. Looking at her he hadn’t realised how long he had taken, how slowly he was leaning in until Elain’s fingers suddenly gripped the leathers across his chest and her brows furrowed as she pulled closer to him, her eyes dark and desperate, her mouth wet and parted as she half-gasped, half-whispered, “Please....Azriel...”

He did moan then. A low, throaty sound that escaped him at the sound of his name intertwined with her breathy gasps. He snapped.

He had intended to savour every second of kissing her, but the moment his lips touched hers, he felt fire. Elain’s hands ran up his chest before intertwining themselves in his hair as she pulled herself against him and he moaned again, the second time in a minute, into her mouth. Because he could feel her, all of her, pressed against his hot throbbing body. The soft pressure of her breasts, the bones of her hips, even one of her legs had tucked between his own, the sides of their knees brushing together. She was going to kill him. She was going to fucking kill him.

And then there was her mouth. Softer than petals, and so obviously hers in taste and touch. Every time their lips brushed, every time he felt her perfect breath mingling with his own, shivers erupted across his body. Unable to stop himself he brushed back her hair before firmly grasping the side of her neck, his hand was so large against her velvet skin that he knew he could probably hold her entire throat in one hand. He put it there as an ode to the last time he’d been here. He’d put it there as a fuck you to fate.

His other hand curled around her waist and pressed against her back where - and he moaned again - Elain’s exposed skin greeted him.

He wanted to take her right her. Wanted to lie her down on the carpet and bury his head between her thighs as he had done so many times before in his fantasies. How he ached to taste her, all of her, to pin her writhing thighs back with one hand and wrists with the other. He wanted to look at her perfect angelic face as he made her sing sinful sounds for him. Wanted to make her toes curl and back arch as she came on his tongue. Again, and again, and again.

Elain tugged slightly on Azriel’s hair and he was thrust back into his body, back into the present, and he had to stifle another moan because those thousands of fantasies had nothing, nothing, on this.

In response to Elain’s needy tug, Azriel bent slightly and curled a hand around the back of each of her thighs and hoisted her up against his chest. Elain, much to his delight, snapped her legs around him as he lifted her against his chest, their lips still ferociously dancing. He only had to walk a few paces to set her against the edge of the lobby table, but that particular move was one that had been haunting him more recently of late.

He went to pull away after she was set down on the wooden tabletop. He wanted to see her, with her hair ruffled and her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen and her chest heaving. He wanted to commit that image to memory because there was still some part of him that could not believe this was real.

But as he moved to step back, Elain caught him off guard as her legs tightened from where they were wrapped around his hips, something of a growl arising from the back of her throat as she fisted his leathers and pulled him against her. Azriel obeyed her, like a puppy on a leash, leaning his hands against the table, either side of her hips, in order to stay standing.

She was flushed against him once more. Her breasts pushed against his chest which felt suffocated by the Illyrian leathers, he ached to have her skin brushing against his own, but all in good time. He slipped his tongue into her mouth then and revelled in the juxtaposing thrill and relaxation of exploring her in this way. But there was still an inch of space between their hips. He didn’t know why he left it there, even when Elain dragged him against her, perhaps it was because he knew the minute they were aligned in cardinal perfection, there would be no turning back. He would be hers and vice versa, and she would be his muse and his priority, and he would put her before everything - even his High Lord.

To steady himself, Azriel made the mistake of taking his hand and bracing himself on Elain’s thigh. What he was not expecting was for his palm to find the soft, exposed flesh of her leg from where her dress must’ve mischievously ridden upwards when he had lifted her.

Purely on instinct, Azriel moaned and drove his hips forward into her core, earning a breathy sigh from them both as they finally found an inch of friction in their writhing. There was only fabric now. Measly layers of fabric that came between them.

“Fuck...” Elain gasped into his mouth and some outrageously animalistic part of him growled in satisfaction at having pulled a sinful swear from her angelic mouth. Azriel kept one hand against the wood near her hips to stay steady, to stop himself from grounding his hips into her like an uncontrollable beast, the other stayed on the warm, smooth flesh of her exposed thigh.

Slowly, he began to trace rough circles with his thumb on her inner thigh earning a flutter of breathy sighs to dance from her lips which pleased his soul to no avail. Azriel parted from her lips and began to pepper kisses along her jawline as he torturously inched his thumb up, inch by inch with each circle. When Azriel began to kiss and suck on the spot just below her ear he allowed himself to peek at her as he worked.

Her head was tilted back slightly, her throat bobbing as high hums fluttered from her. If he could paint he would paint the perfect blush of her swollen lips. If he were a poet he would turn her breathy moans into the sweetest of sonnets. And then she tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth as a soft moan escaped her and he had to look away, if only to stop himself from reaching down and fisting himself at the sight of it.

With his head turned Azriel hissed out of surprise as his thumb rubbed against a sticky sweetness coating her inner thigh. God she was wet. And as he rubbed further, coating his thumb in her essence, he had to bite his cheek as to not come in his pants like a schoolboy. Azriel stopped rubbing circles in favour for taking his first finger and tracing back and forth over the highest point of her thigh, slow and torturous as he familiarised himself with the feel of her. His heart threatening to beat out of his chest when his fingers brushed against a lacy frill at the apex of her thigh. Tilting his head Azriel was able to husk into her ear.

“What do you want Elain?” His voice was low and breathy before he caught her lobe between his teeth. Another shuddering gasp floated from her lips. 

“I want you to touch me...and I don’t want you stop,” the sound of her voice so mingled with pleasure and need was almost enough to undo him. “Ever,” She went on, “Not until I don’t know my own name.” 

She was going to kill him. Growling in satisfaction he rewarded her answer with one quick brush over her lace underthing's, the touch was like electricity for them both. Elain physically tremored as Azriel finally brushed where she needed him most, and Azriel shuddered at the contact with the girl of his dreams. 

“Please, Azriel,” Azriel stilled for a moment, wondering how she would react to his instinctual next move. His particular flavour of making love.

“Say that again,” He said slowly, his voice barely more than a brutal, low husk. As he spoke Azriel allowed some of his power to ebb into the words, the siphons a top his hands guttering as they came to life. It felt slightly wrong to use such a voice on her, the one he so often used with enemies, but Azriel watched as Elain’s lips parted, her pupils expanding as her breath grew heavy in response to his dominant voice. Oh, Azriel couldn’t help but think in agonising awe. Maybe his deep assumptions, the ones that only haunted him in that void he entered before he fell asleep, were true. That Elain, the purest of sisters, was also the filthiest.

“Please, Az,” Her voice was breathy and pleading, but there was something alight in her eyes as she begged him.

“Good girl,” Azriel couldn’t stop himself from husking as he peeled back the top of the lace. They both stared unwaveringly into each other’s eyes as Azriel dipped his hands along her, not touching just hovering. He held his hand there, an inch away from where she needed him most, waiting until she almost whimpered before he slid a single finger slowly through her folds. 

Her reaction was blissful to see. The way she bit her lip, her back arched, and her eyes fluttered shut. Azriel moved with her, his own mouth parted, and brows furrowed as he stroked her again.

“Don’t close your eyes,” He murmured in his voice of steel, “Look at me.” Elain’s eyes snapped open, and it was his turn to be caught off guard. Gone was the hazelnut colour, even the sensuous black he had somehow lulled them into, what met him was the colour of bright honey and her eyes, they were glowing. They stood out like gemstones being pierced by golden light. It was then that Azriel began to take note of their surroundings and realise that the thrumming was not just happening inside him but all around him. Ripple after ripple of raw, ancient power was bleeding from Elain, fizzing into the air and turning the entire foyer into something alive and electric. A shiver ran along Azriel’s entire body as his own powers itched to sing in harmony with hers; cobalt energy rising to meet her golden light.

Her folds were dripping, and he was having an internal debate on whether or not to rip off her underwear. On one hand he would have better access, he would be able to pleasure her better, and he could even push her back against the table and lower his head and taste her. On the other, he couldn’t stand being disconnected from her for a second. 

Whilst he debated, he slowly raked his finger up her again before finding that small bundle of nerves. When he caught it with his fingertip and began to drag slow, luxurious circles over it, a throaty, guttural moan escaped her lips. He bit his cheek again. He wondered if anyone had fucked her like this and again, that pride bloomed when he realised that he might be the first. Not her first, but the first person to show her the true ecstasy of pleasure.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Elain gasped as her head fell forward on his shoulder. Azriel allowed the eye contact to break, too absorbed by the feeling of having Elain writhing under his fingers to care.

He’d always thought that he could die a happy man if ever he was blessed enough to experience such a joy as Elain Archeron, but now he realised what a stupid notion that was. Because Elain wasn’t cause for death but cause for life. He’d live for Elain, Azriel realised. Elain who was writhing and mewling into his shoulder as he slowly brought her to the ecstasy she deserved. She was close and following this he would winnow them away to either his unused apartment in central Velaris, or deep in the gardens on this summer night, where they would be entirely alone, and everything would be perfect. And once they’d had their fill on the pure bliss of one another they could talk about everything, and they’d find a solution and they’d work it out, and everything would be okay - and then Rhysand walked in, and everything came crashing down.

Some part of Azriel’s hazy mind had been aware of the movement deep in the house but it had been so, so inconsequential compared to what was in front of him. And his shadows, well his shadows were nowhere to be seen, not with golden light quite literally thrumming from Elain. There had been no warning, and as Rhys met Azriel’s eye when he still had his fingers flush against Elain some primal part of Azriel reared its head.

In an instant Azriel’s siphons were spluttering to life as power surged through Azriel, his wings instinctively flaring as wide as they would stretch, so that the cresting talon of each wing scraped into the polished walls. Rhys, who was standing at the edge of the foyer, an unrecognisable expression scorched into his face, was a threat at that moment, and the whole world seemed to still as Azriel slowly came down from the high of his arousal.

Slowly, Azriel removed his hand from Elain’s underwear and smoothed down her skirts to cover her legs, all the while never moving his eyes from Rhys. He didn’t care if he was in for the doghouse, didn’t give a shit about what consequences his happiness had just induced - Elain came first.

And right now, even though it was a ludicrous thought, Azriel was preparing himself to protect Elain from Rhysand. Elain’s whose nightgown had slipped down her shoulder, whose eyes were wide as she glanced over her shoulder at her brother-in-law, exposed and vulnerable just as she’d been on the worst night of her life.

“Azriel,” Rhysand finally spoke and Azriel shifted slightly to pull Elain closer to his chest. “My office...now.” It seemed as though all sense of formality had dropped as Rhysand’s High Lord voice billowed into the room. Azriel didn’t speak, didn’t move either, just shifted his eyes to Elain whose face was blanch and confused.

“Can’t this wait?” Azriel asked, his voice low and full of strength. Instantly he realised that he should’ve worded his question better. He didn’t want time in order to finish off what he and Elain had begun, but rather to give Elain a moment to breathe, for her to fix her dress and smooth her hair, for her to do whatever she needed to do before she was forced to face her family. Rhysand’s eyes darkened, and he entered the room in a low stride, both hands digging deep into his pockets. Azriel moved instantly, stepping around Elain to put himself in front of her as Rhysand approached.

Without a word Rhysand came closer and closer, and Azriel continued to stretch his wings to cover Elain from whatever vitriol was about to be thrown his way. But Rhysand didn’t say anything, he didn’t even move suddenly, just reached out a single hand until it was barely touching Azriel’s arm as darkness surrounded them both.

Before Azriel even had a chance to realise that Rhysand was winnowing them away – away from Elain – they were standing in his office, and Azriel couldn’t help but shake his head at the slight Deja-vu of the whole situation. Except this time, he wouldn’t be bounding himself in shackles, he’d be setting himself free, whether Rhys wanted him to or not.

Azriel was standing in front of the large mahogany desk of Rhysand’s office whilst it’s owner moved behind it, one hand still in his pocket. Already the air in the room was taut with energy, as though the very air were cowering in the face of the upcoming argument. And still Azriel’s mind was still thinking of the girl in the foyer, her name like a mantra beating through his body,

“Put your cock away Azriel,” Rhys immediately spat in response to the ripples of cobalt energy rippling from Azriel’s form. Azriel didn’t deem the childish comment with a retort, though his arousal was already gone, and quickly replaced by the tautness of anger and frustration. His shadows had returned to him now that he was away from Elain, and they were writhing uncontrollably around his legs and back.

Azriel stayed standing, folding his arms over his chest just for something to do. It was then that Rhys sighed heavily, leaning against his desk and hanging his head. He wasn’t as tired nor as desperate as when they’d last spoken like this - of this. No, now Rhys had everything. Everything he had ever, and could ever want, and now his fight lay in protecting the paradise he had found in Feyre and Nyx. Whilst Azriel was still in the dark, still alone, still secretly in agony - they were not the same.

“I gave you the simplest of orders,” Rhys sighed like a disappointed father and something brutally aggressive awoke in Azriel. How dare he, how dare Rhys speak to him like that?

“I know,” Azriel said, his voice indiscernible and calm. Rhys swung his head up to glare at Azriel, something emotional lingering in his violet eyes.

“You know? Then, Azriel, why did you take it upon yourself to disobey me?” Azriel’s grip on his biceps tightened. 

“Elain is...” Azriel began before he had to lower his eyes. What was Elain? How could he explain to Rhys the inexplicable way he felt about the angelic gardener? The effect she had on him, it was both irrational and yet made perfect sense. And right now, he could barely focus with knowing that somewhere in this house she was looking around confused, wondering what the hell had just happened. “She’s important to me. More than you realise.”

“She has a mate.”

“That is irrelevant-”

“Irrelevant?” Rhysand looked as though he might laugh and Azriel once more gripped his arms tight enough to bruise. “I thought I made it perfectly clear to you Azriel that the bond between Elain and Lucien-” Azriel growled at his name, Rhys ignored him, “-is paramount to the civility between us and not just the Autumn Court, not just the Spring Court or the Day Court, but also the Band of Exiles and the Human realms.”

“And have you ever wondered if maybe Elain deserves better?”

“Better than Lucien-” Rhys practically squawked. 

“No,” Azriel growled, allowing his anger to show, “Better than us. Better than a family who reduce her to little more than a political pawn-”

“She is my sister,” Rhysand spat, standing up straight with a newfound intensity. “Don’t you dare question my treatment of her, don’t you dare suggest I don’t care for her.”

“Are you truly so out of touch that you do not see the shackles you’ve tied around her wrists?” Azriel uncurled his arms, “You’ve stripped her of any choice-”

“This is not about choice!”

“This has everything to do with choice!”

“Elain is a valued member of my family but also of my court. As her High Lord, I have made a difficult decision but one that will undoubtedly strengthen this us in the now impending war. It was a tough decision and if you want me to be the bad guy, fine, I’ll be the bad guy, but you will obey my orders as this is the best choice for Elain.”

“Then why don’t you ask her,” Azriel growled, grappling with the internal leash on his powers, “Why don’t you actually include her in the decisions you’ve made about her life.”

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating,” Rhys flicked invisible lint from his suit, “But Elain is a valued member of these discussions.” 

“Then why isn’t she here?” Azriel husked quietly, full of venom. Rhysand apparently didn’t have anything to say to that, so Azriel went on. “You claim to value choice Rhysand, and yet you’ve stripped Elain of not just her own volition, but the simple knowledge of the choices made about her life.”

There was something bitter clanging through Azriel as he spat the words, he knew what it was, it was a word - hypocrite. Because whilst Azriel was fighting for Elain, really he should be allowing for Elain to fight for herself. He should’ve left the office the minute Rhysand winnowed them and searched for Elain. He should’ve told her, all those months ago, about why he could no longer be around her. And that’s why Elain deserved better, better than Rhys and better than him, because even now they talked of her rather than with her.

“You are to stay away from her,” Rhysand said at last, glaring out the study’s window almost as though he was ignoring Azriel.

“I can’t do that. Not anymore,” Azriel husked, and Rhys paused, catching Azriel’s eye before he hastily looked to the side and raked a hand through his hair. 

“I told you, Azriel. I told you to stay away from Ly-” Both Azriel and Rhys’ eyes widened at the name that nearly fell from Rhysand’s lips. A revelation occurring to them both as the name Rhys’ long deceased sister was brought into the room. “Elain,” Rhys corrected himself, acting unbothered by his slip. “I told you stay away.”

Azriel didn’t know how to respond. He’d spend hours in training rings, on long haul flights or espionage ventures thinking of this specific argument. The way he’d tell Rhys all the things he should’ve said on that Solstice night, about the disservice they were both doing to Elain, about how it was outrageous of Rhys to demand Azriel put politics before his happiness after, well, everything. 

After Azriel had spent 500 years alone with only a doomed infatuation with a woman who would never love him back. After Azriel had always favoured to be alone, to suffer in silence, to take the blame, and now he finally had an out. After Azriel had to put up with both his brothers finding their perfect happiness, Rhys himself almost starting a war by perusing and protecting Feyre.

Why was it so different for him? Why was it the moment Azriel had happiness within an arm’s reach there were a thousand excuses for him not to have it? What was so poisonous about his desires? About him?

“She’s not Lydia,” Azriel said at last. It was a low blow. Especially since Rhys had so clearly tried to cover up his slip a moment ago. “For one, you would never treat Lydia with such little respect. Elain is her own person and I’m not going to fight with you, or Lucien, or anyone for that matter like she’s some kind of prize.”

This argument was too real. Of course, they’d had arguments before, all three of them had. Azriel could remember a particularly nasty one between Cassian and Rhys where they hadn’t spoken for a year, Azriel bouncing between them like an owl. But this wasn’t a brotherly squabble, not when the stakes were so high.

Rhys sighed, still not meeting Azriel’s eye as a muscle in his jaw ticked. It seemed as though the High Lord also understood the irregularity of the dispute, or maybe he was just furious at facing his own errors, at his spymaster criticising him on failing someone so important on a matter which Rhysand prided himself on - the volition of the women in his life. After what happened with his mother and his sister, to find out he was now failing his new family must be driving him mad.

“You just can’t keep it in your pants can you Azriel?” 

It may have been less shocking if Rhys had just leaned over and stabbed Azriel in the gut. His words clanged into the air with a sour metallic taste, and for a moment Azriel lost his breath, his jaw slackening as his shock registered before he could swiftly cover the expression with the mask of steel he’d perfected. The silence following the comment was perhaps worse than the blow itself. Now it was Azriel who couldn’t stand looking at his brother. He didn’t care if Rhys looked apologetic, didn’t care for him at all. 

“Do you really think so low of me?” Azriel’s voice was deathly quiet, before he finally shifted his eyes up to see the raw regret plastered on his brothers face.

“No, I-” A vicious knock came at the door then, interrupting whatever apology Rhys was going to throw his way.

“Open the door,” Came Elain’s voice, more brutal than he’d ever heard it before. Something electric shot through Azriel at the sound of it, of her. If anything, her voice was a reminder that this was real, that his hair was tousled, and lips swollen because of Elain-fucking-Archeron.

Rhys didn’t move for the door, so Azriel did. Turning around, he walked the length of Rhys’ office to the large double oak doors and pulled one back without hesitation. He knew she deserved to be here, that she should’ve been here from the start. 

Azriel was so set on opening the door for the sake of justice and fairness that he momentarily forget that it was Elain on the other side, and the sight of her made his breath stop in his throat. Her hair was still ruffled from where he had raked his hands through it, and her lips still blushed from where he had tugged on them with his teeth. There was also a faint flush of her cheeks, either from their previous activities or from running through the River House searching for him and his brother.

Something electric and charged ran the entire length of his body at the sight of her - not arousal, something deeper. And by the way her glowing eyes drank him in, he knew she felt it too. Azriel stepped aside and let her pass into the office and walk up to Rhysand’s desk. As he followed her, something bitter twisted in his gut - whatever was blooming between himself and the gardener was a thing to celebrate. Such love, light and warmth in his life which had thus far consisted of cold loneliness was a joyous and wonderful thing. And yet he was made to feel ashamed of his happiness, by his brother. His own damn brother.

“What’s going on?” Elain spoke in her traditionally soft voice, but even Rhys must’ve picked up and the unwavering steel that seeped from her tone, so similar to Nesta’s pitch. 

“Nothing, Elain. Just a dispute between myself and Azriel. It’s nothing you need concern yourself with,” Rhysand’s easy smile warmed through his cheeks and Azriel was sure he was going to punch him before the night was out.  

“Don’t lie to me Rhysand, it’s not a good look for a High Lord,” Elain spoke smoothly, folding her arms over her chest as Azriel had done moments ago. Rhys’ expression only flickered in response. “Now, what’s going on?” Elain asked again.

“Well,” Rhysand began, “Me and Azriel have been discussing you actually, you see, your bond with Lucien is unfortunately paramount to a lot of peace and unity between our court and others.” Rhysand looked blankly at Evie as he spoke, completely dethatched from the emotional anger he’d unleashed on Azriel moments ago.

“Is this about me breaking the bond?” Elain said, her voice smooth like honey, healing the sparking energy in the room as Azriel and Rhysand had geared up for a fight. Something about the question twisted Azriel’s guts. It was her terminology; it was all wrong. There was no such thing as breaking a bond, one could reject it and render the attachment limp and lifeless, but breaking a bond was only achieved in death, and even then some believe the bond to continue in the next life. It was just a reminder that Elain knew nothing about this world, Lucien had placed the acceptance or rejection of the bond in her hands, but she did not even know what either option would truly entail. Her education, it was another thing they’d all failed her on.

“If you wish to reject your bond with Lucien I, nor anyone in this court, will prevent you from doing so,” Rhysand said smoothly, “However, given the current political climate, I must say it would be best to leave this till after the war.” Elain did not look away as she thought.

“I don’t want the bond,”

“That’s perfectly okay-”

“No,” Elain interrupted, “I don’t want the bond at all. I don’t want to have to accept or reject anything - I just don’t want it...you....you don’t know what it’s like, to be pulled apart limb by limb, and be remade against your will, to find yourself destroyed and then re-crafted by something as unapologetic as the Cauldron itself. I was violated to the most extravagant degree and when I finally came around, when I finally managed to find something recognisable in myself, months after that night, I came around to find that I had been reduced to some ancient claim a stranger possessed over me. You are all kind, and you all mean well, but I know you all see myself as his.

“It was on the worst night of my life, the night when I had been pulled apart till I was only vessels and blood, he called me his. He is not a bad person I can see that,” her voice wobbled slightly then, “He is kind and witty, he’s working harder than any of you for the forgiveness of my sister. He doesn’t deserve…” She choked up slightly, but cleared her throat to cover it up, “He’s not bad…but this bond is terrible, it’s worst then terrible, it’s suffocating. And when I think of that bond, tied around my ribs like some kind of violating shackle, I just think of how it felt to suffocate on black water...that’s what this bond means to me, it’s a violation on top of a violation. So, to hear that to you, this bond gives you a political advantage, that you get a gain out of it and that you wish me to continue living in torment I...

“I wish I could be sorry about feeling this way, but I don’t. I have stayed quiet, and I have played the role you needed me to play. I keep out of your way; I busy myself with the gardens and dinner and I do everything I can to not bare my teeth every time he visits. But I...” Her wide, damp eyes turned to look at Azriel, “I have found something living in the never ending grave of my life. After I found myself again, all those months after the Cauldron, it felt as though it was only then I emerged from the black water. After I found...” She trailed off, stilling holding Azriel’s eye, “...I was not just out the black water, but back on the ground.” 

A small silence settled over the room as Azriel and Elain found themselves quickly lost in one another again, Rhys was merely glancing between the two, his mind whirring as he tried to click together the puzzle in front of him.

“I tried Rhys…I really did,” Azriel finally whispered into the heavy silence, still not looking away from his beloved. “I’ve done everything short of chaining myself in the dungeons to stay away, but I can’t.” It wasn’t until the words had left Azriel’s mouth that he realised his error. And it wasn’t until Elain’s brows furrowed and her eyes moved to Rhysand, that he felt his heart drop.

“What?” Elain whispered. One of the thousand questions she no doubt harvested. Azriel couldn’t look away from her, couldn’t meet his brothers eye. He had this awful feeling now twisting his guts, the feeling that everything was about to come crashing down.

“I ordered Azriel to stay away from you,” Rhys said evenly. Always the honest man.

“I...what?” Elain spluttered softly, her eyes narrowing on Rhysand. “What?”

“He called me away on solstice night when I was about to kiss you, that’s why I stopped.” That’s why I called it a mistake. Elain’s eyes burned even brighter and Azriel wondered if he should’ve held his tongue. If he should’ve just waited to have this conversation tomorrow where whatever ancient power that was stirring in Elain had calmed down. Now Elain’s glowing eyes seemed to fill the room with golden light, even the black night shrouding Rhysand’s figure ebbed back and inch.

“What?” Elain’s voice rung out, the magic in the room quickly turning volatile.

“I am sorry Elain; I didn’t mean to meddle with your private affairs, but with Lucien under the same roof it would’ve been too risky for those in the house. He could’ve invoked something called a ‘blood duel’.” Of course, Elain didn’t know that, of course none of her friends or family had taken the time to explain that to her. 

“You…you sanctimonious dick,” Elain spat. Had it been any other day, Azriel would’ve had to fight an astonished grin at hearing the words on her lips, but not tonight, not when everything was turning so morbid in front of his eyes.

“I’m sorry Elain, I truly am. But I’m not just your brother-in-law but your High Lord and I cannot risk my entire court for the mild infatuation of a-”

“Don’t speak to her like that,” The words were writhing in venom as Azriel spat them out. He would go down with her. 

“No, Azriel, you don’t speak to me like that,” And with that Rhys’ last straw was gone. In an instant his power was billowing into the room in clouds of black smoke. Rhys acting in such a way in front of Elain, who was already vulnerable, her dress already ruffled and her eyes wide in alarm, made Azriel furious.

“I am your high lord, Azriel, and I gave you a direct command and you have disobeyed me-” Without thinking Azriel’s own icy power rose to the surface, his siphons lighting on fire at the surge. If Elain was frightened by their display of bottomless power she did not show it, perhaps as her own fire was still burning vividly behind her eyes, perhaps since she knew she had more power than them both.

“Have you ever thought perhaps you stepped out of line by asking such a thing of me?” Azriel had never heard his voice so loud and angry before. He didn’t do this. His arguments were stoic and brutal, but mostly silent. He never fought politics - he carved into people who were in chains, and when there was an argument he stayed in the shadows and listened.

“You are my spymaster-”

“I am your brother!” Azriel’s choked sob echoed into the room. “Do I not deserve to be happy?” Rhysand at least had the decency to flinch, to reel back and allow his jaw to slacken in shock.

“Of course, you deserve to be happy brother,” Rhysand’s voice was low and strangled, “But this isn’t just romance – it’s never just romance – this will be a battle-”

“And I’m willing to fight!” Azriel roared, his hands slamming into Rhysand’s desk, his power causing the entire house to shudder, right down to the foundations.

“Azriel,” Rhys’ voice was deathly quiet, “I need you to calm down.” For a moment Azriel didn’t understand, his mind was so focused on Elain, on his own shuddering heart and writhing powers that he simply could not comprehend the words that came out his brothers mouth. Finally, the message registered in his mind and he became aware of his shadows, flourishing and filling the entire room, crawling over the windows and blocking out all the light. The only way he was seeing Rhysand was via the golden glow that came from Elain’s eyes. Disgust racked through his body at the sight of the manifestation of his swirling pain, but before he could do anything, the leash on his powers snapped.

“Azriel-” The next series of events was a blur. Power billowed into the room in a quick explosion, God knows whose it was. Perhaps it was initially Azriel who had finally lost control on that leash on his Illyrian gifts, perhaps Rhysand moved to repress Azriel’s powers with his own, premature or not. Maybe the quiet Elain had had enough of the noise. In an instant, a cocktail of three brands of magic billowed towards each other before exploding outwards, sending a wave of pure, unhinged chaos through the room, the house, and the whole of Velaris.

They all were thrown back from each other, Rhys flying up and landing on his feet, bracing himself against the ornamental globe as his wings appeared and flared. But even he, the most powerful High Lord in history had his knees bent and his arms raised as he braced himself against the fizzling aftershock of the ancient power that tore through the air. Azriel’s centuries of training kicked in as he was catapulted the length of the room, his own wings flared to slow his flight before he caught himself on the doorframe, the weighty wooden doors having flung open, it took an immense amount of physical upper body strength to keep himself upright as the wave of power subsided, his teeth grinding together as his muscles screamed.

But he wasn’t aware of the pain of his screaming muscles, wasn’t thinking about how his wings were in danger of being shredded by the power that ripped through the room. There was only one person, that his entire being seemed to lurch for as his mind screamed her name over and over. Elain.

Elain.

Elain.

He had seen as her pale form was flung away from him towards the cabinets, had heard the shattering of glass over the howling in his ears. Of course, he and Rhysand were okay, they had centuries of power and training under their belts but Elain…Elain didn’t have training, and she had flown through the air the fastest, taking the brunt of the powers rebound, her small form crashing into the case of Rhysand’s prized artefacts.

The minute Azriel had control of his own body and wasn’t being thrust back into the hallway, he winnowed to her, stepped into the shadows with a haste and urgency he’d never felt before. Wrong. He’d felt this fear before, he recognised it’s taste from the poisonous memories of that night Elain had been ripped away from them, leaving behind nothing but a vacant cot and warm sheets. Memories of that night often haunted his dreams; how ridiculously lucky they had gotten that they had reached Elain minutes before the King of Hybern got his hands on her. In his dreams he was too late. In his nightmares he fails her, and by the time he and Feyre find the tent she’s already gone. Sometimes there’s a body, and sometimes his unconscious mind is kind enough to just leave behind her lingering scent. That night he learned what it was like to truly fear, to have the blood leave your body, to feel the world still.

And that’s what the world did as he stepped onto the other side of the shadows. Elain was crumpled on the floor underneath the large bay windows, moonlight streaming into the mutilated room and illuminating her still form. It was as though the starlight was searching for her, reaching out to her with hands made of silver shadows.

Glass crunched under Azriel’s boots as he took a step forward, and another, and another. Because he could scent it before he saw it – the blood. The sour metallic taste that clogged up the air, interwoven with her own delicate scent. Wrong, it was so wrong, to have Elain’s scent fused with that of blood. She was facing away from him, crumpled on her side in a foetal position, and he could see her arms, her beautiful nimble arms so like the legs of a doe, limp on the floor and marred with what seemed to be a thousand cuts.

Her blood was black in the moonlight, and was colouring her beautiful, beautiful night dress. The roaring in Azriel’s ears was nothing short of explosive. And before him he saw a black wave, taller than the Ramiel, heading straight for him. One that was made of self-loathing, anger, frustration and agony, and as he dropped to his knees in front of Elain he felt it wash over him, burying him deeper in himself than he’d ever been before, and he knew he would not resurface.

Slowly, as not to hurt her further, Azriel rolled Elain over onto her back and into his lap. With shaky fingers he pushed back her hair, just as he had done less than an hour earlier. Her eyes were shut again, but this time he didn’t look at her face for beauty, but for a sign of life.

“Elain…” He whispered; his voice was softer than petals. She did not stir.

“Elain…” He murmured again as he bowed his head and pressed it against her chest, sticky blood rubbing against his cheek as he did so. For a moment it was all silent, and Azriel felt the world drop away, felt himself falling through bottomless black water only to never resurface.

And then there it was. The familiar ‘thu-thump’ beating slow and steady in her chest, the sweetest melody Azriel had ever heard. But before he could revel in the relief of Elain being alive, movement at the side of his eye made him snap his head, turn up his top lip and let loose a nothing but feral growl. It was his brother, and a small wave of shame rolled through him at having behaved in such a way to someone whom he owed so much.

“Azriel…” Rhysand’s voice was soothing, calm, “She’s having a vision…look, Azriel look. She’s okay, she’s just having a vision.”

And so, he looked again and yes, she was having a vision. Behind her eyelids Azriel could see her pupils flurrying side to side as though she were engaged in some riveting dream.

She’s having a vision; she’s having a vision. His shadows chanted to him, running up his back and whispering in his ear. It didn’t soothe him, but rather caused the cloud of anger around him to disappear, so that he was numb again. Some movement deep in the house pulled at his attention, but it was like a ribbon trying to move an ocean, there was nothing for it to hold onto.

And soon both men were turning to the worst thing of all: Feyre and Nesta, standing at the doorway looking at their sister unresponsive in a pool of blood, both primed and ready to kill. 

“Get away from her.” Nesta’s voice clanged through the room like steel as she strode forward, seeming to fill the broken room with her strength alone. As she moved she revealed a slightly dazed Cassian behind her, still dressed in his night clothes and yet armed to the teeth, clearly having been awoken in a haste. Rhys took a step back, there was too much power, too much energy, in the room already, provoking Nesta would surely lead them all to their sudden deaths.

Then there was Feyre, walking into the room behind her sister, quiet but observant, the perfect High Lady. She seemed to assess everything around her. The tautness of her husband’s stature, the silent flood of emotions that seemed to be rippling from her spymaster, Elain’s shallow breaths and bloodied night gown. After a moment of quiet assessment, she moved forth to the stoic and emotionless figure of her shadowsinger.

“Azriel,” Rhys recognised Feyre’s tone as she approached his brother, it was the tone she used with Nyx, motherly and soft. Azriel pulled his eyes from Elain to look at Feyre vacantly. “It’s okay, everything’s going to be okay…but I need you to let me take her.” Azriel’s mouth contorted in pain as he pulled Elain slighter closer to his chest.

“I know,” Feyre whispered, dropping to her knees next to him, not caring that her own silken nightgown was turning splotchy and red. “I know it’s hard but everything’s going to be okay. She’s my sister, and I as your High Lady will not let anything harm her.” There’s no need, Azriel thought bitterly as he looked down at Elain’s deathly pale skin, her abuser is here, right in front of you. The only harm you need protect her from, is me.

But he didn’t say any of that out loud, he wasn’t even sure his voice would work for him in that moment. Azriel didn’t quite hand Elain over to Feyre, rather he just let his arms go limp around her, and Feyre was able to scoop her sister out of his arms as though they were passing Nyx from one another. Every instinct Azriel had was screaming at him to take Elain back, to at least look at her unconscious form in Feyre’s arms as they moved away from him, but he kept his eyes on the floor, now kneeling to only the pools of Elain’s blood.

Voices began to erupt around him in hushes whispers, he could distantly hear Rhysand guiding his subjects through the plan, explaining to them what had happened whilst withholding the reason why. It was all numb to him as he continued to float under that black wave, sinking deeper and deeper, their voices were above the surface and so they just sounded warbled and strange.

But one movement did catch Azriel’s eye. It cut through the room’s silent chaos like a knife, a figure appearing at the ruined doorway that caught Azriel’s attention the same way an earthquake would. It was him.

Lucien.

“What happened?” Lucien growled out and something roared in Azriel. He knew that tone of voice, could smell the mate-tarnished anger that was rolling out of him. That animalistic claim on the woman Azriel had nearly lost himself in only moments ago. That’s why he was here, because he would’ve felt the energy down the bond, because even though he was at the other end of Prythian with his own family, he had that claim. 

“She’s okay,” Feyre breathed softly as she lifted her sister up into her arms, “Her cuts are already healing, it looks worse than it is. She’s just had a vision so it might take a while for her to come around.” Feyre’s voice was so like her husband’s, even and balanced, reassuring everyone in the room that everything was okay, even if that were not necessarily true.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Azriel didn’t want to hate Lucien, even now he could see that the Autumn son was grappling with the bond that was no doubt screaming at him to rip his mate from Feyre’s arms and winnow them both to the other side of the continent. Azriel knew, because he felt it too. Like Elain he didn’t really hate Lucien, he hated the bond, hated what it told him about himself, clear as day, that he wasn’t worthy of Elain. And though some part of him already assumed just as much, no one was so self-deprecating to not at least hold of a sliver of hope in the face of such agony.

“She’s fine,” Nesta snarled at Lucien, one hand on Feyre’s shoulder, the other on Elain’s pale and bloodied forehead as she guided her sisters towards to mutilated door frame. They were right to take their sister away from the scene, God knew that no one there could help Elain now.

And so Elain disappeared around the corner, and Azriel slowly brought himself off the floor, trying to ignore the sight of his marred hands, covered in her blood.

What...even...Cassian’s voice swam into Rhys mind, dripping in confusion and concern. Did you and Az have a fight?

Rhys put off audibly groaning. Whenever he and Az fought it was normally not difficult to keep Cassian oblivious, he didn’t always pick up and stuff like that and sometimes it was just easier to deal with debates behind closed doors. Not to treat Cassian as his and Az’s overgrown child, it was just that Cassian was never meant to be a mediator.

It’s complicated, Rhys reported back keeping his voice level and calm - his High Lord voice.

I’ll let you off for tonight but, Rhys, you have to let me help you. Especially when it comes to Az. He was right of course, just like Azriel had been.

Deal, Rhys shot back, for tonight I need eyes on Az, I don’t care if he pushes you away I need someone with him at all times, at least until Elain comes around. We’ll re-group then. Cassian didn’t respond besides the smallest of nods. He stayed where he was, more awake now with his eyes trained on their other brother, and Rhys knew Cassian wouldn’t take his eyes off him for the foreseeable future.

Rhysand couldn’t help but sigh, it’s not as though Azriel or Lucien were aware of him to notice. This was a mess. Worse than a mess, it was a catastrophe. Everything Azriel had said was right but, he had broken his order, he had defied rank in a way he’d never done before and that squeezed something deep in Rhysand’s gut. Above all he needed to be able to trust his friends, so that when push came to shove he’d be able to make the tough decisions and his friends would let him go into the belly of the beast. But tonight, that had changed. Everything had changed.

And Elain, Elain who he had nearly called by his sisters name, she’d stood up for herself tonight. And then there was the situation of her powers, savage and rippling out of her like a beast. He had tasted those powers when they’d tore out of her, and they were ancient. The same power that was interwoven in the very fields of the earth, concentrated in the form of the sweetest girl of all. Rhys knew at least a thousand fae who would pay a hefty price to possess Elain, a hundred who might be willing to go to war - and then there were the Fae who would claw for her hand, the noblemen who would see her for her potential offspring. Rhysand physically shuddered as he sent his wings away.

Yes, tonight had been a catastrophe all right.

Rhysand looked away from Cassian’s half-hidden grimace and turned to the two males standing off, the blood of the woman they were unspokenly fighting over still pooling across the hardwood floors. Lucien glaring with restrained anger at Azriel, his masculine mating bond clogging up the air, whilst Azriel wore an impenetrable mask, hiding the bottomless torment and agony that was no doubt running rife in the shadowsinger, as he stared at the weeping puddle of Elain’s blood.

[danniburgh]

Rushingly Bittersweet (Javier Peña x f!reader) part 20

Pairing: Javier Peña x ofc//f!reader with name.

Summary: After the fall of Escobar everything starts happening way too fast for Javier; his raise, his new office, his new team, the Cali cartel’s operation, the sudden arrival of a new agent that was transferred to his team for no apparent reason, the way he was falling in love with her almost unintentionally.

And he couldn’t seem to stop any of that.

Word count: +4.3k

Chapter warnings: more feelings, the whole truth, brief mention of drugs, a lot of tears lmao

A/N: This chapter is set after season three, episode nine. // I AM SO FUCKING SORRY in advance, i think this and the next 2 are gonna be heavy for me and you so... yeah, WE ARE ALMOST DONE GUYS KEEP YOUR CHINS UP THIS IS GONNA END WELL!!!!

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If Javier hadn’t seen you cry like you were crying in front of him, he would have thought it was a joke.

A bad, sick, horrible joke.

But there you were, shaking and crying and bracing yourself and standing in front of him telling him you knew things he didn’t know and your name wasn’t your name and he wasn’t even your boss as if he not only needed to know he was being used but he deserved it. As if he could avoid to think everything you had told him before wasn’t a complete lie. Bullshit.

He stood up straight and took his eyes off you. He couldn’t bear to look at you shaking like a small puppy trapped in the cold rain, he couldn’t bear to look at you like that because he was fighting with himself and the need to rush and hold you and tell you everything was going to be fine when he knew and you knew and he knew you knew nothing would be the same. As if he wasn’t angry, furious, infuriated.

You let out a sob, because you knew he was about to avoid looking at you at all costs.

“Well,” Javier let out, “I’m sorry if I don’t say it’s nice to meet you,” and then he laughed bitterly, shaking his head, “who the fuck are you?” his face quirked in something you, between tears, could recognize as anger and pain.

“I–” you mumbled, but he cut you off.

“I’m giving you one chance to explain everything to me,” he hardened his voice and you couldn’t seem to stop yourself from crying, he lifted a finger in front you, “just one, take it,”

“Javier,” you whispered, and he shook his head.

“Are you even DEA?” he scoffed and crossed his arms on his chest, “since you knew things I didn’t and your name isn’t your name, are you even an agent?” you only got to nod “so why,” he breathed in before continuing “why are there CIA reports with your signature?” he turned with a scowl on his face and with one hand he skimmed through all the pages on that file, “you kept tabs on me,” he said, purposefully not looking at you “fuck,” he tapped several times on the last one “you did fool me.”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” you sighed out, it was really hard for you to breathe.

“What wasn’t supposed to happen?” he chewed out “you telling me? or you with me? or you in my bed? or me fucking you? what?”

“Stop,” you pleaded, not having the energy anymore to chase his eyes “let me explain,”

“No,” he shook his head and flared his nose in anger “you’re not worth listening to, get out,”

“At least let me tell you the truth,” you pleaded again.

“I have it here!” he smacked his hand on the files and you jumped out, startled at the way he raised his voice out of the sudden. 

But you didn’t blame him, you only blamed yourself, but that self-preservation instinct inside of you was forcing you to keep on pushing him to listen to you and your reasons. It was forcing you to keep pushing him, even when you knew he was already at his limit.

“Please, let me explain everything,” you pleaded again. Javier shook his head and fought himself harder to stop from looking at you and reach for you and hold you because you just sounded so broken. But you were breaking him.

“Get out,” he whispered, half a plea and half a demand, you shook your head.

“Read them,” you sniffed and cleared your throat “read the last few reports, please,” you were hating how much you were shaking and he glanced at you for less than a second, and you cried at how short it felt. Javier took you in with that glance and as if it wasn’t enough, his chest tugged at the sight of your puffy eyes and the tears that dampened your cheeks. He indulged and skimmed through them “see how they get shorter? see how they get briefer? how they get–”

“Shittier? he cut you off “so you did a bad job, what about it?”

You bit your lip and breathed in and out twice.

“That was the point!” you let out, “fuck, Javier,” you finally found your voice inside your chest and you went off “I’ve been wanting to tell you everything for the longest fucking time, I just couldn’t, I swear I wanted to tell you ever–”

“Since when,” he cut you off again. You looked at him and tried to get him to look at you but he didn't. 

“There were so many nights where I just wanted to tell you everything, but it just wasn’t safe for either of us! I swear I did planned to te–”

“Since when?” Javier raised his voice again and you sighed.

You closed your eyes for a few seconds, feeling more tears sliding down your cheeks.

Javier allowed himself to glance at you in those few seconds that you closed your yes, and tightened his jaw. How the fuck he had allowed all that shit to happen? He had asked you a question he wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer off, but then you opened your eyes and he painfully unglued his gaze from you.

“Since the first time you kissed me,” you muttered out. Javier shook his head several times and turned around to stop seeing you.

“Get out,” he pointed to the door.

“Javier, please,” your voice broke again and you saw his shoulders raise and drop several times.

“I don’t want to listen to you,” his voice was low and deep and hurt and you bit your lip again to stop your sobs from coming out. You threw your head back and looked at the ceiling, fisting and releasing your hands at the impotence you felt because he just didn’t want to listen to you.

And you knew this would happen, you knew it. How could you’ve been so stupid to think that if you explained everything to Javier, he would just take it as the historical truth and just… forgive you? How could you’ve been such an idiot to believe so little of him?

Since the first time you had seen him you knew he was a man of straights and grays, you knew he hated lies; you knew he hated liars. Hell, he hated himself for being one. But somehow, deep in your chest, in your… heart, you thought, you imagined, you hoped he would make an exception for you.

But he wasn’t, not for you, not for anybody, not even for himself. 

He just wasn’t.

Javier closed his eyes once he had you out of his sight, he had so much in his head, the thoughts were pouring down like the restless stream of an overflowing river cascading to a bottomless drowning lake; so much to think about, so much to say, but nothing was coming out.

He was hurt, he recognized that one emotion. Pure, deep, raw hurt, he could feel it burning his insides and turning his guts into ashes. Fuck. He didn’t like the pain, he had spent years and years of his life running away from the pain. How could he had been so stupid to allow himself to get to that point? How could he had been such a fucking idiot to let you do that to him? How? When he had become an expert at running away from his own emotions? Why?

He brushed a hand through his hair and tried to regain his composure, but it was nearly impossible. The pain inside him started to feel physical, it was as if someone had shot him directly on the chest over his kevlar; the air knocked out of his lungs. He was struggling to breathe properly. He was about to burst.

He felt a foreign sting inside his throat that he knew exactly what meant. He wasn’t about to cry. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of showing you how much he cared.

Even if you already knew.

“Javier,” you called him.

“Get out,”

“I will, I promise I’ll go,” you sobbed out and Javier felt disgusted by himself for being so weak at the sound of your sobs, he rolled his hands into fists and forced his body to stay put in place “I just want you to understand why I did it.” Javier rolled his eyes and raised a hand to press his eyes shut.

“Get the fuck out, please just get out,” his voice sounded like a plea and a beg and a demand altogether and you snapped at the way he was just trying to escape from an explanation that you were more than willing to give him. An explanation he deserved.

“No!” you raised your own voice, “you dragged me into this! now you have to listen to me!” you accused. Javier turned around, his face quirked in confusion and bewilderment and pain and anger.

“Me?” he raised his voice as well, his finger landing on his chest several times “I dragged you into this? you’re not a child! you made a choice!” he let out, shaking his head.

“I tried to grab onto any excuse to not start this, Javier, you know that!” you reminded him, and he let his hands rest on his waist “Javier, it was never my intention to hurt you.” 

Javier barked out a laugh.

A stinging, humourless, deep hurting laugh that landed inside the crevices of your chest and hung from every nerve of your being. 

“Well, I’m hurt,” he said, finally facing you “you lied to me,” his face was a mess of emotions you couldn’t read “you lied to me on my fucking face.” he gritted out, walking towards you.

“I know, and I’m sorry” you said under your breath, his face was inches away from yours and he frowned and shook his head. You closed your eyes because out of the sudden his cologne invaded your nostrils and you cried harder at the thought of never getting to smell him again.

“And you know what’s even worse?” he rhetored, you opened your eyes and quickly his eyes were on yours, but that time, his brown, soft eyes were hardened, as if fossils had taken over his orbs and his face was a mean scowl and his hands were so far away from your body rolled into fists that it ached deep in your chest how much you were hurting him, “that I fell for it, for all of it, and I fell for you.”

Javier didn’t seem to realize what he had said, but you did and as he put distance between him and you, your eyes filled with thick tears once again, and you didn’t try to stop them from falling and falling and falling.

He fell. He fell for you.

How? How could you let everything go to that point? You knew you knew it, you fool.

Crash, crash, crash, crash.

Ugly, messy, bloody, heart wrenching.

“Was it worth it?” he asked, putting his hands on his waist once again, looking at you, expectant. You shook your head. “then why did you do it?”

His eyes on you were heavy, you remembered that time he looked at you in a crowded elevator and made you forget everything about yourself, and that time you wondered if he was ever going to look at you like that. And there, with him expecting the explanation you were offering, you had your answer.

And you saw him, standing before you, hands on hips, his thinking stance, waiting for you to finally deliver the so-called explanation you wanted and pleaded to give him. But your throat was closed, your voice was nowhere to be found, and you wanted to crawl into a ball and just rock yourself to a deep, all-forgetting sleep.

God, you were so tired.

It took you an entire minute to find your voice from the deep confines of your voided, pained chest.

“Re–remember what I told you the first time we mad–the first time we were… together?” you sobbed out. He closed his eyes and nodded.

How he could fucking forget? It had elated him, that entire fucking day, everything seemed so hopeful, he remembered thinking that he didn’t want to do what he did to you with anyone else. Before you could continue, he allowed himself to grieve that moment and you saw him raise a hand to his chest.

“That was true, most of it,” you assured him. Javier didn’t look at you once he opened his eyes and you, yet again, tried to search for his eyes. Fuck the hour you had let them become your comfort. “after what happened in México, I did get suspended and, fuck,” you brushed away your tears, freeing the way for new ones to fall “I really liked this job,” you chuckled sorely to yourself “but the drugs, and… everything else, I just knew I was screwed,” you sniffed. Javier bit the inside of his cheek and sighed.

Yet another fucking thing you two were more than alike.

He was hating it, loathing it; the way he wanted to brush every single goddamned tear that was falling down your face, the way he just wanted to reach to you, to let you feel him, the way he fucking needed to touch you and then wake up for whatever new fucking nightmare he was having.

“I was marked,” you choked down another sob and sniffed again, you hated being this vulnerable, this exposed, you were dropping your mask and the process of peeling it was so wretchedly painful. You hated that your vision was so flooded with tears you weren’t able to read Javier and just get a glance, a tiny peak at what he was feeling, “marked not only for being a woman, but by every single shitty thing I did up there,” he sighed “so, the CIA approached me, and took advantage of my situation.”

Javier wanted to scream, wanted to punch something, break anything, he wanted so much to stop relating to you and your reasons. It was as if he was looking at himself in the mirror and he didn’t like it. It was as if some all mighty God had already realized what he had done in the past and just started to punish him. And he was so angry that you were that punishment, that you, of all things, of everything he thought good, were the one chosen to deliver his punishment. 

You, oh so perfect you, so beautiful, so smart, so good, so strong you. You were the one chosen to break him. He wanted to stop seeing the undeniable parallel between you and him being forced to do things by the pure nature of your jobs, by leverage and advantage and just be angry, he just wanted to feel his anger and allow himself to hate you, but he just couldn’t. Not when you were there, standing in front of him, bawling out everything for him, undressing yourself to him, yet again, passing him the control of things. Ironic. He thought, he always had the impression he already had it.

“A precarious situation,” you explained, wetting your lips and taking a deep breath “they assured my job back if I took a six-month assignment for them, they wanted me to ke–”

“Keep an eye on me,” Javier cut you, looking at you with hardened, glistening eyes. You had to drop your gaze to the floor. What the fuck were you doing to him?

Fool, you fool, you stupid, horrible fool. Don’t you see you’re hurting him? Just leave him alone!

“Yeah,” you sighed out, sniffing again, seeing how your tears dropped straight to the floor, “and report all your movements back to them to… shit.”

“To what?”

You shook your head, not being able to lift your gaze from the floor, Javier looked at you and studied what he thought he knew about you. Which at that point he thought it was nothing but your actual name and the way your body quirked and spasmed under his touch. But maybe that was fake too. He saw the way you were hunched under yourself and an amazing yet brief moment of clarity struck him and he knew what you were going to say, fuck he knew, and he let himself smile at the expectation of your answer. For once having a little bit of a leverage.

“To avoid another Los Pepes scenario.” you whispered.

He laughed bitterly. And your chest shrunk at the sound.

Of fucking course.

That’s how you knew, that why you asked him about that the same fucking day you had told him about why you were in Colombia, the day you lied to him, to his face, on his bed, in his arms, after he had let you fuck him, after he had devoured you for the first time

Fucking shit, how he wanted to scream.

His smile became a snarl as soon as the memory of your body pressed against his came back to his head.

“Fuck me,” he shook his head and tightened his jaw.

“I didn’t understand at first why they looked at you like such a menace,” you said, not daring to look at him, and Javier hated it, he hated how you had hung your head low and looked at the carpeted floor, he hated it because he had seen you in your most confident self so many times, he had engraved in his mind the way you would handle yourself as if you were the owner of every building you ever stepped on, but then? right there? you just looked like a selfless child, like a hurt, abandoned girl. Fuck him. How could he keep thinking about you like that when while you looked like it you were destroying everything he had ever thought of you and whatever the fuck it was you two had? “then I met you.”

“So I’m a menace?” he snarked.

“For people like them? of course you are, Javier,” you let out a sigh and shook your head “they painted you as this… monster, that didn’t care about anything but getting shit done in any way you could,” you shrugged and lifted your head to look at him “but you do care, you care a lot.”

He didn’t say anything at the last statement you blurted out.

A thick, foggy silence fell upon you, you could feel it prickling around your face, eating your tears, you were sure that if you pulled out your tongue you could taste it, you could feel it, sneaking inside your ears and screaming at you. You never thought a silence could be so loud. But it was, a deafening silence.

Javier turned and walked to the desk, sitting on the edge and skimming through the other files that you had handed him, some of them were just more information about the corrupt politicians and some more about the cartel in itself. He didn’t say a word about the obvious and illicit origin of the files and for that you were grateful.

“I really thought,” your voice broke the silence again, and he seemed to ignore you “I thought I was doing good,” you closed your eyes, he wasn’t looking at you, yet again, “and then I got to see how things really were down here and… I knew instantly everything was just bullshit, just a fucking game,” Javier kept looking at the files and reading them and you wanted to beg him to look at you, you wanted to rush at him and grab his face and make him look at you in the eyes and tell you something, anything, to yell at you, to scream at you, because at the way his silence felt you were sure his screams would hurt less, “they played you, and they played me, and… I’m sorry.” 

“Why a DEA agent?” he questioned, closing the file he had just finished reading his hand resting on his thigh and the other on his hip, you frowned “why did they send down someone from the DEA instead of one of their own spies?”

You bit your lip, looking at the way his eyes were empty, void of any display of emotion, looking at the way he turned his face sterner, just as it was the first day you’d met him.

“Uh–because it was cheaper, to just create some sub-identity and I already knew the protocols.” you explained slowly, more for it to sink in to you than to him.

Javier hummed and returned his eyes to the next file, the one with your file. The real one.

You stood there while he read it. Trying to figure out what was going through his head, but as you were so emotionally spent you really couldn’t for the life of you read him anymore.

Javier felt his breath hitch as he read your real name, where you went to school, the fact that you had a master and the amount of time you had spent in México.

And then he chuckled. Under the name of your DEA adjacent’s name and your assigned partner there was your callsign: Flor.

He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and pointer and took a deep breath.

“What about your partner?” he cleared his throat “the one that sent you all that intel.”

Your chest dropped again and you felt your eyes fill with tears. Pure guilt and sadness.

“No one in México knew I got suspended, they just thought I got transferred, y’know?” you brushed the few tears that escaped your eyes “so I really did ask them for help, to give us anything on the narcos as we were aware of the connection,” Javier then saw you cover your mouth and sob “I fucking got Marcos fired.” your voice was muffled by your mouth and Javier had to, once again, fight the urge to grab you and pull you flush against his chest and comfort you.

“What else did you lie about?” he asked, not waiting for your sobs to die down, you shook your head.

“No–nothing, I sw–swear,” you sobbed out.

“Okay,” Javier stood from the desk and walked towards you. And for a second, a brief second, you allowed yourself to imagine that he wasn’t going to ask you what he did, and instead, he would brush your tears away, hold you or tell you that he forgave you. What a stupid little thought. “I think we’re done here.”

“Javi,” you called him and he flinched at how high pitched your voice became from the sobbing, he wasn’t looking at you, not really. His eyes were looking past you, “can you look at me?” you begged.

Fuck the hour you had let his eyes become your comfort.

“Get out,” he said, serious faced, lookin at nothing and everything but you.

“Jus–just, look at me? please?”

Javier closed his eyes, bit his lip and shook his head.

And pointed at the door.

“Right,” you tried to control the incoming sobs that were inundating your chest and throat and stood up straight, lining your shoulders and closing your eyes at how hard it was to leave, it was as if you had him glued to you and then you had to peel him off you, you looked at him one last time before turning around and walking towards the door, grabbing your bag in the way.

You didn’t even reach the door to the hallway when you exploded; you had to cover your mouth as you turned away from the entrance and propped yourself on the wall.

You felt like your heart might have actually stopped and you could only imagine how Javier felt.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you mumbled out, as if he had been still in front of you, as if he could listen.

You had to force yourself to walk into the open elevator and press the lobby button, because you knew that if you didn’t, you would’ve run back to his office and begged Javier to hold you, beg him to forgive you, even when you knew you didn’t deserve it.

Javier saw you walk out and watched your figure shrink at the office door, he had to close his eyes to stop from seeing the way you broke after everything you had told him. He had to turn around and grip the edge of the desk to physically stop himself from running to you, anchor himself to you and tell you he needed you.

Fuck the hour he had let your body become his comfort.

Once he was sure you weren’t there anymore, he opened his eyes, the files you had handed him were in front of him, one last file left to open.

Reluctantly, he took it and opened it.

“Shit,” he whispered. Feeling his breath hitch and his heart stop beating for half a second.

It was your resignation letter.

Just then, and only then, Javier let himself drown in his pain.

“Shit,” he spat through gritted teeth.

God how he wanted to hate you, he really wanted to hate you. But he couldn’t bring himself to turn all the love he had for you into hate. He couldn’t even when he really wanted to.

The guard at the front door didn’t even glance at you when you walked through the embassy doors, and for that you were grateful. When you realized you had driven with Javier to work, you had to cover your mouth again to muffle another sob.

You weren’t even outside the building yet and you were already missing him like crazy.

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[inkformyblood]

the belonging they beg for

Day 02 @bobadinweek prompt: Armour

Warnings: Identity issues

Boba ran his hand over the edge of the vambrace, working his fingers beneath the jagged raised edge of the metal to try and lessen the biting pressure on the bare skin beneath.

A memory sparked in the back of his mind, the edges softened and worn by the relentless march of time, of watching his buir swing himself into the pilot seat and settle back, curling his fingers over the edge of the vambrace in the same motion. Boba had intended to fix it, but, like most things, it had fallen by the wayside, one idiosyncrasy of his armour among others, like the buckle that had to be pulled to one side to let the clasp release on his chest plate.

But he had forgotten what it was like.

Grief and guilt twisted his stomach, burning acid — both remembered and actual — settled at the back of his throat, and he rose from the pilot’s chair, unsure of a destination but knowing he had to move.

“I’ll drive for a bit.” Fennec slipped into the seat he had just vacated like a living shadow, pinning him with a stare as sharp as any vibroblade. She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head just so, and Boba was eerily reminded of the carrion birds that had surrounded her when he had found her, all sharp edges and a burnished beskar core.

“You sure?” His voice cracked, and he stretched out a hand to press his fingers into the faint indents in the back of the chair — signs of a ship that had been well-lived in and damage that occurred when he had been too young to know how to fix it. The thought didn’t cut as deep as it used to, comforted as he was by the weight of his buir’s armour, but his heart still twisted in his chest.

“Go.”

The cramped corridors of his ship seemed brighter than usual, the strip lights glowing like the lightning bugs that danced above the oceans on Kamino on dark summer nights, and Boba followed them, moving out of instinct rather than conscious thought. A sound to his right made him pause, flicking on the scanner in his HUD before he could blink — old habits coming back to him, and they cut deeper than he could have imagined.

Oh.

In the wake of everything and the rush of reclaiming his father’s armour, his armour, Boba had forgotten about the Mandalorian.

The other man had folded himself away so quietly when they had all come aboard, his voice cracking and breaking in a murmur of thanks as Boba showed him to a small room away from the others. It had been a cell before Boba had begun to refurbish it and the walls still bore the dents and hollows from unwilling quarries, but it was serviceable enough.

Looking through the closed door, the heat signature glowed like a beacon, the reds and oranges of bared skin stealing Boba’s breath before he looked away. Guilt curled in his chest, grasping fingers locking around his ribs, and he forced himself to keep walking, to keep staring at the pale yellow lights as if they would wash the blurred figure of the Mandalorian, curled into a ball on the floor, his face buried in his hands and lost in his grief, from his mind.

Boba owed him more than he could ever say.

Fennec was good company, quick with a biting remark and quicker with a shot, but she couldn’t understand the pain that Boba carried over losing his father’s armour. The Mando did.

He could have kept Boba’s armour, denied him his heritage as so many had before, but he was different. But now he was grieving over the loss of his son, a Jetti, and Boba couldn’t help but be amazed at the net the universe had trapped him in.

A spark of pain flared down his arm, and he glanced down to curl his hand beneath the jagged edge of the vambrace once more. The soft cloth he wore wasn’t comparable to his flight suit, presenting no barrier against the metal. It would get fixed in the morning.

There were other things that were different about his armour, but Boba’s mind refused to take stock of the details, skittering away to thoughts of his bed and of the dark comfort of sleep. His boots rang as he climbed up the ladder to his quarters, the sound echoing back to him.

Another memory, drawn up from the depths, bitter through his skull. He could remember curling into the small makeshift cot set at the foot of his father’s bed and listening to the sighs of the ship as it settled. His hand was curled so tightly around the leg of his bantha plush — the fur worn away in places to reveal the woven fabric beneath. As he rolled, his free hand stretched out across the sheets to brush against the hard wood of the carved Mandalorian figure, and he heard the footsteps echo.

He didn’t breathe, couldn’t move, fear bursting sharp and sickening in his chest. His buir was out following up on a bounty, but he hadn’t called out to Boba when he’d entered. He hadn’t heard the musical notes of the alarm system activating or the thunks of someone falling foul of it.

“Hey, Boba. You should be asleep, chek’ika.”

Jango’s hand, warm and calloused, wrapped around Boba’s, drawing him onto his lap with ease, and Boba abandoned his hold on the bantha, the carved figure and the small slugthrower he had removed from the cubby hole to throw his arms around his buir.

The room was cold when he nudged the door shut behind him, collapsing onto the bed with a groan. His armour was solid beneath him, the plates curved around his torso and chest like an embrace. He should take them off to sleep, but darkness stole over him before he could blink, relaxing truly for the first time since he had pulled himself from the belly of the Sarlaac.

His nightmares followed like hunting strills hot on his heels, sending him gasping into the pale light of early morning, his hand steady on his blaster as he rose it towards an enemy too big for him to see and too full of hate to ever die.

⁂

It was such an easy thing to do, and yet…

The water of the refresher beat against Boba’s skull, pooling in the hollows and ridges of his scars and the curve of his bones, before cascading down his back, soaking through his flight suit. His fingers caught the edge of his vambrace, worrying at the indentation it left in his skin, but he couldn’t bring himself to remove it.

Below, he could hear the rumble of the engine cut through by the crackling laughter of Mando, a surprise to all of them and even himself when Boba had managed to tease it out of him days prior. He had frozen before one hand had risen to press to the sliver of skin between his flight suit and his helmet — golden in the brief glimpse Boba had caught before he ducked his head to study his cards.

He knew the other man must remove his armour at times, despite his Creed. At times, after Boba had raised his gaze from fixing the wiring that ran through the Slave One, he had caught glimpses of bleeding red and sunset orange through the heat-sensitive filter, but he had turned away. He was unwilling to break the other man’s vow despite his accidental first study.

Boba raised his hands, taking hold of the fastening at his shoulder and started to pull. Panic washed over him, filling his lungs and sending him to his knees, fresh pain swelling through the damaged joints and a cold certainty that he had broken his prosthetic. His hands shook as he shifted, bracing himself against the wall to swing his legs out in front of him, ignoring the water soaking through every space in his armour.

His father was always careful to maintain his armour and to take care of himself. Ke’juri beskar’gam. And now, Boba couldn’t remove it to look after himself, let alone maintain his armour. Mando has fixed up some of the larger wounds the Jawa’s or the Sarlaac’s acid had left, and Boba could recognise the careful handiwork of the Marshal amongst the more confident touch, but it was still Boba’beskar’gam.

Why couldn’t he take it off?

Deep down, he knew why. He had lost the armour once before and couldn’t live through losing it again.

“Boba?”

Boba couldn’t breathe, couldn’t force his closing throat to croak out a reply, his fingers biting into his arm until he thought he would tear it open—

“Boba. Udesii, ni cuy olar.”

He couldn’t see, dark spots dancing through his vision, a battle raging between the roar of the water above him, around him, and the harsh rush of air pulled into his protesting lungs. He was drowning in burning acid, darkness all around him until he was nothing, until he was less than nothing. He was armourless and alone, his final tie to his buir torn from him until he raised his hand to his face and was met with a gaping hole where his skin had been—

“Boba. I’m here. You’re safe. Your armour is safe.”

Light. Bright and fractured, cascading over the walls — metal rather than living flesh or rippling cloth of a Tusken’s tent — and Boba gasped, pitching forwards, his grip tightening on Mando’s forearms.

The man swayed with his motion, the kov’nyn remaining grounded rather than a true Keldabe, the metal fogged with steam. Boba’s gaze locked onto his, the barest hint of warm brown eyes through the clouded visor, crinkled at the corners with concern.

“I have you.”

“I can’t, I—“ The words tumbled through his fingers as he tried to reach for them, his thoughts scattered and scrambling through memories he hadn’t drawn up from the depths in years: the cold walls of his prison cell, unyielding beneath his hands except for the slow scrape of a sharpened scrap of metal across the walls; a feast, bright and warm, and his buir’s laugh flooding through him as Boba leaps across the table, his hand stretching for the closest weapon.

“You can,” Mando spoke clearly, insistent, and his hands were steady, sliding from Boba’s elbows to his shoulders. There was a pause, a heartbeat’s worth of hesitation before he moved to slide his fingers across Boba’s neck.

His skin was cold amidst the burning torrent of the water, and Boba couldn’t hold back a gasp, twitching away from the touch and yet wanting to press back against it. His gloves were on his belt, Boba’s hands brushing against the soft leather as they settled into the embrace, two broken men trying to blunt their edges for the other.

“Peace,” Mando murmured, his thumbs pressing into the numb edges around Boba’s scars, soothing and granting redemption in the same motion.

“I lost my buir’s armour. I cannot follow The Way.” Anger ignited in Boba’s chest for an instant before it fell away, too weak to do anything more than leave a momentary wound. He knew he wandered the outskirts despite the history of his family, forever marred by the same wounds of his father and yet proud to carry them. “Mando, I’m not like you.”

“Din. My name is Din.”

Din rocked with him, absorbing the crests and swells of Boba’s panic, humming a low note that vibrated through his bones until it had settled there.

Boba’s grip tightened on the vambrace, the edge cutting into his skin and felt part of him die with the motion. He couldn’t part with his armour again, not even for a moment. His buir died in his armour, cut down in a moment, and Boba would follow in his footsteps, maintaining that connection with his dying breath.

Some distant part of him knew he was spiralling, knew he was illogical and panicked, lashing out like an animal in a trap, but here was his home. He could afford to let the panic wash over him now. He couldn’t say why, but he knew Din was safe, knew the other man wouldn’t hold his weakness against him.

“Can you—“ Din caught himself, and Boba saw his gaze shift to one side, a frown passing over the fraction of his face he could see before he continued. “Can you close your eyes? And keep them closed?”

Boba obeyed in an instant, the ringing in his ears and the dull roar of the refresher seeming to grow louder before a familiar sound wiped them away. Din’s helmet unsealed with a sigh and a pop, and he yelped as the water struck him, Boba swaying with the urge to reach out, but he remained in place, his eyes shut.

“You’re safe. Your armour is safe here.”

Din drew their faces together once more, and Boba felt the hesitancy in his hands, the slight intake of breath as their noses bumped together once more.

“Thank you,” Boba rasped during an ebb, his eyes twitching behind closed lids. “Thank you for returning my armour to me.”

Din didn’t respond, but Boba could sense his smile in the way he pressed forward a fraction and the way his grip tightened on Boba’s neck.

“If you’re willing, I can keep watch?”

Boba felt the world right beneath him, panic slipping away in an instant to be replaced with a certainty that flooded through him. It was a panic-driven problem, but what Din was offering was a solution, a way around it.

“Yes. Please.”

The clasp came away easily now. Every piece felt like redemption as water cascaded over Boba, and he hummed, scraps of a song that grew in strength the more he worked. It was a clone song, rhythmic and repetitive, a call and response meant to be shared amongst a battalion as they worked, but Boba sang along with his memories as he worked on his armour, finally cleaning it and himself of the dust and grime that gathered.

⁂

“—we’ll haul away, vode.”

Boba paused, letting his words hang in the air, and sneezed. Dust seemed to cluster with the pockets of sand in Tatooine, dancing in the fractured sunlight that filled the corridors of the Palace. It was a marvel of engineering and architecture, natural light without heat that could be closed off if needed.

Many things had changed since Boba took over the throne, and this was one of them.

“Can’t you see the storm clouds gathering—“

He curled his fingers beneath the vambrace, feeling the worn edge of the metal in the same place where his buir had adjusted it a thousand times before and turned his attention back to the neat tangles of wires in front of him. Boba knew his armour was a blend of beskar, manufactured from whatever a roaming scavengers band of Mandalorian’s could find for his buir, but it was different truly seeing it in person.

He trailed the edge of the multi-tool over a cluster of wires from Florrum, their casing a vibrant teal amidst the dark ties, and paused over a repair patch twined around one. Something bloomed in his chest, another root slipped between his rib cage and Boba bit back a smile.

Just when he thought he had found all of the repairs and small upgrades Din slipped into his armour in the short time he watched over it, he was proven wrong.

The water cracked and gurgled in the room behind him, and Boba took advantage of the break in the steady sound to close his eyes and listen. The slight click of beskar met his ears — the sound sharper and clearer than his own given the blended nature of his armour — and, beneath that, a faint hum. It wasn’t quite words, too soft and gentle, but it was the thread of a tune.

A song about returning to your bunk, safe and secure, after a mission. A song about being surrounded by those who love and care about you during hard times.

Din watched over Boba, so Boba would watch over Din while he was grieving and hurt, and when he wasn’t.

Boba hummed, catching the thread from Din and wove it into the words, feeling the truth he couldn’t say yet flow into them.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you, my love, my one, my own.”

Translations:

Chek’ika: little dagger (affectionate)

Ke’juri beskar’gam: Wear armour (Resolnare)

Boba’beskar’gam: Boba’s armour

Udesii, ni cuy olar: Calm down, I am here.

[marvelmymarvel]

Lonely

Orochimaru x Reader

Synopsis: Time and distance didn’t matter when it came to Orochimaru, but you hated feeling so lonely without him.

Song: ilomilo by Billie Eilish (Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lH1F6m3slrQ)

A/n: Its long, I get that he seems out of character. Idc. I love him. No shame. 

They called you many things. A loser, a weirdo, a traitor... So many names that you lost track of them all, but none of them mattered when it came to him. You personally didn’t understand it yourself, why you left the Leaf Village in search of the man who killed your Hokage. Being apart of the ANBU black ops made the escape 10x more difficult and dangerous, as they now considered you a threat to the village. You knew too much, but none of it mattered.

Only he did.

At first, the pale man was annoyed by your presence and how you kept popping up at every single hideout he moved to. He tried and tried again to get rid of you, even going so far as sicking his ninja on you, instructing them to rough you up and scare you away. But they did much more than that and left you to die outside of yet another hideout you found. They figured that killing you was easier than sending Orochimaru’s stupid warning, so they never told him and continued on with their life. 

It was quiet for a week, but soon enough his henchmen dragged you into yet another secret hideout. He was running out of options and even Kabuto was growing agitated by your constant presence, but something in the air changed that day. The guards threw you down in front of him, your body littered with bruises and cuts. Orochimaru sat up straighter in his chair, taking in the sight of your unconscious and bloody body in the middle of the room. They had done a number on you and something stirred inside of the pale man at the view of your vulnerable body.

The guards looked up at their boss, expecting reassuring praise for their work but all they got was a snarl. “I told you to scare her... Not beat her half to death” Kabuto hissed out as he stomped over towards them angrily, he felt his master's temper flare and he was not about to be the punching bag for an idiotic decision that wasn’t his. The guards sputtered out excuses, claiming that you never listened to their threats, and decided that maybe beating you to death would help everyone out.

‘Death’

The word struck a chord within Orochimaru who was now crouched over your body, hand shakily brushing the blood away from your mouth. He was terrifyingly silent as if he was a bomb with no timer. The three men grew silent while they took in the oddly soft and caring caress. It should have been shocking to see such a sweet action, but it only made the fear grow within the two guards. Kabuto side-eyed them, they didn’t know it but he knew Orochimaru was seconds away from exploding.

“What do you want me to do with them?”

The two guards headshot to Kabuto, mouth gawking as they tried to explain how they were doing Orochimaru a service. They explained and explained how you were a creep, a weirdo, and a threat, they had to get rid of you. Kabuto ignored it but secretly prayed for them to shut up before Orochimaru killed them himself. His patience was growing thinner the more he caressed your bloody skin and hearing how they talked about you only sped up that process, he was 10 seconds away from snapping... But something felt off. 

“Kill them, slowly and painfully. Do the same thing to them as they did to her” 

Their loud pleading soon became a muffled cry as they were hauled out by the other guards standing by. Kabuto stood by the door, observing the way Orochimaru sat down beside you. His hand trailed slowly to your face before a blue light emitted between his skin and yours. Kabuto’s eyebrows furrowed, Orochimaru knew some medical ninjutsu, but he hadn’t used it for years since it drained him.

“Do you need something Kabuto?” 

Kabuto perked up with a sharp inhale, embarrassed that he had been caught staring at the exchange. Orochimaru didn’t seem bothered and instead moved his glowing hand down to your stomach where blood was pooling from a deep wound. “Would you like me to get the medical ninja sir?” silence filled the room but the words hung heavy in the air, it was dangerous to assume that Orochimaru cared but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something changed.

“Yes” Orochimaru’s whisper hit Kabuto’s ears and without another word, he left to go get the medical ninja who could heal you much more than Orochimaru ever could. Leaving Orochimaru with only his thoughts and your limp body-

“Oh tell it again Kabuto!” you exclaimed cutting off the man right as the story was beginning to end. It had been months now since the incident occurred, but you couldn’t get enough of the way the pale man treated your unconscious form. Kabuto rolled his eyes at your hopeless romantic ways but according to Orochimaru, he had to do whatever you wanted. Kabuto opened his mouth again but a heavy sigh falling from your lips stopped him short. 

“What's the matter? I thought you liked the story-”

“If he really cared about me, he would show it.. But he doesn't” Kabuto’s mouth shut at your words, because in all honesty, you were right. The softness that Orochimaru showed you that day was never repeated and you were now treated like everyone else. It wasn’t what you hoped for, but you were able to see Orochimaru once a month... 

Your frown deepened at the thought, coldness spreading within your body as you once again grew lonely. Kabuto was your only friend and even that was a stretch as he was growing quite annoyed with taking care of you. Silence filled the stale air of your room deep inside of the hideout, it was the 5th one this month and each left you disoriented and afraid. It was supposed to be designed this way, so intruders would have a tough time finding their way through it, but you hated it. 

Kabuto knew this, which is why the first couple of days in a new place meant 24-hour surveillance and company in the hopes of breaking you into the new atmosphere. Your feet kicked at the ground below you, lip pulled between your teeth as you fought back tears. It was silly really, an ex ANBU being afraid of a windowless and disorienting place, but you couldn’t help it. “I get it if you think I’m weak... They did too” you whispered out as you swiftly wiped away your falling tears, hoping he wouldn’t see them but knowing he did.

He always did.

Kabuto pursed his lips in response, while he had been taking care of you he had also learned a lot about you. Partly because he was curious, but mainly because Orochimaru asked him to. ‘I want you to learn everything about her, and report it back to me’  Orochimaru would instruct nonchalantly as if there was no sentimental meaning behind his words, but Kabuto knew better. There was something different in the way he said it as if he cared for you. It was a weird way of showing his care, but Kabuto never questioned it and instead asked you questions ranging from ‘what's your favorite color?’ to ‘why did you leave the ANBU?’

And the ANBU question was what made your walls come crashing down. 

“The ANBU simply couldn’t handle a sensitive person like you... Sensitive people aren’t meant for that group” Kabuto stated simply knowing that their hatred for you was pure jealousy. Those in the ANBU were beaten down until there was nothing left but a soldier, it was effective but apparently, you were able to get through it and still smile like an innocent child. Teasing you became a game, and they even tried to see who could make you cry the fastest. That fact shocked Kabuto when he learned about it, but telling Orochimaru was a whole other story. 

He remembered that day. Remembered how Orochimaru halted in place over his experiments, back growing tense as the anger rose within him. That was the same day that Kabuto realized what was going on with his master. He would never dare tell Orochimaru, nor would he ever tell you for fear of backlash, but he could never and would never forget that tense feeling in the air. So protective. So angry. His boss lied when he said he didn’t care for you...

He was in love with you. 

Your nodding brought Kabuto from his memories, sometimes he hated being honest with you as the tears only continued to cascade down your cheeks. He couldn’t fix you, couldn’t heal you... That wasn’t his job and if he tried to do it... Well, he may lose his head.

Fighting the urge to give you a hug, Kabuto instead stood and swiftly walked to the door. “You should get some rest... Traveling always tires you out” his cold tone only seized your heart up more, once again feeling alone in the small room. Sometimes you wished that Kabuto would stay until you fell asleep, but you weren’t a child and he wasn’t your friend. 

“Okay” your whimper made him bite his lip in regret and he was thankful that his back was facing you so that you couldn’t see it. ‘Babies have to cry it out’ he repeated in his head as he exited quickly from your room, leaving you alone as the door closed behind him. He stood there for a second, bouncing on his feet as he prayed for you to calm down without him. You had to learn to self soothe, or you’d never make it here.

Leaning his ear against the door, the soft sound of your sniffling hit his ears but for the first time in the past couple of weeks, he didn’t hear sobbing. Letting out a sigh, he began to walk away from the room and towards the lab where he would soon relay all of the information to Orochimaru. Everything except your crying of course.

He never told him about that...

You let out the sob as you heard his footsteps grow quiet, signaling that Kabuto was gone and you were now alone. The sharp wail that fell from your lips surprised even you, causing your hand to fly over your open mouth to quiet it down. The feeling of loneliness ached within your bones, and coldness seeped into your skin despite the room being muggy. 29 days. It had been 29 days since you last saw Orochimaru. You didn’t know why, but the man soon became your rock and the reason you were breathing.

And you hated it.

Hated how easy you fell for him. Hated how lonely you felt without him. Hated how scared you were when he was out on a mission. You hated it, yet you loved him. The silent sobs that racked your body calmed down as the thought of him soothed your tight chest. Closing your eyes, you lifted your hands and crossed your arms. Your left hand touched your right cheek first and by the time your right touched your left cheek, your anxiety had vanished. It made you sigh out in relief, the action tricking your brain into thinking that your face was being cradled. 

You imagined it was Orochimaru holding you instead, an action he’s done only once, but you never forgot the way he felt or how he smelt. A tear slipped down and your thumb swiped it away automatically, this was becoming a nightly routine of yours. It seemed pathetic, but it was the only way you knew how to self soothe. You laid onto your side, moving one hand under your head while the other continued to caress your jaw soothingly. The bed was cold, but you didn’t mind. Instead, you fell asleep to the thought of Orochimaru holding you, his tight and warm embrace reassuring you that you were safe and sound. 

If only it was real. 

Your body jolted awake but the nightmare still flashed in your head like a neverending movie. The candle had burned out, leaving you in the darkness of a room you didn’t know. Breathing seemed to grow harder as you tried to adjust to the darkness, but it seemed to encapsulate you like a coffin. Standing swiftly, you raced over towards the door, throwing it open in the hopes of meeting a brightly lit hall. 

Your blood ran cold as you peered into the dimly lit hall, the walls and ceiling were carved in a way that made your world tilt around you as your stomach twisted in fear. “Orochimaru” you cried out softly, stumbling into the hallway in the hopes of finding him along the way. The hall was neverending and seemed to grow darker the farther you ran down it. “Orochimaru!” your scream echoed down the hall as you slowed down to catch your breath. 

You urged your heart rate to slow down, but it only raced faster as the torches around you blew out, leaving you in utter darkness. A soft sob fell from your lips before you once again began to run forward. You kept crying out for him as if he’d be able to hear you. As if he would care. Your body crashed into a wall, knocking all of the breath from your body as you tumbled to the floor. Silence filled the space around you, the only sound being your broken sobs as you gripped the floor for dear life. 

The nightmare seemed to come back and you could no longer discern what was real and what was fake. Were you still dreaming? Were the ANBU here to kill you? Did they leave you to die? Did Orochimaru leave you to die? “Oro” you cried out weakly, wincing at just how broken you sounded. Pushing up from your position on the ground, you tried to fight back the feeling that bubbled up in your chest. You had to know if it was real, was this real?

Before you could stop it, you opened your mouth and let out a blood-curdling scream. Your fingers screaming in pain along with you as you gripped the stone below you harder, grounding yourself as your body let out the feelings you’d been holding in for months now. The scream cut off, and you geared up for another one, wanting to chase that freeing feeling of just letting it all out.

“Now now, why are you out of bed?” 

An arm wrapped around your waist and the scream in your throat faded out as the words hit your ears. The previous scream echoed down the hall as his words echoed through your head. The torches were once again illuminated, as if they were never extinguished to begin with. Black hair fell over your shoulder and a familiar smell filled your senses, wrapping you in a bubble of protection. Your head snapped up at the sound of feet and you realized that guards were surrounding you two. 

“Orochimaru” you whispered out, hand trailing down to grasp the hand that was tightly gripping your hip. His arm clenched around your waist at the feeling of your shaky hand, snarling at the way the guards approached you in rage. “You can all leave” Orochimaru growled, eyes snapping to Kabuto who stood in front of them all. “Sir, she left her room without permission-”

“LEAVE” 

You squeaked in surprise, body contracting into his as the men fled from their angry boss. Kabuto stood still, swallowing as he took in the way Orochimaru stared at him. He hadn’t been honest with him, in fact, he never told Orochimaru about your constant crying. But now, he knew everything. The anger grew within Orochimaru’s body as he felt you relax within his embrace, this was all you wanted. “I didn’t want to bother you about it sir” Kabuto stuttered out, hand scratching the base of his neck sheepishly. 

Orochimaru stayed silent, but his body tensed behind you as he began to process it all. You had been crying yourself to sleep every night, and not once did Kabuto tell him. Your e/c eyes met Kabuto’s, and you didn’t blame him for staying silent. “I told him not to tell you” you whispered out as your other hand rose to touch Orochimaru's face behind you. It was clumsy considering you couldn’t see where your hand was, but you smiled as he leaned into it nonetheless.

A couple seconds passed, but you noticed the way the atmosphere shifted from tense to relieved. Without another word, Orochimaru stood and helped you up with him. He was still glaring at Kabuto, knowing that you were lying to save him... But, if you lied to him of all people, then maybe Kabuto meant something to you. Hurt panged in Orochimaru’s chest, a wave of new anger rising within him at the thought of Kabuto spending so much more time with you than he did. “You’re relieved of your duties” Orochimaru muttered, arms tightening around your body in a silent display of dominance. 

Kabuto nodded before turning and walking back to his own quarters, thankful that he only got a threatening glare instead of a torturous death. Orochimaru tried to calm down the rising fear bubbling under his chest at the thought of Kabuto somehow stealing you from him. Your arms tightened around him, head snuggling underneath his chin as euphoria coursed through your veins. The nightmare and worries were now long forgotten as you cuddled deeper into the taller man's body. 

Looking down at you, Orochimaru fought back a smile at the peaceful look on your face. Eyes closed and lips pulled up into a dreamy smile. If he didn’t know it before, he realized it now as he looked down upon you. The painful feeling he got in his chest whenever Kabuto came back with an update. The way his heart sped up at the sight of you. The restless nights he encountered as he worried about your wellbeing. How his mind wandered to you whenever he worked in the lab. 

He hummed at the thought before pulling you deeper into his body, arms tightly wrapped around you like a shield. He loved you, it had been quite a while since he loved someone... “Why were you so persistent? Why did you choose me?” your eyes snapped open at his question, but you refused to look at him as you grew embarrassed. 

“I-I...”

His fingers grasped your chin, craning your neck and forcing you to look at him. His slitted pupils were blown out, yet you weren’t sure if it was because of the dim lighting or something else. “Tell me. I need to hear it” Orochimaru whispered as his face got closer to yours, it wasn’t meant to intimidate you but he couldn’t help but grow a bit giddy at how you recoiled in shame. “When I saw you, I knew that you were my... It's silly” you had managed to move your chin from his grasp, eyes casting downwards as you shook your head at the thought. 

Orochimaru gripped your chin once more, this time a bit harder as he forced you to look back at him. His mouth was inches from yours, and it felt like all of the wind was knocked out of you by how close he was. His breath fanned out onto your face, causing goosebumps to erupt across your skin. He didn’t have to say anything, for the action was enough to reassure you that he didn’t care how silly it was. 

He had to hear it... He had to hear what Kabuto told him long ago.

“I knew you were my soulmate... I know it's crazy and I’ve only told Kabuto but-” You were spun around before you could finish, back crashing into the wall as Orochimaru shoved his lips against yours. It was heavy while he kissed you feverishly as if you were the only thing that could bring his excitement down. You moaned into his mouth, teeth clashing with his in response to the sudden move. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down for better access while his hands wandered along your body. He wanted to learn and remember every single feature of your body, he had so much to catch up on. 

After what felt like a minute Orochimaru finally pulled back, leaving you a flustered mess below him. One of his hands cradled your cheek, softly caressing the skin with his thumb as he took in the view. Your eyes shut at the feeling, remembering how only hours ago, you wished to feel this exact action. “Can I be honest with you?” you whispered out, eyes still shut in fear of him rejecting your question. When you were met with silence, you decided to continue.

“I don't like being away from you... It scares me” 

The tightened grip on your cheek was the only indicator that he wasn’t upset with you, in fact, it almost felt like he was upset with himself. “Then you shall never leave my side” serenity filled your bones, replacing the loneliness that once laid heavy within them with a lighter, happier feeling. You would never be alone again. 

“C-can I stay with you? In your room I mean... I feel so lonely in my room” he didn’t answer your plea and instead pressed his head against yours, hoping you’d understand that when he said you’d be by his side forever. He meant it. His lips met the tip of your nose, the action leaving you bewildered in his embrace. Orochimaru wasn’t one for ‘soft’ things, that much you had learned in a couple of months being around him. 

Opening your eyes, you were relieved to see that his eyes were closed. A smile formed on your lips as you took in his blissed out face, maybe he was lonely too... Maybe, just maybe he needed you as much as you needed him. That question may never be answered, but it didn’t have to be. Because no one could deny it, he was your soulmate.

And you were his.

[is-it-madness]

Pastries and Pain

A/N: This is for @fanfictionaries​ Classic Tropes Writing Challenge. Congrats on the 300 darling!!! 🥳🎉🥳 The prompt I chose was Fake Dating!AU with the charming Loki. And thank you to my darling beta @wowjeena​ I LOVE YOU 💜💜💜

Word Count: 6K+

Warnings: Mentions of abusive relationship, abuse, sexual innuendos

Pairing: Loki x reader

Summary: Nat and Wanda keep setting you up for dates. You need to figure out how to avoid them.

~~~

“You did what?!” You glare angrily at Natasha and Wanda. 

They don’t even bother hiding their looks of amusement. 

“We set you up on a blind date,” Nat tells you with a smirk.

“You said you wouldn’t do that anymore!” Last year, after they discovered you hadn't been on a date since you broke up with your abusive ex a few years ago, they felt obligated to find you a suitable boyfriend. Blind date after blind date. The dates were all just okay. Nat and Wanda made sure not to let you go out with anyone creepy, which helped, but none of the dates sparked your interest. After a few weeks of repeated fails, you asked—no begged them to stop. They only agreed when you swore you would find your own partner.

“Honey,” Nat begins, “did you ever end up finding a date for yourself?”

You glare at her in response.

“You promised us you would! You didn’t and it’s been months,” Wanda scolds you.

“I’m just too busy to be emotionally invested in someone right now, okay?” At least that was true. What with helping out on missions and working in the lab, you were always exhausted by the end of the day. You never saw anyone anymore, besides your team, and sometimes you would even go days without seeing them. You would be holed up in the lab or out in the field—you just didn’t have time to throw your emotions into the mix.

“Well not tonight,” Nat says triumphantly.

“Tonight?!” you squeak.

They both give you a wicked smile and drag you back to Nat’s room to get you ready for the evening. 

You argue with your so-called friends about the date. You plead with them.

“I’ll find my own date, you guys! Just please don’t make me do this!”

Wanda laughs and shakes her head while Nat reprimands you.

“Are you seriously gonna stand him up? That is so not like you.”

You sigh. Nat is right. Of course. So you begrudgingly slip into the soft, dark green dress they laid out for you. The halter neck and deep V decolletage lead to the cinched waist showcasing your figure and the skirt reaching just above your knees. You put on some light makeup and pull your hair back into two cute buns with a few pieces framing your face. Nat and Wanda sit fussing over you, before they finally let you out of the room.

They walk you past the living room to the elevator, but you stop in your tracks when Tony calls your name. You turn to see the rest of the team lounging around. This is the first Friday in weeks where everyone’s at the Tower, not having to rush off to missions or save the world.

“Where are you guys going?” Tony asks. He gives you a double-take. “What’s with the dress?”

When he asks that, the rest of the team turns to look at you. You immediately feel the heat rising to your face.

“Nat and Wanda thought it would be a good idea if I went out for a bit,” you mumble.

“Did you two set her up for another date?” Steve questions them knowingly.

Nat smirks and Wanda nods happily.

“Well, you look wonderful,” Thor beams at you and you return the smile. “Would you not say so, brother?”

The God of Mischief sitting next to Thor gave you a once over.

He gives a single shoulder shrug and says, “Unsightly.”

You smile sweetly at him. “Oh, thank goodness! I was worried you were going to say I look as grotesque as you.”

“Alright boys, you can give your fashion critique later,” Nat says, putting a hand on your shoulder. “We have a date to get to.”

~~~

His name is Michael. He was very sweet, albeit nervous when the two of you sat down for dinner. You learn he works in the IT department for Stark Industries, he runs a hand through his short, brown hair when he’s nervous, and his deep blue eyes sparkle when he tells you about his interests.

“So, you’re part of the Avengers, right?” he asks, carding a hand through his locks.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” you tell him with a laugh.

“What made you decide to start dating again?”

You shake your head in amusement. “My friends are very convincing.”

The rest of the night goes along smoothly with the conversation stuttering only a few times. 

When he walks you to your car, he runs a hand through his hair before placing a soft kiss on your cheek. He tells you good night and hurries back to his car.

You sigh, slightly exasperated, before sliding into your car.

~~~

“So, how’d it go?”

You release your hair from its hold and it cascades around you. “It wasn’t bad. He was nice.”

Nat smiles. “So are you gonna see him again?”

You contemplate her question. Were you going to see him again? Sure he was nice and not bad looking, but just like all your previously failed dates, there was… nothing. You didn’t feel a connection when you spoke, the both of you kept the conversation basic. You didn’t feel a spark when he kissed you. It was no different than the friendly kisses Thor would give you as greetings.

“No, I don’t think so. I’m sorry, Nat.” 

“Don’t worry about it, babe. Wanda and I will just keep looking for you.”

“It’s okay, Nat. You really don’t have to do this.”

She waves you off. “What kind of a friend would I be if I didn’t help you?”

“That’s just it, Nat! You don’t have to help me. It’s not a big deal.”

But she isn’t listening.

~~~

A week goes by and so do five other dates. You had to cut the last one short because you were just too exhausted. You couldn’t keep doing this. It was too much. But you knew Nat and Wanda were relentless. Nothing would make them stop until you had a boyfriend.

You pace around your room, coming up with excuse after excuse to try to skip the impending date they have planned for you. You come to the conclusion that the only way they would leave you alone is if you were in a relationship. You abruptly stop pacing. Maybe if you had someone fill the position. Maybe… maybe someone could pretend to be your boyfriend—at least for a short time. Just to get the girls off your back. You start formulating a plan. But for this plan to work, you needed someone cunning, someone who could keep a secret, someone who was stealthy, and preferably, someone already on the team.

A name comes to you and you immediately head to the library with a smirk on your face, but the whole time your mind is screaming that THIS IS A BAD IDEA!!!

You find the God in his usual seat, his legs spread wide, and a book in hand. He sits in the far corner of the library, which also happened to be your spot too. 

“Loki! I need you.”

He smirks and looks up from his book, “In your bed or mine?”

“I don’t have time for your smart mouth right now! This is serious!”

He quirks a brow.

“I need you to go on a ‘date’ with me,” you say, putting up air quotes.

He stares at you for a good thirty seconds before he gives you an eloquent response. 

“What?”

You feel yourself turn bright pink. “Please, Loki! I can’t take Nat and Wanda setting me up on blind dates anymore, it’s just too much. Please? If I find my own date, they’ll leave me alone,” you explain to him, internally begging him to agree to your plan.

“I’m not sure I follow,” he tells you slowly. “You wish for me to court you, but not as a real courtship?”

You nod hastily. “Exactly.”

He squints at you. “No.”

You’re shocked. “What? Why not?”

He smirks at you. “Firstly, your team will not take lightly to the matter of us courting. Secondly, there is not a chance they would believe you have fallen for me, even with my good looks and charm,” he continues to tick off. “Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, how long would you allow this to drag out? One week? A month? A year? So no, I do not think I wish to partake in your foolish endeavor.”

“But you wouldn’t need to worry about any of that!” You continue adamantly. “I’ve already thought it out!”

He gives you an amused look. “Alright, I’ll listen to your hairbrained scheme.”

You glower at him. Maybe you should’ve picked someone else for this, but it’s too late now. He already knows what you’re planning.

“One, I won’t tell the team who I’m seeing, we can just meet up somewhere outside the building. And if I act like I’m in love with someone, and we stay… y’know, mean to each other, they won’t get suspicious. Your second point is irrelevant, because they won’t know it’s you that I’m ‘dating.’” His nostrils flare and his jaw ticks but you plow ahead. “And lastly, we won’t have to keep this charade up for long. I’ll just say you ‘broke up with me’ and I’ll be too ‘heartbroken’ to consider dating for a while.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs deeply. “Out of the goodness of my own heart, and the desire to only create mischief… fine.”

Your eyes widen, “You’ll do it?”

“I suppose I have nothing more exciting to attend to. And besides,” he looks up to give you a smirk. “I am eager to see this come crashing down around you.”

~~~

“I was thinking for your next date, you should go to the park,” Nat tells you a few days later.

You smile at her. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

She glares at you. “You’re not getting out of this. How many times do I have to tell you? I’m going to keep finding you dates until we find the right one.”

You shake your head and laugh. “It’s not necessary because I found my own date.”

Her spoon falls with a clatter into her bowl of cereal. “I’m sorry, I thought I heard you say you found your own date?!”

“I don’t understand why that’s so unbelievable, Nat.” You place a hand on your heart. “I’m hurt.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she apologizes with a laugh, but her eyes sparkle with glee. “So what’s his name?”

“It’s a secret.”

“What?! You can’t not tell me!”

“Well, this is our first date. So what’s the point of putting a name to a face if I’m not sure if this’ll work out?”

“Okay fine,” she pauses. “Well, where’d you two meet?”

“Oh, you know,” you say with a small smile and a shrug. “Around.”

She folds her arms. “I need info so I can run tests on him,” she chides. “Need to make sure he’s not a threat.”

“Don’t worry, he’s no threat.”

She sighs and throws her hands in the air. “Fine, I get it. You don’t want to talk about him yet. But if anything sketchy happens, you need to tell me immediately.”

“I promise.” 

She takes her bowl to the sink and starts washing her dishes. 

“And no stalking us!”

She sends you a smirk over her shoulder. 

~~~

Early afternoon, the next day, you wait for Loki at a nearby cafe for your ‘date,’ but he’s nowhere to be seen. Sure, the two of you didn’t exactly get along, with his snark and your sarcasm, you would usually wage verbal wars against each other. But you didn’t think he would just leave you, he said he wanted to see your plan fail, so you thought for sure he would be waiting for you. Your smile falters a bit, but you shake your head. You don’t need him. You’ll just do this on your own. You decide to leave and head to the park instead, since it’s a pretty day out. 

“Considering this was your plan, I did not assume you would leave without me,” you hear a silky voice behind you say.

You turn around to see Loki walking behind you with a smirk.

You huff. “For your information, I thought you left without me.”

“Why would I do that?”

You fold your arms. “Well, you weren’t down here. I figured you agreed to this just to make me look like a fool.”

His smirk only grows. “I would not do that, especially not when you are so desperate.”

“Are you sure you didn’t show up late just for kicks and giggles?”

“If you must know, since you’re so adamant on believing that I would just leave you, I went to purchase these for you.” He conjures a bouquet of flowers and hands them to you. You thank him sheepishly. 

He nods. “I felt like it would seem strange if you returned home without a gift, as you usually returned carrying a gift from your possible suitors.”

“That’s... thoughtful of you.”

He gives you another curt nod.

“Well, let’s get this over with, shall we?”

“So, what do you wanna do?” you ask him. “You’ve never had a chance to explore when you came back from Asgard, we could see whatever you want.”

“I could not care less where we venture to, as long as we hurry up. I have reading to get back to.”

You roll your eyes. Just when you thought he was starting to be friendly, he goes and says something like that.

“Well, if you really don’t want to be here, I'll just go on a walk on my own. You’ve done your part.” You gesture to the flowers. “And you gave me evidence, so I guess I’ll see you later.”

He stares at you, emotionless. 

“Enjoy your book.” You clutch your flowers, trying to reel your emotions back in and start walking in the direction towards the park. 

He catches up to you and releases an audible sigh. “I suppose I could spend some time out of that helhole. It has become rather monotonous. Perhaps you would be suitable entertainment.”

You just shrug, not trusting yourself to not retort back with a scathing comment.

“So, where are we headed?”

“Preferably somewhere I won’t have to pay attention to your existence,” you snap.

His green eyes flash dangerously and he grabs you by the arm, forcing you to face him. “Listen here, mortal,” he seethes. “It may have slipped your notice, but I have done not one, but two favors for you.”

Your cool demeanor snaps in a fiery explosion. “Oh really? Is the favor you being rude to me? Or is it the fact that you can’t find it in yourself to say one, just one, polite thing to me. Oh, I know! It’s probably your side remarks that you love to make, or the fact that you say the most hurtful things to me, because apparently, you seem to think I don’t have emotions. Have you ever considered the weight of your words, even once?!” Tears begin to prick the corner of your eyes, but you refuse to cry in front of him, you refuse to give him something else to hold against you. “Have you ever thought twice about calling me ugly, or useless, or slow, or weak. Well, guess what.”

He releases his hold on you and takes a step back.

“I get it, okay?! I get it! I’m ugly? Great! You’re not the first person to tell me that! I’m useless? People who were close to me, would tell me that constantly. That’s old news to me! I’m slow? At least I stay alive during our missions! I’m weak? Okay then! I don’t know what else to tell ya buddy! I’m sorry I’m no super soldier!” Your chest is heaving from your outburst and Loki opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off. “You know what?” You begin quietly. “I’m absolutely not as strong as the rest of the team, but I’ve been through stuff that’s made me a stronger person. I’ve learned things the hard way, and I’ve learned that I don’t need hurtful people like you in my life.”

Loki stares at you, mouth slightly agape. You spin around and toss the flowers in the trash. “Have fun reading.” You don’t look back as you continue to walk through the streets.  

~~~

You return to the Tower later that evening. After your temper, you spend the most of the day in the park. You wander through the city and stumble upon a quaint little bookstore, sandwiched between a diner and a clothing store. You buy several books before heading home.

The elevator gets closer to the common floor and you take a deep breath. The elevator dings and you force a smile on your face.

“Hey beautiful!” Nat calls to you from the couch. 

The entire team, sprawled around, looks up.

“How’d it go?” Steve asks you.

You internally breathe a sigh of relief. So Lo—so he didn’t blow your story. Good. The man in question was currently paying no attention to you.

“It was great!” you fib. “We went to the park, and we found a cute bookstore not far from here,” you say with a nod to the stack of books in your arms.

Wanda’s face splits into a grin. “Will you be seeing him again?” she asks eagerly. 

You see Thor’s brother, in your peripheral vision, subtly turn to look at you, but you refuse to acknowledge him. 

“Yeah I am! I’ll be going out for breakfast tomorrow, at the cafe. ”

“The one with the chocolate pastries?” Nat asks you.

“Yup. And no following me, Nat! I know what you’re thinking!”

She huffs and crosses her arms.

“Well, I’ve had a long day and I’m exhausted. I’ll see you guys tomorrow, yeah?”

The team bids you good night and you head down the hall to your room. You can feel the God of Mischief watching you.

~~~

Early the next morning you drag yourself out of bed and start getting ready. The reward? Pastries. You shower then hop, wiggle, and shimmie into some jeans and pull on a dark blue blouse before making your way to the elevator.

You make it outside without running into anyone. You walk a few blocks to the cafe with your favorite chocolate sweets. You discovered it a while back and later introduced it to the team. As soon as you step in, you inhale the heavenly goodness of coffee roasting, bread baking, and chocolate melting. The little old lady behind the counter recognizes you and prepares your order for you before you have a chance to say anything. You thank her and pay before you find a table in the corner of the store to sit at. You watch the world pass by through the large glass windows. It was still quiet out—or at least quiet for New York—and you close your eyes, relishing in the peace that was sorely lacking while you were in the Tower.

“You do realize it is rude to leave your date behind, yes?” Someone asks you.

You snap your eyes open to see the raven-haired god sitting across from you, the smirk as present as always.

You glare at him. “Why the hell are you here? I don’t recall inviting you.”

He conjures a dagger and splits your pastry in two. He takes a piece and sinks his teeth into it. His eyes flutter close, lashing splaying out across his sharp cheekbones and he moans slightly at the warm confection. You feel a heat rise to your cheeks and your stomach flips. This is the first time you’ve heard him make such an obscene sound. You didn’t expect it to make you press your thighs together.      

“On the contrary, you did invite me.” He pauses to open his eyes, only to be met with your flushed face. He gives you a smirk. “Is something the matter?”

“No,” you scowl at him, quickly composing yourself. “And like I said, I don’t remember inviting you.”

 “Oh dear, have you forgotten about your own scheme?”

“No, I haven’t,” you bristle. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be here.”

He chuckles. “Yes I do. I am fulfilling my promise I made you.”

“How gentlemanly of you,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “You made it quite clear you didn’t want to do this.”

He leans forward and folds his hands. “Listen, in light of recent events, I have taken into consideration our previous conversation. And although we do not have the, ah, best attitude towards one another, I agreed to assist you in your time of need. And I will see to it that your plan continues along accordingly.”

“Well, you’re wasting your time, ‘cause I don’t need you.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “At least allow me to attempt to be your faux suitor. To make up for my ghastly behavior towards you.”

You continue to glare at him with your arms crossed. You wait to see a glint of mischief in his emerald eyes, or the tell-tale sign of a smirk, but his face remains solemn.

You let out a sigh of defeat. You knew you wouldn’t be able to keep this guise up for long if you did it alone. 

“Fine,” you agree reluctantly.

He sits up straight and snatches the second half of your pastry. “Excellent.”

“Hey!”

“What?” he asks innocently, already biting into your breakfast. “I am absolutely famished.”

You just grumble as he licks his fingers clean. Again, your stomach decides to flutter, without your permission.

“Hello, dear.” You look up to see the older lady has approached you and Loki. “Can I get anything else for you?”

You smile back at her. “No thank you.”

She gives a questioning look to Loki. “And who is this? I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you, young man.” 

Loki flashes her a charming smile. “Greetings madame.” He stands, gently takes her hand and places a soft kiss on her knuckles.

“This... is my boyfriend,” you tell her through clenched teeth.

She turns to look at you. You detect the slightest tinge of pink to her cheeks. 

“Well, you certainly are lucky to have such a gentleman.”

You barely restrain rolling your eyes, while Loki chuckles and gives a slight shake of his head.

“I hate to contradict madame, but it is I who is the lucky one.” He sits back down and takes your hands in his. He looks at you softly. You look back at him, confused. 

“The first moment I set eyes on her, my heart nearly stopped. And her smile… her smile sent me straight to Valhalla. I never believed the Fates would allow me to meet someone so kind, so gentle, so beautiful. I am grateful to have the honor to call her my beloved. She means more to me than any riches imaginable.”

You blush as the old lady places a hand to her heart and sighs.

“He’s a keeper,” she tells you. “Much better than the last one. This one won’t lay a hand on you.”

You feel Loki staring hard at you, his grip on your hands tighten ever so slightly.

You stand abruptly, Loki still refusing to let go. “Well, we really should be going. We have a few plans today.”

“Yes, of course,” Loki says.

Both of you thank the old lady. You can’t get out of there fast enough. 

The sunlight hits your face as you step outside, but you can’t help the shiver that courses through you. Your past hits you in flashes. Bruised and bloodied skin. Hands raised, only to be brought down against your body with rage. Long sleeves and concealer were a must if you went out. Nights spent huddled in bed, silently crying from pain.

You dimly realize someone is shaking you by your shoulders, calling your name.

You look up to see Loki watching you intently, his brow furrowed.

“What did she mean?” he asks you, his voice a deadly calm.

“It’s nothing,” you brush him off. “It’s not like you’d care anyways,” you mumble under your breath.

Whether he heard you or not, he didn’t show.

He gives you a hard stare for another second before dropping his hands.  

“What would you like to do?”

“Huh?” 

He sighs. “For our outing. Where would you wish to go?”

“Oh. Yeah, right. Um. Maybe we could go to the bookstore I found?”

“Done.” He holds out his arm for you and you tentatively slip your hand in. “Lead the way.”

A smile pulls at your lips and you tug him in the direction of the bookstore.

After you both buy several books, you spend the rest of your day taking Loki to your favorite spots around the city. You take him to a garden in Central Park and he tells you about his mother’s garden. He buys you ice cream because ‘I suppose you deserve it after I took your breakfast.’

~~~

The next few weeks, you and Loki alternate taking the other places. Loki takes you for lunch, you take him to the movies. He takes you to a museum and you take him to dinner. The two of you begin bonding and slowly the animosity begins to fade. After the second month, you realize that you actually like being in his company. You made each other laugh and were able to discuss things to great lengths that you couldn’t do with anyone else on the team. The two of you would always be careful, leaving the Tower separately, coming home separately. You both also agreed to continue your banter at home, lest anyone become suspicious. But there were days when Nat would have to snap you out of your daydreams—er thoughts, and she would give you a little smirk. She never asked what you were thinking about, but the pink staining your cheeks would give her the answer she needed.

The nights you spend tossing and turning in bed become more frequent.

I’ll tell him tomorrow.

Tomorrow’s the day.

I’ll end this tomorrow.

You kept postponing the termination of this… relationship you had with Loki. Sure it would’ve been easier to do after the first week you put your plan in motion, but that would have only spurred Nat further. You didn’t need that. So you simply kept putting it off and chose to ignore it as days became weeks. Surprisingly enough, you found a kindred spirit in Loki. He wasn’t as bad as you had originally believed. He made you laugh and think critically and roll your eyes at his dramatic flair and antics. You can’t help but feel as though you and Loki connected. You can’t help but feel as though you’re falling for him. With his sparkling eyes, mischievous smile, and surprisingly, his kind heart. It shocked you at first. You always saw him as Thor’s maniacal and evil younger brother. But now that you’ve spent more time with him, you discover that it was just a facade that he put up. He didn’t want people to get close to him, he knew what they thought of him, so that’s what he showed them. It broke your heart when you found out how hurt and abused he was. Just because he never told you outright, doesn’t mean you didn’t see it. You felt awful though, for only barely realizing this. You should have paid more attention to the way he sometimes flinched or the way his eyes would slightly widen with fear at the mention of fire, or when someone on the team would mention abuse. 

If only he knew about your past relationship. You never brought it up after the slip in the bakery and Loki didn’t pry, which you were extremely grateful for. You weren’t sure you could discuss it, it was too harrowing and you wanted to leave your past there. In the past. But you should have known it would rear its ugly head one of these days.

~~~

You had promised Loki you’d take him back to the little slice of Valhalla that he so fondly nicknamed the bakery.

“Please!” he practically begs you as the two of you walk down the street, hand in hand. “How else do you expect me to survive in your company? I require payment!”

“Payment?!” you repeat incredulously. “Payment for what?”

He sighs dramatically. “For having to endure your nonsense.”

You laugh. “I should be the one getting paid for having to put up with you!” 

He gives you a smirk. “Come now darling, you know you love me.”

Your heart gets caught in your throat at those words. You give Loki a shaky laugh, hoping he doesn’t realize how close to the truth he was.

“Fine,” you sigh exasperatedly. “We’re heading in that direction anyways.”

He gives you another smirk and your heart flutters again. You really need to get your emotions under control. You didn’t have it in you to deal with a heartbreak, it was obvious Loki hadn’t fallen for you. 

“How about you wait out here, darling?” he asks when you two reach the bakery. “I’ll be just a few moments.”

You nod and he gives you a small smile before making his way inside.

You groan slightly and rub your temple. You are not supposed to be falling for him! This shouldn’t be happening. You need to get your emotions in check, otherwise… well, you didn’t want to think about what would happen if you didn’t.

You’re lost in thought when you hear your name being called. Before you have a chance to turn around, arms wrap themselves around your waist, pulling you into a hug from behind.

Your heart drops. You knew that voice, that hug that used to give you butterflies, but now made you nauseous. When he releases you, you hurriedly take a few steps away and turn to face your ex.

“Chase.”

“Hey, baby!” he said with a cheerful grin. “How ya been?”

“Fine,” you say, even though you’re feeling far from it.

His eyes rake over you, and you physically had to hold down your vomit. “Well, you look good, baby.”

“Please don't call me that.”

“Listen,” he says solemnly. “I’m sorry for everything that happened between us, but I miss you. I need you back. C’mon, baby. We can be together again, don’t you want that?” he places his hands on your waist, making you tense.

You try taking a steadying breath. “No, Chase. I already told you before. I don’t want to be with you.”

His grip on your waist tightens and bites into you, and he gives you a look you were all too familiar with.

“C’mon, babe,” he says, a slight growl in his voice. “I know you’re not stupid. You already broke my heart once. Don’t do this to me again.”

Tears begin to well up. “I-I already told you. I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

He glares down at you and you feel yourself shaking despite the warm day.

“You really don’t have a choice, do you?” he grabs a hold of your wrist and yanks you, not hard enough to fall, but a reminder of what he was capable of doing.

“Chase, let me go!” you try to free yourself, but he yanks you again, making you stumble.

“Don’t make a scene,” he hisses. “I know we both remember how that turned out for you last time.”

You flinch. That day… that was one of the more violent days. He pulls you along with him.

“Chase stop!” you sob desperately.

That’s when he decides to backhand you. You fall to your knees, cheek stinging fiercely as hot tears stream down your face. A rough hand is placed on your shoulder, but it’s quickly pulled back. You cradle your head between your hands, trying to protect yourself. You hear Chase yelling behind you, which is soon replaced by moans, and then the sound of someone running unsteadily across the pavement.

A gentler hand is placed on your shoulder, but you can’t help but wince away. They retreat their hand and crouch in front of you. You hear a familiar, more soothing voice, calling your name softly. You release your grasp on your face and slowly look up. It was Loki. He was watching you with such sorrow and concern, his lips tight and his brows creasing.

“That’s what she meant, wasn’t it?” he asks quietly.

You nod minutely. He offers his hands out to you and you shakily take them. He helps you to your feet, his worried face never faltering. He pulls you into a tight embrace and that’s when you completely lose it. You fist his shirt as sobs wrack through you. He doesn’t say anything to you, he just lets you release your tears.

~~~

Loki walks you back to the Tower with a protective arm around your shoulder. Miraculously you don’t run into anyone. He leads you to your room. You don’t even think to question how he knows where your room is. The burning in your cheek receded, but there’s still an intense stinging.

“Wait here, darling,” Loki says, giving you a reassuring squeeze.

You sit on your bed, eyes downcast, as he heads to your bathroom. You hear the faucet running and then shut off as he returns and sits next to you. He places a finger under your chin, tilting your face up, making you look at him. He starts tending to your abused cheek, wiping it with a cool washcloth.

He growls. “That halfwit left marks on your face.”

You try for a watery smile. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

He stops his task to look in your eyes. “I swear this will be the last.” He looks down for a moment before looking at you again, his eyes holding something different. “I… I would never hurt you.”

He looks at you so softly you nearly start crying again. You’ve never had anyone look at you with such a heartfelt gaze; it takes your breath away.

He clears his throat. “Listen darling… I realize that your plan was to keep you from having to court anyone, but… I fear I have fallen for you.” 

Your eyes widen at his confession and he quickly looks away.

“I understand if you do not feel the same… no one can love a monster.”

You take his face in your hands and force him to look at you.

“Do you mean it?” you whisper, not daring to believe it.

He stares at you long and hard. You nearly drop your hands because the silence is too overwhelming. 

“I do.”

A smile splits across your face and you crash your lips to his, taking in the feel of his soft lips, his steady arms, his comforting scent of lavender and bergamot. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into his lap, holding you close.

You pull away to rest your forehead against his. “Well I guess that’s a good thing because I’ve fallen for you, too.”

His eyes sparkle before pulling you into another, more passionate kiss.

~~~

Later that evening, during dinner, Nat and Tony nearly lose their minds at the bruise on your face.

“WHO THE HELL DID THAT?!”

“ARE THOSE FINGERPRINTS?!”

You tell them what happened. You explain what your ex did, which only caused the rest of the team to blow up too.

“It’s okay!” You reassure them. “My boyfriend took care of him.”

Your eyes flicker to Loki, and even though he’s paying close attention to his food, you don’t miss the slight smirk on his face.

That seems to calm them down.

“At least he seems like he’s a good guy,” Wanda says thoughtfully.

“Yeah, he’s great,” you say with a small smile.

An idea occurs to you. You stand and walk around the table to Loki. You take his face in your hands, brushing your thumbs across his jaw. He looks at you, mouth slightly open in shock, unsure of what was happening.

“He’s amazing,” you whisper, before capturing his lips with yours.

The team collectively blew up for the third time tonight. 

~~~

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[angelic-kisses13]

Claiming Part II

Authors Note: I’m sorry it took so long to write this! But I’m glad that I finally got it out to you guys! Happy Valentines Day everyone! 

Summary: Charles and his sacrifice finally arrive at his castle. 

Claiming Part I 

A few hours later, and they had arrived back to King Charles’ kingdom, the palace was even grander than King Indulf’s. It seemed to tower above the clouds, and he watched as her features went from hostile to pure awe. Her hands made quick work of the window, and she poked her head out, trying to see every detail of the kingdom from her vantage point. 

He smiled indulgently. Yes, he had made the right decision. She was going to make the perfect sacrifice. “Little lamb,” He reached out and grabbed her waist, his hands spanning across her curves and full stomach easily. He brought her down to his side, “You will be able to see it better when we are closer.”

His sacrifice pouted, and he rolled his eyes as he reached out to shut the carriage window. “Don’t pout, now. It’s unbecoming.” She snorted and turned her body to face away from him. They continued to ride in silence, the carriage rocking from side to side as they turned bends and ran over loose bricks in the road. 

“Why haven’t you sucked me dry yet? Isn’t that the point of a human sacrifice? To become your food source?” 

His head tilted to the left in amusement. Charles forgot that the poor human wasn’t coached on what being a sacrifice entailed. He would have fun with this one. Something told him she wouldn’t take kindly to the future proceedings. 

“You are adorable Little Lamb. You will be a perfect sacrifice for my people. A few more hours and I will give you what your heart desires.” 

She scoffed and turned her head from him. Her pulse was hammering in her delicate neck. The rapid blood flow causes his fangs to ache. He knew she could feel his gaze on her, yet she stayed turned away. She was effectively cutting off the conversation. Charles should feel annoyed at the blatant act of disrespect. His little human, however, managed to chip away at his walls and self-control slowly. 

Soft but firm words had Charles’ spine-tingling, and he blinked as they echoed around them. “I do not desire to have you drink from me, ‘Your Majesty.’” The venom laced tone had Charles’ spine-tingling, and his beast was prowling in a possessive manner. Charles was taken aback at the level of possession he felt growing in him. 

“Not yet.” The words were spoken to remind himself not to reach out and claim her. There were rules and procedures in place, yet her blood and fiesty nature had him cracking around the edges—his once cool and collected demeanor nothing more but a crumbling avalanche of stone. 

It appeared that she had taken the words as a challenge. Charles was momentarily distracted by the sight of her head snapping around quickly; he was surprised she hadn’t broken her neck at the movement. Her eyes were wide, and the passionate flame he had noticed in the courtyard and throne room was resurfacing. He needed to placate her before he had her trying to claw her way out of the carriage. 

That was when his eyes fell on her busted lip and swollen cheek. He would have to heal that before the ceremony commenced. Charles’ finger itched to reach out and soothe the pain. He thought better of it, though, and curled his fingers into a fist. “How is your cheek faring?” 

She blinked before her hand rose and softly brushed across the swollen flesh. “It has been better.” The words were lispy, but it wasn’t to the point where he couldn’t understand her. 

“Once we get to the Castle, I can find some comfrey to help the swell.” Charles was confused when he saw her body tense. 

Her eyes were guarded as she stared at him. “I don’t have anything to offer you in thanks.” 

Ah, so that was what had her so tense. The poor lamb probably never had anything nice given to her without numerous conditions. Charles waved his hand, dismissing her words, “I do it because we need you in mint condition. A sacrifice is not very fun to play with if they are not in good health.” 

Her eyebrows wrinkled, the lines on her dirtied forehead more prominent with that gesture. “I hardly see how a bruised cheek and busted lip would make me unable to play the part.” 

Charles hummed as he reclined in his seat, his blue eyes taking her in. “Vampires pride themselves on perfection. Anything less is beneath us. I will not have our first sacrifice -in many centuries- look like she was in a brawl.” 

The woman sniffed before turning away, her body hunching in on itself. It seemed that the closer they got to the castle, the more she lost her spirit. Interesting. 

“You are scared.” 

Charles was amused by the scowl the girl shot him. 

“I’m not scared... just weary.” 

“You aren’t afraid to die?” 

The woman laughed, but there was no amusement in her tone. “I have been dead for many years, your majesty. Being a sacrifice just makes it more official.” 

Once again, the mortal had a way of surprising him. “You will be honored. You won’t be just a nameless lamb led to slaughter.” 

“I do not need to be honored. I have never been in my life and I don’t need to start now.” 

Charles didn’t have any words to offer the human, so they remained in silence as they pulled up in front of the castle. He tried to refrain from growling as he noticed several council members standing outside, waiting for his return. 

His little human frowned as she took in the sight. “Are they here for you or me?” Her fingers were clenched together, her thumb rubbing vicious circles into the flesh between her thumb and forefinger. 

“I believe it’s a bit of both, little one.” Charles composed himself, his cold mask falling into place. Once the carriage came to a stop, he waited until the footmen came down and opened it for him. 

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye. His little human was shifting in her seat. He breathed deeply and caught the swift scent of fear. Usually, it would have been a sensual scent. Fear always made the blood taste better. But she didn’t have a reason to be scared. Anger grew in his chest; what was she fearing? Was it him? Was it the situation she had found herself in? 

His jaw tightened, and he closed his eyes before stepping down and holding his hand out for her to take. He could hear the counsel members murmur amongst themselves. Their delight at having the human here was palpable. Charles wasn’t going to have a moment’s peace until the ritual was completed. 

Charles heard several gasps from behind him, and his lips twitched when his little lamb knocked his hand out of the way and climbed down herself. Standing in the light of the torches, her form was more pronounced, the dirt covering her skin was smudged, and her lip and cheek made her features a lump of swollen flesh. Easy to say, she wasn’t much to look at. 

Before his counselors could speak out about her, Charles began moving towards the Castle doors. A gentle tug with his mind and the oversized doors opened on their own. He heard a startled squeak sound behind him, but he paid it little mind. “Come along, little lamb. We must get you situated so we can discuss the ceremony.” 

“Why do you call me that. I am a person; I do have a name.” She snapped as she struggled to keep pace with his long stride. 

Amusement bubbled up in his chest, and he struggled not to let his counselors know how much the little human was affecting him. She was something else, an enigma that he would never tire of trying to figure out. If the ceremony went well then, he would have the rest of eternity to spend with her. 

“Are you going to share it with me or leave me in suspense?” He teased as he slowed his stride down enough for her to catch up. He was momentarily startled when he felt a hand wrap around his arm and a warm body press against him. 

He raised an eyebrow as he took in the marveled awe written across her face. Her eyes sparkled as she took in the tapestries and portraits that lined the stone walls. It appeared she hadn’t been listening to his question, so he let it drop. Her name wasn’t necessary, not until the ceremony, and he was old fashioned. He preferred to voice her name at the altar than in the ever-watchful halls.

“Sire, the room is this way.” One of his followers called out as Charles continued past the corridor his little lamb would be staying in and instead headed towards the infirmary. 

“I’m quite aware, Andrews. Why don’t you and the others go and see the ceremony preparations? We won’t be long. See that you send a couple of handmaidens to start a bath for my sacrifice as well.” 

Charles didn’t bother turning to see if his followers had heeded his words. He trusted the men to do what was asked and with little questions. He heard the soft rustle of clothes as the men turned and left. His little human jumped when she turned to see nothing but open air and a long empty corridor. 

“Oh heavens, that's not creepy.” She whispered to herself. 

______________________________________________________________

He stood in front of her, his chest heaving, nostrils flared as he watched goosebumps appear on her skin. She was everything he had ever wanted, and she knew how to put him in his place when he needed it. 

She was also the only one who could ever make his heart thunder in his chest, and his hands shake with the effort from holding himself back. She was his for the taking. She had dressed in all his favorites, a dark red dress with gold lacing around the bodice and sleeves. At her neck sat a cascade of teardrop emeralds. It highlighted her collarbone and pulse perfectly. With each thud of her heart, the necklace would pulse with it. 

It was enough to have his mouth-watering; her blood was calling to him, begging for him to claim it as his own. 

Claim her. 

His mind shouted as he wrestled with his self-control. It wouldn’t do good to scare her away. He needed to execute this perfectly. 

He took a deep breath as he watched her move around the room, her skirt rustling against the stone floor. Her fingers ran along the spines of the books, her eyes flitting from one place to another. She was comfortable in his presence, her peaceful continence allowing his inner beast to relax. 

“You’re very calm about this situation.” His voice floated across the room. He watched as her body stiffened at the sound—fingers stilling as she took in his words. 

“Will you treat me the way that the villagers did?” The question was innocent enough if he didn’t know the whole story behind her words. 

“I will treat you infinitely better. You are my mate, the necklace around your neck, and the ring on your left-hand claims you as such.”

“But there is more, is there not?” 

He waited until she was facing him before he spoke. “There are several things that have to happen to finish the ritual.” 

Her eyes flickered at his words, but she stepped forward, her hands clasping in front of her. “What do you need me to do?” 

A swirl of pride ran through his body, and his beast purred in delight. His mate was willing to do the impossible, and he would treasure and value her above all else. She was his. 

“You need to transform before we can move on. Once that is done, we will proceed with the claiming ritual.” His words were matter-of-fact but held a depth of concern for the young woman. 

“What does the transformation entail, exactly?” 

“You and I have to exchange blood; once the blood is shared, your body will begin to change. It will be painful for a few hours, and your body will shut down—first the limbs, then the heart, and finally your brain. When you come back, you will be part of the Vampire realm. You will be my Queen and me, your King.” 

There was a long moment of silence, both standing in front of each other, gauging the other’s reaction.  

“You will not leave me to suffer alone?”

He stepped into her personal space, her scent invading his senses. His eyes closed for a few seconds as he acclimated himself to her. His hand lifted, and he finally allowed himself to touch her skin since the exchange of vows. It was rough beneath his fingertips; the weather had not been kind to her. 

Up close he could see the chapped lips and red circling her eyes, attesting to her long nights without sleep. He swiped his thumb across her cheek, relishing in the feeling of the blood rushing through her body. He watched enraptured as her pupils dilated and her pulse fluttered beneath his caress. His eyes were drawn to her lush mouth as her breath stuttered. 

“I will be by your side the whole time. I will never leave you to suffer, I promise.” 

Her eyes shifted to meet his, and he caught just a glimpse of fear before she shut her eyes, trying to hide from him. “I’m ready.” 

He nodded his head before stepping away from her. Turning, he walked over to a goblet on the table, a small dagger resting beside it. He grabbed the blade and reverently traced his fingers over the jeweled handle before opening his left palm. He held the dagger out to her with a flourish. She looked from the weapon and back to him. 

“You’re going to need to cut my palm for the ritual.” 

Her breath stuttered, but ever the fearless little lamb, she slowly shuffled over. Her hands shook as she took the dagger, her fingers clumsily holding the hilt. His lips twitched at the sight. Even with all the bravado out in the courtyard this morning, she was still a human that was terrified of becoming a vampire king’s sacrifice. 

“Are you okay?” Charle’s words were hushed. 

“I’m fine; just tell me where to cut.” 

He peered at her, gauging her reactions to her words. She was far from fine, but he wasn’t going to push just yet. Soon she wouldn’t be able to hide from him, and then he would figure everything out. But, in the meantime, he would continue. 

“You need to cut from the bottom of my left ring finger to the end of my palm. Once that’s done, you’re going to cut from between my index and middle finger down towards my pinky, it should make a symbol of a Cross once you’re finished.” 

Her eyes widened in alarm. “You will die if I carve a Cross into your palm!” 

Charles chuckled in amusement. This little lamb was going to be a fascinating fit for his life. “That’s a common misconception; the wound will never heal right, so it will scar, but that’s the point of the ritual. It is to show that I am claimed. Think of it as your claiming mark, little lamb.” 

“Don’t call me that.” Her lips fell into a deep scowl as she glared up at him through her lashes. His inner beast rumbled at the sight; she was breathtaking and all his. He couldn’t wait to claim her, have his blood running through her veins, his mark covering her body. 

“What would you rather me call you then? My little sacrifice?” 

“My Queen, will do just fine.” The amount of sass made Charles preen. She was his Queen, wasn’t she? The emerald ring on her finger attested to that, but to hear her claim herself as such was enough to make his cock twitch. 

Charles closed his eyes and took a deep breath, grounding himself. He couldn’t lose control just yet, and her body was too weak to handle him right now. She needed to transform first. Soon. 

“Charles.” 

He was snapped back to himself when he heard his given name fall from her lips. The way her tongue weaved the syllables of his name was enough to ignite his blood to a boil. 

“You need to cut now; I don’t know how much longer I can hold myself back, little lamb.” 

With one last curious gaze, she swiftly sliced his palm open, the Cross taking effect immediately. Charles swallowed down the hiss as he clenched his hand into a fist and raised it over the goblet, the two of them watching as the black blood trickled down with soft plunks. 

It took them a couple of times to get enough blood into the goblet, but all too soon, it was time to add her blood to the mixture.

Taglist: @agniavateira @cavillanche @cavillunraveled @creepingfromthecorners @dreamwritesimagines @fangirlings-things @ficsandcatsandficsandcats @hlkwrites​ @hnryycvll @honeydulcewrites @iloveyouyen @johnmotherfuckingfrusciante @keiva1000 @ladyreapermc @laketaj24 @littlefreya @ly--canthrope @mary-ann84 @mrsaugustwalker @ohvalleyofplentyyy @omgkatinka @sciapod @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @supersweetstache @thethirstyarchive @the-winter-witcher @thegreattodd @titty-teetee @tumblnewby @viking-raider @wednesdaybraids @wendimydarling @white-wolf-of-rivia @witcherwrites​

[psychemeanscure]

PART 23

The sound of their heavy breaths is the only thing that can be heard behind the narrow line of flipped junk cars they found for hiding, or rather for shielding. They were able to seepage from the motorboat with the same assistance of somewhere springers. Jae who is still holding a shotgun, manage to pull out a small two-way handheld radio from its leather jacket. Hastily pushing the PTT button of it which she presumes to be connected with his co-subordinates. For she never gone wrong.

“What just the hell happened, Lee? I thought this direction was the safest, then what’s this?!”

His whispering grumbles through the other line as he was also answered promptly. “Idiot, we’ve been ghosted. Sh*t! I should have check carefully.”   

“What? What do you mean?”  

“I thought the Alcaziar tag along to that opposite side of the port, turns out he manage to split his men. He wasn’t there, so most probably… we’re doomed!”  

“Are you saying---“realizing his own thought, he can only give a knowing look to her. “F*ck! We’re already doomed, you say.”    

He was about to cut their conversation then if he wasn’t able to hear its next cursing from the other line. “F*ck, F*ck. This is f*cking shit!”      

“Why, why? What’s up?”

“Boss, is coming back. I repeat, going back to the ship! F*ck, this is crazy!”

Jae sense Lee’s inattentiveness from their radio conversion already but rather its attention was actually moved into commanding their other members. They’re in a panic mode it is for Sung Eunyoung to be alerted as well. “What did you just say?”

Snatching the handheld radio from Jae’s hold, pressuring the one from the other line which only responded her a silent gasp. “F*cking answer me, dammit!” Vigorously throwing it by the assistant’s chest, a tear starts to cascade once again.

He can only gulp his own saliva as if indirectly scolded by a boss’ wife. Much as he guesses how Lee felt like. “Go down.” For one thing they needed to do is to follow an unspoken order. ‘Guess they’ll make a great pair, indeed. Both intimidatingly scary.’ A thought he can actually imagine.

“I’m currently.”

For Lee interrupting it is the useful thing he needed. “Can I speak to boss.”

“Now, that’s the other problem.”

Left confused, he opts to query. “What?” as he can also see her incoming furrows. “It seems like he accidentally slips it from his ear. I can’t reach him no matter calling I try.”

“Sh*t! this isn’t what I’m expecting. F*ck.”

He starts contemplating. He is, for she can already see it. Eyes torn between her and the far away sight of the ship. Even the contrary silence from the other line only makes her decision clear. “Go.”

Jae was surprised hearing it from her indeed. “W-what? But boss ask me to look for you. I can’t just disobey Ms. Sung, considering the Alcaziar is probably looking for you again. “

“As much as you’re worried about him, I am as well. The backup will do for me, perhaps.”

“But---“

“I’ll give him a word for you. So no more buts and go, please. I’m also asking right now.”

Still doubting, he had no choice but to grab her request even. Clearing a throat, he speaks to the radio. “How many of us backing this area we’re in?”

“Half.”

“So, just enough.” A convincing monologue for himself before inquiring once again. “Can they spot us from here?”

“Yes.”      

Sighing, he agreed. “Alright. Radio them to guard her up. Keenly, please. I’ll be following you in a sec.”

“Copy that.”  

~

Right then Jae frantically loading the shotgun in his hands with new ones before he turns to her then. “Now, Ms. Sung. This may be a meaningless word to say but I really need you to do just one thing. Stay. Stay hiding no matter what happened please. Use this if you ever sense someone against their sight.”

Giving her the handheld radio, she can only nod. “O-okay. I will.”

Jae was about to leave then if only the idea in mind did not bother him suddenly. So he turns to her one last time, guiding her freehand to hold a silencer gun which left her baffled. “I know you still haven’t recovered from earlier, but this is the only thing I could offer as well. Just in case, miss.”  

Looking by the thing in her hand she begins to get nervous for herself. Then explosion happens. As it only gets worse for her again. Afraid that if she opens her eyes from the impact, things will be a death of her. Jae was already cursing beside her while she’s left with bulging eyes, watching the scorching fire from faraway ship. “No. No, please…”

“Ms. Sung. Don’t think anything ahead first. We will find boss, we promise. He’ll be alive.”

For there she was, being left in iceberg. Silently crying all her might from the expense of events she never dared to imagine. Not when she heard a screeching sound near her. “F*ck this. Could they have at least wait before I’m somber?”

Her whispering sarcasm for herself as she eventually wipes her halt tears, tucking the handheld radio in her coat’s bottom pocket, carefully crouching to stand up, trying to peek unnoticed while taking a fully grip to the silencer gun as if her life depends on it already.  

But before she can actually do. A hand pulled her back into hiding out from the sight of the springer backups. The stranger covered her lips by its freehand for she can only shut her eyes, muffling squeals becoming useless. She’s trap! And no one’s here to save her. She can onl---

“You’re really stubborn, aren’t you?”  

And It didn’t take a second to snap her eyes open, dismissing the hopeful thought in mind for it already came before she can ask for it. A washed Jang Taeyoung was the stranger in front of her. That the moment he let go of his hand from her lips, uttering his name is what she needed. “Jang.”

Her gaze was just too soft that anyone can’t rather handle to surrender, but not with this scoffing man whose piercing furrows lingers caused by her recent behavior. “Don’t look at me like that, woman. I’m still mad at you.”

But either or, neither happened to affect her with his words for it was ignored instead. Not knowing he’ll actually the one being effected. She hugged him. Sung Eunyoung cannot hold back anymore that snaking her hands to his neck tightly is what she wanted. He realized it. Her chin on his shoulder, she’s crying… again.

 And like a thunderbolt being strike by the rain, he gives in. Despite his prickly body, he still obliged to slouch enough to make her comfortable from tiptoeing. He was even oblivious of his action before he knew it, he was already tapping her back with care. An upkeep he had never felt ever since but her. She always does.

“I’m wet.” He managed to crack the obvious

“I’m dirty, anyway.” while she managed to chuckle from it.

Before silence takes in once again. Stroking her back this time, he utters an apology.                          

“I’m sorry.”

She only hummed. “Did I worry you that mu--- Ouch! What was that for?”

A strong smack on his back went through indeed for he needed to minimize his exclamatory grumbles when pulling away from her embrace. “Stating the obvious, yes. I really hate y---“

“Yah… W-what happened to your upper arm, uh?”

She tried to touch it which only earned a small grunt to him. Sighing for he can’t rather mock at her switching countenance caused by her worried face even. He chose to pick up the silencer gun instead. The one she dropped to embrace him.

“Just a small one. You don’t have to worry. But this? You shouldn’t be holding this, woman. Tss. Jae.”

“Don’t scol---“

“What? You’ll give a word in their behalf?”

Crunching her brows, confused. She asked. “How did you know that?”

“I was able to retrieve my earpiece so I heard it. I can also give you details of how I manage to reach here whole, interested?”  

Groaning, she ignored his bicker. Instead, she tends to watch him pulling out the handheld radio from her coat which antenna’s peeking, making him easy to recognize. “You were told to use this, but you didn’t even. Woman, really.”

“Ms. Sung! Ms. Sung, are you alright? Where are you at right now? Tell us your current situation, please.”

The bombardment radioed questions of Lee then, before Jang Taeyoung pushes the PTT button to answer. “Go back now. I’m with her.”  

“Boss!”

Acknowledging him, he responded to his men. We’re in a dark corner 6’oclock of indoor junkyard. Does the others see us from here?”

“Indoor you say, boss? We can’t. The thermal scopes have limits to get through roofs still.”

“So, it makes sense.” Scoffing, he blurts out his frustration. “Do remind me the latest next time, PLEASE.” Sighing, he proceeds to charging his next agenda. The next it did, he was on to using the earpiece again while Jae who just came back being their tail. They just learned that another set of Alcaziar’s men were actually few meters from where they’re hiding. Too close if not being planned wisely.

“Now woman, Listen. The moment Jae throws the grenade I want you to run as fast as you can by that side. See that pile of containers? Ahead of that 9’oclock, a car will be waiting to pick you up. Jae will tail you, so don’t worry. You, got me?”  

She was nodding then but her thoughts still evolved about him. He’s at it again. Risking his all. “Jang…”

He hummed. As she holds his hand tightly. “C-can… Can we just leave together, please?”

“Woman, are we back on this again? We already discussed this. Jeez, I can’t understand you.”

“So do I! --- hmp!”

“What the hell are you thinking woman?!”

His whispering scolding the moment her thunderous exclaim resonates the whole place. They supposed to be moderate to not letting the enemy sense their way but because of her surprise flare, everything becomes useless.

“Shit. Boss, they moving faster on our way.”

Jae hastily reminds the moment Lee gave him information from the ear piece he manages to acquire for his own. Piercing eyes of Jang Taeyoung stares at her with vigorous disappointment. “Instead of going with the plan, you only made us run in the pit of death, woman. I really hate you right now.”    

“Might as well die together, then.”

~

Her stern conviction that she never expected be reflected so soon. For everything happened so fast. An injured Jae, passing out on the expanse of the dirty pavements and Jang Taeyoung’s forcing body. Her troubleshooter… trying his best to stand up for her despite his shot ankle and knee, dried wounded stomach starts gushing another blood. A nowhere sniper attacks and the loss of their springer back-ups. None of their plan works that the only thing exists was the fading smoke Jae manage to throw, and most specially…

The trembling figure of her collapsing body, helplessly staring unable to think of anything but his safety. Their ill-fated fate takes in once again.

“D-don’t… Please Jang, don’t overdo yourself. Please.”

But even the sluggish shakes of her head can’t do any for Jang Taeyoung resisted to approach her still. “Jang, please! No… stop already, please.”

She was afraid, yes. That whenever he tries to move, another bullet will be fired to him. And it did. But not from the sniper she foresees, but from the Alcaziar’s bullet itself. A shot on its burned upper arm came through as his gorging scream resonates the whole place.

“Jang!!”

Her feared shout on so when the geezer was just behind her grasping her shoulders, bending to lean by her ear to whisper. “I told you, we’ll do some reenactment, right? But you slip it away from me a while ago that you just made me beastly angry, little pea. So might as well work it out today.”

Its threatening words that from bending behind her, he shifted to Jang Taeyoung’s back that as fast as she could, blocking her frigid body to shield him is what she needed from more possible attacks the latter may planning. “No, please. Stop. Don’t hurt him. Don’t hurt him!”

Yet she was only answered by its menacing clicking of tongue. Head’s tilting with irritation, frowning brows crunching tightly. “Please, don’t hurt him.” her lenient plead, only to be pushed from her blocked body to flop on the ground, and a click on its gun’s hammer. Pointing it thoroughly to Jang Taeyoung’s back head.

“How was my hide & seek game, mi niña? You enjoyed it?”

Deepening the gun to Jang’s head. She had finally lost her composure. “No! No, please. Do---“

~

A gunshot… was heard.

Her wobbling body approaching his shaking one. Snaking her arm into his shoulders, tears streaming endlessly into her eyes as her freehand pressing his bleeding neck. She doesn’t even care anymore if she’s covered with blood as well as she searches for help. “J-Jang. Jang Taeyoung, stay with me. Stay with me, loco. Please…”

Jang Taeyoung, was just staring at her with drowsy eyes but despite of it, he still managed to look at her with such tenderness. “F-finally. M-mission accomplished. Isn’t it, volatile?”

His sort of validation she obviously knew, yet the fulfillment doesn’t absorb her well-being for she’s only worried of the man in her arms. Much for her despair when blood starts to spit in his mouth. Agape eyes resulted to panic as she shakes her head, hushing him from pushing another word. “S-stop. D-don’t say another word, please. I’m begging you.”          

Yet, he’s not following her but cupping his weakly hand onto her face instead. Even made a small chuckle as if everything about him is okay. “H-hey… I remember you told me, you will be the one hurting me but why does it feel I did it instead. D-don’t make me guilty, woman.”

He was wiping her tears by his thumb, giving her the sweetest smile he never dared to share ever since but her. He speaks. “I don’t know if am I doing it right, but I’m actually fulfilling one of your wish right now, volatile. Though I’m afraid I may not fulfill the other one.”    

“Jang please, no… D-don’t say that loco, please…”

Her continuous set of pleads as a loud call of attention coming their way. Even if it’s hard for him, he needed to force her pressing hand to pull away and give it to the unexpected savior. She was resisting, but he insisted. “Go, Sung Eunyoung.”

“I won’t f*cking leave you, loco. Please.”

“You have to.”

Her eyes start to blur from another proceeding tears, considering the bleeding on his neck begins to spread bigger. She can’t attain. Not with him in a high risk! But the savior starts to get a hold of her to stand up. And she lost it. For her wimping body can’t urge any further.

“Jang Taeyoung!!”

Then she lost him.

[bang-tan-bitches]

MONSTER MASH 2020 ENTRY 2

It was all... her. So many memos she'd left behind and even a lock of her hair. And so many pictures. From her social media, from her phone, asleep in her bed, at parties, and ones of her when she was-- oh God, he had been there.

For everything.

Warnings (SPOILERS IN WARNINGS): Stalking, obsession, slight mentions of non-consensual kissing and touching, death, angst, blood, slight gore

Word Count: 1.8k

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader, Namjoon x Reader

The gentle morning light swept slowly over smooth satin skin. Tranquil songbirds drifted through the open window, waking the entwined lovers, spent from a late night. The man’s full lips drifted into a smile as he opened his eyes, automatically drifting down to the beautiful woman laying on his chest.

“Good morning, my Darling.” His whispered words filled the room. Inky hair fell over his forehead as his dark, doe-like eyes glowed with love.

How had he gotten so lucky? Abundant curls cascaded over a heart-shaped face, and long lashes brushed high proud cheekbones, and he knew when she opened her eyes, a colorful kaleidoscope awaited his hungry eyes. Her locks continued over mismatched raspberry lips, and over a bare, silken shoulder and swept over her graceful back. Possessive pride filled his chest. This was his soulmate; the one he’d waited for.

He slowly drifted one large palm down her delicate back, and back up again. “Wake up…” He murmured and smiled at her groan. “Come, the morning is moving without us.”

She slowly opened her soft eyes, meeting his intense gaze.

“You…” She whispered, “You're really here?”

God, it hadn't been a dream. When he'd come to Y/N out of nowhere outside of her apartment, she'd been shocked to see him. He was a friend of her boyfriend's. Kind, but quiet. The kind of handsome her best friend would usually go for. Namjoon had been welcoming when Yoongi introduced her to his friends. And Namjoon had justified being near her apartment, offering her a ride to the local college since Yoongi had been worrying over Y/N walking alone. She'd smiled at Yoongi's mother hen behavior and turned Namjoon down, and turned to keep walking. Then a sharp burn penetrated her neck and everything went black.

Tears burned her eyes, matching the inner sickness that made her dizzy.

He smiled. “I really am, Love. Finally, you're mine. I'd been waiting so long for you; did you know I saw you first--that night at the skating rink?” Large, calloused palms slipped over her as he flipped Y/N over.

"I was blindsided by your beauty and talent. I couldn't resist learning everything I could about you. I knew you were special. And Yoongi.. well, he'll forgive me eventually when he realizes how much you needed me. After that last fight with your parents..." She blinked up at him, those joyful tears sliding down her cheeks, laying pliant under his larger body. They'd only shared tender kisses, but he knew his sweet, shy Y/N would be ready for him to take her soon. He buried his face in her neck, leaving a soft kiss under her ear. "I am never letting you leave. I can keep you safe, and loved here."

Namjoon's raspy voice echoed in her ears.

Stalking.

He had been stalking her. How did he find out about her parents?

She had to get out of here. Where were they? Everything was so fuzzy after he'd drugged her. She still felt sluggish.

Trapped. Alone. Practically defenseless.

She plastered a frozen smile on her face. "N-Namjoon, I really need the bathroom and a shower. I'll be back in a bit, okay?"

He pouted and playfully kissed her. "It's Oppa to you now. Go, I'll make you breakfast." Such a tease to mention a shower and the tantalizing idea of her beautiful body. He wanted it all to himself, to enjoy her slowly and sweetly. What would it be like to make love to his soulmate?

Y/N was already backing away into the master bath, cringing when she realized the locks were disabled. Her heart was racing, and she slid down the door as she heard the footsteps fade. Did anyone know where she was? Her parents had practically disowned her last night after announcing she wanted to be with Yoongi for good. He was her forever.

And now...

She was trapped in a bathroom by her stalker. Those calls over the weeks, the notes and strange glitches in her laptop-- had it all been Namjoon?

Y/N raced to the toilet and vomited. Her legs were still so weak. She shook with terror and leaned against the toilet, the cool ceramic grounding her.

Breathe.

She needed to breathe. To get contact with the outside world or escape. But how? Namjoon hadn't been dangerous yet... maybe she could just walk out?

She washed her face robotically and left, nervous to take off her clothes in a place Namjoon could easily reach her.

Walking out the door slowly and quietly, Y/N crept along the short hallway and out to the kitchen and living room in the simple but tidy apartment Y/N assumed was Namjoon's. The far corner of his living room was the logical place to be, the complete opposite of the direction the man was busy in front of the stove, completely burning the pancakes he was attempting to make. He waved her over, his cold eyes boring into her. "Watch this for a minute while I get your surprise from the pantry."

As he walked away, Y/N took her chance and grabbed a slender, long knife from the rack next to the stove, and shoved it in her sleeve. She panted as if she was in a race, adrenaline pushing her senses into overdrive as she listened for Namjoons return.

Namjoon whistled merrily as he brought the bag to the table. He couldn't wait to show Y/N how he could, and did protect her. He grabbed her around the waist and led her to the table, returning to the kitchen to grab their plates and Y/N's favorite morning tea.

"Look, Darling," Namjoon said as she sat at the end of the table. She must want a good view of his gift. He grinned at her excitement and placed a plate with pancakes and bacon in front of her.

Did he not realize just how burned the food was? Y/N clenched her fists under the table. What was wrong with him? She looked up at him as he pulled the cloth off his "surprise" as Namjoon grinned, his sweet smiled so at odds with the madness lurking inside him. "I wanted to protect you. Now they will never hurt you again."

Time seemed to slow at that moment. A horrifying, slow moment in time as the realization of what she was staring at sank in. Y/N shrieked, nearly falling out of her chair.

No.

No, no, no...

Her mother and father's glassy eyes stared at her from mangled heads, the rusty scent of dried blood filling her nose. She slipped from her chair and onto the beige carpet, her body shaking with sobs.

He had... Namjoon had...

Killed them.

And she was trapped with this monster.

His grey socked feet stood in front of Y/N as he bent to comfort her. "The first body is always a little much, but--"

Y/N jerked away, standing up, nose to nose with Namjoon. "You are a monster!" She sneered at Namjoon, "You took my family! You stalked and drugged me! You're insane--"

Namjoon's fist struck out like a cobra, the slap leaving her ears ringing. "I am not insane," His nostrils flared as he stepped over her prone body. "I'm not like her, Y/N, I'm better. I am your soulmate. She always told me I'd find you."

Her? Y/N's head was throbbing as she held her face. "Who is--"

"--Not everyone believes in soulmates, but we are fated, darling." He cupped her bruised, throbbing cheek, smoothly cutting her off. "I'm sorry you are hurt, but we both know we cannot tolerate lying." Namjoon's dark eyes were stern. She dropped her head and nodded, relieved that the knife hadn't fallen from her sweater.

They ate in silence.

Y/N couldn't decide where her eyes should stay-- on the murderer, or her parents? Was it all her fault?

Her chest ached with the strain of trying to keep her grief at bay.

So her eyes focused on her plate as she pushed her food around. Namjoon ate easily, telling her about his homework and class schedule as if it was an everyday occurrence to have parts of corpses in his kitchen.

He left her alone in the kitchen, off to shower, but not before ordering her to stay in the living room. After the bodies and the brutal slap, Y/N felt too weak to fight back.

Namjoon twisted the knob in the shower stall, the faucet squeaking to life. Maybe he should have waited to show Y/N. But she had said she hated them over the phone, so maybe once the shock wore off, she would understand her newfound freedom.

Namjoon nodded to himself before his thoughts turned to the idea of Netflix and holding his sweet lover close. Would he finally be able to touch her the way he'd been aching to?

Y/N paced the apartment. The shock was starting to wear off and she had started moving; if only to get her body working again. She would get out. She would find a way to make him pay for what he'd done.

Y/N swallowed and turned to the windowpane, the high ride apartment making it impossible to call out to anyone. She was too far up. A swatch of color caught her eye and she turned to the wall, and the breath left her lungs at the sight in front of her.

It was all... her. So many memos she'd left behind and even a lock of her hair. And so many pictures. From her social media, from her phone, asleep in her bed, at parties, and ones of her when she was-- oh God, he had been there.

For everything.

"I never missed a day with you after I found you, darling," Y/N jumped and turned, her face glowing with pride. Namjoon knew she would love to see how close he was, how much he loved being with her.

She smiled at him, tears brimming. "You... you..."

Namjoon stepped close, able to smell her sweet perfume. "I know, my love. You were worth everything I had to give up. I love you enough to sacrifice my entire life."

“Y-You love me?” She asked.

“I love you more than you could imagine, Darling,” He smiled. Those deep, coffee-colored eyes took in every detail of his beloved's face. Y/N smiled up at him and wrapped her arms around his neck, stretching up to kiss him as she pulled the kitchen knife from her sleeve and stabbed the blade into his neck with all the force she could muster.

[sylvanfreckles]

I've Got Red in My Ledger

By Grace Undone: Chapter Five

A devastating betrayal and an arcane ritual leave Castiel fighting for his life...his human life. When his grace is brutally torn out of his body and he's left to die on earth the only thing the Winchesters can do is try to pick up the pieces.

(I'm just doing one story for the entire month, so please enjoy the thirty-one chapter beginning of the flare 'verse. You can read other stories in the 'verse here, and you can read this fic on AO3 here.)

“Cas?” Dean shifted around on his bed so that he was sitting with his feet on the floor. “Is that…is it really you?” He didn’t want to breathe, didn’t want to hope. Good things just didn’t happen.

A tired sigh hissed through the phone. “I’m here.”

“Where? How? Damn, man, you were…I thought…” emotion choked off Dean’s voice and he cleared his throat. “Where are you?”

“Dean Winchester,” the other voice was back, a little stronger than before. “Can you find this phone? If I leave it here with Castiel?”

“The hell is going on?” Dean demanded. “Let me talk to Cas again.” He was on his feet now, pacing, fighting down the knot of dread in his stomach.

“He’s too weak. They took…I didn’t know it would be like this, you have to believe me.”

“Took what? What did they take?”

A sound like a sob filtered through the phone’s speakers. “His grace. Naomi, she…she took his grace.”

Dean’s stomach dropped right down into his socks. Part of him had always wondered if Cas might make the choice to become human again someday, especially after Lucifer had taken Jack’s powers. He wondered what it might have been like if all four of them had been able to grow old together, but not like this.

He swallowed hard to clear the lump in his throat. “Can you put Cas back on?”

“I can’t…Please, you have to hurry. She’s—Naomi—we’re leaving soon and she’s leaving him here.”

“Where’s ‘here’? Dammit, where are you?”

“Near a place called Kansas City. I think there’s a river nearby. I don’t—I have to go!”

“Wait!” Dean lurched forward, as though to physically keep the woman on the phone, but his phone had already beeped to show the end of the call. “Dammit.” He jabbed at his phone to redial the number and pressed it to his ear, but it just kept ringing until it dumped his call into an inactive voicemail.

At least Kansas City was a start. He and Sammy could get rolling in ten minutes and be there by sunrise.

….

Jedaia ended the call with Dean and pushed the phone under Castiel’s shoulder, near one of his hands, just as Malachi strode into view.

“Let me heal him,” Jedaia begged as the anarchist approached. “Please, just let me heal him.”

“That’s enough,” the male angel snarled, pulling Jedaia away from Castiel. “He’s getting what he deserves, and now so am I.”

Castiel wearily stared up at him. He was prepared for Malachi to further abuse him, now that the ritual was over, but to his astonishment the male angel seemed fixated on Jedaia.

“You didn’t think we brought you here just to help with the ritual, hmm?” Malachi taunted. He smiled down at Castiel and pulled Jedaia against him, twisting a hand in her pale hair to drag her head up. “Naomi isn’t the only one getting a power boost tonight.”

“No!” Jedaia twisted in his arms, but it was clear she had never been trained as a soldier. An apprentice Rit Zien, perhaps, or one of the scribes that had served under Metatron, but not a warrior.

“Yes. Didn’t you realize we only needed two for the ritual? Why else would we have brought you out here?”

“That’s enough, Malachi.” Naomi’s voice had strange harmonics to it now, and he thought he could feel her power dancing along his skin like a static charge when she drew closer to the struggling angels. “We’ll have to find another ritual site.”

Naomi had changed. He was sure her true form would have been the most altered, but even her earthly vessel was different. She stood taller, though that could have just been the way she was holding herself and not an actual change of height, and her close-cropped gray hair had been replaced by a silvery-white mane that cascaded down her back. Her skin seemed to almost glow; and when she glanced in his direction, he saw that her eyes were now so pale they were almost white.

Malachi bared his teeth and forced Jedaia around to face Naomi. “You promised me, Naomi! The only reason I went along with your little scheme and didn’t gut him on the spot is because you promised I’d be an archangel too!”

“And you will be. But not now. We’ll have to secure a new site first.”

“No!” Malachi twisted around and forced Jedaia onto her knees. “I get what’s coming to me now, not later.”

Naomi just scoffed and strode over to the nearest post that supported the roof. She stared at it critically for a moment, then turned back to face Malachi. “Fine. You’ll get what’s coming to you.”

Then Naomi raised her hand and slapped the post. In the split second before her hand touched the wood, Castiel saw the angel banishing symbol appear as though Naomi had just written it in her own blood. He curled back in on himself as Malachi and Jedaia let out a scream, but to his surprise he wasn’t banished along with them.

But…no. Of course not.

He was human now.

Sharp footsteps brought Naomi closer to him, but he barely had the strength to look up at her, much less put up any kind of fight. The angel—or maybe it was archangel now—crouched next to him and studied his face with pitying eyes.

“You should be thanking me. He was planning to kill you.”

He stared up at her, aware of the phone buzzing against his arm as someone tried to call him. Naomi smirked and easily extracted the phone from its hiding place, no matter how feebly he tried to stop her.

She held it up between them and answered the call, pressing the speakerphone button.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice was faint but distinct, and raw with worry. “Cas, man, can you hear me? Say something.”

“He’s here,” Naomi said, keeping her eyes focused on Castiel’s. “If you hurry, he might even still be alive.”

“Listen here you ugly bitch…”

Naomi stabbed the button to end the call and dropped the phone next to Castiel’s face. “There’s one more thing,” she announced.

He bit back a groan of pain and turned his face toward the floor, avoiding her gaze. The wounds on his back burned, like he’d been branded instead of cut, and his wrists and ankles were torn from pulling against the chains that had tied him down. Then sudden pain blossomed through his body, white-hot and burning with cold, as she struck at him with her grace. He cried out and tried to roll away from her, but his body seized up in agony as soon as his back touched the ground. She struck again, lashing at him as though her grace was a whip, and his tattered clothing tore along new lines of pain.

After a few more lashes she growled and knelt to grab a handful of his hair. “There’s nothing left for you in Heaven now, Castiel. Whatever fraction of a soul you might have will sink down to the depth of the abyss for all of eternity for what you’ve done. You’ve betrayed your own kind, over and over, and for that you are banished.”

Her grace cracked across his face, breaking his nose, and she dropped his head to stand back up. “Pray that we never meet again.”

The lights around them seemed to flicker, the flames in the hanging censors streaming up into the air for a moment, and the silhouette of wings spread out from Naomi’s shoulders. Whole, healthy wings, not the same ragged things he and the other angels had been left with. Then, with a rush of wind that blew out half the flames, she was gone.

All that was left was the pain in his body and the buzzing in his head.

No…the buzzing of the phone.

Slowly, painfully, Castiel rolled up on his side and managed to pull the phone close enough to see the screen. There was a crack running through the tempered glass, but enough of the display remained that he could see the green icon to answer an incoming call. His hand shaking, blood smearing over the screen, he finally managed to touch the right spot on the screen to accept the call. “Dean?”

“Cas! Thank…thank something, man. Is she still there?”

He curled around the phone and coughed wetly, tasting blood in the back of his throat. “’m alone.”

“Good. Listen, man, just stay on the line, all right? We’re coming.”

Castiel tried to answer, but even breathing too deeply hurt, and he just tucked the phone closer to his face. Tears were leaking out of his eyes, running down his cheeks and across the bridge of his broken nose, but he didn’t know if they were from the physical pain or the roaring, empty grief that was consuming him from the inside.

“You’re doing great,” Dean’s voice was strong, encouraging, like a lifeline keeping him from utter despair. “We’re on the way, Cas, I promise. Just hold on.”

[Previous chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4)]

[anika-ann]

Panenka (Little Doll)

Type: One-shot, Reader Insert               Word count: 2010

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Reader, Steve Rogers (mentioned)

Summary: After a traumatic experience, you know you have to crawl out of your shell eventually; an Avengers gala to attend with Bucky looks like a perfect opportunity. But healing is a process through which everyone has to go through at their own pace.

Warnings: mentions of a past sexual assault (not graphic), brief but graphic description of violence, angst and fluff, swearing

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A/N: Eh. First time writing Bucky, not sure if it turned out right. But I just heard the song after a long time and it… came to me. The song is Czech and I took the liberty to loosely translate the lyrics. They are incredibly strong to me, but I understand it you don’t want to listen to the song for it is folk/country.

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Co skrýváš za víčky  a plameny svíčky, snad houf bílých holubic nebo jen žal?   (What is it your eyelids hide behind the candlelight a flock of white doves or nothing but sorrow?)

Tak odplul ten prvý,  den zmáčený krví, ani pouťovou panenku nezanechal. (And so floats away the day one a day soaked in blood and didn’t left as much as a little doll from a fair.)

Bucky sees you sitting at the mirror and as hard as he tries… he can’t figure it out. He doesn’t think there are words in any language known to man that would describe how beautiful you are in his eyes.

Your hair is not styled complicatedly, loose strands twirling freely, only few of them half-heartedly pinned to the back of your head; the rest is cascading down your nape and shoulder blades, just like your scarlet-coloured gown cascades down your enticing body. One of your hands – the dominant one – is still in a splint, restraining your movements, but you have put your make-up on with ease as if you have done it thousand times before, applying lipstick now, the last touch to your perfection.

Sometimes, Bucky looks at you and is immensely grateful for breathing being an autonomic function, because he forgets how to do so on his own, air caught in his throat like right now when you stand up straight, casting a glance his direction, catching him staring through the door opened ajar. And you smile; once again, he is reminded how breath-taking you are, even when the smile on your lips doesn’t reach your eyes.

He hasn’t seen a real smile of yours for weeks now and a flare of rage ignites in his chest, quickly put out as you open the door fully, your gaze glued to his face.

Your eyes appear less hollow than the first day they got you back, back from the hellhole where your captors---they—God, Bucky can’t stand even thinking about it, not now, not when you are supposed to attend a gala together. Your first public appearance since your mission going awry, since the intel leak, since your cover being blown, since- stop!

Bucky can’t take his eyes off of you and smiles gingerly, not even hesitating to pay you a compliment despite words never seeming like enough to describe what his mind can barely grasp, a beauty so exquisite he wonders if it was created by angels themselves. A beauty of a body, a magnificence of a soul.

“You’re… stunning. So beautiful, doll,” he whispers, uncertain why he can’t make himself to speak at normal volume; perhaps he’s worried he’d set off another waterfall, tears you have cried for days, ones of regret, sorrow and anger; tears you wished for no one to see, not even him. 

Otevři oči, ty uspěchaná, dámo uplakaná. Otevři oči, ta hloupá noc končí, a mír je mezi náma. (Open your eyes, you, always rushing, my lady with a face stained with tears open your eyes; this stupid night is to end and there’s nothing but peace between us.)

There’s a spark of emotion on your face at his words, something real, something Bucky tries to hold onto, swallowing his guilt and ache for later to come out.

Bucky sees you, standing tall, your chin raised in pride, strong and unshakable, ready to face everyone who knew what happened-- and as hard as he tries… he can’t figure it out. He doesn’t think there are words in any language known to man that would describe how brave you are in his eyes.

“Thank you,” you respond in same fashion, beckoning towards the door. “Shall we?”

For the first time, he notices that your lips in fact quiver a little, your smile crooked from how you force it to stay firm. It causes him to hesitate, but he doesn’t yield, doesn’t make the choice for you. As long as you feel ready to walk out and face the vultures of whom at least one will make an inappropriate comment – because of course they will – he will stand by your side. You need to make the decision, pacing your healing by yourself.

He thinks you’re crazy to be honest, crazy to silence the voices no doubt yelling in your head, but that doesn’t diminish his admiration for you, not even a fraction.

Bucky knows what it feels like; he can’t fully comprehend how exactly you feel after what happened, but he can understand to an extent. He knows what it’s like to be violated, what it’s like to be stripped of all dignity and have nothing left but shame and the ever-present urge to rub your own skin clean until it bleeds and washes the past away.

Bucky has never been… violated that way, but God, does it make him furious and does it burn, an all-consuming flame of rage.

And it certainly isn’t because of the lack of intimacy between the two of you as a consequence of what they have done to you, it’s not the idea of someone else touching you, though that would be maddening enough, it’s not even the nights he has been spending on the couch; it’s the fact you shrink in fear from any unexpected touch, it’s the idea of someone putting their hands on you against your will and it’s the nights he’s woken up at your screams loud enough to make your throat raw and sore.

But here you are, reaching for the pumps ready by the door; slipping one on, you struggle with the other-- and then he sees it; the tremble in your hands, the tear glistening in the corner of your eye.

You cry out in frustration when you have to steady yourself against the wall and his heart breaks. He’s a step from you in an instant; ready to support you, ready to-- to do anything to be honest. Anything to ease the burden laid on you.

Dropping the shoe with a huff and losing the other too, you hide your face in your hands, your palms doing nothing to muffle your choked sob and Bucky’s hands ball in fists.

Images of blood, screams and pathetic begging fill his mind and all he can think of is that he didn’t punch hard enough, didn’t break nearly enough bones, didn’t take enough time to cut the bastards open, to make them suffer so they wanted to slit their own throats only to end the misery he brought upon them-- had they been still able to hold a knife in their shattered fingers. He didn’t put them through nearly enough pain to make up for yours.

Your erratic breathing snaps him from his dark daydream, just in time to witness your knees buckle, your legs on the verge of failing you.

He’s reaching out before he realizes what he’s doing and stops himself hovering an inch from your skin.

“I’m… I’m going to touch you, alright?” he says, a warning and an offer and the tinniest hint of a nod is all he needs before he’s curling a gentle hand around your forearm.

To his utter shock, you spin on your heels and bury your face in his chest, clinging to him for the first time in weeks. 

Bucky isn’t certain whether his heart cracks or melts.

He feels you, a shivering sobbing mess in his arms, and as hard as he tries… he can’t figure it out. He doesn’t think there are words in any language known to man that would describe how strong you are in his eyes despite drenching his suit jacket in tears.

  Už si oblékni šaty, i řetízek zlatý,  a umyj se půjdeme na karneval.  (Go on, dress up at last wear a necklace of gold and clean up real nicely; we’re to attend a ball.)

A na bílou kůži, ti napíšu tuží, že dámou jsi byla a zůstáváš dál. (And on your snow-white skin in ink I will write that you’ve been a lady and remain one still.)

His lips brush your hair and another sob – more of a hick-up maybe – escapes your lips pressed together, and you shake your head, pushing with your hands against his chest and he lets you even if you use barely any force.

He hates it; he hates seeing you like this, he hates the whole fucking world for hurting you and he hates himself for being so fucking useless.

You wipe away the tears and grit your teeth, reaching for your pumps once more and slip into both of them with ease this time, despite your feet quivering in them, despite your whole body shaking.

“We gotta go, come on-“

“Doll,” he addresses you, trying so damn hard to sound gentle when all he wants is to scream, not because he’s angry with you, with your stubbornness, but because- because— GODDAMMIT! “Doll, we don’t-“

“I promised I’d go. I have to go-”

Throwing caution to the wind when you actually reach for the handle, legs unsteady like a Bambi trying to stand up for the first time, he curls his fingers around yours and pulls you away from the door.

“What the-“

“You don’t have to do anything. Okay? No obligation. If you want to go, I’ll follow, always, but I-“

“I do want to go!” you snap, possibly aiming for a firm voice and missing my miles as it comes out like a whimper instead. “I just need to do something normal, I need to show them that I’m fine—I- I promised Steve a dance-“

A wet chuckle escapes Bucky despite his inner turmoil, despite his insides twisting in rage and pain; of course you promised that punk a dance. You’d do anything for his pretty eyes, you always say that and then you proceed to kiss Bucky, because he gets all growly in mock jealousy-

You’re shaking your head, new tears rolling down and ruining your perfect make-up and Bucky doesn’t know what to do but to embrace you again, a loose cage you could easily escape should you want to. But you only curl up against him, arms winding around his waist and he sighs, trying and possibly failing at pouring all of his love into one single hug.

“-I just want normal. I want to dance. I- I-“

A smile spreads on Bucky’s lips as your voice turns less desperate and more resigned, longing, wistful even. You were not going anywhere tonight, that was for certain, and that was alright. He would tell Friday to let the others know, all in the good time.

He caresses the length of your hair, his flesh hand cupping your cheek and sliding two fingers under your chin, carefully guiding you to look up at his face. Even with your mascara and eyeliner smeared, black paths from your tears running down your cheeks, you take his breath away.

“You wanna dance, doll?” he asks, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips and you shake your head with a bitter chuckle, probably at the image of the two of you, a mess made in heaven, showing up at the party. “We can dance.”

 Otevři oči, ty uspěchaná,  dámo uplakaná.  Otevři oči,  ta hloupá noc končí,  a mír je mezi náma. (Open your eyes, you, always rushing, my lady with a face stained with tears open your eyes; this stupid night is to end  and there’s nothing but peace between us.)

“Yeah…?”

You look at him and he swears his heart stops for a moment. Why does his chest always feel so tight when your eyes lock with his, hopeful, kind and vulnerable?

“Yeah,” he confirms softly. “You can save Steve his dance for another time. It’s just you and me tonight.”

Realization, tender and grateful, shines from your eyes and for the first time in weeks, Bucky believes that what he sees is a hint of happiness, the first ray of hope that you are on your way to recovery and he actually contributes to it. He readjusts his hold on you so you could sway at least and there’s an honest curve to your lips; this time, he’s certain his heart melts and his chest swells with pride and hope that he is worthy of you.

Bucky feels you, content in his arms if only for a moment and as hard as he tries… he can’t figure it out. He doesn’t think there are words in any language known to man that would describe how precious you are in his eyes.

Words that would describe how much he loves you.

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Marvel masterlist  

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Thank you very much for reading! (Feedback always appreciated.)