#he must have felt like his world was shattered. to hammer in the fact that he can go home but he can't ever go back to how things were

[the--highlanders]

I would just like to thank james drummond for dying so conveniently he solves so many problems <3

[with-every-piece-of-me]

The hand that I can hold

Pairing: Luke Crain x Fem!Reader

Summary: After Nell's death you find him before the others do, Steven told you the news so you had to break it to Luke and he took it like a hammer to the eye.

Warnings: Mentions of drug use, swearing, angst, mentions of death/suicide.

Words: 1.5k

Y/n POV.

My world felt like it was shattered, yet I didn't cry for a good minute. I was too shocked – too sad to move, let alone cry. Everything had just stopped, but then it all came crashing when Steven's words had really hit me. Nell was dead. My best friend, gone.

It felt like my heart was collapsing in on itself, but at the same time tearing itself apart. I felt like someone had kicked me directly in the chest, as if any oxygen in my lungs was ripped out.

That's when Steve had told me how she had died, she had hung herself. It only got worse and worse the more I thought about it. Then I realized, Luke doesn't know. I mean how could he, he had broken out of rehab the morning after she passed, Shirley had told me. There's no way he could know. I try to pull myself together as much as I can to even attempt to say anything.

"Stevie… Does Luke know?"

I question with a shaky voice, only met with silence from Steven as if he had forgotten to consider the fact that Luke would be more affected than most of us. I hear a heavy hearted sigh from the phone.

"Fuck… No. No, he doesn't. I don't even know where he is or how to reach him."

Steve explains, I nod, tears swelling in my eyes. I know where he'd be, well I can take a pretty damn good guess. Luke's rehab was closest to my place so I decide I need to be the one to find him since I know Steve isn't living as close anymore.

"I'll go get him. You're probably too far to find him in time, if he has.. y'know.. I could probably find him before it get's too bad."

I hear Steven sigh again, he knows it would be better for me to find him. I start looking for my purse and my car keys, staying on the call with Steve as I don't want to feel alone right now and I can tell he doesn't either.

"That means you'll have to be the one to tell him…"

Steve explains, I let out a shaky and nervous sigh, processing that he's right, I can't just tiptoe around the fact that his twin sister had just hung herself in the same house his mother had also died at her own hands in.

"If he hasn't relapsed, which I seriously doubt, this might push him to it. So just.. don't let him out of your sight and stay safe."

Steve stammers to the end of his sentence, realizing what he had done by giving Luke money, possibly helping him indulge in his vices on purpose.

"I'll be as safe as I can be and yeah, I'll watch him for a while, he can stay at my place so don't worry."

I attempt to reassure Steve but I'm also extremely worried and it shows in my tone so I doubt it helped much. As much as I don't want to, I hang up and get into my car.

After maybe twenty minutes of searching I find Luke. He's pacing up and down the sidewalk, mumbling as he's counting on his fingers repetitively, he's scared. He looks worse for wear, he's battered and bruised, he's clearly not okay.

"Luke..?"

I call out, catching his attention, his focus snaps towards me. I quickly get out of my car and walk up to him, he continues to mumble under his breath.

"I couldn't save her. I… I couldn't save her. I'm so sorry.."

He sobs as I pull him into a hug, his voice quiet but raspy. He hugs be back tightly, after a few seconds I let him go and he stares at me, waiting for me to speak, waiting for some kind of lecture because he broke out of rehab but I wasn't angry right now.

"You're clean right now, right?"

I ask in caution as his eyes widen slightly, realizing how he must look right now. He thinks about what he should say right now, looking for the easiest way to explain or to make me worry less.

"N.. no, I'm ninety days clean.. I swear… I.. I swear. Ninety days free, remember?"

He stuttered to the end of his sentence with a sense of urgency in a hope that I wasn't already disappointed. He's actually clean, which you wouldn't be able to tell based on how he looks right now but even though he's more himself there's still something wrong, he's shivering and incredibly uneasy.

"Luke, are you okay?"

I question out of pure concern, knowing that it's a loaded question when it comes to him. I place my hand on his shoulder and he stares down at the ground, trying to organize his thoughts. You don't just break out of rehab for no reason only to end up pacing in the streets with no shoes and looking like you were hit a bus or two. He says nothing, he reaches up and rubs the back of his neck, he must've got pretty hurt last night.

"I-I'm freezing cold, my body feels so stiff and my neck hurts like a bitch… It feels like really awful withdrawals but so much worse and I'm clean. I swear I didn't do anything last night… I swear."

Luke stammered as he leaned in a bit closer so I could hear him fully, I need to tell him about Nellie. I suck in a cold yet heavy breath, mentally preparing myself for what's about to happen. I don't know if I can do it without breaking down myself.

"Luke… It's Nellie, she's… She's. Uh.."

I struggle out the words but I can't get myself to say it, there's something inside of me deeply wanting it to not be real, for this just to be some vivid nightmare that I'll wake from, and Nell will be back at her house, sleeping peacefully and perfectly fine when I wake up – but it isn't a dream, I can't just wake up and everything will be okay, I can't just wake up from what feels like an endless nightmare because I'm not asleep, no matter now much I desperately want this all to be a dream… It's real and I can't just ignore it. Luke needs to know.

"She's… Dead. Nell died last night."

I cry as Luke freezes up, tears roll down his cheeks, he looks like he's completely crumbling.

"What…?"

He chokes up, unable to say anything else. Doing this felt worse than I thought it would, it didn't tug at my heartstrings, it ripped them out stomped on them. He stares at me as if I'm about to tell him it's just some sick joke, I wish I could, for his sake, but I just can't.

"Can you just please get in the car, I think you should stay with me until the funeral. We can talk about it more when we get to my place."

I stare down at the floor, unable to to look him in the eyes. He nods slowly as I open the car door for him. He gets into the car, still counting on his fingers but this time more agitated, more frightened.

We get back to my place after a while of sitting in a depressive silence in the car, neither of us felt like there was much we could say through minds clouded with tragedy.

He walks into the guest room and just sits on the edge of the bed unmoving. He sits, slouched forward with his head in his hands as he sobs quietly.

I walk up to the door and knock a few times. The knocks echo through the mostly silent house, aside from the faint sound of Luke in mourning.

"…come in."

Luke responds as I open the door and walk up the bed. I sit next to him, placing my hand on his shoulder. He stares back at me, while I try to find any words in the mess that is currently my mind to try and help him, to comfort him.

"I'm not gonna lie to you and say everything is okay, because it's really not… But… I'm here for you. I don't know how to make the pain all just go away but what I do know how to do is listen and offer any comfort I can give. We don't need to talk about it right now but when you're ready I'll be here."

I sympathize, my voice brittle and low as Luke gazes at me as he, tears still flowing down his face. A quiet thank you is all Luke's able to say in the moment, his voice remains hoarse.

"Do you mind if I sit here for a while?.. I don't really want to be alone right now."

I request, as Luke sits up and rests his head on my shoulder, his hand resting on my knee.

"Me neither."

[whatskraken]

God of War is still my favorite contemporary video game in terms of play style and story delivery, but did anyone else feel like Ragnarok was just Fimbulwinter DLC?

The actual in-game Ragnarok was literally just an on-rails Ghost of Tsuchima chapter-ending strategic fortress siege?? I think they probably initially did this to reconcile the fact that you can’t have an apocalypse that doesn’t actually affect the entire world, but “magic and myth are bound to their homelands” denied me of feeling any sort of stakes in the war? Kratos isn’t from here, the Fall of Olympus meant nothing to the Norse cannon, so why does this insular war affect me? Why did we make such a big deal connecting all the Gods of War through Tyr if the Celts and Egyptians and Japanese versions aren’t going to council at least in an inter-dimensional cut scene.

“THE PROPHECY!” you say? Nope. Sorry. We deus-ex-machina’d that plot-driver by letting giants literally retcon anything we feel like. Maybe if the giant’s prophecy was something clever like “you THOUGHT the Norse meant this, but if you look at it from a different camera angle using our Giant Magic you’ll notice this shattering detail!” Instead we got “here’s a ‘secret’ true ending that we just totally made up in contrast to the one you thought you saw. Except for the most important one— in that case we just say the giants can’t POSSIBLY bother to add secret retcons to EVERY shrine, silly!!!”

I also feel like we got ripped off from experiencing the in-world justifications for the stuff in IRL Norse mythology I was looking forward to the storytellers clarifying. Cool we figure out how Jormangandur is “born” of Loki, but the ouroboros notion of Ragnarok isn’t ever explained. They even joke during an end-game boat ride story: “How did that big snake recognize you?! Must be time travel or something?!?!?!?” Remember that boar from last game? Remember that squirrel runic companion? We forgot we kinda wanted to flesh them out so as long as we joke about the meta it’s cool to add them back.

Odin at first is so fascinating because his clever conniving villainy is just…….systemic capitalism. THATS a smart way to address his traditional anti-hero/noble-villain status in mythology. But if I slice Elon Musk in half with a hammer, an entire realm whose singular economy is based off exploitative industrial slave labor isn’t really free from the tyranny of their own societal structure. I guess in a sense, Kratos killing Zeus/Odin and destroying the realms of gods in both Olympus/Asgard helps explain our current non-magical, non-god-driven secular reality. But that’s not the theme or goal of these games, narratively. Ragnarok always felt inevitable, but never necessary.

Odin asks so many interesting ethical questions about the meaning of godhood SEPARATE from its impact on the life of a generic mortal. His answers to moral quandaries never felt manipulative or dark-sided: in fact I think he and Kratos always gave Atreus two sides of the same advice. However it felt like every time we jumped back to Kratos & Freya insisting on Odin’s villainy, the writers never gave them enough justification to counteract his sound logic. We start to touch on the question of “what toll does Machiavellian decision-making take on the psyche of a god, and how does the psyche handle when traditional morality is off the table?” Kratos is directly allowed to do MAJOR morally dubious things through a constant lens of protagonist favor. “Open your heart to their suffering” because Kratos Is Main Character so all destruction is sacrifice worth the cost. ODIN IS BADGUY BECAUSE WE NEED TO HAVE FINAL BOSS BATTLE!!!!!

Remember in the post-game of the original how Fimbulwinter reskinned the entire hub world in response to Ragnarok approaching? Well even though we make a BIG deal about how all realms have their own unique seasonal weather affectations, the END of Ragnarok doesn’t actually cosmetically affect any of the realms in the reverse direction after the final battle. There’s nothing new or interesting to see in any realm (even though this would have been the coolest way to motivate players to go back and explore) but hey you can FOLLOW THE PATH BACKWARDS AND OPEN ONE OR TWO MORE TREASURE CHESTS! Some of that ouroboros sci-fi logic would have been perfect here: pieces of Asgard blocking major pathways from the start of the game that were actually a result of the final battle. That mirror-logic already exists in other cool ways: Memir comments on how the stories of Jotenheim say the landscape is SO BEAUTIFUL, but that “legendary beauty” is really a fungal overgrowth of decaying bodies of (literal) giants. The Mother Forge is an underwater mermaid because “the essence of a thing isn’t the same as the reality of a thing.” That’s not a logic applied to the entirety of the world-building, only when it’s convenient.

When the game breaks off to solo Atreus play, I was pumped to experience how every single character was going to get unique play style. Instead they just all end up as reskins of Original Boy. This isn’t an insane issue, but it only ever felt like I was adventuring with Brok/Sindri/Freya because we wanted to have some sidebar dialogue, not because the gameplay necessitated new skills or unique puzzles.

When I played the original, there were moments that floored me artistically and changed the way I think about video games as a medium. I know some of my lofty expectations come from comparing this dev cycle to unhealthy industry practices of others. Yes GOW Ragnarok is a really really really clean and solid experience. But if we’re complaining that to Assassins Creed and franchises that push out “unfinished product only considered a finished AAA game once 3 DLC packs are released 3 years later,” then TBH Ragnarok is admittedly pretty anemic overall in comparison. Maybe I’m the issue with the industry, but there wasn’t really enough of a significant shift in scope, gameplay, or narrative/cinematics for me to think of this installment as anything but “a continuation of existing digital assets rearranged to wrap up a masterpiece that we didn’t feel like bloating into a trilogy.”

I think we’re going to get some extra gameplay out of Atreus. I do believe this is Santa Monica’s end with Kratos: I think Sony let them put him to bed. We’ll either get a third game in the “Valhalla series” that’s focused on Loki/Tyr (and will HOPEFULLY follow up on the non-Norse Gods of War & expanded locations hinted at in the 2018 game) for a true epic reboot a la 2018, OR they’ll poop out one more existing realm’s worth of DLC and give us 5 minutes of Faye as a Kratos re-skin DLC to wrap up this cycle.

[duskandstarlight]

Embers & Light (Chapter 39, NSFW Nessian)

Notes: Well, over a year you've had to wait for these two to seal the deal... BUT NO LONGER. And because I'm thankful to you all for sticking with this story, I've granted you with over 16k of sinful naughtiness. I think it's safe to say this is NSFW but you guys have read my smut before, you know the drill.

Embers & Light has always very much been the alternative story to Habits, but I couldn’t help but write in some crossover moments here to highlight the differences in events--timeline is a fascinating thing! Lemme know if you spot the moments :)

Please let me know what you think :) Comment and kudos will make my day!

I won't be able to write much of August (wedding & mini-moon) but I'll be doing my best to get you guys something as soon as possible. Hopefully by the end of the month, anyways <3

Oh! And I got a bookstagram. Find me at bookships.and.fandoms (and bear with me, I cba to take pretty pics atm)

Chapter 39 Cassian POV

Cassian stared at the doorway and the staircase beyond it, his gaze fixed and unwavering. Nesta had slipped out of the living room to follow Feyre up the stairs over ten minutes ago and he was already consumed with the biting sort of worry that gnawed at your insides.

He wasn’t concerned about what Nesta might be discussing with Feyre—that was her business—but because he couldn’t help but fret when it came to Nesta’s wellbeing.

It was a myriad of concerns that trampled through his mind like a herd of cattle. Had she slept enough? Had she recovered from being caught in the crowds the day before? Was her conversation with Feyre going to have her take three steps back rather than one forward? Cassian had spied the book of fairytales she’d slipped into her bag. Had guessed what she’d intended to do with it.

And then there was the fact that Nesta had left the bed before he’d woken again. Cassian couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she’d not been there when he’d opened his eyes, especially after the night before.

But that was how it was with he and Nesta. When the sun dipped below the horizon, Cassian often felt as if they were on the right path; as if once the world shut its eyes, the pressure was off and their play could continue. But as soon as light bled back into the sky, things weren’t the same. They weren’t cold… but Cassian felt suspended in a limbo of flirtatious banter and respectful distance. Which was hard, when all Cassian wanted to do was be as close to her as possible: to hold her hand and wind a hand through her hair. To kiss her brow and mouth and sink his teeth into her neck—

Cassian’s jaw tightened. He wanted to do wicked things. He wanted to make her moan and shatter. Wanted to know how she felt wrapped around him. Wanted to see if she’d gasp awake as he pushed inside of her.

Their trip home was going to be a turning point. Or at the very least it would be a milestone—a hammered notch as they progressed towards something. Yet, Cassian wasn’t naive: he wasn’t expecting Nesta to fall into his arms and never leave. But he hoped that it might make Nesta see their connection—not the tie between them, but the chemistry that Cassian knew would forever exist even if the mating bond was severed.

From the very first moment his gaze had settled on the haughty, vicious sister Cassian had known. Had nearly been brought to his knees—the heart-stopping moment so powerful, it suspended time as he felt something turn inside of him, as if something that had lain dormant had finally snapped open an eye.

And because of that Cassian would willingly allow Nesta to forge the reigns when it came to whatever it was between them. He could go slow. He would take the chance that Nesta might grow to accept him, even as he was seized by the terror that she might grow bored and draw a line under things before he had the chance to prove that he was worthy.

Cassian took a deep, steadying breath that made his ribcage heave. Thought of the lullaby that sat in his room at the House. Used that to ground himself and banish the painful thoughts.

Nesta had cared enough to gift him a piece of his past that nobody else had ever gone to the effort to find for him. And that was… everything. It was everything to him.

“I can hear the worry grinding gears in your brain.”

Rhys was standing where Mor had been a few moments earlier, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, his eyebrows raised. Cassian hadn’t noticed Mor slip away. Couldn’t even recall what she'd been saying to him. Had he ignored her? He didn’t know. Didn’t really care. They all knew he was head over heels when it came to Nesta anyway.

Cassian blinked. It took him a moment to process Rhys’s words, but his body finally caught up. An instinctive grin tugged at the corners of his mouth and he commanded his eyes to sparkle, even though it was all fake. “I was under the impression you didn’t think I had one.”

Rhys didn’t chuckle or retort with something dry. Sometimes his brother allowed him to indulge in his self-deprecating behaviour, but it didn’t seem like today was one of those days. Instead, he cut to the chase. “They’re fine.”

Cassian bristled. Didn’t bother to pretend his mind wasn't solely on what was happening upstairs. “Feyre’s speaking with you now?”

Nesta would hate that. Would know if her sister was communicating to her mate whilst they were talking.

His brother’s laugh was as smooth as velvet. “No, she locked me out. It’s a habit she’s started recently and it’s usually coupled with the mental finger.”

This time, Cassian’s smile was genuine, as was the chuckle that chased it. “Feisty.”

“You have no idea,” Rhys responded with a wink.

Mor, who had breezed back to Cassian’s side with a new cup of coffee, rolled her eyes. “We do actually, you two are like rabbits.”

“We’re mated,” Rhys replied with a wave of his hand. “It’s to be expected.”

Mor lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “Cauldron, I need to bed someone rather than hearing about my cousin’s exploits with my best friend.”

“Head to Rita’s and find yourself a pretty fae,” Cassian drawled, tugging Mor into a one armed hug.

“Mmm,” Mor hummed, but she chewed on her lip again. Glanced nervously at Azriel, who was in deep conversation with Elain. His shadows were tucked in neatly to his frame rather than trailing, ever-moving and loose around his body, but Cassian knew he could hear them.

Cassian dropped a friendly kiss to Mor’s head before he let her go. Tussled her hair, grinning mischievously when she squawked in disapproval.

As if sensing that his cousin wanted a change of subject, Rhys looked square at Cassian. “Azriel will come over later to update you on the latest movements.”

Cassian sobered as if someone had poured icy water down his back. “Not later,” Cassian corrected firmly.

Tomorrow. No the day after that. Cassian couldn’t guarantee that he’d be able to stop once he’d had his first proper taste of Nesta.

But of course they couldn’t do that—wouldn’t. The situation in Illyria was too dire for them to be so selfish as to lock themselves away for days.

It didn’t mean Cassian didn’t want to, though.

“You’ve got plans?” Rhys asked lightly and Mor froze.

You’ve got no idea, Cassian thought. But then realised his brother knew. Of course he did. Surely everyone in this room knew how desperate he was to get back to Illyria. To have Nesta in his bed again, writhing and moaning, their bodies slick with sweat as they moved in unison.

Clenching his jaw, Cassian grounded that desire between his teeth, until it was nothing but broken, delicious shards that scraped down his throat. His blood coiled. “Yes. Maybe.”

If she doesn’t change her mind.

“It has to be tomorrow, Cass.”

Biting back a sigh, Cassian nodded. “I know. Come at noon. I suppose I’ll be camped out in Illyria for the foreseeable future.” He cast a stern look at Mor. “Send me letters.”

“You have a housemate,” Rhys reminded him. “You’re not going to be entirely alone.”

Mor grinned slyly. “A very beautiful housemate.”

Cassian was more than aware of that.

He grunted and unable to stop himself, he voiced the fear that always niggled away at the back of his mind. “For now.”

But Rhys just loosed another manicured shrug, that was at odds with the ground-breaking revelation that followed it. “For a long while. Nesta has expressed her desire to remain in Illyria long-term despite the discontent. Assuming you don’t mind sharing your bungalow.”

It felt as if an iron band of hope was clamped around Cassian’s chest. He stared at his brother. Tried not to blink. Crossed his arms firmly over his chest, protecting his heart. “And you know this how?”

“Nesta spoke with me. We have arrived at a truce, of sorts.”

That must have been what they’d spoken about yesterday on the balcony. He wanted to know more—everything—but Cassian would not press Rhys. If Nesta wanted to tell him, she would. He had to respect that.

So, he bit back his curiosity and grumbled, “About time.”

Rhys clapped his hand on Cassian’s back, but there was something wary in his expression, as if there was something he wanted to say but wouldn’t. Finally, he said, “Patience is a virtue, brother.”

“I’m not the patient sort.”

“You are when it counts,” Rhys countered, and Cassian didn’t say anything because they both knew what he was referring to. Rhys had been the first to know. Had witnessed Cassian in a tangled web of despair and longing and unwanted visions. His brother had immediately put two and two together. Because he’d been there, too. Knew what it was to want someone you thought you couldn’t have. To hope that someone might finally grow to see you in colour rather than in black and white.

Cassian cast another look towards the empty doorway and the quiet hallway beyond it.

A shiver of anticipation ran through him. It was time for them to go home.

***

In the end, Cassian folded to his worry and had Elain fetch Nesta from upstairs. It was time to go, he’d insisted, even though there was no true reason as to why they needed to leave quite so quickly.

“No guesses required to identify why you want to head back to Illyria,” Mor muttered out the side of her mouth, as the creak of the stairs a few flights above heralded the sisters return. Cassian jabbed his elbow into his friend’s ribs and Mor yelped through her grin, even as she had to sidestep, the nudge throwing her off balance. “What? It’s all over your face. You think I can’t read you after five hundred years?”

“Don’t announce it to the room,” Cassian muttered darkly under his breath, “and you won’t find yourself torn to pieces.”

Mor briefly bumped against his arm, the jostle affectionate. Unfazed by his threat, she glanced sideways at him with rich chocolate eyes. “I won’t. We just want you to be happy, you know.”

Cassian’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “Now isn’t the time for a lecture about finding a more suitable mate.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, hadn’t meant to voice what he’d kept inside for so long.

Mor’s eyes widened, but she wound her arms around his waist. Cassian allowed her to tuck herself under his arm. His friend scented of citrus and cinnamon. When she craned her neck to look up at him, her expression was glowing with sincerity and Cassian realised that she hadn’t been insinuating that Nesta wasn’t right for him at all. “We’re all cheering you on from the sidelines, Cass, I promise.”

The muscle in Cassian’s jaw flexed. He looked away from her, towards the doorway again, unable to help himself. “Don’t say anything.”

She tightened her grip on his waist. “I won’t. I promise.”

“She doesn’t want it.”

Mor untangled herself from him. Shook her head in disagreement. “She does. She just isn’t ready to admit it yet.”

They both fell quiet as Nesta walked through the door with Elain and Feyre. The first thing Cassian noticed was that she scented of water and salt—tears.

Heart pattering with concern, Cassian quickly scanned Nesta’s expression and body language, searching for clues. But Nesta remained close to her sisters rather than apart, her fingers snagged in Feyre’s, her expression not in tatters but smooth and calm, like still waters.

“Ready to go?” Mor chirped from beside him. “I can winnow you back when Sala arrives.”

Nesta’s grey-blue eyes slid to Mor. “I called her on my way down.”

“Then you have time to see the snowdrops you gave me before you leave,” Elain responded eagerly, tugging at Nesta’s arm. “The cuttings took well to the soil. I planted them beneath the shade of the birch trees near the river.”

Cassian watched Nesta disappear into the garden. Surveyed the way a strand of golden brown hair that had escaped her loose braid floated on the breeze, as if it was part of the element rather than separate, as Elain bent to show her the snowdrops.

Yet despite the clear ease to Nesta’s movements, Cassian couldn’t help but ask Feyre whether everything was okay when she came over to hug him goodbye.

“We’re fine,” Feyre assured him, as together they watched Mor tentatively sit beside Azriel on the couch. For once the Shadowsinger’s shadows didn’t lighten, but Azriel still turned to her, drawn by some magnetism as she began to speak with him.

Slim fingers closed around his. Squeezed. “Thank you for fetching the book of fairytales for Nesta.”

The strand of ebony hair that had wrangled free of Cassian’s hair tie tickled the side of his forehead as he inclined his head. That had been a long time ago, when Nesta was a viper that he dared to poke with a stick, just so he could get a reaction. “Of course.”

“You travelled all that way on barely healed wings just to fetch a book.”

It wasn’t just a book, but Cassian knew Feyre understood that, so he only grunted, “Az took me most of the way. He waited to winnow me back.”

But Feyre’s eyes were burnished, as she asked, “Is there anything you won’t do for my sister?”

“It depends,” Cassian replied honestly. Because although he’d rather die than see Nesta hurt, Cassian wouldn’t hesitate to stand up to her when her fire was ill-wrought. And that’s what he liked about the both of them: if he was an ass Nesta told him straight, and he did the same for her. A grin slashed across his face. “Your sister has claws and teeth when she’s angry.”

It wasn’t long before Sala landed on her four large paws in the garden, prompting goodbyes. Mor winnowed Nesta and Sala, whilst Az’s scarred hand closed around Cassian’s arm.

Together, Cassian and his brother passed through realms of shadows and light and raging wings. Then Illyria was taking shape before Cassian bit by bit: there was the sting of winter on his cheeks, the crunch of snow beneath his feet, the scent of pine and untamed air. It felt like that wonderful first heave of your lungs after being starved from air. It alerted Cassian senses—woke him up.

Not bothering to say goodbye for the second time, Azriel bled straight back into shadow, but Mor raised a hand in a parting wave from where she stood beside Nesta and Sala. Her long golden hair caught on the breeze. It tussled behind her like its own puff of wind, before she vanished into nothing.

When Cassian’s eyes snapped to Nesta, he found her standing with her eyes closed, breathing in the wilderness of their surroundings. After a few beats, Sala jumped onto her hind legs, climbing up Nesta’s body with her snow-crusted paws to knock her head impatiently against Nesta’s.

A breath of laughter clouded in front of her as Nesta ruffled Sala’s ears. She murmured something Cassian couldn't identify in the manticore’s ear, before Sala dropped onto all fours and padded through the snow in the direction of the main camp.

Cassian watched the manticore go. He suspected Sala was going to seek out the widows camp and check everything was in order. It was the kind of thing Nesta would fret about—that whilst she was warm and fed, others might not be extended the same courtesy.

Or, the dark part of his mind whispered, she wants Sala out of the house.

You can fuck me wherever you like in the bungalow, Cassian.

The many needles of thrill pierced through him just as Nesta met his stare from across the snow. Suddenly, Cassian didn’t know what to say. His tongue felt swollen and thick in his mouth, words suddenly as viscous as tar. The atmosphere had altered—the aura surrounding them despite the distance suddenly heavy with promise: a change that pointed to something new.

The siphons on the back of Cassian’s hands glowed in anticipation. Nesta merely raised an eyebrow at him. Turned. Walked towards the house just as he caught the thick scent of jasmine and vanilla on the wind.

Cassian’s nostrils flared as it wound around him; invisible ropes of arousal. And then he was moving, following Nesta’s footprints.

His friends had winnowed them to the back of the house, halfway between the small stone outhouse and the backdoor. They weren’t far from the bungalow, but it felt like miles as Cassian stomped noisily after Nesta, his boots compacting the snow as if they were grinding shards of glass into powder.

When Cassian drew up behind Nesta, she already had a hand half-raised towards the door. Even though he wasn’t touching her, she was a whirlpool of warmth. It sucked him in, begging him to line his torso against her back, so when she cursed, realising she hadn’t taken her gloves off, Cassian didn’t hesitate to reach over her shoulder and rest his palm against the wood, encasing her.

The touch of his bare skin—or Nesta’s—was the key to the magical lock. A thunk sounded as the bolt released but Cassian didn’t push open the door—was too preoccupied with the female before him—who had twisted to stare up at him.

As soon as their gazes snagged, history began to knit together in a rush of thread, until it was a tangible, living thing. Because this moment had been written in the stars as soon as Cassian had seen Nesta in her amethyst dress in the human realm; her hair wielded into a mighty crown, her expression haughty and defiant, yet burning with the potential of a life not yet lived. They’d denied that history, even as it waited patiently in the wings. It had watched as they danced around each other, fumbling and snarling their way to this very moment—

They moved in unison. Cassian’s head bowing just as Nesta reached upwards; her body bowing to his, her palms sliding across his jaw until they were around his neck. Their lips met with a force that rattled Cassian’s bones. This wasn't a brush of a kiss. This was immediate and awakening: Nesta tasted like life and breath, like destiny. And yet again, Cassian knew with startling clarity that they were meant for this, he and Nesta. They were meant for each other and nobody could tell him otherwise, including her.

A soft breath whooshed out of Nesta as her back hit the door, but then Cassian was pushing it open, guiding her inside in a whirlwind of noise and wreckage.

The scrape of wood on the flagstone tiles sounded as Nesta’s back knocked against the table before Cassian turned them, his wings grazing against cupboards and the cool walls. Items clattered and shattered, but Cassian used his wings to keep a check on his surroundings, the touch guiding him to the left-hand wall where he could press her against the wall and devour.

Because Cassian could not tear his mouth from Nesta’s. Couldn’t stop tasting her. Couldn’t stop craving the roll of her tongue and the sound of her guttural moans. It fuelled a fireball inside of him; it roared into life in the centre of his heart, before spreading throughout his limbs, rushing through his body until it settled deep in his groin, aching and burning—screaming for relief.

When they finally hit the wall, the thud of their bodies shook the cabinets and the porcelain within it. Without thinking, Cassian took the brunt of it, his hand flying to cup Nesta's lower back and head to purposefully shield her from the hurt.

Because he was coarse and rippling, galloping towards a primal sort of wilderness that Cassian wasn’t sure he could control.

If Nesta was ignorant to the fact or wholly aware Cassian didn’t know. All he knew was that her hands were scrabbling at his leather like dancing flames, tugging him closer.

When he pressed his body over hers, aligning every inch of her to every inch of him, she whined.

Cassian swallowed it. Slanted his mouth across hers. Tucked his wings in tight as every muscle in him tensed in anticipation.

Nesta tasted of chai and vanilla and embers with a destiny to roar.

Another strangled noise came from her throat as Cassian sank his hands deep into the hair at her scalp, coaxing strands free from her braid as his fingers threading through her hair, just as he had done the night prior when he’d coaxed her to sleep. But this wasn’t a soothing touch. This was a touch to startle every nerve ending to life.

Time began to bleed around them, but Cassian only registered the fluidity of the frantic dance they had not learnt. The way Nesta arched into him as his palm slid back to span her waist. The pant of her breath against his skin. His heaving chest. The way his wings began to spread again of their own volition, like a fan unfolding to reveal a secret pattern—as if they were controlled by nothing but the ache of his cock as it strained against the leather of his pants.

As if in acknowledgement that his body was no longer ruled by him, his hips slanted upwards of their own accord. It was a desperate bid to relieve the ache, and his throat vibrated with a thunderous growl as Nesta dug her nails deeper into the leather of his jacket, using it for leverage as she arched into him.

Something turned further inside of Cassian, like a lock beginning to grind as a key turned. And then it felt as if he were plunging beneath water; ducking into the depths and travelling beneath an invisible barrier before emerging on the other side buoyant and surging with power.

Ruby crashed through his veins, like the walls of a dam broken free and… singing light. Magic roared so loudly in Cassian’s ears that he no longer heard the galloping beat of his heart or the sawing of their breath.

Reeling, he tore his mouth from Nesta’s. Her eyes were just as wide, puddles of startled moonlight—endless mercury—and Cassian didn’t need to look down to know that her hands were wreathed in silver.

For a moment they stared at one another. Time slowed until it was sluggish around them and then the feeling receded, as if Cassian was being carried by a wave as it was dragged unwillingly from the shore on thundering feet.

Sound bled back into Cassian’s ears, like raindrops slowly blotting paper. A moan whispered on a wind carried through him, the words fleeting—her name three times, like always—before they dispersed into nothing and ragged breathing filled the hole.

Fuck, they needed to be careful. He needed to be careful if just kissing her led to some transcendental experience. Cassian knew Nesta became open during sex—had seen tumbled images of tangled limbs and heard her moans—and he couldn’t afford to lose her when she had finally let him in. Couldn’t let her down, even though he wanted nothing more than to finally be found worthy by someone.

That twisted rope between them couldn’t widen and strengthen. Couldn’t finally open and click into place with a consensual snap.

Because Cassian had heard stories of mates who had gone to bed. Who had fleetingly accepted what they wanted in their hearts but not in their minds. And after they had both finished and life had been breathed into that bond, only death could sever their Cauldron-blessed connection.

Cassian would not have a mate with regrets, but he didn’t have the will-power to deny himself of her any longer. Not when he could scent how much Nests wanted him. When he could feel it like an unquenchable ache in his bones—an ache which made him tremble and shake. His rocky warrior exterior ground to nothing but sand.

As if Nesta could read his thoughts she tipped her head back, baring the column of her neck.

A resounding guttural sound dragged from his throat. The noise was animalistic and unchained. A booming crack ricocheted around the walls, the muscles in Cassian’s back burning as his wings snapped outward.

Something toppled from somewhere and crashed to the floor, but Cassian didn’t bother to raise his head to look at what it was.

And then time seemed to both slow and drive into a frenzy. Cassian launched at Nesta’s neck at the same time he tugged at her hair, urging her head to fall back even farther.

His lips were against the column of her throat in the blink of an eye; his teeth scraping, his mouth sucking until her blood pounded in his ears. Nesta’s knees buckled but Cassian quickly pinned her body to the wall, holding her up, his knee sliding firmly between her legs…

And… nothing. There was no panic or sensation of being trapped—no sudden fire launching him back thirty feet—but Cassian still tore his mouth from Nesta’s neck. Had to know she wasn’t panicking. “Ok?” he rasped.

A frown burrowed Nesta’s brows. Her swollen lips parted in confusion. Somehow it made her look more beautiful.

Cassian raised a shaking hand to trace it away. “Nesta. Are you ok?”

Understanding dawned like millions of unfurling petals.

When Nesta spoke she was short of breath, the words an exhale. “Don’t hold back.”

Cassian practically arched into her at the words but he made himself remain still, even as his body vibrated with tension. His bones creaked but he held fast.

That stubborn, beautiful chin lifted and Nesta’s eyes glinted wicked yet pure. Always an oxymoron, his Nesta.

“Don’t hold back,” she repeated, her voice stronger this time. She pushed her hips against his thigh and the friction had her lips parting, a shaky breath tumbling from her lungs. “I can take it.”

The words were like slashing knives of pleasure, severing the leash on any control Cassian thought he had.

The subsequent rush of air Cassian loosed was akin to a snorting horse.

Then he was moving and their mouths were fused together again, their tongues a delicious push and pull of control and pleasure before he yanked away.

“Thank fuck,” he gasped. His hands flew to her hips, guiding her to ride his thigh. “Thank fuck, Nesta.”

The friction had Nesta moaning, her fingernails digging so hard into the leather of his jacket Cassian was sure she had dented the material. But he didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything but the living fervour that clawed at them.

His hands were everywhere at once. Tangled in her hair. Sliding over her cheek. Cupping her ass. Attacking the buttons at the back of her dress, until they popped and scattered. Until he could pull the material down her arms, exposing tantalising creamy skin.

At the first sight of her breasts, Cassian growled. He bowed his head to capture a nipple sharply between his teeth before he laved over it with his tongue, smoothing over the wound. He relished the way Nesta cried out. Arched into him. She began to tear at his jacket. It snagged on his wings but Cassian shrugged it off until it hit the floor with a thud.

The first slide of Nesta’s palms beneath his tunic was like oil sizzling in a pan. Cassian hissed as the callouses of her palms scraped deliciously over his skin and scars and ink. Snarled as she made quick work of the stays and fastenings. Tried to focus on her other breast as she inched her hand beneath the tight leather fabric and eased him free.

Fingers wrapped sinfully around him, causing Cassian to snarl around a peaked nipple—to buck sharply—pressing them more firmly against the wall.

“Don’t bother,” Nesta moaned as Cassian wrenched desperately at the fabric of her dress, trying to coax it further down her body. She ground down onto his thigh as it to emphasise her point—her need—and the heat of her burned.

It was all Cassian needed to hear. He fumbled desperately with her skirts until a hand was under the material and sliding up her thigh. Until fabric ripped and her underwear fell away in what Cassian imagined to be a ripple of lace.

In one swift movement, Cassian lifted Nesta’s body upwards, until her legs were gripped tightly around his hips and her back was flush against the wall. Her hands flew to find purchase, grappling at the back of his neck, and when she was steady she raked her hand purposefully through the hair which had come loose from his tie. Tugged at the leather until his hair fell over his face. Whined. Tangled her fingers through the ebony strands as if they were her reigns.

Cassian splayed the hand that wasn’t supporting her body against the cold wall. Tried to catch his breath, but the position evened out the height between them. Just a slight movement would allow him to capture her lips with his, and Cassian couldn’t deny that demanding tug that drove him to devour. Nesta seemed to feel the same way. Moaned in relief as Cassian tasted her as if he couldn’t get enough, gave back as good as she got. Over and over they moved, until they were nothing but an undulating wave of tongue and teeth and groans. The pleasure was a surging, roiling entity. It was all consuming. It overtook Cassian’s body, demanding that his hand drag from her ass straight to her core.

When his fingers slid through wetness, Cassian’s groan sounded like thunderous defeat. He dropped his head to Nesta’s collarbone. Gently pressed his lips to her clavicle. To her shoulder. Tried to ground himself as he slid straight to the spot that made her keen—as pleasure ignited down the bond like a crashing wave. Brushed over it again and again and again. Relishing in the noises he coaxed from her. At the curling fists of desire that clenched agonisingly inside of him.

Cassian had to see Nesta fall. Had to look into her eyes as she broke.

But he wanted to be inside of her when it happened.

Cassian was reaching for his cock at the same time that Nesta let out a broken moan. “Do it,” she breathed. There was no bite of authority in her voice, as if all of the energy she had directed in the pursuit of pleasure had smoothed over the serrated edge of her personality he loved so much, leaving a softer version in its wake. “Please. Just—”

A satisfied snarl ripped from Cassian as he felt her want. And in that moment, Cassian knew there would be nothing gentle about how this was going to play out. It was going to be rough and frantic, riding a wave of pleasure that had been building for too long. Knew afterwards that they would sink to the cold floor in a mass of tangled limbs and mingled breath.

And Cassian wanted that. Had never wanted release so badly in his life.

Something clambered in the back of his mind. Something he needed to remember, but his limbs were moving of their own volition. He didn’t even bother to pump his cock or squeeze it to relieve the tension. Only cared about finally being inside of her.

The heat and slickness of her was sinful and divine when he lined himself up at her entrance. The hand he had braced against the wall came to span her cheek. It relied on Nesta clamping on tightly to his waist with her legs and the press of his torso against hers, but they managed it.

Shaking, Cassian raked back the hair that had fallen free from her braid back from Nesta’s face, just as she tugged him in for a bruising kiss.

There was a moment when everything paused and trembled. As Nesta pulled away and stared at him, her eyes swimming silver—glowing with it—her pupils obscured.

His magic surged at the sight of it. Crashed against his skin as if it was trying to escape. His siphons burned bloody.

“Cassian,” Nesta panted. Despite the keen desperation, there was cushion to his name. Gently, Nesta bowed her head until her forehead rested against his. The gesture was surprisingly tender. It tugged at his heartstrings, triggered his hips into movement as they finally pushed forward.

The tight heat that wrapped around him like velvet was so immediate that Cassian swore. Sweat trickled down his back and seeped into the tunic Nesta hadn’t gotten round to discarding. He trembled as Nesta’s breath stuttered and he felt the burning pain mixed with pleasure as he sunk in an inch. Felt the stretch of Nesta’s body as it strained to fit around him.

Claws dug into his back—Nesta’s nails—biting into his skin, until the metallic tang of blood infused the air.

Cassian’s body stilled before he even had a second to register that he needed to stop. That instinct buried deep to make sure she never hurt.

And then a knock rapped at the front door.

“No,” Nesta moaned. She shifted her hips and Cassian sank a little deeper. That pain flared again through the pleasure and Cassian grip on her turned vice like.

Sense stumbled into his desire addled brain, like a fawn on gangly legs.

But then it righted itself.

Another sharp rap at the door cleared his head completely.

He bowed to bury his face in the crook of her neck but Nesta whined. Tilted her hips again, urging him deeper. “Nesta, stop.”

“No.” Her whimper was doused in frustration, but all Cassian could feel was that sharp needle of pain.

He tried to pull back, but Nesta clamped down around him with that incredible strength of hers. The strength that only seemed to appear at times of desperation or anger.

Cassian’s jaw flexed, his features hardening. “I’m hurting you.”

“You’re not,” Nesta countered, defiance colouring her expression.

“I am,” Cassian retorted, not allowing for a passing beat of their hearts to pass before he replied. “I’m hurting you. Don’t pretend that I’m not.”

I can feel it, Cassian wanted to explain, but didn’t. Knew somehow that if he did they might not end up joining at all.

Desire fogged Nesta’s mind and it fuelled the punch to her next words. “I don’t care.”

Ire punched through Cassian’s desire enough for him to see red. “Well, I do,” he snapped.

Nesta’s nostrils flared at his tone and her eyes burned silver. Cassian wondered how everything had gone southward so quickly—they were on a sinking ship and he needed to patch it up. Knew she felt rejected. So, he kissed her and pushed back that unquenchable ache he felt for her. Knew it hit home because she gasped softly into his mouth, her surprise tart on his tongue.

He pulled out. As soon as his cock fell free that pain throbbed and ebbed. But Nesta moaned all the same.

Moaned again as he drew his head back to stare at her.

She surprised him when her eyes remained open rather than closed off. There was no hard shield. Nothing but want and a vulnerability that made his heart squeeze.

It gave him the courage to do the right thing.

He kissed her again. Trailed a thumb across her swollen lips, ignoring the desire that roared as Nesta sucked it into her mouth, her tongue darting across the top before the bit down lightly.

“This is how things are going to go,” Cassian murmured lowly, pulling his thumb out of her mouth and across her jawline, trailing the wetness all the way to the sensitive spot behind her ear. Nesta shuddered.

“I’m going to get the door and send whoever it is away,” Cassian continued. He paused to let the words sink in. Lowered his head to trace a path with his nose, up the slope of her shoulder, all the way up her neck until his lips were grazing the shell of her ear. “You will go to your bedroom. When they’re gone, I’ll find you.”

Another shiver coursed through Nesta’s body. Her fingers tightened around his neck.

When Nesta next spoke, Cassian knew he’d piqued her interest. “What then?” she demanded.

“Then I’m going to make you come until you see stars.”

Nesta’s entire body froze. For a long moment, she didn’t so much as breathe, but Cassian felt the throb of her blood and magic as it pounded against her skin.

Then, Nesta’s hands worked between them, until her small palms were splayed across his chest. She pushed firmly, indicating that she wanted to get her down. Her body slithered to the floor, her lean legs falling away from his body.

The sudden distance between them felt like miles.

Nesta lifted her chin. “Hurry or I’ll start without you.”

A breath heaved at Cassian’s lungs and he felt his pupils contract, pushing out his irises until they were swallowed by black. The image of Nesta sprawled on the bed wearing nothing but skin, her legs open, a hand moving between her legs had that coil within him tightening to the point of pain.

A growl spiked through the air as another knock sounded at the door.

Nesta must have known she’d wrangled back control, because she arched a cool eyebrow at him.  “I thought you were going to answer the door?”

A dark chuckle forced its way out of his chest, but it was mechanical rather than true. Because there was nothing funny about resisting Nesta right now and his body seemed to know that.

Cassian reached for her before he knew what was happening. Rested his forehead against hers. Breathed once. Twice. “I need to calm down,” he confessed.

Nesta snickered, but the sound fell flat as her breath hitched upwards at the end. It betrayed the effect he had on her, even as she said silkily, “Did the image of me pleasuring myself get you hard?”

“I was already hard,” he growled. He pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth. “As you well know.”

A hand reached between them. Stroked over him—the touch feather light but tantalising enough that Cassian bucked into her touch.

And then cunning words, “Maybe I’ll let you watch.”

A string of swear words left Cassian’s mouth. He yanked back from Nesta, as if someone had tugged firmly on a leash. Tugged up his pants and jerked ruthlessly at the ties until they fastened, trapping his cock back into the leather.

With a growl, Cassian waved a hand towards the living room—to Nesta’s room to the right of it. “Leave before I fuck you against the wall, Nesta,” he barked.

Nesta’s sly laugh skittered over his skin, and without pulling her dress back up to cover herself, Nesta sashayed through the nearest arch and disappeared.

*** It had been Mas and Roksana at the door, laden with bags full of groceries and supplies from the market. With full access to the house, there was no reason why they shouldn’t have just come right in. Which meant Mas had suspected somehow, enough so that she had left the bags on the front step and remained standing with Roksana a few feet back.

“I am sorry Sinta, but the meat might spoil,” the housekeeper had apologised as soon as he’d opened the door, his hair a tangled mess from where Nesta had yanked it free of its tie. He hadn’t had the sense to recover it from the floor, but he had righted his tunic and fastened his pants.

And thank the Cauldron for that, because Roksana peeked up at Cassian with wide eyes from her position of safety behind Mas’s legs. He didn’t know when Lorrian had brought the youngling back to the camp, but Cassian guessed it hadn’t been easy on the two of them to take a little girl out of the warmth and back into the snow.

Cassian tried to soften the eyes that he knew were a little wild. He raked his hands through his hair and sent them his most disarming smile, but there was fuck all he could do about his scent. So he thanked her, trying to keep his voice light and conversational. Ordered her to take the rest of the day off.

To the housekeeper’s credit, she did not linger. Had merely nodded and rushed Roksana back into the snow, towards the main vein of the camp.

Yet, whilst the housekeeper’s interruption had been unwanted, it did grant Cassian some breathing space as he rammed perishables into the cool box. Because even though Cassian would allow Nesta to decide how this all played out, he needed to lay down a rule of his own: he could give her the space to decide what she wanted—for him to prove that he could be what she needed—but there was one thing he could not suffer through.

And if they had stormed ahead in a hurricane of lust; with Nesta’s back against the wall as Cassian pounded into her… Well, it would be too late for Cassian to lay down his one condition once they were sweaty and sated. Nesta was more likely to get up and walk away. To not look back.

Cassian found Nesta sitting at the dresser in her room re-braiding back her hair.

Leaning against the doorjamb, Cassian opened his mouth to explain who had been at the door, but an iron band closed fast around his chest, robbing him of breath.

“What are you wearing?” The words came out of him eventually, entirely uneven to the point of being choked.

Because Nesta was wearing his shirt. It was the same steel blue shirt she’d worn that first day in Illyria. The shirt that was an identical match to her eyes, purchased before Cassian had realising what his subconscious had done. A shirt he’d had to hide away in the spare room because Cassian hadn’t been able to bare seeing it in his closet—of being reminded that his mate was a ghost who had banished him away.

Go home, Cassian.

Nesta met Cassian's eyes in the mirror. Announced with cool simplicity, “You ripped my dress.”

“And this is your way of torturing me?”

An indifferent shrug. “Why wear my own clothing when I know what fate it will suffer?”

Cassian knew his nostrils billowed, but he remained propped up against the doorframe. Pretended he was stuck to it like glue because his body was trembling for him to launch across the distance and claim her mouth. Her neck. Her.

The silence seemed to unnerve Nesta. Cassian knew that from months of living with her. From months of studying her slight tells when her masks slipped.

Right on cue, Nesta reset her posture—a gesture that most people read as defiant. But Cassian knew it was also a sign of nerves. She shrugged with feigned indifference, even as her throat tightened and that damned pulse fluttered temptingly against her throat. “You liked it the last time I wore it.”

Cassian huffed a breath. He had liked it the last time she wore it, even if she’d been so gaunt that he’d worried she might wither away. But the shirt… it had put images in his mind that Cassian had long tried to store away, imprisoned in rock and flame: her in his clothing, not fucking other males but him, her lithe legs wrapping around his waist as he sank deep—

Which brought Cassian neatly to the point he needed to discuss with her…

Nesta’s eyes tracked Cassian in the mirror as he peeled himself out of the doorway and came to stand behind her. When their eyes locked into place, it felt as if someone had punched him in the chest. There was something deep in Nesta’s gaze that made it feel as if he was tumbling down a rabbit hole, that magnetism between them drawing him in like gravity.

When Cassian’s fingers brushed Nesta’s neck—ran down the braid she had draped over her shoulder—Nesta shivered. “You had your hair down then,” he rasped. Didn’t wait for her to protest, as he slowly coaxed the tie free from the end of her hair.

Nesta turned preternaturally still, watched him gently part her hair in the mirror until it fell free from her plait, his calloused fingers brushing over her skin as he coaxed her hair to fall down her back.

The pulse hammering at her throat and the warmth radiating from her skin were the only indications that Nesta was alive rather than stone.

Only when Cassian had finished and lifted his hands from her neck, did Nesta come back to life.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. But she cocked her head slightly to dissect him. “It’s a nuisance like this. It gets in the way.”

“It’s beautiful,” Cassian corrected, his voice rasping, like sand scraping against skin. He ran a hand through her hair as if to emphasise his point, his fingers running down, down, down until her waist.

When Nesta stood and turned into the warmth of him, Cassian scented what she wanted. But there was something else simmering in her expression—surprise. As if she’d caught the truth in his words and hadn’t expected someone to truly think her beautiful.

She stepped closer, until the lines of her torso ghosted his. Until Cassian’s heart pounded so hard he could hear the frantic tempo of it in his ears. Nesta tilted her head back so she could stare up at him and Cassian’s hand weaved through the mane of her hair before he could stop himself.

He was desperate to touch her again. Desperate.

But Cassian waited. Waited for Nesta to reach up on tiptoes and press her mouth to his.

The kiss was not like their bruised, desperate kisses from earlier. It was coaxing and unsure; the tentative beginning of something that was not merely fuelled by ardour. But it soon blossomed into something more, like a snowball rolling down a mountain blanketed white, gaining speed as it grew and grew—

Dragging his mouth away from hers, Cassian fought for breath. Battled to remember what he needed to do and say. But then Nesta was tugging his head back down again, her fingers tangled in his hair, the gesture indicative of an insistent need that Cassian knew would not go away.

As always, Nesta tasted divine. Addictive. He could taste the curl of her power on his tongue—silver and white, life and death—and he wondered if she could taste his. Knew his siphons were glowing scarlet—

“Nesta,” he murmured hoarsely, her name a caress against her lips. He couldn’t invoke a distance between them, couldn’t stop touching her. His nose brushed hers as her drew back an infinitesimal amount. Closed his eyes. Inhaled deeply, summoning courage. “You can dictate how this goes between us. But if we do this, I can’t—there’s no-one else. Just you and me.”

The subsequent pause was one of the worst of Cassian’s life. It was barely a breath. The blink of an eye. But it felt as if it was malleable and elastic, drawn out by the hands of fate as everything suspended in time.

He didn’t want to open his eyes, but in the end he managed it. Caught Nesta’s eyelashes flutter downwards, casting shadows on her skin. Her fists tightened in the fabric of his tunic, anchoring him to the moment.

She swallowed. Shook her head. Agreed with a conviction he had not been expecting, “No-one else.”

The relief that swooped through Cassian was so fierce it was painful. But he still didn’t dare to believe it.

He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger so Nesta could not look away. So he could look into the deep waters of her irises and know she was telling him the truth.

But her gaze was steady and unwavering, as he demanded, “Say it again.”

His voice cracked but Nesta didn’t appear to notice. Her grip on him tightened. “No-one else,” she repeated on an outward breath.

A low, ravaged moan sounded from Cassian’s throat. “Diyosa,” he murmured, slipping into Illyrian. Goddess.

“Bruha,” Nesta corrected. She fumbled over the pronunciation but Cassian felt as if he had been an ember that had burst into flame. Witch.

He let out a rough bark of laughter. Then he swore in a long, drawn out moan. “No Illyrian,” he ordered roughly. Pressed his mouth firmly against hers, the kiss searing. “Otherwise this will be over far too quickly.” Another kiss. “And I want to take my time.”

The smile Nesta painted against Cassian’s lips was feline. “You’ve made a lot of promises, General. I hope you don’t disappoint.”

Cassian snarled. Spun her body until her back was cradled against his chest. “I have, haven’t I?” he mused lightly, even though the hammering of his heart must have beat a betraying rhythm against her shoulder blade.

In the mirror, Nesta’s expression grew less poised and controlled. Delight mixed with anticipation clung to her features at this game they played; this tussle for control. She did not try to wrangle free from his hold or shift uncomfortably in his arms at having her back enclosed against his.

It thrilled him—that trust. Enough so that when he met her eyes in the mirror, Cassian found that his irises had been swallowed by his pupils until they were only a ring of chocolate gold.

Slowly, Cassian brushed Nesta’s hair over to one shoulder with his left hand. Traced his fingers down the arc of her neck to her collarbone. Continued a path down the centre of her chest, to the pyrite which glittered between her breasts.

When his fingers met the first button of his shirt, Cassian toyed with it. Purposefully grazed his nose against the shell of her ear. “Shall I start here?” he murmured. “Undress you in front of the mirror whilst you watch?”

Nesta suppressed a shudder, but Cassian caught it. Could swear he felt her blood boiling beneath her skin as he slipped the button free of its hole. Then another. And another. Until there were no more buttons and the material hung free.

Leaning back into his body, Nesta rested her head against his chest. Curved her back slightly so her chest thrust upwards, silently instructing him where she wanted his hands.

And Cassian couldn’t deny her. He turned his palm so it was face up and curled into a loose fist. Brushed his knuckles down her sternum all the way to her bared naval, before bringing it back up. His fingers ran up the side of the material free of buttons, until he was at her collarbone—her shoulder—leaving a litter of goosebumps in his wake.

This time, Cassian snickered when she shivered. Dropped a slow and deliberate kiss to her bare shoulder as he slowly, slowly inched the material down, down, down over her arm. Repeated the motion on the other, until the shirt pooled onto the floor, exposing her bare body to the mirror: endless creamy skin, divine curves, the luscious full weight of her bare breasts, and… lower.

Nesta’s eyes, which had been tracking the fabric as it fell away, snapped to his as a feral growl ripped from him. And she moaned at the expression on his face. Grabbed at his hands, pulling them to her body.

“Touch me,” Nesta hissed, but it came out strangled. Almost pleading. Another crack in her armour as it broke and fell away.

The sight was enough to threaten Cassian to his knees. He guided her body backwards, his hands splaying firmly across her stomach despite her whine, until his legs hit the edge of the mattress

Neither of them broke eye contact in the mirror. Not when Cassian coaxed Nesta down to sit on the bed with him. Not when he pulled her between his legs, her back firmly against his chest. Not when he bowed his head to kiss the slope between her neck and shoulder.

When Cassian finally brushed a thumb over her nipple, Nesta back bowed so fiercely Cassian was thankful he had an arm strapped across her stomach.

The small noise she loosed fuelled his fire and Cassian held on to her. Stroked over that peaked nipple again as Nesta careened into his touch. Followed it with a firmer roll with his thumb and forefinger. Used the fingertips of his other hand to draw slow, tantalising circles across the silken skin of her lower stomach, before he moved southwards…

The air around them hushed when Cassian’s fingers stilled. Anticipation built and only when it vibrated with tension did Cassian slide his hands to cradle Nesta’s hips.

A snarl of frustration, but Cassian paid the sound no heed. Only grazed his thumbs over Nesta’s hipbones. Watched her expression in the mirror—the way her face contorted as she squirmed into his touch as if she was a puppet on strings. Ground back onto him, pressing into that building ache that was bordering on painful.

Fuck, Nesta.

Cassian wasn’t sure if he had spoken out loud or in his head, all he knew was the blessed, fleeting relief he felt as he bucked into the small of Nesta’s back on instinct. He was rock hard and thirsting to be touched, but the thickening scent of Nesta’s arousal pulled his focus.

A groan rumbled from Cassian’s throat as Nesta’s hand darted between her legs. He caught her wrist just in the nick of time. Kissed the heart of her palm. Rumbled into her ear, “Not yet, sweetheart.”

His voice was coarse enough that Nesta shivered, the goosebumps travelling down her skin like a cresting wave. She didn’t struggle against him, nor did she move to disobey him as he dropped her wrist. Instead, she waited, trembling and shaking at every pass of his thumbs over her skin.

Cassian buried his nose behind the shell of her ear. Breathed Nesta in, steadying the drum of his pulse.

Not once did he take his eyes off of hers in the mirror, especially as he murmured, “Shall we find out if you’re wet for me?”

Nesta squeezed her eyes tightly shut, as if the movement would steady her. Swallowed hard. It was so unlike her to take stock, to show any signs that she was rattled, that Cassian softened. He nuzzled at her neck, trailed a line of kisses instilled with promises. A hand flew up to tangle in Cassian’s hair, keeping him there.

“Yes.”

The word stuttered out of Nesta on several staccatos, but she forced her eyes open and met his gaze in the mirror. Watched as he pulled her tighter against him and hooked her legs over his thighs so she was spread wide. Slipped his hand across and down…

The first ghost of a touch had Nesta panting through her nose. The second had her gritting her teeth. The third had her moaning, her back bowing so sharply as he skimmed straight over the place she wanted him the most.

Her head hit the centre of his chest with a resounding thud that had his bones creaking, but she did not look away from him. Seemed to know the game they were playing without him having to express it.

When Cassian brought his fingers lower and discovered just how wet Nesta was, he had to force his wings in tight to his back to hide his surprise. Growled, “You’re soaked.”

Pleasure and embarrassment twisted in Cassian’s stomach, and Cassian wanted to tell her that it was not something to be ashamed of, that he wanted her just as much as she clearly wanted his fingers between her legs.

Her eyes glinted steel, her stare commanding. “Make me come—“ she ordered, but Cassian chose that moment to roll his finger over that spot at the apex of her thighs.

The command bottomed out of Nesta as she inhaled sharply. Satisfaction bloomed inside of Cassian; because he may have done this countless times before but barely enough with her. And nothing seemed to matter apart from him seeking out her satisfaction. Of learning about what made her body freeze with pleasure and what made her come undone. “There?” he murmured into her ear, repeating the movement, before he passed his fingers down further. Until they were at her entrance, playing gently before he drew upwards and circled.

This time, Nesta groaned. Her hips jerked sharply beneath him, tilting, guiding him to just the right place.

Picking up on the cue, Cassian increased the tempo and friction until Nesta’s hips were rolling in a punishing rhythm against the hard length of him.

And Cassian snarled in satisfaction, his fingers tightening around her hip in a plea for her to keep moving—to not stop pushing back on him—because it was blissfully good. The rapid tightening in his groin was almost painful, the cord so tight that Cassian thought it might snap. But he couldn’t stop Nesta, not when she looked so bewitching, the arousal so stark on her face as he stroked and circled and pressed.

Burning pleasure clambered to its peak and Nesta’s eyes grew so heavy they fluttered closed. Something unintelligible left her lips, her head tipping back into the heart of his chest.

When Nesta’s arms wound around his neck, her knuckles accidentally grazing the leather of his wings, Cassian part-snarled, part-roared. Swore. Held her even tighter as his wings snapped out high and mighty behind him. They wrapped around Nesta’s body before Cassian’s pleasure-fogged mind could stop them curling towards her, starved for her touch.

Fuck, he was unhinged. So desperate for relief—in the scent and feel of his mate—that his control was barely there. Enough so that he didn’t react when Nesta reached out her hand—

Sense knocked Cassian for six only when Nesta’s fingers were millimetres from touching the membrane. He drew back his wings so fast  the air around them stormed, but he swooped in before surprise could register on Nesta’s face. Dipped his chin and coaxed her head even further back so he could claim her mouth.

The taste of her lips was as vital as breathing, the scrape of her nails on his scalp grounding. He moaned into her mouth at the same time as she whimpered. His hand was still moving between her legs, interchanging the same three patterns over and over again, mixing things up as soon as Nesta’s moans grew too untamed: he wanted to draw out her pleasure, not sate it with a few choice strokes.

Pulling away, Cassian pressed a kiss to her forehead. Coaxed her to dip her chin until she was looking back at their reflection in the mirror: ebony and golden brown, tan and cream.

Nesta’s irises were wisps of silver, but when he traversed past that bundle of nerves so he could slip two fingers inside of her, they flickered into living flame.

That was indication enough that she liked what he was doing. Cassian had quickly learnt that Nesta became completely readable between the sheets, that mask slowly crumbling away until she broke completely.

Curving his fingers as much as he could, Cassian pressed upwards hard—again and again— revelling in the strangled sounds Nesta made. The way she writhed but tried her best to hold his gaze.

Cassian dropped a lingering kiss to the crown of Nesta’s head. Murmured into her hair, “Is that good, sweetheart?”

The only response Cassian received was a long moan which extended into a whine as he withdrew his fingers. Then a sharp cry as he swept them upwards, swirling them in a well-practiced motion that had Nesta’s lower half seizing in pleasure.

Cassian circled again. Again. Firmer. Faster. Nesta’s cries grew louder, her breathing became more laboured. A silver wreathed hand flew to his forearm—not to stop him, but to keep him there.

Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.

The bond between them creaked and cracked as it expanded.

Nesta panted his name.

“Are you going to come for me, sweetheart?” Cassian scratched out.

In vain, Nesta attempted to burrow her head into his shoulder, but Cassian’s voice dropped out of soft and into the role of general within the fraction of a heartbeat. “Eyes on the mirror, Nesta, or I’ll stop.”

It seemed to take all of Nesta’s energy to fight her leaded eyelids and meet his dark eyes in their reflection. When she did, Cassian’s magic roared and pounded beneath his skin, as if it was trying to break free and join Nesta’s. There was a pressure and power fuelling the sensation that was separate to him. It was like the magnetic force which rules the relentless ebb and flow of the tide—that desperate crash followed by a scrabbling, thundering retreat.

That twisted rope between them grew corporeal, tugging at their ribcages as if it was clambering to remind them both of its existence. Of the cost of this exchange.

Something deepened in both of their gazes, but if Nesta had felt what Cassian had, she gave no indication. She only arched her hips back into his, grinding backwards.

Cassian loosed a rough groan that skittered across the shell of her ear. Her gaze was purposeful but hooded, as if she was in a continual battle with the pleasure weighting her eyelids.

“Good girl,” he praised as Nesta’s eyelashes fluttered from the strain of maintaining eye contact. And then his fingers were everywhere at once and Nesta’s moans fell away to short gasps that rose in volume.

Nesta tightened her fingers around his neck, scrabbling for purchase, for some sort of tether as her pleasure launched high into the air. The hand that had been at her hip, steadying her, encouraging her to roll back on him moved to her breast; cupping and pinching and rolling as she stuttered pants and words that Cassian couldn’t make out.

When Cassian slid two fingers inside of her again and pressed down firmly on her clit with his palm, Nesta’s cry was wild.

“Look at me,” Cassian ordered as Nesta’s eyes flew shut. His voice was resonant—startling—even to him. It punched through the bubble that had encased them—their entwined scent—and Nesta’s eyes snapped open.

For a beat, time seemed to stand still around them. Their gaze fastened back into place and for a moment, Cassian could see a conflict of thoughts swirl in the magic of Nesta’s irises.

He froze just as anguish crashed down that bond, right into the heart of his chest.

It knocked the breath from him. Confusion rattled inside of his head but he came up empty of answers. Had he gone too far? Had he hurt her somehow?

“Sweetheart—“ he started, but stopped. Unsure of what to say because he could still smell how much she wanted this. Could feel how soaked she was. But perhaps that was what the mating bond did. Fooled reason with an overwhelming drive to pleasure and claim.

Cassian went to draw his hand away but Nesta’s hand whipped out, her fingers curling around his wrist. Desperation flooded her next words—the plea in them stark. “Don’t stop.”

As if to punctuate her point, she rolled her hips. His fingers slid over her of her own accord and she stumbled a moan. Light barrelled down the bond and Cassian’s blood spiked, thrilled as he felt the truth of her words, as she ground back into him again.

“Fuck that feels good,” Cassian grunted into her ear. His hips pushed into the small of her back, accentuating his point. It chased the delicious reprieve from the ache in his cock, even as he knew this moment wasn’t about him. As he pulled her back into the solid muscle of his chest, steadying her movements so he could pick up where he left off: so he could watch the pleasure whip away her conflicted expression until her eyes were once again blazing with the promise of flame.

Silver mist climbed from Nesta’s fingertips into the air. It crawled over the glowing ruby siphons across the backs of his hands, past the corded muscle of his forearm and the rolled up sleeves of his tunic, to his chest, his neck…

A sheen of metal shone in Cassian’s eyes, flickering across his irises so they appeared to turn a metallic gold. The lick of Nesta’s magic didn’t burn. It was a rush of heat—the tender caress of a lover’s kiss instilled into his skin over and over again, ascending Cassian to another realm of pleasure, as if he’d climbed a staircase to an entirely new place.

It felt like an extended method of foreplay Cassian had never been privy to before, lighting up every nerve ending until he was so hard he could cut stone.

Gritting his teeth through the pain-cloaked pleasure, Cassian focussed instead on Nesta’s bare skin.

The tempting fullness of her breasts. The way desire had completely rewritten her countenance. The way she whimpered and then cried out.

Cassian sped up his movements. Until his fingers were no longer teasing, but dancing over her with sure, quick movements designed to thrust her towards a crescendo.

Nesta’s magic swirled into flame, the heat of it a licking promise down Cassian’s limbs. He groaned, swore at the exquisite pain on her face as she hung at the precipice, ready to plummet into rapture.

Her climax became a tangible, living thing and Cassian wanted to see it play out for as long as he possible could. Wanted to see her break for him again and again and again.

So, he waited until she reached the summit and when she was there he slowed down his movements. Ordered through her whimpering, “Look at me Nesta.”

Metallic irises met his, and then Nesta was trembling and shaking in fits and bursts as her release ripped out of her like a taut cord cut loose. Cassian drew her orgasm out as best he could, suspending that pleasure until finally Nesta slumped against him, spineless.

She turned her head to bury it in his shoulder and Cassian let her. Stroked her hair. Pressed a kiss to her sweaty head. Murmured, “Good?”

Slowly, Nesta nodded, but for a long while, that was the only communication he received. But Cassian let her recover. Watched the way her ribcage moved as she heaved for breath. Relished the way her body was splayed out over him, her legs held wide open from where they were hooked over his thighs.

Unable to help himself, Cassian brushed over her sex. Delighted in the way Nesta shuddered rather than batted him away. Fresh desire reignited across her expression and Cassian played gently for a few minutes, revelling in the wetness that had gathered from her release.

Finally, Nesta lifted her head to meet his gaze again. “Did I burn you?”

“No,” Cassian replied hoarsely, his heart squeezing at the genuine fear in her words. He let out a rough laugh, passed his fingers lightly over the knot at the apex of her legs for the last time before he withdrew them.

Nesta moaned softly, even as her brow twisted into a small frown.

“It felt good,” Cassian elaborated. He kissed her shoulder at the same time that he pushed his hips into hers as if to demonstrate just how much he’d liked her magic. “I’m being strangled to death in these pants,” he confessed.

When Nesta cocked her head, her hair moved in a golden tangle. Then she smirked. Unravelled her limbs from him and turned.

Nesta slung her legs over his waist so she was straddling him just as Cassian’s hands caught in her hair. A booming sounded as his wings snapped out and fanned behind him, settling like falling fabric.

“We can’t have that,” Nesta remarked, her breath a whisper against his skin.

“No,” Cassian agreed roughly. “It’s your favourite part.”

Nesta snorted a laugh, but it was not derisive. “Egotistical bat,” she muttered.

A slow, smug smile was Cassian’s only reply. Because he was more focussed on her mouth. With the feel of her silken skin beneath his palms as he ran them up her legs and over her rounded ass. His touch was a promise as he tugged her into his body and ground up into her core, the seam of his trousers doing nothing to relieve the damning ache in his cock.

Together they gasped, and then, as always, they moved at the same time, their mouths slanting one another within a fraction of a second.

The heat of Nesta was liquid, the touch of her smoke—feverish and everywhere all at once. It was the same heat that had roared into existence when Cassian had pinned her against the wall earlier, yet… better somehow. Passionate and awake rather than fogged with lust. Life-giving.

A shuddered groan was pulled from Cassian’s chest as Nesta’s hands slid beneath his tunic and met his burning skin. And then the tunic was on the floor—the rest of his clothing was torn from him soon after. It all happened at such speed Cassian could barely keep up, but when Nesta reached for his bare, burning skin—the tattoos on his arms and the faint scar on his stomach—her fingers were gentle.

“Battle scar,” Cassian panted in explanation, as Nesta’s fingers lingered on the silvery tissue that wound over his lower abdomen: a permanent reminder of what had happened to him during the final battle with Hybern. “The trauma was too great for Madja to heal completely.”

“I remember,” Nesta replied shortly and she looked so fierce that Cassian reached for her. Cupped her cheek with his palm.

“Still breathing, Nes.”

Nesta nodded, but when she kissed him this time there was something fierce and desperate about it, her fingers burying deeper into the mane of his hair.

And then a hand was trailing down his skin and closing around his cock. The touch was sinful and a glimpse of the heavens. When he hissed into her mouth, Nesta gripped tighter—until pain laced the pleasure—just how he liked it.

His groan was that of rumbling thunder as she began to move her hand. It was everything Cassian needed, but it was too much, too good. He scrambled to hold on to some sense of control, because he’d never been this close to losing it from just a few touches.

Then Nesta stopped. Glanced downwards—

The realisation thumped through Cassian so loudly his heartbeat punched like a fist against his ribcage.

“Don’t you dare,” Cassian choked out.

Nesta’s eyes shot to his, but rather than looking startled she arched a challenging eyebrow.

“If you so much as try to put my cock in your mouth I’ll explode,” Cassian rasped.

Before she could protest, he was gathering her to him and had slipped a hand down between her legs.

Just the touch of his fingers had Cassian seizing back control. Nesta stilled at the sudden pleasure, as if she was trying to coax time into suspending the sensation.

“Still so wet,” Cassian purred against the tip of her ear.

Gliding his fingers over the centre of her, Cassian paused briefly at the apex of her legs, toying with her clit, before he ran them back down. When he drew his fingers back, rubbing them together and raising them to the faelight, they glittered.

Nesta’s nostrils flared as if she was an animal in heat. And Cassian knew before he spoke that his voice? would be what pushed them over the edge. But he said it anyway, his voice dropping impossibly low,  “Is this all for me?”

Nesta launched at him until their mouths collided, until they were nothing but a clash of teeth and tongues, their skin so flush they may as well have been fused together.

Burying her fingers deeper into the tangled mane of his hair, Nesta tugged sharply. Met his gaze head on. Demanded, “Fuck me.”

All it took was those two words. Cassian moved, flipping them so Nesta’s back was flush against the mattress. He covered her body with his and Nesta whined at the contact, her body bending and arching towards him as if she were a plant and he was sunlight.

Cassian ran a hand up her bare thigh to her ass, coaxing her leg to bend, but Nesta was too impatient. She broke free from the weight of his body, repositioning herself until legs were wrapped tightly around his hips.

An uneven laugh choked out of him. “So stubborn,” Cassian chided darkly, but he allowed his hips to fall into the cradle of hers. Hissed as he loosed his control and thrust so his cock could glide through her centre. “Fuck,” he grunted. “Nesta, fuck.”

Nesta’s breathy whine fuelled the sparks of pleasure that crackled through him like static energy. He kissed her hard. “There’s a high probability I won’t survive this.”

The snort Nesta loosed tried to sound unaffected, but her voice shook as she accused him, “Liar.”

But he wasn’t lying. And Nesta knew it. She had to know it because his walls were now shattered around them in splintered shards.

Yet, Cassian found himself assuring her. “Not lying," he grunted as he passed over her again. Pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth—a parting goodbye as he moved to kiss the underside of her jaw, down the column of her throat. Down further, to flick his tongue and scrape his teeth over both nipples.

He moaned when she moaned; their sounds a chorus of want until he couldn’t take it anymore. Cassian’s claws clipped around the metal of the bed frame at the same time that he pushed off of the palms that were framing her face, until he was on his knees before her.

Despite the desire coursing through him, Cassian’s head was nothing but clear as he slid his hands under Nesta’s ass and lifted her effortlessly, positioning her so that the undersides of her thighs were flush against his knees.

Nesta’s hair was tousled over the pillow, her lips swollen and parted as she surveyed him. When she tried to wrap her legs back around his hips, Cassian held firm. And despite the fact that Nesta listened to nobody, she allowed him to bend her knees and press his calloused palms to the insides of her thighs in silent instruction.

They fell open and a growl rumbled in Cassian’s throat. His hand was fisting his cock, lining it up to her entrance before he knew what was happening. But then he remembered the pain from before. And even though Nesta was more than ready for him, the thought of hurting her made him feel physically sick.

When he moved away, Nesta let out a strangled noise. A hand shot out, closing around his wrist. “You said you’d fuck me.”

Cassian wanted to explain, but that meant alluding to that tie between them, that instinct that couldn’t allow him to see her hurt. Cassian knew Nesta wasn’t ready for that. Knew that if he so much as breathed a word about it that this precious moment would fall away.

And Cassian was selfish. He had to see how this played out. Had to know if Nesta could grow to accept the bond between them—deem him worthy enough to accept something that was Cauldron blessed.

So, he only drawled, “Patience is a virtue, sweetheart.”

One swift movement had Cassian gathering Nesta into his arms. This time, he allowed Nesta’s legs to wind around him. She gripped him like a vice and Cassian knew it wasn’t from fear of him dropping her. When he sat back against the headboard and guided her onto his lap, Cassian expected her to bite out a comment about doing all of the work, but Nesta only let out a pleased sound. Weaved a hand back into his ebony hair. Wrapped a tight fist around his length, twisting once at the tip, before she guided him to her entrance.

Cassian hissed a curse as she closed around the head. Murmured her name into her mouth. Gripped tightly at her hips when she didn’t stop sinking down on him, as he felt that pain mixed with the sweetest pleasure.

“Nesta.” The way he said her name was firm and commanding, but he still had to dig his fingers hard enough into her skin that he was sure it would leave temporary bruises. The thought made him falter, but then that sharp pain flared again as she resisted against him, and he knew that the bruises were a necessary evil. “Nesta,” he barked, “Go slowly.”

Something creaked and cracked between them. A stretching, growing pain reached its fingers down that bond, the sensation strong rather than constricted as it fought to make its way down their usually thin tie.

Nails dug into Cassian’s neck. A whimper sounded in his ears as Nesta fell forwards, burying her face into his neck. “Please,” she whined in frustration. “Cassian—”

She broke off as she clamped down around him and Cassian felt an ebb of pleasure cut through the pain—that promise of something more.

“Don’t make me hurt you, sweetheart,” Cassian pleaded and the rawness in his voice stopped her resisting against him. He eased a hand between them, touched her right where she wanted him. Allowed her to tug his face upwards so she could kiss him. It was infused with desperation and Cassian eased his hold on her hip. Allowed her to lower herself downwards until she had slid another inch deeper. Continued to stroke her until Nesta began to shake.

“I’m going to—,” Nesta gasped against his mouth. Her body trembled and Cassian’s blood roared at bringing her to the edge again so soon, despite the pain. “Cassian—”

Abruptly, Cassian moved his hand away.

Nesta’s snarl whipped around the room, but Cassian smoothed the sound away by fusing his mouth on hers. She stopped shaking but the sharp bite of Nesta’s glare pierced its teeth through his flesh in a flash of silver.

“It will be better if you wait,” Cassian gritted out in explanation when they parted. Nesta’s breath gusted against his skin. “And I don’t think I can hold on if you come so soon. You feel so good, Nesta. So tight.”

As if on cue, Nesta contracted around him and Cassian ground his teeth together so hard that the muscle in his jaw worked. But he let Nesta slide down on him another inch. Then another. And another. Until their hips were finally flush with one another and that pain had bled away until it was nothing.

The moaned words that fell from Nesta were indistinguishable, but he felt her tremor. Felt that surge inside of him as Nesta repeated herself with a whine that indicated she was toppling over the ledge of control, like a glass teetering before it fell.

And then she was moving and Cassian let her. He was unable to think or breathe. Could only focus on the feel of her.

“Fuck,” Cassian groaned. His head thunked back hard against the headboard as she ground her hips into his, testing the feel of him. “This is better than I’d dreamed.”

No soft snicker, only an untamed whine. Then teeth scraping a sinful path down his neck to his pulse.

Cassian’s hips kicked up hard as her teeth nipped.

“Sorry,” he gasped, because even though Nesta had told him not to hold back, he was still concerned about hurting her. But Nesta’s fingernails bit into his skin and her body moulded to him—a delicious second skin—as she inhaled sharply. “Again,” she demanded with a fierceness that did not allow disobedience. “Do that again—”

It didn’t take a second command for Cassian to thrust up hard. And true to her word, Nesta took him all. Did not change her mind and ask him to hold back. Instead, Cassian knew that this was exactly what she wanted—no, needed. She needed this punishing rhythm just as much as he did.

And it felt… incredible. Beyond anything Cassian had ever felt before. The blood roaring in his ears intermingled with Nesta’s cries and the slap of his hips meeting hers, was the only thing he could hear, his senses narrowed down to the sensation of her wrapped around him, so tight …

It was too good. It threatened to break him, to take everything that he was and reform it entirely, as if he was going to shatter and be pieced back together as someone else entirely. The air around them became taut with pressure, tanning leather stretched too tight over a rack, as if their joining controlled one of the essential elements.

“Cassian.” That one word threatened to break him. Not bat or it or you, only his name falling from her lips as if it was their secret. “More.”

Exhaling a curse, Cassian planted his feet firmly on the mattress and thrust up with as much vigour as he could muster. The movement had them slipping from their upright position and Cassian’s claws absent-mindedly closed around the metal bed frame, strapping them in for the ride as his body coiled and tensed as he slammed into her over and over.

Nesta cried out. Grabbed fistfuls of his hair as they moved together as if they had been made for this moment, their wild gasps melded together until they were one.

Only when release teetered too close to the edge did Cassian drop the rhythm. Cupped the breasts he had dreamed of more times than he could count. The breasts he’d had the privilege of seeing bare and glorious only twice before.

Capturing a nipple between his teeth, Cassian scraped his teeth hard enough that Nesta stopped rocking and angled her hips until he was pressing impossibly deep inside her. She whimpered. Clenched and unclenched. Throbbed in a way that told him she was as close as he was—that if he wasn’t so close himself, he could drive her over the edge with a few well-timed thrusts.

The understanding had him letting out a jagged groan. “Are you close, sweetheart?”

A whine in response, but Cassian didn’t let it go. He raked back the hair from her sweaty forehead. Pressed his lips to her swollen ones in a lingering kiss. Watched the frown that knitted her brow as she was overtaken by the feel of them.

“What do you need, Nesta. Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

Nesta wound her hands around his head, buried her face into his neck. Began swaying and circling her hips in a rhythm that was dictated purely by the chase of pleasure. “Just… this,” she panted. “I just need this.”

Then it was only the licking fire of her breath against his skin. The magic that curled around them like a heated blanket and the building anticipation of both of their releases, which pulled at him like a strange sort of magnetism, begging him to fall with her in unison.

“Cassian—” Nesta began in warning, but he had already felt her begin to quake, as if the ground was moving beneath their feet—the mountains trembling.

That pull became a driving force—a cresting wave of pleasure so profound that Cassian felt that twist inside of him—that signal that he was about to join her.

He groaned, jerking his head back so it collided with wood, the pain grounding him enough that he could say, “That’s it, sweetheart. Come for me.”

As soon as the words left his lips, Nesta broke, as if she’d been waiting for him to ask it of her. Her cry was muffled and Cassian wanted to tear her mouth from his neck—to hear her break for him—but then she was sinking her teeth into his skin right over his pulse.

Roaring, Cassian kicked his hips up hard on instinct as she marked him, but the shock distracted him. Clouded the desperate clamber of his release so he could hold himself back.

Cassian held tightly onto Nesta as she slumped against him. When she lifted her teeth from him, Nesta whined like an animal. Dragged her tongue over the dent she’d made in his neck—once, twice, three times.

He shuddered. Couldn’t help it. Turned his face into her hair. Breathed her in. The gesture was tender, like an animal tending to the wound of a significant other—its mate.

And wrapped in this moment, Cassian could almost believe that this was something more than sex for Nesta as her forehead came to rest on his collarbone. As she kissed the hollow of his throat. Then the knot. His lips.  

“Good?” Cassian asked softly. He lifted a hand to her face, ran a calloused thumb over her cheekbone.

Nesta made a rare, content sound that vibrated through him like a balm. She leant into his hand, her eyelashes swooping down.

When she finally pulled back to survey him, her eyes were still dark. She shifted her hips. Moaned quietly. Rasped, “You’re still hard.”

It was a miracle Cassian hadn’t followed. If it hadn’t been for her teeth in his neck, Cassian would have been wrestling with the embarrassment of finishing too soon.

“I was too preoccupied with your teeth in my neck.”

A flush crept its way up Nesta’s face, like vines reaching their wicked encroaching fingers up a wall. But she raised her chin. “You wanted me to do it.”

It was true, he had wanted her to. And he wanted to do the same to her—to mark her as his so everyone would know that she was off limits for the brief hours before her body healed.

“And what about you?”

The patter of Nesta’s heart broke into a sprint. It was the only thing that betrayed her feelings, her expression devoid of any reaction. “What do you mean?”

Cassian leant forward until their noses brushed. Lifted his eyebrows. “Do you want me to bite you, Nesta?”

Nesta’s nostrils flared. If she had wings, they’d have flung wide by now. Would have collided with furniture and cut through air.

That was answer enough.

In one movement, Cassian lifted himself up and over, until Nesta was on her back and he was pressing her body into the mattress. Breath gushed out of her lungs but it was not from fear, not as Nesta turned herself out bare and tilted her chin for him—for once not in defiance but as an act of vulnerability—of complete and utter trust.

Every instinct in Cassian clambered to the surface, but he closed a fist around it until its life fluttered against the cage of his palms and fingers: his to control, rather than the other way around.

Slowly, Cassian lowered his nose to the exposed skin and breathed her in: her scent and the life that pummelled beneath her skin, the roaring of her blood as it crashed through her veins. It took everything in him not to move inside of her, to thrust up hard and feel the way her breasts would move against his chest.

“I could do it right here,” Cassian murmured, his mouth ghosting over the pale column of her neck until he came across that pulse. He brushed a tongue across it.

The movement was a mirror of what he’d done before in the human realm and Nesta knew it. But this time she did not jerk back from him demanding what he’d done. Instead, her body drew up beneath him, exposing more of her neck, begging for more.

Cassian groaned, raking his teeth over that swell at the same time that he pushed in deep. Nesta’s groan was guttural and everything. His blood turned molten, so hot that he expected his skin to melt away until he was nothing but bones.

“Please,” Nesta panted, her fingers tightening around his back.

Another flick of his tongue over her pulse. “Do you want me to bite you or fuck you?”

“Both.”

That was enough to loosen the fist on Cassian’s control. He sat back on his knees, prying her hands from his neck, coaxing her fingers until they were above her head and clasped around the railings of the headboard. Nesta’s breasts rose with the movement, her peaked nipples so tempting he bent to take one into his mouth. Then the other. Suckled until she mewled and her nipples were no longer rosy but red from his attention.

Cassian lifted his head and surveyed Nesta. Warned her, “Hold on tight.”

And then there was no thinking, no worrying or desperation to hold back. It all came as easy as breathing, their tempo,the snap of his hips and the shift of the mattress as her body shouldered the impact. At some point, Cassian’s body fell over hers, needing to feel every inch of her against him. His wild, punishing rhythm dropped into a rough rocking that was intimate at the same time it was claiming.

Nesta didn’t seem to mind—let out a pleased moan of consent, her legs clamping tighter around his hips until they were flush with hers. When he next moved she whined, and Cassian felt that change inside of her—somehow—that twisting fist of pleasure that glimmered down the bond, pushing against the walls of that thread, pushing it wider and wider, like a heart expanding.

Silver-wreathed fingers tugged his head down until Nesta could claim his mouth, fusing them together so they were complete. Cassian shuddered as her fire cascaded from her fingertips and down his body. His magic, attracted to hers, began to suck out of his pores, but it didn’t leech him of power. Instead, it was like his magic was searching for its mate, desperate to be reunited.

Then that sensation again, as if Cassian had ducked beneath something and had come up for air somewhere else.

Ruby greeted silver like a long-lost lover, blending until their magic was a metallic sheen of scarlet—a fog that misted their bodies, rubbing tantalisingly against their skin as they rocked and moaned their way to release.

“Don’t stop,” Nesta begged desperately through stuttered breaths, and Cassian wondered how many times she’d reached this pinnacle with other males only for it to be taken from her.

Cassian’s hand found its way to her face, his thumb stroking over her cheek as that coiled release twisted across her devastatingly beautiful face. “Can’t,” he panted honestly, his other hand searching for hers across the mattress until he was clasping it—holding on for dear life. “I’m so close, sweetheart. You have no idea how good you feel.”

“Come with me then,” Nesta pleaded. Her eyelashes had fluttered downwards as she took in a sharp breath of pleasure, but now they opened. Stared deep into his soul. “Come with me—”

Then her body turned both loose and taut, clamping yet completely molten as her release ripped out of her.

“Fuck,” Cassian swore. Invisible hands clasped around his ass, tugging him deeper—deeper. Everything in him tightened as Nesta crashed around him, and that siren called to him, singing her name, over and over as pleasure clawed at him, desperate to whip out of him.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

Cassian launched at her neck, his teeth sinking deep enough to claim as Nesta cried out, her body trembling as he continued to thrust into her, wringing out her release at the same time he desperately clambered towards his own.

He managed to pull out just in time, his teeth still deep in her neck, his release spilling hot onto her stomach in bursts of pleasure.

And even though Cassian had vowed to bite her and Nesta had already marked him, he found himself apologising at the red, angry dents in her skin. How was it that he couldn’t bare to hurt her but biting her neck was a completely different story?

“Sorry,” Cassian rasped. His mouth was as dry as a desert as he gingerly touched his fingers to the marks, but Nesta’s fingers clasped around his, halting him. Then she raised her other hand and brushed her knuckles over the identical marking on his. Reminding him that she’d done the same—had been the first to do it.

“I liked it,” Nesta admitted brazenly, but she didn’t stop him from dragging his tongue over the marks. Shivered instead. Held his head to her.

“That was intense,” Cassian rasped eventually against her ear, after the quiet had settled over them like a blanket. He nuzzled at her neck again, unable to help it—just one more precious moment like this until he had to pull away.

When Cassian pulled back to meet Nesta’s eyes, he found that the blue bled back into her irises. “It was always going to be intense,” she replied frankly.

Then Nesta looked down at her body, as if she’d only just remembered how he’d marked her in a different way. “You didn’t have to do that—pull out. I can take a tonic.”

Cassian hadn’t wanted to pull out at all—and neither had that tie which bound them together—but that wasn’t the point. “I’d rather be cautious,” he explained—a little too shortly, because Nesta bristled.

“Neither of us have had a tonic in a while,” Cassian elaborated when Nesta’s expression hardened.

He tried not to think about how his body had been desperate to spill inside of her. For him to press as deep as he possibly could until he was spent.

Climbing off of the bed, Cassian disappeared down the hallway and into the bathroom. When he returned, he was holding a wet towel.

“A while?” Nesta queried, picking up their conversation, as he began to clean her up.

Cassian cocked an eyebrow, but he didn’t dare meet her eyes lest she read him. His shoulders turned rigid at the thought. “Have you been sneaking people in and out of the bungalow that I’m not aware of?” he asked.

They both knew that Cassian would tear any male she brought back to the bungalow to pieces, but neither of them voiced it.

“You go back to Velaris,” Nesta accused. “You visit the other camps.”

For a moment, Cassian stared at her. Did she believe that he’d been fucking other fae? She had taunted him in Velaris the other day, but Cassian had thought that it was just their extended, agonising tussle of foreplay.

Perhaps you should go in search of some female company tonight.

Cassian managed to huff a breath, but it wasn’t one of amusement. He knew that his expression was steely as he said, “I told you that I don’t sleep with Illyrians. And I haven’t been fucking around in Velaris.”

From the way Nesta’s expression darkened, Cassian wasn't sure she believed him.

She opened her mouth to throw back a retort, but Cassian wanted the discussion to end. If she knew he’d barely touched another female since he’d met her, she’d run the other way. It was too intense a confession for someone who didn’t know what they wanted.

“It was self-inflicted,” Cassian supplied, his tone flinty enough to warn her that he wasn’t willing to discuss the subject any further.

Climbing off of the bed to further his point, Cassian extended a hand towards her. Banished any of the rigidity to his posture. “Come stand in the tub with me.”

There was a sinful promise behind the order. Already Cassian could envisage how he’d press Nesta against the tiles, his lips trailing open mouthed kisses as he kneeled before her—

Nesta must have thought similarly, because the pleasure that sparked in his stomach was not his own. But still she studied him, her head cocked as if she was trying to figure him out. Her hair was a muss of golden brown, her skin glistening with sweat that Cassian wanted to lick off.

Nesta parted her lips, taking stock, but Cassian didn’t allow her to speak. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he vowed. Meant it. Because already he was turning hard again, that desire to have her roaring.

He’d known this would happen. Knew that finally being inside of her wouldn’t sate him but stoke the embers into flames. But Cassian didn’t hide it—utterly unashamed of this need for her. From the way Nesta’s nostrils billowed, he knew she'd marked the change in his scent.

Nesta’s eyes flicked to his cock and the she-devil smirked, her lips curving in a way that had Cassian thinking about how they might wrap around him—how her tongue might feel, how warm she’d be…

In one supple movement, Nesta stood. Took his hand, her slim fingers threading around his large ones. Raised her chin and levelled him with a smoky blue gaze that promised wicked, wonderful things. “Then lead the way, general.”

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[andnofcksweregiven]

Universal Rule

jeff wittek x reader

warnings: fluff , smut (i’m sorry if it isn’t super great first time writing it 😅)

synopsis: this anons request basically

There’s a universal rule that females and males can’t simply be friends. Where it came from- no one seems to know however, as much as we try and deny it, the realization that there’s harbored feelings hidden deep within you reels its ugly head around.

Jeff Wittek, a man who some may describe to be as gorgeous as a God but as charming as a devil. His natural allure but timidness factor to the ever growing attention of many women, ones he tries to politely reject with a signature giggle- a sign that, once again, he’ll be going home alone.

Except, he wasn’t truly alone as everyone believed. Jeff had a blossoming friendship with a neighbor, from the second he helped her with the last box on moving in day, to the next second everything fell through the bottom and all over his feet- a plethora of clothing ranging from heavy jeans to delicate red panties. For Jeff, it was like a nightmare, slight pink hue dusting his cheeks, that was until a fit of giggles erupted from his new neighbor's lips.

From that day on, Jeff and Y/N were inseparable. In their world, they were friends, ones without any ulterior motives in their hearts or heads, although- to someone looking in, Jeff and Y/N were a ticking time bomb. Either the final chapter to the romance part of their individual books, or the greatest heartbreak and tragedy since Romeo and Juliet. 

Y/N was the first to realize and accept the fact that to her, Jeff was it. It tiptoed into her heart like a burglar, one who was preparing to wreak havoc on the one thing that no one had been able to possess in almost forever. It hit one evening, after Jeff was going on a rant about how there’s so much he has to do, and that even though he knows he’s working himself to the bone, he needs to make sure he’s growing. The vulnerability in his voice, the softness in his eyes melted Y/N- just like it had done to thousands of women before her. 

For Jeff, it happened when Y/N had dragged him on a 2 am walk with Nerf after finding him slumped over his computer recording the same voice over for nearly 20 minutes- the food she had bought going cold besides him. Nerf was hopping up her ankles as they walked, an almost puppy like behavior, barking happily up at her. Jeff had stepped back to capture the moment as Y/N carried on going further- he had slowly lowered his phone as he gazed longingly at a girl who you could compare to Aphrodite.

The universe runs on minutes, hours, days, months and so on. A singular second could be a turbulent moment in ones life. Jeff and Y/N had so many stored seconds from meeting, to the realization that your friend holds more power over your existence then another soul. Those seconds, as heavy as they felt, had fleeted away like distance memories to reminisce on later. Nonetheless, the universe runs on seconds.

Jeff had been running late for a usual movie/ catch up night with Y/N, which led to her deciding to take a brisk shower to calm her ongoing nerves. To her dismay, her mind must have slipped up the tiny detail of letting Jeff know she was in the shower, let alone the fact that he had a spare key to her apartment.

“I’m so sorry Y/N, I know I’m late but there was about 20 ninjas I had to fight off in the hallway an’ then a meteor was gunna come an’ hit-” Jeff voice slowly went quieter as he spun away from the front door, only to be met with an empty living room. “Huh, she must be running late as well” he thought.”fuuuuuck I need a piss, she wouldn’t care if I used her toilet”

He walked idly towards the bathroom, unaware to his surroundings as the only thought he was having was how much he was bursting. It wasn’t until a ear piercing shriek echoed off the walls as a naked Y/N stood stunned in the middle of the bathroom.

“Y/N!? HOLY FUCK I- I’M SO SORRY I-” spinning on his heel and running out the room as Y/N finally wrapped her towel securely round her.

“JEFF WHAT THE HELL?” she screamed at him once entering the living room, a pink faced Jeff sitting on the arm rest of her couch head in hands, from the sheer mortifying fact he had managed to see her whole bare silhouette.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I- I- I really needed the toilet...” a whisper that would’ve been hard to catch if the environment hadn’t been so silent. 

“Oh, well go on then I’m done anyways” retreating back into her room to put some article of clothing and a shred of dignity that might have been left in her. Whilst Jeff hurried back into the steamed up room, the blush growing more prominent by every thought of that singular second.

It carried on through out the night, the tension thick in the air, as Jeff kept replaying the moment- he felt like he was being engulfed by the steam from how hot he was starting to feel. The beads of water cascading down your heaving chest, your pillowy lips slightly parted from shock as your sparkling eyes stared directly at him. The more he fantasized, the tighter his shorts got- he was trying his best not to let his mind wonder but having you pressed against his right side, your delicate hands grazing his upper left arm- sending electricity through out his veins- it was leaving him dissatisfied. 

“Y/N?” his voiced wavered as he gazed downwards at the h/c haired girl,

“Yeah Jeff?”

“Can you look at me for a sec”

A slight giggle escaped your mouth, as you raised your head to stare longingly into his eyes. “Ok what do you want because this is a really good sce-”

A second.  

A second was all it took before your lips collided into a passionate yet sensual kiss. A kiss that had left you breathless and almost bare once he pulled away. The empty space between your lips seeming never ending, suddenly you grasped at the collar of his shirt as you fell back on the couch, Jeff following as he slotted himself between your parting legs. His lips trailed towards your jaw and down your neck- sucking and biting, leaving something more then just a memory behind.

Hot breathes followed by sharp movements of clothes being ripped off, after months of hesitation and refusal of the cardinal need to be with one another. 

Jeff's lips wrapped around the stiff peak of your right tit as his slightly rough textured hand, massaged the other one. To him, it felt like silk, soft and welcoming. He didn’t think he could feel better until he finally got a taste of you, a broad stripe up your slit, making you gasp and slightly arch your back off the couch as his forearm held your hips down. As he pulled his head back, the loss of contact had you whining until suddenly Jeff delved his head back in, sucking on your clit that a guttural moan escaped your bruised lips. Your eyes rolled back as you felt a tight coil in your lower abdomen as Jeff continued his attack in between your legs.

“Jeff I’m gunna, JEFF!” 

You came all over his tongue as he carried on lapping away, the taste of you making his mind hazy. Finally, he pulled himself up towards your face, your eyes hooded as you tried to catch your breath.

He placed a light kiss to the top of your head has he stroked your hair backwards, whispering and “are you ok?” to your hairline.

He was going to ask if you wanted to go on before he felt your hand wrap itself around his dick, slowly moving your hand up and down as you placed the tip against your entrance. Looking into your eyes for any shred of hesitance, but being instead met with lust. He kept the eye contact as he pushed himself further inside, a sharp intake of breathe being held inside your lungs as your walls enveloped around him. He didn’t start moving until you let the breathe out, followed by a slight nod.

He built up his speed start slow and hard before hammering into you, the tip of his dick hitting the spot you needed him too. Both of your moans harmonizing as the air carried them in the room, along with skin slapping. Jeff was insatiable. To him, you were like a new vice, one that he intends on never dropping. The constrictions of your walls felt like heaven as you gripped onto his dick, your groans and breaths becoming shallow and shaky as you neared your peak. A final hip shattering thrust, made you coat Jeff’s dick as he slowed down, nearing his own finish as his breathing became ragged until, at last, he pulled out and released on your stomach.

He collapsed beside you as your labored breathing filled the silence- the movie long finished. 

“Wow, I really wasn’t expecting that” you half heartedly chuckled, as you cuddled back into Jeff’s side, head resting on his chest.

Your head bounced as Jeff’s laugh echoed in his chest. “If I’m being honest y/n/n, neither did I”

“So what now Jeff? Can’t exactly pretend this didn’t happen” resting your chin on his chest, waiting to see his deep brown eyes that turned golden in the Sun light.

“Lets not then” he responded nonchalantly as your eyebrows crumpled together, his gaze averting away from the barren ceiling to yours, a smile gracing his lips as a deep emotion of love clouded his eyes “This is a second I never want to forget”

[avengerscompound]

Small Gods: Lost Objects - Epilogue

Lost Objects:  A Thor Fanfic

Lost Objects Masterlist | More Small Gods PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Thor x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 896

Warnings: Nothing for this chapter

Synopsis: Thor has lost a lot in a very short period of time and he’s worried about losing himself too.  He goes to the one person who understands loss.

Epilogue

The time had arrived.

Thor had been staying with you in your cottage for coming up to two years now.  Unlike when he’d gone into his deep depression after the loss of Asgard, his friends, his brother, and half the universe - where he had ended up staying locked in his home with Korg and Miek and drinking away his sorrows - this was different.  Being with you was different.  He was recovering not dwelling.  He didn’t do things to numb how he felt, rather he did things to process how he felt and found new ways to feel good about himself again.

It wasn’t always easy, but something had shifted inside him.  He didn’t know if it was you, or Mjolnir, or Loki… or just himself - but he felt different.  He knew logically he’d never been alone, even at his loneliest.  He was the kind of person who drew people to him and made them want to be better.  That fact was something he hadn’t realized that until recently.  Now that he’d become aware of it, that loneliness was starting to ebb away.  His once shattered heart was starting to heal.  He started to imagine that it looked much like Mjolnir did now, with lines of gold where the people he loved had poured parts of themselves into it, to help piece it back together.

Over the almost two years he’d been here with you, he had given himself over to his love for you, accepting it and returning it readily.  He’d begun to mend the relationship he had with his brother too.  It was still Loki and Loki did like to test people, but now their relationship felt closer to how it had been when they’d been mere boys.

As Thor had felt his heart beginning to heal he began to work on the rest of himself too.  He would take Mjolnir and the key and go out for long walks to the forest - now no longer needing to worry about losing the cottage.  He would use the hammer to fly into the nearest town and he began to get to know the locals.  He brought back more supplies for you so that Barnaby had actual cat food and the rest of you had proper meals and not just a hodgepodge of things people had lost.  He began to work out again.  He was reading more too - finding that bonding with his brother was easiest achieved quietly sitting on the couch together while they read and Barnaby sat in Loki’s lap purring loudly while his brother’s long fingers absentmindedly massaged the cat’s head.

Loki had left after four months.  It had been hard to see him go, but Thor knew it wasn’t forever.  He could see his brother at any time he wished and while he knew that there may be months or even years between visits, at least there was a version of his brother out there in the world causing the kind of chaos that it sometimes needed.

Loki would return from time to time, teasing Thor about becoming domesticated and falling for people below him.  Thor knew the jesting came from a place of love - he had seen the way you and Loki had begun to interact over time, and he recognized when Loki felt genuine affection for people.

Thor recognized his own feelings too.  For him it was love.  Thor was in love with you, and he could envision spending millennia together, but at the same time it was in his nature to roam and seek out battle, and your powers meant you had to stay put.  So it was time to leave and seek out his glory.  He felt safe doing so - you would be here and the two of you were not limited by time.

“Alright,” you said, pressing a Stark Phone into his hand.  “My number is in there, do you need me to show you how to use it again?”

He chuckled and shook his head.  “I think the dozen times you’ve shown me already were enough, my love.”

“Keep it charged,” you said, putting the charger in one of the pouches that sat on his belt.

“I will,” he assured you.

“And if you go into space, make sure you at least tell me first, and then try and get them to make it work in space,” you added.

He chuckled and cradled your jaw, looking deep into your eyes.  “I am only going to go for a few weeks.  You have spent so long alone, have you gotten so used to me already?”

“I must have,” you said.  “You are addictive.”

Thor leaned in and kissed you deeply, holding your face gently in place as his lips moved with yours.  You put your hands on his chest, not to push him away, but as if you were stopping yourself from falling.

He pulled back slowly and you blinked up at him, your eyes soft-focused and heavy-lidded.  “I’m going to miss you.”

“And I you,” he said.  “But I need to do this and I will be back soon enough.”

You nodded and gave him a small push.  “You better go before I drag you back to bed.”

He laughed and picked up Mjolnir.  “Soon, my love,” he said as you backed off.  He began to spin Mjolnir, and he took off, ready to join the world.

~ END ~

[murasakispace]

Loki X male! Reader (headcanons)

English is not my main language. Sorry for the mistakes.

Warning : none. But a lot of fluff, it is also my first headcanons.

Summary: What if you were attracted by Thor and what if Loki would be in love of you ?

On Asgard, you love who you want to love. 

Meaning that if a man loves a man, who has the right to say anything about it? Same for women and for any people living here. Queen Frigga herself had a lot of people looking for her attention. 

This put aside, you were actually attracted to Prince Thor. 

Who isn’t ? He’s just kind, strong (you were too) and was always drawing your attention wherever he could be. 

Even during battles, which is clearly not really safe when people’s life is at stake (and also yours)

The day you fell for him was when you had been thrown in the air and that he went to save you like a knight in shining armour. (or more likely with a shining hammer)

He was just.... You couldn’t say anything else nor describe him. Did you ever seen something as beautiful as this man who came to save you ?

You weren’t able to think anymore either. 

He just left you half lying on the ground, your legs shaking, not able to stand or hardly, a blushing mess...Oh you must have been handsome here 

Yet, another man was interested in you. Another prince. Another god. But more evilish. A living mischief. Someone more secret, more distant from people. 

A strong warrior, well... At least, he knew how to fight. Until today, that was all what you were giving to him, the sole interest you were seeing in him. 

He was a stark contrast with his brother. That didn’t surprise you much when people spread gossip about him not being the real brother of Thor and the real son of Frigga and Odin. 

He glanced at you sometimes. You didn’t understand why. You were too busy to follow Thor when the blond-haired man was holding you, his strong arm on your shoulders and alcohol in his other hand. 

Yet, one day, you are tired of following Thor around like a little puppy during one of Odin’s banquets. You just have a drink and you look at this flaming god all the time you are far away from him.

You stay by yourself, observing the crowds. Thor vaguely waved his hand at you. Your drink was resting in your hand, and you were losing yourself in the colored liquid

You were getting sadder and sadder to receive so little of Thor’s attention. 

You heard a slight noise just next to you

Someone sat down. Someone that you weren’t expecting at all. 

It was Loki. The second prince. Yeah... This one. “surprise” would be an understatement because he mentionned more than once that you weren’t exactly what he liked as a person. 

And as said previously, you didn’t like him either. 

But he was somehow different today. It was well-known that he hated this kind of party. He was spending his time with a drink and looking with disdain to his surroundings

"What brings you here" you asked with an empty tone, not reaaaly wanting to know what it is about

"Some company. And since you seem lonely... "

His answer hadn't any importance for you. It was just to avoid a embarrassing silence between you.

You mumbled something. No one would have been able to hear it. Until Loki it seemed because a little smile made his thin lips curl upwards.

You can't help it but smiled back. How strange... He was so endearing.

You only remark it now but loneliness made you realize that Loki is actually very good looking. Like is brother. But Thor looked more like the Sun. The second prince embodied the light of the Moon and the poetic charm of the stars during a clear night. His pale skin...

If you heard yourself, you would certainly slap yourself yet a burst of laughter in the distance made you reconsider the idea of staying with Loki.

It seemed that he saw this glance. The black-haired man didn't react. Though, he couldn't prevent himself to make a snide remark so as to push you to focus on him and him only.

Loki was thinking about the blindness of his brother. You were sincerely blessed by the grace of nature. You were mesmerizing.

And Thor was occupating your thoughts while he could entertain you more than this stupid show-off and also his brother (adopted but are we going to argue?)

He would talk to you and you would answer, kindly with your voice that could push two mountains into a fight. After all, you didn't like these person around the blond Prince. They were only bugs tapping against the glass of a window and stuck in their obstinate ignorance.

Now, Loki enjoyed to see you, he has just to stretch his arm and he would be able to touch you. Yet, he wouldn't do so, he doesn't want to see you flee from him. Or using a silly excuse so as to run away.

Even with the thousands of years that you spent not so far from each other, it was finally hard to start a conversation without sounding awkward.

Stammer. A lot of stammer. You stumbled on your words. You even doubted of your ability to speak to one another.

But you decided you had nothing to lose by exchanging with the prince so you just started about the fact that the party was going to be too noisy for your taste. Most of the people were becoming drunk and the last ones who were reasonable got back to theirs quarters.

You decided that you would leave. Though, as the evening and then the night passed over Asgard, you grew sort of attached to Loki.

He was clearly not the man you thought he was.

Besides his obvious charm, he was witty, listening to whatever you would say, even the worst jokes you had, ready to exchange your point of view on different topics.

You didn't think at all that he would be so interesting. You had to admit that he wasn't so dull.

It took a certain time to get you to talk again to each other. And each time, you weren't able to let him go that easily.

When did you acknowledge how handsome he was both inside and outside?

Loki has pretty well seen how he managed to melt this icy armour you were wearing around your heart when it comes to see each other. He was touching your soul and he was pleased of it.

Loki was happy because you weren't listening all the rumors that people liked to spread about him.

For you, he wasn't embodying only Mischief, but also humanity. He was just asking to people to look at him like the person he was.

True. He had done awful things but... Look at him. Swallowed by Thor's shadow, not even existing for the Argardians. He was only "Thor's brother". Just a pale copy, a missed thing next to his flaming brother.

And... He would never forget when you came to him, while Thor's little puppies managed hurt him through all the sass and sarcasm that his reputation was made of.

He felt like his soul was shattered. The feeling of being split up by bitterness and anger against his brother's popularity.

"You know, Loki... The moon and the stars may be invisible during the day. It doesn't mean they are not here. You are not some shadow. You are Loki, god of Mischief and an incredible man"

"I am no such things." he snapped back, tears almost falling from his beautiful eyes.

"You are. You are the most shining star I've ever met. Even hidden by clouds on a rainy day, I would still look for you because without you, I feel as if I was lost"

It sounded like a confession. Loki had dreamed of such words for himself, from you or from anyone. Someone who accepted him as he was. And that was priceless for him.

Loki would feel his heart warm up, like when fire magic was running trough his veins. But he felt free from all of those negative sentiments.

He could not forget either the way your arms sneaked to his shoulders and when you attracted him against your chest.

When did anyone hold him this way for the last time ? He wasn't able to remember. He just felt air coming inside of you and getting out by the same path along your ribcage.

He was happy. Just happy. Nothing else.

Was he dreaming when you got closer to him, your breath mixing together and your warm lips against his and your hand brushing the skin of his cheek?

Loki obviously didn't refuse the most elegant and aethereal kiss he has ever got from a long time.

He was not dreaming after all. When you separate Loki felt the desire to come to you again and make you understand he was all yours.

After all this time while he was craving for your attention, he finally got it.

He got even more. You were the world for him and he was yours. Asgard, Midgard... All of this didn't matter anymore as long as you were together.

You were happy and in love. You had forgotten Thor since a long time now. You had your own little star.

[kkaeyva]

epilogue in spring

𐐪𐑂 summary: sequel to anagapesis— it’s been a long time since the day he left. how have you fared? good? good. i’m proud of you.

𐐪𐑂 includes: platonic!zhongli

𐐪𐑂 genre(s): forgiveness, reminiscing

𐐪𐑂 note: highly recommended that you read anagapesis before you read this so you know the context :)

𐐪𐑂 word count: 590

it is spring when you see him again.

those same golden eyes; that same brown hair.

he smiles at you, quite fondly (quite softly.) his skin still glows the same as the day he left— the day he broke your heart with words that had the same force of a blacksmith’s hammer.

but it’s okay, you say to no one but your overthinking mind.

you watch as he strides up close to you, greeting you with that same voice (that same warm tone.) though, your heart doesn’t stutter as much as you thought it would. in fact, it doesn’t react at all to him nor his presence. it smiles, and it laughs. it’s enjoying the fresh breeze you feel dancing around you; it’s beating along to the melody of the birds. it is bandaged and scarred, but the bruises have long since faded away, only serving as memoirs of a life in a more complicated time.

you have healed. you have grown.

he asks you how you’ve been, and you smile as you tell him you’ve been doing great. your eyes crease at the corners— you don’t have to force yourself to smile, especially not around him, because it’s natural to you. you’ve already grown, haven’t you? it feels nice.

it’s only inevitable that you must address the topic lingering above your heads.

“i think as though we have been skirting around the topic quite sometime now,” the man before you catches your attention with a statement out of the blue.

“huh?” you give him an unsure smile. your eyes, lit with a curious glow, stare into his piercing, golden ones. is it guilt that you see welling in his irises?

“just to begin... i’m sorry.”

and suddenly you are brought back to that moment. it happened in a blur and yet it is still crystal clear in your mind; the closed door, the shattering of your heart. how you fell to your knees, how utterly broken your concept of love had felt afterwards.

but it’s okay, your heart is the one to remind you this time. it flushes a beautiful, rosy pink as it beams at you, showing off all its faded scars and old bandages. i’ve healed, it reminds you gently as it ushers you back to the present.

“zhongli,” you laugh, and it comes out sounding like that of one windborne bard’s from the land of freedom. and it really does sound like freedom. it sounds like it’s been cleansed with the wind of new beginnings.

“it’s in the past, and i’ve learned to forgive both you and myself,” you take his gloved hands in yours. they are unfamiliar, having moulded to fit another’s, but it is an invigorating feeling to see how mismatched the two of you truly are. “i can see it in your eyes, zhongli, that you are holding onto something that neither of us needs to hold on to anymore.”

he stares at you, passively, even though the confusion is evident in the way his eyes dart all over your face. but in the end, he sighs, curling the corners of his lips into a fond smile. he laughs; a deep rumble escaping through his vocal cords and sounding like music to your ears.

“thank you,” he murmurs. you laugh again, giving his fingers a lighthearted squeeze before letting them go. you watch as his hand falls to his side, a jovial gleam in your eyes.

the world is clear, now, and it is gorgeous when you have the opportunity to appreciate it.

[dimigex]

Beautiful, Perfect Disaster - KakaSaku

A03, FF

This is an old piece that has been waiting on me for too long. I've decided to start lightly editing the mostly finished pieces I have to clear out doc. Also, @birkastan2018 I believe we talked about this story once, and you wanted to see this whenever I finished it!

The sun sank beneath the horizon, gold and orange deepening to purple or blue as stars fought their way through dusk. Kakashi sat at his desk with a stack of paperwork beside him; the words had begun to blur together. He stubbornly refused to admit that his vision wasn't what it had been ten years ago. Thirty-three and already an old man, Kakashi thought. He blamed it on the stress of raising genin, then leading the village; it had nothing to do with age.

Truth be told, Kakashi should have gone home hours ago. The summer sun set well after the end of the day for most office jobs, but he wanted to try and get ahead of his workload. It kept his mind from wandering to all the things that he didn't have. There was no one for him to rush home to, no one who cared if he spent an extra three hours working on reports, or even stayed at the office all night.

Popping his neck, Kakashi rose and removed the Hokage's robes. The hat rested on an empty chair on the opposite side of his desk. He only wore them when necessary, but hadn't bothered to change back after his last meeting. Even the newly designed jonin armor felt more natural, though he wasn't wearing that beneath the robes today. The charcoal grey pants and undershirt were comfortable enough since he'd planned to be at his desk all evening. It wasn't as if half a dozen Anbu wouldn't appear at the first sign of danger, anyway.

With one glance at the work still piled on the desk, Kakashi turned toward the door. He started to open it, then stepped back in surprise at finding a figure in the shadowed hallway. Sakura glanced up at the sound, lip caught between her teeth and eyes puffy from crying. Kakashi did a double take, hating the way his chest tightened at the sight of her. When he said her name as a question, the girl forced a fragile smile onto her lips. Then, her facade crumbled, and a single tear slipped free of her left eye.

The protective barrier shattered, and Sakura threw herself forward with a sob. Kakashi managed to catch her awkwardly, if only to keep them from falling to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Her arms curled around his middle, body achingly warm in a way that had nothing to do with the summer heat outside. Belatedly, Kakashi realized that Sakura wore jonin blues and no armor over it. He struggled to suck a breath around the lump in his throat. "What happened?"

Tears spilled out of Sakura along with broken words. "Sasuke said I'm too clingy and needy, that he's already told me that we'll never work together. And he has, I shouldn't have tried to get him to spend time with me when he was back in the village. I shouldn't have-"

The next words were muffled when Sakura hid her face against Kakashi's chest. As the dampness of her tears bled through his shirt, hot anger stirred in his gut. Kakashi normally prided himself on his ability to divorce emotion from his life, but not this time. Sakura's hands tightened, and his heart hammered hard enough that he feared Sakura would be able to hear the sound. He struggled to draw breath through his constricted throat.

Thankfully, heartbreakingly, Sakura pulled away and wiped her eyes with trembling fingers. "I'm sorry. You must think I'm being terribly childish."

"Not at all," a voice that sounded very much like Kakashi's answered. Then, it continued. "I think he's a fool who never deserved you in the first place."

Sakura's green eyes widened. She pulled back until they stood half a dozen feet apart: Sakura shy and embarrassed and Kakashi conflicted by the truth he hadn't meant to say.

Her eyes searched his, looking for Kami only knew what, then she nodded. "Thank you for saying that."

"It's true." Kakashi had more control over his voice this time, but barely. "What you have with Sasuke isn't love; it's not supposed to hurt this way."

Heat flared between them, and Sakura closed the distance to glare up at Kakashi. "And you're an expert on it?"

Of course not, Kakashi thought. Look at how poorly I've handled this. For months, I've felt something, but I refused to admit it until it came spilling out like poison. Kakashi couldn't say that. Sakura's anger wasn't directed at him, anyway. He could bear the brunt of her fury if that's what she needed. He could bear a lot of things. "I know enough to see that this isn't it."

Kakashi knew that he'd made a mistake when Sakura looked at him with a mixture of pain and disbelief. The room spun, and he thought that he might be sick. He fought the nausea down and took a half step in her direction. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Sakura spat. Somehow, she drew herself up, towering over Kakashi in her fury. "For lecturing me about something you don't understand? For acting like you cared about me? For-"

"For falling in love with you." The words hung between them for a moment, louder than the echo of Sakura's anger.

Kakashi had never looked squarely at the thought, never viewed what was happening between them as more than general protectiveness. But now, he knew it for what it was. He let out a breath and closed the distance between himself and Sakura. "I'm sorry, but you deserve someone who won't put you second or third or fourth every time."

"And, that better is you?" Sakura's voice changed in a way that Kakashi couldn't quantify. It had a breathy quality, an uncertainty, but he couldn't read the tone over the buzzing in his ears. "Is that what you mean?"

Kakashi forced out a humorless laugh at the suggestion. "No."

"You're just like Sasuke," Sakura accused, stepping into Kakashi's space. "You throw that word around so easily that it doesn't mean anything."

"I am nothing like Sasuke," Kakashi ground out, biting off each word. Icy numbness and burning anger surging through him in turns.

Could Sakura honestly believe that Kakashi would say something like that to make her feel better if he didn't mean it? That he'd make up a lie to help her forget the stupid boy who had never loved her or protected her the way that she deserved? Sasuke had always been more empty words and broken promises than anything else. Kakashi had broken only one, one that he made to himself months ago.

It would be easy to cross the line now, everything was falling apart anyway. Kakashi could pull Sakura back against his chest and show her how inadequate words were. Except, he couldn't bring himself to do so. He's already said far more than he should have, more than he ever thought he'd have the opportunity to say.

Sakura looked up at Kakashi through teary lashes, eyes red and puffy. She didn't speak at first, didn't respond to the venom in his voice. Then, she challenged him with her stare. "Did you mean it?"

The hope in Sakura's voice made Kakashi ache and his lungs clench. "I can't-."

Before Kakashi could finish his thought, Sakura scoffed and turned away. HIs hand caught her wrist, gentle enough that she could pull free if she wanted to. Then, a voice that sounded so much like Kakashi's spoke without his permission. "You deserve more than I could ever give you."

Sakura exhaled and leaned in enough for Kakashi to feel the residual heat from her body against his. Her hands came up and brushed Kakashi's cheek, pulling a soft sigh from his throat. Emboldened, she hooked her fingers in the fabric of his mask. Sakura paused at the whispered warning of her name, fingertips slipping away from the fabric, then asked, "did you mean it?"

Kakashi couldn't deny the truth, not with those brilliant green eyes shining up at him. "Yes."

Rising on her tiptoes, Sakura pressed her lips to Kakashi's, the fabric of his mask between them. The tentative brush made his knees weak, especially when her hands slipped down to his shoulders. Closing his arms around her felt like the most natural thing in the world as the room tipped around him.

Kakashi waited for some sign that Sakura felt the same, some indication that everything had changed, but she didn't speak. He took courage from the fact that Sakura didn't pull away at least. Kakashi raised one hand to trace the delicate curve of her lips and felt the shiver that raced through her body. He couldn't breathe through the fabric of his mask, so he lowered it.

Sakura's eyes remained squeezed shut when Kakashi lightly kissed her forehead. He whispered against the skin, hardly recognizing his voice. "I didn't mean to make things more difficult. If you don't feel the same, we can pretend like this never happened."

"Can we," Sakura asked Kakashi's chest, head dropping forward to rest against him.

When Sakura's eyes didn't rise to meet his, a swirl of anxiety twisted through Kakashi. His heart pounded hard enough to break his ribs when he hummed in agreement. "If that's what you want."

The words came easily, but Kakashi didn't know if they were true. He had only recently started to realize that the anger and fury he felt when Sakura talked about Sasuke went beyond friendship. If she turned away from him now, he would accept it, but things would never be the same. He feared what the kiss had done to their relationship, even as he longed to pull her closer.

Kakashi didn't push Sakura for an answer. He waited without speaking until she lifted her gaze. Sakura paused, taking in both the familiarity and foreignness of the face that she'd seen through a mask for so many years. Kakashi forced himself to smile like his entire life wasn't hanging on her answer.

Sakura's hand came up a second time, tracing the bare skin. It took every ounce of self control that Kakashi possessed not to pull her tighter. Then, with aching slowness, she rose to kiss him. Colors exploded behind Kakashi's eyelids at the warmth of Sakura's lips against his. The curve of her body beneath his hands, the touch against skin so unused to it-everything left the room spinning.

They parted slowly, just enough to draw a breath but Kakashi couldn't stop the way his head tipped back toward Sakura's. He tasted her breath on his lips and almost crossed the line a third time. In that instant, he knew that he would never be able to go back to just friends. This moment, no matter what came from it, would be cemented in his memory forever. He would never be able to look at Sakura without remembering the soft curl of her hands in his shirt or the pattern of freckles he'd never noticed across the bridge of her nose.

After a moment, Sakura let out her breath in a whoosh that made Kakashi's knees weak. Then, she looked up and smiled so beautifully that it made his heart skip a beat. "I want to know if it's ever more than empty words."

A dozen flippant replies rose in Kakashi's throat, but he quieted them at the memory of what drove Sakura to his arms in the first place. None of his replies would have been enough to convey the depth of what he wanted to say. He raised one hand to brush her cheek, then slid down to tilt her chin. Sakura sighed when Kakashi met their lips together a third time, a breathy uncertain sound that knotted his stomach.

For a moment, Kakashi felt trapped on the edge of a precipice with logic and safety on one side, the unknown spanning below him. He tightened the arm around Sakura's waist, pulling her closer as he surrendered to the dizzying emotions spiraling through his chest. If Sakura needed something more than words, he could offer actions.

Kakashi poured every ounce of withheld longing into his touch, dropping his walls in a way that he'd never done for anyone else. Sakura melted against him, every perfect inch of her body pressed against his. Kakashi threw himself over the edge and plummeted through the heartstopping freefall.

It took Kakashi a moment to realize that his hands had drifted low enough to lift Sakura from the ground, and a longer second to realize her legs were wrapped around his waist. Electricity pulsed through his body as he stumbled back toward his office until she bumped into the edge of his desk. Sakura's fingers tangled in Kakashi's hair, inviting him to follow her backward.

Bracing his palms on either side of Sakura's hips, Kakashi pulled back to gasp in a desperate breath. The space gave him the clarity that he needed. He wanted Sakura more than he'd ever wanted anyone else, more than anything. And, he knew that was the exact reason to stop, before he didn't have the strength to do so.

Kakashi leaned his forehead against Sakura's, surprised when she didn't object to the sudden stop. He drew another shaky breath before attempting to speak. "I don't want this to be tangled up in your relationship with Sasuke. I don't want to be the one you run to when it's bad only to have you promise me that everything's better the next day. I don't want-"

Sakura pressed a finger against Kakashi's lips. "I know."

Darkness poured through the windows behind Sakura when Kakashi turned his gaze toward them. She drew him into a gentle kiss that held only a flicker of the earlier fire. "I don't know what to say," she confessed in a soft whisper that made bile rise in Kakashi's throat. "I never expected you to say these things, I never knew that I wanted you to say them."

The woman glanced away, a blush coloring her cheeks as she continued. "I just-can we take things slow? I don't want any of the things you mentioned either, but I know that I don't want to leave this room not knowing if I'll ever feel this way again."

"What are you saying," Kakashi questioned, leaning more weight on his hands. He would take whatever Sakura gave without a hint of disappointment, at least until she left. Only then would he allow himself to feel the pain. He braced for the truth, that she wasn't ready for more or that she'd just gotten caught up in the moment.

Sakura raised a hand to run her thumb along the scar that had taken Kakashi's original eye, tracing the path the mask normally hid. He fought the urge to pull away when she followed the curve of his cheek, and turned instead to lightly kiss her palm. The blush on her cheeks deepened. "I'm asking you to dinner later this week," Sakura finally answered.

Kakashi couldn't stop the chuckle that rose in his throat. None of her words even remotely suggested that, but he wanted it enough not to care. "Only if you'll allow me to walk you home tonight." The corners of Sakura's lips pulled down, but Kakashi quickly added, "just to the door, I promise."

Snorting softly, Sakura nodded and Kakashi offered a hand to help her jump down from his desk. Fire scorched through his entire body at the connection but he forced himself not to react, especially when her fingers threaded through his. By the time they'd reached the street, Sakura pulled away and walked beside Kakashi like she'd always done. But, he couldn't shake the thought that nothing would ever be the same again.

[mctherofdragons]

In The Afterglow | 4 | F.W

This is a reposting of Chapter 4 because I accidentally deleted the original post. Please note as of the day I posted this, we are on much later chapters! xx

Summary: The reader is married to George Weasley, and for all intents and purposes, he is the perfect husband. But, despite her best efforts to resist, Fred presents temptation she never knew she’d fall for.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem! Reader; George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Alternate Universe: No Voldemort AU

Rating: Mature, Features EXPLICIT CONTENT!! Mature audiences only.

Trigger Warnings: ANGST,  mentions of extramarital affairs, miscarriage, mention of a d&c procedure, cheating, oral sex (female receiving)

Flashbacks are in italics!

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

December 28th. 

You slid the hotel room key into the door, taking a deep breath as you opened it. It was an agreement that you would meet at a local hotel. Your story to George was that you had a work emergency, and Fred had just told the rest of the mates at the pub that he was tired. You’d never considered yourself a liar or a cheat, but it occurred to you all at once that as of tonight, you were both. But any thought about your marriage covenant was going, going, gone as you walked into the room, your heart hammering in your chest at the prospect of being completely alone and vulnerable with your husband’s twin. The twin who you were falling madly and irrevocably in love with, despite the protests of your morals screaming into your subconscious.

Once the door shut behind you, you turned to see Fred sitting cross-legged on the bed. He stood up quickly, practically falling over his long legs to get to you.  “Hi,” he whispered, cupping your face and planting a soft and longed-for kiss on your lips. You pulled off your scarf and jacket, laying them on the bed.

You moved to pull yourself closer to Fred again. A wave of calm washed from your fingertips to your toes as you buried your face into his maroon button-up shirt. Fred had this way about him: he was both strong and gentle; funny yet serious; forbidden yet sweet. He smiled, using the hand that wasn’t keeping you cling to his chest to stroke your hair.

“I missed you, Fred,” you admitted softly, not looking up. You noticed he was holding you tight. His embrace was almost protective, as if he let relaxed even a bit you would fall apart right there.

You stepped back for a moment, sighing as you sat down on the edge of the mattress. You were exhausted. A bit of a stress-induced headache was beginning to form behind your eyes. While you would normally want to be tucked in your bed with a cup of tea and a few aspirin, tonight the only painkiller you wanted was Fred. He sat next to you, allowing you to turn to look at him.

“This isn’t right.”

Of course, you were stating the obvious. Fred nodded in agreement.

“I know.”

Fred intertwined his fingers with yours, bringing your hand up to plant a few soft kisses on your fingers.

“George told me...about what happened a few months ago...I’m sorry, y/n. I wish I’d have known.”

“No one knows. Even if they did what could they do? I haven’t told anyone. Not even your mum, although, maybe it would keep her from constantly asking about another grandchild.”

Fred looked at you and all at once felt his heart shatter again. There was something about you that left him mystified and unhinged. It was as if you two had been cut from the same pieces of marble - two statues fated to be next to one another but never touching. He wasn’t sure if he believed in God, but if he had, certainly He had made you two from the same substance.

Fred placed a hand on your cheek. His gaze pierced yours. He spoke honestly, and you recognized that for the first time in a long time, you felt whole again.

“I wish I could give you the world, y/n. I would have given you anything, everything if you were mine.”

You wanted to pull away. Surely, George telling Fred about your miscarriage must have meant he was still bothered. Yet, not in the way that would make him hold you at night or ask you how you’ve been. It was more so in a way that caused you both to sit in silence at the dinner table, forks scraping against plates as neither of you spoke. Knowing that life with Fred would be different felt like a thousand tiny daggers ripping into your flesh, each of them dripping with guilt and shame.

To silence Fred, you brought your lips to his. All at once, the space between you was nonexistent. It was as if gravity had brought you two together like magnets. Fred gently laid you back onto the bed, moving to kiss your neck tenderly and purposefully. His breath tickled the wetness on your skin as he spoke.

“I want you to know that you are the most perfect creature I’ve ever laid my eyes on,” he whispered, before continuing to kiss down toward your collarbone.

His hands found their way to the hem of your tee shirt and you didn’t move to stop him. He pulled your shirt off over your head, tossing it onto the floor. Fred took a deep breath and began to plant his lips lovingly, down between your collarbones and onto your tummy.

When Fred finally hooked his fingers into the sides of your panties, he looked up at you. He waited for you to give him the go-ahead. His patience was like a warm breeze washing over you. It had been so long since you felt waited for, not pushed.

“Promise not to tell,” you said softly, giving him permission to go further.

“Our little secret.”

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ

6 years earlier. 

You took a deep breath, shaking your hands out in an effort to stop some of your nerves. “You look stunning,” your friend assured you. It was the night of the Yule Ball, and it so happened, your first real date with George Weasley.

“Do you think he’ll like my dress?” you smoothed your hands over the maroon lace of your gown. The dress you had chosen was floor length with a full skirt and lace bodice. The sweetheart neckline perfectly hugged you in all the right places. It was still puzzling to you, as you slipped into your heels, that George had finally asked you out.

“He would be a bloody idiot to think you looked anything other than drop-dead gorgeous.”

Always a loyal Hufflepuff, you were thankful for your friend’s ability to cheer you up. You grabbed your clutch, following your friend out of her dormitory.

“Now, come on, we don’t want to miss the opening waltz.”

——-

When you arrived at the top of the stairs, you were excited to see George waiting for you at the bottom. You took in the sight of your date, a bright smile spreading quickly across your face. His long hair was resting perfectly just above his shoulders. To add, he was wearing surprisingly nice dress robes, considering his little brother’s ensemble was dreadful.  From what Fred had told you, the two of them had scraped up money together all year to make sure they had something fit to wear to the ball.

When you reached the bottom of the stairs, George extended a hand to you. You took it and he leaned down to give you a gentlemanly kiss on the hand. You blushed a darker shade than your dress, feeling a million butterflies burst to life in your stomach.

“You look like a Princess,” he purred. You could have melted into a puddle right there. It was as if everyone else in the room no longer existed as George led you into the Great Hall. It occurred to you that you hadn’t seen Fred, but it didn’t much matter where your best friend was, because every last ounce of your attention was on George.

Meanwhile, Fred sat on his bed, flipping through a comic book. He closed it, feeling like nothing could possibly distract him from the sadness in his chest. He huffed, falling backward onto his pillows and staring hopelessly up at the top of the canopy of his bed. He crossed his arms over his chest as he chewing on his bottom lip.

Fred had secretly hoped George wouldn’t end up asking you to the Yule Ball. In fact, he had tried his damndest to ensure it didn’t happen. George had asked him directly if he had fancied you. But Fred’s ego got the best of him and scoffed, stating he could never view you as anything more than a friend. She’s like my sister, he had said to his brother, hiding the redness growing on his pale cheeks. So George had gone ahead and asked you. Fred, on the other hand, decided it would be better for him to hide away in his dorm all night than to have to see you and George together. If only he had known the Yule Ball was barely a glimmer into what the next several years of his life would be like.

George had completely stolen your heart that night. You had danced until the Great Hall was all but empty. Your laughter echoed above the music. George was quiet possibly one of the most charming boys at Hogwarts. You felt chosen, worthy, and on top of the world.

Best of all, he had walked you back to your dormitory and given you your first real kiss. You had been kissed before, sure, but games of 7 Minutes in Heaven in the y/hn common room didn’t count in your book. He had asked for permission quietly, looking down at his feet. When you said yes, all at once, your lips met. It was quick but sweet. You noted how George’s lips felt like silk. Up close, George smelled woodsy, yet sweet. You felt like you were on the moon, and you went back into your room, falling back onto your mattress with a giggle. Like most girls your age, you were certain it was true love. But, in your rare case, your prediction was correct.

You turned to your roommate and squealed. “I think I’m going to marry George Weasley someday.”

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ

December 28th.

You tossed your head back hard against the pillow, gripping onto the hotel sheets as tight as you could. The only thing clear behind your eyes was a flash of white. Try as you might to hold it back, a loud moan echoed off the hotel room walls. It took a second for you to come back down, feeling two calloused hands on either of your thighs. You heard a soft chuckle and glanced down. Fred was moving from between your legs, fixing his red hair which had now become messy from wrapping your hands in it. You shivered as you felt his warm breath hit the inside of your thigh. You were hypersensitive as you floated back down to Planet Earth.

Fred had kissed his way down your body, whispering quietly about how beautiful every inch of you was. When he had finally reached his destination, you’d realized quickly why so many girls were constantly showing up at the shop to see him. Fred had insisted that you needn’t return the favor. He always made it clear you didn’t have to go any further that night, stating that he just wanted all of the attention to be on you.

“Fred, I--”

Your chest was rising and falling rapidly. The redhead climbed up next to you, smiling contently. He moved a piece of sweaty hair from your forehead, giving you a tiny peck on the cheek.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s been a while since that’s happened,” you noted, trying to make light of the fact that it really had been ages since George had shown you a reasonable amount of intimate attention. He smiled, reaching over to hand you his shirt while had been balled up on the floor. You fastened the buttons as he got a bit more comfortable in bed.

“You deserve to be shown how magnificent you are,” Fred ran his hand down your side and you shivered. He pulled the blankets closer around you. “I wish we could stay like this forever, y/n. You know?”

You both laid in silence for a while. No words need to have been spoken as you pressed your foreheads together, taking deep breaths. Fred allowed himself to kiss you a few times, soft as a feather. His eyelashes brushed against your cheeks.

Now that your high was coming down, clarity of the situation was settling in. There was no turning back now. This was no longer a stolen kiss or a wandering hand. Your brother-in-law had just taken you to the edge of ecstasy while your husband no doubt slept alone at home. You flung the covers off of you, feeling like your were suffocating. As quickly as you could you stood up, eyes darting around the room for your clothing. Fred’s brows suddenly furrowed and he looked at you, concern radiating from his face.

“Y/n, did I—-did I do something wrong?”

“No, no. I did. I have to go.”

As if it were a race against the clock, you quickly stripped out of Fred’s shirt and found your jeans on the floor. You pulled them on, moving next to find your grey sweater. Tears were rolling down your cheeks quickly, and you felt your breath becoming harder to take. It may have been your mind, but you could have sworn the walls of the hotel room were collapsing in around you. You felt dirty and shameful - like every shred of decency you had for your husband was nonexistent.

“Baby.”

You said nothing, shoving your phone and wallet into your purse.

“Baby-“

“Don’t call me that, Fred. I’m not your baby.”

Your words hit him like a sucker punch. He recoiled, but still looked worried.

You laid a few bills out on the table for the housekeeper and quickly rushed out of the room. You heard Fred calling after you as he had moved to open the door in an attempt to catch you.

“Y/n!”

As you hurried down the long hotel corridor, it became harder and harder for you to bring air into your lungs. You just about knocked a businessman over as you rushed into the elevator, hitting the button for the first floor as quickly as you could.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ

September 24th. 

“George,” you shook your husband’s shoulder quickly. Your throat felt tight as you hoped and prayed he would wake up soon. Your hand was pressed to your stomach, eyes clenched tight as another cramp ripped through you.

One of his brown eyes opened and he sat up a bit. “Honey?”

“Something...something’s wrong.”

You had been startled from your sleep in the middle of the night to intense cramping, and now the blood wouldn’t stop. Sharp pains were shooting across your lower back. You knew you had to wake George to get you to the hospital.

Just a few weeks earlier, you had made it through the first trimester. You and George had already made plans to tell the family, bursting at the seams with excitement. During the first three months, you hid your condition well, politely declining fire whisky at get-togethers and wearing looser dresses. You had assumed that you had made it through the riskiest part of your pregnancy. For that reason, a few gifts were sitting in the corner of your bedroom. A grandma tee-shirt for Molly and a gift for Fred, too. You and George had agreed there would obviously be no other option for the baby’s godfather.

At the hospital, you were told the news you were dreading. George held onto you as you wept, barely listening as the doctor told you what would happen next. You begged to be allowed to go home and pass the pregnancy naturally. It wouldn’t be possible according to the professionals. George tried to calm you down as the nurse gently prepped you for the procedure.

It was over fairly quickly. George had waited for you in the waiting room, sipping on cheap coffee, and wondering if he should call Molly. He decided against it, knowing she would just be beside herself for weeks. Eventually, a charge nurse came to tell him everything was done.

“We’ll give her some pain medication and she’ll be as good as new in a few days. You’ll want to keep on eye on her though, dear, you know, emotionally.”

George nodded, tossing his empty styrofoam cup into a nearby trashcan and bounded toward the elevator. Upon walking into Room 493, he noticed how pale you looked. He walked over slowly and you looked at him. The anesthesia was just wearing off. You felt woozy, but had a sense of peace as George leaned over to kiss your forehead. He stayed down close to you, moving your hair from your face a bit.

“You did great, sweetheart. You are so brave. I love you. Come on, we’ll get you home, okay?”

The drive home was dead silent as you stared at the window. Rain splattered against the windshield. You wanted to dissolve into thin air, thinking to yourself that ceasing to exist would be better than the ache you felt. It was dawn and you felt yourself staring mindlessly at the cars passing you. Off these people went to work or school, while you had just lost a baby. It was impossible to recall an emotional pain like the one harboring itself in your heart. A deep, hollow sensation sunk its way into you as tears began trickling down your face. Hermione, Fleur, and Ginny all knew the joy of being a mother. But what about you? Why not you?

You pressed your cheek against the glass, letting out the tiniest whimper.

George glanced over at you and reached to grab your hand. The broken noise you had made had distracted him from the road. You clutched his hand to yours, letting your sobs echo against the dashboard. George felt his own tears begin to slide down his cheeks. The realization hit him all at once that you would never be the same - a part of you permanently and profoundly changed.

You laid in bed for days, only leaving to shower. Occasionally, you allowed George to sit you up and give you something to eat. It wasn’t that you were physically in pain. No, the doctors had given you a good amount of painkillers to ease the physical soreness. Rather, a dark storm cloud had enveloped your heart and mind, forcing you to do nothing but lay and stare at the wall. You would weep, sometimes for hours. As if on cue, George would slide under the covers next to you and pull you close to him.

With your face buried deep into his chest, you would allow your whole body to shake, almost screaming. “M-my baby,” you would weep, gripping your hands into George’s shirt. It wasn’t just once that this happened - but for days on end. George would fight his own tears from coming, willing himself to be the strong and protective husband you deserved. The woman he loved had entered that hospital and he wasn’t sure she had come back out. But he would do anything, he promised himself, to be what you needed.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ

December 29th. 

The Saturday morning sunshine poured through your window. You stretched contently, noting that George was already gone. Saturdays served to be the busiest days at Weasley Wizard Wheezes. People had more time to shop on the weekends, of course. Therefore, Saturday also happened to be the day you would whip up some food for the twins and head down to help out. You busied yourself mostly with the register and bookkeeping, giving Fred and George more time to be present with customers and take care of other duties.

This Saturday felt different. The feeling Fred had given you the night before was still fresh in your mind as you stared in the bathroom mirror. You looked back at yourself, letting out a deep sigh. Dark circles were present beneath your eyes, no doubt from the restless sleep you had. You laid awake, looking at George, thinking to yourself that whatever category was the worst, you were in it.

__________

The bells of the shop jingled as you walked in. Fred looked up from where he was arranging a fixture of love potions. Your eyes locked in a longing gaze momentarily before George came out of the backroom. Fred immediately diverted his stare. He attempted to look busy as he listened to your conversation.

“The caffeine has arrived!” George greeted, coming over to take one of the three coffee cups you were carrying.

“And you know, your wife comes along with caffeine, George. Cream and two sugars,” you smiled, allowing him to give you a kiss on the lips. While you were mostly joking, you did feel somewhat hurt.

Fred walked over to you next, taking his coffee from you. Up close, you could tell Fred looked exhausted.

“Black with four sugars?” He asked, taking a sip.

“‘Course, Freddie,” you said curtly, heading toward the register as fast as possible. “So what time do we open?”

“Nine,” George said, taking another gulp of his drink.

George glanced at his brother and then back at you, feeling a weird sense that you two were angry at each other.

“Everything alright?” George asked, watching as you busied yourself with wiping the counter down.

“Yes, dear,” you sighed.

“Hey, don’t forget. Ron and Hermione’s New Year’s Eve party is tomorrow, and the three of us are expected to make an appearance.”

George was next to you now, close behind your shoulder. You had made the amateur mistake of wearing a v-neck top. He noticed a small lovebite just above your breast. Or was it a bruise? Surely, it must have been, because you hadn’t been intimate with him in weeks. You did have a tendency to be clumsy. In fact, it was a running joke.

���I know,” you and Fred said in unison. You looked over to see George staring at your chest. You pulled your top-up a bit, hoping he was just enamored with you.

[no-whump-on-main]

Apartment 307-10 (Tears of Fear)

TWs: Like the last, this is a very heavy chapter. Overall TW for gore and graphic descriptions of the breaking and dislocation of bones. You are welcome to DM me for a chapter summary if this one isn’t your thing!

Elora wasn’t somewhere familiar when she awoke.

She didn’t open her eyes to yellowing tile and fluorescent light, but to a messy bedroom, with an unmade bed and beer cans scattered across the floor. Chains didn’t hold her to the faucet of a bathtub, rather, ropes bound her securely to an office chair. Each of her wrists were tied to the arms of the chair, though the right was much looser than the left. Mercy. Her hand was throbbing horribly enough on its own-she didn’t need the additional pressure of tight ropes. She wouldn’t dare move it even if it weren’t secured, too afraid she’d injure it further. Her chest was bound to the back of the chair and her right leg was tied to a bottom leg, but the left one was free. Why did he leave it free? She wriggled to test the ropes, but there was no hope of slipping out of them.

She tried to be as quiet as she could; if he didn’t know she was awake, he wouldn’t come in and hurt her. In the first few days, she’d always wake up screaming and thrashing, demanding her freedom-but now, she just wanted him to stay away. She was in so much pain between the throbbing of her hand, which was starting to swell and turn purple, and the aching of her head, she didn’t know if she could handle anything more without crumbling entirely. And this seemed awfully sinister; nothing good was going to come from her being tied up in an unfamiliar room.

As much as she tried to silence herself, she couldn’t help but let a few groans escape her lips when sudden waves of pain or nausea hit her. She never knew when they’d come, but when they did, it was awful; her hand would suddenly start feeling like it’d implode, and her stomach twisted in knots, all at random intervals. The man must have heard one of her pained cries, because a few moments later, he waltzed into the room, a menacing look in his eyes and the familiar mallet looking heavy in his hands.

Her expression fell immediately as she began to shake her head rapidly. Her heart was hammering inside her chest; out of everything he’d done, all of the pain he’d caused her, she’d take anything over the agony of her bones being smashed to pieces by the heavy tool. She didn’t know if she could take any more hits on her hand- it looked sickening enough as it was-but what else could he want from her?

Her leg. Her free leg. He didn’t make a mistake. It was untied for a reason. He broke her fingers for stealing, he’d-for running-he would-

Tears began to well in her eyes as she realized what was going to happen and how helpless she was to it all. She was terrified, her vision blurring with tears of pure fear as he started walking towards her.

“I’m sorry,” she told him. He didn’t stop advancing. “I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry, I learned, you don’t have to-“

She felt a rough-skinned finger at her lips and let out a weak, broken sob, tears falling down her face and dripping on his hand.

“How could you possibly have learned? I didn’t punish you for running. Only for stealing.” The man’s voice was matter-of-fact, showing little sympathy for her plight. Fear so potent it made her chest feel tight ran through Elora as she continued to shake her head, breathing unevenly. Her hand hurt so badly. So, so badly already. But her ankle? That was bigger-that would be-he’d have to do more-hit it harder-

She began to cry even more, wailing, not holding on to even a shred of dignity in her terror. “Please. Please, it hurts. I can’t-I learned-I can’t do-again-“ her words were choppy as she inhaled and sobbed between each one, desperately pleading for her safety. “I’m scared,” she whispered, her shoulders shaking as she cried.

The man paused for a moment, like he was thinking. She started to let relief seep into her, but then he uttered one word that made her go stone cold.

“Good.”

He spun the chair around, so she was facing the wall and an old wooden desk. Elora began to scream, but he ignored her as if he couldn’t hear her, going scarily calm like he did when he broke her fingers. He ducked beneath the chair and pulled the lever to lift it up high, until her hips were almost level with the desk. At that point, he reached for her free leg. She kicked it wildly, trying to escape his grasp, even managing to nail him in the chin at one point. The terrifying glare and intimidating don’t that came after stopped her in clear her tracks, long enough for him to grab her leg with a tight grip.

“You don’t have to,” she pleaded as he set her left foot on the desk. “I learned. I know-I won’t try it again. Ever. I promise.” She was lying through her teeth, but god, she’d do anything to save herself.

“I don’t give a shit,” he replied coolly, standing at her side and lining up the mallet with her ankle. He lifted it up above his head and Elora squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for a world of pain.

But nothing could have prepared her. Not any deep breaths, not any shut eyes, not even knowing the agony from her hand. The pain was explosive even from the first strike as the man brought the mallet down with as much force as it seemed was humanly possible. And her ankle, of course, was much less fragile than her fingers-it would take much more force to shatter it, more hits, more pain-none of which she was equipped to handle.

She screamed even with the first hit, dissolving into hiccuping sobs. “You d-don’t have to,” she pleaded, making the man stop for just a moment, staring intently at her. His gaze felt like fire and she wanted nothing more than to dissolve into the floor and never come back..

“Yes, I do,” he chided firmly. “Shut up.”

Her words must have had the opposite effect of what she wanted, because the second strike felt even more violent, as did the third and fourth as he picked up the pace, with little care for her ear-piercing screams and fervent thrashing. At first, the bones merely fractured, but with each strike they splintered and cracked further until sharp shards of bone poked dangerously close to the surface of her skin. And like the last time, the man seemed barely cognizant of what he was doing-he just kept going, with absolutely no awareness of her reactions.

Her vision was beginning to blur and darken as time went on and the pain continued to skyrocket with every hit, her mind spinning as the brutality of it all was just too much for her to handle. Just when she thought she might pass out, a loud crack resounded through the room. At first, she feared the worst, thinking it had been the sound of one of her own bones breaking. But when she blinked the floaters out of her vision and grounded herself, looking ahead, she saw that the desk had begun to split and splinter from the mere force of the mallet coming down on it. It was thick-it looked sturdy, but even the wood couldn’t withstand the force of the missed strikes of the mallet. The man, of course, paid no attention, continuing to strike at her mangled ankle.

He hit her again and again, missing her ankle half of the time in his daze until the desk finally gave out, the wooden surface simply splitting in half and caving in with an even louder crack. Her leg fell in an instant and her butchered ankle hit the floor with so much force from the sudden drop that the shattered bones slipped out of the joint, leaving it now both badly broken and dislocated.

Elora couldn’t even scream as the horrific pain exploded all up and down her leg. The noise that came from her throat sounded like inhuman-she let out a strangled, animalistic gasp as all the air pushed out of her lungs with the force. Her vision instantly blackened to the point of total darkness with the intense pain, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as her body went limp and lax against the ropes binding her to the chair. The man must have realized the gravity of the situation-his mistake- at that point, because in an instant, she heard the mallet hit the floor and felt rough hands against her face, grabbing and stabilizing her head from either side.

“Hey now,” she heard his voice call. “Alright, all done. Wake up.”

But she didn't. Her hearing, too, slipped, as she let her eyelids shut, not unconscious but not quite awake, either. She was swimming in blackness, the pain so immense it was too much to bear. She was relieved to finally just rest, but moments later, she felt cold water splash across her face and run down her chest, soaking her shirt. She shivered and her eyes opened, seeing the man standing in front of the broken desk, staring down at her like some kind of giant.

“Welcome back,” he grumbled. “Come on, now, we’re done. It’s over.”

Elora looked up at him, making eye contact for all but a moment before her chin dropped down and she brokenly sobbed. She trembled, shutting her eyes tightly as bitter terror ran through her veins.

The man sighed heavily and she felt the ropes around her chest loosen. They fell to the floor and she slumped forward, but he was there in an instant to catch her, supporting her with his shoulder as he turned to the side to untie the ropes around her wrists. She wanted to move away from him, a faint feeling of disgust clouding her mind as her body rested against his, but she was too exhausted, too drunk on pain and fear to do anything about it.

“Almost done,” he muttered, crouching down to untie her left leg. She bitterly thought that she should kick him again, but she didn’t have the energy to even move her leg. She didn’t protest as he lifted her out of the chair, lifting her over a shoulder before carrying her to the bed. He set her down with a surprising amount of caution, careful to support her head and not jostle her hand or her ankle on the way down. Elora was only dimly aware of what was going on, lost to the pain as he tucked the blankets around her and slipped a pillow underneath her head.

She wanted to be comforted by the bed-she hadn’t slept anywhere comfortable in a week, it should have felt like sweet relief-but she couldn’t. Something felt so viscerally wrong-the bed smelled like cigarettes and old sweat, the sheets were scratchy, and she could feel his gaze on her. It didn’t feel right. And something about the fact that it wasn’t just a bed, but his, sparked a fear so potent she was afraid to even sleep.

But he didn’t join her, rather settling down on the floor beside her with his back against the wall.

“I wish it didn’t have to be this way,” he said. “I really do. But you never learn. That’s the problem with you, Elora. I keep trying to reach you better, but you never learn.”

She felt a lump form in her throat. There were so many things she wanted to say, so much anger, so much hate, but she knew stepping out of line was the last thing she should do.

“I know,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

She wasn’t really sorry.

“If you just did what I asked, it wouldn’t be this way.”

She thought about that for a moment, but in the end, she knew he was lying. This wasn’t about her. It never had been. It was always about him. She stayed silent.

“If you can’t learn not to steal, not to run yourself, I just have to take away the option. That’s how it is.”

Elora turned on her side and curled up into a tight ball, facing away from him. “Stop,” she mumbled. Her voice and her eyes were teary.

“It’s been a hard day, hasn't it?” the man asked, getting up from the ground to sit beside her on the bed. She cringed as his hands began to comb through her hair, painfully catching on knots several times before he sighed and gave up on the endeavor.

“You should clean yourself up soon. Brush through your hair, get some fresh clothes. Maybe we could do that tomorrow, if you’re good.”

She shook her head. She didn’t want any of that. She just wanted to sleep.

“It’s hard now, but think about it. In a few weeks, months, you’ll be so well-behaved. We won’t have to do anything like this ever again. Look at you now. You’re already breaking and we’ve hardly done a thing. Just imagine it.”

The mere thought made Elora press her face into the pillow and bawl.

The man sighed and stood. “Alright, alright. I’ll give you some space. Get some rest.”

He left for the door and Elora heard it shut behind him as he walked off. It didn’t take long before she’d cried herself to sleep.

Tags: @exploringspaceinpyjamas @all-whumped-out

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Hey I want to ask for Levi with a fem s/o were she tries to cook for him but while doing it makes a complet mess out of the kitchen.. s/o cant cook but wanted to try for Levi :( scenario if you have time please 🌼

I'm so excited to post this, originally I would have taken another path but these past few weeks I've been thinking about this story a lot and I wanted to write an interesting take on fluff. Hope you enjoy❤️

Pairing: Levi/ Reader

Warnings: beware! F L U F F, I wouldn't say this features mentions of PTSD, but anyways it could touch a similar topic

Tags: Hurt/ Comfort, all the fluff.

The nightmare before our fifth anniversary

The devastating sight of a kitchen covered in oil, flour and unevenly chopped vegetables would be enough to make every clean freak in the world, inside or outside of the walls scream in agony but it only sent concerned shivers down to Levi's spine.

He could only feel his poor heart sink as his eyes paced around the room in a panicked state. The unpleasant smell of smoke that came from the fireplace only sent hot rushes of blood to his newly throbbing head.

In a haze, he tried to puzzle the pieces together, to figure out what had actually happened. With a quick check around the small space he was assured that all windows were indeed in perfect condition, not a single crack or scratch adorning them. In addition had been locked when he entered, a fact he was amusingly certain of.

Had this been an attack, surely the attacker must have had entered the cabin someway. The lack of blood and physical struggle around the room though, slowly put his mind at ease as he took a step at a time, heading to your shared bedroom.

Glancing around he found traces of tiny vegetable pieces, some flour -or so it seemed- and water. In many places they were mixed together, creating the weirdest mass of sticky residue; such filth was an unusual decoration to his house yet his cleaning obsession instincts refused to mingle with his thoughts just yet.

"(y/n)?" With the calling of your name he heard a saddened tune. He knew, he definitely shouldn't have felt so relieved to the sound, still your situation was unbeknownst to him, but it was a sign that you were certainly still able to make noises.

As his shaking hand reached to push the wooden door of your bedroom open, he tried to shake all horrible thoughts out of his head.

"You're home early."

His eyes widened at the sight of you, feet sprinting on their own to your direction; you sat with your back against the closet door, your hands scrunched in weak fists resting on your cheeks, just underneath your eyes, wiping rivers of tears. Worry splashed on his chest in ice cold swepts as he kneeled down beside you, taking your hand in his in the process.

It was in that moment that he noticed you were covered in flour and unevenly teeny pieces of chopped vegetables. The sight immediately put his otherwise puzzled mind at work and in a second it had clicked to him. Naturally, it all came to fit in the bigger picture, he was proved wrong on his unitial guess on this being a home invasion.

A failed attempt at cooking, that's what it was.

The way that you burried your face in the flat of your palms was as painful for him to witness as it was for you to endure. You were panicking, the sheer terror of his reaction to the mess of the house bullied the insides of your ribs by twisting and turning them, burning them to the point you had to leave pained whimpers escape you.

It was so hard for you to look him in the eye and admit what you had done. Yet, your own embarrassment wouldn't allow you to torture yourself more than what you had already.

"D-don't yell at me, Levi"

"Now, why would I?"

With an exaggerated movement, his hand came to mingle in the space under your jawline. Another sudden wave of hot salty tears threatened to spill out of the corners of your eyes as you melted under the feathery drag of his fingers across the nape of your neck.

His mellow touch was soothing and comforting; forgiving even. It made your whole body fall into serenity as you leaned your head into his palm. Your own hand came to palm under his, your chest letting out a pleased hum as your furrowed brows finally curved upwards in a relieved manner.

"There was a time I knew how to cook. Before all that." you spoke low, voice barely over a whisper as your throat threatened not to hold back the lamp of cries that had gathered at the depths of it. "All I wanted was for us to have a nice anniversary dinner Levi."

You couldn't bear to look him in the eye just yet; your heart hammered inside your chest, anxiously preventing you from ensuring another comforting antic of his to yourself despite your need for it.

You hated yourself for not being able to exceed this simple domestic mission.

"It's fine," he eagerly spoke, his tone mimicking yours "you didn't have to cook on your own. We could just go to a nice restaurant."

"No, Levi! I wanted to make you those duck stuffed eggplants that you like! Why am I so useless that I can't even cook? Seems like all I know is how to put on odm gear and kill Titans while I'm at it."

His other hand came underneath yours. After having finally trapped your hand in between his fists he dragged your mingled hands to your chest, resting them right on top of your heart. Your pulse tightened, your heart threatened to spill in gory manners from the gaps between your ribs, this action was all too familiar to you, all too traumatic for you to momentarily try to endure. It struck you, though, in between coarse breaths and a sudden realisation that plastered wide shock in your eyes that this wasn't a salute. His slow hands wouldn't let go of yours; through your chasted breathing he could feel your whimpering heartbeat, the feeling causing the hair on the back of his neck to rise.

When, at last, your eyes fell into his the silence in the room became overbearing, the familiar buzzing that emitted from such lack of sound was sending your thoughts into a haze as your chest started to pulse with an all familiar warmth.

Surely enough your head wanted to guilt trip you and maybe pester you for not being able to simply mix ingredients together, but your heart ever melting under Levi's affections was invested in its counterattack against your intoxicating brain. When he finally batted his eyes, a little too loudly at it, to prepare your ears to endure the sudden incoming words he was about to utter, you goggled at him desperately. As if you were asking for forgiveness your eyes watered again, a whole new wave of tears shaking you whole.

"Please allow me to drown those tears, we'll prepare a meal together alright? I will show you how." He whispered and crashed his body onto yours respectfully, his chin now sat at the space between your neck and your shoulder. It was a much necessary physical connection that you would never get enough. The warmth that spread from his whole body through every aspect of him that was in contact with you was enough to help you feel anew. Had you previously melted under his touch, now you felt like you were ready for be molded, your existence flickering between the consistencies of melted wax and gooey sand.

In addition to his soothing words, the achingly beautiful gesture that still sat on the left side of your chest burnt holes through your shirt and your skin. His eyes on you were gleaming as if he had ordered the outside world to come to an alt, everything in you screamed for his calloused hands to get a good grip of your heart while he was at it. It should serve him as a well deserved trophy in a solo collection, him the rightful owner of your heart could do as he pleased it so long you could feel him hold you like that.

"Could I take one hand out of our grasp to bring close to me properly?"

Your answer was inaudible, yet he manages to figure it was of positive nature due to the short nod of your head in the name of his neck. He prompted himself a few inches back, despairate not to break much contact with you and reluctantly unleashed his right hand from yours. Before you managed to protest of the prolonged departure of his body on yours though, his hand shot tenderly on your cheek, cupping the soft skin in an urging motion.

The kiss he planted on the apple of your cheek was followed by another on your eyelid, he tired to ignore the ticklish feeling caused by your lashes brushimg against his contact sensitive lips but it was to no avail, a smuh had made it to his mouth before he manages to plant a kiss on your forehead.

"I really love you Levi, I'm glad you're in my life, I say this type of things every single year but-"

Your words were cut short as soon as they had began to form, only as his lips slammed against yours. In a matter of seconds he was moving feverishly, gluttony defining his earth shattering kisses and not even for a second did you hold back in returning the actions with fiery passion.

"I don't speak of this often," out of breath, he pulled back "but I do love you, so very dearly."

Before he could process the endearing look in your eyes, you pulled him in for a kiss once again, lips trembling to meet up with your hearts expectations. If there was a way to show him how you loved him this was it, the soft mingling of each other as you bit and sucked and fought for his lips to never leave yours, pressing his head impossibly close to you.

You knew what your answer should be, a short telltale of the way he made you feel a few moments ago would serve your feelings justice before you could press your aching lips on his once again.

"You could do as you please with my heart and I'd thank you, please don't ever leave me!"

"I won't, I promise. I couldn't be able to push forward without the one who holds my own heart."

Tags: @sasageyowrites @levisbrat25 @alrightberries @nobody-knows-anymore @miss-consulting-timelord am I forgetting anyone?? Pls I'm not good with taglists

[bisexualcrowley]

Nightmares

Pairing: Lucifer x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: It’s hard to escape a nightmare when you know it’s really a memory

Content/ warnings: ANGST, ptsd, nightmares, mentions of vomit, hurt/comfort, kind of a sickfic?

Word count: 1, 311

A/N: Wrote this to try and cope with 15x18, it’s not working so far but it turns out feeling emotionally shattered really helps when writing angst

When Lucifer first showed up at your door after what felt to both of you like a lifetime apart, he was elated. He had escaped, he was safe from Crowley’s torture, you were together again and for the first time in as long as he could remember, Lucifer felt safe.

The days were full of distractions. The Winchesters snarking about your trust in him, the occasional hunt, most of all the way you were always there, a constantly encouraging and comforting presence that made it all bearable. The nights were a little different.

Lucifer didn’t know what was worse. The nightmares, or the fact that he would wake up every night knowing they were memories.

His first night back on earth, he dreamt of the cage. Thousands upon thousands of years alone, alone with the knowledge that he was despised by everyone, even his own father. He dreamt of how it felt to meet you, to finally be loved by someone they way he loved them only for it all to be ripped away. For him to fuck everything over. For him to let you down.

That first night, he awoke in a pool of sweat with bile rising in his throat, scrambling upright to retch over the side of the bed. He had barely registered the cool touch of your hand rubbing comforting circles against his back, the pounding of his heart masking the feeling of your cheek resting against his shoulder while you whispered sweet nothings into his ear.

His breathing was panicked, frantically gasping for air before another twist of his stomach had him gagging over the edge of the bed again.

When the mattress dipped down beside him, Lucifer cried out, choking on stomach acid and saliva with the feeling that his chest was being crushed, his legs thrashing out in a panicked attack until a cool washcloth was laid down against his forehead and it finally clicked in his mind that you must have gotten up, settled down again beside him.

“Deep breaths, c’mon sweetheart, I’ve got you, you’re safe”

Your voice seemed miles away, a distorted murmur behind the choked rattle in his lungs, the far-too-fast pounding of his heart in his ears, but it was yours, and Lucifer felt a slight sense of calm wash over him.

You spoke again, but this time Lucifer didn’t hear your words, just the sound of your voice, full of love and concern and drowning out the screaming in his mind. When your hand slipped up slightly so that your fingers would brush against his forehead overtop of the washcloth, Lucifer instinctively leaned into your touch, his choked coughs calming enough that he could take in a full breath of air.

He felt you shift closer, dropping the now warm cloth onto the floor, beside what Lucifer had calmed enough to feel a twinge of guilt towards the mess he had made, but the thought drifted from his mind when he felt your fingers comb through his hair, brushing back the pieces that has been plastered to his forehead with sweat.

Lost in the feeling, it took him a moment to realize you were talking again, but once more your words were lost behind the slowly quieting hammer of his heart. Lucifer figured you could tell he wasn’t fully processing what you had to say, but you continued on nonetheless, your voice a comforting lull inside his mind

It wasn’t until Lucifer felt something cold tap at his fingers that he realized his eyes were squeezed shut, and immediately he snapped them open, half expecting to find himself back in Hell with Crowley holding an archangel blade to his wrist but instead being met with your worried eyes reflecting the dim light glowing from the bathroom, and a glance downward showed your fingers curled around a glass of water.

Taking the hint when you bumped the glass against his hand again, Lucifer took it with trembling fingers and allowed your own to wrap around his and lead the glass to his mouth.

He was thirsty. That was an understatement, he was absolutely desperate for water, but could only manage a small sip of the cool liquid before a sob was ripped from his throat and the glass fell from his hand, luckily not dropped by you.

Lucifer was calm now. He was supposed to be calm, he wasn’t dreaming anymore, he wasn’t scared, the pain was gone and you weren’t leaving, so why the hell wasn’t he calm

Lucifer tried to hug his knees to his chest, tried to bury his face against them but found himself led into your arms instead, and if he thought he was crying before, that was nothing, because the moment he pressed the side of his face into your collarbone, he lost it.

The Archangel’s body shook as he was wracked with sobs, arms tight around your waist as each shuddering cry was torn from his lips.

He didn’t know how long the two of you stayed like that, with his head tucked beneath your chin and arms slung around each other while he cried. Didn’t know when his sobs turned to wails, then to silent tears.

He didn’t know when he had moved closer, curled himself up in your arms. Didn’t know when you had tucked a blanket around his trembling form.

When the world did start to come into focus, the first thing that Lucifer recognized was your voice. Soft murmurs against his skin between kisses you pressed to his cheeks, his eyelids, the tip of his nose. Anywhere you could reach you would leave soft kisses, and the unfiltered, unabashed love exuding from everything you did gave Lucifer the strength to open his eyes.

Meeting your gaze, without a thought he drew his hand upward suddenly, sighing at the feeling of his fingers brushing against your jaw as his head swam with a newfound burst of emotion.

“I-” His voice was ragged, catching on the syllable he managed to spit out. There was so much he wanted to say. So much he wanted to tell you, he wanted to thank you for, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“Shhhh, sweetheart, you don’t have to talk about it. You don’t have to apologize. It’s ok, everything’s ok. You’re safe,” You whispered with a loving smile, gently adjusting yourself so you could cup Lucifer’s face in your hands, run your thumbs down his cheekbones.

He tried to smile. Tried to at least manage a twitch upward of his lips, but it was too much, and he felt hot tears welling in his eyes again.

“I love you, you know that, right? I’m not going anywhere, you don’t have to worry, it takes more than a nightmare to scare me off. I’m here for you, through everything. I promise. C’mon, let’s go get you cleaned up”

Lucifer fought the urge to squeeze his eyes shut, to shut himself away from the world, until he felt you press your lips to his forehead again. He wasn’t used to feeling so loved. He wasn’t used to being loved at all, actually. This was new, unnatural, but it felt so right, and he let that guide him, giving you a slow nod and leaning his face into your hands again.

He knew the nightmares would be back. Knew the next night would be just as terrible. But in this moment, with you, he didn’t understand why, but he believed your words. Everything was going to be ok

-

Tags, let me know if you want to be added :) // @frog-tiddies​ @cursedbobs​

[twinkleton]

first glance - douxie x reader fic

Hey! So, I couldn't sleep last and decided to spend my evening writing a douxie imagine because I can't get enough of him and wanted to contribute in some small way. Please bear with me, as I havent the slightest clue how any of this works, and I haven't written anything since 7th grade :')).

this is about the reader and douxie meeting for the first time! enjoy!

In hindsight, maybe she should’ve gone straight home. Anyone would’ve told her not to follow the strange grunting noises she heard coming from deep within the forested area of Arcadia. However, Y/N was never one to pass up a chance at helping someone. So, she hid her purse in the nearest bush, took out her only choice of weapon, pepper spray, and dashed towards the noise.

As she ran closer and closer, she could hear a man’s voice repeating strange words that definitely weren’t English. She could also hear a voice that definitely didn’t sound human. Still, if someone was in trouble, she had to be there. It was a reflex that she always assumed would lead her to her demise. The deeper she went, the more concerned she became at how she would even find her way back once she found whoever she was looking for. There was no one nearby to help, so if she had just put herself in a life-threatening situation, there would be no hope for her.

All thoughts came to an end as soon as she came to a sudden halt in her step. She honestly hadn’t a clue as to what she was witnessing. Instinctively, she ran behind a tree and took a second glance.

What she saw was a tall and slim man, dressed in dark clothing with hair and sweat cascading down his face, fighting a monster whilst surrounded by piles of broken stone. It was insanely large compared to the man, with skin that looked identical to rock except for carvings that seemed the glow within. The monster swung the hammer in it’s hand towards the man, but he jumped back in time to dodge it. “Tenebris Exilium!” he shouted, and suddenly a blast of blue light came from his hands and shot at the creature. It knocked it off its feet, throwing him into a nearby tree and slamming its back against it.

Y/N observed the man closer and noticed how heavy he was breathing. He was also clutching his side in pain. ‘He must have been fighting for a while’, she thought. As she concluded this, the creature stood up and charged at the man. He threw himself to the floor, rolling off to the side. This must’ve been the monster’s plan, as it jumped up and landed right on top of him. The creature brought his hammer down, aimed at the man’s head. Using only his left arm, which is seemingly supported by a unique looking bracelet, he blocks the attack.

This begins a battle of strength between the two, however it’s the creature who has the upper hand. ‘I have to do something,’ Y/N reasoned.

She searched her surroundings, looking for anything that might be of use. Nothing, aside from a few stones and sticks on the ground. With what seemed to be no other option, she grabbed what appeared to be the heaviest rock she could carry, and emerged from her hiding spot.

Gathering her courage, Y/N raised her hand and threw the rock as hard as she could at the monster’s head. “Hey! Get off him!” she yelled. The rock rather pathetically bounced off it’s head, but it did want what she wanted it to do. It switched its attention towards her. The sinking feeling of fear hit her once it locked eyes with her. She felt glued to the ground; unable to move.

“Get away from here!” the man shouted from underneath the creature. He had no idea where this girl had come from, but she didn’t know what she was getting herself into. Immediately, her safety became his priority. The creature stood up, eyes focused on the girl.

“What on Earth is that thing?!” Y/N cried out. Her heart was pounding, harder than she’d ever felt.

“It’s a Gumm-Gumm. Something far, far too complicated to explain at this current time. But you need to run now!”

Running in her mind was deemed the most impossible task to accomplish. There was also the concern she had for this man she’s only just now met. The Gumm-Gumm took advantage of her hesitance and sprinted towards her.

“No!” the man shouts out. He jumps up from the ground only to be knocked down by the pain in his side again. “Run! Run!” His cries are not reaching her.

At this point, the Gumm-Gumm is standing right in front of Y/N. It grabs her by the waist and yanks her up towards its face. She can hear the man’s shouts distantly, however they are drowned out by her thoughts. ‘I was right’ ‘This is it for me’ Her only regret was that all she thought bringing only pepper spray would be enough--wait.

Her pepper spray. The thing she’s been clutching this whole time.

Wasting not a second more, she raised her hand towards the Gumm-Gumm’s face and sprayed seemingly half of the bottle. The creature cried out in pain and immediately dropped her. She fell to the ground, taking the chance to back away. Getting his fifth wind of the night, the man got up on his feet and wasted no time, charged up a spell, and blasted the Gumm-Gumm. This caused the creature to turn to stone, actual stone, and immediately shattered into pieces identical to those already surrounding them.

Neither of them spoke for a solid minute; the only sounds coming from them being their breathing. Y/N was still trying to comprehend what just happened. She had the notion that she would be helping someone who was getting jumped, or assaulted, not helping someone kill a...Gumm-Gumm?

“Are..are you alright?” she asked. She walked closer to him. Upon further inspection, this man looked like he could be in his late teen years. He was also--very attractive.

“Don’t worry about me, are you okay? I apologize for not helping you. The fourth Gumm-Gumm rammed into my side and I-I just couldn’t get up-”

Y/N put a hand on his shoulder, “Hey-hey it’s okay. You did all you could. You still saved me from it.”

He gave her a small chuckle, “Actually, I think it’s you who saved me. If you hadn’t distracted him I would’ve been a goner.”

She smiled at him and said, “We saved each other.”

“Ha, yeah we did.”

They locked eyes with each other, seemingly entranced by each other’s charm. Then, everything from the past few moments caught up with Y/N. “I’m sorry, I’ve seemed to have forgotten the fact that I was almost just killed by a Gunn-Gunn-”

“Gumm-Gumm”

“Thank you, Gumm-Gumm, and you blasted it with some blue sparkly light-”

“Magic”

“...Did you just say magic?”

This made him laugh, wincing a little from the pain. “Right, I’m sure you have many questions, but trust me. The more you know about this the worse off you’ll be so be allow me to make this go away for you.” He raised his hands, apparently getting ready to do a spell.

“Wait! You can’t!” Y/N exclaimed. The past hour has made entirely no sense to her, but somehow she wanted to stay involved. It could’ve been insanity, or maybe she just really wanted to know more about him, find out how to help him. Either way, she needed to know.

“Why not?” he stopped, hands still in the air. Trust him, he didn’t want to put her to sleep and have her wake up in her room with all of this seemingly a dream either. She intrigued him. She seemed kind, a rare selflessness he hadn’t expected from someone who was just thrusted into peril and world-shattering threats with no warning whatsoever. Plus, she was very beautiful. But, someone like her deserves a normal life. Free from danger like what he and his friends have to face.

“Because..because you’re hurt! I can’t very well leave you by yourself. Please, at least let me bring you to my place. I’ll patch you up and then I’ll pretend this night never happened.” She extended her hand towards him.

Against all better judgement, against Merlin’s voice ringing in ear about how terrible of an idea this was, he thought, ‘why not’.

“You’re very persuasive, do you realize that?” he asked with a cheeky smirk.

“I did get a lot of A’s on my persuasive writing in high school,” she joked. Both of them laughed softly. He took her hand. Her hand was very soft compared to his rough and calloused hand. She didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m Y/N,” she said as she pulled his arm over her shoulders, moving her hand to support him at his side.

“Hisirdoux, but you can call me Douxie.”

“Lovely to meet you, Douxie,” she gave him a warm smile.

“Same to you, Y/N” he offered the same grin.

Together, they walked out of the forest, side by side. Little did they know that they would never be apart from each other after that night.

[cutegirlmayra]

Oh I read one of your dark sonamy prompts a while ago where Amy dies and it leads to a future where Sonic turns bad. Is it possible you could continue that prompt by showing Sonic's decent into madness upon realizing Amy's gone?

So I have Amy die a few times lololol but let’s see, I think you mean this one (x) and not this one (x) where it’s implied she and the rest of Sonic’s friends have died. Ya’ll and your angst feels needs So anyway, this should be fun! :D

(The original artist x is @strawberryminto, please support her!)

It’s time for NOOOOOPPPEEEE

Prompt:

In the future that had been changed... in order to understand the demented tragedy of the downfall of a hero’s peak... we must first traverse the universe back to before Silver’s interference...

Back to when...

She couldn’t be saved.

T-MINUS 50 SECONDS

“Sonic! Stop!”

Amy’s cries echo the underground cavern walls as the radioactive magma continued to boil. He could feel the heat on his face as he kept going, never daring to give up on a friend.

“Grr…!!!” He continued to pull on them, homing attack to maybe shred a bit of resistance, but the sparks only gave off a faint struggle against him. Nothing was working, and Sonic began to see Amy’s hopeless demeanor, the wear in her eyes, and his mind began to wonder what awful setup they put her through to capture her.

So what if Eggman was being mind-controlled?! He would deal with that bozo once Amy was okay.

‘And she would be okay... she had to be okay...’

He was so lost in his thoughts as he tried to keep calm, but it was clear from his hurried efforts and sweat from the heat that this wouldn’t be enough... He stopped only a moment to stare down at her, panting before gritting his teeth.

She was helpless... chained and beaten down into this cage...

“Sonic...” she had seen his gaze, “Sonic, it’s not gonna budge!” she urged him to save himself, but he couldn’t even fathom that.

His mind was stuck on each bruise that showed through where the quills weren’t able to hide... his fur grew blacker in blinks as he kept thinking of each hit that must have worn her out to this pitiful state... her eyes... so full of something he still couldn’t quite grasp.

35

She could barely look over at the counter, taking her beautiful, longing eyes off of him to see her doom ahead... 25…24…23…

‘No... No!’ he banged against the cage again, ‘Don’t give up, Amy. It’s me, Sonic! I won’t let you-!’ he couldn’t even think of the possibility of failing her, but with each sound of the timer, he turned more aggressive and animistic to try and get her out.

All those robots he happily trumped over, thinking it would be just a typical adventure, another walk through memory lane... 

Then he saw it, with a double-take, her eyes...

Began to cry.

“Sonic!” she lunged forward with what looked like the last of her strength, gripping the cage as though this was her last chance to get through to him.

His eyes must have frightened her, but he wasn’t aware of how his fur was shifting so frequently between dark blue and his normal shade...

He slumped against the cage, realizing her faith in him that he thought would never cease had finally given way... and he couldn’t stop staring at her. At the girl who was letting this happen..!!!

‘Without the Chaos Emeralds… I-...’ Sonic knew the situation was desperate now, Amy couldn’t save herself and he didn’t have the power to break the cage open. This wasn’t a game... this-!

“…Sonic…” Captured by her look, he was frozen a moment in it. Was this... love?

As though as carefully as a fairy, she gently slid her fingers through the small slits between the cage... but the clanking of the chain paused her from being able to fully reach him. Her bracelets blocked the rest of her hand from being able to squeeze through, but she was reaching for him... And he wanted so desperately to take away that fear and longing in her eyes.

‘I’ll hold you.’ He told himself, but couldn’t move. She slowly lifted the hand up the cage to place it in front of his eye and slide it down to cup his cheek. ‘I’ll make sure to dry your tears, you have nothing to fear... why can’t I say this? Why can’t I-?!’

“I can’t let you die in vain.” In defiance of his denial, she suddenly pushed his face away. “Sonic! Sonic, you need to live! You need to free Eggman! Save and preserve this world from that man’s mind control! And Sonic… Oh, Sonic…” 

‘Amy..!!!’ he shoved his face back into the cage, trying to get as close to her as he could, gripping the bars up, as though believing his normal strength could keep them up by him...

As though a tender goodbye... Amy took one last, courageous breath.

Something in him broke.

“Always remember… I loved you more than life itself.”

His eyes widened, as though her hammer had swung and broken every fragile belief of happy endings he had ever conceived in his mind.

Like shattered planes of glass all lined up together, and having the swinging hammer rotate and smash through them all in slow-motion... the dawning of what was about to happened began to sink in.

‘No... NOOOO..!!!!’ his eyes widened, ‘Amy!!!’ he couldn’t speak, his throat felt constricted and his chest tightened.

His form burst with his emotional state, fully converting him as he was about to grab her and if the cage went down... so would the captain and his ship, so to speak.

A true Romeo... as the mind-controlling man had said.

However, Juliet was more than worth it.

He’d have rather died with her that day than live in the reality that was yet to come...

But arms flung over him, gripping him back into life but not into any comfort.

“No.. No!!” he finally found a voice when he heard the counter begin to fall to the single digit numbers. He tried to throw the hands off, not even hearing what they were saying or noticing who they were as he watched the last of Amy’s hope... her sigh of relief that he was able to live, and her continual crying at knowing she couldn’t come with him.

Then, as though an even greater blow to his heart, she withdrew to the back of the cage, making sure that even if he broke free and returned to her side... he’d still be unable to reach her.

She breathed heavier... knowing what was to come before ducking her head in her clinging arms to the bars, and crooking her neck to shut her eyes at the next, hopefully painless second.

“AMMMYY!!!”

She suddenly shoved herself against the cage, as finally the dark chaos power blasted even more, seeing that not only was she seeing this as the end, making it even more impossible for him to keep trying to save her, but also making the outcome happen that much faster.

She was giving him no hope, and that wasn’t Amy... it wasn’t like her!

5....

“AMYYY!!!” Sonic’s darkness began to spread out like a pulsing aura, almost freeing him to die alongside her but then a powerful blow slammed into the back of his neck.

Seeing the blackness consuming his eyes... Something hoisting him up and forcing him away from a decision he had already made... he heard the last strands of his heart give way.

The image of Amy... falling slowly off the edge of the radioactive magma pool below the underground cavern...

3….2…..1….

He heard no explosion. In fact, the first thing he saw when he awoke was Tails and Knuckles standing over him. “Ugh...” He clutched his head, feeling a massive headache... and something else... what else was there?

“A…Amy?” he looked around, but...

In a wild spin, he was up with the weightlessness of the wind like a tornado, spiraling to land on his feet and panicking, called for her again. “Amy? Amy!? AMMYY!!!”

“SONIC!!!”

Sonic turned around.

Tails had been knocked down along with Knuckles, but Knuckles got up first and helped Tails to his feet next.

They both looked so sorrowful... so afraid.

Sonic slowly turned his eyes to them, focusing on their expressions.

“Where is she?”

They remained silent, breathing as quietly as they could as though not sure what to say first.

Knuckles turned his head away, “Sonic... We couldn’t...”

“She... Oh, Amy!” Tails covered his eyes, unable to control his emotions and began crying profusely, sobbing loudly.

Knuckles kept a hand on Tails’s shoulder, but looked off behind him, standing upright with his head towards Angel Island. “There was nothing we could do... We... We have to stop Eggman...” Knuckles was unaware of the mind-control situation, but his shoulders bounced and his voice cracked as it was clear he was starting to sincerely cry as well.

Even he couldn’t remain strong in this mess.

Sonic’s face seemed to break, his anger was replaced with an empty look of horror as he stumbled quickly over to a tree, using it to hold himself upright. “No...” his mind raced back to her expression, longing for him to save her, losing the faith that he could... “Amy...” He gripped the eye that she had skimmed, then grabbed his quills in his anguish and tugged on them, causing physical pain to himself.

“NOOOO!!!!!!” His form shifted to black fur, his eyes bursting white. “SHE CAN’T BE GONE. I’LL SAVE HER.”

Tails and Knuckles slightly looked passed their own heartbroken states to look towards him, having heard of that form before but never truly seeing it.

He slammed his fists repeatedly into the ground, causing it to crumble away as he rose a bit in the air with each powerful hit, as though his power was so immense in his fury and grief that at one point, his fist couldn’t reach the falling ground beneath him.

He was going to let himself fall, but Knuckles flew out and grabbed him, pulling him back. “We didn’t save you to make her sacrifice be in vain!” Knuckles knew he had to get Sonic together, even if he wasn’t himself. He landed and shook him up as Sonic’s eyes returned to him and his fur turned a darker blue.

“Let’s just take down that guy and find a way to get the Chaos Emeralds! I’m sure-! I’m sure there’s a way to-!” Tails got up too, bundling his fists but then losing hope and falling back to his knees again, “I failed too... I failed her!” he began crying again.

Through the efforts of Knuckles, Tails and Sonic were able to compile themselves enough to get back up and fight another day...

However... When Sonic and the Mind-controller were alone... Sonic shifted and held the Mind-controller over his own experimental, chemically enhanced magma fuel by his throat.

As he struggled, Dark Sonic’s eyes remained expressionless, before speaking the unthinkable. “I’d like to find out... if there’s a way someone could survive your concoction.”

The man’s eyes shrunk in fear, “You wouldn’t do that... you’re a hero!”

“...Once.”

Sonic never took his eyes off his released hand. He heard the cry and the shrieks from being melted down almost instantly, but his hand remained up and loosened... He didn’t even look down... but lowered his hand and waited to see if even the creator of this death could save himself.

When Tails came in with the Eggman machine to cool the magma from never hurting anyone else, Sonic walked along it, looking for any sign of life.

They all spoke: Eggman, Knuckles, and Tails while Sonic tuned them out, searching for anything...

There was a piece of magma that looked like gold was melted... two blotches... and his knees fell when he realized... Her bracelets...

He breathed hard, as though something was constricting his chest and trying to stop his heart.

“Sonic?” Tails turned to see his panic attack, and quickly called Knuckles to help him.

Sonic was pulled away from the spot,... and thankfully... Tails and Knuckles didn’t see what had triggered him.

Sonic, in his depression and after the attack, was so drained of life that he slept for 3 days straight... Waking up in Vanilla and Cream’s home, he wouldn’t eat anything, and wouldn’t even smile to Cream...

To avoid being rude, he told Cream he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, and patted her head as he walked out.

Wandering through the forest, he ignored the constant calls from Tails, asking him when he was ready to go hunt down the Mind-controller, seeing as he was no where to be found...

But Sonic had a different mission.

Eggman’s paranoia caused him to start right away on the elite, defensive robots and base improvements, but he wouldn’t be able to move fast enough...

While Sonic walked towards Eggman’s base, his expression dead-set on a dark revenge... he suddenly stopped as something like a screeching tire cracked in his ear and mentally paused everything he was doing.

His weary eye turned to the forest trees... seeing faint mirages of a red dress, hearing familiar giggling that would blur and sweep from his eyes like flickers off of water.

“Amy..?” He was almost in a dream-like state, trying to follow the imaginary sounds of laughter and fleeting sight of the dress spinning out of view as though his eyes couldn’t catch it in time.

He kept following it, growing in speed as he didn’t realize his whole being had turned blood dark black... and his eye sockets as glowing white as the moon...

He came upon a city as the voice suddenly cried out in pain.

“AMY!?” he cried out, rushing into the city as the car’s lights seemed to flash and blind him in his hysteria.

He felt so desperate... “I’m... I’m lonely.” he thought that might pull her out from hiding, the flickers of her intensified and lead him into traffic, as he spun around in circles trying to catch her... his head turning which way and westward in a hope to spot her.

“Why are you playing around with me like this!? Stop it!” he sent a blast of dark chaos power towards a building, people who once were in awe at spotting him so far into the public were suddenly shrieking out in fright.

As the large building collapsed, Sonic flung around to it, shocked by the fires that started from it. “Amy... I knew I didn’t fail you...” He saw her through the fires, and almost like a zombie, began to walk towards them. “I knew... I knew you’d make it out safely...” He stumbled into the fires, grunting out at the pain of their heat but kept crawling through them, the smoke making out her figure with the flickers of red and white from her dress...

“Save me!” her voice seemed to cry out in his mind as he reached for her. “Sonic, I’m scared! Come find me!”

“I am... I’m right here...” He was slowly succumbing to the lack of oxygen before a crane lowered down and scooped him out of the flames. He went limp in the construction machine’s grasp.

His weary, delusional gaze looked down to see Amy in the cage, smiling up at him. She outstretched her arms.

“...I miss you...” He cried, fainting then in the clasp of the machine...

He slept for several more days, but that wasn’t the last time he destroyed something... soon it was cities, as though Amy’s image was playing hide and seek with him. He never noticed the thousands of people frightfully fleeing him, only the flames that seemed to hold her image in them.

He became obsessed with destruction, for it was only in those flames that he thought he could see her again, and would try to pull her out or even join her in them.

Tails finally suggested maybe the Chaos Emeralds, hoping to stop Sonic’s rising pyromaniac tendencies and self-suicidal attempts by walking in the flames...

However, Knuckles stated that without a body... it was impossible.

But this didn’t stop Sonic... he brought back Chaos... threatening him to revive Amy which was not something a God of Destruction could do... and obliterated Chaos...

In terror at what Sonic had done, Knuckles tried to stop him, and was caught up in Sonic’s insanity and destroyed.

On his way to Eggman, Tails tried to reason with him and plea for his friend back... but when he mentioned that there was nothing that could be done about Amy, and to let her go, and that this image he kept following after wasn’t her... he was destroyed along the path to Eggman.

Shadow was harshly wounded when he finally stood face to face with Sonic, but by then, Sonic had already destroyed Eggman’s base... him inside it... cowering at how far-gone Sonic had become.

“You’re a murderer!” Shadow cried out, gripping his half-blasted arm that had flesh starting to show due to its damages... and half his stomach’s side was badly injured from just the battle alone.

Sonic was fully unable to speak now, his darkness having taken over all assets of himself.

“You refuse to believe she’s gone forever... You destroyed Chaos after finding out that without a body to channel his power through, it was pointless to try and bring back a soul through any other means!” Shadow gripped his other, healthier fist... unable to use Chaos powers anymore due to Chaos’s absence, the Chaos Emeralds and Master Emerald were useless in trying to stop Sonic now!

“You refuse to let her go, so you destroy the rest of the world with her!? You don’t think I know what that’s like?!” He rose back onto his feet, as Sonic’s ghostly black form watched him... no expression.

“She saved me once... I know she can’t be here to save you, but her words may... I must fulfill my promise... my debt to her. She saved me from becoming you!” he summoned all his strength, “I know that people fight over the most trivial things. Some people may be selfish,... But they're basically good. If they try their best and never give up on their wishes... They always have a reason to be happy. That's why you should help them out... Saving them is a good thing!” He repeated her words to him.

Dark Sonic’s eyes turned to a imaginary flicker of Amy’s dress... and as he turned to pursue it... Shadow spoke and stopped him again.

“You look for her... don’t you?”

He tilted his head down.

“You can’t make out reality anymore... I look for Maria too.” He closed his eyes, feeling the pain of admitting that. “But I know she can’t be returned to me. I know that Amy would be mortified to see what you’ve become! You forsook your own friends!” he swiped out his hand, falling back to a knee in his injuries. “Ugh... hah... hah... you won’t destroy me... I’m the Ultimate Lifeform... but ... you came pretty close.” he retreated, dashing away as Sonic turned to a new voice...

“I need your help.” The false Amy peeked as though a blur out from a tree, his entire world like a sketchy blur of jagged lines. “Hehe~ Sonic..! Where are you..?”

He began to walk towards the ghost of his memories... sending a fire in their wake.

[salt-warrior]

WHEN EARTH TURNS TO ASHES

Masterlist

Chapter Two: Angel of Hell

The crisp happy music thrummed in a chirpy harmony through Kai's ears. A smile lit his face as he opened his eyes and gently turned off his alarm clock. The smile remained as he turned on his favorite rock playlist and practically danced around his shared apartment, and allowing his hips to sway to the music. He even managed to smile as he read the morning news off his phone and ate his favorite breakfast of Cocoa Puffs.

It's not as though Kaito Crown was always happy; he just normally was. He loved going to school at the nearby university. He had aced all his business classes, due to the fact he had been trained since birth to overtake Beijing Empire. He was close with his dad and loved working with him. His life was great— no, it was perfect.

Kai had been raised in wealth; his father was the most proclaimed business man throughout the entire world. His mother had been a fashion icon that outshone all others. Kai himself was loved and known by everyone. The fact that he was smart and handsome didn't help his case.

A moan escaped the nearby room, and Kai laughed as he watched his best friend stumble out of his room and into the kitchen. Kai had known Carswell Thorne since they were in the first grade. Both came from well known families and had attended the same private academy in California.

"Did you rest well, Sleeping Beauty?" Kai raised an eyebrow. Thorne threw a laser beam glare back.

"Have you ever considered turning the music down? It's only seven in the morning for stars sake, and not all of us are morning people," Thorne retorted, plunking down in the seat across from Kai with his cup of coffee.

"Well, I'm sorry that you're cranky. Are you fighting with Kate again?"

Thorne tensed up at Kai's words. "Oh," Kai sighed. "I'm sorry, Thorne."

"It's alright, Crown." Thorne smiled, tight lipped. "It was bound to happen eventually. It's just like my father said: I'm 'toxic' when it comes to relationships," he air-quoted with a scowl, and Kai grinned at him.

"Hey, you've kept me around for what— sixteen years?" Thorne rolled his eyes at Kai's words.

"Yeah, that's only because I can't seem to get rid of you, no matter how bad of a friend I am."

Kai stood from his seat, placing his bowl in the empty sink. "Cheer up, little toxin. You'll find love eventually." Kai picked up his backpack and began to walk out the door, just as Thorne called out to him.

"How'd your date go last night, since we're talking about my sad love life."

"Oh, you know," Kai shrugged, wrapping a scarf around his neck. It really wasn't that cold, as Thorne like to remind him, but Kai was a wimp. "She was nice— really nice, but not the one. Redheads aren't exactly my type."

Kai had a great record in school. He was great at making friends. He was seemingly the most outgoing person alive, but he could never seem to get a girlfriend. It wasn't like he didn't have dozens of girls stalking him and wanting to go out with him. He just had never found one that understood him.

"Don't worry, mate," Thorne bowed in front of him, looking goofy in his plaid robe. "You'll find her someday."

***

The December weather had brought ice to the roads, causing Kai to change his regular course to school to a backroad, but Kai was having a blast as he drove he path while belting "Sweet Caroline" at the top of his lungs. He was right behind a really old and rusty Chevrolet Cavalier the color of dirt and waiting for the light to turn green.

Finally it did, and the old Chevy began to move forward. Kai waited a second, before following behind it, not wanting any surprises from the piece of junk. The drive was nice and breezy, and Kai hardly hit any ice. The song changed, and on came Hit Me With Your Best Shot by Pat Benetar.

Kai sang along, enjoying the chorus. He loved listening to songs in his car. He thrived off the feeling of singing until his lungs burned, but his father had told him at a young age that he sounded like a dying peacock when he sang so he only belted out melodies when he was alone.

The chorus was playing a final time when, out of the blue, a red sports car slammed into the old Chevy. The crack of sound that cut through the air was deafening. Time seemed to slow down and Kai watched in horror as the Chevy in front of him tried to stop sliding. Tried so hard, but was no match for the ice and propulsion.

Kai slammed on his brakes, and came to a complete stop just in time to watch the dirt colored car fall off the road and roll down the hill. It tumbled for what seemed like a lifetime, and Kai wondered if whoever was in there would live. He finally understood the expression "watching a slow-motion car crash." It was terrifying.

An eternity later, the car came to a stop at the bottom of the slope. The red sports car had stayed on the road, but was crunched in the front. Kai got out of his car, and walked over to the red car, ears ringing.

The drivers side was a wreck, but the woman sitting there was alive. She had dark auburn hair, and a tearstained face. Her entire body was shaking horribly and her door was jammed. The airbag was deflating, and Kai could tell the lady was crying though he couldn't quite hear her. All the noise had become one high pitched note that seemed to forever echo throughout his head.

Kai walked around the car to the passenger's side. The door opened easily, and Kai began speaking to the woman. He motioned for her to climb out of her vehicle, before anything else happened, and she complied.

Everything seemed so easy. Sure, this woman was in shock but she was still able to get out of her car by herself. Kai had just pulled out his phone to call the police when a spark of light caught the corner of his eye.

Kai practically threw his phone at the red car woman in his haste to run down the hill. How could he be so stupid? Obviously the car that had rolled down a hill would need help first. Kai mentally cursed himself for his idiocy.

Kai threw himself down the diagonal slope in a sprint, attempting to get to to the old car. He ignored the cries of the woman behind him, even as she screamed and wailed. The flames had started small, but were quickly climbing across the surface of the old rust-bucket, the color brighter than normal flames. Kai could see that there was only one person in the car, but he couldn't tell if it was a male or female. They weren't screaming, which frightened Kai. Maybe they were unconscious, or maybe he was too late to save them.

The hill wasn't necessarily long, but it seemed so as Kai raced down at top speed. Flames danced farther along the car, and Kai had the sickening feeling that they were eating the driver alive.

Finally Kai reached the car. It was rolled onto the driver's side, so he knew he would have to get in through the passenger's side again. Kai tried to open the door, but it was jammed.

Cursing, Kai looked at the ground. He had his pocket knife with him, having been told from his boy scout master to “always be prepared.” He couldn't use that to open the door though. Still scanning the ground, Kai's eyes landed on a rather large rock. He smiled and knew that it would work.

Kai began hammering on the window with his rock. The glass began to splinter, and the sickening feeling hit Kai. How long would it take to break the window if rolling down a hill hadn't done it? He had to get that person out of there soon, or else they would either be engulfed in flames or choke on the smoke. Kai was that person's only hope; he had to save them.

The glass seemed almost indestructible, but Kai somehow managed to shatter it all into a thousand pieces. Kai whooped with joy, and began climbing into the car.

That's when he laid eyes on her. She was beautiful, with flames surrounding her, casting a dark, protective shadow. Kai wondered if Hell had angels, and he knew that if they did, this is what they would look like. Kai internally slapped himself for thinking like that during a crisis and tried to undo her seatbelt. It was jammed.

Not even checking to see if she was conscious, he pulled out his pocket knife. The blade was prime, seeing as Kai sharpened it once a month. He wasn't a crazy survivalist, or anything, but he wanted to be prepared.

Kai began sawing through the rough material, and it was much easier than breaking the window glass, though the smoke made it impossible to breathe. The threads came undone in less than sixty seconds and Kai began to wonder if they could ever actually keep anyone safe.

Flames fluttered across his skin, but Kai kept sawing. He had to keep going, even if it meant he got a few burns. Kai knew that the girl was going to have it worse than him, and he had to save her.

The final thread snapped, and Kai grabbed the girl, before she could fall into the windshield. He tucked his knife back into his pants, and began to drag the girl's limp body away from the wreckage.

Kai climbed out backwards, trying to keep both hands on the girl. Glass cut deep into his skin and he winced. The smoke was suffocating him, and he started to panic. Gradually, he pulled his own body from the destruction, and only had the girl left. As gently as he could, Kai hauled her from the car, trying not to let the glass scrape her.

Kai tugged at the girl, and she finally became free of the Hell she had been in. The girl had her chocolate eyes open, but Kai could tell that she was drifting away. He spoke to her. Telling her to stay with him—not to go to sleep, but stay awake— stay alive. He still didn't understand why, but he needed to save her.

He felt as though his life was connected to hers, and the only way to make it complete would be to save her. Her brown eyes locked on his, staring into what must have been his soul. He yelled, wishing he knew her name.

Her lids closed, and the finality seemed to hit Kai like a bulldozer. He ran up the hill, the dying girl still in his arms. He had never run so hard in all of his life—his lungs burning from smoke and exertion.

By the time Kai had climbed to the top of the hill, he could hardly breathe. The smoke was gone, but he knew that it would stay within him for a long, long time.

The red car lady was sprawled across Kai's car, tears running down her cheeks. She was still shaking, though Kai was not surprised. He himself was in shock due to the event that had played before him.

She still had his phone in her hand, and Kai wondered if she had called the police. Kai marched straight for the woman. "Did you call the police?" Kai yelled. His hearing had come back to him, but his ears were still ringing slightly.

The woman nodded and then whimpered. She was she began sobbing hysterically, and Kai felt sympathetic. This woman had not asked for this— it was not her fault.

Kai then remembered the girl in his arms. She had also not asked for this, but look where she was. He set her down on the ground, not sure what to do.

That's when Kai caught sight of her body. She was burned along her entire left side. Her leg was charred black up to her knee, and the rest of her flesh was a raw red with angry blisters already converging.

Kai began dry heaving at the sight and had to look away. How was this girl even alive? Was she still alive? Kai dropped down on his knees and checked for a pulse. He was met by a light, slow thump, and knew they didn't have much time.

The snow on the side of the road was crisp, white and clean. Kai walked over and scooped up an arm full. He wasn't a doctor, or anything, but Kai was pretty sure that it wouldn't do any harm to try and cool her skin down.

White soon covered the charred black flesh, but Kai still felt hopeless. He wished he could do more.

About five minutes later, Kai heard sirens. He jumped up, lifting the burned girl with him. The snow had melted on her skin, and drizzled off in dark, flaking droplets.

Kai watched as the ambulances sped to a stop in front of all the wreckage. EMT's immediately jumped out of the vehicle, pulling two stretchers with them.

People rushed over to the burned girl first, pulling her away and into the first ambulance. They didn't even wait to check on her before loading her up and driving away. Kai stood, still shocked at how fast they had worked.

The rest of the attendants checked the red car lady, and pulled her onto the second stretcher. A woman came over to him, and began asking him questions. He couldn't speak. The world was going at one hundred miles an hour, and he couldn't grasp anything.

Kai fell to the ground, clutching his head, trying to get a grip, but he couldn't. The woman shouted over her shoulder, and hands lifted Kai up onto another stretcher. He began to feel dizzy, wondering where he was.

Medics rushed around him, pushing him into the ambulance. Kai smiled. He had always wanted to see the inside of one of these when he was a kid. The vehicle began to move, and Kai laughed. His eyelids began to droop, and Kai's last thought before drifting off were of the beautiful Angel of Hell.

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