#no deep thoughts today just an appreciation for this quiet peaceful moment

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Ok, hi! I absolutely ADORE and LOVE all of your writing, and I know you're not going to continue Green Eyed World, but I just wanted to know what you had planned for the ending so my anxious ass can finally rest in peace. Would Remy leave his universe to be with the reader? Would they live together happily ever-after or would it be bittersweet? I'm just so curious and I know you're the only person who can answer that ^^'. Anyways, I hope you're doing well <3

Okay so! I’m gonna give you my favourite bits that I wrote for the last few chapters.

Keep in mind none of this has been edited ❤️

Chapter 10:

Remyknocks gently on your door, the familiar sound a small comfort. “Hey,” he calls out when

you open it. “I brought you that sandwich I promised you. Thought you might be hungry after everything.”

You smile, a touch of your usual banter returning despite the emotional toll of the day. “You actually made it? I’m impressed.”

Remy chuckles, stepping inside and holding out the sandwich. “Well, I figured it was the least I could do. Plus, I didn’t want you accusing me of forgetting again.”

You take the sandwich gratefully and start to unwrap it. As you both settle into a light-hearted conversation, the mood lightens. The joking and laughter momentarily distract you from the Heaviness you’ve been feeling.

Eventually, the banter dies down, and a more serious tone fills the room. You take a deep breath, feeling a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability. “Remy, can I ask you a favor?”

He looks at you with genuine concern. “Anything. What’s up?”

You hesitate, struggling to find the right words. “After today... I need to feel something real. Something safe. I know this might sound strange, but... could you stay with me tonight?”

Remy’s expression softens as he processes your request. He closes the door behind him and moves towards the chair by your desk, pulling off his boots. “Sure,” he says, his voice reassuring.

“Just give me a sec.”

He slips into bed beside you, pulling the covers back and settling in behind you. For a moment, he just holds you, hesitating as if searching for the right words.

Finally, he wraps his arms around you, his warmth and presence a soothing balm to your frazzled nerves. “You did amazing today,” he whispers, his voice low and sincere. “I’m so proud of you.”

You close your eyes, letting his embrace envelop you. The comfort of his touch, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and his soft words provide a sense of security you desperately need.

You shift closer, seeking solace in his arms, letting go of the day’s stresses as you drift into a more peaceful state.

In the quiet of the night, you find a semblance of peace, knowing that despite everything, you’re

not alone.

As you lie there wrapped in Remy's embrace, a profound realization begins to settle over you.

Amidst the chaos, the uncertainty, and the emotional turmoil of the past few days, one thing stands out with absolute clarity. In the midst of all the confusion, there’s an undeniable truth: your love for him is real.

The gentle rise and fall of his chest against your back, the warmth of his arms, and the sincerity in his voice when he whispered how proud he was—these things ground you. They remind you that amidst everything else, this feeling you have for him is genuine and unwavering.

You let the sensation of his closeness wash over you, appreciating the tangible reality of his presence. It’s a stark contrast to the abstract challenges you’re facing. As you nestle deeper into his embrace, you hold onto this truth, letting it be a beacon of stability in the ever-shifting landscape of your life.

With each breath, you reaffirm this feeling, understanding that no matter what happens, this love is a constant, something solid and real. It becomes a source of strength, something to hold onto when everything else feels uncertain. In the quiet of the night, you allow yourself to fully embrace this truth, finding comfort and solace in the knowledge that this love, at least, is something real in a world full of chaos.

As you lie in Remy's arms, the weight of the day's events begins to lift, and a deep sense of calm washes over you. Gently, you reach for his hand, which rests across your stomach, and bring it up to your mouth. You press a soft, tender kiss to the back of his hand, letting it linger for a moment before holding it against your chest.

Remy's hand is warm against your skin, a comforting presence that soothes your racing thoughts. You feel him respond with a lazy, affectionate kiss to the back of your head, his arms tightening around you in a protective embrace.

The simple gesture, the closeness, and the warmth create a cocoon of safety that you haven’t felt in a long time. As you drift into a peaceful sleep, the first you've experienced since the chaos with Thanos, you hold onto the tranquility of the moment. Remy’s presence, the gentle pressure of his hand, and the steady rhythm of his breathing provide a sense of security and comfort.

In this serene embrace, you finally let go of the stress and fear that have been your constant companions, finding solace in the knowledge that, at least for tonight, you’re not alone.

The night drifts on peacefully, each breath you take syncing with Remy's, your bodies nestled together as if they were made to fit just so. The usual barrage of thoughts and anxieties that plague your mind every night is mercifully quiet, replaced by the steady beat of his heart against your back.

You stir slightly, still half-asleep, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest. In the darkness, his presence feels even more profound, like an anchor grounding you to something real, something tangible in a world that often feels like it's slipping through your fingers. Your hand still grips his, pressed to your chest, as if holding on to this moment could make it last forever.

Remy shifts behind you, and you feel his breath warm against your neck as he whispers your name, so softly you’re not sure if you heard it or if it was a dream. You can tell he's still awake, his hold on you tightening just a bit, as if he needs the reassurance that you're really there with him, just as much as you need it from him.

"Y' know," he murmurs, his voice low and rough with sleep, "you ain’t gotta do any of this alone."

His words are gentle, filled with an understanding that cuts through the night, touching something deep within you.

You don’t reply, partly because you’re too tired, and partly because you know he’s right. Instead, you just press yourself closer to him, letting the silence speak for you. Remy’s hand moves from r chest to rest protectively around your waist, and you let yourself sink further into his embrace, feeling more at peace than you have in years. As the minutes stretch into hours, sleep pulls you both deeper into its embrace. The world outside fades into the background, leaving just the two of you, wrapped up in a moment that feels both fleeting and eternal.

Chapter 11:

You stood on the battlefield, the students gathered behind you, ready to fight at a moment's notice. The X-Men stood on guard, a formidable wall of defense, with Remy right by your side.

His presence was more than comforting; it was the only thing grounding you in this moment of uncertainty.

Before you, Kang stood alone. His purple jacket flowed with the wind, hands clasped behind his back, a serene and confident smile playing on his lips.

"I thought he would’ve brought an army," Logan growled, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the solitary figure.

You didn’t break your gaze from Kang, your voice hardening with disgust. "Kang doesn't need an army," you replied, bitterness seeping into your tone. "He has me. It’s always been me."

Beside you, Remy reached out and took your hand, his fingers interlocking with yours. The warmth of his touch contrasted with the cold dread creeping up your spine. When you turned to meet his gaze, his eyes were intense, filled with emotions that words could never convey in such a fleeting moment. His love, his fear, his desperation—all of it was there in the way he looked at you.

"I know," you murmured, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, though the words were as much for you as they were for him.

You reluctantly let go, stepping forward to meet Kang in the middle of the field. His smile widened, pleased at your approach. "I didn’t expect such a large welcoming," he remarked, his tone casual, almost mocking. Though he appeared unassuming, you knew better than to underestimate him. You could feel his power, a dark force that seemed to resonate with something deep within you.

"They’re ready to blast you off this field," you said, your voice steady despite the storm inside you.

Kang spread his arms wide, inviting the challenge. "Let them," he replied smoothly, pausing as he studied you. "But you won’t."

"What do you want?" you demanded quietly, the words laced with suspicion. "It's been you, hasn't it? Those dreams I've been having... you've been planting them."

Kang shook his head slightly, a knowing smile on his lips. "They’re not dreams. They’re memories. Your memories. Of a future you haven’t yet lived."

A frown creased your brow. "How can they be memories when there’s only one of me?"

He wagged a finger at you, teasingly cryptic. "Yes, this is true. But some things must remain close to my chest," he whispered, stepping closer until his face was inches from yours. "Those memories happen. I lay waste to every single person in this school. Every child, every mutant, every human." His gaze drifted over your shoulder, settling on Remy with a dark, deliberate intent. "Your boyfriend will be the last to go. That one, I'll make you watch. Unless..."

He took a step back, giving you a choice. "You come with me."

Your refusal was instant. "No."

Kang smiled, almost as if he expected your answer. "I don’t expect an answer right now. But I’ll be back. This time tomorrow, I’ll be back to get you."

"You sound convinced that I’ll come," you said, your voice firm despite the unease gnawing at you.

"Twenty-four hours is all I need for you to make up your mind," he said, his smile never faltering.

"And you will come."

Chapter 12:

The room was warm, the faint scent of your body wash lingering in the air as you sat on the edge of your bed, one leg propped up on a chair, your fingers working lotion into your skin. Your hair was still damp from the shower, and you were dressed in a pair of comfortable sports shorts and one of Remy’s shirts that hung loosely on you. The fabric carried his scent, wrapping you in a sense of comfort even as your thoughts swirled with everything that had happened earlier.

The door creaked open, and Remy stepped inside. He looked tense, his brow furrowed, and you could see the worry etched into every line of his face. His grey jumper clung to his frame, making him look both effortlessly casual and heartbreakingly handsome. You could tell from the set of his jaw that he was ready to argue, and you braced yourself for what was coming.

"You can't go with him," Remy started, his voice low but insistent. "We’ll fight this, together. You don’t have to—"

You cut him off with a small smile, looking up from your task. "You look really good in that," you said, nodding toward his jumper.

For a moment, he looked taken aback, as if your response was the last thing he expected. His eyes flickered with confusion before they softened, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease.

You went back to moisturizing your legs, the simple act grounding you in the midst of the chaos swirling around you both.

"Don’t do this," he continued, his tone pleading now. "You’re talkin’ like you’re already gone. We can fight him, chérie. Together. We’ve fought worse."

You paused, your hands stilling as you considered his words. Then, without looking up, you spoke, your voice calm, almost serene. "I love you," you said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Really, I do. I’ve been wanting to tell you for so long, but there always seems to be chaos. It never feels like the right time."

You closed the lid of the lotion container and leaned back in your chair, your gaze finally lifting to meet his. "This just proves there never is a good time, doesn’t it?" you added with a soft, almost bittersweet smile.

For a moment, Remy just stared at you, the words hanging in the air between you. He seemed stunned, as if he didn’t quite know how to process what you’d just said. Then, slowly, he crouched down in front of you, his hands resting on your thighs. His thumbs began to trace gentle circles into your skin, the warmth of his touch soothing yet filled with an undercurrent of desperation.

"Why now?" he asked quietly, his voice laced with a sadness that tugged at your heart. "Why tell me now when you’re thinkin’ ‘bout goin’? Don’t do this to me, chère. Don’t make me watch you walk away."

You reached out, brushing a hand through his hair, your fingers lingering on his cheek. "Because I don’t want to regret not telling you," you admitted, your voice softening as you looked into his eyes. "I’ve been afraid, Remy. Afraid of what this all means, of what could happen. But I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I don’t want to leave without you knowing how much you mean to me."

His eyes shimmered with emotion as he leaned into your touch, his breath catching in his throat. "I’ve known, chérie," he murmured, his voice thick. "I’ve always known. But you ain’t leavin’. I ain’t lettin’ you go. We’ll figure this out, just stay with me."

You could see the raw vulnerability in his gaze, the way he was holding on to hope, to you, with everything he had. It broke something inside you, seeing him like this, and yet it made you love him even more.

"I want to stay," you whispered, your thumb brushing over his lips. "But I have to do what’s right. And right now, what’s right feels impossible."

He shook his head, his grip on your thighs tightening as if he could physically hold you here, keep you safe by sheer will alone. "There’s always a way," he insisted, his voice trembling slightly. "We’ve always found a way before, and we’ll find one now. Please, chérie. I can’t lose you."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, leaning down to press your forehead against his. "You won’t lose me," you promised, though you knew the words might be hollow. "I’ll come back to you, I swear."

Remy closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he tried to believe you, tried to hold on to the sliver of hope that your words offered. His hands slid up to your waist, pulling you closer as if he could fuse you to him, keep you anchored in this moment.

"I love you too," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "So much it scares me."

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him as tightly as he held you. In that embrace, time seemed to stand still, the looming threat of tomorrow momentarily forgotten in the warmth of his arms.

But even as you held each other, the weight of what was to come lingered, a shadow that neither of you could fully shake.

Remy’s hands remained on your thighs, his thumbs still gently tracing circles as he held your gaze, searching for something in your eyes. His voice was soft, almost fragile, as he asked, "Do you remember what you told me that night in the cabin? When Wade, Logan, and Vanessa were there, and I was beggin’ you to leave… do you remember what you said?"

You felt your throat tighten, the memory of that night flooding back with vivid clarity. The desperation in his voice, the way he had pleaded with you to walk away, to save yourself from the chaos that surrounded you both. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you nodded slowly, the words tumbling out of you in a whisper, "In every universe, I’ll find you."

His breath hitched, and before you could say anything more, Remy surged forward, capturing your lips in a deep, desperate kiss. It was filled with all the emotions he couldn’t put into words—fear, love, longing, and the overwhelming need to hold on to you, to keep you with him.

You returned the kiss just as fervently, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as if that could somehow make the world outside disappear. His lips moved against yours, speaking a silent plea, a desperate attempt to make you stay, to make you see that he couldn’t bear to lose you.

"Please," he murmured against your lips, his voice trembling with emotion. "Please don’t leave me. I can’t… I can’t do this without you."

Chapter 13:

Kangaroo control over you was absolute, but he underestimated the power of your will and the strength of your love for Remy. Even as you endured the trials he set before you, you remained determined to find a way to return to him. The hope that one day you would be reunited, that the love you shared would be a beacon through the darkness, was your guiding light.

Weeks turned into months as Kang tightened his grip on you, gradually molding you into the weapon he needed to prune timelines and eliminate events that didn't align with his grand vision. The sterile, emotionless halls of his stronghold became your world, the metallic coldness seeping into your bones as time wore on. You were no longer just you; you were a tool, a means to an end in Kang's relentless pursuit of power and control over the multiverse.

At first, you resisted with everything you had. Each time Kang commanded you to alter a timeline or erase a pivotal event, you would argue, plead, or defy him. You challenged him with questions—what right did he have to dictate the course of countless lives, to snuff out entire realities just because they didn’t fit his plans? Your defiance was met with cold indifference or, worse, twisted amusement. Kang would listen to your protests with a slight, condescending smile, as if your resistance was nothing more than a minor inconvenience, a fleeting rebellion that he knew he could crush.

And crush it he did.

Kang was patient, methodical. He knew that breaking you wouldn’t happen overnight, so he chipped away at your resolve, bit by bit. He exposed you to the horrors of unchecked timelines, showing you visions of chaotic futures where unchecked power led to devastation, where the worlds you once knew lay in ruins. He presented these visions as proof of his necessity, as if the atrocities he forced you to commit were somehow justified in the name of a greater good.

The first few times you were forced to prune a timeline, the guilt was unbearable. You would stand on the precipice of a world, staring at the people who lived there, the moments they cherished, and the futures they hoped for. You would see yourself in them—ordinary beings trying to find their place in the universe—and you would feel the weight of what you were about to do. Kang’s cold voice would echo in your mind, urging you to complete the task, to erase these lives as if they were nothing more than glitches in his grand design.

The act of pruning was excruciating, a deep violation of everything you once believed in. You would watch as entire timelines—whole realities full of people, hopes, dreams, and histories— were reduced to nothingness. The first time you pruned a timeline, you collapsed afterward, the enormity of what you had done crashing down on you like a tidal wave. You wept for those lives, for the universes that would never be, and for the person you once were, who would have fought to the death before allowing such an atrocity.

But Kang knew how to erode that person away

Chapter 14:

Remy’s voice, soft and laced with concern, pulls you back to the present. “You hungry? Thirsty? Anything you need?” His question is tentative, like he’s trying to find some way to make you comfortable again, to bring you back to this reality where you’re safe, home, and with the people who care about you.

You look at him, then at the rest of your friends standing around you, their eyes filled with a mixture of hope, worry, and love. You smile softly, trying to reassure them, even as your emotions churn inside you. “I just… I just need a minute,” you say, your voice steady but quiet.

Without waiting for a response, you turn on your heel and walk toward the living room. The familiar space feels both comforting and alien, filled with memories of a life you’ve been disconnected from for so long. You sink down onto the couch, your hands gripping the fabric as if anchoring yourself to something real, something that won’t slip away.

Logan appears in the doorway, his presence a steadying force. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he just walks in and takes a seat beside you, giving you the space you need to gather your thoughts. The silence between you is comfortable, a reminder that you don’t always have to fill the void with words.

“It’s okay to take your time with all this,” Logan finally says, his voice low and rough, but gentle.

He looks at you, his expression understanding, patient. “Ain’t no rush to figure it all out. You’ve been through hell.”

You sigh, rubbing your hands together as if trying to warm them. “I don’t feel like I belong here anymore,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “Not after everything I’ve done. I don’t even know where to start.”

Logan watches you carefully, his eyes never leaving yours. He’s always been able to see through the bullshit, cutting straight to the heart of the matter. “You belong here, kid,” he says, his tone firm but not unkind. “You think you’re the only one carryin’ around guilt? You think we haven’t all done things we regret?”

You open your mouth to protest, but he holds up a hand, stopping you. “Let me finish,” he insists, his voice softening. “When you were gone, it messed Remy up. The first few months… hell, the first six months, he wouldn’t leave the house. He barely left your room. He was holdin’ on by a thread, waitin’ for you to come back.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, the weight of them sinking in as you picture Remy, alone, refusing to leave the space where he felt closest to you. “Then it changed,” Logan continues. “He started avoidin’ the house altogether, doin’ anything to keep busy, to keep his mind off the fact that you weren’t here. But even then… even when he started actin’ normal again, he still wasn’t the same. He was still missin’ you, every day.”

You bite your lip, the guilt gnawing at you. “But it’s not just him,” Logan adds. “Wade and Vanessa—they moved in here. Gave up their apartment. They didn’t want to leave him alone, didn’t want him to fall apart without you. They’ve all been waitin’ for you to come back, hopin’ for it. Those aren’t the actions of people who don’t have your back. They’re with you, through thick and thin, no matter what.”

You nod, swallowing hard as tears prick at your eyes. The weight of their love, their loyalty, presses down on you, making it harder to breathe. You’ve been so focused on your own guilt, your own pain, that you didn’t realize how much your absence affected them—how much they’ve been hurting too.

Logan leans back, his gaze still fixed on you. “Look, you’ve been through a lot. We all have. But that doesn’t mean you don’t belong here. This is your home. We’re your family. And if you’re feelin’ lost, we’ll help you find your way back. But you gotta let us in. Don’t push us away because you’re scared of what you’ve done. We’ve all got blood on our hands, but that doesn’t mean we don’t deserve a chance to make things right.”

You wipe at your eyes, nodding slowly. “I don’t know how to make it right, Logan,” you admit, your voice thick with emotion.

“We’ll figure it out together,” Logan says simply. “One step at a time. But don’t shut yourself off from us. You’re not alone anymore.”

His words sink in, and for the first time since you walked through that door, you feel a glimmer of hope, a tiny spark that maybe, just maybe, you can start to heal. You’ve been through hell, but you’ve also found your way back to the people who matter most. And they’re willing to stand by you, no matter what.

As you and Remy make your way down the hallway to your bedroom, the house feels strangely familiar yet different, like you’re seeing it through the eyes of a stranger. Everything seems both the same and completely new, as if you’ve been gone longer than just a year. The walls hold memories, echoes of conversations and laughter, but now they seem quieter, waiting for you to fill them with life again.

When you reach your bedroom door, Remy hesitates for a moment, glancing at you before opening it. The room is just as you remember it—your things exactly where you left them, your bed neatly made. But there’s something different about it now, something that makes your chest tighten with emotion.

“I’ve been sleeping here,” Remy says quietly, his voice breaking the silence. “But I’ll clean it up for you before tonight. I know you probably want some space.”

You look at him, seeing the weariness in his eyes, the weight of everything he’s been carrying since you left. He’s trying to give you the room you might need, to be respectful of whatever boundaries you might have now. But that’s not what you want. Not at all.

A small, genuine smile forms on your lips as you shake your head. “You don’t need to clean anything up, Remy. You can stay in here as long as you want.” Your words are soft, almost tentative, but the meaning behind them is clear. You’re asking him to stay with you, a silent plea that you hope he understands.

Remy’s eyes widen just a bit, a flicker of surprise passing through them before he nods, the corners of his mouth lifting in a gentle, almost relieved smile. He knows what you’re asking, and he’s not going to make you ask twice.

You move over to your wardrobe, intending to grab some clothes to change into. As you rummage through the hangers, your fingers brush against something soft and familiar. You pull it out and see your old SHIELD jumper, the one you haven’t worn in years. It brings a wave of nostalgia, memories of a time when things were simpler, when the world made a little more sense.

For a moment, you just stand there, holding the jumper in your hands, your mind racing with everything that’s happened since you last wore it. The pain, the loss, the unimaginable choices you had to make. But also the love, the connections that have brought you back here, to this very moment.

You close the wardrobe, holding the jumper close for a second before setting it aside with the clothes you’ve chosen. “I need a shower,” you say, your voice steady but laced with the weight of everything you’ve been through.

Remy watches you closely, his eyes filled with an intensity that makes your heart ache. He doesn’t move, just stands there, as if he’s trying to memorize this moment, trying to etch it into his memory.

“I’ve missed you,” he finally says, his voice low, almost reverent.

Those three simple words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you feel the tears welling up again. You’ve missed him too—missed everything about him. The way he looks at you, the way he’s always there, quietly offering support and love without asking for anything in return.

You nod, swallowing hard as you meet his gaze. “I’ve missed you too, Remy,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but you know he hears it. He always hears you.

There’s a silence that stretches between you, filled with all the things that don’t need to be said.

You’re both here, you’re both alive, and that’s what matters. The rest—the healing, the rebuilding—will come in time.

Finally, you turn towards the bathroom, your hand brushing against his arm as you pass by him, a silent promise that you’ll be back, that you’re not going anywhere. As you close the door behind you, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, trying to steady yourself as you prepare to face the reality of everything that’s happened.

The water runs warm as you step into the shower, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, you let yourself relax, if only for a few moments. The water washes away the grime, the tension, the pain, leaving you feeling a little lighter, a little more like yourself.

But even as you try to find peace in the simple act of washing away the past, you can’t help but think about Remy, just on the other side of the door. Waiting. Ready to pick up the pieces with you, no matter how broken they are.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you can find your way back to each other. One step at a time.

Remy paces the hallway outside the bathroom, his fingers drumming anxiously against his thighs as he listens to the muffled sounds coming from behind the closed door. The running water of the shower mixes with the quiet sobs, a stark reminder of all that’s been lost and all that’s been endured. He wants nothing more than to burst in there, to hold you and offer whatever comfort he can. But he knows, deep down, that you need space right now. You’ll come to him when you’re ready.

Chapter 15:

The sun dips below the horizon, the first stars begin to twinkle in the sky. The moment is serene, filled with a sense of calm that you all have longed for.

As the sky deepens into twilight, the atmosphere on the balcony shifts to one of quiet reflection.

Remy finishes his cigarette, tossing the butt into the ashtray with a soft clink. He stretches out his legs, sitting closer to you and Vanessa, the warmth of his presence a comforting anchor.

Vanessa, always perceptive, reaches out and places a hand on your arm. “It’s good to see you smiling again,” she says, her voice gentle. “We’ve all missed you.”

You smile at her, grateful for her support. “I’ve missed you all too,” you admit, your voice soft but filled with sincerity. “And I appreciate you being here, through everything.”

Wade, ever the source of levity, interjects with a playful grin. “So, what’s next on the agenda? Do we get to pick out some new adventures, or are we just going to sit around and enjoy the view?”

Logan chuckles, shaking his head. “Maybe we’ll just focus on making sure this place stays as peaceful as it is now,” he suggests, his tone a mix of practicality and hope.

The conversation drifts to lighter topics, the camaraderie between you all easing the lingering tension. As you listen to the banter, you feel a renewed sense of belonging. The feeling of home, once so elusive, now wraps around you like a warm embrace.

Remy leans over and takes your hand, his fingers entwining with yours. “How about we just take it one day at a time?” he proposes, his gaze steady and filled with love. “I’ve got you back, and that’s what matters right now.” You nod, squeezing his hand gently.

“That sounds perfect.”

The evening stretches on, filled with laughter, stories, and the simple joy of being together. As the stars fully emerge and the night settles in, you feel a deep sense of contentment. The battles of the past seem a little lighter, the uncertainties of the future a little less daunting.

You roll your eyes, but there’s a warm smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, and FYI. Next time you fuck up my morning and ask me to take a random trip to the void to pull out some friends, I’ll kill you.”

Wade’s grin widens as he lounges casually, his hands behind his head. “To be fair, I think I’ve earned some brownie points for convincing you to rescue th he man who becomes the love of your life. You’re welcome.”

Remy chuckles beside you, his hand still intertwined with yours. “Yeah, Wade, you’re definitely on thin ice, but I’ll give you this—without you, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

Logan nods in agreement, a rare smile on his face. “Just don’t make it a habit, Wade. We’ve had enough chaos for a while.”

Wade’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Hey, it’s all part of the grand adventure, right? Besides, it worked out, didn’t it?”

The group laughs, the tension of past events melting away under the shared camaraderie. As the ht deepens, the sense of togetherness strengthens, and you can’t help but feel a deep appreciation for the people who’ve stood by you through it all

[daily-hanamura]

[illyrianbitch]

One Summer — Part Four

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: One beach house. One festival. One summer to fall in love.

Warnings: drug usage (marijuana), lil anxiety thoughts about the looming future, reader is a sentimentalist, az & reader smoking in the summer night air

Word Count: 2.1k

Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The ache in your muscles, despite how irritating, was a good one. 

You welcomed it as you sat down on the balcony, settling into a white wicker chair with a beige pillow. The chair was worn, discolored in some areas and peeling apart in others, and that fact made it seem even more inviting to you. There was a sense of life in every corner of this house, remnants of love that manifested in the old furniture and sentimental decorations. It made you feel closer to your friends, made you feel like you were making your own memories here, too. 

The ocean breeze smelled especially refreshing with the night breeze that accompanied it. You let your eyes fall shut as the gentle air weaved itself through the loose strands of your hair, pulling goosebumps from deep under your skin. From where you sat, you could hear the muffled sounds of laughter and conversation from the kitchen. You smiled at the noise.

Truth be told, the first day of the festival had drained your energy more quickly than you’d expected. While your social battery was bound to grow over the next few weeks, this peace, this moment of solitude, was desperately needed now. Even still, you appreciated feeling close to everyone despite the physical distance. You made a mental note to thank Rhys and Mor once more for placing you in this bedroom.

Your mind was slow, ears still slightly ringing from the loud speakers, and your thoughts drifted from the events of today to ones that felt much heavier, much more contemplative. 

Moments from today replayed in your mind: the first set of the afternoon, securing barricade for four artists, the way that Cassian befriended everyone in the crowd, how Azriel swayed to the music and smiled when you’d meet his eye. Each one glowed with a sense of permanence you wished you could grasp. You could, in a sense, make sure these moments never left.

If you followed through with the plan, you’d all be in the same city after graduation, sharing even more of these moments. There could be countless, maybe even hundreds, more. 

A flicker of guilt sparked in your stomach. 

It felt almost wrong to be preoccupied with this sour sense of sadness when the present was still here— how foolish of you to already already be grieving for a moment that hadn’t yet ended. You’d gotten home barely an hour ago. Your friends were still downstairs.

A shadow danced across the porch and you jumped. 

You turned, and Azriel stood there, his figure illuminated by the faint glow of his bedroom lamp. A nervous laugh escaped you, and you muttered his name in recognition. Azriel lifted an awkward hand in apology, his mouth curling into a tight lipped smile.

"My bad," he murmured, "Didn't mean to sneak up on you."

He’d just stepped out of the shower, damp curls clinging to his forehead and a faint scent of soap on his skin. You let your eyes wander for a fleeting second, taking in his simple outfit: a loose black shirt and a pair of sweat shorts that looked criminally good on him. He’d gotten even tanner since your arrival here, and it seemed as if the harsh sun of today had also left him with a fresh sunkissed glow. 

You gave him a small side smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Don't worry about it. I'm just jumpy and you're really quiet. I’m serious."

"I'll invest in a cat collar. Complete with a bell and everything."

You chuckled at the mental image. Azriel paused, studying you for a moment from where he stood. After clearing his throat, he gave you a small nod. You watched with a frown as he turned and headed back to his room.

"Wait," you said, pushing yourself to the edge of your seat. Azriel stopped at his door, turning to look over at you as you continued. "Why are you leaving?"

A crease formed between his brows and you watched as his gaze bounced between you, the table in front of you, the ocean-view, and back.  "You were out here first."

"It's your balcony too."

Another pause. His chest rose with even breaths.

"I don’t want to bother you."

You shook your head. "Stay." You offered him a smile— an invitation. "If you'd like. I always appreciate your company."

You felt inclined to tell him that he never bothered you, that you craved his presence more often than you’d like to admit. There was something so calming about Azriel, something so familiar. It made you sad to think about the time you’d lost with him, how much stronger your friendship could’ve been by now. And then you felt guilty for feeling sad about such a thing, because that time lost with him was time gained with Eris. 

Azriel seemed to think about it for a moment, his eyes dropping to the ground, dark lashes brushing against his cheeks. 

"Yeah, sure,” he said, “I'd love to."

He pulled a chair from his side of the porch and sat across from you.

You felt his eyes on you as you placed your phone down and pulled a small container from your pocket. You knew it was a bit cliche— the Altoids container holding various shitty pre-rolled joints– but it worked like a charm and you always did love the classics.

Azriel’s gaze lingered as you brought the joint to your lips and lit it. When the courage finally found you, you offered it to him with an outstretched hand. His eyes dropped to your fingers.

"Would you like some?"

His lips curved slightly and a warm look appeared in his eyes. He leaned forward, hands carefully plucking it from yours.

“Thank you,” Azriel said softly, his voice nearly swallowed by the sound of the ocean waves. He met your gaze and a smile slowly grew on his lips, as if he was offering it to you in return for the joint.

You gazed out, admiring the moonlit waves and the soothing rhythm of the ocean, fingers absentmindedly playing with the lighter in your hand. Glancing down, you traced the polymer clay sleeve that adorned it, a piece you’d crafted during a girls’ night. Feyre had found a video showing how to make it, and while her and Mor’s lighters were more decorative than functional, the memory warmed your chest with something bright. 

“You okay?”

Azriel’s eyes were soft when you met them, inquisitive like a tender animal. Even in this dim light, with half of his face illuminated by his bedroom’s light and the other half by the moon, you’d never seen anything quite as striking. You chewed over your words for a moment— thinking, choosing which felt best on the tip of your tongue.

“Yeah. I’m just thinking.”

His eyes narrowed and a small crease settled between his brows. An urge bit at you to trace your finger along it. He handed the joint back to you. 

You didn’t have the heart to tell him anything nearer to the truth. You were thinking. That was true. But Azriel didn’t need to know about what. You wouldn’t be able to explain it if you tried.

Today was good. Your limbs were heavy and there was a small sunburn on the tip of your nose, but it was good— great. You took a deep breath and pulled yourself from the hands of the future, away from its sweaty, iron grip, and focused on Azriel’s eyes.

He nodded and you could’ve sworn he read your mind, that he knew where you’d pulled your mind back from. But he said nothing and you thanked him with a quick, small smile. 

A comfortable silence settled over you both. The noise from downstairs had quieted down as everyone made their way to bed and the gentle echoes of their laughter had begun to fade into the night. You’d brought a small speaker out with you, and the music from it softly filled the now quieted spaces, blending seamlessly with the sounds of the ocean. You watched the waves against the sand, breathing in the fresh breeze that now mingled with the familiar scent of earth that surrounded you and Az. Neither of you exchanged any words as you gently traded the dwindling joint back and forth.

He beckoned towards your speaker with his chin, turning his head to you before his eyes followed the movement. "Is this tomorrow's lineup?"

You nodded, letting out a smooth exhale and watching as a cloud of smoke floated into the air. "I like listening to every artist just to get an idea of what they sound like."

You wouldn't be hearing many of the artists that were playing through your speakers. You all had meticulously mapped out the daily festival schedules, poring over the list of artists to agree on a which to see. Each person had their own preferences so there was a game plan in place: which sets you’d all battle for the barricade, which performances you’d catch while casually wandering, and what times you'd explore other activities or grab food. There was even a strategy for when to get even more hammered, as Mor had so delicately put it.

The schedule had worked perfectly today. 

"Smart," Azriel said, grabbing the joint from your outstretched hand. His fingers brushed against yours and a small chill ran through your skin. "I do that too."

You smiled, watching as he brought the joint to his lips and took a small drag. The action itself was so graceful, so effortlessly elegant that it seemed almost sinful to watch. Your gaze lingered on his lips for a moment too long before he was looking at you, offering it back to you.

You savored the final few puffs, embers glowing softly as you moved your head in rhythm with the song currently playing. The vocals faded, giving way to a stunning guitar riff that seemed to surge through you like a physical force. Azriel's face lit up and you exchanged a glance.

"Wait," you murmured, grabbing your phone. "I really like this."

You adjusted the volume, settling back into your chair as the music swelled around you.

"They're playing tomorrow?" Azriel asked, leaning towards you. 

"Yeah." You glanced at the band's profile on your phone— they were relatively small compared to the other sets tomorrow. "I bet this would be great live."

Azriel turned to you with a thoughtful look. "Let's find out."

"We already have the sets for tomorrow planned, though."

He shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. "So?"

You frowned, shifting in your seat as you locked your phone and placed it back in your lap. "They’re not going to change their plan."

Azriel hummed in contemplation— a small, low rumble in the back of his throat. "They don’t have to. We can go by ourselves.”

You blinked at him, feeling your eyebrows raise as you considered the idea. You felt giddy at the notion that spending time with you alone was something desirable to him— fun, even.

Azriel leaned in closer, his eyes scanning your face with a playful intensity. They were heavy lidded now, the whites of his eyes red from the high. "I think they’ll survive without us for an hour, Y/n."

Your name on his lips felt like a soft caress and, for a moment, you understood why even the most steadfast of saints could be swayed by the sweet whispers of sinners. If he said your name again just as tenderly, as kind, as soft, you’d agree in a heartbeat. 

“I know,” you murmured. “But I don’t think they’ll want us to miss one of the bigger sets.”

"Well what do you want?"

The way he asked, with that casual yet earnest tone, made the choice seem somehow more significant than it was. You looked at Azriel, down at your phone, and back at him again. "I’d love to hear them in person."

He nodded in agreement, a damp curl bouncing with the movement, and a dimpled smile found its way onto his face.

"Let’s see them tomorrow, then."

Your cheeks began to ache with the strain of a smile—  a gentle tugging at the corners of your lips. A warm, tingling sensation spread across your face. “You sure you want to hear them too?”

Amusement glistened in Az’s eyes as they scanned your face. Your stomach fluttered, each beat feeling lighter than usual.

“Yeah,” he said, still smiling. “I really do.”

You leaned back into your chair, watching as Azriel settled in, his eyes closing as he relaxed. You followed his lead, starting to play more tracks from the band. As the music filled the space, you let yourself sink into the chair, letting the sounds blend with the quiet of the night.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

authors note: im a bit biased as a stoner girly but when i tell u those late night moments smoking w someone r sooo intimate. i love them ur honor i truly do

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon 

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124 @bubybubsters 

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound

@melissat1254

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend  @micahssketchbook

thank you for reading 🫶🏻

[a-lying-elysium]

“Enjoy The Little Things”

[Luke Castellan x Unclaimed!fem!reader]

Summary: At Camp Half-Blood, being unclaimed feels like being invisible—until Luke Castellan sees you.

Warnings: fluff, not proofread

Word Count: 1253 words

The sun was setting over Camp Half-Blood, casting a warm, golden glow over the cabins. You were sitting on the steps of the Hermes cabin, watching the campers as they laughed and chatted, finishing up their day’s activities. Despite the chaos, you had found a strange sense of peace at the camp.

“Mind if I join you?”

You looked up to see Luke Castellan standing in front of you, a friendly smile on his face. Luke was well-liked by everyone. You counted him as one of your few friends, but you weren't sure if he considered you the same. If you didn't know that then you weren't sure if he would ever consider you two being more.

You might have just a little crush on the son of Hermes.

“Sure,” you said, scooting over to make room for him on the steps.

Luke sat down beside you, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Long day?” he asked, glancing at you with a knowing look.

You chuckled softly. “You could say that. Training was tough today.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, a playful grin on his face. “But you’re doing great, you know. I’ve seen you out there.”

His compliment caught you off guard, and you felt your cheeks warm slightly. “Thanks. I’m just trying to keep up.”

Luke leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows. “You’re more than keeping up. You’ve got potential. Besides, it’s not all about fighting. Sometimes, you just need to take a break and enjoy the little things.”

You smiled, appreciating his laid-back attitude. “Is that what you’re doing now? Enjoying the little things?”

He nods, grinning.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the sun dip lower in the sky. It felt easy being around Luke like you didn’t have to worry about proving yourself or fitting in. He had a way of making you feel seen, even when you were just sitting quietly together.

“Hey, you know what we should do?” he said suddenly, “Let’s go for a walk. The woods are really nice this time of day.”

You hesitated for a moment, but the idea of spending more time with Luke was too tempting to resist. “Okay, let’s go.”

The woods surrounding Camp Half-Blood were bathed in the soft glow of twilight as you and Luke strolled along the path. The air was cool and fresh, filled with the scent of pine and the distant sound of crickets beginning their evening chorus. Luke led the way, his hands in his pockets, a relaxed smile on his face.

“So, have you gotten used to camp life yet?” he asked, glancing at you.

“I think so,” you replied, “It’s different but in a good way. I never thought I’d feel at home in a place like this, but...”

“But it grows on you,” Luke finished for you. “Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s kind of like one big, dysfunctional family.”

You laughed, nodding in agreement. “Exactly.”

By the time you reached a small clearing, the sky had turned a deep shade of indigo, stars beginning to twinkle above. You paused, looking up at the sky.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” you said, your voice soft.

“Yeah,” he agreed, standing beside you and gazing up at the stars. “It really is.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, just enjoying the quiet beauty of the night. Then, without thinking, you reached out and took Luke’s hand.

Luke looked down at your hand in his, surprise flickering in his eyes. But then he smiled, gently squeezing your hand in return. “I’m glad we did this.”

“Me too,” you whispered, feeling a sense of peace settle over you.

As you stood there hand in hand, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you had found something special. Something that went beyond being unclaimed or not knowing your place in the world. In Luke, you had found a friend—a true friend who made you feel like you belonged.

The next morning, you woke up feeling lighter than you had in a long time. The memory of the previous night—the stars, the conversation, and the warmth of Luke’s hand in yours—lingered in your mind, filling you with a sense of hope.

As you made your way to the dining pavilion for breakfast, you spotted Luke already seated with a group of campers, laughing and chatting easily. When he saw you, his face lit up with a smile, and he waved you over.

You joined him, and as you sat down, Luke leaned in close, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “I was thinking... maybe we could go for another walk after training today? There’s this spot I found near the creek that I think you’d like.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, warmth spreading through your chest at the thought of spending more time with him. “I’d love that.”

Luke grinned, and for the rest of breakfast, the two of you exchanged little glances and smiles, as if sharing a secret that only the two of you knew.

The day passed quickly, your training sessions filled with a new sense of purpose. You pushed yourself harder, feeling more confident than ever before. And when the day finally ended, you found yourself eagerly waiting for the evening.

True to his word, Luke found you after dinner. “Ready?”

“Ready,” you replied, matching his enthusiasm.

As you walked together through the camp, you couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted between you. There was a new closeness, a deeper connection that hadn’t been there before.

That evening by the creek, under the stars, Luke told you stories of the heroes of old, the gods.

You hung on to every word, laughing, and without thinking, you leaned closer, resting your head on his shoulder. Luke didn’t pull away. Instead, he wrapped an arm around you, holding you close as the two of you sat in peaceful silence.

In that moment, you knew that whatever happened, you wouldn’t be facing it alone. You had Luke, and he had you. And maybe that was all you really needed.

The days turned into weeks, and as summer stretched on, your bond with Luke only grew stronger. You spent your time training together, exploring the camp, and finding little moments to just be. Luke was your rock, your confidant, and slowly, you realized, your feelings for him growing.

One evening, as you sat together by the lake, watching the sun set in a blaze of orange and pink, Luke turned to you, his expression serious.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, his voice soft. “About what you said once... about feeling unclaimed. I want you to know that, to me, you’re more than that. You’re important. You matter.”

His words struck a chord deep within you, and you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Luke...”

He reached out, taking your hand in his. “You don’t need a godly parent to tell you who you are. You’re strong, and brave, and kind. And... you’ve become really important to me.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of emotions swirling inside you. “You’re important to me too, Luke.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of your feelings hanging in the air. Then, slowly, Luke leaned in, his eyes searching yours for permission. When you didn’t pull away, he closed the distance, pressing his lips to yours in a soft, tender kiss.

The world seemed to stand still, the only thing that mattered was the warmth of his kiss and the feel of his hand in yours...

“I’ve wanted to do this for a while,” he said after pulling away.

You smiled. “Me too."

You two stay there for a while. Watching the sky. Enjoying the little things.

might write a part 2 if I feel silly. And if this does good-

[krirebr]

More Than This 3

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x f!reader, Steve Rogers & f!reader

Word Count: ~5.8k

Summary: Arranged marriages have always been used to solidify business deals among the ultra-wealthy. Your stepfather wants to be in business with Harlan Thrombey, so now it's your turn.

Warnings: Heavy angst, age difference, adult themes, institutional sexism, multiple references to vomit (but nothing graphic, I don't think), attempted sex that makes everyone sad - dubcon on both sides, explicit language, the slooowest burn - Warnings will be added as needed for subsequent parts. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Alright friends, here we go! Now we're really in it.

A gigantic thank you, as always, to @paperweight91 for reading so much of this and talking it all through with me, especially the last section, which I've been anxious about since I originally conceived of it ages ago. You're the best, Chelsea!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too!

As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

You heard Ransom get up in the early hours of the morning and stumble into the bathroom to retch. You were glad he didn’t choke on his vomit, you guessed. You were still on the couch with the TV turned down low. You wondered if he’d come out and see what you were doing, but he just stumbled back to the bed when he was done. 

You didn’t hear him again for several more hours. In that time, you mostly watched TV, dozed a little, fucked around on your phone. Time passed slowly, but it still passed. Soon, the sun was coming up. You were moving across the country today. Your new life was starting whether you wanted it or not.

A few hours later you heard the beginnings of movement in the bedroom. You called down to room service and ordered two carafes of coffee, along with a few different breakfast options, ranging from light to extremely greasy. You didn’t know what his hangovers were like, what they required. But you knew that an especially moody Ransom wouldn’t do you any good. So, a peace offering of a sort. 

The food arrived before he’d shown his face. As you looked at the cart, you thought that while you were trying to start things as well as you could for your own good, it didn’t erase everything he’d done the day before, how he’d treated you. So you made no effort to be quiet as you laid out the food and got the coffee ready. You may have banged the metal covers together as noisily as you could. 

“What the fuck?” Ransom grumbled as he came stumbling out of the bedroom in just his boxer briefs. “Why is there noise?”

“Coffee,” you said, handing him the mug you’d filled. “I didn’t know how you take it.”

He took a sip and just grunted at you and then turned around and went back into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

You busied yourself by getting your own coffee and munching on some toast. You still had no appetite but figured you should probably eat something. 

A few minutes later, he came back out with a now empty mug. He stopped and stared at you. “Am I still drunk or are you still wearing your wedding dress?”

You tried not to let your embarrassment show. “I couldn’t get it off by myself, so…” you trailed off and shrugged. 

He looked at you for another moment then nodded once. “Give me a minute,” he said, as he poured himself another cup. He drank it quickly, then briefly held his head in his hands. When he looked back up, he took a deep breath, then mumbled “OK.” He came up behind you and lightly touched your dress. “Is there a trick to it?” he asked as he ran a finger down the seam. 

“It’s a long line of hook-and-eyes, you know?”

He hummed and then started at the top. As he worked, he grumbled to himself, which made you feel a little better about not being able to get it off. You’d never stop being surprised by how gentle his hands were. It seemed to be in complete opposition to every other part of him. When he was about halfway down, his knuckles lightly grazed the bare skin of your back and a shudder ran through your whole body. “Sorry,” he said, softly. You just shook your head and didn’t say anything.

When he was done, he quickly took a step back. You held your dress to you, trying to preserve your modesty, even though you knew how silly that was. You just weren’t ready for him to see you, although you doubted that that mattered. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He nodded again, then “You mind if I take the first shower?”

You shook your head and he disappeared into the ensuite. 

About an hour and a half later, you sat with him in the back of a town car, on your way to the private airfield where one of his family’s planes awaited you. Neither of you said anything. Ransom was staring at something on his phone, while you put all your energy into trying not to have a panic attack. You had no idea what was waiting for you in Boston. You weren’t ready for this. You couldn’t do it.

As the car pulled up to the hangar, you were beyond relieved to see Steve already waiting there, Lola’s travel crate at his feet. The moment the car was parked and turned off, you lept out, not waiting for anyone to open the door for you. You bent down in front of Lola’s crate first and carefully stuck your fingers through the door. “Hi, baby, I missed you.” She kissed your fingers and then whined to be let out. “Not yet, honey,” you said softly. “You have to wait til we’re on the plane.”

You stood up and faced Steve, who was looking you over carefully. “How are you doing?” he asked seriously.

You shrugged and sighed. “Freaking out a little, I guess, but it’ll be fine.”

“And if it isn’t, you’ll call me,” he said, voice firm. “I don’t care where you are or what time it is, you call me. Ok?” You nodded. He opened his mouth to say more, but then the call of your name came from over your shoulder.

You turned to see Ransom standing between you and the jet. Your heart dropped. No, not yet. You needed more time. You needed to be able to actually say goodbye. You couldn’t– “I’ll be on the plane,” he said, voice still scratchy and tired, sunglasses firmly on, despite the overcast day. “Take your time.” He turned around and began walking up the stairs. 

You just stared after him for a moment, surprised. When you turned back to Steve, his lips were curled in disgust. But then the expression quickly changed to something much sadder. “I should have done more,” he said, “gotten you out of here, sent you away or something. I can’t–”

“Steve.” you interrupted. “Please stop. It’s no use now.” You couldn’t listen to any more of this. It had always been inevitable; it’d always been what you were for. Imagining anything else was useless. 

Neither of you said anything for a moment, then he looked around and asked, “Are Dad and Lydia on their way?” 

You tried to keep any hurt out of your expression when you said, “No, something important came up for Joseph and you know Mom has a hard time going anywhere by herself.” You ignored the cracks you heard in your own voice.

Steve’s brow furrowed in confusion and upset. “I would have picked her up,” he said. “Hell, I’ll go get her right now.” 

“I know,” you said sadly. “I told her that, but you know how she is.” You dropped your eyes, not able to look at the anger you knew you’d see on Steve’s face. You were angry too, you were, but mostly now you were just sad. And after thinking about it all night, you honestly weren’t sure how much anger she deserved. She’d been broken for a long time. It’d happened before you’d even known her, probably. It’d been unfair, maybe, to expect her to be strong for you now when she’d never been able to be that before.

Steve said your name and you looked up at him. “You don’t deserve this,” he said firmly. “I know I’ve said it before, but I really need you to understand it. None of this is what you deserve.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you just nodded and muttered, “OK.” 

He sighed and shook his head, then pulled you into his arms. “I’m going to miss you so fucking much,” he said into your hair. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without having you just a few minutes away to annoy whenever I want.”

You huffed a laugh into his shoulder. “I’m going to miss you too,” you said. “So much. Even when you’re being so annoying.” The tears were starting now, you weren’t able to hold them back. You pulled back and briefly got a good enough look at Steve’s face to see that his eyes were wet, too, before he knelt in front of Lola’s crate.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “I’m going to miss you too. You take good care of your mom for me.” 

You couldn’t help the little sob that came out of you at that. Fuck. Steve had been stuck to your side since you were six years old. Through absolutely everything. He’d been the one person you could count on for as long as you could remember. And now you were being dragged away from him. 

He stood up and pulled you into another hug. “You’re so strong,” he whispered right in your ear. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

When he pulled back, you knew it was time to go, but you didn’t know how to pull yourself away. This all felt so final.

“Let me know when you land,” he said. “And when you get to the house. And just–” he sighed. “Everything. I want to know everything, ok?”

You nodded and tried to brush the tears from your eyes. “Yeah, ok,” you said, knowing you’d send him the exact amount of information that would keep him from worrying too much. You picked up the dog crate. You locked eyes with him one last time. “I love you.”

His voice was thick when he responded, “I love you too. I’m going to sit right here until you’ve taken off, ok? I’ll be right here.”

“You’re a good brother,” you said, as you slowly took your first step backward, toward the jet. 

“Yes. I am,” he said with a smile that was half cocky and half absolutely heartbreaking. 

With one last deep breath and an “OK,” that was mostly to yourself, you forced yourself to turn around and make your way to the stairs up to the jet. Once you were halfway up, you looked over your shoulder. Steve was leaning against his car. He gave you an encouraging smile and a small wave. You nodded and took the last few steps to board the plane.

A flight attendant was standing right there to greet you. “Welcome aboard, Mrs. Drysdale,” she said and you couldn’t help the way your mouth dropped open in shock. Mrs. Drysdale. That’s who you were now. You tried to pull yourself together and let her show you into the main cabin. It was mostly open, with a few plush seats and tables scattered around. Ransom was already in one, fully reclined with a sleep mask pulled over his eyes. He made no indication that he was awake, so you asked the attendant for a mask for yourself and a glass of water. As she went to fulfill your request, you opened Lola’s little cage and picked her up when she came out. She was nervous, shaking with her little tail tucked between her legs. “It’ll be ok,” you said softly, the tears threatening to stream down again. You took a deep breath and settled the both of you into a seat as far from Ransom as you could get in the small private jet. You gave Lola gentle pets until she sat down on your lap. “We’ll just take a nap,” you said, “and it’ll be over before we know it.”

“What the fuck is that?”

You woke with a start and pulled off your sleep mask. “Huh?” You sat up to see Ransom and Lola locked in a staredown. 

“What is that?”

“I told you that I had a dog,” you said, confused. 

“That!” Ransom yelled, pointing at Lola, “is not a dog. That’s a long-haired rat!”

“Hey!” you yelled back, just as Lola started retching. “Oh, baby, no!” You knelt down next to her just as she puked right at Ransom’s feet.

“What the shit?!” he cried out, jumping back. 

“She’s stressed, ok? It’s not like I can explain to her what a plane is or where we’re going!” You grabbed what was left of your water and the napkin the flight attendant had brought with the glass and tried to clean it up. “Shit,” you mumbled to yourself.

“What are you doing?” He stood over you with his hands on his hips.

“I’m cleaning it up so you don’t freak out, ok? It’ll be fine, just give me a minute.”

“Get up.”

“What?”

“You don’t need to do that. The crew probably has a steam cleaner or something. My dad uses this plane. I’m sure they’ve seen worse.” He walked to the front of the cabin and knocked on the divider. When the attendant came, Ransom quietly told her, “The dog got sick. I assume you have something to clean it up.” 

She nodded and quickly came out with a portable steam cleaner and made quick work of Lola’s mess. 

“Thank you,” you told her.

“No problem at all, Mrs. Drysdale,” she smiled and went back to the galley.

“Well, that’s a real mindfuck,” Ransom said as he flopped back into his seat. He glared down at Lola, “She gonna do that again?”

“I don’t know,” you said, gently picking her up and holding her close to try to comfort her.

He pulled his sleep mask down over his eyes. “Great, love being a rat-dog owner.”

“She isn’t your dog,” you said curtly. 

“Whatever. This hangover is still pounding against my skull. Wake me when we land.” 

When you landed in Boston, Ransom led you to where his vintage beamer was parked and you both squeezed into it. The slightly hysterical thought struck you that it wouldn’t be suitable at all once there was a baby to cart around. You pushed that thought away. No use getting ahead of yourself.

Ransom’s house was on the edge of the city, surrounded by more trees than you expected. From the outside, it was mostly glass. Very modern. It felt cold.

He parked the car and grabbed the few bags you both had with you. The rest of your things would be delivered the next day. He showed you inside without much pomp or circumstance, just walked in ahead of you, and left the door open.

The majority of the first floor seemed to be one large, open-plan room. It was sparsely decorated and the pieces that were there seemed to be lifted wholesale from the pages of an upscale furniture catalog. There was nothing of Ransom in this house. Not that you really knew him well enough to say, but you didn’t think there was any information to be gleaned from his living space either. It all felt very empty. It was not what you had expected.

You set Lola down on the hardwood floor and she immediately ran off to explore. You crossed your fingers that she wouldn’t get into anything, not able to forget Ransom’s threat that he’d make you get rid of her if she messed anything up. You glanced over at Ransom to gauge if he was upset that you’d let her roam on her own, but he wasn’t paying any attention, leafing through a pile of mail left on the kitchen island. 

He must have felt you watching him, because without looking up he said, “Bedroom’s upstairs. I’ll bring our things up later.”

You nodded even though he wasn’t looking at you. You grabbed your bag, not wanting to wait for him, and made your way up the staircase in the middle of the living room. Judging by how he’d treated you so far, you figured he planned to tuck you away in some guest room, out of his way except for when he needed you. It wasn’t unheard of in marriages like this, and you would honestly be grateful to have your own space. But as you looked through the rooms upstairs, you found a home gym, a study, and 2 storage rooms. There’d also been a bathroom and a few closets. The only room left had to be his, but you couldn’t imagine he’d want to share that with you. You very gingerly walked in and set your bag at the foot of the bed. You didn’t spend any more time there, afraid that you might be wrong.

When you went back downstairs, he was now rummaging through his fridge. “I put my bag in the bedroom upstairs,” you said to his back. 

He just grunted his assent, then came out with two glass containers in his hands. He plated them both and put one in the microwave. “I have a housekeeper that comes three times a week and usually prepares meals for the whole week. You can give her any food preferences you have.”

You nodded. “I enjoy cooking,” you said, your mother's advice to ‘keep him happy’ floating in your mind. “I can make dinner too, sometimes.”

He nodded and shrugged as he took the plate out of the microwave and placed it in front of you on the island. You took a seat on one of the stools. “If you want,” he said, “but I don’t expect it.” He put his own plate in the microwave.

“Do you have any other staff?” you asked.

He shook his head. “Not for the house, not right now.”

You understood the implication that the staff would grow as your family did. A nanny, a driver, a gardener maybe, if you moved to a house that required one.

It was the lack of a driver that made you nervous. You’d never gone without one at home. You also hadn’t seen a large garage on the property, so you guessed there weren’t any extra cars around. You felt stuck in this house already, shut in like he didn’t want you to leave.

When his food was heated, he sat beside you and you ate together in silence. The food was fine, you were sure, but you couldn’t taste it. Your mind was ahead of you, wondering what the rest of the night held. 

When you were done, Ransom loaded your dishes into the dishwasher and then said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m beat, so I’m just going straight to bed. Feel free to stay up if you want. I’m a heavy sleeper so you won’t wake me when you come in.”

“Oh,” you said, trying to hide your surprise. So he did intend for you to share his room. But apparently, just for sleeping. You were relieved. You were. The little voice in your head that wouldn’t stop whispering that he didn’t want you didn’t count. “I’m still three hours behind, so I might stay up a little longer.” Doing what, you had no idea. You didn’t have any of your things and you weren’t sure what was off-limits here yet. And you were exhausted, still hadn’t recovered from not sleeping the night before. But you just couldn’t deal with the awkwardness of going to bed at the same time as him.

“OK,” he said and then just stood there, looking surprisingly lost. After a couple of endless minutes, he just said, “Goodnight,” and finally went upstairs.

You grabbed your phone out of your handbag, unsurprised to see multiple messages from Steve, checking in on you. You sent him one back, assuring him that the flight had been fine, the drive to the house was fine, you were fine. You collected Lola from where she was curled up on a rug, quickly fed her and let her out, and then brought her and her crate upstairs. After a few minutes of internal debate, you decided to set her up in the gym, fairly certain that even in her crate, Ransom wouldn’t want her in his bedroom. It took a lot of coaxing to get her in. She was so used to sharing your bed. She whined when you closed the little grate and your heart broke. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered. “You’ll get used to it. It’ll be ok.”

You quietly went into the bedroom and Ransom was, indeed, already asleep, spread out on his stomach again, but luckily this time only taking up one side of the bed. He’d left the lamp on the opposite side on for you. You took your sleep clothes out of your bag and brought your toiletries into the ensuite, unpacking only what you’d need for the night. His things were all piled around one of the side-by-side sinks, but the other was clear for you. You went through your nightly routine quickly and then went back into the bedroom and very carefully climbed into bed. He didn’t stir. You turned off the lamp and settled at the edge of the bed. Your exhaustion took you quickly.

When you woke in the morning, Ransom was gone.

Your things were delivered a few hours after you woke. You started by trying to organize the boxes into the least obtrusive pile possible. You hoped that if they were tucked into a corner, he wouldn’t be too annoyed while you took your time going through them. You started with a few of the smaller boxes, unpacking the items into places you hoped they could go.

You took Lola for a walk around the neighborhood. It was sparsely populated, the houses spaced far apart. You didn’t run into any neighbors.

One of the walk-in closets in the bedroom had been cleared out for you, so you spent the afternoon unpacking all your clothes. By the time you were done, it was time for dinner. There was still no sign of Ransom.

You fed Lola and helped yourself to one of the meals in the fridge. You ate alone and after you cleaned up, you dug a book out of one of your boxes and settled on one of the not-very-comfortable couches with Lola to read. You didn’t know if she was allowed on the furniture – you were sure she wasn’t, actually – but Ransom wasn’t here to see it, so you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. 

As you were finishing the second chapter in your book, he walked through the front door. With how the house was set up, he had a clear view of you and Lola from the door. “Hi,” was all he said.

“Hi,” was all you could say back.

He just stood there for a moment and then took off his coat and shoes. “How was your day?” he asked, stiffly, as he came into the living room. 

“Fine,” you said. Then you realized he was actually attempting conversation and added, “My things came, so I got started unpacking.”

He nodded, “That’s good. Did you eat?”

“I did,” you said, hoping that was the right answer. “Can I get you some food?”

“No, I’m fine. I ate at the office.” Well, that answered where he’d been all day – his family’s publishing house.

He cleared his throat. “I’m going to go upstairs to unwind. Will you be heading up soon?” 

Oh. Right. It’d finally come. “Yeah,” you said, your mouth suddenly dry. “I’ll just get Lola settled and then join you.”

He looked down at your dog in your lap like he was noticing her for the first time. But he didn’t say anything, just nodded and walked upstairs.

You let Lola out the back door for just a couple minutes, then took her upstairs. It was even harder to get her into her crate this time, even after you buried treats in her blankets. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you cooed, once you finally had her locked in. “I promise it won’t always be this hard and scary. It’ll be ok.”

Ransom was waiting for you in his room, sitting in an armchair by the window. “We should talk,” he said quietly.

“Ok.” You perched on the edge of the bed and did your best to look him in the eye, even as your heart was racing. 

He took a deep breath and leaned forward. “We don’t–” he started, then another breath. “There’s nothing that we have to do tonight. I mean, we can certainly get the first time out of the way, if that’s what you want to do. But it doesn’t have to be now. We have time.”

You wanted to be relieved, but it just felt like delaying the inevitable. “We don’t, actually,” you said shaking your head. “We don’t have that much time. Especially if it takes a while. If there’s going to be an issue getting pregnant, on either side, I think the sooner we know the better. I don’t want to be blindsided by it when we only have a month left.”

“Ok,” he nodded. “That makes sense. Yeah, we can get it over with.”

You were proud of yourself for the way you didn’t wince at his phrasing, but it was a near thing. But was it really fair to be upset or hurt by that when it was how you were feeling too? You wanted to stop delaying it. You were ready to just know how it was going to be, what he would want. So yeah, maybe ‘get it over with’ wasn’t such a bad way to put it. 

He stood up and sighed, looking like he was bracing himself. “I do need to know, have you done this before?”

You swallowed. The question wasn’t unexpected but you weren’t sure how to answer it and didn’t know which answer he was looking for. You decided to be honest and hoped it would be ok. “Yes, I’ve had sex,” you said, quietly.

He let out a long exhale in relief. “Ok,” he said, “ok, that’s good.” 

You stood up, unsure of what to do. You just wanted to be on the other side of it. You suddenly thought of what you’d just told Lola. It wouldn’t always be this hard and scary. You would get used to it. You just had to get through this first time. And then you’d know how he was. Resolved now, you started taking off your shirt.

“Wait,” he said, breathed really. “Just wait.”

Your shirt was already halfway off, stuck on your arms above your head, so you shucked it the rest of the way and threw it on the floor, but didn’t do anything else.

He came over and stood so he was in your space. He brought his hand up to cup your face, his thumb on your cheekbone. And very slowly, he ducked his head to bring his lips to yours. There was something about it. The intimacy. Even with what you knew you were about to do with him. You just– A kiss was too much. You turned away. You couldn’t do it.

Instead, your hands went to unbutton your pants. You undid it slowly then bent over with your back to him to push them down your legs, sticking your ass out as much as you could. That was better than a kiss, right? You could make him want you.

You kicked your pants off and stood back up, looking over your shoulder to see him watching you. But his face was unreadable. You weren’t ready for him to touch you, so you said, “I can get myself ready for you,” hoping it came off coy, but you were afraid he’d be able to hear how your voice shook. For the briefest moment, you almost thought you saw something travel across his face. Disappointment, maybe. But it was gone too fast for you to be able to tell, and you were trying so hard to look away, anyway.

You got on the bed, lying on your back, sliding your panties off as seductively as you could. You closed your eyes tight and slowly moved one hand down your abdomen while the other started to play with your breast, cupping it, tweaking your nipple. As your other hand slipped between your thighs, you brought up your go-to fantasy. Nothing fancy or outlandish. Just a man standing over you, touching you, telling you how much he loved you, how much he loved your body. How he was going to ruin you, completely take you apart. You tried to focus on that as your fingers slowly made their way between your folds, as they made their way to your clit. But this room kept pulling you back to reality. You could hear Ransom taking his clothes off. You tried to ignore it. You were starting to get wet, slowly but surely, so you carefully pushed one finger inside yourself, trying so hard to focus on the man, his voice. You heard a bottle of lube flick open. No, no, you weren’t here, as you added another finger. You could hear Ransom’s hand on his cock now as your thumb continued to rub your clit. You opened your eyes despite yourself. Ransom was kneeling on the edge of the bed, stroking himself to hardness. It was the first time you’d seen him fully naked. He really was so beautiful. You sort of hated him for it. 

You closed your eyes again. You could do this. You scissored your fingers slowly, opening yourself up, a little whine escaping your lips, when suddenly, you felt a hand wrap around your ankle. You wanted to scream in frustration. It was no use. Your hands dropped down to your sides. You were ready enough. It wouldn’t hurt, it was fine. You blinked your eyes open again to find Ransom staring at your face, searching for something. You couldn’t begin to guess what. “I’m ready,” you said. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice soft, but gritty.

“Yeah, I’m good. How do you want me?”

He seemed almost startled by your question. “Uh, however you’re most comfortable.”

You nodded and flipped over onto your stomach, pulling your knees up toward your elbows and putting your ass in the air. This would be easiest if you didn’t have to look at him. If you could imagine someone else. Someone who loved you. Someone who wanted to be here. 

You heard the bottle of lube again and then felt him settle between your legs. One hand was on your ass and you presumed he was using the other to line himself up. You pushed your face into the pillow underneath you. You tried to bring the fantasy back as he slowly eased inside of you. He was big, but not so big it hurt. You breathed through it as he worked his way in with short, slow thrusts. He was being so gentle with you. You weren’t sure if you liked it. The hand on your ass moved to your hip, while the other snaked around to your stomach, softly stroking you there, then moved down over your pelvis, and then finally between your thighs to search for your clit. He found it quickly. But no matter how hard you closed your eyes, his fingers made it impossible for you to pretend that it was anyone else with you, anyone else touching you. Without thinking, you pushed his hand away and replaced it with your own. 

He was making little grunts and gasps behind you that you tried to ignore. You rubbed furious circles over your clit and tried to focus only on the fullness you felt. But then, that fullness started to lessen. The grunts behind you turned into a “Shit.” and then a “Fuck!” and suddenly, that fullness completely disappeared. You let out a little cry as he quickly pulled out of you. You turned around to catch a glimpse of his softening cock before he disappeared into the bathroom, the door slamming behind him. 

You lay on your back for just a moment, your mind trying to catch up, figure out what on earth had just happened. That voice that had been there this whole time, since that first meeting a month ago, came back with smug satisfaction. He doesn’t want you, it said, over and over. Your thighs were sticky, probably mostly from the lube. You didn’t think your wetness or his precome had been enough to make a mess out of you. You got up, desperate to not be naked anymore.  You grabbed a sleep shirt out of the closet you were using and slipped it on. You hugged yourself, standing in the middle of the room with no idea what to do. 

In the silence, with nothing else to focus on, you were suddenly aware of Lola crying across the hall. Fuck. Everything just kept getting worse.

Ransom came out of the bathroom and went straight to the bed. He stopped at the foot, seemingly surprised that you weren’t still in it. He looked up and found you on the other side of the room. 

“Is everything ok?” you asked quietly.

“It’s fine,” he said, voice sharp. You flinched and he sighed, then visibly tried to calm himself down. “It’s fine,” he said again, much softer this time. He held out a washcloth to you. “In case you need to clean yourself up.”

You took a few steps toward him so that you could grab it. “Thank you,” you said, as you quickly wiped between your legs, then went to finish cleaning up in the bathroom. 

When you came back out, he was back in bed, on his back, just staring at the ceiling. “What’s that noise?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s fine,” you hurried to answer. “It’s Lola, but she’s ok. She just isn’t used to sleeping alone. She’ll get used to it, eventually.” Your heart broke as you spoke, but you knew it couldn’t be avoided. 

“Where does she usually sleep?” he asked.

It took you a minute to answer, you were so surprised by the question. “Uh, with me,” you said.

“Then go get her,” he said, without looking at you. He hadn’t looked at you since you’d come out of the bathroom.

“Really?” you whispered.

“Yeah, if it stops her crying.”

You didn’t wait to be told again. You hurried across the hall and opened her crate, scooping her up into your arms. “I’m so sorry,” you cooed. “I’m so, so sorry. It’s going to be ok now.”

When you got back to the room, Ransom had turned off his light and turned over onto his side, facing the wall. You placed Lola on the bed and crawled in after her. As you turned off your own lamp, you whispered, “Thank you,” not sure if he was awake to hear it.

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[vipwinnie]

“ It’s always been you “

Theodore Nott x reader

Summary : you thought he loved you, and ultimately you were right

You always had a big crush on Théodore. And to your greatest happiness, the alchemy happened with him. You quickly became friends sharing the same interests, and your relationship has only evolved over the years. You had become so close that you could easily pass for a couple.

It was a gentle autumn morning; you had accompanied theodore to get ingredients for a potion. You were on your way back, walking near the lake.

“What a lovely place for a walk, isn't it?” he said, looking out over the peaceful lake.

“Yes, it’s really beautiful here. I really appreciate this peace and quiet.” you replied.

“Me too, it’s like time stops. By the way, you look really beautiful today. “he added

"Thank you, you are very kind. You know, I really enjoy our time together.” you said staring at theodore's face with starry eyes.

“I too, really enjoy every moment spent with you. You’re different from other girls, you know?”

"Really ? How so ?"you asked.

“You are unique, special. I feel really good in your presence. I can not help thinking of you."

“Oh, I feel the same way. You knew how to touch a sensitive chord in me. I’m so happy to be with you.”you said, with the biggest smile on your face.

“It’s amazing how much we are on the same page. I feel like I can share anything with you.”

“I feel so close to you too. It’s like we have a special connection.”

You hadn't noticed that he had stopped walking, looking you straight in the eyes. Stopping yourself, you look him in the eyes. Their eyes met, a shy smile appearing on their lips. Their faces moved closer and closer, their breaths mingling delicately. Everything seemed to freeze around them, the entire world disappearing in a suspended moment. You've been waiting for this moment for so long. But when you think that your lips are finally going to touch each other. But suddenly, Theodore stepped back. You didn't understand.

“I have potions class in 5 minutes, I really should go” he said, walking further away without giving you one last look as if you didn’t exist.

You stood there alone, only the sounds of the lake could be heard. You were lost, the more you thought, the more the tears came. What did you do wrong? Did he hate you? You shouldn't lose faith .

The next time you saw him that day, Theodore's last class was Defense Against the Dark Arts. As usual, you were waiting for Theodore to come out, you were waiting for him leaning against a wall. You saw him come out, so you went to meet him. You took a deep breath and gathered all your courage to go to meet him. Your heartbeat speeds up as you get closer to him.

But when you approach Theodore, he seems to completely ignore you. He doesn't even look you in the eye, as if you were invisible. Your heart breaks into a thousand pieces at this very moment. You feel devastated and humiliated. Tears begin to slowly fall down your cheeks as you hurry back to the dorms. You take refuge in your room, closing the door behind you. Sitting on your bed, you lament to yourself, wondering what you did wrong to deserve such rejection. Thoughts swirl in your mind. You remember every moment you spent with Theodore, analyzing every interaction, searching for answers to your pain.

You wonder if you misinterpreted his signals or if you were just naive to believe that he could feel the same attraction as you. Sadness invades you, your sobs turn into a silent cry of despair. You feel alone, misunderstood and hurt. The questions loop through your head, questioning your own worth and attractiveness. That evening you went to bed, with tears in your eyes. Your sister took a really big hit today.

The next morning, you wake up with a rush of excitement in your heart, knowing that you will soon join the others for breakfast. You secretly hope to meet the eyes of your crush, Theodore. Yesterday, he completely ignored you, but you ignore this disappointment and remain optimistic. Entering the common room, you look for him, but he is nowhere in sight. You feel a slight disappointment, but you refuse to let it ruin your day. You greet your friends and sit down at a table, ready to enjoy this friendly moment. As you start to chat with your friend Pansy, you suddenly hear Theodore scratch his throat. Your heart races with hope. Will he finally speak to you? But instead, he announces in an unsteady voice that he must go back to the dormitories.

You are stunned, unable to understand why he is acting this way. A sadness invades your being as you see him walk away without even glancing at you. You feel rejected and hurt, wondering what you could have done wrong to deserve such treatment. Tears threaten to fall, but you hold back, not wanting to show your vulnerability to others.

You feel lost, unable to understand why Theodore treats you like this. You question your actions, looking for answers in the smallest details of your relationship. Maybe it's your fault? Maybe you're not interesting or attractive enough for him? Theodore's strange behavior doesn't go unnoticed by the rest of your friends either.

“What happened with Theodore? We noticed that he completely ignored you. Draco asked you.

“Yes, I don’t understand his behavior at all. I thought everything was fine between us, but he avoided me and left without saying a word.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure there’s an explanation. It's not normal for him to ignore you like this. He really cares about you, I know that.” reassured you Blaise who was still swallowing his breakfast”

"Exactly. Theodore is a good person and I am convinced that he would never want to deliberately hurt you. He must have a valid reason for his behavior.” Draco continued.

“But it still hurts me. I feel like I've done something wrong or that I'm insignificant to him.” you say

“No, don't think that. You are an incredible person and you deserve someone who treats you with respect and love. Theodore needs to talk to you and explain to you what's really going on." he continued.

"Exactly. Maybe he's going through something difficult right now and he doesn't know how to tell you. You know how he is. But know that this is in no way your fault.” Draco continued in turn.

"Thanks guys. “ you said even if you weren’t really convinced.

Later in the day you tried to find him so you could finally talk to him. As you headed towards his dorms, you saw him in one of the hallways, sitting on the bench with a girl. They seemed to be laughing and chatting, as if they were best friends .

Reality hit me hard. You felt betrayed, devastated. Tears begin to flow down your cheeks, your legs weaken under the weight of pain. You wanted to run away, to escape this scene that was breaking your heart. Without thinking, you started running, your sobs muffling his cries of despair. You walked through the park, feeling lost, betrayed and abandoned. But to your surprise, you heard footsteps behind you. It was Theodore following you, his eyes full of worry and confusion. He called out to you, trying to catch up with you. You stop, turning your tear-stained face towards him.

He approached you, his voice trembling with emotion. He asked you what was wrong, why you had run away in such a hurry.

But you didn't want to hear these words, so you tried it all, you kissed him. His lips pressed against yours suddenly in a sweet kiss, triggering an explosion of emotions in your heart. His hands squeeze with yours tenderly, your lips moving in perfect harmony. It was a kiss filled with passion.

As your lips slowly part, you keep your eyes closed, trying to hold in this magical moment. You can feel the smile on his face, the happiness shining in his eyes. The world gradually regains its colors, and you open your eyes to look once again into the gaze of the one who has just stolen your breath. Theodore approaches you hesitantly, his heart heavy with remorse.

He kissed you back: it was definitely the best day of your life. But I thought you didn't love me? You pushed me away so many times" you say with tears in your eyes.

He kneels in front of you, taking your hands in his. “I’m so sorry…” he whispers, his voice trembling. "I ignored your feelings because I was afraid of mine. I didn't know how to deal with them, so I thought that by keeping you at a distance, I could bury them."

Tears continue to stream down the girl's face as she listens to his words. "But why? Why be afraid of your feelings?", you asked, trying to understand. Theodore gently wipes away the tears streaming down the girl's cheeks.

"Because I simply love you. I was afraid of what that meant, of the vulnerability that it entailed. I was a coward in ignoring myself and I'm so sorry for making you suffer. "

You stared at Theodore, your eyes red and swollen with tears. Despite his pain, you could see the sincerity in his eyes. "I...I feel the same way. I have feelings for you too, but I was afraid to tell you. I thought you didn't feel anything for me."you said.

Theodore gently caresses your cheeks, a shy smile appears on your face. "I'm sorry I was so blind...

You didn't let him finish, interrupting him with another fiery kiss showing all your love for him.

[writeriguess]

Riding Logan in the forest pleaaaaseeeee 😭

The sun was beginning its slow descent, casting a warm, golden glow over the forest. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, mingled with the soft murmur of rustling leaves. You walked along the narrow trail, your footsteps muffled by the thick carpet of fallen needles and moss. The forest was alive with the subtle sounds of nature—birds chirping in the canopy, the distant call of a deer, and the occasional snap of a twig underfoot.

You paused for a moment, taking in the serenity of the forest. Your heart felt light, carried by the gentle breeze that wove through the trees. This place had always been a sanctuary for you, a place to escape the hustle and bustle of everyday life. It was on these solitary walks that you felt most at peace, most connected to the world around you.

Today, however, was different. The forest seemed unusually quiet, as if holding its breath. You shook off the feeling, attributing it to your imagination, and continued on the path. The deeper you ventured, the more the forest seemed to envelop you in its embrace, its shadows stretching long and deep as the sun continued to sink.

As you rounded a bend in the trail, a figure emerged from the shadows. Your heart skipped a beat. Logan Howlett—Wolverine, as the world knew him—stood there, his rugged face illuminated by the fading light. His presence was both commanding and comforting, a stark contrast to the serene landscape.

“Logan,” you called out softly, your voice tinged with surprise and pleasure. “What are you doing here?”

He looked at you with those intense, amber eyes of his, a small, almost playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Just taking a walk. Didn’t expect to run into anyone out here.”

You couldn’t help but smile. The rugged, brooding man before you seemed so out of place in the gentle surroundings of the forest, yet he fit perfectly, like a lone wolf in its natural habitat. There was an undeniable magnetism about him that drew you in, an unspoken promise of adventure and connection.

Logan’s gaze softened as he took a step closer. “Mind if I join you?” His voice was a low, rumbling growl that seemed to vibrate through the ground beneath your feet.

“Not at all,” you replied, your heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and curiosity.

The two of you walked together in companionable silence, the forest stretching around you in a lush, green expanse. Logan seemed relaxed, his usual guarded demeanor melting away as he followed your lead. Occasionally, he would point out a particularly interesting plant or animal, sharing bits of knowledge that made you appreciate the forest even more.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the forest took on a magical quality. The last rays of sunlight filtered through the trees, casting an ethereal glow over everything. You and Logan found a small clearing, its grassy floor dotted with wildflowers. The space seemed almost enchanted, a hidden gem in the heart of the forest.

Logan looked around and then back at you, his expression thoughtful. “This is nice,” he said, his voice softer now. “Haven’t been out here in a while.”

You sat down on the grass, patting the spot beside you. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Sometimes it’s like the forest has a way of wrapping you up in its own kind of magic.”

Logan settled next to you, his proximity sending a pleasant shiver through you. The warmth of his body against yours was both reassuring and exhilarating. You could feel the subtle vibrations of his presence, a reminder of the strength and vitality that lay beneath his rugged exterior.

As the first stars began to appear in the night sky, you found yourself drawn to Logan, his presence both comforting and electrifying. You turned to him, your eyes meeting his in the dim light. There was a moment of stillness, an unspoken understanding passing between you.

Logan reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. His touch was gentle, yet firm, sending a tingle through your skin. “You know,” he said, his voice low and intimate, “I didn’t expect this to turn into something special.”

You smiled, leaning into his touch. “Sometimes the best moments are the ones we don’t plan for.”

Logan’s eyes softened, and he leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “You’re right about that.”

His lips brushed against yours, a tender, lingering kiss that seemed to echo the magic of the forest around you. The world seemed to hold its breath as you kissed him, the connection between you both deepening with each passing second. The kiss was a melding of passion and tenderness, a beautiful contrast to the ruggedness of Logan’s usual demeanor.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your hearts racing in unison. Logan looked at you with a mixture of admiration and affection. “I didn’t expect to find someone like you out here,” he said, his voice filled with genuine warmth.

You reached out, taking his hand in yours, feeling the rough callouses against your skin. “Sometimes the best things are found in the most unexpected places.”

Logan squeezed your hand gently, a contented smile playing on his lips. The forest around you seemed to glow with a newfound warmth, the stars above twinkling like tiny beacons of hope. In that moment, you knew that whatever the future held, you had found something truly special—an unexpected connection in a place that had always been your sanctuary.

The night continued to unfold with a sense of timelessness, the forest a silent witness to the bond that had formed between you and Logan. As you sat together under the stars, wrapped in each other’s arms, it felt as though the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of you and the magical embrace of the forest.

And in that serene, moonlit clearing, you knew that this was just the beginning of something extraordinary.

As the kiss between you and Logan lingered, the forest around you seemed to fade into the background, becoming a mere blur in the wake of the intense connection you shared. The initial softness of the kiss gave way to a more passionate fervor, a mutual exploration that spoke of longing and desire.

Logan’s hands moved to cradle your face, his touch both tender and commanding. His fingers traced the contours of your cheek, his thumb brushing against your lips as he deepened the kiss. You responded with equal fervor, your hands sliding to his shoulders, feeling the solid strength beneath the fabric of his shirt. The world outside this moment ceased to exist; there was only the shared sensation of closeness and the electric spark that ignited with every touch.

The kiss grew more insistent, his lips parting slightly to deepen the connection. You could taste the faint hint of his breath mingling with the fresh scent of the forest, a heady mix that only heightened the intimacy of the moment. Logan’s kiss was passionate, a blend of gentle caresses and fervent presses that made your pulse quicken.

You leaned into him, your body aligning with his as if drawn together by an invisible force. The warmth of his body against yours was exhilarating, each shift and movement adding to the charged atmosphere. His hands roamed to your back, pulling you closer, as though he wanted to be as near to you as possible.

In the midst of the kiss, you could feel his heart pounding against your chest, mirroring the rapid beats of your own. His grip tightened, his fingers pressing into your back with a possessive, yet gentle pressure. You could sense the raw intensity behind his touch, the unspoken emotions that he was pouring into every caress.

Your hands moved from his shoulders to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair as you deepened the kiss further. Logan’s breath hitched slightly, a soft groan escaping his lips as the kiss became even more heated. His arms wrapped around you more tightly, pulling you into his embrace with a sense of urgency that spoke of a deep-seated yearning.

The forest around you was bathed in the soft light of the moon, its glow casting a silvery sheen over the two of you. The leaves above rustled gently, as if whispering secrets to the night. The cool breeze kissed your exposed skin, heightening the warmth and closeness you felt with Logan.

As the kiss continued, you found yourself losing track of time, lost in the sensation of his lips moving against yours, the way his touch made your skin tingle with a heady mix of pleasure and anticipation. Every brush of his lips, every gentle bite, spoke volumes of the passion and desire that had been simmering between you.

Eventually, you pulled back slightly, your foreheads resting against each other, breaths mingling as you both panted softly. Logan’s eyes were dark with desire, a fiery intensity that matched the heat of the moment. He looked at you with an expression of awe and longing, his fingers gently caressing your face as if trying to memorize every detail.

“You,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion, “you’re incredible.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection. “So are you.”

The connection between you was undeniable, a blend of passion and tenderness that felt both thrilling and deeply comforting. As you gazed into each other’s eyes, it was clear that this moment was something extraordinary—an intersection of hearts and souls that went beyond mere attraction.

Logan leaned in once more, his lips capturing yours in a final, lingering kiss that spoke of everything that words could not. It was a kiss filled with promise, with the hope of a future intertwined with the present magic of the moment. When he finally pulled away, his eyes never left yours, the silent understanding between you both conveying a depth of feeling that words could scarcely express.

The forest, once a backdrop to your solitary walk, had transformed into a sanctuary of romance and connection. As you and Logan sat together, enveloped in the gentle embrace of the night, it was clear that this was a moment that would linger in your memory—a beautiful beginning to something truly special.

As the night wore on, the moonlight cast a silvery glow over the clearing, accentuating the intimate atmosphere that enveloped you and Logan. The closeness you shared was palpable, an almost tangible connection that had grown with each passing moment.

Logan’s gaze remained fixed on you, his eyes reflecting a mixture of admiration and desire. His hands continued their gentle caress along your arms, his touch warm and reassuring. The intensity of the moment, combined with the serene beauty of the forest, created a sense of privacy and safety that allowed you both to fully express your feelings.

Feeling a rush of vulnerability and closeness, you decided to take a step further in deepening your connection. With a slow, deliberate motion, you began to unfasten the buttons of your shirt. Each movement was purposeful, a way of symbolizing your trust and openness. Logan’s eyes followed your actions with a blend of awe and tenderness, his expression softening as he took in the sight of you.

When your shirt was finally removed, you laid it aside on the grass, the cool night air brushing against your skin. Logan’s gaze lingered, filled with appreciation and a deep sense of connection. He reached out, his fingers lightly tracing the contours of your bare skin. The touch was gentle, almost reverent, as though he was cherishing every inch of you.

Encouraged by his reaction, you looked at him with a mix of excitement and vulnerability. His response was immediate; his hands moved to the hem of his own shirt, pulling it over his head in a smooth, fluid motion. The sight of his bare chest, defined and strong, was both thrilling and intimate. His body was a testament to his strength and the life he led, but in this moment, it was also a canvas of shared experience and trust.

Logan closed the distance between you, his skin warm against yours as he pulled you into a gentle embrace. The connection between you was more than physical; it was a melding of emotions and trust, a shared vulnerability that went beyond mere attraction. He leaned in, his breath warm on your neck as he whispered, “You’re amazing, you know that?”

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection and warmth. “I feel the same way about you.”

As the night continued to unfold, you and Logan remained in each other’s arms, wrapped in the soft glow of the moonlight and the gentle embrace of the forest. The connection between you was profound, a beautiful blend of passion and tenderness that spoke of something truly special.

The forest around you was alive with the sounds of the night, the rustling leaves and distant calls creating a soothing backdrop to the intimate moment you shared. You could feel the beat of Logan’s heart against your chest, a steady rhythm that matched your own. It was a moment of deep connection and shared trust, a testament to the bond that had formed between you.

His hands moved slowly, sliding up your sides, the roughness of his palms a contrast to your soft skin. When he reached your breasts, he cupped them gently, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

A low growl escaped his throat as he leaned forward, his lips capturing one of your nipples. The warmth of his mouth, combined with the gentle flick of his tongue, made you gasp. You could feel his growing arousal beneath you, the hardness pressing against you as you instinctively began to move your hips, seeking more contact.

Logan’s other hand slid down your back, encouraging your movements as he continued to suck and tease your sensitive nipple. Your breath hitched, a moan escaping as the pressure between your legs built. Each movement of your hips against him made your heart race faster, the tension between you reaching a fever pitch.

His mouth left your breast, his lips brushing up your neck, leaving a trail of warmth as he kissed his way back to your mouth. When he captured your lips with his, it was with a passion that stole your breath away, his hand still firmly holding you against him, guiding your movements.

The heat between you was becoming unbearable, a burning need that demanded more. Logan's eyes darkened with desire as your fingers traced down his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt tense with anticipation. You could feel the hardness pressing against you, a silent plea for release.

With a deliberate slowness, you reached down, undoing the buckle of his belt and then the button of his jeans. Logan's breath hitched, a deep, rumbling growl escaping him as you unzipped his pants, freeing him from the constraint. The sight of him, hard and ready, sent a wave of heat pooling low in your belly.

You wrapped your hand around his length, feeling the weight and warmth of him in your palm. Logan's head tipped back, eyes closing as he groaned, the sound vibrating through you and making your own arousal grow. You began to stroke him, your thumb brushing over the tip, spreading the beads of moisture that had already gathered there.

His hips jerked slightly in response, the hand on your back tightening, pulling you closer. "You're driving me crazy, darlin'," he muttered, his voice thick with need.

Smiling at his reaction, you leaned down, capturing his lips in a heated kiss as you continued to stroke him, feeling the tension coil tighter between you. Logan's free hand gripped your thigh, pulling you against him, the friction making you moan into his mouth.

His patience was wearing thin, the raw need in him evident as he broke the kiss, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "I need you. Now."

You bit your lip as you guided him to your entrance, feeling the tip press against your wetness. The size of him was overwhelming, stretching you with just the slightest push. Logan's eyes locked onto yours, his expression a mix of concern and desire.

"Are you sure?" he murmured, his voice gravelly, but tinged with care.

You nodded, breathless with anticipation, and he began to ease himself inside you, slowly at first, giving you time to adjust. The sensation of him filling you inch by inch was both intense and exhilarating. You gasped, the stretch almost too much, but the pleasure of it made you crave more.

Logan groaned as he pushed deeper, his jaw clenched in restraint, trying to go slow despite the urge to thrust harder. "God, you're so tight," he growled, his voice thick with need.

You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders as he continued to fill you, the feeling of his cock stretching you almost unbearably. But the fullness, the way he fit so perfectly inside you, made you shiver with pleasure.

When he was finally buried to the hilt, you both paused, your bodies trembling from the intensity of the moment. You felt so full, so utterly connected to him, that it took a moment to catch your breath. Logan pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his hands caressing your sides as he waited for you to adjust.

"You're incredible," he whispered, his voice filled with awe and affection.

You began to move, slowly at first, feeling the delicious friction as you lifted yourself slightly and then sank back down onto him. The sensation was overwhelming, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge. Logan’s hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements, his own control slipping as you both gave in to the raw need between you.

As you rode him, the pleasure built rapidly, the pressure of him inside you, combined with the way he touched you, making it impossible to hold back. The cabin filled with the sound of your shared moans, the intensity of your connection driving you both to the brink.

Your bodies moved in perfect sync, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. The sensation of Logan's cock filling you, stretching you, was almost too much to bear, yet you couldn't get enough. The heat between you was building, reaching a fever pitch as you rode him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you chased that final, overwhelming release.

Logan's grip on your hips tightened, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he thrust up into you, his control slipping away. "I'm close," he growled, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. The way he filled you completely, the friction of his cock against your inner walls, was pushing you to the edge.

You could feel the tension coiling tighter in your core, the pleasure mounting until it was nearly unbearable. And then, with one last thrust, everything unraveled. Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your entire body tensing as the pleasure crashed over you. You cried out, your muscles clenching around him as the sensation overwhelmed you.

Logan's response was immediate. With a deep, guttural groan, he followed you over the edge, his hips jerking up as he buried himself deep inside you. You felt the warmth of his release, the hot rush of his cum filling you as he came, his cock pulsing inside your tight heat. The sensation of him spilling into you, the way his body shuddered beneath yours, sent another wave of pleasure coursing through you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, both of you catching your breath, the room filled with the sound of your heavy breathing and the crackling fire. Logan's hands stroked your back gently, soothingly, as you both came down from the intense high. The feeling of his cum inside you, mixed with the afterglow of your shared pleasure, left you feeling completely sated and utterly connected to him.

Logan pressed a tender kiss to your lips, his voice soft as he whispered, "You're mine, darlin'."

[becomingmina]

JUST HOLD ME. w/ SEUNGMIN.

pairing: seungmin x female reader genre + warnings: established relationship, fluff, reader is called princess. wc: 740+ mina's note: because I’m having a bad day I think seungmin is just so boyfriend i love him sm 💖

other works here ; any comments and thoughts you can drop them here ; ty for reading.

You’re exhausted, you have just finish up with work now, an hour and a bit later than your usually time. An hour spend on tidying up your colleagues' work that you’re not even suppose to be doing. It’s that you allow them to use you like that but every time you voice your opinion, you get shut down.

“Don’t you want to be a team player Y/N?”

“Helping them will allow you to excel in the field.”

“One task should be okay to help him with? You’re already done with your job.”

“I’m sure Dylan will be happy to help you out in the future if needed, don’t you think?”

No actually I don’t think so.

All you can do is keep it in, beat yourself up and go about with your day. You don’t mean anything to these people and they shouldn’t mean anything to you too. Work is just work and you should forget about it once you walk out of the office building. But you don’t. Your day replays in your head the whole train ride home. Why do you even try so hard with people who don’t even care about you Y/N? Why do they only come to you when they need help Y/N? Why do you have no back bone Y/N?! JUST SAY NO Y/N?! You’re tired because it’s your fault Y/N!

You finally reached home, your cozy, dim light, relaxing, small, quiet home that you shared with your amazing boyfriend. Normally all the stress would go away the second you land in your apartment, but today it still doesn’t. There was still so so so much tension in your shoulders, your chest, your head, everywhere.

“Princess!! How was work?!” Seungmin yelled from your shared bedroom after hearing the front door open. You find yourself smiling a little bit at his voice, but you don’t answer. “Princess?” He speaks again, now a little cautious if it’s even his princess who entered the apartment. You hear rush of footsteps get louder as you make your way into the house.

“Why didn’t you answer me, Y/N?” Seungmin asked after confirming it was you, smiling seeing his lovely girlfriend in front of him. Even though she didn’t feel and look lovely, her shoulders were rounded, hair messy from her pulling it, lips pale as she forgets to swipe her pink lipstick across like she usually does.

“Hold me,” you spoke quietly, taking off your bag tossing it to the dining table. Seungmin stands in front of you, with his arms wide open. You fall into them, hugging his body so tight as you try to clam yourself down. He wraps his arms around you, letting you take out a couple of deep breaths, taking in his sweet smell. He just straight up smells like boyfriend material, you don’t know how to explain it. The heavy feeling from your body’s starts to leave as you fall further and further into his touch, into his warmth. Seungmin always knew how to take care of you even if it’s just sanding there with his arms open, and you appreciate him so much for times like this.

“You okay baby?” Oh, he was so sweet.

“Just hold me,” you reply gently, and he continues to, not even trying to get it out of you but knowing how tired you are. One arm drags up and down your back, just showering you with affection. Your mind starts to go blank now, nothing matters to you. Only your boyfriend.

“You wanna go lie down?” He asks before placing a kiss to your head. You nod but don’t make any effort to move away from his grasp. He chuckles at you, then lifts you into him with the help of his his hands on back of your knees. He walks you to the bedroom, letting you rest ontop of him as he lies down on his back. His hands go back to their position on your back, tracing up and down.

Moments go by and you’re both still the same place. It was so peaceful, you feel yourself start to grow numb.

“You’re going to doze off on me Y/N.” He notices your sleepy state.

“No I’m not, I just want you to hold me,” you quietly laugh back well aware you were dozing off him his arms. “Can I?” You ask, wanting to fall sleep as you feel so comfortable, so relax, so safe.

“Of course princess.”

[sunshinebuckybarnes]

Sundaze

Pairing: Husband!Andy Barber x female!reader

Summary: you and your husband finally have a free Sunday together

Warnings: petnames (honey, baby), smut; unprotected sex. Fluffy, sweet and tender loving 🥰 this blog is 18+ only. Minors DNI.

Author's note: thank you my sweet Alice @flordeamatista for sending me this based on my tag because I probably wouldn't have thought to actually write it otherwise 💜 (word count: 1k)

It felt like months since you'd been able to enjoy the serenity of a Sunday. And it felt even longer since you and Andy had a Sunday with no plans. No work. No commitments. Just a Sunday with each other.

The thought brought a soft smile to your lips as you turned your head to watch Andy's sleeping form. He was laid on his back, his head facing you and a peaceful look on his face that you'd missed seeing.

You hadn't even heard him come home last night, too exhausted from your own crazy week at work and from the soft snores coming from Andy you know he'd been just as exhausted.

Knowing how much he needs to rest you climb out of bed as quietly as possible. Andy doesn't move an inch, much to your delight.

You make your way to the kitchen, your bare feet silent against the cool hard floor. The early morning sunlight streaming through the windows is enough to warm your legs as you wear nothing but Andy's shirt.

The day is still young and you take a moment to appreciate the quiet as you wait for the coffee to brew.

Gone are the days when you felt guilty about doing nothing all day. Today was about you and your husband getting some much-needed downtime together.

You're humming to yourself softly, the rich smell of coffee filling your senses as a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist.

Andy's lips brush against your neck as he inhales your scent, "mmm, good morning honey."

His voice is deep, the final remnants of sleep still hanging on his words. You smile as his lips leave slow, tender kisses against your neck.

You attempt to turn in his arms but he keeps you pressed against the edge of the counter. His hands cage you in as they grip the edge. You can feel him getting harder as he presses closer against you.

"Andy," you whine, your hips pushing back on their own accord. It had been too long since you and Andy had had a moment like this. Your bodies craved each other.

"Look so good in my shirt, honey," Andy murmurs between kisses. His fingers toy with the hem of your shirt, gently brushing against the skin of your thighs and sending shivers throughout your whole body.

You push your ass back further, feeling how he strains against his boxers and you can't help but moan.

"Please, baby, need you."

Andy pushes your back gently, guiding you to lean further onto the counter. His hand pushes your shirt up and he throws his head back with a groan as he realises you're wearing nothing underneath.

"I think you planned this, honey," he smirks, softly swatting your ass as you giggle.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Whatever you say," he hums, his large hands massaging your cheeks.

You gasp when you feel one of his fingers collect the wetness from between your legs and slowly circle your clit.

"No teasing baby," you moan, not even trying to keep the pleading from your voice.

Andy's hand disappears from between your legs and you hear him push his boxers down. He taps your pussy with his cock, "spread your legs for me, honey. Good girl."

You whine when the head of his cock breaches your entrance. The stretch reminds you of how long it's been and how much you've missed this.

To two of you sigh in unison as he bottoms out inside you. Andy pulls out of you slowly, feeling every part of you as you feel every inch of him before pushing in just as slowly.

The kitchen is filled with the sounds of your soft pants and moans as Andy languidly thrusts into you. It's slow and tender, much like a Sunday should be.

Andy's hands are everywhere; gripping your hips, smacking your ass, cupping your breasts. It's like he's discovering your body all over again.

"Missed this, honey," he breathes, pushing into you with more force which has your back arching, "missed you so much."

You moan when you feel his left hand wrap around your throat. The metal of his wedding ring cooling your heated skin. He pulls you up against his chest, your hands finding purchase on the counter as he continues to bring you nothing but pleasure.

Turning your head you search for his lips, moaning into his mouth when he meets you in a searing kiss. Andy's hips quicken and your toes curl against the hardwood floor as he hits that spot that makes you see starts.

You break away from his lips but remain close, your forehead resting against your husbands.

"Andy," you plead, feeling the familiar knot forming.

"I've got you, honey," Andy grunts, his eyes locking on yours, "I'm close, need you to come for me, beautiful."

Andy's hand tightens around your throat as his free hand toys with your clit, whispering sweet praises in your ear as you tense in his arms.

Your body shudders as you come undone with a cry of his name. You feel him still behind you as he comes inside you, his fingers still gently rubbing your clit until you grab his wrist to signal it's too much.

The two of you bask in the quiet that settles over the kitchen. Your breathing slowly returns to normal as Andy holds you in his arms. He kisses your shoulder before slowly pulling out of you.

"Stay there," he whispers with another kiss as he grabs a clean cloth to clean the mess between your thighs.

When he's cleaned you up he turns you around, framing your face in his large hands as he kisses you softly.

"Good morning, Mr Barber," you smile as he pulls away, "think your coffee's ready."

He kisses you again before moving to grab two mugs, filling them both. You sit on the counter and Andy comes to stand between your legs, handing you your coffee.

You hum as the warmth from the mug seeps into your hands, the two of you catching up on the past week as the morning sun casts you in a golden glow. You can't help but smile at finally getting to enjoy a carefree Sunday with your husband.

[emma23]

A Special Mission:

Poe dameron x reader

————————————————————————

The galaxy was in constant turmoil, but there were always moments of calm, moments of respite, even for a pilot as busy as Poe Dameron. You were a brilliant technician, recently assigned to the Resistance base on Ajan Kloss. Your engineering skills had quickly earned you recognition from your peers, and you often found yourself working on the ships of the best pilots.

One morning, you were deep in the guts of an X-wing, elbows greasy and focused on a particularly stubborn power coupling, when you heard a familiar, cheerful voice behind you.

"Need a hand?"

You turned, heart skipping a beat, to see Poe Dameron, with his charming smile, leaning casually against the ship.

"Poe," you said, trying not to show your embarrassment. "I think I can handle it, thanks."

"I don't doubt it," he replied, a playful glint in his eyes. "But I like watching experts in action."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "I bet you say that to all the technicians."

"Only the ones who save my X-wing as often as you do," he said with a wink.

You turned back to your work, but felt his eyes on you, making you acutely aware of his presence.

"So, any exciting missions lately?" you asked, trying to make conversation.

"Oh, you know, the usual. Just saving the galaxy, one skirmish at a time," he said, a grin spreading across his face. "Actually, we had a run-in with some TIE fighters the other day. Got pretty hairy for a minute."

"You don't say?" you replied, genuinely interested.

"Yeah. Finn nearly got blasted out of the sky, but Rey managed to pull off some incredible flying and saved his skin. I swear, that girl has some sort of sixth sense."

"I think that's called the Force," you teased.

Poe laughed. "Yeah, something like that."

————————————————————————

Days turned into weeks, and Poe found more and more reasons to visit you. Sometimes it was to ask about his ship, other times it was just to chat. You found yourself looking forward to these moments, the highlight of your day. His company was a welcome break from the endless cycle of repairs and maintenance.

One evening, as the sun was setting on Ajan Kloss, casting long shadows across the base, Poe approached you with a different kind of smile.

"You work too hard," he said, a note of concern in his voice. "Why not take a break? Come with me."

Intrigued, you agreed. He led you to a quiet corner of the base, where he had set up a blanket and some provisions.

"I thought you might appreciate a bit of peace," he said softly, his usual playful tone giving way to something more sincere.

You spent the evening talking about everything and nothing, laughing together under the stars. He told you stories of his daring missions, his near-misses, and victories, and you shared anecdotes about your life before joining the Resistance. The connection between you grew stronger with each word.

————————————————————————

One morning, Rey approached you as you worked on a speeder.

"So, how are things going with Poe?" she asked casually, a knowing smile on her face.

You blushed, not expecting the question. "What do you mean?"

Rey chuckled. "Come on, it's obvious. He spends more time in the hangar than anywhere else."

You sighed, setting down your tools. "I don't know, Rey. He's great, but... it feels complicated."

"Love usually is," she said, her eyes softening. "But if anyone can make it work, it's you two."

————————————————————————

Later that week, Finn joined you and Poe for lunch in the mess hall. Finn had been teasing Poe about you for weeks, and today was no different.

"So, Poe," Finn began, grinning from ear to ear. "When are you going to ask them out properly?"

Poe nearly choked on his food, giving Finn a glare. "Finn, seriously?"

Finn laughed. "What? It's a valid question."

You couldn't help but chuckle at their banter. "You two are impossible."

Poe turned to you, a sheepish look on his face. "Sorry about him. He's just... enthusiastic."

"It's fine," you said, smiling. "I actually find it kind of endearing."

————————————————————————

A few days later, Poe found you working late in the hangar.

"Hey," he said softly, coming up beside you. "You should take a break."

You wiped the sweat from your forehead and looked at him. "Can't. Too much to do."

Poe placed a hand on your shoulder. "Come on, just for a little while. Please?"

You sighed but nodded. "Okay, but just for a bit."

He led you outside, where the night air was cool and refreshing. You walked in comfortable silence for a while before he spoke.

"I've been thinking," he began, hesitantly. "I... I really enjoy spending time with you."

You stopped and turned to face him. "I enjoy spending time with you too, Poe."

He took a deep breath. "I know this is a crazy time, and we're both busy with the Resistance, but... I'd like to get to know you better. Outside of work."

Your heart raced. "I'd like that too."

Poe's face lit up with a smile. "Great. How about we start with dinner tomorrow? Just you and me."

You smiled back. "It's a date."

————————————————————————

The next evening, Poe took you to a quiet spot near the edge of the base. He had set up a small table with a simple but delicious meal.

"This is nice," you said, feeling a warmth spread through you.

"I'm glad you think so," he replied, his eyes twinkling. "I wanted to do something special."

You spent the evening talking and laughing, sharing stories and dreams. As the night wore on, you felt a deep connection forming between you.

"Poe," you said softly, "I've never felt this way before."

He reached across the table and took your hand. "Me neither. But I'm glad I do."

————————————————————————

Over the next few weeks, you and Poe grew closer. You continued to work together, but now there was an unspoken bond between you. Finn and Rey noticed the change and were supportive, often teasing you both but always with affection.

One day, while working on a particularly tricky repair, Poe came up behind you and placed a hand on your shoulder.

"Hey," he said softly. "I need to talk to you."

You turned to face him, a mixture of curiosity and concern on your face. "What is it?"

He took a deep breath. "I... I can't stop thinking about you. Even on missions, you're always on my mind."

Before you could respond, he leaned in and kissed you gently. The world seemed to stop, and you lost yourself in the moment, savoring every second. When you finally pulled away, he murmured, "I know this is complicated, with the war and everything, but I want you to know I'm serious."

You looked into his eyes, seeing all the sincerity and determination that made Poe Dameron the hero he was. "Me too, Poe. I'm ready to face all of this with you."

————————————————————————

The relationship that followed was both exhilarating and challenging. Between battles against the First Order and stolen moments of peace, you learned to support and love each other deeply. Poe continued to make you laugh with his jokes and stories, and you were there to offer him a refuge from the chaos of war.

One evening, after a particularly intense mission briefing, you and Poe found a quiet spot in the hangar.

"Poe, do you ever worry about what might happen to us?" you asked, voicing a concern that had been on your mind.

He took your hand, squeezing it gently. "Every day. But I also know that I wouldn't trade what we have for anything. We'll face whatever comes together."

————————————————————————

Your relationship with Poe continued to grow, and you found strength in each other during the darkest times. The bond between you deepened, and even in the midst of war, you found moments of peace and joy.

One day, as you worked on his X-wing, Poe approached with a serious expression.

"Hey, I was thinking," he began, his tone thoughtful. "How about we take some time off after the next mission? Just you and me."

You smiled, liking the idea. "That sounds perfect. Where do you have in mind?"

He grinned. "There's a quiet spot I know, not too far from here. It'll be just us, no distractions."

The anticipation of your upcoming break kept you both going through the next mission. When it was finally over, Poe led you to a secluded spot he had mentioned—a serene, beautiful place where you could forget about the war for a while.

As you sat together, watching the sunset, Poe took your hand and said, "I wanted you to see this place. Because every time I'm here, I'm reminded why I fight. For moments like these, with people like you."

You nestled against him, feeling the warmth of his love and presence. "I love you, Poe," you whispered.

"I love you too," he replied, holding you close.

And so, despite the challenges and dangers of the galaxy, you always found a way to love each other and find peace together, joining forces to face the future hand in hand.

[velidewrites]

When the Goddess of the Underworld grants a mortal General an extended stay in the land of the living, she doesn’t expect him to come back with another deal — one she has no idea will ruin her life forever.

Pairing: Hades!Nesta x Cassian

Word Count: 14k

Notes: This is Part I of my follower celebration project, Divinity! Thank you for being here <3

Warnings (please read before proceeding): Graphic depictions of blood, injury and death; 18+, explicit sexual content, return of the monsterfucking agenda, this means monster sex; monster cocks; yes cocks plural; Cassian has three of them let's just get that out of the way now; are you reading the tags?; let me just repeat it: there is monsterfucking in this fic; proceed at your own discretion

Beta'd by @melting-houses-of-gold <3

Read on AO3 || Check out this BEAUTIFUL art commissioned by @melphss inspired by this fic! 🥹💕

When Hades appears, the earth beneath her erupts in flames.

They are not the hot, blazing kind the mortals burn for the Gods kind in their temples. Their fire is passion, wild and impossible to tame. It molds the stone to its will and consumes everything in its path, threatening to blind and scorch and hurt anyone who crosses it. It is a living breath—a sign that one day, like everything else, its fervour will fade away, leaving nothing but ash as a reminder of its former glory. A fire that begins to die the moment it is born—the moment it dares to lick, to taste.

It is a mortal fire. A human fire.

It is nothing like hers.

The silver flames surrounding her are made to repel. A display of her power—of the risks involved in getting too close. They swirl around her like pets at all times but when she steps into the Overworld—it is too hot, too volatile to sustain their icy touch. When Hades enters, they slither up her form, the cold pleasant against flesh, and take their rest in the pits of her eyes, where they make her gaze burn with a reminder of what she truly is.

Death.

Thanatos smirks at it sometimes—at the fear reflected in the mortals’ eyes as they meet her own. He is the only one who seems to understand—understand that Hades is not the Harbinger of Death, but its Nurturer. The Underworld is where it thrives, devoid of the passions and distractions above, yet full of a different sort of beauty. Peace. Quiet.

But Hades is not mortal. And sometimes, Death gets too quiet to bear.

Today is that day, and, like always, she makes her way upward until sunlight seeps its roots deep into her bones.

There is a downside to the Overworld, though, one she has no idea how the others stand to endure. For to walk among the mortals, the Gods must become one of them—in flesh, if nothing else. Down in her kingdom, she is allowed to roam free, the same as Olympus—although even there, she is not entirely without restraints. Hades grimaces slightly at the thought, but discards it just as quickly. She did not come here without a purpose—she never does—and it would be foolish to slip into unnecessary distractions.

Besides, she thinks as the flames around her begin their ascent at last, this mortal body is not without a purpose. Right now, if she is to be completely honest, she can’t exactly remember why she despises it so. Today’s form is perhaps her favourite of all, every inch of it revealed to her as the silver flames trail up her legs, her breasts, her neck. Once they settle in her eyes, she can finally appreciate what she has become.

She likes the softness of her skin underneath the pads of her fingers, and the sensuous sway of her hips as she takes her first step. Her hair, a golden shade of brown, falls in part down her back with the rest of it draped over her shoulders, the cascading waves cupping the curve of her exposed breasts.

What pretty sight, she thinks, then smooths a hand over her thigh. Her power responds instantly, its gentle hum weaving the earth, wind and sun into a silky thread. It doesn’t stop until the gown is complete and hugging her body with a fabric of the darkest black. Hades’s mouth ticks up in a smile at that—it seems that no matter what body she chooses, the colour suits her every time. The gown is sleeveless, and she stretches her arm, admiring the contrast of her milky skin against the fabric. She is the paling moon hung over the midnight sky—a light that shines most beautifully in the darkness.

The rest of the garment gathers at her hips before falling loosely to the ground, covering what she thinks is too much of her supple form. She’ll have to amend that later—she may be a Goddess, but she still wants to make a good first impression.

A breathless sound somewhere behind her tells her she has nothing to worry about, and Hades smirks to herself before turning to its source. A mortal man gapes at her openly, his eyes holding nothing but pure, unrestrained awe. He is old, she thinks, taking in his hunched form and wrinkled skin with a raised brow. A part of her is glad her beauty is one of the last things he will see.

There is no hope for him left when his gaze moves up to meet her own. Only the strongest of mortal minds can withstand the deathly fire in her stare—and this man no longer possesses the resolve of his younger counterparts.

She says nothing—does not even move when he finally understands what kind of creature he stumbled upon in this forest. Not a lost, wandering maiden, but a Goddess.

The worst Goddess this world has to offer.

The awe in his gaze freezes into fear, and his jaw hangs open for the last time before his knees buckle and he falls to the mossy ground. The elderly fog in his eyes chills and becomes frost, a thin veil of cold death. Hades sighs at the scene.

This is inconvenient.

She does not wish to see Thanatos today—not when it means another, long lecture and a hundred reasons against her coming here again. He is perhaps the only one who even dares to contradict her, and she appreciates that at times, but with this—with this, she is certain. Thanatos will say she’d lost her senses, to be sure. It wouldn’t be the first time, and just like all the times before, she would deal with him later.

The barest tinge of guilt passes over her, and she silently curses this mortal flesh for submitting to such foolish, such human impulses. Thanatos, after all, is her most valued friend, even if everyone on Olympus believes him her servant. The truth is, Thanatos is no more than her guest in the Underworld, for his presence is undesired anywhere else.

It is why she does not mind when the less astute of the mortals mistake her for Thanatos—for the God of Death. He lives out his eternal life in the shadows, appearing only when situations like the man before her require it. She is content to take the blame, the hatred—she repays it tenfold when their souls arrive in her kingdom.

Thanatos may be Death, but Hades is its ruler. Its Queen.

Still, whatever compassion she holds for her companion in the Underworld is of no use to her now, and so she shoves it away and makes her way to the edge of the forest. Thanatos will know what caused the old human’s death, but Hades will not be there when he arrives.

The moss is soft beneath her feet, dampened by the rainy days succeeding the summertime. She despises the dry heat, the heavy air and the scorching rays of sunlight. It is why she only visits later in the year, when the climate is more welcoming. When there is…more to be seen.

Hades can see him now, in fact, as she looks out to the fields from behind the wide oak that borders the forest. Demeter keeps him hidden almost all year, like a secret she does not want known to the rest of the world—not even to the Gods. Especially not to the Gods, Hades thinks. Though, of course, there is no hiding from them no matter how hard she tries.

She’d been watching him long enough to understand why. Her son’s power is raw and untamed—it is unlike anything she’d ever seen. Hades can’t quite comprehend how a being so impressive in his skill had managed to come out of a woman so gentle as the Goddess of the Harvest. There’s no denying it, though—he is part of her, no matter how much his power differs from hers. Their auburn hair and russet eyes are one and the same, even the placement of freckles on his toned arms mirrors that of Demeter’s. He shines like the fire that burns under his gaze—bright and hungry and unstoppable. Perhaps that is why he intrigues her—his flames complement her own, their passion a balance to her peace. It is not the same kind of mortal passion that fills her with such distaste—he will never die out. He will burn alongside her for as long as she wants it.

He is a God, just as she is. Eternal. Demeter claims she’d crafted him from the autumn leaves that had once fallen over her crops, but Hades sees the lie for what it is. A man like him cannot be anything but the fruit of pleasure and the joining of flesh—though whose, Hades does not know. Another God, to be certain. One shameful enough for Demeter to remain in her cottage amongst humans—a place so pathetic that no self-respecting God would bother looking at it twice.

But not Hades. Hades comes every year.

Every year, she watches the God of Autumn and wonders if he feels her fire, too. If he does, he says nothing—and so Hades chooses to believe he is not aware of her presence at all. He leaves Demeter’s stead on the dawn of the first autumn day, and the season erupts around him in a symphony of bronze, crimson and gold, glistening even in the most rainy of days. He roams the lands then, admiring his work until Demeter appears at the doorstep again, urging him inside with a worried look on her face. He abides every time, and every time, Hades is too late to stop him.

She will not fail this year. This year, he will be hers at last. She will grab him before he returns to his mother’s side and take him to her kingdom with her—show him what true power means. What being a God means.

She has a few months before the time comes, but she had come today to admire him from afar. Eris. A beautiful name, she must admit, for a beautiful man.

Soon, you will be mine.

He will make a fine consort—he is exactly what she needs in the Underworld. A flicker of light, of fervour, a cackling fire to disturb the quiet. At last, she will—

Hades sucks in a sharp breath, her mortal lungs contracting violently in answer. She whirls on her feet, expecting to find someone behind her—another mortal, perhaps, who strayed too far on their evening hunt. But she finds the forest empty.

It is then that she realises the disturbance came from within her—that her power set every nerve in her body on alert, knocked the air from her chest, stirred by whatever dared to come near it. And since there is no one beside her…

A low snarl slips past her throat.

Someone entered one of her temples—and defiled it.

Hades takes one, final look at her betrothed before the earth beneath her cracks and the silver flames swallow her again.

***

The temple shakes as it signals her arrival, the pile of ruined marble a testament to her anger. Hades feels no remorse—she has hardly any worshippers here, if the spiderwebs draped over the large columns are any indication. This is a village of warriors, and fierce ones at that—they do not accept death even as they march bloodied into battle. She’s been seeing more and more of them in the Underworld lately, souls defeated by the neighbouring legion on the other side of the mountain. A pointless, petty war, Thanatos had told her, though Hades had no interest in hearing the rest of the details.

Through the fractured roof, she can make out the dusk slowly melting into a greyish night. The last remnant of daylight is the pale beam of the sun, illuminating one of her ruined statues. Hades recognises this face—it is one she took on ten years prior. One of her least favourites, but pretty nonetheless.

Pretty enough that the sight of blood on her marble cheek fills her with rage.

Defiled, the word thrums through her again. Degraded by mortal touch.

The crimson smudge gleams fresh, its iron scent brushing her nose without permission. She scrunches it in distaste—yet another violation of her divinity. Whoever did this would not leave her temple again. She would see to their punishment personally.

A gargled cough echoes through the stone, and Hades whips toward the sound.

There you are.

The man’s body is curled up on the floor, but no rubble surrounds him—whatever caused him pain, it happened before her arrival. Blood pools at his side, tainting the pristine marble and reeking of him. There is no doubt left in her mind—this is the man who did this.

And he is already dying.

It seems that her job here is done—perhaps Thanatos is already on his way. Hades turns her back to him and gathers her power again—if she hurries, she might still catch a glimpse of Eris before darkness breaks over the sky once more.

But then the cough reaches her again, and this time, it is followed by a strangled sound.

“Please…”

She halts, though she isn’t sure why.

“Please,” the man rasps again.

If he does not die on his own, her fiery gaze might hurry things along.

Hades turns.

Somehow, he managed to pull himself up to his knees despite the open slice across his navel. Whatever sword had caused this, it was no average one—this man is nearly severed in half, blood pouring out of his squelching flesh in a thick, ruthless current. He holds a large hand over his guts, and Hades wonders if it is the only thing still keeping them in place. This is no ordinary man, she realises, no ordinary warrior—he will not die until he’s exhausted every path, every resource, the very last resort he can think of.

His last resort appears to be her.

Interesting.

“What will you give me?” she asks him, her voice dropping an octave. He tilts his head up to meet her gaze, and Hades considers that perhaps she does not need anything in return at all.

He is, without a doubt, the most beautiful man she’s ever seen. Breathtaking in every sense of the word. So breathtaking that she searches her mind for any Gods who might have sired him—she had never seen a mortal this exquisite. A son of Ares, perhaps, or Athena, even, but he has no resemblance to either of them—there is nothing polished about him that she’d seen up on Olympus, nothing refined into that sleek, eternal perfection her kind likes to boast of. No, he is as wild as the howling wind in the harshest of winters, as rough and hardened as the frozen earth at the foot of the mountain towering over her temple. 

His hazel eyes blaze with want, but it is not the hunger she so often sees in the eyes of her betrothed. He wants to survive, to live, but his reasons have nothing to do with him.

“Anything,” he says, and there is new strength in his voice, one Hades did not expect in a man on the threshold of Death. “I will give you anything.”

She doesn’t want to admit this, not out loud at least, but he intrigues her immensely. A man with the face and stare of a God—and yet still, just a mortal, dying man.

She realises then that he’s holding her own stare directly—that he’s taking in all that silver fire and his answering gaze holds not even a shred of fear.

“Your name,” Hades decides. “Your name in exchange for your life.”

His dark brows furrow, and she knows he is turning her words over in his mind until he finds the trap, the secret motive she surely plants underneath her request. A thought crosses her mind that whoever he is, he has been trained to deal with deception, to recognise threat before it even comes to life. But the only threat here is her curiosity, and so, when he looks up at her again, she already knows he has found nothing.

“Cassian,” he tells her, and Hades breathes again.

Somewhere deep inside her, she hears the fading voice of Thanatos, a final voice of reason before she succumbs into this bargain with no hopes of return. Forget his name. Go home. Do not think of him again—destroy the temple, if you must.

She does not have to. Hades is a Goddess, a Queen—she will be damned before she let this distraction ruin the plan she’s been crafting for decades.

Thanatos will honour this bargain—he will not come for this man, and will defy the Fates in doing so. The least Hades can do is listen.

“Do not seek me out again, mortal,” she warns.

And with that, she is gone forever.

***

Forever does not last long enough.

“Ignore it,” the shadows tell her, and she turns to meet their face.

Thanatos’s expression is grave, though that does little to stop her—he always looks this way, after all, pained and somber even in the quiet reprieve that the Underworld allows him.

“I cannot,” Hades says, and her friend’s lips only press tighter together.

She wonders if it is her friend trying to shield her, or the God of Death. Perhaps he is merely trying to spare her—to keep her from making the same mistake he had. Thanatos has never quite recovered from Athena’s rejection, or Aphrodite’s heartbreak, the romance brief as it was. But this—she—is different. This has nothing to with risk, or with romance—only curiosity, burning somewhere deep inside her chest, and brighter than the silver fire in her eyes.

Right now, that curiosity is fuelled by anger, because the man—Cassian—dared to disobey her command.

She felt him the moment he touched one of the statues in her temple, his touch roughened by the calloused skin of his open palm and tainted with battle yet again. To think that this man, this mortal, has now dared to summon her twice—it makes her want to rage for the rest of eternity.

“You ask too much of me,” Thanatos accuses, his words pulling her out of her thoughts yet again.

Hades waves a hand. “I do not ask of anything yet.”

His gaze narrows on her, and she can practically feel his scrutiny clawing at her skin. “Your temple reeks of his blood—surely you’ve felt it, too.” The shadows swirl around him eagerly, like a child mindlessly nodding along to its parent’s words. “You know where this path will lead you.”

“Precisely,” Hades hisses. “I forbade him from ever returning there again, and yet, not even a month later, he came back—no doubt with more demands.” Her anger simmers inside her again, but she manages to keep it contained. The time to unleash it will come later—soon, if Thanatos would just get over himself and let her pass.

The God of Death angles his head slightly. “You intend to punish him, then.”

“Of course,” Hades says, trying her hardest not to take offence at the disbelief in his tone. She knows Thanatos’s faith in her has been shaken, that he disapproves of her plans, her determination. That he disapproves of the Overworld, and of Eris, and—

“You’re wrong,” he interrupts. She didn’t realise she said the words out loud, though perhaps Thanatos could simply read them on her face. “I only want you to understand. This God of Autumn, and now this…this human—they will never be enough for you here.”

Her eyes flare silver. “You mean you will never be enough.”

Hades regrets the words as soon as they leave her mouth, but it is already too late. She let her anger get the best of her—to strike where she knew would hurt him the most. She can tell she succeeded from the way his eyes darken, from the way his shadows curl at his sides like snakes ready to defend their master, to fight venom with venom.

Thanatos is not her master, though—and even though down here they may only have each other, she is still the Queen. His Queen, for as long as he chooses to remain in the Underworld. His opinions, his jealousy, she decides, are not welcome here.

Her body relaxes as the momentary guilt lifts from her shoulders, and when she speaks again, her voice is colder than the silver fire pooling at her feet. “I am leaving for the temple.”

Silence falls between them, and when she no longer believes Thanatos has anything of value left to say, she turns her back to him at last.

She’s about to disappear when she hears his voice again. “This will be the last favour, Hades,” he warns her.

Good. She will not need any more.

Still, the words echo in her head the entirety of her journey upward, fading only when the temple comes into view. The ground trembles under the weight of her fury, the stone walls crumbling inch by inch with her every step. She has no idea how the temple still stands, frankly. She was expecting it to collapse after her last visit.

She was also expecting to see Cassian amidst all that rubble, drenched in his own blood and his guts slowly spilling out of his body. Instead, she finds him in perfect health, his chin held up high as he meets her gaze from beneath her statue where he waits.

Kneeling.

Hades is not one to be easily taken by surprise, but the sight of him on his knees before her makes her breath hitch in her throat. He’s cloaked in a warrior’s leathers, traditional to his region, dark and ridged and tight, and Hades can’t help it when her traitorous eyes trail down to admire their work. She can make out the defined muscle of his thick thighs, wondering how they’d feel under the touch of her human hands. She wants to dig her nails into the golden-brown skin—wants to pierce those leathers and find out just how hard those muscles are.

She hears his breath turn ragged when her gaze settles on the bulge at their apex, and the thought crosses her mind that, perhaps, he’d be more than willing to answer all her questions had she only asked. Her form seems to please him as much as he pleases her—though that, at least, comes as no surprise.

The gown she’d selected would no doubt make Thanatos choke in disbelief. The black lace is sheer and hugs her body in all the right places, revealing her smooth skin from the collar at her neck down to the lean muscle of her calves. The thread forms intricate patterns over her nipples before descending to her navel in a V-like shape, covering just enough of her cunt beneath to make any God drop to his knees.

Any mortal, too, of course, she reminded herself as her gaze lifted to the male before her once again.

“I thought you’d like to see me this way,” Cassian says, his voice low and deep and reverberating through her in a slow, shuddering wave. “Hades.”

The moment shatters like glass.

Hades straightens, silently cursing Thanatos, the Fates and, above all, herself for giving into his beauty, to the temptations of this mortal flesh. She is Hades, the Goddess of the Underworld, and this pathetic, mortal male had nearly made her knees buckle at the sound of his sultry baritone. Her anger is renewed, a flame brought to life once again as it replaces the pleasant heat that has somehow managed to pool at her core. Hades reminds herself then that she has come here to exact punishment, not…whatever this is. Whatever he makes her feel.

After all, Hades has plans. In two months or so, she will finally be joined in the Underworld by her betrothed. Her consort. Her equal.

Cassian is none of those things.

“You disobeyed me, General,” she says, because she does not dare to say his name out loud. Besides, she is certain that’s exactly who Cassian is—a male of such strength, such size, cannot be anything lesser than. “I ordered you to never seek me out again.”

Their gazes lock and hold.

Cassian does not even flinch. “I’m afraid I’m in need of your favour once again, Goddess.”

The ground shakes again—then stops as Hades takes a levelling breath. “What makes you think you will have it?”

He shifts his weight from one leg to another, and Hades’s eyes dart to the movement, to this new, exciting position his muscles arranged themselves into. She can swear he kneels wider now, as though he knows, as though he smells the curiosity, the arousal on her.

Cassian shrugs. “I suppose I can only hope.”

“What is it you want?” Hades asks. “You don’t seem injured to me.”

His entire body tenses, and she catches a shadow passing through his features. “It’s not me,” he tells her, his shoulders rolling back and inch as he looks up to meet her eyes again. “It’s my mother.”

“Your mother?”

“She’s dying,” he says, and there is the smallest hint of strain in his voice now. She must be important to him, then, Hades realises. She never understood how humans feel so deeply.

So she tells him, “All things die eventually, General.”

Cassian’s jaw clenches hard. “It’s too soon,” he says. “She was taken by illness none of our healers understand.”

“It is the will of the Fates, then.”

Lightning flares in his hazel eyes at that. “Not if I have anything to do with it.”

Hades barks a laugh. “You?” she asks, “or me?”

A muscle juts in his jaw, and she wonders if he bit hard enough to draw blood. “I put myself at your mercy,” he says before adding quickly, “Your Majesty.”

Something about the title pleases her immensely, and so she doesn’t kill him right on the spot. “You would give yourself to me?” she asks instead. She can already hear Thanatos’s protests in her head, but her mind wanders anyway. Cassian in her kingdom like a pet she could keep at her disposal, curled by her lap and ready to serve. Pretty. Obedient.

Hers.

He would entertain her—her consort, too, perhaps, when he joined her side at last. A lovely sight to admire in the morning and play with at night.

Hades hums lowly, and Cassian’s eyes flare up again—with a different light, this time, and she swears she can see specks of gold in those endless pools of hazel.

“You propose a bargain, then,” she begins, surveying him head to toe once more.

So beautiful.

Cassian nods. “Save my mother’s life, and my life, my heart, my soul—is in your hands.”

Hades considers.

Kill him, the raging fire inside her says.

But the golden light staring back at her pleads, Take me.

Hades steps forward and reaches out a hand. “Come with me.”

***

They arrive at the Gates of the Underworld hand in hand.

“Am I…” Cassian starts, taking in the sight around him. “Dead?”

Hades smirks to herself.

“No,” she tells him. “You will live for as long as I need you to.”

His eyes widen, as if struggling to grasp the immortality she’s just laid out before him. “And my mother?” he asks.

“You will never see her again, if that is what you’re asking.”

Cassian releases a long, long breath. “Lead the way.”

The only way into the Underworld is through the Acheron river, and though Hades can come and go as she pleases without the unnecessary ordeal, she decides to accompany Cassian anyway—this time, at least. She tells herself she simply doesn’t want him to drown—after all, this is his first time in the Kingdom of the Dead, and it would be a shame to lose a pet she’d only just acquired.

Cassian sways as they step onto the small, wooden ferry, but Hades only looks ahead. “So,” she begins. “You survived.”

His confusion is almost palpable, rolling off of him in waves and leaving creases in the dark water. How strange it is to have someone in the Underworld feel so strongly, Hades thinks. There is only peace and quiet in these lands, and he is a disturbance—Thanatos would surely say so, at least. He might be a disturbance, yes—but to Hades, it is a welcome one.

A useful one, too.

“Oh,” he suddenly says, ripping Hades free from her racing mind as she thinks of all the ways her new guest could be used. “You mean the battle. The first time you saved me.”

Hades stills at that.

The first time?

She would hardly call their bargain saving. His companionship was his price, not…not some kind of gift. The General is chained to her now, to the Underworld—he belongs to her just as the darkness here does.

This is his punishment, and yet…and yet his words ring of salvation, and it makes Hades wonder.

And so she says, “Tell me more of this…battle.”

A step behind her, she hears him loose a breath. “We stood no chance. We…I lost almost all my men,” he says, and Hades feels the Underworld purr in delight at his words. It will feed on this guilt, this regret of a survivor until its endless hunger is appeased. “We defended our village in the end, but at a cost.” His voice breaks as he adds, “So many of us—gone. They took our women, our children…”

And, Hades realises, these fallen souls—they all belong to her now. They all rest here, roaming the quiet darkness—the warriors, the children…The women.

The question escapes her the moment it crosses her mind. “And you?” she asks. “Did you have a…a woman?”

There is only silence between them—silence and the Acheron’s gentle current as they make way toward Hades’s fortress.

When he answers, Cassian’s voice is hoarse. “No, Your Majesty,” he says. “I did not.”

And Hades…Hades no longer knows what to feel.

She shouldn’t feel, she reminds herself. She has spent too much time in this body, this mortal prison of emotion and softness and pain, its flesh strong enough to subdue that silver fire within her that’s used to killing everything that dares cross her path. Once they reach the shore, she will leave his side for a while—will find a place to unleash those flames, if only to remind herself of who she really is.

Of who she’s supposed to be .

But they’re still crammed on the ferry now, the shore nowhere in sight, and so, for the last time, Hades indulges in her curiosity. “Why me?” she asks, still not turning to meet his gaze. “Why not Thanatos, or Athena, or Ares, even?”

She feels his hazel gaze on her back, his presence stronger now, somehow—but this time, there is no confusion filling it, and she knows he understands exactly what she’s asking.

So Hades finally turns.

“Perhaps,” Cassian grins, “I thought you could use some company.”

For the first time in her eternal life, Hades laughs.

***

She returns the next day, deep from where she dwells in her fortress, and finds Cassian looking out to the dark waves washing up on shore.

She took on her human form once again, though for reasons she can’t exactly justify. She doesn’t need this body, not here—but this is how Cassian knows her, and she likes the hunger flickering in his eyes as they sweep over its every curve.

This is merely for her enjoyment, Hades tells herself. He is, after all, to be her entertainment—company, as he called it earlier. She doesn’t really care what he thinks of her—but an inflated sense of an ego is true to any God, and, mortal or not, he seems like the right person to stroke it.

Something heats deep inside her as she thinks of all the places he could stroke her, all the wet, sinful pleasure he could help her coax out of this flesh—

“You’re back,” Cassian says, turning to meet her silver gaze.

Compose yourself, the fire within her hisses.

“Not exactly,” she tells him, thankful for the coolness in her tone despite the heat still shooting through her body. “I was just about to leave.”

His brows knit over his eyes, and he tilts his head slightly, dark hair spilling over his shoulder. “Leave?” he asks. “What for?”

Hades crosses her arms. “Contrary to what you might think, I have pressing matters to attend to.”

“In the mortal lands?”

“Yes,” she says, then waves a hand to urge him closer. “I have something for you, General.”

Cassian’s eyes flash, a glimmer of light in the dim space of the Underworld, and he takes a step toward her. “Oh?”

Hades nods, and lays out her hand to reveal her gift.

“I…don’t understand,” Cassian says, but his gaze remains fixed on the seven crimson stones, gleaming gently in Hades’s palm.

“They are called siphons,” she explains, then waves a hand again. The stones are now edged in his leather armour, the two largest ones resting proudly atop the strong muscles of his arms, and Hades smiles at the sight. They look as thought they’ve always belonged here, as though they’ve been part of him forever. “They’re meant to amplify your power—your speed, your strength, your precision. You may be a formidable warrior in the Overworld, General, but down here, you will need these to keep the more…defiant souls at bay.”

Cassian’s fingers brush over the siphon at the back of his palm, its bleeding light reflected in his marvelling stare. “So…” he begins quietly, then clenches his fist—as if testing the newfound power of his grip, “I’m to be your…guard?”

Hades’s smile curls into a smirk. “Think of yourself as more of a helpful guest, General.”

His eyes finally lift to meet her own. “And are your guests allowed to ever return home?”

The Goddess’s smile sours. “This is your home now.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“If you so wish,” she continues, not really wanting to hear the rest of it, “You are welcome to wander to the Overworld whenever I’m…otherwise occupied.” Then, she adds, “As long as you remember that no matter where you are, you belong to me.”

She half expects him to cower—even Thanatos gives in to the icy bite in her tone from time to time—but Cassian appears relaxed, his siphons still glistening quietly atop his armour. “I am yours to command, Goddess.”

“We’ll see,” Hades only says, then brushes past him and toward the river.

He moves so fast she does not even see his hand dart for hers—and when his fingers lace with her own, Hades is so stunned she freezes entirely in her trail.

She has never been touched like this—not by a mortal, at least. She had taken lovers before, Gods—those of a grand status and those of lesser significance—but they felt nothing like this, and this has nothing to do with the trap of her mortal flesh. His golden-brown hand is warm, and every roughened bit of his calloused skin tells her of him—the battles he’d won and the battles he’d lost, the spirit they crafted like the strongest steel. It sinks into her, as if searching for her own, hidden so deep within her she’d never thought it existed until this very moment.

In a land of eternal dreams, Hades feels awake.

“I’ve offended you,” Cassian says quietly.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Hades replies, but her voice is distant now, still buried with the soul she didn’t know she possessed.

“I have not forgotten what you’ve done for me,” he continues, as though unaware that the world has just tilted beneath their feet. “You saved me—before I met you, I knew only of war and bloodshed and pain.”

“What makes you think you’ll find anything better here?” she asks, the question no more than a breath. “What are you hoping to find?”

The peace, the quiet darkness of the Underworld…Hades knows better than anyone that it will never be enough, not unless the passing soul is already dead—and Cassian’s soul practically sings with life, like the wind ruffling the snow-capped trees, like the gallop of hooves cracking the rocky earth. 

But when his fingers wrap tighter around her own, she realises Cassian doesn’t seek peace. 

“Understanding,” he tells her softly. “I think you seek it, too.”

Hades’s gaze drops to where their hands are joined, life and death, and she is no longer sure where one ends and the other begins.

“I do not wish to return,” Cassian continues when she stays quiet, “My place is here.” His thumb brushes over her knuckles, and the thin hairs on her arms rise at the barest touch. “My place is here with you, Hades.”

Hades blinks.

You know where this path will lead you, Thanatos’s voice practically screams in her head, and finally, finally, Hades realises—this is all wrong. 

Cassian’s place may be at her side as the bargain deemed it—but her place is nowhere near him at all.

Suddenly, Hades is grateful Thanatos, or any of the Gods for that matter, weren’t here to witness this—whatever this thing between them is. She is Hades, after all, a Goddess and a Queen, and Cassian—this man—has no say in where she belongs.

Besides, Hades has already decided—she belongs here, with Eris. With the God of Autumn, the season where everything dies—the perfect consort to the Queen of Death itself. They are going to live in her kingdom exactly as she planned, burning together for all eternity. Death and Decay.

Hades frees herself from Cassian’s eyes, and if there is any hurt in his eyes, she does not stay long enough to see it.

“I’ll return soon,” she says as she once again makes way toward the river. “I must hurry if I am to catch my consort before the dusk breaks.”

Every soul in the Underworld goes utterly still.

Hades smiles to herself.

That ought to keep him at bay.

But when Cassian speaks again, his voice dips so low she swears it makes the ground shake. “Your what?”

He takes a step toward her, the crimson light of his siphons blazing on the river’s surface. Hades doesn’t grace him with a look, her back straight to him as she explains, “My betrothed—the God of Autumn. He will join us once the season ends—at the sight of the first snowfall.”

“You didn’t tell me,” he says, and it’s almost an accusation.

Hades’s smile becomes cruel, and she turns to face him at last. “This matter does not concern you,” she answers, and watches his siphons flare even brighter.

“The God of Autumn.” Cassian chews the words as if the taste is not to his liking. “And you love this man?”

Hades almost laughs. “Love has nothing to do with it, General—he is my consort. My equal in every way that matters.”

“Is power all that matters to you?”

“Yes.” A half-lie, since power is the only thing that matters to Hades.

Cassian hums, mulling over her words. “And if…” he starts, and Hades only keeps listening because this is the entertainment she has been hoping for. His confusion, his anger—they were expected. Jealousy, on the other hand…

“And if there was someone more powerful than him?” he finally asks. “More powerful than your God?”

Hades scoffs. “I have no interest in concerning myself with Olympus ever again.”

“I don’t—”

“Enough,” Hades says, because as entertaining as this is, she knows the sun has already begun to set in the Overworld. “I expect to see you at the Gates upon my return.” She turns her back to him again. “You are to remain here until then.”

How utterly lovely it feels to see the warrior ignite within him again. He is once again reminded of their bargain, of the Goddess standing before him, and the flames inside her purr at the control she’s regained. He’d thrown her off, she can admit that, with the warmth of his skin and the softness of his touch—but this anger, this roughness…This is a language Hades understands. Her immortal skin tingles deliciously under his gaze, under the fury burning underneath. She’d never met a human so…defiant.

It is no matter. One way or another, he will be tamed by her hand. By her cunt, if that does not work. Gods or men, males always seem particularly susceptible to those.

She steps to the edge of the shore, surveying her reflection in the murky water. The black silk clings to her body like the thickest shadows, exposing her bare skin in places she’d carefully selected in her quarters earlier. The curve of her breasts is revealed by a deep cut in the top of her gown—another slit in the fabric teases her bare thigh, all the way down to where it pools at her feet. With each passing day, she enjoys the curves of this body more—human, yet so deliciously divine.

A low, guttural sound somewhere behind her tells her the General shares the sentiment.

A flicker of her power places something heavy atop her neatly braided hair, and gaze moves to admire the onyx jewels when she hears his voice again, his large frame appearing on the river’s surface.

“I will not.”

Her smile fades, but she does not grace him with a look. “You dare disobey me again, General?”

“I am coming with you,” he says, that anger creeping into his tone again.

She scoffs again. “You will do no such thing. Your presence would only disturb me.”

He moves in closer, the warmth of his chest nearly sinking into her back now. “Oh?” he muses, his eyes fixed on their reflection as he leans over her shoulder. “Do you find me distracting, Majesty?”

Cassian’s breath is hot on her neck, teasing her skin, the sensitive spot below her ear. Hades fights the urge to shudder, forbids her body from reacting to the emotion rolling off him without restraint.

His powerful arms come around her then, hands resting heavily on her waist, and her body leans instantly into the touch. Hades gasps out in protest, a small, exasperated sound at the blatant display of the effect he has on her. This body keeps betraying her, keeps answering his call with a song of its own, one Hades isn’t sure she ever wants to hear.

Cassian brushes his thumb over her skin—somehow, she can feel the warmth of his touch beneath the silk—and their gazes meet in the reflection of the Acheron, his eyes shining brighter than the flames in her own. The message is clear.

Don’t you see it? Don’t you see how good we look together?

“Stay,” Cassian murmurs, his soft mouth brushing the shell of her ear. Hades watches the movement in the water, and she’s not entirely sure she’s even breathing as he says again, “Stay here—stay with me.”

Hades closes her eyes, and, for just a moment, she lets herself imagine what would happen if she obliged. She wonders how those hands, that mouth would worship her—the way a Goddess deserves to be worshipped. Maybe his tongue would trail a path down her neck—place wet kisses on her exposed skin until it reached her breasts, already heavy and aching for his touch. Maybe she’d let him flick one of her nipples—trace lazy circles over the pebbled spot as he took it into his hungry mouth. Maybe…maybe she’d let his hands slide downwards, let them feel the slickness they’ve already begun to coax from her. Maybe she’d let his tongue taste it, too.

And then Cassian’s fingers brush her waist again. “You don’t need him.”

Hades opens her eyes.

She whirls to face him again, to face the man who was meant to be no more than a momentary distraction, the man who now thought it acceptable to touch her, tease her as though she belonged to him.

No, Hades thinks. He belongs to her.

“You,” she tells him, “have no idea what I need.”

When he opens his mouth to protest, Hades is already gone.

***

The island is warm and filled with sunlight.

It is so unlike the Underworld that Hades finds herself blinking a couple times before her immortal gaze adjusts to the sight. The sea is bright and turquoise, and its waves foam into a pearly white as they crash against the shore. Even the sand glimmers under the light like dusted gold.

It is exactly the kind of place Hades expected to find her.

She knows Aphrodite is staying over at the palace, towering over the water in an opalescent kind of stone. The small kingdom seems untouched by autumn’s decay, not yet at least, and Hades suspects one of the Gods must hold it in their favour—Helios, perhaps, judging by the sun hanging high up in the sky despite the late hour of the evening.

The island is a beautiful place, though Hades has little interest in staying—she’s here with a purpose, one pressing enough that it cannot wait for her to fully take her surroundings in. Besides, she knows Aphrodite has sensed her arrival from the way the seafoam stiffened as it washed up on shore. It makes Hades smirk—she wonders what, exactly, her presence here has interrupted.

“I wasn’t expecting you for another month.”

The voice behind her is like fresh, sweet honey dripping over her skin, and the first instinct of her human body is to take her fingers into her mouth and lick them just to get a taste. Hades hisses sharply in response—Aphrodite’s always set her traps well. She could only pity whatever mortals she’d chosen to ensnare this time.

Hades turns, the sand molding itself to her feet. “You know I hate leaving things until the last minute,” she says, the words enough of a greeting as the two Goddesses face each other at last.

Aphrodite chuckles. “Of course you do.”

Hades knows she should have expected perfection from the Goddess of Love and Beauty, but seeing Aphrodite’s face makes that fire inside her stir with jealousy anyway. Her face is so impeccable it almost hurts—the mortals, no doubt, fall to their knees at a mere glimpse of it. Full, rosy lips and eyes of a fawn’s coat, gazing upon her from beneath long, dark lashes—the portrait of innocence hiding an ancient, cruel soul.

Aphrodite smirks, as though she can tell exactly what Hades is thinking, and brushes a loose curl off her shoulder. The colour mirrors that of Hades’s, but Aphrodite’s hair is even lovelier, somehow, with a luminescence to it that seems to rival the very sun itself. She’s woven pearls into the small braids tied at the crown of her hair—her preferred symbol of her divinity. Except, of course, for the brief period of time when she’d opted for sapphires as her favourite jewellery. Hades’s scowl deepens even more at the thought.

“Thanatos sends his regards,” she says, if only to wipe that stupid smirk off her pretty face.

Instead, her golden brows shoot up with amusement. “No, I don’t think he does.”

Hades rolls her eyes before they flicker to the grand structure ahead. The palace nearly beams with Aphrodite’s presence—even the wind here seems to carry her scent. Jasmine and honey—a poison too many to count had mistaken for nectar.

Perhaps that is why Hades can’t help herself again. “So,” she muses, “the rumours are true, then.” She looks at Aphrodite again. “Will I be invited to the wedding this time?”

Hades is more than certain Aphrodite hadn’t come to this island for a holiday. The beautiful Goddess never does anything without purpose—that, at least, the two of them have in common. If she resides here, at the palace, Hades can guess well enough who her next victim is.

So she adds, her lip curling slightly, “A coronation, perhaps?”

Finally, that grimace Hades knows all too well blooms upon Aphrodite’s perfect features. For something to rattle her enough to drop her sultry mask…Hades can’t help but be impressed.

“There might not be either,” Aphrodite says, crossing her arms over her pearly white dress. “He’s proving…especially difficult.”

Now that piques Hades’s interest. A mortal immune to Aphrodite’s charms? It seems impossible—Hades had seen the Gods themselves trip over their feet for as much as a shred of Aphrodite’s attention. That whoever this prince was hasn’t yet made her his wife was…

Intriguing.

Still, Hades isn’t here to gossip about Aphrodite’s latest conquest. She’s got her own mission on her hands, and one far too important to indulge in irrelevant chitchat.

She waves a dismissive hand. “Did you bring what I asked you?”

Aphrodite reaches out a hand. “You doubt me, Hades?”

“Always.”

She laughs, the sound weaving into the soft whoosh of the sea. “So mistrustful,” she scolds playfully. “How will you keep your loved one, my dear Hades, with your heart guarded so closely?”

“That’s what I have you for,” Hades says, then takes the seeds from Aphrodite’s open palm.

Aphrodite only hums.

Hades takes that moment to examine what she’d come here for. Four, singular seeds—pomegranate, she realises—shining a gentle ruby in the slowly dying sunlight. An untrained eye would mistake them for merely that—but Hades feels the power thrumming inside. Wicked. Forbidden.

She looks up to meet those brown eyes again. “How does it work?”

“The power contained within the seeds shall bind your lover to your side—simply feed him one of them at the beginning of each season for the spell to be renewed.”

Hades’s eyes narrow. “You only gave me four seeds.” They would only last a year—a year to keep Eris in the Underworld.

Aphrodite smirks again. “Perhaps you’ll have to consider opening your heart then.”

A low snarl slips past Hades’s teeth. “This was not our deal—”

And then she feels it.

A shift in the wind—and a fire blown out.

The same fire she thought would burn until the end of time—the same fire she thought would burn with her.

Aphrodite’s brows furrow as she, too, feels it—and her sneer returns when realisation dawns upon her. “Or perhaps you won’t,” she says, and with that, she’s gone.

Hades allows herself one breath as she stands alone at the beach.

Then her flames erupt, and her fury is unleashed.

***

Divine blood has many forms.

Thanatos’s blood, for example, is the darkest shade of black, thick and viscous and reminding her of tar. Once it slithers down his body, upon its first contact with the ground, its still into obsidian—there are still remnants of it scattered atop Olympus, glinting ominously even in the most starless of nights. They serve as Thanatos’s personal reminder: Don’t ever return. You are not welcome here.

Hades had never seen Aphrodite’s blood—she’s not even sure the Goddess has ever bled—but she imagines it as a thousand pearls liquified, a shimmering silk exuding an opalescent kind of light. It tastes of the endless sea, wrapped up in fragrant jasmine to disguise the salt.

She’d never thought she’d ever see Eris’s blood, either. And yet it pools right before her, seeping into the drying crops.

It gleams a bright crimson and fills the air with a tinge of metal that Hades knows she’s tasted before—it starts off bitter before it sours on her tongue. Iron.

Human.

Hades’s eyes flicker to the cottage ahead where Demeter rests, still blissfully unaware. Not a God then, she thinks to herself, but a mortal—a mortal man has sired her betrothed, and left his blood in Eris’s veins as proof.

It made Eris vulnerable. It made him killable.

Her gaze returns to his body, already chilling as Autumn slowly slips out of his grasp.

Hades’s blood is the silver fire that flows in her veins. Cold. Restless. Unforgiving. An excellent aide in exacting revenge. She cannot use it here, in the Overworld—so Hades waits, letting her burning eyes promise the vengeance she’s already begun plotting.

Fortunately, her prey already waits in the Underworld.

“You know who did this,” Thanatos says behind her.

Hades does not turn to face him. “You don’t have to sound so pleased.”

“I did tell you not to go down this path,” he reminds her. “This—all of it—is on you.”

Hades whirls on her feet. “Save him,” she breathes. “You have to—”

“No.” The word slams into her like a wall of ice. “No more favours, Nesta.”

Hades goes completely, lethally still. Even her blood falters in its tracks, the flames too stunned to keep on raging. 

Her warning comes as a whisper. “You dare?”

Thanatos crosses his tattooed arms over chest, the dark swirls shifting with his golden-brown skin. She’d never asked, she realises in that moment, what the meaning behind them is—she also finds that she doesn’t care.

“I dare,” Thanatos says.

No one—no one in her divine, eternal existence—had ever used her name. Her true name. Too powerful, too sacred to be spoken by anyone but her. Even Olympus doesn’t know—and if they do, they never dared to so much as think it. She’d only told Thanatos, centuries ago—a mistake, she now understands—and Aphrodite, her price for the now useless pomegranate.

For Eris is no good to her dead. In the Underworld, he’d be all but a shred of a soul he was here—powerless. Empty.

Unworthy.

Nesta rages again.

And then leaves to exact her revenge.

***

The Underworld is quiet when she returns—as if the fallen souls themselves have decided to stay out of her way. Even the Acheron seems to have stilled, its gloomy current frozen into place.

They all feel it—the anger, the fury rolling off their Queen. They’re wise to know crossing her now is a fate much worse than death.

Like an obedient pet, Cassian waits for his mistress at the shore. He holds his chin high, his hair swept back in dark waves as he watches the silver flames reveal her inch by inch. He looks every bit the General that he is.

Expect that Generals are meant to obey their masters—to follow their every command without question. And yet this one stands before her with blood on his hands that isn’t his own, the crimson siphons illuminating the proof of his defiance.

Worst of all, his hazel eyes show no remorse—only intense, absolute determination.

He’s proud of what he did, Nesta realises. She’s comforted by the thought that, after she’s done with him, he will no longer be anything.

She lets her flames swallow the ground beneath her, lets them lick up her legs as she steps toward him. It feels liberating to have them to live and breathe her rage outside her eyes—now, every bit of her is that cold, unforgiving fire.

Still, Cassian meets her blazing gaze and doesn’t even flinch.

It angers her even more.

“You,” she breathes, the sound dry and hoarse on her tongue, “ruined everything.”

Cassian crosses his powerful arms. For a moment, he reminds her of Thanatos—his red siphons mirror the sapphires she’d given her friend all those centuries ago. Had she not been so utterly foolish and given them to Cassian, Eris might still have been alive now. Sitting on the throne she’d prepared for him, Aphrodite’s magic coursing through his veins.

But Eris is dead now, his soul likely travelling down to the Underworld right this moment. All because of—

Of her.

She should’ve left him for dead the first time—should’ve heeded Thanatos’s warning and allowed Cassian to die a warrior’s death.

Instead, she created a monster.

“If it’s forgiveness you seek,” Cassian almost scoffs, “You’re in for a disappointment, Your Majesty.”

“Not forgiveness.” Her lips twist in a cruel smile. “Punishment.”

She expects it then—that flash of fear in his gaze, that final realisation that, like him, she is a monster too.

Instead, Cassian lights up with excitement—as though punishment is exactly what he’s been hoping to hear.

Perhaps that’s why she asks, “Why?”

She doesn’t need to elaborate—he understands well enough.

“You deserve someone better than him,” he says, his chin dipping as his gaze sweeps over the fire slowly travelling up her skin. She ignores the heat it stirs within her, tells herself it’s the silver touch of her flames—except that her power is cold as ice, ice that now slowly melts under the burning hunger in his stare.

Still, she schools her features into disdain. “And I suppose that someone is you?”

Hazel eyes flicker back to hers. “It could be.” He takes a step toward her. “If you want it—if you want me.”

Nesta grits her teeth—if only to keep herself still. “What I wanted,” she says tightly, “is gone now. Because of you.”

Cassian’s voice drops an octave. “Good.”

Her fingers curl into fists. “How dare you,” she hisses, channelling that useless heat into anger. “How dare you kill a God.”

Another step in her direction has her mortal body shaking. “You would give yourself to him.” His eyes darken, the black of his pupils drowning out their colour. “You would give yourself to a God who fell at the hand of a human.” Disgust laces his words—a General unimpressed with his opponent, a General who wished for battle only for his enemy to yield before it even truly began. “I killed him in two strikes,” Cassian says. “I challenge you, I said. For the hand of the one who commands us both. Would you like to know what your precious consort told me?” 

She squeezed her fists harder, the circle of fire around her raging up to her waist now.

Cassian takes a final step—another inch, and he’d be swallowed by the flames. “He said he doesn’t know you,” he seethes, “but even if he did, you’d never be worthy of him.”

Nesta’s flames die out—fade into the dark earth beneath her feet.

It wouldn’t have mattered. She’d expected defiance—that’s why she’d arranged for the pomegranate as a precaution. Willingly or not, Eris would have come to the Underworld eventually. It was not up to Cassian to—

“I defended your honour,” Cassian continues. “You would punish me for that, Goddess?”

There is no reverence in the way he speaks her title—as if her status, her kingdom, as if Hades means nothing to him at all.

As if he only cares about her.

As if he only cares about Nesta.

“Tell me your name,” Cassian breathes.

The entire Underworld freezes.

Slowly, she tells him, “You know my name.” A final warning.

“No—your real name. Not the one they carve into temples, not the one they chant before their dead,” he says. “I want to know you.” His eyes are desperate. “Tell me your name, Hades, and I’m yours—the way I was always meant to be.”

“You,” she starts lowly, “already belong to me.”

Cassian’s eyes flash in surprise.

Nesta goes on, “I brought you here at your own request. I could’ve left you, your mother, everything you hold dear—I could’ve left it all to die.” She points a finger to his chest, her long, sharp nail digging into the hard muscle—and Cassian’s gaze darts to the touch. “But I brought you here instead, and I was planning to give you everything. I would have made you mine—my most prized pet, always at my side.”

His breath turns ragged, and he’s so close that she can almost feel it on her neck.

“But you are no pet,” Nesta says quietly. “I see that now.”

Cassian stills entirely.

Nesta smiles. “You are a beast.”

Silver sizzles beneath her finger, tasting his golden-brown skin, and Cassian’s eyes widen at the sight.

He can do nothing when her magic purrs, and his body bursts into flames.

His screams echo through the Underworld, the ground shuddering beneath his pain, the Acheron quivering at its sheer force. She knows it isn’t their cold touch that pours anguish into his soul, but the transformation itself. The steel-sharp claws that tear his skin apart as his limbs shift into large, heavy paws. The sharp needles piercing at his body before they turn into short, roughened fur, dark and gleaming the way his hair once did. The vocal cords twisting and contracting as they turn his smooth, deep voice into a low, primal rumble.

It’s working.

Cassian was already tall as a human, but his form must have grown threefold now—the four-legged beast that now stands before her is massive, towering over her so that she can hardly reach its torso, let alone face him at an eye level. His eyes…

Nesta swallows. Hard.

What have you become?

Three large heads now blink at her, their pointed ears twitching in what appears to be confusion. He almost resembles a wolf, Nesta thinks to herself, though his fur is shorter, and his shape and size is no match for the creatures she’d seen in the Overworld’s forests. Cassian is now a creature of his own might, no longer needing siphons to amplify his power. No, this beast could crush Eris with as little as a swing of his long, dark tail.

Those three pairs of eyes blink again, and Nesta makes herself face the middle, wolf-like head. And when his stare shines a familiar hazel, she finally, finally smiles.

He belongs to her now, and there is no going back.

His gaze shifts into something like understanding—and a deep huff sounds from the big, wet snout, as though he’s trying to tell her, I was yours all along, Goddess.

She angles her head slightly. “Perhaps I simply like you better in this form, General,” she answers.

Another huff—a scoff, almost—and Nesta can’t help but chuckle.

“You have no idea,” she tells him.

Slowly, Cassian makes his way past her, toward the island’s shore, the ground grunting heavily under the weight of his new form. He stops at the river’s edge, and she knows he’s taking it all in—the beast that has always lurked from deep within his soul, waiting to be released.

Yes, Nesta realises. She does like this form very much.

When the beast turns to her at last, there is a question hiding in his stare.

“Your humanity isn’t gone—well, not entirely, at least,” Nesta explains. “I can change you back as I please.” A sly smile creeps onto her lips once more. “As long as you please me.”

A low growl slips past his teeth—sharper than any sword he’s ever held, no doubt—and Nesta begins to wonder if he even wants to be changed at all. He likes this—this strength, this might she’d given him. As if whatever she says, whatever she does, will never be true punishment—as long as it means he gets to remain by her side.

Perhaps, Nesta considers as she eyes his brutal form, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.

He must see the thought in her stare, because, as though in emphasis, Cassian shifts his weight to the back and rests on the stony shore. His powerful middle is revealed, every bit of muscle strong and hard before it leads—

Nesta sucks in a sharp breath.

Hanging between his legs are three, thick cocks, already throbbing and out for her taking.

Her mouth goes dry, and she sways forward a step. He’s large, larger than she’d thought he’d be, larger than any mortal she’d ever seen. His dark fur gathers at the base—one, hard shaft at the top, with two others placed just below it. His cocks mimic the positioning of his heads—the prime watching proudly from the middle, and the other two resting at its sides.

“Impressive,” Nesta hums absently, focused on the erection growing before her.

She takes another step, so close now to where the beast is waiting—so close that she can see the need gleaming at the blunt tips—

Her breathing comes faster. She needs him, too, she realises, that familiar rush of heat returning to her core. She needs to feel him throb under her touch, needs to taste him in her mouth, needs to be filled by all of him until the Underworld collapses under the force of her pleasure.

Nesta tries to ground herself, to steady her breath as she reminds herself to take it slow—he belongs to her now, wholly and eternally, and there is no need to rush to chase her want.

After all, this is supposed to be his punishment. And if there is one thing Hades has always known, it’s how to make the males suffer. 

She can feel his eyes on her, focused on her every move. Good.

Nesta leans forward and reaches out a hand. The next breath dies in every last one of the beast’s throats as she gently drags her finger over the middle shaft.

Cassian shudders violently, and from the corner of her eye, she can make out the claws, digging into the solid ground. She smiles to herself—and strokes the large girth again, swiping her thumb over the pearly want beading at the tip.

She studies each appendage again, the way they pulse with his lust, the picture of her next move already coming to life in her wicked mind. Slowly, she straightens, her hand leaving the throbbing heat of his skin.

A small noise sounds above her—a strained whimper of protest as she parts with his desire.

Nesta clicks her tongue. “So impatient,” she scolds, as if she herself had not just had to restrain herself from straddling him.

His eyes don’t leave her for a second, fixed on the hand that had just stroked his aching cock, and she knows it’s taking everything in the beastly General not to pin her to the ground and take her as she is. A part of her wishes it—for him to lose control, to mount her with all its power, to make a mess of her right here, at the gates to her onyx fortress.

But Nesta has a plan—as she always does.

This time, she will not let him ruin it.

“Look at you,” she hums again, smearing the evidence of his arousal between her two fingers. Cassian’s eyes dart to the movement, the jaws of his three heads clenched tight. “The beast has come out at last.”

He makes a low, guttural sound.

“Don’t worry,” Nesta says, “I still find you pretty.”

The rock cracks beneath the strength of his claws.

He wants her—she can feel the heaviness of his lust in the air between them. He wants to tell her just how badly he wants her impaled on his cocks, how badly he wishes to know the taste of her hot cunt. Too bad. 

She offers him a smile she knows is edged with cruelty. “Be a good boy for me, and I will let you speak again.”

And with that, Nesta kneels.

His desire calls out to her, and she wonders if he’ll taste as wild and untamed as she’d imagined—if she’ll taste the howling wind on her tongue, the hunger for battle and bloodshed. Suddenly, this is no longer about punishment—it’s about claiming him as hers, about knowing every part of him as though it were her own. Deeply. Intimately.

Cassian’s heavy pant fills the Underworld as she strokes the middle cock again, letting her hand slide down to its base before returning to tease the gleaming tip once more. She only smirks as she feels him harden in her hold, and takes him into her mouth at last.

The ground rumbles slightly with Cassian’s stuttered growl, and it only incites that heat within her. Her tongue swirls around the thick head, and she knows she won’t be able to take him all in, too large to ever fit wholly in her mouth. She also knows he expects her hand to aid her, to close around the base in tandem with her mouth—but Nesta has other plans.

His cock hits the back of her throat as she braces her hands on the two cocks beneath.

Cassian jerks almost violently at the touch, the two, throbbing shafts twitching in response to the feel of her on the sensitive skin, and she can’t help but smile slightly against him. He’s heavy and solid in her hands, and she pumps him up and down, rhythmically to her mouth as her tongue reaches out to lap at his length. She watches his muscles tighten and his hips jerk up—he’s close, she realises, something like satisfaction purring deep inside her chest at the reactions she’s elicited from him. Something determined to please him, to make him addicted to her touch.

His next growl is deeper, raspier, and he arches fully into her mouth. Nesta’s vision blurs, her moan a garbled sound as his tip bumps against her throat again—and Cassian pulls back, as though not wanting to strain her.

As if he ever could.

She curls her fingers around his shafts—too thick for them to truly ever meet at the base—and she squeezes him gently as her tongue darts out once more to graze along the underside.

Then she opens her eyes and meets his gaze.

Cassian comes in a wave.

His roar reverberates straight into her core, already wet and crying out for his heat, and Nesta delights in the feel of his throbbing cock on her tongue, in her hands. He comes down her throat as she swallows him, hands still pumping him in a slowing pace until he finally slumps, panting as though in disbelief.

Her mouth slides off him smoothly then, and she smirks at the mess she’d made of him—of the release still spilling out of the two cocks she’d made a mess of. Nesta rises to her feet and, unable to help herself, flashes him a triumphant smile.

Cassian steadies himself weakly, all four of his powerful legs now holding him up as his breath settles. He looks at her as though he’d never seen her before—as though now, he finally understands that it is a Goddess standing before him, that what she’d just done is a sacrament he’d fall to his knees before for the rest of his life.

All three pairs of eyes sweep down her form now until they meet her centre—and she wonders if he can somehow smell the arousal pooling at her core.

His low growl confirms her suspicions—and Cassian takes a step forward.

The image flashes in her mind, then—this beast between her thighs, licking hungrily at the heat dripping down her cunt, pressing its heavy tongue to her clit—

Cassian takes another step.

“You,” Nesta breathes, “are in no position to make demands.”

She is supposed to be the one in charge here, she reminds herself, but the words fade immediately into the daze of her weakening mind as she watches his hazel eyes darken. Cassian huffs, and it’s almost like a laugh—as if he, too, knows that right now, the Goddess is utterly at his mercy.

As if he likes it.

His eyes flicker to her again, a silent plea—he will not touch her until she grants it.

Nesta looses one, final breath before she yields the one thing that has always been only hers to wield.

Control.

“Don’t make me regret this,” she warns, even though she already knows he’d die before he let that happen.

Cassian pounces.

She’s pinned to the ground before she can blink, the dark stone smooth and cool against the exposed skin of her back. Cassian’s massive body hovers over her, blocking out the dim light as he leans further down.

Before she can use her magic, his teeth already flash, and the sound of the ripping fabric fills the air between them. Her gown now lays shredded around them, and the soft breeze sweeps over her naked body, chill against her hot, aching cunt. She arches off the ground an inch, her human body already desperate for his touch, for the delicious fullness of him inside her, thrusting in and out until she can no longer sustain her breath. Nesta wants him—wants all of him like she’s never wanted before, rough and without restraint.

But then Cassian’s monstrous heads lower further down, and do not stop until—

Until one of his snouts presses against her abdomen and he sniffs, a low growl slipping past his sharp teeth.

His eyes burn dark, intoxicated by the scent of her, spread open and utterly, obscenely wet.

Nesta knows he’s begging for a taste.

She knows what’s coming now, knows he’ll feast on her until she comes again and again and again, until he gets to feel that fire on his tongue and deem it sweeter than ambrosia itself. Two of his heads lower, then, as they lick up her inner thighs, their tongues hot and heavy and wet, stopping an inch from where she needs them most.

She makes an exasperated sound as her walls clench around nothing, only more of that slickness coating them, urging for friction. Cassian huffs a laugh and looks up to face her, an infuriating sight when his head should be where it belongs—right between her legs.

She swears that beastly mouth curls into a smile before his middle head dips and drags its tongue clean up her centre.

Nesta moans then, low and wretched, her head falling back against the ground. The crown of her golden hair is like beams of sunlight against the onyx stone, but she doesn’t care—doesn’t care about the looks of this body anymore—only the way it twists and tightens at the rough tongue swiping over its sensitive cunt.

Cassian licks her like a creature starved, like he’d just crossed a desert and she’s the only fountain in sight. His tongue is heavy and large as it drags itself against her walls, and she wonders just how, exactly, she’ll be able to take any of his cocks when his tongue already sends hot bolts of lightning through her veins.

His other two heads resume their journey up her thighs again, and she writhes at the overstimulation—at the wet trails he’s leaving all over her like an animal marking its territory. I might belong to you, he seems to say, but you belong to me now, too.

Somehow, Nesta doesn’t mind.

The realisation is like the first breaking of light in the darkness, like the first birdsong at the end of a silent night. Nesta—Hades—has always only claimed, for herself, for her power, for her kingdom. No one’s ever claimed her—no one has lived long enough to even try.

No one except Cassian.

He doesn’t want her power or her kingdom—he doesn’t even want Hades. He only wants to be Nesta’s, and for Nesta to be his in return. 

Perhaps this—all of it—has not been some twisted curse from the Fates. No, she can almost see their thread now, bright and golden and tied between the two of their souls.

And what a beautiful sight it is.

She speaks, but her words come out quiet, strained.

Cassian pauses.

“Nesta,” she repeats, the word no more than a breath.

He looks up then, his tongue parting with her cunt just barely, and she moans in protest, rolling her hips higher up into him again.

But Cassian doesn’t move—only stares at her, something golden shining in the darkness of his eyes.

So she explains, “You wanted to know my name.” 

His gaze holds nothing but revelation—he looks like a beast waking from a long-suffering dream.

“My name is Nesta,” she says again, a desperate urgency in her tone.

Her name is the last snap before he unleashes himself.

She can practically hear how wet she is as he licks her, the sounds of her pleasure loud and depraved and stirring something deep within her gut. Her breath becomes short, uneven as he sinks deeper and deeper with every thrust. Her fingers sink into the ground, her power slipping out of her and into the stone, pressing thin cracks beneath the pads of her digits. Her eyes flutter shut, no longer able to register anything but the tongues exploring every inch of where she aches the most—until the middle one slips out of her at last to circle around her clit.

It’s everything Nesta needs to fall apart.

Release tears through her, hot and white and shuddering every last crumbling bit of her world. She comes with a low, strangled cry, and her body falls flat against the ground, swirling with heat despite its cool, welcoming surface. Her human heart thumps loudly in her chest, and she opens her mouth to say something—anything—but words fail her entirely as Cassian continues to sweep at her in a smoother, slower pace, coaxing her through her climax.

Only when her breath finally returns, pouring enough air back into her lungs to speak, does she wave her hand weakly, her power flickering between them.

Cassian blinks, as though something shifted inside him—and understanding dawns upon his features as he finds the change at last.

The look he gives her takes her breath away all over again.

“General—” she starts, a pulse of that familiar heat shooting through her once more as he rises to wedge his powerful middle between her thighs. 

He growls—but this time, the sound is different—changed as it shifts into a voice. Into words. “No more,” he says in a deep, guttural rumble. “No more titles. Speak my name, Nesta.”

His paws rest heavily beside her arms, bracing themselves as he leans over her.

Nesta’s eyes dart to the thick cocks inches away from her core. “Cassian,” she breathes.

Another rumble—lighter, this time, one she can only take for a chuckle. “So impatient,” he mocks, parroting her words from before.

“Give me everything,” she gasps as his middle cock grinds against her sopping folds.

Cassian chuckles again. “You wouldn’t survive everything.” Nesta shudders. “I need to prepare you,” he says, one of his heads lowering to nuzzle at her neck. “Trust me.”

Anticipation coils inside her belly as he guides himself to her entrance—and she gasps out in protest as the tip of his cock pauses right before it.

She knows why he does it—knows exactly what he wants to hear.

“Cassian,” she calls him again, his name like a plea on her lips.

Cassian slides in, and all the worlds collide.

He bottoms out in a deep, rough thrust that rips a wanton cry free from her throat. She jolts against him, his two hard cocks pressed against her thighs, the tingle of his short, black fur on her naked skin setting every last one of her nerves on alert. Nesta’s chest heaves for a breath as he knocks all the air from her body, as she adjusts to the large girth of him in the tightness of her cunt.

His cock stretches her deliciously, reaching a place inside of her no one has ever reached before—and she rolls her hips against him, begging for more friction, begging to feel him stroke it over and over again until there is no more space between them to close. Until they become one.

When he doesn’t make a move, Nesta wiggles again, her eyes squeezed shut as she tries to focus on pushing the air back into her body. But no movement comes—only the low rumbling of his voice again.

“Nesta,” he says, and it’s like a prayer. “Look at me.”

She does.

When her gaze locks onto his, she realises she can see her eyes in the reflection of his—or so she thinks, at least. For her eyes always burn with that deathly, silver fire—they have been from the moment she was born.

But the eyes she sees in his own are a light, lovely shade of blue—like the paling winter sky, calm and gleaming like fresh snow under an arctic sun.

It’s the first time she ever sees them, but the sight is familiar as though she’s been seeing it every day in the mirror—they’re Nesta’s eyes, the ones hidden beneath Hades’s wrath.

She likes them.

She wonders if, this whole time, Cassian has been seeing them, too.

“Mate,” Cassian whispers.

And then, he starts moving.

Slowly, he drags himself in and out, his pace easing into a melting rhythm. He stretches her, watching her face contort in pleasure, groaning as looks down to watch her split open on his cock. Nesta quivers around him, she, too, mesmerised by the sight—by how perfectly he feels inside her, by how perfectly his cock slides in and out of her body.

With every thrust, he reaches deeper, pushing the head of his cock until it fills her so thoroughly that she flutters wildly around his thick length. Her breath turns ragged again, quickening after every stroke of his cock against the spongy roof of her walls.

Cassian growls, throbbing harder inside her, his own pace rushing to match her panting gasps. He drives into her, in and out and in again, the wet sounds of their pleasure mixing with the heavy air. She moans his name, matching him stroke for stroke, hips urging him closer, urging to him to push deeper into her, to find their peak together the way they were always meant to do.

Her walls grip him tighter, and he starts rutting into her frantically, giving into some wild, primal urge to claim her fully, openly, with everything he’s got. He isn’t holding back anymore, he doesn’t care for a steady pace—only the wails of her pleasure and the heat of her cunt welcoming the monster all the way in. 

Nesta nearly chokes as she actually sees his cock puff out her lower body, its perfect curve hitting that spot inside her that made everything but him completely, utterly insignificant. She’s close now, so tight around him that he clenches his jaws to keep himself moving, to hit the back of her cunt with his thrusts.

“Nesta,” he pants, and the sound is her undoing.

They erupt together, the hot slick of her climax coating the length of him as she shakes with the force of her pleasure. Cassian’s cock twitches, and the pumping stutters before he roars and buries himself deep.

His orgasm slams into her, the hot rush of his seed throbbing up his shaft and coating her insides. There is only him, now—only the chase they take on together, the rest of the Underworld fading away. She might be chanting his name, might be gripping the muscled paws she’s nestled between—the only thing she knows is that Cassian is filling her as they ride out their release.

Slowly, the world falls back into place—enough for her to catch a breath, at least. Enough to open her eyes once more and look at the one who’s ruined her life to build a better one anew.

“Mate,” he breathes again, understanding clear in his hazel stare.

As if in answer, something thrums deep within her chest, something warm and golden and not at all like the darkness she’d been used to her whole life. Something that fills the silence—one word, beautiful and unending.

Mate.

Taglist: @melting-houses-of-gold @fieldofdaisiies @octobers-veryown @sunshinebingo @autumndreaming7 @augustinerose @demarogue @helhjertet @jmoonjones @madgirlnesta @areyoudreaminof

[youlikefanficdontyousquidward]

Don't fuck with my man

"I have a idea for it 😉 maybe they had a big argument and there having like a break 😞 and the dude from the previous one is flirting with reader and he flirts back and yk jealousy jealously. Then like more stuff you can add"

@dozcan123 for you!! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

Again absolutely love a jealous Quaritch

Warnings: swearing, smut, voyeurism

Human!Quaritch x Masc!reader

There was screaming, shouting, some amount of things thrown and in the end you'd stormed away. Boyfriend or not you would not let him speak like that to you. So for now you were on a break. Not broken up! Just needing to cool off.

Still he seemed to haunt you around the base. Glimpses of his muscular frame before you'd turn and see nothing. You'd chalk it up to your mind playing tricks on you but you knew how possessive he could be.

You were on a break but you wouldn't use that as an excuse to see other people. Deep down you loved him, even when he was being an ass. The idea of another man's hands on him set a restless anger coursing through you.

You stewed in the gym with Lyle today. The other man was on eggshells with you. Clearly Miles had said something to him but he wasn't going to expand on that. Instead he just hovered around you, spotting you or working out near by. You didn't appreciate the company. Your other friends had been kind enough to give you some space to collect yourself.

It was quiet at least. No one else seemed to have come by at this hour. Leaving you first pick of whatever equipment you'd be taking your anger out on. You swung a furious punch at the sand bag making it smack rather hard against Lyle behind it.

"Ah fuck!" He grunted as he peaked out from behind the thing. "Look it's getting late I gotta head off." Lyle said. He stepped off to the bench to grab his things. He paused a moment watching you stay by the bag. Lyle sighed taking the hint finally and leaving you in peace.

Or so you thought.

"Aww things okay at home babe." A man laughed as he came round the corner. Ben, that flirty asshole that just couldn't seem to take no for an answer. You'd had to keep quiet about most of his advances to Miles. He'd have his head for less.

"Not in the mood, piss off." You grunted before taking another swing at the bag. He slinked over draping his form on the back of the bag, stilling it as you kept swinging.

"Come on, worried Papa Dragon's gonna catch us..." Ben purred before grunting at your swings impact.

"Catch us what Ben? Catch me kicking your ass?" You snorted before landing another kick against the bag. Ben groaned again but you heard him chuckle. An anger flared though you and you shot another volley of hits though to him.

"Oh surly we could be having more fun then that." He said.

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

He wasn't following you, Quaritch was just looking out for you. Word travels, folk knew he was pissed so folk might take advantage of that. Try and swoop in on what was his.

When Lyle tipped him off to you being alone he was moving before he'd even finished the thought. That prick Ben had been hovering all week, fucking vulture. Tiniest scent of blood and this guy was right at you.

His veins chilled as he rounded the corner. Through the glass divider he could see into the gym. Could see Ben rutting against the punching bag as you sent hit after hit against him through it. The sight made his stomach churn.

His flushed features, face twisting in some vile bliss as he took your hits. The vibrations of each swing, thrust, ricocheting through his nerves.

Quaritch could have stormed in, thrown that Ben to the ground but he caught your face too. The rage pulling at features he adored so much, the pain and anguish that he knew was his fault.

He wished desperately to smooth away those lines, to kiss each valley until you were his again. Would you spurn him? Spit venom at him again till you were both crimson and burning.

Furious Quaritch turned and crashed back out the door. He cursed and swore, tossing a bin to the ground as he passed it. If you were done so be it.

Only he couldn't move another step. A firm hand grabbed his wrist and stopped his escape. He turned sharply ready to blow off some steam on whatever idiot had cornered him now. Only his face fell, softening at your concerned eyes.

You were stunning. Heaving chest, slick skin, those tattoos he loved so much on display. He tried so hard to hold his anger, to imagine Ben's display but it was hard. All he managed was to keep a frown set on his brow.

Still your eyes met his with the unwavering confidence he'd always admired. You'd never squirreled away from him, never been threatened by him and he loved it. He was free with you and he missed that feeling so much.

"You not got Ben to finish off..." He bit. Immediately regretting the sentence as he watched your jaw clench. Biting back your own anger it seemed and it made his own jaw tick in response.

"I don't want Ben." You said, gaze locked on his own. Quaritch could crack under you, be split apart and lain bare. You wormed your way under his skin every time and made your home in his rib cage, curling round his heart. Your words always set a fire in him. Suppose it was up to him whether he'd be warmed or burn on that pyre.

Quaritch dragged a deep breath in through his nostrils and gritted his teeth. You hand still held his wrist the grip turning from almost harsh to soft. Fingers dancing up his arm and coming to rest by his pulse.

"I won't say I'm sorry." Quaritch said.

"I know." You whispered back. Palm still tracing up to his cheek now and Quaritch couldn't help leaning into it. He turned his face kissing roughly into the skin. Quaritch's eyes screwed closed, savoring the heat of your skin. He could feel you smiling at him through the dark and grinned against your skin.

He let his hands move to your skin, pulling under your shirt to rub your sides. You molded against him, arching to be closer still. Your hands moved behind his head as you pulled him down to you.

Chapped lips moved over his tenderly and he darted a tongue out. He swiped against moving in as your lips parted. He groaned into you, twitching to life against you. God he wanted to to take you here, right in the hall against the glass. Show the whole fucking planet just how good he was to you. Wasn't like anyone was around at this time to catch you both anyway.

He turned you against him walking you forward until you were flush against the glass. You gasped against the cool surface and he chuckled, rolling his hip into your ass. He felt you shiver before grinding back against him. His large hands traced under your gym clothes, one slipping up against your chest. You keened as he pinched a nipple and mouthed against the back of your neck.

You groaned hands flying back to make more contact. Gripping his head, nails scrapping along his scarred scalp and kneading into his hip. Desperate for his touch, maybe missing him as much as he did you.

Quaritch reached further under your shirt to your throat, squeezing against his as he ran a tongue over your ear.

"Eager are we?" He groaned as you continued rubbing back against his erection. The thin fabric of your shorts let him feel your curves, your heat as you moved. He reached his other hand from your abdomen to trace down to just above where your shorts tented.

"Who do you belong to?" He growled against your ear. Your body shuddered against his, your hands gripping him and trying to pull him closer still.

"I'm yours. Please..." you whined. Quaritch smirked, running his finger under the waist band as he teased.

"And I'm?" He continued, spying movement out the corner of his eye. He didn't need to advert his gaze to know who it was, he'd know Ben anywhere. Still he reveled in his stillness, the gaping and bobbing mouth. What would he do? Would he watch Quaritch prove how worthless he was?

Still the idea of him enjoying your moans, your form, anything of you bit into him. So Quaritch shifted his gaze, letting a glare fall on the other man as he rutted into your ass. Ben glaring back as Quaritch reached in and took your cock in his hand. He kept eye contact as Quaritch let you thrust into his fist.

"You're mine." You growled under him as your arched back against him. Chest flush against your back as your head turned to his, forehead rubbing his stubbled cheek. Quaritch was sure you could see Ben now too but it didn't slow your movements. Nor the keening groans and whines that were coming breathy from your lips.

If Miles could think straight he'd have torn Ben to shreds by now. For seeing even half of this he'd do worse but he couldn't stop chasing the friction against you. Pumping hard stokes down the length of your cock, desperate for your high more than his own.

Still he felt his own ecstasy coiling and burning through him. Almost dizzying arousal fueling every snap of hips against the curve of your ass. You hand was searing against his face, turning him away from Ben to lock him in a frenzied kiss.

You groaned again, growling into his mouth as your tongue tasted him. Your rolling hips stuttering as he thumbed over the head of your cock.

"Come for me." Miles growled against your lips. You moaned his name out cumming hard against the glass. Painting seed against the smooth surface.

Quartch couldn't contain his own fast approaching orgasm. Taking a hand from its grip around your throat to free himself from the confines for his trousers. Your hand tipped to him, pumping him through his high as his own release hit the glass.

He breathed hard, head tipping into your shoulders as he came down. Your hands trailing up his hip, past your head to rub his hair. Your eyes were turned to where Ben watched and he felt an odd satisfaction at your mocking glare.

Quaritch straightened up, tucking himself away as he slung an arm over your shoulder. He guided you away, loving how your eyes immediately locked onto him. He tossed a look over his shoulder as you both walked away.

Ben had remained frozen, a mix of anger and shame mixing as his eye's remained locked on the window. Quaritch's chest swelled as he you called back.

"Clean that up will yah?" You called without turning your head back. Quaritch barked a loud laugh pulling your shoulder closer into his chest.

"That's an order Private." He added looking down at your half lidded smirk.

"Think we can make it to the dorms before round two?" You purred.

[vvmylove]

"Really Gun?" Pt 1

damn such a bad header (I promise the story isnt as bad) AHAH

As you walked home late at night, you felt a presence watching you. It wasn't uncommon for you to be targeted, though.

After all, Charles Choi was your uncle.

He had ordered you to stay inside the house while he was out of town, yet you found yourself in the middle of the city at midnight.

You were about to enter a designer clothing store before you were stopped with a firm hand on your shoulder.

Gun Park.

"What do you think you're doing here?"

Y/N turned around as she felt the touch of a hand on her shoulder. She looks up at the guy, backing away once she sees who it is. "What do you want?" she asks him annoyed as she crosses her arms. She just wanted to shop in peace.

Gun doesn't seem the least bit fazed by Y/N's response, instead remaining composed and stoic. He leans down to get closer, his voice quiet yet threatening.

"I need you to come with me. I know that you were given strict instructions to stay inside the house and not to go anywhere. Yet here, you are." Gun's grip on Y/N's shoulder tightens. "You know your uncle wouldn't appreciate one of his 'trophies' being harmed, don't you?"

Y/N pouts at his words as she looks away. She looks around the building she was currently in as she starts to scoff, "Or what? You wanna buy me the damn dress instead?" she asks him annoyed. She wasn't fazed by his cold aura and mocking demeanor.

"What a spoiled brat you are."

Gun's voice is cold and emotionless, as he slowly pulls Y/N closer to his face, the scar between his eyes more visible up close. "Or what? I'm not going to warn you again. Come with me. Now."

Y/N can feel Gun's fingers digging into her shoulders. Gun doesn't care whether or not Y/N complies. He knows that when he speaks, it is an order, not a request.

Y/N starts to pout at his reaction. She then looks away from him, not wanting to stare into his cold eyes. She was annoyed, irritated. She then takes a deep breath as his fingers dig into her shoulders, eliciting pain. She doesnt show it though.

"Fine, but you fucking owe me," she tells him

"I do not owe you anything, you entitled brat," Gun says coldly. He slowly removes his hands from Y/N's shoulder, allowing her to walk ahead of him. His hand rests on his hip, his eyes locked on Y/N's back the whole time.

-

No matter how irritating and annoying he finds Y/N, she is important to Charles Choi. As loyal as Gun is to his employer, he knows to keep his mouth shut even if he disagrees with his actions.

Y/N looks at him weirdly, not arguing back. She knew better than to argue back with Charles Choi's men. She then takes a deep breath as she walks ahead of him, crossing her arms. She was so annoyed by Charles stupid orders, she hated how limited her freedom was.

She then pulls out her phone to text Charles Choi herself. He was her uncle anyways, "I want to buy a dress, but your stupid bodyguard wont let me," she texts him.

Gun stops for a second at the sight of Y/N's phone. He doesn't say anything as she sends the text to Charles Choi, but his grip on his hip tightens, and Y/N feels Gun's eyes burn a hole in her back the whole time.

After a few moments, Charles Choi texts back, ordering Gun to "let her do as she pleases". Gun still makes no effort to speak, but Y/N can tell his expression has darkened. His eyes are narrowed. Gun is not a happy man at the moment.

Y/N was shocked as she read the text. She never thought Charles would allow her to roam around at night to buy a dress today. Every other night, Charles Choi had denied her actions. What made today different?

She then flips the phone over to Gun, raising her brow. She then grabs the guys arm, dragging him back into the shop. "You're going to pick me a nice dress," she basically commands him to waste her time.

Gun doesn't speak, letting himself be dragged back into the fancy store without offering any resistance. He watches with disinterest as Y/N walks towards the racks of dresses, his expression never changing.

He follows closely behind her, his face passive and still. Gun would not be providing any commentary or opinion on Y/N's choice of dress, and the two of them would be in there for quite a while. The store had closed long hours ago, yet Gun didn't seem to mind.

Y/N rolls her eyes at his reaction as she drags him. She then looks through the rack of dresses, until her hands land on a short, tight, black dress. Her eyes sparkle as she rushes to the changing room. She put on the dress as it perfectly hugged her curves. She then walks out of the room, twirling. "What do you think?" she asks, showing off the revealing dress on her body.

Gun takes in the sight of Y/N in the black dress, his expression completely blank.

"It looks fine."

He doesn't offer any other response, remaining stoic and passive. His voice sounds cold and monotonous as you would expect from him. He looks back at the rack of dresses, seemingly not interested at all in Y/N's current situation.

It was clear that you were getting no praise or admiration from him.

Y/N pouts at his reaction, "Are you always like this? Why don't you just have fun?" she asks him annoyed as she storms back into the changing room. She then takes off the dress, changing into her normal clothes. She then walks out of the room, looking through more dresses.

She picks 3 more dresses, and buys all 4 of them. She then turns to Gun, "What? Are you just gonna stand there or are you going to take me home?" she asks him slightly annoyed.

Gun grabs his phone, typing in a quick message to Charles Choi that they were done shopping for the night. He puts his phone away before grabbing Y/N's arm and pushing her out of the store.

"Get in the car."

Gun is completely lacking emotion, his tone stern and commanding. He clearly has no intention of being polite to Y/N in any way. In fact, he seems annoyed by Y/N's antics.

Y/N was confused as to why Gun was so aggressive with her today. Even though he was cold, he always remained composed, as he knew better than to annoy one of Charles Choi's nieces. She doesn't say anything though as she was dragged into the car. She turns away from Gun, her body facing the window as she places the dresses on her lap.

The car drives in nearly complete silence. Gun doesn't speak to the Y/N the whole ride. He remains seated next to her with his eyes focused on the road ahead.

He doesn't seem to be enjoying the car ride at all. In fact, it seems as if Gun is just trying to ignore Y/N's presence the whole time.

After a while, Gun finally speaks up out of the silence. "The store has closed. Should you really be walking the streets alone?" He looks at Y/N in the rear-view mirror, his expression still stoic.

"As if you care," she says, scoffing at his question. She doesn't even turn to face him at all. She takes a deep breath as they have arrived. She quickly gets out of the car, shutting it, completely ignoring Gun.

-

She looks at the building ahead. It was Charles Choi's complex. She then walks inside of it, greeted by Charles himself. "Uncle," she starts off.

Charles is seated in the living room, his expression welcoming as his niece enters the house. He stands up to greet her, reaching out his hand to embrace Y/N in a hug. He can definitely tell that something is on Y/N's mind.

"I hope you had a nice time tonight, my little gem. Did your bodyguard let you buy all the dresses you wanted?" He turns to look at Gun, who is still outside in the car.

Y/N looks up at her uncle, who greeted her sweetly. She calms as she wraps her arms around him, in his embrace. She then pulls back, "He's so annoying," she chuckles as she motions over to Gun. She doesn't say anything else though, as Charles found Gun to be one of his favorites.

Charles chuckles in response, taking a seat on the comfortable sofa in the living room as he motions for Y/N to sit next to him.

"You have no idea how lucky you are to have that man. He's the best bodyguard in the city," Charles says in a low tone. He speaks with a soft voice, one that is completely different from Gun's.

Charles knows Gun to be a cold and unfeeling person. But for him, Gun is the most loyal bodyguard on the planet.

Y/N rolls her eyes at his words, as she takes a seat right next to him. She then looks over at him, "Hes so, ugh," she complains, frustrated . "He doesn't know how to have fun," she says, annoyed. She then looks over at Gun, who was still standing by his car.

"At least let him in," she says to her uncle, standing up. "I will make us something to eat," she says as she walks over to the kitchen.

Charles chuckles once again at Y/N's words. He knows exactly what she means, and he knows there's some truth to what she's saying. Gun doesn't seem to know how to have fun, at least not in the conventional sense.

"Let him wait," Charles says with a smile. "That's what he gets for being rude with you. He doesn't need food."

However, Charles knows that there is a soft side to Gun. He does have his likes and dislikes.

Y/N chuckles as she starts to prepare some food. She doesn't say anything for a moment, "Hey it's whatever, just don't let him stand outside in the cold," she says, not really caring what happens to Gun. She was just trying to be polite. Maybe she wanted to pick on Gun today, to try to figure out if he had any weaknesses.

Charles glances at Gun, who hasn't moved from outside the building. He's clearly used to waiting for his employer.

"Then let him wait," Charles says simply. "He's paid well enough to sit in the cold for a few minutes."

Gun's expression is completely blank, but you can tell he's not happy with what he's hearing. He wants to come inside and out of the cold, but he knows better than to defy Charles' orders.

Y/N looks over at Charles, shocked. "Woah woah did you get into an argument with him?" she asks him confused. Charles was never this rude towards Gun, especially since Gun was his favorite.

She finishes cooking and places 3 plates on the table. She then looks over at Charles, concerned. "What happened though?" she asks. She didn't really care that much for Gun, but she cared about Charles.

Charles chuckles at Y/N's concern, shaking his head. He looks at Gun outside, who is still refusing to enter the complex despite the cold.

"Nothing happened, my sweet gem. He was just being rude with you, that's all." He reaches out to embrace the Y/N once again. "Don't worry yourself with small matters. How about you sit down and eat? I'll deal with him later."

Y/N chuckles at his reaction, "You're being overdramatic. Gun is always cold, come on," she says, not sure what she was saying. It's not like she cared about Gun anyways. She hugs him back, taking a deep breath in his embrace.

She then looks up at him, "I need to have a few words with Gun anyways, i'll open the door for him." she says with a smile. She then opens the door for Gun, forcing him into the building.

-

Gun doesn't say anything as he is led inside by Y/N. He stands in the hallway for a few moments, staring down at the floor as he tries to calm himself. Clearly, he's not happy with the way Y/N forced him inside.

However, he remains passive even after Y/N walks back into the kitchen. He just stands in the hallway as Charles stares down at him. Gun's eyes seem angry, but he is doing a good job at concealing his frustration.

Y/N places a gentle hand on Guns shoulder, smiling at him. "Don't be so angry," she says as she pats his back. She then walks over to the table, telling both guys to sit down.

"I made food and you both will be eating," she says with a smile as she pulls back 2 of the chairs. She then seats herself.

Gun is silent as he takes a seat at the table, his expression still blank and cold. He doesn't seem to be fazed by Y/N's words at all, as he remains silent.

Charles sits near the Y/N, giving her a reassuring look. He doesn't seem to be the least bit concerned about Gun. Perhaps he knows something that Y/N doesn't.

Gun is just sitting there quietly, barely looking at either of them.

Y/N smiles at Charles, as she hands him a fork. She then looks over at Gun, trying to pick at his brain. This was her chance, "So Gun, do you have any weaknesses?" she asks him playfully, not wasting any time on other stupid questions.

Gun stares straight ahead, not acknowledging Y/N. He just sits perfectly still and quiet, completely devoid of any emotion.

Charles chuckles to himself as he sees how frustrated Y/N's questions are making Gun. He doesn't seem to be worried at all about his bodyguard.

"He does not." Charles says simply, giving Y/N a kind smile before turning to Gun. "He will never let you know if he has any weaknesses. He doesn't trust anyone enough to make that mistake."

Y/N smile fades. "You really are no fun," she says annoyed. She then looks down at her food as she starts to pick at it. "Did someone hurt you or something?" she continues to ask him. She wanted to know something about him, as she was always curious. She also wondered what made Charles like Gun so bad, when Gun was always cold. Did Charles know something?

"He wasn't always like this, you know," Charles chuckles. "Before he became my bodyguard, Gun was much more lively."

Gun remains silent, not paying any attention to the conversation between the two. He just focuses on his own food. Charles seems unconcerned by his passivity. He knows exactly how Gun was as a person.

"Unfortunately, I don't think he will ever open up to you, my sweet gem. He does not trust anyone."

Y/N's face softens at his words. She then nods over at Charles, not saying anything else. Of course this sparked a new interest, as she was going to pester Charles about it until he said something. But for now, with Guns' presence, she stays silent.

She then sighs. Gun used to be lively? No way. She snickers to herself. She looks up at Gun, biting her lower lip. "Do you at least like the food?" she says- almost whispering, changing the subject.

Gun slowly turns his head to look at Y/N, his eyes locked directly on her face. He remains quiet for a moment, before saying a single word.

"Yes."

The answer comes out in a flat, emotionless tone. Gun seems to be focused solely on the Y/N at that moment. He doesn't even glance at Charles or his food. His attention is fixed solely on the Y/N.

Y/N nods in understanding as she now looks down at her food. She didn't really feel like eating, but she was glad the other two boys liked it. "OKay enjoy yourselves, i'm going to my room," she announces as she takes her plate to the sink, washing it and going off to her room.

-

Gun remains silent, not reacting to Y/N's departure. He seems to be in his own world.

Charles smiles at Y/N's departure, then turns to look at Gun as if waiting for something. He continues to stare at Gun with that soft expression.

"Would you like to talk about this, Gun?" He asks the first words he's spoken to Gun tonight. He speaks in a soft tone, as if trying to reach through that barrier that Gun is clearly surrounded by.

Y/N walks to her room and shuts the door. She then plops herself on her bed as her mind starts to run. She made it her new mission to break Gun apart, to find out who he used to be. She starts to trace the ceiling with her fingers.

Gun remains in the dining room, staring at Charles for a few moments. His face finally shows an expression, a subtle look of guilt. He turns his eyes away from Charles, looking back down at his food.

"She's a lovely girl, isn't she?" Charles says softly, his tone still soft and kind towards Gun.

Gun pauses for a long time, before finally speaking. "She reminds me of you."

Y/N takes a deep breath as she twists and turns on her bed. She then stands up, walking over to her desk and just sitting. She spins in her chair a few times.

Gun's words seem to have affected Charles, as a soft look of pain appears on his face. He stares down at the floor, thinking about what Gun just said to him.

Charles sighs deeply, his expression turning from soft to stern. "Did you mean that sincerely? Or were you just trying to pick a fight with her?"

Gun remains silent, as if he's still thinking about his earlier words.

Y/N pulls out her phone, scrolling through her contacts. She realizes how lonely she truly was, maybe it was because she was one of Charles' nieces. She then takes a deep breath as she sees Guns' name show up. She places her phone back down, as she lies in her bed once again.

Charles looks up at Gun, staring directly into his eyes. You can tell that Charles is feeling hurt by what he just heard. His expression is still solemn and serious. He waits for Gun to speak again, but Gun remains silent.

Charles sighs once again. "We'll talk about that later." He then speaks up to the silent Gun, "Get going. Y/N's already in her room so you can get the night off."

-

The next day. Y/N wakes up with a sigh as she looks at herself in the mirror. She does her daily morning routine, then her mind starts to race. She then walks down over to Charles, knocking on his door. "Uncle?" she asks.

Charles has a serious look on his face as he answers Y/N. He seems to know exactly why she's here.

"Come in, Y/N."

As he speaks, you can tell that he's exhausted. He doesn't seem to want to talk about this, but he'll do it for Y/N's sake. He opens the door and motions for her to walk into the hallway.

Y/N looks up at him and notices the state he was in. She then looks down at her fingers, fiddling with them as she enters the room. "So..." she starts off.

"You gonna tell me about Guns past?" she chuckles awkwardly.

Charles sighs deeply, clearly knowing what the conversation is about to unfold. He sits down in his chair, looking over at the Y/N. He takes a deep breath in, preparing himself.

"Sure," Charles says softly. "I might as well. I'm sure you are going to sit here until I give you what you want. So please, sit down. You deserve to hear it."

Y/N looks up at Charles, shocked. She thought she was going to have to put up some fight, or even pester him just to know about Guns past. Gun was super defensive and secretive when it came to his life, that's why he was always so cold.

-

She then takes a seat, looking down at the floor once again.

Charles takes another deep breath, staring at the floor as he prepares himself for what he's about to say. He seems uncomfortable by the topic, but he knows that he has to say something.

He then starts speaking, his voice surprisingly soft and calm. "He was not always like this, Y/N. Before he became your bodyguard, he was a..." Charles hesitates for a few moments, searching for the right words. "... He was a cheerful man, Y/N."

Y/N looks up at Charles, scanning his eyes. "So you knew this guy before? Is that why you picked him as my bodyguard?" she asks, clearly surprised. Maybe that's why Gun was one of Charles' favorites.

She then urges him to continue on with his story, wanting to know more about Gun.

Charles sighs deeply, staring right at the Y/N. His eyes seem pained and tired, as if the memories he's about to share are difficult for him to recall. He remains silent for a long moment, thinking about what he's about to say.

"He was normal," Charles finally admits. "I first met Gun two years before he was chosen to be your bodyguard, Y/N." He sounds surprised at himself too, as if he was not expecting to say all of that.

Y/N then looks up at Charles, picking out his words. She then places her hand on his shoulder, "Just get to the point," she chuckles. She wanted to know more about Guns past, and why he is now as cold as ice.

"I knew Gun when he was working for another company," Charles continues. "He was their top bodyguard, and I would hire him for various jobs every now and then."

He then takes a deep breath once again. "One day... I had some business to take care of in Japan at the time. The people I worked for at the time were quite dangerous, and I didn't want to take any unnecessary risks with my life. So I brought Gun along."

Y/N leans in, listening. She urges him to continue as she was interested in his words. "What happened in Japan?" she asks him softly.

Charles is silent for a little while, thinking about what he's about to say. He seems to want to be careful with his words, not wanting to upset Y/N.

"We were in Tokyo," he says after a little while. "We were taking care of business with a very important contact of mine. We were walking down a crowded street when..."

Charles stops, closing his eyes in thought. He seems to struggle with the next part of the memory.

Y/N raises her brow as she leans into the chair. "And how did this affect Gun?" she asks, getting straight to the point. She felt as if there was more to the story, rather than just being a survivor.

Charles sighs deeply, his tone becoming solemn once again. "The family that we fought against... They slaughtered Gun's friends, everyone else he worked with, and finally" he takes a deep breath.

Charles pauses again, thinking about exactly how to say this. "His family."

"Gun himself was captured, and we had to save him from the family... Gun's always been quite stubborn, you know. No matter what my associates tried, he wouldn't tell them anything."

Y/N looks at Charles shocked. She then nods her head in understanding. "So you're telling me," she crosses her legs, "They killed everyone Gun knew, including his family, and he lost trust in everyone. Wow," she says, taking all that in. She never saw Gun in such a light. She only viewed him as a cold and emotionless guy.

Was Gun afraid of losing more people? she thought. Maybe that's why he never had gotten close to anyone, or revealed his past.

"Yes," Charles says simply. "Gun has lost all of his trust for people, especially those he works with."

It's clear that Charles also feels some pain in sharing this story. Gun has obviously become very close to Charles after all they've been through. The memories of that day seem to hurt him just as much as Gun.

"That's why he's so cold now," Charles continues. "He doesn't want to let anyone get too close."

Y/N nods her head as she looks down. She then sits by her uncle, wrapping her arms around him. "I'm so sorry," she says, taking a deep breath in. She knew this was difficult for him, so she had not pestered him any further. She got the information she needed and was satisfied.

"Don't be," Charles says softly. "Gun's been through a lot, but he's still a wonderful person inside."

He holds Y/N tighter, seeming to appreciate her presence. "I'm glad he has you, Y/N. Don't let him lose you."

He wraps his arms around her as well, pulling her into a soft hug. He seems to be grateful for having her in his life.

Y/N starts to tear up a little as she starts to see Gun in a new light. She had never realized Gun had to endure such pain. She then looks up at her uncle, wiping his face.

"Don't worry, he will never lose me," she says with a smile.

"Good," Charles says softly, letting out a soft chuckle. He seems happy to hear this from Y/N. Gun is clearly very important to him, so he's glad that she is there to take care of him.

Y/N and Charles continue to hold each other for a few moments, soaking in each other's presence. The two seem to have grown pretty close over the years, and Charles is happy that they've been given the opportunity to find each other.

-

After a while, they both seemed to calm as the Y/N stood up. She then gives Charles a smile, "Let's not dwell on the past anymore," she says with a comforting smile.

"I'm going to go out, see you later uncle!" she says waving her hands as she walks out of his room. She then thinks about it for a bit as she walks down the hallway.

Charles nods as Y/N walks out, a soft smile on his face. He feels some of his concerns being taken away now that he is able to share some of Gun's past with somebody who he cares about.

"Have fun!" He calls after her as she walks away. He seems happy to see Y/N leave the room in good spirits. He looks up at the ceiling, sighing deeply to himself as Y/N walks away.

Y/N then tries to compose herself, wanting to stay happy. She had to figure out a way to let Gun know that she was there for him, even if he was distant. She knew she had to take it slow. She skips down the hall, lost in her thoughts.

-

She then walks out of the building, noticing Gun leaning onto a wall, smoking. She then walks back into the building, making two cups of coffee, before walking back out. She walks up to him, handing him the warm cup with a smile, "I made you coffee," she says simply. Y/N was met with Guns usual emotionless expression, as he takes another whiff of his cigarette. "What," he says, his tone still void of emotion. He wasn't interested in whatever Y/N had to offer.

Y/N takes a deep breath as Gun takes another puff of his cigarette. Placing the cup down on a nearby table, she looks at the view in front of the building, thinking. "Do you have a favorite color?" she asks him randomly. She had an idea in mind.

Gun continues staring at her for a few moments, his face void of any emotion. He takes a few more puffs of his cigarette, seeming to think about her question. He then takes a deep breath in, before letting out a deep sigh.

"It's black," he answers her honestly, annoyed by the fact she was still interacting with him. He's not sure why she asked, but he answers anyway.

Y/N pouts at his reaction, "Not blue or orange or purple? Just black?" she asks, a little disappointed in his answer. She then looks back up at him, noticing his cold stare and his emotionless eyes. She doesn't say anything else.

"Just black," Gun says blandly, sounding like he doesn't really care about the question. He just stares at her blankly, not seeming to have much of a reaction.

"Why?" he asks eventually, seemingly only answering to keep the conversation going.

Y/N scoffs, "You're so an-" but before she could complain about him, she remembers the story Charles told her about Gun.

Gun stares at her blankly for a few seconds, not seeming to understand the word she was about to say.

"I'm so what?" he asks, curious.

Y/N looks away, "Nothing, I'm going," she says, annoyed at herself before walking back into the building. She doesn't face Gun anymore as she rushes back into her uncle's room.

She then pouts, crossing her arms.

Gun watches Y/N walk away before taking another puff of his cigarette. He remains silent for a moment, thinking about why Y/N asked him that question.

Eventually, he takes another deep breath. He shrugs it off, not really caring.

-

Y/N storms into Charles' room, complaining to her uncle, "I can't believe that guy! I tried to be nice but he just annoys me with his stupid face," she says pouting, referring to his cold state. She then takes his wallet out of his jacket, "I need to buy something," she then says.

She was going to get Gun to open up to her no matter what, she was determined to see past Guns cold and emotionless personality. She then walks out of the room.

"Of course, Y/N," Charles says softly. He seems to understand her frustration, and is willing to let her vent. "He can be very difficult to deal with sometimes."

Charles lets out a sigh, sitting back down in his chair. He seems a bit worn out from all of the previous conversations. He's glad that Y/N is there to make things easier for him... she's a kind young lady with good intentions.

Y/N then rushes out of the building, going to the flower shop. She then takes a look around, as she calms herself. "That ass," she says as she takes a deep breath in. She continued to stare at the flowers, until she found a set of black and white Calla Lilies. She then picks it up, buying it. She had asked Gun for his favorite colors so she could do this.

She drives back to the place, with the flowers in her hands behind her back. She goes up to the Guns room, knocking. "Gun?" she asks. She knew she would be met with his cold stare.

---

Sorry for any mistakes!

Im so excited (not really) as this is my first story.

[multiplefandomwritings]

the pain comes in waves

pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader

warnings: mention of injury and blood, canon typical violence, swearing, angst

summary: on the way back from a supply one, something goes terribly wrong.  

notes: feel free to leave comments and/or feedback. likes and reblogs are always appreciated! also, feel free to send in requests!

disclaimer: English is not my first language, so please excuse any mistakes 😊

word count: 3.8k

Pain crashed over your body in a wave so powerful it knocked you down. For a moment you thought that you had overlooked a walker crawling on the ground, giving it the perfect opportunity to slam its teeth into your left leg.

You had walked through the forest on your way back from a run to a town nearby. It had been empty, no walkers, no human, not even animals around. It was peaceful and quiet and for a moment you considered staying overnight. But you couldn´t. The rest of the group would be worried sick, they probably already were. You had taking longer than anticipated, stumbling into the town. And through a miracle, it was not raided yet. You took as much stuff with you as you could, remembering the exact location so that you and the others could return. You felt like a pirate who had just dug up a chest full of treasures.

You made your way back, hastily, so that the night would not stretch out its fingers after you. Darkness was dangerous, and the thought of being alone here in the darkness scared you, even though you would never admit it.

The pain was blinding, and you had to blink a few times before you understood what happened. The wave of pain, your walk suddenly stopped in its track, had planted you on the ground, falling backwards, landing on your back hard. It had knocked all the air out of your lungs.

You looked down at your leg and realized that it was engulfed in the spikes of a bear trap, four of the eight metal teeth buried deep in your flesh. You groaned. This was bad. For a moment, you laid back and looked towards the sky. It was blue and beautiful, sunshine falling on your face, and you scoffed slightly. It was warm, but not too hot since a little breeze softly caressed your skin and the branches of the surrounding trees slightly quivered.

It was spring, your favorite season, and you debated whether it was okay to just die here, surrounded by green trees, blooming flowers, the blue sky above you and the sound of water flowing steadily in the little creek next to you.

You closed your eyes for a moment and inhaled. It was not. Your duffel bag, that laid a few inches to your right, was full of stuff the people, your family and friends, needed. You propped yourself up on your elbows and thanked your father that he had been an avid hunter. He had showed you how a bear trap worked when you were just a kid.

You closed your eyes, just for another moment, thinking back to different days. You still remembered the day everything went to shit so vividly. It was a normal evening for you. You had just come home after work, and since you were hungry and tired, you decided to order a pizza.

You had kicked off your shoes straight after entering your apartment, checking the news on your phone. Apparently, a new kind of drug was around, turning people crazy. You shook your head, and searched for a contact on your phone. When you found it, you called the person. Like always, he picked up almost immediately. “Hey Glenn. You workin´ today?” “Hey, yup, I am. The same as usual?” You laughed. “Yes Glenn, thank you! See you in a bit.”

Glenn was a friend of yours, and your life saver. You had met him on your first day here, when you had ordered a pizza. You thought he was cute, and the two of you exchanged numbers that day. You even went on a couple of dates, only to mutually realize that you were better of as friends.

Sometime later, frantic knocking on your door. “Open the fucking door, Y/N!!” You stumbled towards the door, and before you even opened it at all, Glenn pushed himself him, slamming the door shut. “Y/N, I think the fucking world is ending!” You had turned on the TV, both shocked at the picture and the news of the dead now walking the earth. Videos of people biting each other, frantically shouting, people dying. Until suddenly, the power went out.

This moment felt like a lifetime agon. It could have happened last week, or five years ago. Time was not a concept anymore; it was a phenomenon. Glenn and you had stopped function upon seeing these images. Then, autopilot had started in you, and you had gathered your black compound bow, and other items you had deemed helpful. You had snuck out of the apartment building, with nothing more than a big backpack full of clothes, and a few memories of your past life.

Both of your families had lived far away from you, and you knew there was not a slight chance of ever finding them again when you saw the state the world was in. There was only one person you were close with around, and that was your dad. The two of you had jumped into your blue Honda Civic, somehow avoiding the… dead people roaming the streets.

Your dad lived in the forest, outside of Atlanta, and he was still alive when you arrived. He had lots of weapons, being an avid hunter, and for a while life was good. Until it was not anymore, and the forest had suddenly crawled with walkers. You had lost your dad that day. The only thing that you were able to keep of him, apart from a few weapons that did not mean anything, were his hunting knife and one of his flannels.

You and Glenn ran through the forest hand in hand, he pulled you with him, as silent tears streamed down your face, blinding your view. You were alone with Glenn, running, your lungs burning, until suddenly there was another face, a living face. You found yourself looking at a man wearing a leather vest, aiming his crossbow at the two of you. It did not bother you. He could have shot you right there and then, you would not have cared.

“Why ya runnin´ around like tha`?” His accent was thick, indicating that he had lived his whole life in the Southern warmth. Glenn started rambling, while you were silent. You starred holes in the air, almost apathic, yet you were very aware of your surroundings. You took a shaking breath, knowing that you needed to continue. Suddenly, you lifted your bow, grabbed an arrow, and aimed at the man’s head. He was fast, but you were faster. Before he could aim at you, you shoot the walker that had tumbled in your direction, your arrow sticking out of its skull as it fell on the ground.

Daryl didn´t want to admit it, but you had intrigued him. You had looked so weak, so fragile and he had already loathed taking another useless person back to camp. But suddenly you had shot a walker far behind him, even though you still had tears in your eyes.

In a life before this hell, you would have most likely never looked at a man like Daryl Dixon, and he would have hated you. You were one of these perfect, fragile ladies that looked at him with disgust if they even looked at him. You had the perfect life your mum and stepfather always wanted you to have. You had gone to a prestige university, with other rich kids that were just like you. Despite they were not. You hated it there, but you were too caught up trying to be the person your mum wanted you to be that you would have never thought saying this out loud.

In a sense, the apocalypse that freed you from your shitty life, and you could be the person you really were. Fierce, and strong, and a fighter. The only time you had felt like that before the end of the normal world was when you visited your dad. He took you for who you were, and even though he did not have a villa where you could live, or the same amount of money your mother had, but his old, creaky couch felt more than home than your mother’s house ever did. And he took you hunting, taught you how to defend yourself and he sparked the love for archery in you.

And he taught you how to set up and open a beartrap. You opened your eyes and started to hastily pull the lash with your shaking fingers. The tremble only increased when you heard the rattling breath of a walker close by. Before you were able to open the trap, it stumbled over to you and fell right on top of you. The movement twisted your leg, the spikes digging deeper in your flesh. Desperately did you try to pry the walker off you, holding it away as far as possible with one of your arms, while you were trying to reach your weapon.

Back at the prison, Daryl stared to feel uneasy. You were supposed to be back a while ago. And while you were not the most punctual person – it was the apocalypse after all, and who knew what time it was anyway? – you were always, always back at least two hours before the sun set. Some found that weird, but Daryl knew you. You were afraid of being out there alone in the dark, and you would rather leave two hours early than the possibility occurring that you wouldn’t be back before dark.

He nervously chewed on one of his nails, his eyes darting around. Maybe you were back, and he just didn’t notice? But you always, and by that he meant every single time, made sure to look for him straight after returning. It had become a habit after you had become the second hunter at the camp. While most of the time the two of you went together to look out for each other, every time one of you went out alone, either of you made sure to let the other know when you were back. Since moving into the prison, and taking care of the many people from Woodbury, you needed more food, which resulted in Daryl and you going alone more often. Yet, you always let each other know when you were back.

You had somehow managed to hold the walker off and grabbed a stone laying close to you, smashing its skull in. One good thing did come from the encounter – the rush of adrenaline had the pain disappear for a while. You used the momentum and pried the trap open. The moment the metal spikes were removed from the wounds, blood started to gush out. You took off your belt and tied it tightly above your knee to stop as much blood flow as possibly.

You exhaled sharply when you somehow pushed yourself up. The pain was excruciating, almost unbearable. You had never felt such a thing before. Grabbing the duffel bag, you rushed through the items you had found, pulling out one of the orange medicine boxes – and thanked the Earth that you had found painkillers. You took quite a few, possibly too many, but you had to get back. The others needed you and the items in your bag. You swallowed the pills, looked for a stick that could support you while walking, and then you started your journey back to the prison.

Daryl walked around the yard like a caged animal. The sun was almost setting, and you still were not back. It was maddening how helpless he felt. Ever since he noticed that you were not yet back a few hours before, he had found himself in a downwards spiral. What if there were still some crazy Woodbury people out there that were like the governor, and what if they had hurt you, or worse, killed you? Or what if a horde had met you somewhere on the way? What if, what if, what if? Daryl wanted to scream, he wanted to run out in the woods and look for you, but he knew that would not help. You could be God knows where and they could not spare to lose another hunter. And so, Daryl could only wait and hope that you would be back in one piece.

Someone you managed to drag yourself further one step at a time. The pain was intense, even after the many pills, your vision was blurry from the blood loss. You knew that you couldn´t take a break, because if you would have, you would have possible just stayed there until a walker came by to chew on you. It was almost dark now, and you still had quite some way before you. You needed medical attention, but that had to wait until the morning. Suddenly, you remembered the little hut Daryl and you had stopped somewhere around here a few weeks ago. Hastily, you made your way there, knowing it was your only chance to stay alive for the coming night.

When the sun started to set, Daryl did not know what to do with him anymore. He had not attended the shared dinner, so Carol grabbed a bowl for him and walked over to the place where Daryl sat. She had a bright smile on her face which dropped when she saw the pure panic in Daryl’s eyes. Carol sat the place down on a nearby table and rushed over to the man. “Daryl, what is wrong?” “She hasn´t come back, Carol! Y/n… She´s still out ther´ and she´s afrai´ of the dar´ and I oughta go wit´ ´er, but she went alon´, because she´s selfless like tha´ and what if somethin´ happened to ´er?” The woman frowned at the man in front of her, who seemed like he would fall apart any minute.  

Carol didn’t know what to say, so she just stepped forward and engulfed the man in a hug. When they parted, she looked at him. “Daryl, listen to me! Y/N is one of the strongest people I know, even if she ran into trouble, she knows how to get out of critical situations! So far, she always came back. “But what if this time is different? What if she never comes back, and my stupid ass never told her tha´ I loved ´er?”

You had luckily found the cabin, slamming the door shut and with the last amount of strength in your body, you pushed some piece of furniture in front of it. You knew that you would not be able to stay awake and alert tonight, and that you needed the rest. Hence, you barricaded the door to ensure no unwanted visitors would stumble upon you tonight. Sitting down on the field bed that was on the room, you pulled out some medical supplies and looked at the wounds on your legs. Your stomach turned when your eyes fell on deep gashes, and you knew you had to do something. Suddenly, you remembered Daryls brother and how he survived cutting his own hand off by cauterizing the wound.

You swallowed, hard. You knew that if you kept these wounds opened, you would be either dead in the morning or too weak to continue walking, which would lead to you dying either way. So, you grabbed some firewood and turned on the oven in the little cabin. After the fire was big enough, you pulled your knives out and starred at them. You knew that you had to do this two times, and you weren´t exactly sure how you would manage one time without falling unconscious.

You heated up two of your knives, pulled the belt tighter one more time and bit down on a piece of closing. Sounds would attract walkers, and you were too weak to fight them. Grabbing the knife, you decided it was now or never, and then you pressed down hard. A whimper left your mouth none the less, the pain being excruciating, your eyes fell shut. Yet, you kept going another time before wrapping the wounds in bandages. You fell asleep soon after, not being sure if you were going to wake up in the next morning.

Daryl had spent the entire night on watch, despite everyone telling him to get some rest. But he couldn’t. If you were to come back, he would be the first person you were to see. He would engulf you in the biggest hug, no matter who would be there and he would just fucking tell you how much you meant to him. He was devasted, and a wreck. Carol had stayed him the most night, followed by Rick. They did not want their friend to be alone, so they kept him company, starring in the dark to see if they could spot you among the walkers that were lazily wandering the field.

When you woke up, you felt a tiny tad better. The wounds still hurt, but the dizziness was almost gone. You pushed yourself out of bed and realized it still hurt like shit, but it was bearable. You collected all your belongings, pushed the piece of furniture out of the way and continued your journey towards the prison. It must be early in the morning since it was still rather dark. Since you were still limping, you figured that you would arrive at the prison by sunrise. With the prospect of proper medical attention, a warm bed and finally being able to see Daryl again, you made your way towards the prison.

The sun slowly started to creep into the day, and you were still not back. Carol had just convinced Daryl to step of the tower to at least eat a few bites for breakfast, when Glenn shouted down. “It´s Y/N, she is back!” Daryl was sure he had never run faster in his life than in this moment. Almost flying towards the gate that was being pulled open by Maggie and Rick, he ran out onto the field and straight towards you. You looked like hell, your clothes dirty and full of blood. He opened it was just walker blood, but when his look fell onto your limping leg, he knew some of it was yours too.

You had barely stepped out of the trees and onto the grass when you heard shouting from the prison. The gate opened and you could see Daryl running towards you. Despite the pain, you limped faster in his direction. When he reached you, he engulfed you in a tight hug, before looking at you. You could see the worry in his eyes, and you softly smiled at him. The sudden feeling of safety made all the adrenaline leave your body and your legs gave out under you, as you fell unconscious.

Daryl had picked you up and rushed you inside the prison, making his way through the crowd that was forming and brought you straight to Hershel. He stayed by your side the whole time, even though Rick and Carol had to push him back a few times so that Hershel could do his work properly. Everyone gasped when Hershel exposed your leg. It didn’t look good. It was swollen and red and the burns looked terribly painful. Everyone wondered how you made it back alive.

First, Hershel didn’t think that he would be able to save your leg, but amidst the chaos of the duffel bag, he found valuable medicine and medical supplies. So, he was able to save your leg and stabilized you, but you just wouldn’t wake up. It had been two days since you had returned, and yet you still were sound asleep. Hershel argued that you possibly just needed the rest, but Daryl couldn´t bear it. You had come back to him, but the possibility that you wouldn’t wake up again was still there.

Daryl had become intolerable, he didn’t talk, and if he did, he snapped. He had spent day and night next to you, holding your hand, changing your bandages, and taking care of you. Today, Carol decided that it had been enough. He needed rest, or at least distraction, and the people needed food. Daryl left for the woods, only when Carol promised that she wouldn’t leave your side.

The warm sun was shining on your face when you slowly opened your eyes. Carol noticed the commotion in the bed and looked down, finding you with open eyes. “Thank God, Y/N. Welcome back in the world of the living!” “What happened?”, you asked confused, and Carol told you everything that had happened since you collapsed in the arms of the gruff hunter.

After Hershel checked up on you, you declared that you needed some fresh air, and some sun on your face. With Carol on your left and Maggie on your right side supporting you, you limped out of the cellblock and to the courtyard. They sat you down in a comfortable chair, and after a while everyone came to talk to you and express, how happy they were to see you well.

When Daryl passed the gate and stepped into the courtyard, he heard a laugh and a voice he would always recognize. He sped up his steps and suddenly, he saw you, sitting in a chair, enjoying the sun. As if you sensed his presence, you looked up and your eyes met his. He dropped his kills on the next table, as he walked over to you. You lifted yourself up, and the group of people surrounding you left to give the two of your privacy.

You tumbled a few steps in his directions, your leg still unsteady, barely holding your weight. But before you could fall, he wrapped his arms around your waist and engulfed you in a tight hug. Once he let go, Daryl helped you to a bench close by and the two of you sat down. There was no distance between you, his arm was brushing against his body, and suddenly, he took of your hands in his.

“Don’t eve´ do that again!”, the man besides you said, holding your hand tighter, “I wouldn't've known what to do if ya aint came back!” You sighed. “Daryl, I can´t promise you that this will never happen again. This world is dangerous and we could die every day.” He nodded. “I kno`. That´s also why I need to talk to ya. At first, I was scare´ to fall in love with ya, because I know I couldn’t live with myself if anything happene´ to ya. But a while ago I realized that it was kinda too late for that – I fell in love with ya, y/n and I wante´ to tell ya for a long time, just never really had the balls…” You squeezed his hand and smiled at him. “I like you too, Daryl.”

You rested his head on his shoulder, and he put his arm around you. It was a silent promise that from now on, the two of you would protect each other, no matter what.

[wexhappyxfew]

12 on Subtle Love for Judy and Rosie? Simply cannot get enough of them ❤️

JAMIE HEYYYY!!!! thank you so much first of all for dropping this in the askbox :) very very appreciated on my end + it's for judy and rosie, my two sweetbeans who deserve nothing but the best, so truly, thank you!! i was inspired by the intimacy of sharing in the quiet moments and in this case, this piece hit me a bit harder than others. we come to judy in a time where she's wrangling some of the loses that the group experiences, over and over. and she's trying to find some anchor to hang onto in this ferocious sea that continually knocks her down, over and over......and rosie happens to be that anchor :)

looking out for me

(a/n): for the judy x rosie girlies :') in the midst of finals season, but needed a break from biophysics for the brain and landed on a judy x rosie piece that i'd been playing around with for a few weeks and finally found a place to put it in! prompt is: "You can call (talk to me) me. Day or night. I'm there for you." (changed call to 'talk to me'). please enjoy these two and the intimacy of sharing! <3

The briefing room was probably the place she felt it most.

The loss. The amount of lives that had stepped through the doors and heard that final mission, not knowing it would their final mission in life.

With the lights not on and the sun barely risen outside, it was almost peaceful. When they weren't being told that recipe for a suicide mission.

It was weird knowing Annie Bradshaw wouldn't be walking through those doors today for the mission; along with Margie or Bessie or Kennedy.

Knowing that their lives were scattered somewhere in continental Europe if they hadn't all died.

If.

Judy had gotten her tears out - it was funny, being so accustomed to death day in and day out, she got used to the names being told around the base. She just didn't expect it to be their names.

Reaching up to brush at a stray tear, Judy schooled her features a bit better than she had previously that morning when she'd woken up and Viv had watched her breakdown all alone and build herself slowly back up. None of them really wanted to have to talk about it - the four of them that were missing - especially Francis. Francis seemed to feel it deep within her enough that she was numb. Numb to it all. Judy hurt for her. One day she'd find herself better able to understand these emotions, these feelings, all those unwanted thoughts in her brain. For now, she could only sit and let them grow. She heard the door open from somewhere behind her and slowly turned her head over her shoulder.

Rosie Rosenthal stepped into the briefing room, his gaze lingering around the place, only before settling on her there in the chair. Judy watched him from across the room, the pound of her heart causing all the blood to rush to her head and her eyes, and it took all her might to stay right there in the chair instead of launching across the room to beg him to hold her and put her back together.

To get rid of this ache, this ever-present constant in her life.

Every person going down in a flying coffin, MIA or dead.

But even he couldn't do that if she couldn't even do it for herself. No one could do, especially if you couldn't do it yourself.

Judy hadn't taken the time to realize he had crossed the room, in his slow approach and settled there on the seat beside her. She watched him for a quiet moment and licked her lips.

"Not hungry?" he asked her quietly, leaning forward against his knees and looking up at her with those big, worried eyes, "I noticed you weren't at breakfast." Judy watched him, before a stubborn tear rolled down her cheek, quickly wiping it away, her hands slick with sweat, her heart pounding in her ears, loud enough for any other sense to be drowned out. She stared at him and swallowed the cry in her throat and shook her head.

"Not really." Judy managed out quickly, before looking towards the window, trying to control her breathing rate and her pounding heart, "Just needed a place to be alone….for a bit." Her vision became slightly blurred by her tears and she felt her body aching to cry, to let it all out, to get rid of this feeling and become comfortably numb. But she couldn't do that. She had to keep it in.

She could tell Rosie was taking it in, her poor mumbles of words, mulling them over and thinking all at once. His face looked more strained than usual and he seemed so still, like some sort of statue. She blinked away her tears - over and over.

"You going to be okay for the mission today?" she heard Rosie ask quietly, and there was something in his voice that made her want to cry just a little bit more.

Ever since Rosie had asked for her to be the turret ball gunner for Rosie's Riveters, she had been trying her hardest, putting out with all she could, to do her best in his eyes. There was a certain level of gaining his trust inside the plane that she had already gained outside the plane. A trust that she could operate a gun and strike down what enemy planes she could.

And he knew she was hard on herself, everyone had known that.

And with Silver Bullets being out of commission and their previous crew splintered in various groups, into Operations and HQ and all over Europe, she was still trying to convince herself she could get back to that headspace she'd been in under Annie and Captain Faulkner.

Now with her third commanding pilot, the fear she'd lose him was overwhelming.

"I will." Judy said quietly, looking over at him, his own eyes meeting her red-rimmed ones and she nodded, "I promise you." Rosie watched her; she usually never saw this much of his concerned side of him. He was usually pretty good at hiding it, at least in front of the other men and especially in front of her.

But sometimes, she'd hop out of that ball turret, sweat marks streaked across her face, burn marks on her cheeks, her hands beat-red and shaking and she'd see something flash through Rosie Rosenthal's gaze that made her want to take his worry away in any way she possibly could.

That maybe she could do something that wouldn't worry him, that would reassure him and take that fear away. Because even if he didn't show it, his eyes and that far-off look were ever-present and she saw it, even when staring at each other from across the interrogation table.

Because he'd stare at her as she spoke - citing what she saw, how many chutes, the works - and she'd watch his jaw clench and those eyes turn dark, and he'd speak solemnly almost, and an undisturbed, coldly, calm demeanor and would be by her side when they were dismissed. And he'd ask her how she was and if she needed a sit down. And he'd always have that look. One she replayed over and over in her head.

Like it was the last time he'd be seeing her get out of that ball turret.

"Well," Rosie said quietly, reaching into his inner coat pocket, revealing a neatly folded, lumpy brown bag, "then I can't have my ball gunner going up on an empty stomach so. Eat." He held out the brown paper bag and she stared at him, unsure of the offering, before taking it into her grasp and adjusting herself to sit up a bit. She looked hesitantly at the bag before looking up at him.

Watching with those persistent eyes, she slowly opened up the bag and inside was two pieces of bread, along with a sausage rolled in napkins and an orange. Her stomach, admittedly, growled at the sight and smell of food and she heard Rosie chuckle from beside her.

"Go on," Rosie said softly, his voice thrumming against her ears in a pleasant way that she'd never complain about, "here." He pulled his canteen forward and handed it to her. "Water, too." Judy watched him, in slight amazement and then met his gaze.

"Thanks, Rosie," she said quietly, "you didn't have to-"

"Don't worry about it," he said casually, and then settled into the chair and looked to her, "food's more important than anything and…I don't mind sitting here with you to make sure you enjoy it." She smiled a bit wider at his words, before digging into the bag and pulling the orange from the contents of the bag and settling it in her palm. Staring at the orange, she began to feel her eyes fill with tears and Rosie seemed to notice, leaning forward and placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Sorry," Judy managed out, reaching up to wipe at her eyes, a rather ugly sniffle leaving her nose as she nodded to the orange, "it's just….do you want half? I shared these with Bes all the time, so." Rosie held her gaze for a moment, before squeezing her shoulder warmly and nodding.

"Of course." he said, and Judy cracked out a smile towards him and sniffled again, "Big fan of oranges, ya know?" Judy let out a small laugh and she watched him grin, before she slowly began to peel the fruit, with Rosie's attentive gaze on her own downcast eyes and her slightly shaky fingertips.

"Oranges' your favorite?" Rosie asked her quietly, and Judy looked up, nodding.

“Back home, my brothers and sisters and I would always eat these. Ma made sure if we had anything, we had oranges," Judy said, a small chuckle leaving her lips, "Bes knew I loved them, so we'd usually share. All the time. And since…since she's not here, I wanted to share. With you." Rosie grinned at her, his eyes soft and lingering as he nodded. She smiled again before peeling away the rest of the bright orange outer surface. She looked up at him.

"Plus, it's rare when we get oranges in anyway, so….it's pretty special," she said, pulling the orange in half and then handing the first half to him, "for you." Rosie took the orange and smiled at her with a breathy, "Thanks." Taking a bite of the orange, that familiar and nostalgic taste flooded her mouth and she couldn't help but breathe a little easier just at that.

"Thank you, Rosie," Judy said, swallowing the orange and nodding to the bag, "it means a lot." Rosie gave her a worried smile, where it didn't quite reach his eyes and showed that maybe she had worried him more than she would ever know, but he nodded and looked to her fully.

"I know after the news, it hit you pretty hard." Rosie said, and she felt her throat tighten just at his words, the thought of what had happened, "And Judy….you know, you know you can talk to me. Day or night." Judy nodded and let a shaky smile cross her features.

"I'm there for you," he said softer this time, "you won't lose me that easy." That got a grin on Judy's face as she took another bite of the orange and met his gaze again, his baby blues watching her like it was the greatest sight to behold on base - when there were surely other things like the blue skies, or the setting sun, or the sight of one of those fortresses landing against the tarmac.

They didn't say much for the next few minutes, as they each enjoyed their halves of the orange, but Judy couldn't help but let her eyes linger on him for a moment after each bit of orange in her mouth. Watching how gently he had taken the orange from her, and how tender he still appeared now. How calm she felt sitting there next to him.

"You okay, Judy?" Blinking, she noticed that the orange was empty from her hands, and she was staring off into nothing important, and Rosie's hand was present on her shoulder. Judy met his gaze and then nodded, before covering her hand with her own.

"Yes," she said quickly, nodding again, "just, thank you Rosie. For everything. For looking out for me." Rosie smiled at her, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly, the tops of his cheeks dusting pink.

And he didn't have to say much - he just said, "Next time you get your hands on some oranges, come and find me."

Maybe oranges will be our new 'I got your back and you got mine'.

[janedoecreations]

It had been a long day and you were looking forward to taking a short nap on the couch before making dinner for Rusty. As you closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep, you set an alarm on your phone to wake you up in time to start cooking.

However, as you peacefully slept on the couch, the alarm failed to wake you up. You were in such a deep slumber that even the loud beeping and vibrating of your phone couldn't stir you from your sleep.

As you slept peacefully on the couch, oblivious to the world around you, Rusty Nail pulled up in his truck. The sound of his rumbling 1976 Peterbilt 359EXHD failed to stir you from your slumber. Rusty made his way into the house quietly, expecting to find a hot meal waiting for him. However, to his surprise, all he found was you sleeping on the couch.

He stood still for a moment, watching you peacefully sleep. His expression was unreadable, his mind seemingly lost in thought. After a couple of minutes, Rusty's gaze softened as he observed the gentle rise and fall of your chest with every breath you took. He couldn't help but feel a sense of calm wash over him in your presence.

Without saying a word, Rusty quietly walked over to a nearby closet and grabbed a blanket. He returned to where you lay, carefully draping the blanket over your sleeping form. As he tucked it in around you, he couldn't help but feel a small sense of protectiveness towards you.

"You looked cold," Rusty muttered softly, his deep voice barely above a whisper. He watched you for a moment longer before turning to leave the room, leaving you to continue your peaceful slumber.

As the sound of the microwave echoed through the kitchen, you groggily opened your eyes and let out a quiet yawn. Realizing that you had overslept, you quickly jumped off the couch and hurried into the kitchen. There, you found Rusty Nail sitting at the table, casually eating a TV dinner. He looked up at you with a curious expression as you made your way over to him, apologizing for not having prepared dinner for him.

Mid-apology, Rusty interrupted you with a casual wave of his hand, nonchalantly taking a bite of his meal. His eyes bore into yours with an inscrutable expression as he inquired, "Did you eat yet?" Your head shook slowly in response, and a tinge of guilt crept into your chest as you glanced down at the half-finished TV dinner before you.

Just as you were about to move to make yourself something to eat, Rusty stood up and told you to sit down. "I'll make you something to eat, Y/N," he stated calmly, but with a hint of authority in his voice. You obediently took a seat, feeling a mix of gratitude and curiosity at his gesture.

As you sat at the table, you watched Rusty Nail move around the kitchen with practiced efficiency. The smell of sizzling bacon filled the air, making your stomach growl in anticipation. He cracked eggs into a bowl and whisked them together before pouring them into a hot skillet. The sound of the eggs hitting the pan was soothing, almost hypnotic.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of guilt as you watched him cook. Normally, you were the one preparing meals for him, making sure he was well-fed and taken care of. But today was different. You had overslept, exhausted from a long and tiring day. The guilt gnawed at you, knowing that you had let him down.

"I'm sorry, Rusty. I should have been the one making you dinner," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rusty glanced up from the pan, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "It's okay, sweetheart. You needed the rest. I don't mind cooking for you every once in a while."

His words were reassuring, but you couldn't shake the feeling of inadequacy. You wanted to do more for him, to show him how much you appreciated all that he did for you. But for now, all you could do was watch as he continued to cook, his movements graceful and precise.

As Rusty plated the scrambled eggs and bacon, he placed the dish in front of you with a gentle smile. "Here you go, love. Enjoy."

You took a bite, savoring the flavor of the perfectly cooked eggs and crispy bacon. The guilt began to fade as you realized just how lucky you were to have someone like Rusty in your life. You made a mental note to make it up to him, to show him how much he meant to you.

After finishing your meal, you stood up and walked over to Rusty, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. "Thank you for everything, Rusty. I don't know what I would do without you," you whispered, feeling grateful for his presence in your life.

Rusty returned the embrace, holding you close as he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head. "I'll always be here for you, Y/N. You mean the world to me," he murmured, his voice filled with sincerity.

Together, you headed back to the living room, ready to spend the rest of the evening relaxing and enjoying each other's company. As you settled back onto the couch, wrapped in each other's arms, you felt a sense of contentment wash over you. And as you drifted off to sleep once again, this time with Rusty beside you, you knew that no matter what tomorrow brought, you would face it together, hand in hand.