#darkened--chasm

[gummi-ships]

Kingdom Hearts - End of the World

[paymechildsupport]

"You're not my Husband..." // Doppel!Francis x Reader 🐄🩸

@cassanderasblog --> Thanks for the request <3

-!! CW: Dubcon (in a sense), – Brief mention of murder, – Very slight body horror

-!! Very brief size kink 

Spouse!Reader x doppelgänger!Francis  

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▷ —-------------------- (s-s-s-sma-smash)

“You’re not Francis.” The words are sharp, punctuated, your glare burning straight through the mimic of a man in your living room

“No, I’m not,” The creature grins- if you could even call it that–, mouth a waning black chasm, no teeth, no tongue, nothing. How this thing managed to bypass the doormen you had no clue,-- how could someone fuck up this bad? 

“Francis’s” eyes darken, – literally. The whites turn into an inky black, eery small spheres of light peeking out where his pupils should be. 

Oh dear. 

The wired phone you keep on the kitchen counter goes off behind you. Glancing once more at your “husband” you slowly back track, hand inching to the phone. 

He just watches as you hesitantly pick up the ringing phone, making a click when it’s pulled from its cover. 

“Attention, this is the D.D.D, – we detected an unknown life force near your residency. Please, do not panic. Keep your door locked and do not approach anyone of suspicion. If you see anything weird, do not investigate. Dispatchers are coming to your location to liquidate the threat”   – Well, it was a little late for that. 

“... cancel dispatch” your lips form the words slowly. There’s silence on the other end, 

“Excuse me?... you want dispatch–” 

“Discharged. Threat neutralized.” 

Even “Francis” is stunned, – staring at you, unblinking, – flabbergasted. 

“‘Got it under control, thanks,” You hang up before they can answer, placing the phone back in its place. 

“Francis” just stares.

-

“You’re a doppelgänger , right?” 

“Perhaps.” His eyes narrow

“Alrighty then, prove it.” 

Unzips. 

—-------------

“Francis” stares, wide eyed, gaze fixed upon the water stains on your ceiling. Even with all the lights off, he can still see your snoozing frame tangled in the sheets beside him, (perks of being non-human). 

Your chest rose and fell with each breath, the movement captivating whatever posed as your husband. 

Your body looked serene, the faint light emitted from his glowing pupils illuminating your chest. 

“Ahah-!” You were practically in hysterics, tears flowing down your rosy cheeks, nails raking into the headboard of your bed. “Francis” could only lie there, enamored by your blissful expression as unfamiliar sparks of pure pleasure coiled inside, heating everything up until it was practically molten. 

“Mmph-!” you choke off your moans, slapping a hand to your mouth lest your neighbors hear you impaling yourself on your husband’s doppelgänger 's cock. 

You swivel your hips, his eyes widening; no one’s ever ridden him like you are, – no one’s ridden him period. You were surprised the doppelgänger  even had a dick, – let alone it being almost twice the size of the actual Francis’. You had stuffed yourself full of him, bouncing mercilessly. Your husband had neglected you horribly in the past,-- never coming home, always giving you the cold shoulder, even when you had gotten down and begged for him to look at you, just once –your thirst for intimate touch was at an all time high. 

“Francis” grunted, surprised at how wonderful this new sensation was. The delicious heat in his stomach bubbled over, bottoming out through his cock. Your eyes widened at the warm sensation of him, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You had to bend down, biting deeply into his shoulder to stifle the screams lodged in your throat. 

You inhaled deeply, desperately trying to catch your breath as “Francis” could only glance over, the slight pain in his shoulder from your teeth barely bothering him, (because, well, one, you were the only one who could breathe and two, he wasn’t human). Your head turns, sloppily kissing him on the cheek, to his absolute shock. 

“Francis” brings his right arm to his left shoulder, fingers gingerly grazing the marks left by your teeth. It still tingled. 

He looks over at your slumbering frame again, now tentatively reaching the same arm in your direction, hesitantly touching your peaceful face. You do not stir, so he continues downward, fingers carefully glazing over your nose, your mouth, your jaw, and finally stopping at your neck, your pulse vibrating through his hand. Humans were so interesting, he thought, – and you had just grabbed his interest by the throat with a viselike grip. 

He gently tucks a stray piece of hair plastered to your sweat slicked forehead behind your ear, grinning in that creepily endearing way of his. How the original Francis lucked out, – he almost felt bad about killing and devouring his corpse, – almost. How could he have fumbled so badly, – you were an absolute treasure, and “Francis” was now determined to keep you all to himself. 

Such a greedy little creature. 

… You’re never going to be able to get rid of him after this. 

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(requests for more Francis, -- doppelgänger or no, -- are open and very much appreciated !)

I love him a normal amount I swear 🙏🙏🙏

[harbours-lighthouse]

𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐍

— part two

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 — Jason Todd x F!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — You have an argument with Jason Todd and things don't go your way. There's something slipping out of your fingers, and it might just be him.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: angst :)) possible fluff for a possible pt.ii?

Your feet ache, ankles throbbing in pain with each step you take. You’ve lost count of all the street signs you’ve passed, the chipped white lettering barely giving you an inkling of where you are anyway. All you know is that there’s something clawing inside of your chest, and the alleyways are slowly darkening. Graffiti streaks across red brick walls. Trash flutters out from parked cars.

I don’t need your help! 

Jason’s words echo, ringing inside your head like a bell. Your temples feel tense, as if bracing for each thunderous shout of those simple words. A lump forms like a sharp pebble in your throat.

“Okay, Jason,” you whisper, choking on the small utterance like it might cleave you in half. You didn’t get to tell him that—didn’t get to say anything at all. The door had slammed shut behind you once he’d said enough, and you hadn’t bothered to wait and see if he’d come racing after you.

He’s never shouted at you before—the most heated your arguments get is a little bit of bite in your tone, but never your voices raising to shake the frame of your psyche. 

I don’t need you. 

He’d said that in a much quieter voice—something muttered beneath his breath like an afterthought. You heard that and knew you wouldn’t be able to say anymore without breaking down, and that was the last thing you wanted to do. You wouldn’t let him see you like that. You could barely afford to see yourself in such a state. It was demeaning—overwhelming, too. 

A shout skewers through your haze of grief-stricken thoughts, and you glance away from your shoes to scan the street. Long shadows stretch across the cracked asphalt as street lamps tower over you like sentinels, bathing a group of teenage boys in sickly yellow light. They skip and prance like zealous predators, voices dipped in the usual ‘bad boy’ drawl, shouting or laughing at jokes you weren’t privy to. Clouds of smoke puffed from many of them, cigarettes tucked between two fingers like modern weapons. 

You usually wouldn’t be too bothered if it was one or two, but you could count five easily, and felt caution settle in your stomach like lead.

Smoothly turning into an alleyway littered with overflowing dumpsters and leftover cardboard boxes, you cut through two buildings to reach the next street. The teenagers fade into the background, leaving you behind. Sucking in a breath, you find that your chest is trembling.

“It’s fine,” you say to yourself, breathing out. 

That’s all I am! Okay? I’m fine. I don’t need you constantly pestering me about it. 

All you’d been was worried. Afraid, even. He’d been coming over less, and you’d sleep through the night without any interruptions. No living room window sliding open, or boots thudding softly onto the ground. At first, Jason left behind notes on the fire escape, taping the yellow square of paper to the metal bars for you to find when you opened the window for the sharp morning air. 

They were cute, with handwriting that was overly neat. 

Got caught up with something — wanted to let you sleep. Love you.

Though there was the dull ache of disappointment, it made you smile, imagining him taking the time out of his night (early morning) to do that for you. Him, sleepy from work, leaning against the fire escape while he scribbled the note down, before taping it down for you—that was more than what most men are ever willing to do.

But the notes changed, getting shorter in length. Sometimes you gripped the wind-bent paper and felt that he’d done it out of obligation, rather than consideration. It opened up a chasm in your chest, one where your worries began to fall into, slowly taking up space. It made breathing hard, and your days even harder. Then, the notes stopped entirely.

You went a whole month without hearing anything from him, and tonight was the first night that he finally showed up. No note, but his face cast in moonlight as he rapped on the frame of your window,  waiting with shifting feet. 

You weren’t expecting the hot feeling inside your chest. A molten ache of loneliness that made itself present when he climbed into your apartment, flashing a white grin that would usually have your knees weak. No, you were surprised when tears already burned at the back of your eyes, though you refused to let them fall. 

“Hey, doll,” Jason murmured, stepping towards you to wrap an arm around your neck, pulling your face into him. Gunpowder and leather overwhelmed your senses, and the usual warmth pouring out from him felt suffocating. You wrapped your arms around his waist, but you couldn’t bring yourself to hold on tight. 

Jason pressed his lips to your scalp. “How ‘ave you been?” 

“Fine,” you answered quietly, grateful that you could hide your face from him. You knew that what you were saying silently would be obvious in the way your brows were bunched together, and how you were chewing on the inside of your cheek. 

“Jus’ fine?” 

“Yeah—I was actually making dinner.” 

“Ah,” Jason pulled away, his arm slipping from you. It felt cold suddenly, like icy teeth were nibbling on your skin. You smiled wanly, watching as he glanced at the kitchen—at the stovetop where vegetables were simmering in an oil-slick pan.

It was strange. Where was your enthusiasm? Where was the joy that bubbled inside you like liquid sunlight? And why were his eyes so bloodshot? 

You know for a fact that you didn’t mean to be overbearing. All you asked was if he was okay. What had he been up to? Why hadn’t he called? Texted? Why did the notes stop?

Had you done something without even realising? 

Maybe you should have realised he was already fraying around the edges.

Maybe you should have realised that he wasn’t ready to come face to face with something that ached to love him when he’d spent a whole month fighting people who didn’t.

“Jason, come on. I can tell that you’re more than tired,” you stressed, hands falling to your sides. You watched as he scrubbed a harsh hand down his face. He didn’t know it, but the lines beneath his eyes seemed to deepen just as the chasm split through you. 

“Doll,” he said quietly, with something dancing along the edge of viscous. “I promise you, nothing is wrong. I am fine.” 

“Then why’d you disappear on me?” 

“I was busy!” 

“You look terrible.” 

“Gee, thanks for that, doll. Really sweet of you.” 

“I’m just worried.” 

“Yeah, sure you are.” 

It spiralled and you weren’t able to stop it. Each new word said was worse than the last—bitter with something neither of you had tried to acknowledge. Since when were you so distant from each other? 

Sirens whoop in the distance, and a cold front of wind pushes against you. If only it could seep inside of you and reach for the heat settled between your lungs. If only it could freeze whatever ugly, wailing mess was lingering just beneath the surface of the calm you’d forced on yourself when you walked out of the apartment. 

Feeling like a pair of eyes are digging holes into your back, you speed up your pace. A crossroad up ahead is lit with headlights, streaks of light burning through the air as cars zip by, while others are kept at a standstill behind changing traffic lights. You walk up to the pedestrian crossing, glancing up at the little red walking man. 

“Lovely,” you mutter, and you wait with the tips of your shoes hanging over the edge of the curb. Swallowing thickly, you look over your shoulder. There’s no one walking up the street. No cloaked figure or rowdy teenage boys. In fact, it looks empty. The only thing keeping the quiet buildings company being the cars sitting dormant and dark in front of thin strips of grass and concrete steps leading into homes. It’s just you and the rush of light traffic, and the little red walking man.

And it hits you like a car—you’re alone, and so is Jason. You left and he let you leave. Is he still at your apartment? What happens when you go back? 

“We’re gonna ruin this,” you say softly, breathlessly—like it’s a confession. It’s most certainly the truth. 

Frantically, you look around. Lights glaring from cars has your head throbbing with pain, but you find what you’re looking for. A phone booth sits at the edge of the opposite street, and your heart jumps like a bird catching flight. You don’t bother checking for upcoming traffic or whether or not the little red walking man has turned green. You dash across the street, feeling your throat seize with panic and despair and desperation all at once.

You don’t even hear the screeching tires and the horn blaring at you.

Rushing into the booth, the smell of urine and cigarette smoke nearly has you gagging, but you reach for the phone anyway. With it balanced between your ear and your shoulder, you fish around in your pocket from your wallet (something you’d learned to bring with you everywhere in case of emergencies like these). With shaking fingers, you manage to find a couple of quarters and you feed it into the machine. Punching the numbers, you call your apartment's landline. 

As you wait, hearing the ring vibrate against your ear, the outside world feels muted. Dull in comparison to the tempest raging inside of you. 

You’re worried, but you’re also angry. You're panicking, but you’re also bitter. You want Jason, but his words still sting. You’re a walking juxtaposition and it’s setting your teeth on edge. Maybe all you need is to hear his voice and the pieces will fall into place and you’ll realise what exactly you need to say.

But Jason doesn’t answer, and the phone rings another two times before falling silent with a resolute ping. 

You scare yourself when you slam the phone back into place with a hissed curse, though it doesn’t latch on properly and falls, dangling by its springy chord. You rush out into the open, sucking in fresh air into your aching chest.

“Damn it, Jason…” you whisper, and your vision swims as tears blur the endless sweep of pale light from traffic, and the bird in your chest begins to brutally beat itself to death. If he wasn’t picking up the phone, that means he’s not there anymore.

Why are you both leaving? Why are you two—people meant to love each other—both walking out of the same apartment without searching for the other? Without waiting. Without so much as a goodbye. 

Shaking, you bring your fist to your mouth as a choked sob breaks inside of you, spilling out in a harsh heave for air.

"Oh, gosh—” you sputter, and the world feels like it’s spinning. Engines are roaring and it’s too loud inside your ears, droning like airplanes sweeping right above you. The lights are too bright and the little red walking man is stuck. He won’t turn green. 

What is happening?

Thank you for reading, God bless <3

tags: @kitkatlover015 @batslilwhore

© harbours-lighthouse 2025 / i do not give permission for my work to be reposted, translated, or fed into ai. all works belong to me unless stated otherwise.

[cardansriddle]

Dance of Shadow and Desire - Tom Riddle x Fem!Reader

gif not mine

Summary: Once, they were friends—until his ambition turned him into the Dark Lord. Years later, he appears on her doorstep, bleeding and unrepentant, his obsession with her as fierce as his thirst for power. Caught between her lingering feelings and the monster he has become, she must decide between her feelings and letting him go.

warnings: angst with a happy(ish?) ending, dark tom but he's bbg. also older tom but he's not a snake yet dw. 3rd person POV,

A/N: I've always wanted to write something with older tom and this one has been sitting in my drafts for ages. i decided to post it bc why not! lmk what you guys think and if i should write more for older tom! (and before you ask, I'm sorry but not writing a part 2 for this)

༻♛༺

The rain drummed lightly against the windows as she sat in her worn armchair, a steaming cup of tea forgotten on the table beside her. The Daily Prophet lay open on her lap, the bold headline screaming of another attack.

The Dark Lord Strikes Again: Ministry Scrambles to Counter Riddle’s Forces.

Her chest tightened as she read the words, the familiar name sending a chill through her veins.

Riddle. Tom Riddle. And to think he had been her friend once.

She closed her eyes, and despite fighting it, memories reluctantly started to flood back. Late-night study sessions in the Hogwarts library, debates over spells and theories, and the way his sharp mind always seemed a step ahead of everyone else's. He had been ambitious, yes, she knew that, but there had been a charm to him, a warmth she had once believed was genuine.

They had been close, or at least as close as anyone could be to Tom. But as the years passed, she had watched him change. His ambition darkened, his charm became manipulation, and his thirst for power grew insatiable. 

She started heard whispers of his experiments, his fascination with immortality, and the growing fear he inspired in his peers he called friends. She had tried countless times to steer him away from his path, but he had brushed her off with a cold finality she would never forget. She had been helpless as she watched the boy she loved so dearly descend into madness. And thus, by the time they left Hogwarts, the distance between them had become a chasm.

And now, years later, here he was again, not in the flesh but in the headlines of a paper detailing his reign of terror. She folded the Prophet with a trembling hand, her heart heavy with a mix of anger, sadness, and a faint, unwelcome pang of longing for the friend she had lost.

She sighed, tossing the paper aside and wrapping her robe over her nightgown tighter, trying to get rid of the goosebumps on her skin. Though they had little to do with cold, and more to do with what she had just read.

She was startled out of her stupor by knocking on her door. It was urgent, sharp, and completely unexpected. Her eyes glanced at the clock above the fireplace, and her brows furrowed as she wondered who would dare show up unannounced past midnight at her door.

Her fingers immediately clutched the wand she had set at her table, and she stood, beginning to approach the door warily. She debated whether if she should even open the door, considering the hour, yet worried that one of her friends might have gotten in trouble, she twisted the doorknob.

When she opened it, the sight before her made her wonder if she was having a nightmare.

A figure in black stood on her doorstep, his robes soaked and clinging to his tall frame The crimson stains seeped through his clothes, smearing the pale skin of his hands and dripping from a gash across his temple. For a moment, the hood of his cloak obscured his face, but then he raised his head.

Those familiar features, now sharper and more menacing, stared back at her. His face had matured, losing the boyish charm she once knew, replaced by a cold, calculated intensity. But his eyes—those piercing, dark eyes—had not changed. They bore into her with a mix of exhaustion and something darker she dared not name.

She froze as if someone poured a bucket of ice over her head. It was him. She had been reading about him mere minutes ago, the feared Dark Lord whose name terrified the wizarding world, and now he stood at her doorstep as if summoned by her very thoughts.

The storm raged behind him and despite the obvious pain coursing through him due to his wounds, something in his gaze sharpened, his complete focus narrowing to her as though the rain, the blood, and his injuries were inconsequential.

“You…” Her voice faltered, and she tightened her grip on the doorframe. "How...what are you doing here?"

Tom leaned heavily against the doorframe, his hand gripping the edge for support. "Do you plan to let me bleed out on your doorstep?” he asked, his voice even deeper and colder than she remembered.

Swallowing her shock, she blinked a few times to confirm she was not hallucinating. Her gaze roved over his dark hair, plastered against his forehead and disheveled in a way that was so unlike the controlled and immaculate boy she recalled.

"Did you expect me to welcome you with open arms after...everything?" She breathed out incredulously, looking at him with wide eyes, trying, desperately yet vainly to ignore the strings being pulled taut at her heart just at the sight of him before her. “You have no right to be here,” she added, her voice trembling with anger.

His gaze sharpened, the intensity of his focus making her feel as though she was the only person in the world. Despite his injuries, his voice remained calm, unyielding. “I expected you to act with the practicality I know you possess.”

“Reason? You are unbelievable.” She scoffed, crossing her arms tightly. “The reasonable thing would be to turn you away and report you to the Aurors.”

“And yet,” he said, taking a deliberate step closer, though his movements were clearly labored, “you haven’t done that." As soon as the words left his mouth, a cough roughly racked through his chest and he swayed on his feet.

She faltered, her grip tightening on the doorframe. His words stung because they were true. She hated the way he always seemed to know exactly which string to pull. Every instinct screamed at her to shut the door. He was dangerous. He had become something monstrous, far removed from the ambitious boy she once knew at Hogwarts. But the sight of his blood and the faint tremor in his hand stirred something in her. 

The rain continued to pour around them, each drop a reminder of how absurd this situation was. His drooping eyelids were the only warning she got as he almost collapsed, and she flung her arms around his middle to catch him. Despite everything, she found that she could not let him bleed out in front of her eyes. Worse, she still cared about him.

"Do not think for a second this means I’ve forgiven you.” Her voice was tight with resignation as she helped him into her home. He didn’t fully collapse, though he looked like he might. Instead, he moved with deliberate slowness with her help until they reached her large couch by the fireplace.

A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips, even as he winced with pain. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

She made sure he was fully situated before she busied herself fetching a potion and bandages, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze following her every move. She knew whatever had caused him this much harm would not be so simple to fix with mere Wiggenweld potion or basic healing charms.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” she murmured quietly, setting the supplies on the table beside him. “Especially not like this.”

Tom gave a faint, humorless smile. “Life has a way of surprising us.”

She bit back a retort at that, deciding to focus on the task at hand instead. "Show me."

Tom did not need to be instructed twice, as he moved to peel away his robes in order to expose his wounded back. He kept trying to hold in the winces every time he moved, and against her better judgement, she reached to bat his hands away and instead do the job herself. She removed his robes first, putting it away carefully so his blood would not stain her furniture. Then, she began slowly peeling away his shirt that had stuck to his skin after being soaked in his blood for so long. He suppressed a shiver at the feel of her cold fingertips grazing his skin, and she inn turn suppressed her urge to let her eyes wonder over his shirtless form. She had far more important matters in her hand.

The gash across his back was long and bloody. She could immediately tell it was not a wound caused by any weapon, but by dark magic. The edges of it were jagged, charred black which was the first giveaway of its cause. It was deep, angry, and refusing to heal fully even as she muttered counter-curses under her breath.

“This will take time,” she murmured, her voice softer than she intended, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile calm between them.

He didn’t reply, merely tilting his head to allow her better access. She could feel him watching her from the corner of his eye, even as she tried to focus. Her fingers trembled slightly as she pressed a cooling salve into the wound, but she forced herself to steady them.

Once the magic had been neutralized as much as she could manage, she began to wrap a bandage around his torso. His skin was pale, marred by other scars she hadn’t expected to see, each one a testament to the battles he had fought—and most likely won.

Her hands brushed against his sides as she secured the bandage, and she felt his muscles tense beneath her touch. She glanced up instinctively, though she could not see his face fully.

“You’re trembling,” he said, his voice low and almost… gentle.

“I’m not,” she lied, looking away quickly as heat crept into her cheeks.

He let out a faint hum of disbelief but said nothing further.

When she finished wrapping his torso, she moved to settle in front of him so she could focus on the gash on his temple. The blood had dried, crusting around the edges of the wound, and she carefully wiped it clean with a damp cloth. Her fingers brushed his hair back from his face, wet and unruly from the rain, and she noted absently how much longer it had grown since their school days.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away, but he was watching her again—always watching. She could feel the weight of his gaze as she worked, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on.

“Why are you staring at me?” she asked finally, her voice tight.

“Because you’re still the same,” he said quietly, his tone devoid of the usual bite she had come to expect from him.

She paused, her hand hovering above the wound. “And you’re not,” she replied, her words laced with both sadness and bitterness.

He smirked faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “No. I’m not.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the faint patter of rain against the window. When she resumed cleaning the wound, his gaze didn’t waver. If anything, it intensified, as though he were trying to memorize every detail of her face.

“You could have not let me in,” he said suddenly, his voice softer than she had ever heard it.

“Yes, I could have." She replied simply, and wondered if perhaps she should have.

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips, though it was filled with something that felt dangerously close to regret. “You always did see more in me than anyone else,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Her hands stilled briefly, but she quickly resumed her work, unwilling to meet his gaze. “Maybe I was wrong.”

For the first time since he had arrived, he looked away.

Suddenly she was overcome with a burst of courage. "You can still stop this, you can—"

“I didn’t come here for a lecture.” He snapped.

“Then why did you come here?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and when he did, his words sent a chill down her spine. “Because you’re the only one I trust.”

Her hands stilled, the bandage halfway wrapped around his arm. “You trust me?” she repeated, disbelief coloring her tone. “After all these years?”

His gaze locked onto hers, intense and unyielding. “You’ve always been different,” he said, as though that explained everything. “You see the flaws, but you don’t flinch. You never did.”

She wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong. But the truth was, a part of her still saw the boy she once called a friend. And that part of her was why she hadn’t turned him away.

Her hands fell at her sides, and she tried to search his face but she could decipher what he was feeling. "Tom..."

It was as if the utter of his name was his last straw before he was undone. “Stop.” His voice was quiet but firm, and not for the first time, it carried something she couldn’t name. A plea, maybe, hidden beneath the layers of steel. “Nothing is going to deter me from my path.”

“Even if it means losing everything? Losing everyone?”

He tilted his head, studying her as though the answer should have been obvious. “I have never really had anyone or anything. Except you.”

Her throat tightened at his words, but she managed to croak out a reply. "And you lost me."

His eyes flashed, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned back in the couch, rested his head and closed his eyes. “Perhaps not,” he said finally. “But you’re here now.”

The weight of his words hung between them like a storm about to break. Before she could respond, he opened his eyes and looked at her. “I’ve watched you,” he admitted, his voice softer now, but no less intense. “For years, I’ve watched you. Wondering if one day you’d join me." He paused, "Hoping.”

She crossed her arms, holding his gaze. "You mean standing beside you while the world burns?"

His lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. "If that’s how you choose to see it."

"That's a lonely prospect." She retorted.

The flickering firelight cast shadows over his sharp features, making him seem both human and monstrous. "Lonely," he repeated, almost mockingly. "You think I don’t know what loneliness is?"

"I think you chose it," she said quietly.

Tom's eyes flashed, a dangerous spark of anger igniting in them. "I didn’t choose it," he hissed. "I embraced it. Because weakness is what binds people to one another. And I refused to be weak."

"Strength doesn’t mean shutting everyone out," she shot back. "It doesn’t mean destroying everything good in your life. You used to know that. At least I thought you did."

For a moment, she thought she saw something crack in his carefully composed mask. His voice lowered, almost a whisper and he chose to disregard her comment. "I told myself that you just needed time," he admitted. "But then I started hearing things. Rumors that you’d settled down, moved on. That you were happy." His gaze met hers, unflinching and intense. "Do you know what that did to me? The thought of someone else taking what I’d decided was mine? I was ready to kill, but then I found out the rumours were false."

She laughed, but it was hollow, her disbelief bleeding through. “Do you even hear yourself? That is not love."

His lips twisted into a bitter smile. “Call it what you want. It’s all I’ve ever had to offer.”

She shook her head. "But it's—"

“Me,” Tom interrupted. “It’s who I am. And you’ve always known that.”

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, as she tried to find her footing amidst the storm of his words. He wasn’t just offering her a place beside him—he was offering her the only version of himself he knew how to be. And for a shameful moment, she wondered if that was enough.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” she said finally, her voice breaking under the weight of her own plea. “You could still—”

“Still what?” he asked, his voice colder now. “Change? Turn back? Forget everything I’ve fought for?” His tone softened then, laced with something dangerously close to vulnerability, though his expression remained steely. “No matter what you say, I won’t stop. I can’t. Don’t you see?” His jaw tightened as though the words were difficult to force out. “You’re the only person I’ve ever had even the faintest semblance of care for—of love for.”

The word hung in the air between them, so foreign coming from his lips that she almost didn’t believe he’d said it. Her throat tightened, her body frozen under his piercing gaze.

“And if anyone,” he continued, his voice darkening, “anyone so much as thinks of taking you from me, I’ll kill them. You know I will.”

A shiver ran down her spine at the conviction in his words, the raw ferocity in his voice. She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “You don’t love me— you just want to keep me caged.”

His nostrils flared, his expression twisting in frustration. “Why don’t you understand?” His voice cracked, sharp and raw, and before she could react, his hands shot forward, grasping her face.

She gasped, the suddenness of the gesture sending her heart racing. His hands were cold against her skin, but his grip was firm, unyielding, as though he feared she might slip away. His dark eyes bore into hers, and for the first time, she saw something she couldn’t quite name in them—a mix of fury, desperation, and something heartbreakingly human.

“I would burn the whole world just to keep you warm,” he said, his voice a low growl that reverberated through her chest.

Her breath hitched, the words crashing into her like a tidal wave. She could no longer hold her tears, and was helpless as they trailed a wait trail down her cheeks.

She couldn’t look away, couldn’t move, trapped by the sheer force of his presence.

And then, with a gentleness that was almost cruel, he leaned in, his lips brushing against the tears streaking down her face. He wiped them away with his mouth, his touch at once tender and consuming, sending a shudder through her entire body.

“Tom…” she whispered, her voice breaking as his lips trailed down the curve of her cheek. She didn’t know if it was a plea or a warning, but the moment the word left her lips, he silenced her with his own.

The kiss wasn’t soft or tentative—it was desperate, fervent, as though he were trying to etch himself into her soul, to claim her in a way that words never could. His fingers tightened slightly on her face, pulling her closer, his breath hot and unrelenting against her skin.

She tried to resist, her mind screaming at her to pull away, to end this before it consumed her entirely. But her body betrayed her, melting into his as though it had been waiting for this moment, despite everything. Despite the pain. Despite the danger.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against hers, her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. His hands didn’t leave her face, his thumbs brushing over her skin in a way that made her heart ache.

Her voice cracked as she spoke. “When you’re healed, I’ll tell you to go.”

His hands stiffened slightly, his grip faltering for a brief second before it steadied again. "And I will come back again. And again."

She ignored his words. “For now,” she continued, her voice breaking under the weight of the moment, “I’ll let myself have this.”

She leaned into him, closing her eyes against the storm raging both outside and within her. For now, she allowed herself to relish the fleeting comfort of his touch, even as she knew it was a mistake. Because when the storm passed, when he was gone, she’d be left with nothing but the ashes of what once was—until he would come back to reignite it until she gives in.

༻♛༺

[luvst4rc0r3]

Ambessa and the makeup after fight?

The silence in Ambessa's chambers felt like it would swallow everything, but there was a crack in it now, one that you couldn’t ignore. The door had barely closed behind you when you heard her footsteps—slow but purposeful. For a moment, you thought maybe it was your own heart pounding, the blood rushing in your ears, but then you turned.

Ambessa stood in the doorway, framed by the dim light of the hallway, her shoulders hunched in a way you hadn’t seen before. Her mask of composure had slipped again, and this time, it wasn’t just regret in her eyes—it was something worse. Something more vulnerable, more terrifying.

“You left,” she said, her voice a near-whisper.

You didn’t respond immediately. You were still trying to catch your breath, still struggling with the sting of her words. How had it gotten so bad? The argument had started over something small, but now it felt like a chasm had opened between you, one you weren’t sure how to cross anymore.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t?” You asked, your voice brittle, like a thread being pulled taut. "You told me I was a fool. That I was reckless." The words tumbled out, raw and stinging. "I don’t need you to protect me, Ambessa. I need you to trust me."

Ambessa’s eyes darkened, but this time, her hand was stretched out, not in anger but in something that might’ve been desperation. “I do trust you. I trust you more than anything. But—”

“But what?” you interrupted, your voice shaking. “But I’m still not enough? Not good enough to be your equal?”

“No.” Her voice was low, raw. She took a step closer, closing the distance you’d put between you. “You are my equal. More than that. But it’s hard to see it when I’m scared to lose you.”

You couldn’t help but scoff, though it was tinged with disbelief and something else. "You never showed it. Not once. You’re always so damn guarded, Ambessa. You—"

“I don’t know how to show it.” Her voice cracked for the first time, and your heart stuttered. “I’m not like you. I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel everything.”

Her words hung in the air, thick with unspoken truth. You felt a shift between you, the weight of the tension lessening, even if only for a moment. You inhaled deeply, forcing the sharp edge of your frustration to subside.

"I never wanted to make you feel small," she continued, her gaze softening. "I never wanted to make you feel like you weren’t enough. But sometimes… sometimes I can’t help but want to protect you. Because you’re everything to me. And I can’t lose that."

The words were a balm, but they didn’t erase the hurt, not entirely. Still, you felt something crack inside you, like the tension in the air was finally giving way.

“Ambessa,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t be just something you need to manage. I need to be your partner, not your burden.”

She nodded slowly, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she reached out, taking your hand in hers. It was hesitant at first, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed this closeness. But you didn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I should’ve never made you feel that way.”

You exhaled, your breath shaky. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have walked away.”

Ambessa stepped closer, closing the remaining distance between you. The tension between you both was still there, but it wasn’t as sharp. It was something you could work with. Something that could heal, given time.

And when she kissed you, it was not a passionate, desperate thing—but it was real. It was an apology, a promise, and a quiet declaration that you were more than just something to manage. You were her equal. And maybe, just maybe, you could figure this out together.

Because despite everything, you both still cared—more than either of you had let on.

And that was enough to start again.

I'M BACK FROM BEING GONE!!!

I WANT FOOD

[bread-crum206]

A Game of Hearts

Chapter 20: Walls and Tension

Summary: Y/N’s father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

previous | 20 | next

Series Masterlist

The silence between you and In-ho settled like a blanket over the room, thick and heavy but not uncomfortable. For once, the quiet wasn’t strained, wasn’t pregnant with unspoken words or unresolved tension. It was peaceful, almost, as if you both were just existing in this shared space, the weight of everything pressing around you but somehow not suffocating.

In-ho still hadn’t let go of your hand. His grip was firm but not possessive, as if he were afraid that even the slightest movement might break the fragile connection between you. You felt the heat of his palm against yours, the way his fingers twitched, as if caught between wanting to pull away or draw closer. It was strange—this space between you was so small, yet it felt like a chasm you weren’t sure how to cross. You could feel the soft tension in his movements, the way his body remained alert, as though he were bracing for something.

He stood in front of you, arms at his sides, not quite touching you but close enough that you could feel the intensity of his gaze. His eyes traced the lines of your face, searching for something you couldn’t quite understand. In-ho was never one to wear his emotions on his sleeve, but tonight, something was different. The usual ice behind his eyes was gone, replaced with something you couldn’t name. His expression softened, but it wasn’t pity. It wasn’t even regret. It was… something else, something deeper.

“You shouldn’t have gone out there,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, almost gentle. But there was an edge there—a mix of frustration and something else that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. “You could’ve been hurt. I told you—I told you it wasn’t safe.”

You swallowed, feeling that familiar tension twist in your gut, but this time, it wasn’t because of fear or anger. It was because you could see the genuine worry behind his words, could feel the weight of it in the way he spoke. There was something fragile in the way he was trying to protect you, something raw and unspoken that made your chest tighten.

“I didn’t mean to—” You stopped yourself, unsure how to explain something so simple yet so complex. “I just… needed a moment. I needed to breathe. That’s all.”

In-ho’s eyes flickered, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. His fingers twitched again, and you could almost feel the thoughts turning in his head, the gears working to find a way to protect you that didn’t feel like a cage. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen him wrestling with this—wanting to protect you, wanting to keep you close, but not knowing how to do it without pushing you further away.

“You think you can just walk away from all of this,” he said, his voice softer now, almost too quiet, like the words were weighing heavily on him. “That you can escape it. But you can’t. Not from me. Not from this.”

The way he said it made your stomach churn, but not in the same way it had before. It wasn’t anger that made you flinch now. It wasn’t fear, either. It was something else—a strange mix of understanding and acceptance. He wasn’t just trying to control you anymore. Not completely, anyway. He was trying to protect you in the only way he knew how. But it was suffocating, and you both knew it.

“I’m not trying to escape you,” you replied, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “I just… I need to feel like I’m not just a prisoner here. A prize for someone else to claim.”

In-ho’s gaze darkened at your words, but there was no anger there—just a quiet, knowing pain. His hand moved to your wrist, his thumb brushing across the skin, a gentle touch that made your heart flutter despite yourself. The warmth of his fingers seemed to melt the space between you, making everything feel more real, more tangible.

“You don’t understand,” he said, his voice quieter, the edge of frustration returning. “You think I’m doing this because I want to control you. But I’m doing it because I—” He broke off, the words suddenly too difficult for him to say, too vulnerable. Instead, he exhaled sharply, the weight of everything pressing down on him as he took a step back, his hand still loosely holding yours.

You could feel the distance between you grow, even if only by inches. But that space, that small gap, felt significant. It felt like he was struggling to figure out how to balance the part of him that needed to protect you with the part of him that didn’t want to suffocate you. He didn’t want to cage you, but it was clear he didn’t know any other way to love you. His love—if you could even call it that—was wrapped in control, in dominance, in a need to keep you safe from a world that seemed to want to swallow you whole.

“I don’t know how to be with you without making this a game,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Without feeling like I’m constantly losing my grip. You’re not just a… a weakness for me. You’re… everything.” His eyes met yours, dark and stormy, and in that moment, you saw something in him—something raw and unfiltered. It was vulnerability, laid bare for the first time. He wasn’t the unshakable frontman anymore. He was just a man, lost in this world as much as you were.

The words hung between you, heavy and full of meaning. You weren’t sure how to respond, what to say to ease the tension, to bridge the gap between the two of you. So much had happened, so many walls had been built between you, but standing here now, with him so close, you couldn’t deny that there was a shift. Something was changing. It wasn’t just about survival anymore. It was about something else, something that went beyond the games, beyond the fear.

“I know it’s not simple,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly as you stepped closer to him, closing the space he’d deliberately created. “But maybe it doesn’t have to be. Maybe… maybe we can find a way to be in this together. Without it being a game.”

In-ho’s gaze softened, and for the first time in a long time, you saw a flicker of something like hope in his eyes. It was faint, but it was there. The walls he’d built around himself—around both of you—seemed to crack just a little, letting something warm seep through.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he whispered, his voice thick with a mixture of regret and longing. He took a slow step forward, closing the distance between you even more. The space that had once felt suffocating now felt charged, alive with possibility, with an electric current that ran between you.

“I think I do,” you replied, your voice steady now, stronger than before. “I know what I’m asking for.”

He stared at you, his eyes intense, searching for something in your face. There was a question there, but you both knew it wasn’t something that could be answered in a single moment. You weren’t ready to admit what you were both becoming—not yet. But you could feel it. The shift. The tension that had built between you, the desire, the understanding, all of it blending into something that was as dangerous as it was inevitable.

“Then you know what this means,” he murmured, his breath a soft whisper against your skin. His hand moved, gently brushing your cheek, the contact sending a shiver through you. “It means you’re mine. And I won’t let anyone take you from me. Not now. Not ever.”

You didn’t answer right away. There was nothing to say. The weight of his words hung in the air, the implication clear. There was no turning back.

But the truth was, you didn’t want to. Not anymore.

Instead, you simply nodded, the quiet acceptance between you more powerful than any words could be. The moment hung there, fragile, yet undeniable.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he whispered, but there was no anger in it. Just a quiet certainty, the same certainty you saw in your own heart.

“No,” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “But I think I’m ready to find out.”

And with that, the space between you closed, and all you could feel was the warmth of his touch, the pulse of something more than just desire. You were standing on the edge of something, something both terrifying and inevitable, and you both knew it.

But in that moment, all that mattered was the quiet promise that had been made without words.

“I’m not letting you go,” he said softly, his voice raw.

And for the first time, you believed him.

———————

CHAPTER TWENTY!! Lets goooo! We got some forbidden love happening maybe some twisted feelings??? As always lemme know what you think! Thank you! :)

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[wendichester]

﹢﹒ ✦⊹﹒cursed love,

summary. love conquers all. or does it?

pairing. sam winchester x reader ; angsty

wordcount. 656

It starts with a sharp, searing jolt when Sam grabs your arm to pull you away from the hex bag. You gasp, jerking back instinctively, and he stumbles away too, clutching his hand as if he’s been burned.

“What the hell was that?” you manage, cradling your arm.

Sam’s eyes are wide with alarm, flicking from you to the cursed object now lying harmlessly on the ground. “I—I don’t know,” he says, his voice tight. He steps toward you, reaching out, but hesitates mid-motion. “Did that… hurt you?”

“Yes,” you say, the pain still fresh and raw. “Did it hurt you?”

Sam nods grimly, his brow furrowing. “Yeah.”

Realization dawns like a slow, cruel dawn. The witch. Her smug smile flashes in your mind before she vanished into thin air, her parting words sharp as a blade: “Enjoy your little love story while you can.”

“Sam,” you whisper, your throat tightening. “I think she cursed us.”

His face darkens, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he processes what this means. “No,” he mutters, shaking his head. “No, we’ll figure this out. We always do.”

But hours later, after scouring every book, every scrap of lore Bobby had, and everything the Man of Letters had in the bunker, you’re no closer to breaking the curse. The truth hangs heavy between you: every touch, every brush of skin, now brings unbearable pain.

You sit slumped on the couch, your arms wrapped around yourself to keep from reaching for Sam, who paces the room like a caged animal. He’s barely said a word, but his face says it all—he’s terrified.

“Sam,” you say softly, breaking the silence.

He stops mid-stride, his eyes locking onto yours.

“We’ll figure it out,” you say, forcing a smile that you don’t feel.

His expression crumbles, and for the first time, he looks utterly lost. “What if we don’t?”

“Don’t go there—”

“No, listen to me.” His voice is raw now, like it’s costing him everything to keep it steady. “What if we don’t find a way to fix this? What if… what if I can’t touch you ever again?”

Your heart aches at the crack in his voice, and you want nothing more than to reach out to him, to comfort him, but you don’t dare.

“We will,” you insist.

“But what if we don’t?” he repeats, his frustration breaking through. “You mean everything to me. How am I supposed to—” He cuts himself off, his chest rising and falling heavily.

“Sam…”

He takes a shaky breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “I can’t lose you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’d rather live with the pain than live without you.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, the tears you’ve been holding back spill over. You press your hands to your face, your shoulders shaking with sobs.

“Hey, hey,” Sam says, his voice breaking as he kneels in front of you, keeping a careful distance. “Don’t cry, please. We’ll get through this. I’ll find a way. I swear.”

You drop your hands, looking at him through blurred vision. “I don’t care about the pain either,” you say, your voice trembling. “I just… I can’t stand not being close to you.”

For a moment, the two of you just stare at each other, the distance between you feeling like an uncrossable chasm. But then Sam clenches his fists, his jaw tightening with determination.

“I’ll fix this,” he vows, his hazel eyes burning with resolve. “Even if it takes everything I’ve got.”

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Okay,” you whisper.

And as he rises to his feet, you see it in his eyes—the sheer willpower that has saved countless lives, that has pulled both of you through the darkest moments. If anyone can find a way to break this curse, it’s Sam.

But until then, all you can do is endure.

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[phantasmique]

Summary: it's moments like these where you can hardly recognize Sukuna as the terror that he is. But you aren't complaining.

Warnings: some mentions of violence but overall, just a bunch of fluff. Short and sweet.

Clingy.

It isn't a term that you ever could have imagined using for Lord Sukuna, but as of late, you've been struggling to apply a different word. Possessive certainly comes to mind. And it's definitely fitting for a man like him.

He doesn't share. He doesn't allow other people to so much as entertain the notion that he'd be willing to let another soul touch you - or any of his other concubines for that matter.

But it wasn't a secret, that for whatever reason, you are his favorite. It was a well-known fact in the estate. A truth that was aware to each and every servant housed among his staff. The details of your relationship with the King of Curses are exchanged quietly amongst the laborers and servants. Spoken in confidential hushes within the cover of darkened hallways and private corridors as they all speculate what you might have done to captivate the attentions of the man - an entity, more like. Hardly human anymore.

So it was odd that a beast as sadistic and self-serving as he would allow himself to be fascinated by someone as lowly as you. Even with your own cursed technique, you were hardly anything to gawk over, especially not by the likes of Ryomen Sukuna, a being that could rip you apart in the blink of an eye.

And yet, he does just the opposite, often demanding that you keep close to him. Always ordered to trail after him, expected to be just as consistent and loyal as a shadow.

You aren't ignorant to the glares that it earns you. Mostly from the other courtesans. Not that you could entirely blame them.

In this world, Sukuna's attention equals protection, and if you were in their positions, to him so entirely focused on another person, would feel like a death sentence.

But their desperation leaves them to try too hard. Coquettishly batting their eyelashes and swinging their hips in the hopes of enticing him. It was all too heavy handed. Their desperation was all obvious, and some of the most skilled amongst the harem are crumbling beneath their attempts to keep him intrigued.

He pays them little mind. Nights are still spent with them yes, a hedonist like him always indulging in the pleasures of flesh and life in any facet he can, but he doesn't request for any of them to trail after him in the way you're commanded to.

They are all free to wonder about the estate unrestrained, but you are to have your movements under constant scrutiny. If on the off chance you aren't at your position at your lord's side, you're accompanied by an escort in some capacity. It doesn't matter if you're safe within the estate grounds, you're to be monitored.

He keeps you guarded. Kept hidden like some sort of relic. Some sort of revered treasure that's been contained and bound down tight for his eyes only.

But you'd be lying if you didn't find some pleasure in it.

There's something empowering about having a man - a monster - as infamous as the King of Curses entranced by you. Even if he vehemently denies such a notion.

A displeased scowl always mars his features whenever the idea of it is implicated. A scoff puffing from his chest as though he's equally amused and offended, but you know that you have him.

His affections aren't sweet or docile. He doesn't care in a way that's light, delicate or embracing. He's all teeth and hunger. An endless chasm of want and greed that latches on like a parasite, sinking his claws into you until they're bone deep, rooted into your marrow to consume you from the inside out. Until there's nothing left.

It would be so easy to trick yourself into believing that he's some sort of old god. A deity of discord and avarice that's been written out of history, smeared from ancient scrolls and bygone texts by the very mortals that were meant to fear and worship him.

But he was human once long before he had become twisted and gnarled by his own corruption. Many see his existence as a blight on the earth. Sorcerers deeming his being as a blight on jujutsu. A disfigurement. A creature. More monster than man.

But to you, his horror only made him even more bewitching. There's a beauty in his violence. It's a temptation that you can't ignore. It draws you too him like a lure. A fly foolishly gliding into a vat of honey, willfully weighing down its own wings in the adhesive glimmer of gold and amber, drowning itself in the rich saccharine pools. A moth fluttering closer and closer to an open fire - not a single ember, not a delicate flame, but a full inferno; a pyre scorching its path across a forest, carving its destructive mark across the earth in licks of blazing, molten heat. And you long to burn.

You'd die a thousand times to gaze upon him.

Fortunately, you don't have to.

He wants you alive. Safe and secure regardless of how indifferent he expresses himself to be. You can see past the slivers in his facade - well, it's not quite a facade. He truly is callous. Apathetic and cold. He's an entity that deals in extremes. That lives to satisfy his own hubris and hunger, but you think that's why you've managed to slip past his rough exterior and nestle a place for yourself near that motionless, dead heart of his.

It was your determination. Your own unyielding pride that would endear you to him, as much frustration and sadistic glee that it had caused him in the beginning. He had delighted in trying to wear you down. Prodding and clawing at you in the hopes of seeing the head that you always held high hang down in defeat.

To snuff out the confidence in you that had been fostered and inherited from the generations of sorcerers that have come before you.

He's yet to succeed, and you think that is what has drawn him to you. Your refusal to roll over and bear your belly merely because he ordered it. It took years for you to yield to him without rebuttal or open annoyance; for him to know that you weren't simply a dog taught to heel, but you think that he takes pride in knowing that you've fallen to his violent allure.

You doubt he realizes how subdued his become with you. Blind to the extent of his own affections - as edged and barbaric as they often are. But every once in a while, he grows lax underneath your hands. Turning malleable and warm like melted wax. The sharp edges that make him shifting and softening just enough for your palms to glide over him.

He's so different from the beast you had met all those years ago, forced to kneel in order to save your throat while scrutinized you from the height of his throne, all arrogance and cruelty.

And now here he is, face cradled in your palms while you both lounge about, shielded from the gentle golden light of the evening sun by the roof of the yuka. Using your lap as a makeshift cushion while he reclines fully on the floor, his long legs stretched out, a pair of his limbs limp on either side of him while the other set are clasped together by their fingers, resting on his sternum.

It's not exactly the image that you would associate with a king. Much less the King of Curses. Yet here he is, all four of his eyes shut while he draws deep, steady breaths into his lungs.

It'd be easy to think that he's asleep, but you know better. Still, it doesn't keep you from allowing your gaze to dart across his face, taking note of his placid, almost peaceful expression, free from its usual scowling or sneering. The shape of his lips no longer pulled back into a taunting smirk, but neutral and almost soft.

It's a state that not many are honored with seeing, and you can't help but to indulge in it now that you have him here.

You nearly feel like a glutton as you sweep your vision over him in a shameless observation. Letting your focus trace over the tattoos that decorate his body. Slashes of black against the pale shade of his skin.

You've always wondered the meaning of them. You know that some sorcerers will get tattoos that represent aspects of their technique; it bonds them closer to their cursed energy and makes it more fluid to wield. But you can't help but to be reminded of the tattoos forced upon criminals. The markings on his arms are suspiciously similar to the same ones you've seen stamped upon the flesh of delinquents - the lowly men and women that you had been warned about by your mother and escorts while within the city. People who had been branded for their crimes as punishment.

The dark bands encircled around his wrists and biceps share somewhat of a similarity to the tattoos given to thieves, though the placement of them is a little off to be considered truly alike.

With how demented he is, you wouldn't be surprised if he intentionally made them look similar as some sort of twisted way of honoring his many crimes.

It has one of your hands lifting, your fingers slipping from the delicate grip they had on his hair to slip along his chest, feeling his muscle rippling beneath your palm as you brush your fingertips along the ink imbedded into his skin.

A low rumble reverberates from the depths of his ribcage, rising somewhere from within his lungs. It seems like a warning almost, one that anyone else would have heeded, but you keep your hand fixed in place, caressing your thumb just beneath his collarbone.

His eyes peal open then, squinting just enough to glare up at you from his place cradled between the plush of your thighs. Searing red, but the irritation reflecting from them is lazy. An echo of the languid way he's positioned himself within your space.

"I don't recall permitting your hands to wander." It comes out like he's berating you, but he makes no effort to correct your apparent error, remaining motionless and relaxed as you continue to card your other hand through his hair, lightly scratching your nails along his scalp.

You don't miss how his lashes flutter when you do it.

It makes a smile long to pull at the corners of your lips, but years of self-restraint and etiquette keep it from showing. Though you're sure that your mirth is revealed in your eyes.

"What's with all the staring?" He complains idly. His brow raising to further pronounce his question.

"I'm simply admiring my lord," you answer. A truth, and yet the playfulness in your voice is clear.

"As you should be."

You'd scoff if the hand on his chest wasn't so close to the mouth on his stomach. You wouldn't be surprised if he decided to snap it between those massive jaws to reprimand you.

You've seen it yawn open to gnash at limbs, massive teeth sinking into flesh to tear and rip, drinking down blood and shattering bones as easily as brittle branches.

It makes you mindful of how close you allow your fingers to drift, not allowing them to slip past the swell of his firm chest and down near the indention that slices across the width of his abdomen. A hint at the starved chasm that lurks behind it, the rows of fangs that wait to bite and eat.

He's used that mouth against you many times, none of them in such a malicious manner, but you still can't help but to be a little wary of it. You swear that it has a mind of its own sometimes, and you'd hate to be on the receiving end of a more violent kind of appetite.

It still can't keep you from your previous musings, and now that you have him focused you can't ignore the questions that are gathering in your mind.

"Your tattoos - are they amplifiers? I've seen a few sorcerers apply them to ground their technique."

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"I would. That's why I asked."

He glares at you then. Eyes narrowing in a way that makes you feel like a target. It nearly forces you to brace for a sudden rush of cursed energy, the instinctual part of you warning that he might lash out as punishment, but nothing comes.

There's no prickle that bite across the air, stinging and sharp before it strikes you down, only a delicate brush of a summer breeze as it glides along your skin.

"Are there no bounds to your insolence? I should kill you for that." He grumbles, baring his teeth as though he means to ward you off.

"I apologize, my king. " It sounds like a bluff, even to you, so you're certain that he isn't convinced. The clipped hum you get in response only confirms that he doesn't. "I was only curious."

"Keep your musings to yourself."

It's said sharply. A clear command for you not to prod at him further. Such an ornery, brash creature. You have to fight off the urge to roll your eyes at his curt behavior lest he chastises you more.

He acts as though it's a chore to be in your presence. As though he wasn't the one who had sought you out during your private time - a brief respite from the harsh nature of his courts and the routine of your daily schedule - to crowd himself within the structure of the gazebo, fitting himself along the wooden floor to rest the weight of his head within your lap.

Despite his apparent annoyance, he still doesn't tell you to cease touching him, and you know that one of the easiest ways of coaxing him back into a calm state is to give him attention. Regardless of how that attention is bestowed. Usually it's fear and dread that feeds into his ego the best, the screams and blood of others fueling that sadistic emptiness in him.

But you'll settle for touch for now.

He doesn't command you to halt your movements as you continue to sweep your hands along his body, messaging his chest and gently scratching along his scalp. If possible, it has him relaxing even further, going boneless on the floor with a heavy sigh, but his eyes don't slip shut this time. His lids fall heavy, nearly closing but staying open just enough to continue observing you through his lashes.

It's a cruel juxtaposition that someone who commits so many hideous atrocities is so beautiful.

The sun has crept a little lower in the sky, drifting downward in its course to reach the horizon and it allows glints of light to pour in past the small roof of the yuka. Traces of it catch in his hair, spilling along the soft shade of his hair, sketching over his features in gold. It puts fire in his eyes, glints of light flickering against rich red.

You can't help yourself this time when you allow the hand you have threaded in his hair to shift further down, sketching your fingertips along the structure of armored skin that rests over the right half of his face.

His eyes open a little wider then, latching onto your form with curiosity, and the hints of something more guarded present in them.

It doesn't stop you though. Perhaps a little foolish of you while it feels as though you're wandering into dangerous territory. A hare darting in front of a wolf's maw. Inviting itself to be bitten.

You feel possessed as you continue to cradle his face in your palm, struck by an emotion that is far too tender and enthralling for a being like him, but you have no desire to resist it.

The almost mask-like structure on his face is hard beneath your fingers, softened only slightly by the layer of calloused skin that's molded over it. The only comparison that you can make is if you were to touch a bit of bone poking out beneath the skin, like the jut of someone's hip or the point of an elbow. Rigid and tough, but also smooth in a way that's organic.

You make sure to be light, to keep your fingers from accidentally slipping close to his eyes and possibly irritating them. Surprisingly, he doesn't order you to remove your hands, allowing you to continue your exploration, letting your fingers sweep over the harsh edges and the divots of the natural armor.

You aren't sure how long you remain that way. Sweeping your hands over him, feeling the soft tufts of his hair on your palm and the rigid texture of his face along your fingers. Time slips away from you like this, and the delicate hiss of the wind threading through the trees and the perfumed scent of blossoms that it carries all fades into the background.

It all seems so unimportant. Useless as he stares up at you with something conflicted in his gaze. As though he's torn between lashing out or sinking further into your warmth.

"You're beautiful." It leaves you so naturally. The ease of it catching even you off guard. It's as though your soul is admitting a truth, one that you've been aware of but never had the courage to speak.

Suddenly you feel so bare. As though you've accidentally shed a meticulous piece of armor from yourself and allowed him to peek past. And the captivated look that you can feel weighing on your features certainly isn't helping.

He's equally as surprised. His eyes widening just the slightest in his shock, but it doesn't take long for him to recover, masking the expression with a scowl. You're certain that it's the exact look that many of his victims have been pinned by just before their death comes, delivered to them in a serrated rush of cursed energy or the lethal cut of his talons. And yet you can't bring yourself to be afraid. Not while he's cradled in the shape of your lap. Lazy and content despite his flaring.

"I'll cut out your tongue if you mean to insult me."

"I wouldn't think of such a thing." You promise. You're being entirely honest. The sincerity in your voice is as alive and burning as a fire. You can hardly place exactly when you've grown fond of him, just when exactly he had managed to bury beneath your skin to make a home for himself within your chest.

It's worrying just how much you've come to care for him. A development that your past self would have denied vehemently; you would have seen it as an ultimate betrayal to yourself, to your lineage and purpose. But you truly can't be bothered to worry about any of that now.

Not while something that nearly looks vulnerable passes through the rich shade of his eyes. A brief, defenseless show of emotion that he's quick to snuff out and hide with that typical brand of cold indifference; so quick that you hardly register it at all.

A hum leaves him them. More of a grumble. As though he's unconvinced of your assurance. But he doesn't bother with a verbal comment, only a sigh as he somehow settles further into your lap.

"Some of them are."

"Hm?"

"Amplifiers." He practically growls it out. Like clarifying is something tedious. A personal affront. He's glaring again. Squinting up at you like you're an annoyance - a gnat buzzing around his ear even while he's all but invited himself into your personal space.

It doesn't take you long to reconnect to your previous line of questioning. You can't help but to be a little surprised that he's bothered to circle back and answer them. Of course he has to do it on his own time. When he feels like doing so, dragging it out for the sake of keeping you from being in control - even in regard to something as simple as a couple harmless questions. Such a bullheaded bastard. Not that you'd tell him that.

A part of you longs to ask him just which ones specifically are amplifiers, which technique they belong to. The concept of such tattoos has always been fascinating to you. You've crossed paths with a fair share of sorcerers who have marked their skin with charged ink, rituals and their cursed energy directed to bind with the dark pigment.

Like a chain used to tether a wayward dog. A binding used to manage energy that's often too potent, too volatile otherwise.

With how practiced Sukuna is now with his abilities, wielding it with ease, bearing it like a second skin, he must have gotten the tattoos when he was still young and learning. Still a little disconnected from the cursed energy projecting from his body, simmering through his veins like the blood of a demigod, but too inexperienced to properly control it.

It makes you wonder what he may have been like way back then. It nearly seems impossible to imagine him as a child, with him being more beast than man. You're just barely able to visualize it, a much younger version of his current self, the sharp contour of his jaw much more rounded and youthful, shaping into chubby cheeks. Plump with stubborn baby fat.

He's probably always had that glare of his. Now it's an expression that induces fear and panic. The lethal hue of red that seems to burn in his eyes turning some of the bravest of sorcerers into pale comparisons of themselves. Back then that fearsome scowl must have been little more than a pout. A petulant furrow between his brows as glared up with wide, peevish eyes.

He must have been a handful for whatever soul had the misfortune of taking care of him, not that he's any easier to please now.

"You've got that stupid expression on your face again. Get rid of it." He snaps, fangs glinting from past his lips. "And did I tell you to cease touching me?"

You hadn't realized that your hands had slipped a little from crown of his head, fingers lifted to hover of his hair. The command doesn't annoy you as it probably should, as it would have in the past, it has a smile perking at your lips instead. Amused and soft. A reflection of the warmth blossoming inside the pit of your chest; a drop of sunlight burning and thriving.

You'd love to point out to him that he was complaining earlier about you doing just that, and now here he is, ordering you to touch him like some kind of spoiled house cat.

You'll keep your comments to yourself for now. All snide remarks and annoyance aside, he seems to be in a fairly good mood today, and you'd hate to ruin it now that you've got him rested in your lap.

Your hands seem to have minds of their own, muscles shifting to thread your fingers back through his hair, scratching your nails along his scalp. You don't miss the minute way his neck twitches, the movement nudging his chin back just the slightest to press his head into the gentle glide of your fingers. Subconsciously seeking out the comfort they provide.

He looks calm. At peace, eyelashes fluttering lightly before they slip shut. He sags down fully. Going lax and almost boneless. The weight of his head in your lap is nearly crushing, but you can't be bothered to voice complaints or to try and shift him into a more comfortable position.

You'll gladly bear the weight of him regardless of how much discomfort it might bring. And in moments like this, with him cradled by your body, relaxed and content from the warmth of your skin and the sun, you think you'd do anything for him. You'd kill for him.

You think you'd die for him too.

[lila-lou]

✨His true fate - Part 28/?✨

Summary: Jensen hasn't been happy for years. But it seems almost impossible for him to escape. After another nasty argument between him and his wife, he decides to visit his ´former´ best friend for his birthday. Back in Austin, an encounter awaits him that will turn his life completely upside down.

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Language, age gap, angst, fluff

Word Count: 8174

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

You stood there for a moment, shocked and taken aback by his reaction. The warmth of the moment you had hoped to create had vanished, replaced by the cold reality of his anger and frustration. It stung more than you wanted to admit, especially since you had only wanted to help him through a difficult time.

You sighed deeply, biting your lip in an effort to keep your emotions in check. The sting of Jensen’s words and the way he had pushed you away cut deeper than you wanted to admit. You could feel the tears pricking at the back of your eyes, but you were determined not to let them fall. Not now. You didn’t want to cry, especially not over something you knew wasn’t entirely about you. He was dealing with so much, and as much as it hurt, you didn’t want to make things worse by pushing him tonight.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you took a shaky breath and turned away from the bathroom door, slipping back under the sheets. The warmth of the bed that had once felt like a comfort now felt cold and distant, a reflection of the emotional gap between you and Jensen.

You pulled the blanket up over your shoulders, your face turned toward the wall as you lay there in the darkened room. The soft glow of the TV still flickered, casting faint light on the walls, but you didn’t even bother turning it off. You just lay there, staring blankly at the wall, your mind replaying the moment over and over—the way Jensen had slapped your hand away, the harshness in his voice, and the way it had made your chest tighten with pain.

You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. You understood that Jensen was dealing with more than he could handle right now, but it didn’t make the way he had treated you any less painful. You just wanted to help, to be there for him, but instead, you felt like you had been shut out. Again.

The silence in the room felt heavy, and you could hear the muffled sounds of water running from the bathroom as Jensen likely tried to collect himself. You didn’t want to push him tonight, didn’t want to risk making things worse by trying to talk it out now, so you stayed silent, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself as if it could somehow shield you from the ache you felt inside.

After what felt like an eternity, the water stopped, and the sound of the bathroom door opening reached your ears. You didn’t move, keeping your face turned away from him as you listened to the soft sounds of his footsteps. He moved quietly around the room, and you could feel his presence lingering near the bed, but you didn’t dare turn around. You weren’t sure what you’d see in his eyes, and you didn’t know if you were ready for whatever conversation might follow.

Instead, you stayed still, keeping your breathing steady as you felt the mattress shift slightly under his weight. Jensen settled down on his side of the bed, but the space between you felt like a chasm, filled with all the unspoken words and unresolved tension that hung between you.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, the silence growing thicker with each passing second. You could feel the weight of his presence beside you, but the connection that you usually found so comforting now felt distant, strained.

You didn’t want to cry. You didn’t want to feel the hurt that was gnawing at your chest. So you closed your eyes, letting the soft hum of the TV become background noise as you focused on your breathing, trying to steady the emotions that swirled inside you.

Jensen lay still, the weight of the night pressing heavily on his chest. He could feel the thick tension in the air, the way your body was turned away from him, the quiet ache that lingered between you both. He knew how much communication meant to you, how much you valued openness and honesty in your relationship, but right now, he couldn’t bring himself to talk. Not after everything that had happened with Danneel, and certainly not after the way he had snapped at you.

The guilt gnawed at him, but the frustration—both with the situation and with himself—kept him from finding the words to make it right. He was so used to carrying the weight of his problems alone that letting you in felt like exposing a wound he wasn’t ready to deal with.

For a few minutes, he stayed there in silence, his body tense beside yours, his mind racing. He knew he had hurt you, knew that his coldness had pushed you away when all you wanted was to help. And deep down, that only made him feel worse. The last thing he ever wanted was to make you feel like you weren’t welcome in his world, but tonight, everything had boiled over, and now the distance between you felt like a wall he didn’t know how to tear down.

After what felt like an eternity, Jensen hesitated, his hand hovering above the bed as he debated whether to reach for you. He didn’t have the words right now—couldn’t even begin to string together a coherent apology or explanation—but the thought of leaving you feeling so distant, so shut out, was too much to bear. He couldn’t talk, not yet, but maybe he could offer something else. Something quieter, something softer.

Slowly, almost tentatively, Jensen turned toward you, his eyes tracing the curve of your back where it met the sheets. You hadn’t moved since he lay down, your body still tense, facing away from him. His hand hovered near your hip, the space between you both feeling like miles instead of inches. He let out a quiet breath, his fingers finally brushing lightly against your bare hipbone, the softness of your skin under his touch making his chest tighten. The delicate lace of your panties grazed his fingertips as he gently slid his hand around your waist, pulling you back toward him.

You stiffened slightly at the contact, but you didn’t pull away, and for that, Jensen was grateful. He wasn’t sure he could handle rejection right now—not after everything. He tightened his arm around you just enough to bring your body flush against his chest, hoping that the closeness would speak what he couldn’t. His face buried in your hair, he inhaled softly, the scent of you calming some of the storm raging inside him.

He kept quiet, unsure of what to say, unsure if you would even want to hear anything right now. All he could do was hold you, hoping that you wouldn’t fight him, that you would understand this was the only way he knew how to reach out in the moment. The words would come later—at least, he hoped they would—but right now, this was all he could give.

The silence stretched between you both, thick and heavy, but as the minutes passed, Jensen felt your body relax slightly in his hold. You weren’t fully at ease, but you weren’t pulling away either. That small shift gave him a sliver of hope, a reminder that maybe, despite his mistakes, you would still meet him halfway.

He pressed a soft kiss to the back of your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he held you closer.

The next morning, the soft light of dawn filtered through the curtains as you quietly stirred, still wrapped in Jensen’s arms. His hold on you had loosened slightly during the night, but his body remained close, his steady breathing letting you know he was still fast asleep. You carefully shifted, trying not to disturb him, feeling the tension from last night still lingering like a cloud between you.

You needed some space to clear your head, to work through your own feelings before the day truly started. Slowly, you slipped out from under the covers, careful not to wake Jensen as you padded over to where your phone lay on the bedside table.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you opened your messages and quickly typed out a text to Jared, asking if he would mind if you joined him for his morning workout in the hotel gym. You knew Jensen and Jared were close, and you’d always gotten along well with him, but right now, you just needed something to focus on—some activity to distract you from the emotional weight of the night before.

A few minutes later, your phone buzzed with a reply.

Jared: Hey! Of course, come on down. I’ll be there in about 15. Need the company anyway. See you there?

You smiled faintly at the screen, grateful for his easygoing nature. You sent a quick reply, thanking him, before setting your phone aside and quietly slipping into your workout clothes. The cool morning air felt refreshing against your skin as you pulled on your leggings and tank top, tying your hair back into a messy ponytail.

Glancing back at the bed, you saw that Jensen was still fast asleep, his face peaceful despite everything that had weighed on him the night before. A pang of guilt tugged at your chest—maybe you should have waited for him to wake up, but right now, you just needed to clear your head. You’d talk later.

Silently, you grabbed your keycard and slipped out of the room, closing the door behind you as quietly as possible. You made your way to the hotel gym, your steps feeling a bit lighter now that you had a plan, something to focus on.

When you arrived at the gym, Jared was already there, stretching near the free weights. He flashed you a wide, friendly grin as you approached. “Hey! Glad you could join me. Early morning, huh?”, he said, his tone light but welcoming.

You smiled, grateful for his easy energy. “Yeah, I needed a bit of an escape”, you admitted softly, stepping up to stretch beside him.

Jared gave you a knowing look, but he didn’t pry. “Yeah, I get that. Workouts always help me clear my head”, he said, his tone casual but supportive. “We’ll sweat it out, and then you’ll feel a lot better. Promise”.

You nodded, grateful for his understanding. For the next hour, you threw yourself into the workout, focusing on the rhythm of your movements and the burn of your muscles, letting it drown out the tangled emotions from the night before. Jared was easy company, chatting with you between sets, keeping things light and giving you the space you needed to process in your own time.

You wiped the sweat from your brow, still catching your breath after the intense workout. Jared flashed you another one of his wide, easy smiles, clearly satisfied with the session, and you couldn’t help but tease him a little.

“Don’t smile at me like that”, you grumbled playfully, your chest rising and falling as you tried to regulate your breathing. “You work out like a freaking madman. How do you even keep up with this?”.

Jared laughed, the sound deep and genuine as he leaned against one of the machines, still catching his own breath. “Hey, you did great! Besides, you’re keeping up just fine. Maybe you’re the mad one”.

You shook your head, still feeling the burn in your muscles, but the lightheartedness of the moment helped ease the lingering tension that had settled in your chest from the night before. Jared had a way of making everything feel less heavy, like the weight of the world didn’t have to be so overwhelming all the time.

“Next time, maybe warn me before I do something like this”, you teased, still breathing heavily. “I’m not sure my legs will forgive me tomorrow”.

Jared chuckled, giving you a playful nudge. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But hey, this is all about clearing your head, right? Can’t be worried about anything when your muscles are screaming at you”.

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, realizing he had a point. “True. It definitely helps”. You glanced down at your shoes, feeling the weight of last night start to lift a little more. “Thanks for letting me tag along, Jared. I needed this”.

“No problem”, he said, his tone shifting slightly, becoming more sincere.

Jared took a long sip from his water bottle, watching you more intently now, his easy smile fading into something more serious. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes searching yours before speaking. “Wanna spit out what Ackles did?”.

You raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by his sudden shift in tone. You hadn’t mentioned anything about Jensen or the tension from the night before, and you definitely hadn’t expected Jared to pick up on it so quickly.

“I didn’t say Jensen did anything”, you replied, trying to deflect, though you could tell from the look in Jared’s eyes that he wasn’t buying it.

Jared sighed, setting down his water bottle as he leaned back against the machine, crossing his arms. “Oh, come on, Y/N. I know Jensen had dinner with Danneel last night. I know Danneel. And I know how Jensen is when it comes to coping with her behavior. He’s a good guy, but when things get tough with her, he’s not always great at handling it”. He paused, his gaze softening a bit as he studied you. “So I’m guessing he was off last night. Maybe enough to let it out on you. That why you’d rather punch the punching bag over there than his face, huh?”.

You let out a small sigh, feeling the weight of Jared’s words settle over you. He wasn’t wrong. Last night had been rough—Jensen had been more distant and short with you than usual, and even though you understood why, it still hurt. But Jared’s knowing gaze made it harder to brush it off.

“It wasn’t like that”, you mumbled, looking down at your feet for a moment before meeting Jared’s eyes again. “Well, it kinda was… It’s just… everything with Danneel, it weighs on him. And yeah, he was a bit rough last night, but I get it. He’s carrying so much, and I didn’t want to push him. He’s not good at talking about it”.

Jared nodded, his expression understanding but also firm. “I know how he gets, trust me. Jensen holds everything in until it’s too much, and then he ends up taking it out on the people closest to him, even when he doesn’t mean to. But you shouldn’t just let him get away with that. You’re there to support him, yeah, but you’re also not his punching bag—emotionally or otherwise”.

You sighed again, feeling a mix of emotions swirl inside you. “I know. But I just… I didn’t want to make things worse by pushing him to talk last night. He needs time, and I’m willing to give him that. I just needed some space to clear my own head, which is why I texted you this morning”.

Jared uncrossed his arms and offered you a small, encouraging smile. “You’re a good person, Y/N”, he said softly, his tone filled with sincerity. “But believe me when I tell you that sometimes, you need to put him in his place. Even if he’s going to get mad. Sometimes, it’s the only way he’ll learn, and he’ll respect you for it later. Trust me, Jensen doesn’t mean to lash out, but he needs to be reminded that you’re not just someone he can push away when things get tough”.

You looked down at your hands for a moment, Jared's words sinking in. He wasn’t wrong, and deep down, you knew it. Jensen had always been the type to internalize things, to let everything build up until it overflowed. And when it did, it often came out in ways that hurt the people closest to him—people like you. But you also knew that part of loving someone meant holding them accountable, even when it was uncomfortable or difficult.

“I hear you”, you said finally, looking back up at Jared. “It’s just hard, you know? He’s going through so much, and I don’t want to add to it”.

Jared shook his head gently. “I get that, I do. But you’re not helping him by letting him think it’s okay to treat you like that, no matter what he’s going through. It’s not about adding to his stress; it’s about showing him that you’re not a punching bag. That you deserve respect, especially when things are hard”.

You nodded, appreciating Jared’s perspective. “Yeah, you’re right”.

Jared flashed you a small smile, his tone softening again. “I’ve known Jensen a long time, and I know how he is. He loves you, Y/N, but sometimes he gets stuck in his own head. He needs someone like you to pull him out of it and remind him what’s important”.

You smiled weakly, feeling a little more reassured. “Thanks, Jared. I’ll talk to him when he’s ready”.

“Good”, Jared said with a nod. “And remember, if you ever need to vent or just need a break, you’ve got me. We can hit the gym, grab a drink, whatever you need. You don’t have to carry it all on your own”.

You chuckled softly, feeling a bit lighter. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind”.

Jared slapped your shoulder before grinning and saying, “Let’s grab him some Starbucks to ease his mood and check on him. Caffeine might not fix everything, but it can’t hurt, right?”.

You smiled despite the lingering weight in your chest. “Yeah, sounds like a plan”.

With that, you and Jared walked out of the hotel and headed toward the nearest Starbucks, the crisp morning air helping to clear your thoughts a bit more. You grabbed your usual, Jared picked something up for himself, and you ordered Jensen’s go-to drink without even thinking about it—you knew his preferences by heart.

As you made your way back to the hotel, a nervous energy started to build up inside you. The idea of confronting Jensen still felt daunting, but Jared’s presence grounded you. You had a plan, and even though it wasn’t going to be easy, it felt like the right thing to do.

Eventually, you found yourself standing in front of Jensen’s hotel room door. Jared gave you an encouraging look, holding the Starbucks tray in one hand.

“I’ll let you two talk”, he said, his tone gentle but firm. “But if you need backup, you know where I am”.

You took a deep breath and nodded. “Thanks, Jared. I’ll be okay”.

With that, Jared handed you Jensen’s coffee, slapped your shoulder one last time for encouragement, and walked away, leaving you standing there, facing the door.

Meanwhile, Jensen woke up in his hotel room, feeling groggy and disoriented. His hand instinctively reached out toward the other side of the bed, only to find the space beside him cold and empty. His heart sank slightly, the ache of last night’s tension hitting him like a wave. He sat up slowly, running a hand through his messy hair, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on him.

The memory of how he’d been with you last night replayed in his mind, and he cursed under his breath. He hadn’t meant to be so distant, so short with you, but everything with Danneel had been weighing heavily on him, and he’d let it affect how he treated you.

Jensen sighed, rubbing his face as guilt gnawed at him. He knew he needed to make things right with you. But as he glanced at his phone on the bedside table, he saw no new messages from you, no sign of where you had gone this morning. That only made the sinking feeling worse.

Jensen stood there, still processing the heavy silence of the morning, when he heard the soft click of the door opening. His heart stuttered for a moment as he turned to see you walking in, carrying two cups of coffee—one for yourself and one for him. You paused just inside the door, your eyes meeting his. He looked tired, a little rough around the edges, but there was something in his expression that told you he was waiting for this moment, just as much as you were.

“Morning”, you said quietly, stepping further into the room and holding out his coffee.

Jensen didn’t say anything at first, just stared at you as if trying to gauge what you were feeling. Finally, he took the cup from your hand, his fingers brushing yours for a split second, and it felt like the smallest connection in that moment. He didn’t move back right away, though—he just stood there, holding the coffee and looking down at it like he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

“Thanks”, he mumbled, his voice hoarse from sleep and from the emotions that had been weighing on him since the night before.

You took a breath and broke the silence that hung between you both. “I know last night wasn’t easy for either of us”, you began, choosing your words carefully. “But we need to talk about it. I don’t want what happened to just… linger”.

Jensen swallowed hard, still looking down at the coffee cup in his hands. He shifted, sitting down on the edge of the bed, as if bracing himself for the conversation. “Yeah, we do”, he admitted softly, his eyes finally meeting yours. “I screwed up. I shouldn’t have been like that with you last night”.

You crossed the room, sitting down on the chair near the window, needing a little bit of space but wanting to stay close enough to feel like you weren’t putting distance between the two of you. “I know you’ve got a lot going on with Danneel, and I get that it’s hard. But Jensen, you can’t keep shutting me out when things get tough”.

Jensen winced slightly at your words, the guilt evident in his eyes. “I know, I just… I didn’t want to put all my crap on you. I didn’t want to drag you into this mess. And I know I ended up doing the exact opposite”. He shook his head, running his hand through his hair again, frustration clear on his face. “I’ve been dealing with this thing with Danneel for so long, and sometimes I don’t even know how to deal with it myself. I didn’t want to drag you down with me”.

You leaned forward slightly, your gaze steady as you spoke. “I understand that you don’t want to burden me, but I’m already involved, Jensen. I care about you, and I’m here for you. But you need to talk to me, not push me away when things get rough. That’s not how this is supposed to work”.

Jensen sighed, nodding slowly. “You’re right. I just… I get in my own head, and I start thinking I’ve got to handle everything on my own. But that’s not fair to you. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you”.

For a moment, the room was quiet again. You could see the regret in his eyes, the weight of the situation bearing down on him. But there was something else, too—a vulnerability that he didn’t show often.

“I’m sorry”, he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, but the sincerity in his tone was undeniable. “I don’t want to lose you because I can’t handle my own stuff”.

You sighed softly, feeling the tension in the room start to melt just a little. Without another word, you stood up from the chair and made your way to sit beside him on the bed. Jensen’s body tensed slightly as you closed the gap between you, but when you gently kissed his cheek, he exhaled a shaky breath, as if the weight of the world had been lifted just for a moment.

The kiss was soft, a simple gesture of comfort and understanding, but it spoke volumes. You leaned your head against his shoulder, your hand resting lightly on his arm as you sat there in the quiet, just being close to him. Jensen closed his eyes for a second, leaning into the warmth of your touch, as if he’d been waiting for this all along but hadn’t known how to ask for it.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to go through this alone”, you whispered, breaking the silence with words that were soft but firm. “We’re in this together, okay? Whatever happens with Danneel, whatever you’re feeling—you don’t have to carry it all by yourself. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere”.

Jensen’s hand reached up, brushing over yours as he laced his fingers with yours. He stayed silent for a moment, letting your words sink in, before finally turning his head slightly to look at you.

“I know I’ve been a mess”, he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I know I’ve pushed you away, but I’m going to try to do better. I don’t want to lose you. I can’t”.

You squeezed his hand gently, giving him a reassuring smile. “You’re not going to lose me, Jensen. We just need to communicate better. We’ll figure this out, one step at a time”.

Jensen nodded, his expression softening as he brought your joined hands to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to your knuckles. “Thank you”, he murmured, his voice filled with gratitude.

For a few minutes, the two of you sat there in comfortable silence, the tension from the previous night fading as you both found solace in each other’s presence. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was a start—one that felt like a step in the right direction.

Finally, Jensen turned to you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “So… you brought me coffee. I guess that means I’m forgiven, right?”.

You chuckled softly, the sound lightening the mood. “It’s a peace offering, yeah. But you’re still on thin ice, Ackles”.

Jensen grinned, his eyes lighting up with a spark of playfulness that had been missing earlier. “I’ll take that. Thin ice is better than no ice”.

You leaned your head against his shoulder again, feeling a sense of relief wash over you.

Another two weeks had passed, and despite the challenges, you and Jensen had managed to carve out small pockets of time together. He’d shown you the hidden corners of different cities, always careful not to get spotted. But the constant vigilance made it hard to enjoy the time like a normal couple. Still, you both did your best, finding comfort in each other’s company amidst the chaos of his life.

This morning, after another intense workout with Jared, the two of you were laughing as you stumbled back into the hotel room. You were still catching your breath when you saw Jensen sitting on the bed, phone in hand, talking softly to his daughter, JJ, over FaceTime.

Without thinking, you grinned and held out a coffee cup toward him. “Got you some coffee”, you said, your voice a little too cheerful.

Jared immediately pressed his lips together as he realized Jensen was still mid-conversation. Jensen froze for a moment, his eyes darting from you to his phone, the brief silence making everything feel heavier.

On the screen, JJ’s curious voice piped up, “Dad, who’s that? Who’s talking?”.

Jensen shot you a quick, apologetic look before turning his attention back to his phone, trying to recover. “Uh… just Jared and a friend”, he said smoothly, though you could hear the tightness in his voice. He smiled at JJ through the screen, hoping to steer the conversation away. “How’s everything going over there? How was school?”.

JJ’s face scrunched up for a moment, clearly not satisfied with the quick explanation. She glanced at the screen, as if trying to figure out what was really going on. “Is it a girl?”, she asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and suspicion. “You never have any friends that are girls around…”.

Jensen hesitated, his jaw tightening as JJ’s innocent question hung in the air. You, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, quickly moved to the other side of the room and sat down on the couch, trying to appear as small as possible. You gave Jensen an apologetic look, silently mouthing, Sorry, as you avoided eye contact with the phone screen.

Jensen cleared his throat, forcing a smile as he responded to his daughter. “Yeah, it’s just a friend of Jared’s”, he said casually, though there was a slight edge to his tone.

“Can I say hi?”, JJ asked, her eyes lighting up with curiosity. She leaned closer to the screen, as if trying to peek around Jensen to see who was in the room with him.

Jensen’s mind raced. He wasn’t ready for this—introducing you to JJ, even in this small way, was something he hadn’t prepared for. He shot a quick glance in your direction, his expression a mix of uncertainty and apology.

You caught his look and gave him a subtle nod, silently letting him know it was okay if he wanted to let JJ say hi. But you also understood the delicate position he was in and didn’t want to complicate things further.

Jensen sighed softly, then turned the phone slightly so JJ could see Jared first. “Hey, why don’t you say hi to Uncle Jared first?”, he said, stalling for time.

Jared, sensing the tension, stepped up with a grin. “Hey, JJ! How’s my favorite Ackles kid doing?”.

JJ laughed, momentarily distracted. “Hi, Jared! I’m good. Are you keeping Dad in line?”.

Jared chuckled, giving Jensen a playful nudge. “Oh, you know it. Your dad’s always a handful”.

Jensen forced a laugh, grateful for Jared’s lighthearted distraction. But JJ, sharp as ever, wasn’t satisfied yet. After a few moments of banter with Jared, she turned her attention back to the mysterious voice she’d heard earlier.

“And who’s your friend?”, JJ asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

Jared, ever the quick thinker, smiled and played it cool, seamlessly stepping into the role of distraction. “Oh, Y/N? She’s been helping me out with some workout routines”, he said with a casual shrug, his voice light. “We’re all just trying to stay in shape, right?”.

JJ tilted her head, still curious but seeming to accept Jared’s explanation for the moment. “Ohhh, okay”, she said slowly, her eyes flicking toward the screen, trying to catch a glimpse of you. “So, can I say hi to her too?”.

Jensen’s grip tightened slightly on his phone, his pulse quickening. He wasn’t ready for this, but he knew if he hesitated too long, JJ’s sharp instincts would pick up on it. He glanced at you again, and you offered a small smile, silently reassuring him that you were okay with it.

Jensen exhaled softly, then turned the phone toward you. “Sure, kiddo. Here she is”, he said, his voice steady though there was an unmistakable tension beneath the surface.

You smiled warmly at the camera, doing your best to keep things light. “Hi, nice to meet you”, you said, your voice as calm as you could muster. Inside, your heart was racing, but you didn’t want to let that show.

JJ’s face brightened on the screen as she finally got a good look at you. “Hi! Are you really good at workouts like Jared?”, she asked, her tone filled with innocent curiosity.

You chuckled, glancing at Jared who smirked, still holding his coffee. “Well, I’m trying to keep up with him, but I think Jared’s the real pro”, you said playfully.

JJ giggled, clearly amused. “He is always working out. Dad says Jared’s strong like Superman!”, she exclaimed, her excitement bubbling over. “Are you strong like that too?”.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I wouldn’t say I’m that strong, but I’m doing my best”.

Jensen, sensing the conversation was in safe territory, let out a quiet breath, relieved that the moment wasn’t as complicated as it could’ve been. “JJ, you’re giving away all of Jared’s secrets”, he teased, his tone more relaxed now. “Next time, Uncle Jared’s going to make you do some of those workouts”.

JJ gasped dramatically, shaking her head. “No way! I’m not strong enough yet!”, she laughed.

Jared chimed in, leaning closer to the camera. “Hey, I’ll take it easy on you, JJ. Just a few push-ups and maybe some jumping jacks. You’ll be strong like Superman in no time!”.

JJ giggled again, her earlier curiosity about you seemingly fading away as the conversation shifted. “Maybe one day”, she said with a grin.

Jensen seized the opportunity to steer the conversation back to her day. “So, what are you up to today, kiddo?".

The question worked, and JJ immediately launched into a story about her new school project, her excitement pulling the focus away from the earlier tension. Jensen listened intently, nodding and smiling, though he couldn’t help but glance at you every now and then, his eyes full of unspoken gratitude.

For now, you were content with how things had played out. You knew this situation wasn’t easy for Jensen, and you were prepared to give him the time and space he needed to figure it all out.

As JJ continued chatting happily, Jared caught your eye and gave you a subtle thumbs-up, as if to say, Crisis averted. You smiled back, feeling a sense of relief as the moment passed, and the normalcy of the conversation returned.

In the back of your mind, though, you knew this wouldn’t be the last time you’d have to navigate tricky moments like this. But for now, everything felt okay—at least for today.

After Jensen finished the call with JJ, he set his phone down on the bedside table and ran a hand through his hair, letting out a long sigh. Before he could even process what had just happened, Jared let out a low chuckle from the other side of the room, breaking the silence.

“Man”, Jared started, shaking his head with a grin. “Your kid is too smart for her own good. She had you sweating bullets for a second there”.

Jensen shot him a mock glare, though there was no hiding the lingering tension that had been in his shoulders moments ago. “Yeah, thanks for the help”, he said dryly, though his lips twitched in the beginning of a smile. “She’s way too sharp. It’s like she can smell when something’s up”.

Jared snickered, leaning against the wall with his coffee in hand. “She’s got your number, that’s for sure. You barely got out of that one, man. If I hadn’t swooped in with my Superman muscles…”. He flexed dramatically, causing you to chuckle from your spot on the couch.

Jensen groaned, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, real hero”, he muttered, though the playful tone in his voice was undeniable.

Jensen leaned back against the headboard, his hand running through his hair again as if trying to shake off the weight of the conversation. He mumbled under his breath, “Last week, she asked if I still love Mommy”.

Jared’s smirk faded, and you could feel the shift in the room. The lighthearted banter was quickly replaced with something heavier, something Jensen had clearly been carrying for a while.

You sat up a little straighter on the couch, your heart sinking for him. “What did you say?”, you asked gently, careful not to push too hard.

Jensen sighed, his eyes clouded with frustration and uncertainty. “I told her I’ll always care about her mom. But… I didn’t know how to explain the rest. She’s just a kid, you know? She doesn’t need to hear all the messy details. Not yet”.

Jared, who was still leaning against the wall, crossed his arms and nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, that’s tough. She’s at that age where she’s starting to pick up on things, even if she doesn’t fully understand them”.

Jensen rubbed the back of his neck, his face showing the weight of trying to protect JJ from the complexities of his personal life. “I don’t want her to feel like she has to choose sides. I don’t want to mess with her head”.

You sat quietly on the couch, sipping your coffee, unsure if you should say something. The tension in the room had settled like a heavy weight, and you could feel the struggle Jensen was going through, caught between wanting to protect JJ and the inevitable reality of having to explain things to her someday.

Jared sighed, breaking the silence. “But you know, man, someday you’re going to have to introduce Y/N to the kids and tell them what’s going on. You can’t avoid it forever”.

Jensen frowned, his jaw tightening as he considered Jared’s words. He knew it was true, but the thought of bringing you into his kids’ lives, of explaining everything to JJ and eventually his other kids, was daunting. “I know”, he muttered, his voice low. “But I want to be careful. I don’t want to rush this and mess it up”.

Jared gave him a sympathetic nod. “No one’s saying to rush it, but you also can’t keep it in limbo forever. JJ’s already asking questions. The longer you wait, the harder it’ll be”.

You felt the weight of Jared’s words settle over you too, knowing that at some point, things would have to change. It wasn’t just about the two of you anymore—it was about JJ and the other kids, and how this would affect them.

Jensen leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing his face with his hands. “I know”, he repeated, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. “I just… I’m not sure how to even start that conversation”.

The silence that followed Jared’s words was heavy, like an unspoken truth that neither you nor Jensen had really confronted until now. It wasn’t the first time you’d considered the complexities of your relationship with Jensen, but hearing it spelled out so plainly—the reality of what was ahead—hit harder than you expected.

Jensen hadn’t brought up the idea of taking the next step, not like this. Until now, the two of you had been wrapped up in the excitement of being freshly in love, caught in that rose-colored phase where everything seemed good. But underneath all that, you both knew there were challenges neither of you could ignore forever.

“I never really thought about what happens after this”, Jensen said quietly, his voice almost lost in the room. “Right now, we’re just… moving from city to city, staying in hotels. It’s been fun, but that’s not real life. Soon enough, I’m going to have to go back to filming, back to reality, and figure out how all of this works”.

You nodded, though you didn’t trust yourself to speak yet. Your mind was spinning too—about where this relationship was going, and how you fit into his already complicated life. It wasn’t just about the two of you. There were kids involved, an ex-wife, and an entire life he’d built before you ever came into the picture.

“I don’t even know where to start”, he admitted, glancing over at you, his eyes searching yours. “The kids… they need stability. Where do they live? Where do I live? And you…”.

Your heart skipped a beat as he trailed off. It was the first time he’d mentioned you in the same breath as all these future plans, and it felt both exhilarating and terrifying. You could feel the weight of those unspoken questions hanging in the air. Where would you live? Would he stay in Austin with you? Were you ready to be part of his kids’ lives?

Jensen let out another sigh and leaned back against the headboard, his eyes still fixed on you. “I don’t want to drag you into this mess, Y/N. My life… it’s complicated. And you deserve better than being stuck in the middle of it”.

You swallowed hard, finally setting your coffee cup down on the table in front of you. You didn’t know what to say, not really. Part of you had always known this moment would come, where you’d have to confront what your relationship meant beyond the excitement of these whirlwind weeks together. It was scary, but you also knew how much Jensen meant to you.

“I knew things were complicated when we started this, Jensen”, you said softly, meeting his gaze. “And I’m not running away just because it’s hard. But I also get that this isn’t just about us. Your kids… they’re the most important thing. I don’t want to make things harder for them or for you”.

Jared, who had been quiet, stepped in with his usual level-headedness. “You’re both right. It’s a lot to figure out, but you’ve got time. No one’s saying you have to make all the decisions right now”.

Jensen nodded, though the weight of it all still sat heavily on his shoulders. “It just feels like I have to be in a million places at once”, he said, his voice low. “I want to be a good dad, I want to give you the time and attention you deserve, and I need to figure out how to make this work without screwing everything up”.

You got up from the couch, walking over to sit beside him on the bed. His hand immediately found yours, and you squeezed it gently. “Jensen, you don’t have to have all the answers right now. We’ll figure it out together, when the time is right. And whatever happens, we’ll take it one step at a time. I’m not expecting you to have everything figured out overnight”.

Jensen looked at you, his expression softening slightly as he took in your words. “I just don’t want you to regret this”, he said quietly. “I don’t want to drag you into a life that’s going to be messy”.

You shook your head, giving him a small smile. “Messy doesn’t scare me. I’m here because I care about you. And we’ll figure out the rest as we go”.

Jared smiled softly as he looked down at the two of you, sitting there together on the bed, hands intertwined. He had known for a while now that you were a good person, the kind of person Jensen needed in his life. But seeing the way you handled the weight of this conversation, the calm reassurance in your voice, made it even clearer. You weren’t just a fleeting part of Jensen’s life—you were someone who understood the mess, the complexity, and you weren’t scared of it.

Jared leaned back against the wall, taking a quiet sip of his coffee, watching the scene unfold with quiet approval. It was rare to see Jensen let his guard down this much, especially after everything he’d been through. It was as if, with you, Jensen could breathe again—something he hadn’t done in a long time.

Jensen looked at you, his gaze softening as he took in your words. The anxiety that had been tightening his chest seemed to ease, and for the first time in what felt like ages, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he could figure this out. With you by his side, it didn’t seem as impossible.

“I don’t deserve you, you know that?”, he murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the seriousness of the moment.

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging him with your shoulder. “Don’t start with that. You don’t have to be perfect, Jensen. None of us do”.

Jensen’s smile widened slightly, the tension in his face finally loosening. “Still, I’m lucky”.

Jared, deciding to break his silence, cleared his throat with a playful grin. “Alright, lovebirds, if you’re done with the emotional heart-to-heart, how about we figure out what the next steps are? Because I know Jensen’s going to overthink this until he’s gray if we don’t”.

You grinned, reaching up to brush your fingers through Jensen's short beard. “He’s already starting”, you teased, your thumb gently grazing over a few of the grey hairs peppered throughout. Jensen chuckled, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he tilted his head into your touch.

“Hey, those are distinguished”, he said, his tone mock-offended, but there was a warmth in his voice that showed how much he appreciated the lightness of the moment. “I like to think they give me character”.

Jared laughed from across the room, shaking his head. “Distinguished, huh? Sure, man, keep telling yourself that. Soon enough, you’ll be as grey as me”.

Jensen shot Jared a playful glare. “At least I’m not there yet, old man”.

You smiled at the exchange, feeling the tension that had filled the room earlier fully evaporate. There was something about moments like this—when you, Jensen, and Jared could just tease each other, laugh, and forget about the heavy stuff—that made everything feel a little more manageable.

“Well, if that’s settled”, you said, your tone light, “what are the next steps?”. Your hand stayed resting against Jensen’s beard, the intimate gesture grounding the both of you.

Jensen’s smile softened as he turned his head slightly, his eyes locking with yours. “I guess we take it slow. Figure out how this works when I go back to filming, and, eventually… talk to the kids. One thing at a time”.

Jared nodded in agreement. “You’ve got a little bit of time before filming kicks off again. Use it to get comfortable with everything. And, when you’re ready, we’ll be here to help however we can”.

You leaned into Jensen a little more, resting your head on his shoulder. “I’m in no rush. We’ll take it as it comes”.

Jensen let out a deep breath, the weight of the future still present but no longer overwhelming. “One step at a time, right?”, he echoed, repeating the mantra that had carried you both so far.

“Exactly”, you said softly, giving his hand a squeeze.

Jared smiled, giving you both a thumbs-up as he headed toward the door. “I’ll leave you two to your planning. But remember, Jensen—no more gray hairs by the time I get back”. He winked before slipping out of the room, leaving you and Jensen alone.

Once the door closed, Jensen sighed contentedly, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “You know”, he said, his voice low and thoughtful, “I think we’ll be okay. It’s messy, but I don’t feel so… lost with you here”.

You smiled, resting your hand on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “We’ll figure it out. And messy? I can handle messy”.

Jensen leaned down and kissed your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment. “I know you can”.

———————————

A/N: Maaan, Part 28 and I´m not even halfway through..I guess the chapters will be kinda longer from now on..

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Part 29

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Taglist: @cheynovak @chriszgirl92 @jenniferr0323 @angelbabyyy99 @cevansbaby-dove @muhahaha303 @jackles010378 @suckitands33 @n-o-p-e-never @mayafatimakhan @ladysparkles78 @viviandarkbloom06 @jassackles @evasmlp @acklesaddict67 @mostlymarvelgirl @emma1998sblog @mishaesque @headinthemoon87 @hobby27 @winchesterwild78 @impala67rollingthroughtown @manicjk @kr804573 @zaratahir @djs8891 @winchesterwild78 @jamerlynn @whimsyfinny @libby99hb @deansimpalababy @deans-queen @kawaii-arfid-memes @faephoria @stoneyggirl2 @fitxgrld @luvr4miya @yikeschoices @lyssalvus @soab1967 @luvr4miya @didi0666 @impala67rollingthroughtown @cheekygirl2309 @kamisobsessed

[dee-writes-angst]

Her Love is a Bomb with the Potential to Annihilate the Whole World (Eris Week Day Seven)

FEATURING Eris Vanserra x Reader

SUMMARY Falling in love with someone means exposing the softest, most fragile parts of yourself to them and then praying they don’t destroy you. Being touched sends you spiraling into delirium. The slightest brush of their nails on your skin can shred you. And if they want to hurt you, it’s fatal.

CONTENT WARNINGS smut, p in v, unprotected sex, oral f!receiving, fingering, passionate sex, reader goes from being a mess for him to wanting to make him a mess ;)

AUTHORS NOTE this is a sad, but joyous occasion as today marks the last day of @erisweekofficial 2024. As relieved as I am to no longer have to stress over editing and posting every day for a week, I am also devastated. I had lots of fun this Eris week and I hope to do it again in the future. With all that said, I hope you enjoy this smutty free day <3

Falling in love with Eris had felt like walking a tightrope stretched over an endless chasm, the balance precarious and the fall inevitable. From the moment your eyes had met across the dimly lit room of that conference, something unspoken had tethered you to him. He had been a storm, all fire and edge, and yet, despite every warning you gave yourself, you leaned into it.

The weight of the room pressed in around you, but all you could feel was Eris—his warmth, his breath mingling with yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest under your trembling hands. You had no control, not anymore, and the last of your defenses crumbled the moment he touched you. Every fiber of your being screamed for him, needed him in a way that defied logic, defied reason.

You kissed him like you were starved, like years of unresolved tension and unsaid words finally broke free in a rush of hunger that neither of you could contain. His lips were soft but insistent, his hands tightening in your hair as though anchoring you, grounding you to this moment. Each touch was a promise—one of unspoken desire, of the fire that had always burned between you.

But it wasn’t enough. You needed more, more of him, more of this.

You clawed at his shirt, fingers trembling as you yanked it over his head. The sudden cool air of the room kissed his skin, but neither of you felt it, too consumed by the pull, the gravity that dragged you toward each other. Eris’s body was a canvas of strength and elegance, his chest rising and falling in time with yours, and you pressed your hands against him, memorizing the feel of his heartbeat beneath your palms.

Eris’s own movements were slow, deliberate, a contrast to your frantic desperation. He undid the buttons of your blouse with practiced ease, his hands brushing your bare skin with a reverence that sent a shiver through you. "You’re shaking," he murmured again, his voice rich and smooth, like a promise whispered in the dark.

You bit your lip, trying to contain the flood of emotions rising in your throat, but it was useless. "I—I need this," you whispered, your voice broken, breathless. "I need you."

His eyes darkened with something primal, something that flickered with both understanding and an unquenchable hunger. "I’m right here," he replied, his tone steady, reassuring. He leaned down, kissing the side of your neck, trailing his lips across your collarbone in a slow, torturous path that sent sparks through your body.

But it wasn’t enough. You were unraveling, every second without him tearing at the fragile thread of control you clung to. You shoved him back with more force than you intended, your body fueled by the need to feel every inch of him. The table behind him creaked as his back hit the edge, and before he could recover, you were on him, your legs straddling his waist, your hands tangling in his hair as you kissed him again, harder this time.

Eris groaned against your mouth, his fingers gripping your hips, pulling you closer. The kiss was a battle—teeth clashing, tongues tangling, every touch laced with years of pent-up frustration. You rocked against him, feeling the hard press of his arousal beneath you, and a moan escaped your lips at the delicious friction.

"Is this what you wanted?" he growled, breaking the kiss, his breath hot against your skin. His hands roamed your body, sliding up your back, tracing the curve of your spine before coming to rest on your hips. He held you firmly, his control unwavering despite the heat simmering between you. "To take what you want, to finally have me like this?"

You gasped as he pulled you tighter against him, his words igniting a fire inside you. "Yes," you breathed, your voice trembling with both desire and defiance. "I want all of you."

Eris’s lips curled into a dangerous smile, his hands gripping your thighs as he shifted, flipping you onto your back on the table in one swift, practiced motion. You let out a startled gasp, but the sound was cut off as his mouth found yours again, silencing any protests with a searing kiss that left you breathless.

His hands were everywhere—on your hips, your waist, your breasts—exploring every inch of your body like he was memorizing you, savoring the feel of your skin beneath his fingers. You arched into him, your body moving on instinct, driven by a need that consumed you whole.

But Eris took his time, his movements slow and deliberate, his touch both gentle and commanding. His fingers trailed down your body, brushing over the curve of your stomach before sliding lower, slipping between your thighs with a skill that left you trembling.

He drew a low moan from you as his fingers found the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs, circling it slowly, teasingly. "Is this what you need?" he asked, his voice low and rough, his breath hot against your ear. "To be taken apart piece by piece?"

You couldn’t form words, couldn’t think beyond the feeling of his touch, the way he made you unravel with each slow, deliberate stroke. You were lost in him, in the heat and the hunger, in the fire that burned between you. "Yes," you whispered, your voice shaky, breathless. "Please."

Eris’s smile was wicked as he dipped his head, his lips ghosting over your skin, trailing down your body until he reached the apex of your thighs. You tensed, anticipation thrumming through you as his mouth replaced his fingers, his tongue tracing slow, lazy circles over your sensitive flesh. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and torment that had you writhing beneath him, your hands fisting in his hair as you pulled him closer, needing more.

He hummed against you, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through your body as he worked you with an expert precision, alternating between slow, languid strokes and quick, teasing flicks of his tongue. Your breath hitched, your body arching off the table as the pleasure built, every nerve alight with the sensation of him.

"Eris," you gasped, your voice barely a whisper, your hands clutching at him as you felt yourself teetering on the edge. "Please…"

But Eris didn’t give in to your desperation, not yet. He slowed his movements, drawing out the pleasure, pushing you higher and higher but never letting you fall. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open for him as he devoured you, his tongue moving in perfect rhythm, driving you mad with need.

You were close, so close, your body trembling with the effort to hold on, to resist the inevitable release. But when Eris looked up at you, his eyes dark and full of heat, his lips wet with your arousal, the sight alone was enough to push you over the edge.

Your climax hit you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing, your breath coming in ragged gasps as the pleasure ripped through you. You cried out, your hands fisting in Eris’s hair as you rode the wave of your release, every nerve alight with sensation.

But even as your body shuddered with the aftershocks of your orgasm, Eris didn’t stop. He kept his mouth on you, his tongue lapping at you, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until you were a quivering mess beneath him.

When he finally pulled away, you were panting, your body limp and trembling. But the fire between you hadn’t dimmed—it had only just begun.

Eris stood, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you to the edge of the table, positioning himself between your legs. His eyes met yours, dark and full of desire as he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear.

"Now," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "Let’s see if you can handle what comes next."

Eris's voice was dark, laced with that unshakable confidence that had always driven you insane, the same confidence that had made you hate him, but now—now it only made you burn hotter. His body hovered over yours, the heat radiating from him like the embers of a wildfire, ready to consume everything in its path. His fingers trailed down your thighs, sending shivers up your spine, and his grip tightened on your hips as he positioned himself at your entrance.

Your breath caught in your throat as he pushed inside you, slow and deliberate, his gaze locked on yours, watching every flicker of emotion that crossed your face. He filled you completely, stretching you in a way that was both agonizing and blissful, and you bit your lip, stifling the moan that threatened to escape.

Eris leaned down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "You're quiet. I thought you were desperate for me."

That snapped something in you. All the tension, the frustration, the need—it burst free, raw and untamed. You grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him closer as you bared your teeth. "Shut up, Vanserra," you hissed, and with a quick surge of power, you flipped him onto his back. His eyes widened in surprise as you straddled him, taking control, the edge of the table groaning beneath you both.

The satisfaction of seeing him beneath you, for once at your mercy, sent a thrill through you. You sank down on him, fully, a moan escaping your lips this time, unable to be contained as he stretched you to your limit. His groan followed, low and guttural, his hands immediately flying to your hips, but you were faster, slapping them away, pinning his wrists to the table.

"Now who's in control?" you growled, your voice shaking with both triumph and desire. You rode him with all the aggression you’d been holding back for years, each movement purposeful, relentless, making sure he felt every bit of what you’d been withholding from him.

Eris’s eyes darkened, a wicked smile curling at the edges of his mouth despite the rough pace you set. He strained beneath your grip, his muscles coiling with the effort to keep himself in check, but you knew you were driving him insane. "You think you can take what you want from me and still win?" he rasped, his voice rough, strained. His breath hitched as you quickened your pace, the table beneath you both creaking louder with each movement.

"You underestimate me, Eris," you panted, the fire between you burning hotter, fueled by the biting words, the clash of dominance, the need to prove yourself just as capable of breaking him as he was of you. You watched as his jaw tightened, the tendons in his neck straining as he fought for control, his hips lifting to meet yours, driving deeper into you with every thrust.

"You're desperate," he hissed through clenched teeth, his voice a rough growl. "I feel it—how much you need me." His hips snapped up harder, matching your rhythm, and you couldn’t stop the moan that tore from your throat.

You leaned down, your face inches from his, breathless, teeth bared. "I don't need you," you spat, though your body told another story, the slick heat between your thighs betraying the lie. You tried to maintain control, tried to keep the edge, but the sensation of him inside you, the way he filled you so completely, so perfectly—it was driving you mad.

Eris’s eyes blazed with challenge, and suddenly his wrists broke free of your grip. In one swift, fluid motion, he sat up, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. The sudden shift had you gasping, and before you could protest, he kissed you—hard, deep, his teeth grazing your lower lip, claiming you with a ferocity that left no room for argument.

"I can feel you falling apart," he growled against your lips, his voice thick with lust. "Don’t fight it. Don’t pretend you don’t want this."

You hated him for being right. You hated the way he could read you so easily, how he knew exactly how to break through your defenses. But in that moment, you couldn’t fight anymore. The need, the desire, the fury—it was all too much. You let go.

Your nails dug into his shoulders as you rode him harder, the friction between your bodies intoxicating, every thrust sending jolts of pleasure through your core. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you, holding you tight as his movements became rougher, more desperate, matching your aggression with his own. The air between you crackled with tension, with the raw, unfiltered need that neither of you could contain.

"Say it," he commanded, his voice thick with dominance, his breath hot against your neck as he thrust up into you, hitting that spot that made you see stars. "Admit that you need me."

You bit back a scream, your body trembling as the pressure built inside you, your walls tightening around him as you edged closer to release. "Fuck you," you managed to choke out, your voice ragged, but the words had no bite. They were hollow, empty, because you were already his—had been from the moment this began.

His hand slid between your bodies, his fingers finding the sensitive spot between your legs, and you shattered. Your orgasm tore through you like wildfire, your body convulsing, your mind going blank as waves of pleasure crashed over you. You screamed his name, your nails raking down his back, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping you anchored to reality.

Eris groaned, his body tensing beneath you as he followed you over the edge. His release was just as powerful, his hips slamming up into you one final time as he came, filling you completely, his breath ragged and uneven against your skin. The sensation of him pulsing inside you, of his hands gripping you so tightly, of his body moving in sync with yours—it was enough to make you lose yourself completely.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you panting, trembling, your bodies spent. The silence that followed was heavy, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. For a moment, neither of you moved, too caught up in the aftermath of what had just happened.

ERIS WEEK TAGLIST

@littlest-w01f @mp-littlebit

[thebonbonika]

After beating Dark Souls 1 and 3 a few times I decided to give Dark Souls 2 a fair shot. I played it once as a teen, but that was with no context and also my first time playing on an Xbox controller so ya know, a bad time.

I saw an orge by what looked like my boat in the starting area and made a note to return to fight them. After beating the first boss I bought a way to get through. I jumped over pits as I didn’t notice that you could make a bridge. I then had to fight 2 orges and some floating edge lord who would throw cursed orbs at me.

I killed the two orges before I threw myself into the “boat”, it was a coffin, thinking it’d take me to see an undead god like Nito. The world darkened and stated “my nature has changed” as I ran past the floating edge lord knight, opening menus to see what changed. As I died to the knight I heard my voice sounded weird. I went to change my armor and saw my character is male now.

I cannot stress the comedy of my guy jumping over chasms, killing monsters bigger than him and fighting a floating beast to transition within an hour after arriving to a cursed land. Yeah, you’re here because you’re slowly turning hollow as you lose yourself to an unforgiving would. I’m here for free HRT and a new lease on life. We are not the same.

[balladofbells]

Gotsm, page 77

Simon: what’s that? *points to the Christopher Lightwood chasm*

Fell: *darkened expression*

Simon:

Fell: anyways

[aventurineswife]

“Desire is an ugly and a beautiful thing”

Summary: In the Sweetdream Paradise, Sunday, is approached by you—someone who has long been part of the Oak Family. Over the years, Sunday has grown weary and detached, having seen the toll of his ideals and the sacrifices others have made. Yet when you confess your desire for him, not just the peace of the paradise he provides, but him, Sunday is forced to confront his own buried feelings. Despite his reluctance, he finds himself drawn to you, and the two of you navigate the dangerous beauty of desire in a place meant for escape. As the boundaries between reality and dream blur, Sunday is faced with the decision to care once more, even at the risk of everything.

Tags: Sunday x Reader, Emotional Conflict, Self-Discovery, Slow Burn, Angst, Romance.

Warnings: Angst Themes of longing and unrequited desire, Mentions of loss and resignation, Emotional tension, Slight mature themes (suggestive content, not explicit).

The moonlight filtered through the thick branches of the oak trees, casting silver shadows across the lush grounds of the Sweetdream Paradise. The night was calm, as it had always been in the serene dream realm that Sunday now oversaw. His eyes, usually sharp and clear, had grown distant, reflecting the years of leadership, wisdom, and loss. He stood at the edge of the garden, looking out toward the horizon, his expression unchanged by the beauty around him.

It had been a long time since he had seen anyone who truly needed him. But tonight, as you approached from behind, your soft footsteps barely audible on the gravel path, something stirred in him. A faint, fleeting sensation that he couldn’t quite grasp. He turned slowly, his hair catching the faint light as he fixed his gaze on you.

“You’re still here,” he said, his voice calm but with an edge, a hint of something deeper that only someone like you could detect. You had been a part of the Oak Family for as long as he could remember, yet tonight, there was something different in the way you looked at him. Something that had shifted between the two of you, something undeniable.

You hesitated, standing just out of reach, unsure if the time had come to speak the truth that had weighed heavily on your heart for so long. But it had. The time had come.

“I don’t think I can live without this paradise, Sunday,” you confessed quietly, your voice trembling. “But it’s not just the dream I crave. It’s you. I want you, not just your protection, not just your leadership. You.”

Sunday’s gaze softened, though his expression remained unreadable. His eyes flickered, the halo behind him dimming slightly as he took a slow breath. It wasn’t the first time someone had confessed such feelings, but there was something about your words—about the intensity in your eyes—that made his heart ache, an unfamiliar feeling for someone who had long since distanced himself from such things.

“Desire is an ugly and a beautiful thing,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “It makes us abandon every principle we’ve built our lives around. It makes us care.” His gaze darkened slightly as he met your eyes, the weight of his years pressing down on him.

You stepped closer, your heart pounding, unsure of what would happen next. The distance between you both had always felt like an insurmountable chasm, a space that Sunday had carefully cultivated to protect both of you from the consequences of emotional entanglements. Yet, here you were, baring your soul, ready to cross that line.

“Sunday, I…” You struggled to find the right words, but the truth hung between you, undeniable.

His hand, once steady and certain, reached up to touch his ear, where his golden earrings shimmered faintly in the soft moonlight. He closed his eyes for a moment, then turned his face away, his breath coming in a quiet sigh.

“I’ve seen the consequences of desire,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I’ve seen what happens when people want something more than peace. More than escape.”

Your heart tightened at his words. The man before you, the one who had once been filled with hope and compassion, had grown resigned over the years, his ideals tempered by the crushing weight of the choices he’d had to make. But there was a part of him still buried beneath the layers of responsibility and loss, a part that had always wanted to protect you.

“I don’t want to be your escape, Sunday,” you said softly, taking another step forward. “But I don’t think I can keep living like this, in this paradise, if it means living without you.”

He turned his head, and for the briefest moment, his gaze softened, vulnerable. A flicker of something—an emotion long buried—surfaced in his eyes, but it quickly faded, replaced by the weary resolve that had come to define him.

“You still don’t understand,” he said, his voice tinged with sadness. “I can give you everything—this—this dream, this peace, this world where nothing hurts. But in return, I need you to let go of what you desire. I need you to let go of me.”

You took a deep breath, standing just inches from him now, your heart racing. “I don’t want to let go of you, Sunday. I don’t want to live in this paradise if it means I’m not with you. I’ve already abandoned everything for this dream… but I can’t abandon this feeling. Not anymore.”

For a long moment, Sunday said nothing. His eyes searched yours, perhaps seeing the sincerity, the unshakable truth in them. His lips parted, as if to say something, but no words came.

Instead, he closed the gap between you, his hand reaching to gently cup your face, his touch soft but firm, as if afraid that you might disappear. His eyes, still dimmed by years of sorrow, looked deep into yours.

“You’re right,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “Desire is a dangerous thing… but it’s also the only thing that makes us human.”

And in that moment, when the weight of all those years seemed to fall away, and the boundaries between dream and reality blurred, you both surrendered to it. To the beauty and the ugliness of what you had long tried to deny.

In the quiet of the Sweetdream Paradise, under the endless canopy of stars, Sunday finally allowed himself to care again. To feel. To desire. Even if only for a fleeting moment.

And as the dream flickered softly around you both, it felt like home.

[b00kdiary]

A Ballad of Flame & Shadow | Azriel

Alex was falling between worlds- falling through worlds- until she landed with Bryce someplace that was definitely not Hel.

And now there was a male before her, the most beautiful male she had ever seen and something other than fear sparked in her heart.

Wattpad & Ao3

CHAPTER ONE:

One moment Bryce and I were running toward the Gate, leaping through the Gate into the chasm of darkness beyond, Rigelus screaming at our backs.

And then the next we were falling.

Not through the worlds but across – as if some God had gripped us by our hair and yanked us sideways, pulling, pulling, pulling, our screams greeting nothing but stars and darkness and emptiness.

There was a pressure in my brain like someone had wrapped their hands around my throat and squeezed, a tightening that felt like fingers pressing down on my eyes to cave them in.

And so much screaming.

And then... grass.

I panted, a burst of pain lancing through my right shoulder as it collided with the ground, as it collided with the green grass below me. Though my head spun so wildly that for a second, I wondered if it was even real.

But I felt it, under my hands, beyond the Harpy's blood coating my palms and fingers, crusting under my nails- grass, dense and damp with condensation.

Hel had grass.

"Hel," I breathed, and it was pure panic that overrode the spinning in my mind, the pain in my body. Pure and undiluted panic as I realised where we had appeared, what likely prowled these lands. "Bryce-Bryce!"

My knees shook as I rose onto them, and I could feel my body begging me to stop- stop moving, stop fighting, just stop. But I didn't, couldn't, not as flashes of Hel's pets passed my mind's eye, those horrific creatures that had attacked Lunathion that day.

Deathstalkers, Kristallos demons- they would rip us to shreds before we even found Aidas.

"Bryce!" I called again- not too loud. I lifted my chin and I saw the Starsword, a few feet in front of me and then I glanced back- to where Bryce lay groaning on the floor. "Shit, shit-"

The air felt different here, thinner, and as I scrambled over to Bryce, half-crawling, half-stumbling, it took all my strength to make it those few feet before I dropped to my knees at her side.

"Alex," Bryce gritted her teeth as I rolled her onto her back, her tan skin ashen her body convulsing. Running from Rigelus's power, opening the Gate with the Horn, getting us both through to Hel- it was all too much for her.

"We need to go," Her amber eyes darted frantically, to and from my face to the darkening sky above. But even her hand clasping mine felt weak, and I knew that she was on the verge of passing out. "Death-deathstalkers, they'll kill us, Alex, we need to go."

"I know, I know," I rasped and something helpless burned behind my eyes as I held her hand, and watched her sneakers dig into the ground for leverage before giving out a second later. "We're not going to make it far with you like this Bryce, we need shelter, we need-"

The mists before us parted and the words died on my tongue as I beheld the land before me- beheld a sight of beauty. A flowing, crystal blue river, a lawn of verdant green grass, kept green grass, and beyond.

"A city," I gasped, and Bryce must not have heard me, not as she tried and failed to bend her knees under her. But I saw it, saw a city of stars and moonlight and prosperity, the kind that Ruhn had shown me pictures of when he had travelled across the Continents.

But there, through the mystified fog and past that winding river- movement. Demons of Hel.

"Bryce, I know you're tired, but you need to get up," I grab her limpening arm, tucking it against me and something twists in my gut at the wet feel of the Harpy's blood on her clothes and mine, the smell that thickened as I grabbed Bryce by the waist to haul her to her feet.

Her amber eyes opened; her head tilted back against my forearm blinking up at my face. And then her eyes widened.

"Alex-"

Too late.

Steel slid against my throat, cold and sharp and I froze.

A male spoke, like death incarnate against the shell of my ear, so close that I felt a tremor ripple across my skin. I didn't recognise the language, but with the hushed tone and the press of that blade against my carotid, I knew not to move.

I didn't even dare breathe.

Bryce grunted as she slipped from my grip and back to the grass, and as her eyes flashed to whatever demon stood behind me, I saw it in her face- her calling to her powers, just as I did now. But it splintered and cracked, shards slipping through my fingers.

I had nothing left to defend with, and if the dull star at Bryce's chest told me anything, it seemed we were out of luck.

That male voice spoke again, demanded something in that foreign tongue and when I still knelt on the ground, palms exposed, begging any who listened for even a flicker of magic to ignite in me, he growled.

Bryce gasped as his large hand clamped down on my shoulder, and I saw her fighting to rise as he hauled me up and twisted me to face him. "Don't fucking touch her."

But I didn't react. Not as I was met with something, unlike any demon I knew existed.

A male- the most beautiful male I had ever seen before. Golden skin, carved bone structure, raven hair. And those eyes were hazel, a sunburst of honey and whiskey, even if they seemed to gleam with violence.

The sight of him surprised me enough that I stumbled back a step and like the warrior he seemed to be, he reacted, his hand falling to my curved waist and gripping me. Something sparked, like a match being lit, at the touch.

And for a second, I think he felt it too, it seemed like those hazel eyes cleared and his tall, muscular form shivered at that spark. Just for a second and then it was gone.

He released my waist, instead wrapping his hand around my wrist, a glint of a blade shining in my peripheral. He spoke again, a quiet voice that seemed to hold no mercy. But I was dumbfounded as I stared at him.

The scale-like obsidian armour, crafted over acres of lean, corded muscle, and so tall I craned my neck to meet his eyes. And those wings, nothing like Hunt's, no, these were vast, black, leathery, tipped with talons that peered over his broad shoulders.

Hunt.

Ruhn.

Something squeezed in my chest and that beautiful face twisted, brows knitting and soft lips tilting down as tears filled my eyes.

"Take us to Aidas," I begged, and I couldn't stop how my body was shaking now. I glanced back at Bryce, braced on her palms and mascara running down her face- as if she too remembered all we had left behind. "Take us to Aidas, Prince Aidas!"

I couldn't stop the tears as they fell and when I jolted forward, curling my hands into the solid, intricate armour he wore, his eyes flashed in warning. But he didn't pull away. I leaned against him, knees near giving out and he seemed to recognise how desperate I was.

He spoke again, softer this time, that rough hand still holding my wrist.

"What the fuck is he saying?" Bryce choked, and I could hear rustling as if she was fighting with everything, she had in her to get up. I could practically hear her screaming in her mind get the fuck up.

"I don't understand, please, just take us to Prince Aidas. We came to Hel; we came for his help-"

"Hel?" He echoed the word sounding jumbled on his lips. I nodded frantically, my nails breaking against his armour, half my body flush against him now and he held my weight up with ease.

"Yes, yes, Hel!" I looked around, gesturing at the misty surroundings, the sky-scrapping trees, the darkening night sky, "What level? What Pit? What Chasm?" But my words seemed to just confuse him even more, dark brows furrowing.

My eyes screwed shut with frustration and I opened my mouth again, to repeat those same words, hoping this time something would click- and then I felt it, felt them.

"Fuck," I gasped, launching back, my fingers untangling from the male before me as I scrambled away. His hand- brutally scarred, I realised- squeezed, but when he saw the fear and panic sullying my eyes, he reluctantly let go.

And I inched back and back and back until I felt Bryce beside me- and she was shaking just as much as I was. Because stood behind that male, were three more... demons? No, no, Fae, two of them were Fae.

We were surrounded now, outnumbered.

"Shit, shit," Bryce hissed and when my eyes met hers, half-risen, legs knocking together as she tried to stand, I saw it on her face- we were fucked, royally fucked. "We can't fucking take them all."

I sucked in a shallow breath and with it, I steeled my spine and forced the alarm to clear from my face. The first male's eyes scrutinised me, observed as I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin, refusing to cower- and I swear his lip tilted at the corner.

"Prince Aidas, we're looking for Prince Aidas," I looked past him, to the two Fae females, beautiful Fae females and another handsome male with wings standing beside them. "Is this Hel?"

One of the females stepped forward, petite in every sense of the word, her dark, cropped hair so at odds with the gleaming silver in her angular eyes- eyes that seemed to look over me, over Bryce, and narrow.

I didn't blame them. We were covered in blood, seeping through our clothes, sticking to our skin, coating our hands and neck, and speckled against our faces. Blood that was not ours.

The other male spoke, just as tall, if not taller than the first with those same hazel eyes and those dark, foreboding wings. He shook his head, long raven hair shifting from his bun, and I watched as the female beside him, pretty and fawn-haired, pursed her lips.

Bryce bared her teeth, red hair swinging in her ponytail as she stepped forward and I fought against my instinct to help, to grab onto her to stop her tumbling over. But we were the prey here, they were the predators and we had to do everything in our power to not become food.

"Is this world Hel?" Bryce asked and something shifted in the air at the sound of the Old Fae Language on her tongue, that petite female flinching at the words. "We need to see Prince Aidas."

The others gaped at the smaller female as if her shock was the most alarming thing about this situation. But I sagged in relief- finally, someone who fucking understood us. But that seemed secondary to her, as that female glanced from the Starsword on the floor at her feet to the first male's dagger at his side.

He slid it free, and it was as if someone had ripped the ground out from under our feet.

"Oh my fucking Gods," It was a twin to the Starsword, a mirror with its dark hilt and engraved blade. And Bryce's hand found mine, tugged me back with her as the Starsword began to glow, vibrating with white magic.

And almost as if in answer the dagger pulsed black.

It fell from the male's hand, alarm breaking through the pure ice hardening his eyes and I would have laughed under different circumstances- laughed at seeing these fully grown, powerful creatures flinching from these weapons.

Except I was fucking terrified too.

"Gwydion," The dark-haired female gasped, red-painted lips parting in shock as she stared down at the Starsword- known by a different name here, a name I had never heard before.

"Please, is this Hel?" I stumbled slightly over the language, unused to the mother tongue of the Old Fae, but still, I locked my intreating gaze onto that female and demanded again, "Is this Hel? We need to find Prince Aidas."

She pursed her lips and Bryce's nails dug into the skin of my palm, her body stiffening under that stare. She looked over us- the mess of make-up smeared across our faces, the clothes and shoes caked in blood, and the bruises and cuts looming over our skin.

So at odds with them, with their outdated attire. For some reason, I thought back to the old fantasy movies Danika used to drag me and Bryce to, just so she could laugh and throw popcorn kernels at the screen.

My heart burned in memory of her.

I saw a blare of blue, bright enough that it had me blinking through the tears that lined my eyes in memory of my friend. As the haze cleared, I locked onto that beautiful male and saw something solemn in his face- like he had felt my grief at that moment.

I didn't have the time to contemplate how.

"No one has spoken that language here in over fifteen thousand years," She spoke, tone clipped and chin high, "I do not know any Aidas here."

"Apollion then," I swallowed, and I felt Bryce sway beside me, hands rubbing at her face, muttering incoherently under her breath. "You must know the Prince of the Pit."

"I do not know of such people," She shook her head, her eyes weary and something in my chest caved, "This is not Hel."

This is not Hel.

Not Hel.

Where the fuck where we?

"Oh Gods," Bryce gasped and this time when she swayed again, I did hold onto her, wrapping her arm over my shoulder and baring her weight. I didn't let the calm mask I donned slip, didn't let them see me as anything other than strong. I couldn't afford to.

"Then where are we?" I asked, voice shaking as I looked between the two females, then the other swaggering male and then finally to the first. And my eyes now noticed the blue jewels embedded into his armour, blazing like sirens.

I locked my gaze on him and for some reason, whatever reason, I felt like he of all of them might take pity on us, have mercy on us. And I let him see that in me, that hope, strong enough that something unreadable whirled through his eyes.

"What world is this?" I breathed, just looking at him and I saw his throat work, that powerful body going unnaturally still. His lips parted as if to speak, but then something happened. I felt it again, that shift in time and space and air.

And then there were two more of them, two more Fae as if they had just appeared- from thin fucking air.

"How fucking many of them are there?" Bryce scoffed, and something like a chuckle rose in me, at how ridiculous this was, how unbelievable. Did the Gods truly hate us so fucking much?

I eyed the female first and watched her wade through the others to the front- lovely, fawn-haired, and her eyes a cloudy blue. They widened slightly at the sight of us, but they held little threat, only weariness.

And then two black, ominous wings erected high behind her, and the breath ripped from my lungs as a third male stepped out- midnight hair, and violet eyes, breathtakingly lovely.

"Ruhn?" My voice broke, and it was Bryce who had to hold me up now, had to keep me from falling to my knees at the sight of that male, so much like the Prince I had left behind on Midgard.

He blinked at me, likely as confused as I was.

And then he turned to the first male, the one with the scarred hands, and they spoke between them. Something almost akin to worry flickering through those hazel eyes as he watched me, the tears now leaking down my face, the haunted expression I wore.

"He-he looks like Ruhn," Bryce gasped, voice barely above a mutter and I heard the emotion clogging her words- for her brother, in the hands of the Asteri, so similar to this male that it physically made us hurt. "Why does he look Ruhn?"

"I don't know, I don't know-" Once the tears started it became hard to stop and Bryce, was beginning to sag in my arms, she was starting to drift in and out of consciousness now and I couldn't hold her for much longer I knew that.

"Please," I looked to the dark-haired female again, and I would be the prey, I would be food, I would chattel if it meant getting them to help us. "My sister is weak, she needs help and-and our world, our home... Midgard, it's in grave danger-"

Hunt, Bryce's mate. My friend.

Ruhn, Bryce's brother. My family and yet so much more.

"Don't- don't tell them anything, Alex," Bryce rasped into my ear, and I was starting to buckle now, teeth gritting as her body got heavier and heavier. "Don't tell-"

"Bryce!" She crumpled to the floor, and I fell with her, knees giving out, slamming into the grass hard enough that I felt the pain through every inch of my body. The Fae before us seemed to startle, but only the first male stepped forward, grass crunching under his boots.

Scarred hands reaching out as if to catch us. Catch me.

"I don't have any magic left, it's-it's depleted, more than depleted," Bryce rested her sweating forehead against my shoulder, and I bit my lip hard enough to taste metal as her eyes fluttered.

"Mine too," I whispered back, and the muttering amongst the others told me they were confused, that us speaking in our native tongue did not sit well with them. They didn't like not knowing what we were saying. "It's going to take a long time for it to come back, we need them to not kill us before then."

"C'mon Alex," Bryce lifted her eyes to mine, dry amusement in them, "Flutter those lashes and throw them a pretty smile, works with the males back home."

Their muttering got louder, and more voices joined in.

"These definitely aren't the males from home," I scoff- only Bryce could make a snarky quip at a time like this. "We don't have this kind of eye candy back home."

"Speak for yourself," Bryce's lip tilted. "Hunt Athalar happens to be my mate."

Her mate. I felt her chest seize in memory of him.

And it's that, that awful hurt in her eyes that makes me exhale with resolve. I draw on every ounce of exhaustion and pain and suffering we had endured these last few days, these last years- and I look back to those Fae with unveiled desperation.

"Please," I say again, and when I picture Ruhn and Hunt, when I picture our parents and our friends, my tears become real, "You have to help us."

The dark-haired female seemed to translate my words to the others, and something almost softened across their faces- kind, these people, they seemed kind. The fawn-haired female, who I noticed had a tapestry of dark whirls tattooed up her right arm, smiled sadly at me and spoke.

"She wants to know your name," the petite one relayed.

I could taste the salt of my tears in my mouth and my throat worked as I searched across all those lovely faces. I stopped at the first male, something tugging at me, an incessant throb that only settled when my eyes found him again.

There was a tense silence as we stared at each other, my arms wrapped around Bryce, holding her weak body to mine, no longer able to open her eyes much less speak. The male saw that, saw that we weren't a threat, at least not right now, and he dipped his head in the barest nod.

As if to say- we won't harm you.

"I'm Alexis Quinlan," I met those violet eyes and tried not to shudder at the thought of Ruhn. I cleared my throat, looking down at Bryce in my embrace, her chest rising and falling- just barely. "This is my sister, Bryce Quinlan."

"Hello, Alexis Quinlan," He stepped forward, a small smile tilting at his gorgeous face and the sound of the Old Language on his tongue was as glorious as night and space itself. "I'm Rhysand."

One moment, Rhysand was smiling and then the next something wholly dark and terrifying eclipsed us.

And then there was nothing but oblivion.

***

Alexis Quinlan- that's what Rhysand said she introduced herself as.

Even the sound of her name made something in my chest spark, a call in answer to her.

I felt as if I knew her somehow, felt as if we had met before- it was that feeling that stopped me from sliding Truth-teller into the junction of her throat when I found her earlier. It was the shiver that ran down me when I grabbed her waist that made me stop.

Made it impossible for me to harm her despite every instinct in me screaming that she was a stranger, a threat against this Court, against my family, against everything I held dear.

Even if another instinct in me whispered that she was anything but.

"Azriel," Rhysand's voice broke through the wall of confusion and intrigue that had erected the moment I laid eyes on her, and it took all my power to slide my gaze to his and look unfazed. "What are you thinking?"

I glanced at where the two females lay, nestled together on the small cot, faces calm as they slumbered. My lips pursed at the first female, Alexis, and the blood that caked her- matted in her long, chocolate hair, crusting against her tawny skin, staining the tight, unusual clothes she wore.

Not a threat and yet she was covered in blood that was not hers.

"They said they came from another world- Midgard- how?" I forced away the incessant thoughts of her, jaw locking as my shadows danced across my form- whispering, whispering, whispering, just about her. "They possess Gwydion but seemed surprised by Truth-Teller."

My hands clenched at my sides; the dagger sheathed at my hip no longer pulsing with that dark, unnatural energy in answer to Gwydion. It was alarming, seeing the blade I had cherished and wielded for so many years suddenly become unfamiliar to me, become other.

"She said their world was in grave danger, that they needed help," Amren mused, her slender arms folding over her chest as she stood beside me and Rhysand, her eyes assessing those females with lethal scrutiny. "Who's to say whatever they fear hasn't followed them straight to us, if the danger even exists."

I thought back to first discovering them- weak, no power left in them, if they had any at all and she had cried- amber eyes welling with tears as she held onto me. I felt it as sure as if it were my own, her grief, her desperation.

It had felt real.

"They did not seem disingenuous," Rhysand's violet eyes moved between Amren and me, the cavernous walls so at odds with the stars in his eyes but seemed to match perfectly with his deep-set frown. "And if they were going to attack, would they not have taken their chances against Azriel, before reinforcements arrived?"

"Whatever they endured has left them defenceless, they couldn't have taken Azriel even if they wanted to," Amren examined her sharp, glistening nails, her tone almost bored, "Wake them Rhysand, all these assumptions are pointless. We need them to tell us the truth."

It seemed unlikely they would tell us anything, not willingly, not if the way Alexis had steeled her spine and raised her chin as my court surrounded her was any indication. And her sister, Bryce, had bared her teeth, enough ire in her eyes to translate the curses that fell from her lips.

These were not weak females, not feeble by any account. My power seemed to rally at that reminder, that they were the enemy until proven otherwise. And as Rhysand let a wave of his magic brush over them, pulling them free from their unconscious- I let my mask slip back into place.

Shadowsinger. Spymaster. Darkness incarnate.

The females stirred, dark lashes fluttering and the three of us braced ourselves as they both sucked in sharp, lungfuls of air and shot up. Bryce, red hair swinging violently, and teeth bared, reached back- for Gwydion- and her painted nails met nothing but air.

But the other female, Alexis, sprung out of the cot and to her feet- but she didn't reach for a weapon. No, my brows rose as her hands curled, palms exposing and- nothing. Nothing came from it.

"She reached for her magic, but there isn't anything left," Rhysand muttered, interest lacing his tone and I nodded gravely in agreement, watching her breath stutter from her in realisation. "They have power, enough that it's her first instinct to call for it."

"And they're trained," I said lowly, watching their eyes flicker over themselves, over each other, and the cavernous walls that surrounded them. "The sister went for Gwydion first, and now they're assessing the space- these are no novices."

Their eyes slid to us as if knowing we spoke about them. And rightfully so fear crept up their faces as they took in the scene, the three of us, the cell they were trapped in and not a weapon or a speck of magic left in them.

The grate behind us hissed and Alexis groaned, muttering something in her language, amusing enough that the female behind her cracked a dry smile. They shifted to stand before the cot, their eyes unflinching upon us.

Rhysand stepped forward and I didn't miss how Alexis stiffened and shifted in front of Bryce- her protector perhaps? Or maybe whatever they were, she thought her sister's life more valuable than her own.

Rhysand spoke in that Old Fae language, translating mind to mind. His hand extended, wreathed in stars and moonlight, two small beans lying in his palm. "Here, swallow this and it will translate our mother tongue to you, allow you to speak it too."

Bryce scoffed, looking at the bean as if it were a vial of poison. My head cocked when Alexis folded her arms across her chest, her dark brow raising at Rhys and she spoke, something sardonic crossing her lovely face.

Rhys laughed- and I glanced at him in surprise. Even Amren's lip quirked at the corner.

"She said," Rhysand's eyes met mine and danced with enough amusement that my shadows hushed, "That she doesn't swallow- no matter how nicely a pretty male may ask."

I chuckled quietly at that, and something akin to approval hummed in my chest as my gaze shifted to hers. And it blared brighter when she tilted her chin in challenge, every inch of her soft body turning still at my attention.

"If we were going to kill you, we wouldn't need to use poison," Amren drawled, Rhysand translating again. The females met each other's eyes and Bryce said something, something that made Alexis flash her a smile- a devastating smile.

Bryce's hand trembled barely as she plucked the beans from Rhysand's palm, careful not to touch him and there was silence as they slipped it between their parted lips, grimacing as they swallowed it dry.

They gasped- in pain I realised, and it became increasingly difficult to stay rooted in place as they bucked, as she writhed, body convulsing, eyes screwed shut. I gritted my teeth as Bryce slumped back onto the bed, reeling, Alexis now bracing her palms against the cave walls to keep herself steady.

"If you were trying to hurt us a fucking knife would have done the job just as well," Alexis scowled, panting as she held the wall. My shadows skittered at the sound of her voice- soft and melodic to my ears.

"Poison might have been better than... whatever the fuck that was," Bryce said, husky voice half-muffled by the hand at her mouth as if she was forcing down bile - an answer to the pain that had thrashed her insides apart moments before.

"My apologies," Rhysand smiled, sounding anything but apologetic and their eyes narrowed as if they knew that. "But the language barrier was growing tedious, wouldn't you say?"

Bryce mumbled something incoherent, and we watched as she rose to her feet again, both their faces tight with discomfort as they steadied themselves, standing side by side as they had before and faced us.

They wanted answers as much as we did it seemed.

"You said your names were Alexis and Bryce Quinlan," Amren took a step forward, and her gaze slid over them, unimpressed. But to their credit they didn't baulk, if anything Alexis mirrored that look, taking in Amren's clothes with veiled humour. "You say you came from another world- if you are to be believed, how did you come here? Why?"

"Where is here?" Bryce swallowed, gaze flickering over the space again, "What world is this?"

"Why do you speak the Old Language?" Amren argued, eyes narrowing.

"Why do you?" Bryce countered, jerking her chin and Alexis rolled her pretty eyes, already tired of the back and forth- it nearly made me smile.

"Why are you covered in blood that is not your own?" Amren's red lips tilted into a cruel smile and- silence. They didn't speak for several moments.

And then something else overtook them. Panic overtook them. They looked down at the blood, covering them and whatever had happened, whatever they endured at home, those memories came back with a vengeance.

Bryce began to hyperventilate, her breath sawing in and out and she looked around the room, eyes wide, as if the walls were beginning to close in.

"Bryce," Alexis grabbed her sister's hand, silver-lined her eyes as she looked at her, "Bryce, don't think about it, don't think about them, please Bryce-"

"We won't harm you," Rhysand frowned, and they seemed to realise the comfort in the words, and the warning too. My throat worked, my head spinning with so many thoughts as she grabbed her sister's hand, anchoring her, and met our eyes again.

"What world is this?" Alexis demanded, and I could see it, as she looked at us one by one, the power she might wield, the magic lying dormant in her veins. She looked to Amren, unafraid. "You said no one has spoken the Old Language here in fifteen thousand years. Why?"

"How did you come to be in possession of the lost sword Gwydion?" Amren countered and this time Alexis bared her teeth, sharp canines exposing with a soft snarl. That sound glided down my spine and over my wings.

"I thought we agreed that we didn't want to have tedious conversations?" She said, and Amren's smile broadened- as if recognising a worthy opponent. "Or should we keep asking each other questions while giving no fucking answers?"

"You mean the Starsword?" Bryce rasped, giving a hint of an answer- but none of us spoke. Her eyes rolled, a mirror to the face her sister had made minutes ago, and she sighed. "It's a family heirloom, It's been in our world since our ancestors brought it over...fifteen thousand years ago."

Alexis met Amren's eyes, and something whirled in them, something sarcastic- as if to say see, that's called answering the fucking question.

My shadows crooned at that look.

"How did you find this world?" Rhysand asked, and rightfully so, they both seemed uneasy in his presence, seemed to recognise that he was in charge.

"We didn't," Alexis sighed, "Like we said: we wanted to go to Hel. We landed here instead."

"How?" Rhysand's voice sharpened and they both grimaced at the sound that came hissing from the grate, as if sensing their High Lord's anger and pleading for a taste.

"How much do you wanna bet they're gonna feed us to whatever the fucks hissing in there?" Bryce mused, wincing at the sound and Alexis nodded, looking at the grate with dread.

"We're not exactly the most palatable females, Bryce," Alexis tucked her long, dark hair behind an arched ear and chuckled wryly, talking as if we weren't even here, "Maybe it'll taste the sarcasm in our blood and be uninterested?"

She quirked a brow, teasing her sister- at a time like this they were teasing each other.

"I can assure you that that they don't discriminate," I flashed my teeth in a wicked smile, and Alexis's eyes locked with mine at the sound of my quiet tone, hands clenching at the cruel amusement in my eyes. "They like the taste of a pretty female, sarcastic or not."

She sucked in a shallow breath at that, her shapely chest rising and falling in waves as she stared at me. There was silence, and I knew the others were looking at us, between us, sensing the battle of wills that raged.

"Look, I just watched my mate and my brother get captured by a group of intergalactic parasites," Bryce snarled, and I straightened at the anger in her voice. "We have no interest in doing anything except finding a way to help them."

Her brother. Not our brother.

I narrowed my eyes and looked between them then- they didn't look remotely alike that much was obvious, nor did they smell alike, their blood completely different. Sisters, but not by blood, sisters in the same way that Rhysand and Cassian were my brothers.

"Explain." That's all Amren said. And they looked at each other, seemed to read the words on each other's faces and then turned back to us and said nothing. Amren sighed, "Just look into their minds already, Rhys."

"Don't even think about it," Alexis hissed, angling herself before her sister again and she glared at Rhysand with true terror in her eyes. A mirror to how Bryce looked at him.

"I do not pry where I am not willingly invited," Rhysand said quietly, his face not yielding even an inch of how he felt. Bryce's eyes narrowed, and Alexis showed another sarcastic smile.

"Gods be good, there are some decent males left in this galaxy," She drawled, utterly unimpressed, "However may we thank you for not invading our minds and rifling through them. Should we bow in the face of such virtue, Bryce?"

"It's definitely something to revere," Bryce looked at her sister, and chuckled, "A male with a code of mind-speaking ethics."

Rhysand paused, entertained if the constellations in his eyes told me anything. And even I fought back my astonishment, my smile, surprised by these females.

"Then we'll have to rely on your words," Rhysand grinned, snapped his fingers, and then settled onto one of the three chairs that appeared behind us, crossing an ankle over a knee.

"I was wrong before Bryce, these males are just like the ones back home," Alexis muttered, rolling her eyes at Rhysand's dramatics, before dropping onto the cot behind her with a sigh. "Beauty and arrogance, nothing new here."

Bryce fought a smile, sitting beside her sister, so close their thighs brushed, as if needing the other for comfort, for support.

"Amren," Rhysand smiled lazily at the frowning female, gesturing to the chair and then to me, "Azriel." I dropped onto the chair, tucking my wings behind me, and bracing my arms on my knees.

Her eyes were on me. As if hearing my name had the same effect as when I had heard hers.

"You say your sword has been in your world for fifteen thousand years?" Rhysand asked, and if I knew Rhys then he was more than pleased that she thought him beautiful, liked that she considered him arrogant.

My stomach lurched at the thought for some reason, her thinking him beautiful. I shoved it down, deep within me, not daring to think of it again. Think of why I even cared.

"Brought by our ancestors- Queen Theia or Prince Pelias, depending on what propaganda you hear." Bryce said a shade hesitantly, but upon seeing Amren stiffen, seeing her react, her brow rose, "You know of them?"

"No one has spoken those names here in a very, very long time," Amren swallowed, and Rhysand had gone still- if Amren was worried, then we all should be. "They once dwelled here."

"So, this is it, this is where we- the Midgard Fae- came from," Alexis was breathless, like the piece of the puzzle they had been missing slid into place. "Our ancestors left this world and went to Midgard, but we forgot where we came from."

Rhysand looked at me and I shook my head, lips pursing, never before heard of such stories involving our people migrating through worlds. But then he looked to Amren- and Cauldron, she looked shaken.

"It's murky, I went in before-" Amren glanced to the girls and didn't continue that sentence, "But when I came out there were rumours- many people vanishing, some said to another world, others said they'd moved to distant lands, rumours that they had been chosen by the Cauldron and spirited away."

Something cold lit through me at her words, getting colder still when Amren lifted her eyes and sharpened them upon the females. "What I want to know is why you came here when you meant to go elsewhere?"

"Join the line, Amren," Alexis said, biting down on her name sharply. She wasn't afraid, stupid, or brave, I couldn't tell but my shadows seemed to enjoy it all the same. "We want to know the same thing- we have no desire to be here."

"You wish to go to Hel," Rhysand said, not a shift in his tone, "To find this Prince Aidas."

At his question, they again glanced at each other and knew just from each other's faces, their eyes, what to do. It was intrinsic, just as I was with my brothers, on killing fields, in council meetings, in situations of peril, I could see exactly what my brothers thought just from something as simple as a blink.

"Allow me to lay out the situation for you, Bryce and Alexis Quinlan," Rhysand leaned forward, and they both met his stare- warriors, fighters, survivors, that's what I saw in them. "We will not torture you or pry into your mind. If you choose to talk or not, is indeed your choice."

"Let me guess," Alexis cocked her head, silken hair sliding over her shoulder as she met those star-flecked eyes, "Just like it's your choice to leave us down here to rot. Until these four walls drive us fucking crazy and we have no choice but to tell you whatever you want."

"That's torture, isn't it, Alex?" Bryce mused sarcastically, her brows furrowing in faux perplexion.

"Yes, it is, Bryce," Alexis drawled, locking her ankles and meeting Rhysand's gaze again, "Chivalrous torture though- because you know, they have a code to follow after all."

Cauldron, under different circumstances these females, I think I would rather like them. Rhys seems to share my sentiment, a rumble of laughter dancing through my mind. Rhys smiled- and snapped his fingers. In an instant, they were clean- of blood, of gore, of whatever else they had been coated in.

Beautiful. That's the word that sprang to me first at the sight of her, just beautiful.

"To incentivise you," Rhys gave a half smile, more menacing than anything else. Another shared glance between the girls and then a defeated sigh.

"The Asteri are ancient, tens of thousands of years old and they arrived in our world fifteen thousand years ago," Bryce said, and something sullen flashed through her eyes, as if in memory.

"What do you mean by arrived?" Rhysand pushed.

"Honestly, we have no idea how they first got to Midgard." Bryce shrugged and Rhysand's face softened at the agony in her eyes, her scent turning cold, as if she could still feel them, whatever they were.

"The history has spun them as liberators, they found Midgard little more than a backwater planet inhabited by humans and animals and they created a perfect empire- a place where creatures and races from other worlds came to through a giant hole called the Northern Rift." Alexis continued, frowning, "It now only opens to Hel, but it used to open to everywhere, anywhere."

"What happened when these creatures arrived from other worlds?" Rhysand asked, his voice tight now.

"The official history is that Hel tried to invade Midgard but the Asteri in all their glory unified these people under one banner and banished the Princes back to Hel. The Northern Rift was fixed, with its destination set on Hel. A massive wall was built to keep out any demons that come through the cracks and the Asteri's indomitable empire lives happily ever after."

"And the unofficial history?" Rhysand asked, a shade more quietly.

Alexis looked at her sister, saw the question in those eyes- and then nodded, solemnly. Bryce turned back to us, bracing herself with a shaky inhale and exhale.

"The Asteri are ancient, immortal beings who harvest off the magic of a world, of its people and then eat it. We call it firstlight, it fuels our world. We're required to hand it over when we reach immortality, we seize our full power through a ritual called the drop and they siphon off pieces of it- like a tax on our magic."

"A tithe," Amren gasps- I've never heard Amren gasp before, even Rhysand looks alarmed by the soft sound. They furrow their brow but when Amren doesn't continue, Alexis swallows, continuing the tale.

"Midgard is one of many in a long line of worlds invaded by the Asteri. They have an entire archive full of planets they've conquered or tried to conquer- we saw it before we came here." Alexis clenched her eyes shut, haunted by the memory, "There were only three planets that managed to kick their asses to the curb- Hel, a planet called Iphraxia, and a world occupied by Fae, the original Starborn Fae."

"My sword- you know it by a different name," Bryce looked to Amren, who nodded slowly, "I think it came from this world- was forged here. It was a part of your history and then vanished, right? Hasn't been seen in fifteen thousand years? It lines up with the timeline of the Starborn Fae arriving in Midgard."

Worry- it bloomed over us, all of us like a phantom touch. And something uneasy furled in my gut, the way these females had appeared, the light and dark call and answer between Gwydion and Truth-teller- it was not right.

"We learned that long before the Asteri found Midgard, they were here- but you kicked them out, you defeated them," Alexis's face turned pleading then, desperate, "How? How did you defeat them?"

"Our history doesn't include any such event like that," Rhysand said- but the look he gave Amren, spoke of something more.

"The Asteri remember you- and they're pissed off," Alexis scoffed, and my shadows lurched at her words, at the threat these Asteri posed. "Rigelus, their leader, basically said it's his personal mission to find this place and fucking destroy it. You're number one on his list."

Alexis trembled as she said his name- Rigelus, and her scent darkened in fear, in repulsion. And something awful rose in me at the smell, at whatever he had done to make her shake that way- something dark and terrible and deadly.

"It is our history, Rhysand," Amren said gravely, and we both went still, "But the Asteri were not known by that name- we called them the Daglan." I jolted, wings rustling, and Rhysand's face turned ashen, golden skin leeching of colour.

Cauldron fucking spare us, the Asteri are the Daglan.

"How did you defeat them?" Alexis tried again, hope beaming in her eyes now, "Do you have any record about how they fell?"

"Nothing beyond old songs of bloody battles and tremendous losses," Amren frowned, and that hope, fuck, it dimmed and dimmed and then completely vanished from her eyes.

"You think that these Asteri want to come back here for revenge?" Rhys asked, shaking his head like he didn't quite believe it. "After fifteen thousand years?"

"These are petty, arrogant bastards, fifteen thousand years is like five minutes when it comes to Rigelus when it comes to his revenge," Alexis said, her face twisting with ice, "He has infinite time and resources to-"

"What resources?" Rhysand cut in, and now, there was not an inch of amusement to be seen on his face. No, his High Lord's instinct had taken over.

"I don't even know where to start explaining it," Alexis shook her head, looked at her sister, frowned and then turned back to us, reaching out a small, shaking hand to Rhys. "I'll show you."

That darkness twisted in my gut again, at the thought of his hand touching hers. I thrust it down with the other ludicrous emotions and thoughts that plagued me.

"One moment," Rhys frowned, knowing better than to fall so easily into a trap. He vanished, and an emotion akin to relief filled me, as she lowered her hand back to her lap with a dazed blink.

"You can teleport here?" Bryce asked, but not really asking.

"We call it winnowing," Amren said, and my lip tilted at their reactions. "Can you two, do it?"

Another short glance- and two heads shaking no. My smirk widened.

"No," Alexis squared her shoulders, meeting my eyes and raising a brow at me, "There are only two Fae who can."

"On your entire planet?" Amren started, "Only two?"

Liar- I let her see that word in my eyes, even as she bared her teeth slightly at me, before turning away, dismissing me.

"Let me guess," Bryce smiled barely, "You have more?"

"Only the most powerful, but yes. Many can here." Amren's words cut off as Rhysand appeared between us again and I lifted a brow at what he held between his hands. "The Veritas Orb?"

"Hold it, think of what you want to show us, and the memories shall be captured within for us to view." Rhysand nodded to the orb at his feet. The girls frowned, muttered something, a word I didn't understand- camera- I think and then nodded in resolve.

Alexis rose on stiff legs, tugging at her clothes almost subconsciously, and no one spoke as she waded forward on silent feet. She paused before it, glanced at Rhysand, then Amren and then me- I tried not to appear like I wanted to kill her.

She bent down, short fingers curling around the orb and my throat worked at the slip of flesh that was revealed as she leaned forward, my eyes averting away from the display of golden skin and full breasts.

She rose, top mercifully slipping back into place and my eyes met hers- they danced with humour, knowing what I had seen, knowing that I had chosen to look away. My shadows flanked me excitedly, even as my face remained a sheet of darkness.

"Here goes nothing," She muttered, stepping back and then she closed her eyes and held that ball. It was a few seconds, if not more, before she fluttered her dark lashes, and then rolled the ball back to Rhysand.

He picked it up, touched the top and everything, all the horrors within began to play out.

Dread, pure fucking dread lined us all.

"Guns," Bryce said pointing to a human man holding some sort of weapon in his hands, hitting a target from miles away. "Brimstone missiles." A furious explosion, a flash of blinding white light and then... everything was in ruin, rubble. "Omega-boats." Some sort of underwater ship, with more of those weapons within.

"Asteri." Alexis breathed and when the male came onto the screen, dark-haired and gangly, she looked away, couldn't face him even in her own memories. And as a white-hot power blasted from him, shattering stone and glass and everything in his way, I could see why.

"You live in such a world?" Rhysand swallowed thickly, and they just nodded. "And they wish to bring all those things here?" Another grim nod.

Her eyes were on me, observing me but I didn't meet them, pushed the feel of them away. I stared at that orb, at the horror shown within and I knew that we were fucked, that against those monstrosities, Prythian would stand little chance.

Guns, missiles, omega-boats, the Asteri- it would be a catastrophe beyond anything that the Hybern war had seen.

"Bryce-" Her voice shook suddenly, panicked and my gaze tore from that orb. To where the other female hunched and groaned- to where her back glowed- "Bryce- Bryce, stop!"

Rhysand's magic pulsed and so did mine- and before they could strike, I lunged.

"Stay the fuck away from her!" Alexis snarled as I stood before them, Truth-teller in my hand, poised to attack. I inched closer- but then that darkness began to leak from the blade again, and I stopped at the sight.

"Put it away," Amren hissed, "It sings for her, and by bringing it close-" It was gone whisked away by my shadows within a blink.

Alexis glowered at me but then she turned and met her sister's pale face and concern softened her expression. But that light still pulsed- bright, shimmering, iridescent- and the panic in both their eyes, told us everything they had tried to hide.

"The glowing letters inked on her back," Amren muttered, Rhys stood by my side now, watching those closely, "They're the same as those in the Book of Breathings."

They seemed to notice the shift in the air, the power rumbling through the stone and the way they stared back, the way she stared back, told me that they wouldn't go down easy.

"Explain or die." 

____________________________

A/N:

HERE WE HAVE IT, CHAPTER ONE OF MY AZRIEL FANFIC!

This is a little sneak peek into what's to come but if you want to read the rest of this fanfic I am uploading it on Wattpad and AO3 (linked) My Wattpad handle is @itzwhatever and my ao3 handle is @b00kdiary

So excited to continue this story, I've been thinking about it for MONTHS.

@hellodarling1357 @charlineraven @starrystarkey93 @mockingjaytributes @nelapeach14 @alessiazeni @bishhh2003 @impossibelle @firebreathingbishqueen @lovely-susie @sarawritestories @hellowinterlane @minnieoo @charlineraven @acotarfics-mharmie009

[persepinas]

And I cannot say even now that I regret Claudia, that I wish I had never seen her, nor held her, nor whispered secrets to her, nor heard her laughter echoing through the shadowy gaslighted rooms of that all too human town house in which we moved amid the lacquered furniture and the darkening oil paintings and the brass flowerpots as living beings should. Claudia was my dark child, my love, evil of my evil. Claudia broke my heart.

And on a warm sultry night in the spring of the year 1860, she rose up to settle the score. She enticed me, she trapped me, and she plunged a knife over and over again into my drugged and poisoned body, until almost every drop of the vampiric blood gushed out of me before my wounds had the precious few seconds in which to heal.

I don't blame her. It was the sort of thing I might have done myself.

And those delirious moments will never be forgotten by me, never consigned to some unexplored compartment of the mind. It was her cunning and her will that laid me low as surely as the blade that slashed my throat and divided my heart. I will think on those moments every night for as long as I go on, and of the chasm that opened under me, the plunge into mortal death that was nearly mine. Claudia gave me that.

[fairy-verse]

: ̗̀➛ Quiet, part 4

Strange fairies may be, but stranger still are the shadows who come from beyond the veil, and those whose appearance may frighten most of all could, in truth, be the answer you seek.

There was an eeriness that could never be chased no matter how many lanterns or torches were strung up within the halls of Error’s Mountain kingdom, and yet it never chased away stray travellers or common visitors, for the chiselled walls and curved archways urged one to approach; to explore the unknown and see where the flickering lights came from. Shadows may dance upon the tall walls or within hidden corners, but instead of chasing you, they waved you to them.

Killer, to this day, could not deny the intrigue that filled him as he flew through corridors, into narrow chambers, through icy crevasses, and finally into the great mountain hall itself where the ceiling stretched too high to see and strange roots hung from various heights, all holding onto intricately crafted lanterns that housed nests for the winter fairies. From those lights of green, blue, red, purple, and pink flickered across the walls nearby, vanishing into the darkness of various chasms that led to different parts of the kingdom, all so plentiful Killer couldn’t possibly explore all of it in his lifetime.

“Have you ever been lost in here?” asked Killer, flying beside Cross as he glanced down, seeing but a faint, thin stream of light from far below; the lava river from which many fairies would use as a guiding light to the different mines. Killer repressed the shudder which threatened to break through him, recalling the story told about Horror and how many fairies must likely fear the same happening to them as they mine away in narrow shafts and low chambers.

“Not so much anymore,” said Cross, approaching the smithing alcove to the western end of the great hall. Clanks and hisses grew in volume the nearer they came, and he smiled but for a moment as he recalled all the projects he’d worked on there; the armour, swords, tiaras, and the likes he’d created. A winter fairy, even he as a hybrid, could not help but feel proud of their creations. “I stay away from darkened corridors and silent chambers. You’d be surprised by how many winter fairies have grown strange from staying in them for too long, or from getting lost…” said he, glancing up and catching sight of a darkened shadow amongst shadows emerging from a hidden alcove, empty sockets catching his eyelights. Shuddering, he cast his gaze away, slowing his flight before landing upon solid rock.

Another fairy, one which stole Killer’s attention completely, approached with lazy steps. Iridescent blood, partly congealed with but a few droplets dripping and trickling, glittered from a ghastly gash going from his collarbone and to the opposite hipbone. It made Killer openly gape in shock, though Cross was quick to click his mouth shut.

“Come to finally complete your forgotten tasks, Cross?” asked the fairy, not even acknowledging Killer in the slightest.

“Not yet, Geno,” said Cross, dragging a hand across his face. “We’ve come to check up on Error on behalf of Nightmare.” Geno’s face didn’t change, though his eyelights lit up with curiosity. “Have you seen him at any point throughout this winter?”

“No,” said Geno, seeming uninterested. “Our firstborn does as he pleases. It’s not for us to pry into what he does.”

“Perhaps not,” said Killer, cutting off Cross before he could speak. “But this winter has been unusually warm and irregular, and the beloved firstborn of autumn is highly concerned, so wouldn’t it be in your best interest to assure that your winter queen is safe and sound?”

Geno didn’t fall for the bait, face unchanging. “Error has lived for millennia and will be here long after we are gone,” said he, staring Killer down. “We may ponder and scheme all we like, but he may do as he pleases, and we are only required to soothe and support whenever he desires it. If he wishes to be alone, then who are we to argue with him?”

“Ugh,” Killer moaned, rolling his skull and shifting his weight. “Is your laid-back attitude the reason for why you haven’t tended to that death wound of yours?” he asked, earning a heated glare from Cross and a sharp hush.

Geno only smiled, and Killer felt a prickle at the back of his neck, prompting him to glance behind him to see a moving shadow disappear into a chasm, howling faces disappearing into the dark. Shuddering, he returned his gaze to Geno who still smiled at him, his own eyelights having clearly seen the shadow too, though they were knowledgeable and unafraid.

“Ignore him,” said Cross, sighing and pushing Killer onto the ledge of the alcove, readying himself to take flight once more. “I’m sorry for bothering you, Geno. I’ll let you continue with supervising the smithing progress.”

“Take care of yourself, Cross,” said Geno, keeping the hybrid stuck to the spot with a stare alone. “And don’t feel discouraged. You’re doing well with this task you’ve been appointed. Keep at it and you may receive the answers you seek.” And nodding to release him, Geno turned, silken wings shimmering beneath the torchlight, so uncannily like Error’s that it made Cross pause for but a second before leaving.

“I always thought Nightmare’s underground kingdom was the most magical and unnerving place I’d ever seen, but this place takes every honour imaginable,” said Killer, catching spying eyelights peeking out from hanging lanterns and shadowed chasms and passages.

“Winter fairies are born of a different making than other fairies, Killer,” said Cross, approaching a darkened lantern which hung by its lonesome, further down where few others hang on elder roots, all far away from each other. “We may be similar to autumn fairies when it comes to a certain distinctness and strangeness, but we are first and foremost knights and warriors, and to be fearless in the face of a mighty troll or the vicious big folk, we must be conditioned to handle that which is abnormal and terrifying,” said he, landing upon the platform before the lanterns crooked door.

“None here seem that warriorlike, though,” said Killer, following Cross into the lantern, the interior cast in darkness before purple crystals lit up at their presence, casting the space in a magical glow. It was sparse, one corner dedicated to nesting with its fullness of wool and fur, with the rest of the space decorated with but a few hanging weapons and sitting baskets of dried fruits and meat.

Cross chuckled, and Killer glanced at him, seeing him smile.

“Not all winter fairies are similar to the ones you see patrolling the borders, Killer,” said Cross, taking a breath and releasing it, shoulders relaxing. “Some are born with great might and presence to stand up and fight beneath the sky, others are born with perseverance and patience to do nothing but smith their whole lives.” Trailing clawed gauntlets across an ancient sword, one much too delicate for Cross’s strength, but well cherished with memories Killer couldn’t even begin to imagine attached to it. “But some are born with the winter’s deathly touch and silence, and they struggle in the shadows, keeping away that which tries to creep its way from beyond the veil and into our territory.”

“The veil?” asked Killer, remembering the riddles Lumin often spewed that made his skull swim. “Why would anything wish to come from there? Isn’t there some untold harmony between us and it? I mean, we’re fairies; some of the strangest things existing in the world, right?”

“In our world, yes,” said Cross, looking at him—nay, behind him. “But there are stranger things that have found their way into our home, and we need knights and warriors that can protect us from them, or else we may face the chance of living a fearful life forevermore.” Approaching, he summoned his sword, his face hardening. “And I may not be one of them, but I am not a coward,” he hissed, taking Killer by the shoulder and pulling him back, turning him around as he did so. “So, tell me, why are you in my nest?”

And standing beyond the threshold of Cross’s ancestral lantern home, a shadow loomed, tall and slender with wings decorated with howling faces, screaming their woes from beyond the veil. A hand with phalanges much too long reached out, turning upwards in either greeting or peace. Empty sockets stared back at them, much alike Killer’s, yet all too different.

“Our firstborn…” said the shadow, voice an ethereal echo that both awed and unnerved Killer’s soul. “His soul darkens; grows colder by each day passing.”

“Our firstborn?” asked Cross, voice harsh and mistrusting. “My firstborn, perhaps. Not yours.”

“Mine, too,” said the shadow, partly hidden face smiling sadly. “Half of me, as he is half of you.”

“Cut the crap!” said Cross, shouting and glaring heatedly. “What do you want? You do not belong here, so how dare you—”

“Lower your sword, Cross,” came the voice of Geno, and he stepped out from behind the shadow, a beacon of white light in contrast to the dark by his side. “It’s unnecessary.”

“G—Geno?” Cross stammered and stared; shocked.

“Nightmare save us,” said Killer, flopping down upon his bottom, smile crooked and confused and delighted all at the same time. There’s been too much excitement, too much happening, yet he felt ready to tackle it all despite the weakness of his knees, if only to have one hell of a story to tell Nightmare later.

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