#who she swore above anyone else to protect? so that they in their young lives could have a future?

[false-oasis]

(CW: EoD Spoilers — What Lies Beneath Spoilers)

So I was talking with @/saladposse last night about the oni section and what the oni might use to torment our Commanders.

[freakystrashdump]

🔮The Oracle Bakery🔮

Emperor Belos|Phillip Wittebane/OC

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, Belos is a content warning by himself

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Chapter 17: Respite

Magnus Fortuna was a man who prided himself on his endless amounts of self-control.

Described as a ticking time bomb by those who fear him, he perfected the art of keeping it in. It was a skill he forced himself to learn once he took a step back and saw how actions he performed in anger caused harm. Back when he was younger, that is. Impulsive. Lacking control.

A simmering fire, always burning in their chest, too strong and too stubborn to be put out by anything or anyone. It was a Fortuna trait, seemingly passed down by generations. 

For some, it showed in their passion, for others in their dedication, in their beliefs.

For Magnus, the fire burned in fury red.

It was why he chose to guide it, to divert it. It became fuel, a driving force moving him forward instead of holding him back. Pushing him through any task at hand, not letting it blind him. Anger as a motivator became a force that propelled him onwards, instead of the chains which held him back.

And it took all of this carefully trained, perfected self control not to commit regicide once he heard the news of his youngest niece being near death, the woman apparently rushing in like a fury from hell to protect the Emperor from an attempted assassination.

“Near Death” was putting it mildly, that is. Magnus, whose chosen form of divination was sciomancy, which valued work with spirits, shades and the afterlife above all else, swore he could feel Selena fade from the realm of the living before something - or someone - led her spirit back.

The feeling forced him into a state of panic he had not felt before, overtaking his very being, like heavy darkness filling his mind.

But, Magnus prided himself on his self control. He did not let this push him off the edge, even if he tethered so dangerously close.

It all felt like a blur.

Waiting in front of the royal chambers, faces and voices blending together - he had vague memories of the Emperor himself telling him to go and rest, but he refused to move from his spot. He also remembered the young prince pacing near him, anxious and worried. Seeing the boy so close to a panic attack helped sober him up.

Magnus didn’t know how to comfort him, it’s not something that he was good at. But, at the very least, he did stop scowling, taking deeper breaths in order to anchor himself, his body becoming less tense, and he resembled a caged rabid beast less - which seemed to have helped enough. The Golden Guard had visibly calmed himself as soon as Magnus did so.

It wasn’t the boy’s fault, he reasoned. He was just a child.

Before midnight came, the young prince was finally chased away by the Emperor, forced to go and rest for the night. Which, yes, Emperor Belos did have a point - there wasn’t anything either of them could do to help. But Magnus wasn’t about to admit that. Which is why he had declined the Emperor’s suggestion to leave yet again. Magnus could feel him grow more irritated with his failure to comply.

Not that he cared. Not really. The old man could stomp his feet in anger as much as he wanted.

Magnus had not known a moment of peace the entire night. He was not calm even when he was allowed into the Emperor’s chamber as morning came, finally given access to Selena who had awoken and was recovering at an amazing pace. Nor was he calm while they spoke, the woman smiling at him through pale lips, face drained of colour which only served to accentuate the dark rings under her eyes further, 

The first moment he felt calm, when his anxieties finally lifted and were instead replaced by complete peace of mind, was when Selena stood by his side, his arm safely wrapped around her to offer support and comfort, saying her goodbyes to the Emperor who stood before them.

She was safe. She was alive. And most importantly: back in his care. Out from under the Emperor’s cloak, which felt like it would engulf her whole.

Temporary as this solace was. Magnus knew Selena well, and he was well aware that as soon as she was given the opportunity, she would continue on as normal. Going back to business, to the palace, to him.

Damned be the stubbornness of the Fortuna’s.

“Take all the time you need to recuperate.” Belos spoke softly to the younger oracle “I want to let you rest fully from these events, so do take advantage of it, Selena.”

Magnus didn’t let his expression falter. His hold on Selena, however, did tighten.

“Thank you, Emperor.” Selena sounded off, kind and chipper, from his side “Though I’ll probably just spend the free time thinking of what to prepare for you next.”

Belos let out a fond tsk through his teeth “You spoil me.”

“Are you ready to leave?” Magnus interrupted, the hurry in his voice more than hinting at it being intentional.

He felt Selena stiffen under his grip, eyes trained on the Emperor as she carefully observed him, looking for any sort of adverse reaction he may have to Magnus’ hostility “Yup, you know I am!” she answered hastily, eyes fleeting momentarily to their corners to glance up at him, but quickly returned back to Belos.

“Naturally, you must be anxious to get her home.” Belos didn’t seem riled up. “Don’t let me keep you waiting, hurry along now.” he lowered his chin slightly “And take good care of our Selena.”

“Of course, Emperor.” Magnus bowed his head slightly “It’s been a very long night.”

Belos nodded “I look forward to seeing you again soon.” He regarded the woman fondly “Stay safe, Selena.”

“I will!” Selena let out in full confidence “I’ll see you soon, Emperor!”

And as she spoke, shadows spilled like silk down from the ceiling and from the walls, gathering under the feet of the two Fortuna’s. They swirled and spun, growing darker and darker, and with a flick of Magnus’ wrist, they rose into a pillar, engulfing both oracles with ease. And when the shadows broke up, there was no one left behind in their wake.

Belos watched as the little fragments of shadows fell to the floor, dispersing like mist.

“I know you will.” He muttered gleefully, under his breath.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Black shadows raced at breakneck speed, through streets, over walls and under the feet of witches and demons, until they reached the front of the Oracle Bakery. This time forming into two pillars one by one, the shadows morphed and shifted before first taking the form of Selena, followed closely by Magnus.

“Why did you stop?” Magnus questioned, stepping closer to Selena who rose from the shadows first. She gave him a pointed look, hand raising to her face with one finger extended out, pressing it to her lips to let him know she wanted him to keep quiet. Once she was satisfied with his silence (and ignoring his very obvious annoyance), Selena held out her right hand. The ring she always wore started to glow, magic erupting mere moments later as she summoned her bonded spirit 

“Raksha, I have another thing I need to keep with you.” She told the ever-grinning spirit “You’ll take care of it for me, right?”

The spirit, once hearing her plea, let out inhuman, haunting noises. Very much sounding like some sort of disagreement, but it was hard to tell; some oracle-bonded spirits knew how to speak, this was true, but alas hers did not. Raksha spoke instead in the sounds of winds and creaks, in distorted whines and whispers. Sounds of nightmares to most, but Selena could understand every groan and moan without trouble, and welcomed it like comfort.

“I know, I know, but it’s important!” she pressed her palms together as she begged “Please? I know I keep a lot of junk in there and that it’s crowded, but-” she fished around inside the pocket of her skirt, pulling out a velvet jewellery box which instantly made Magnus raise an eyebrow in judgement “-for me? Please?”

The spirit seemed to pout, crossing their arms over their chest and grumbling. There was annoyance present on their face as they turned away from Selena momentarily. And yet, even with them being as grumpy as they were, Raksha extended their clawed hand towards her, picking the box up with two sharp talons. They turned it over in their delicate grasp, inspecting it for a moment, then they let out one final hiss before retreating into Selena’s ring with haste.

“Thank you, Raksha!” Selena cooed lovingly, bringing up the ring to her cheek, as if cuddling the spirit themself “You’re the best! “ she giggled, spinning on one foot in excitement.

“Were you gifted jewellery by the Emperor?” she heard the annoyed voice of her uncle.

“It isn’t what you think!” she was quick to shoot back “It’s merely a… safety measure, to help identify me.” Selena answered back “Or so he says at least.” she turned to him, arms crossed “But I do not trust that is all it does.”

Magnus let out a low hum, raising one hand to his chin in thought “So you gave it to Raksha to keep inside the gem on your ring.”

“Nothing comes in nor out without me knowing.” Selena wiggled her eyebrows smugly “Including any hidden enchantment I don’t know about.”

“Hm, smart.” Magnus smirked back proudly, chuckling under his breath

Smart indeed. When she held it in her hands earlier, Selena could feel the magic from the brooch, seeping out in a steady stream. It felt like soft, fine sand, spilling from the box and through her fingers, constant and ever present. 

Whatever spells were embedded in the brooch, they were well hidden - she already tried to identify them to no avail, it was like hitting a wall. The Oracle coven was known for “seeing through the curtains”, so to speak, which is why they made exquisite trackers and seekers. However, that innate talent did little when faced with the Emperor and his coven. She didn't know if it was sending signals back to the palace, if it scanned its surroundings, if it listened in on conversations.

Selena was not taking any chances with it, whatsoever.

And now, placed safe and sound into the little pocket dimension inside of the crystal on her ring, the magic embedded in the brooch finally went quiet. It was where Rakhsa, her bonded spirit, resided in, and spent most of their time resting. Selena tended to use it too often as storage, much to the spirits annoyance. It is also the safest place to keep the Midnight mask as well.

Nothing comes in or out of the ring without her knowing.

“Now that I know for sure no wandering eyes will be invading my house, we can safely go inside.” the younger witch let out a sigh of relief and headed towards the door of the bakery “I can’t wait to just relax in my own home after everything!”

Magnus watched her as she headed towards the entrance, as if waiting for something. “Oh.” he started when he saw her hand turn the knob “About that.” he deadpanned just as she started opening the door, giving Selena no time to react when the doors flew open instead. Awaiting hands grabbed and pulled at the woman, dragging her inside. Magnus let a smile tug at his lips, and let himself in “The family decided to visit.” he spoke casually, passing his sister and her children, cooing lovingly over their youngest in worry. Selena had no chance to pull herself out of the bone crushing hug she was enveloped in. 

He heard Selena let out a breathless whine as all the air got (lovingly) squeezed out of her lungs. Serves her right, he thought, after putting everyone through the emotional wringer.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Selena loved her family dearly, to the point she would not hesitate to commit the most heinous crimes known to witches just to make sure they were safe and sound, but man. Were they all a panicky sort.

Not to say she wasn’t. Thinking up worst case scenarios was a favourite pastime of hers, so to speak. Except it wasn’t her favourite pastime at all, more a “forced upon her” one.

Either way, she should have expected she’d be (lovingly) ambushed by her mother and siblings as soon as she returned home. She had no one but herself to blame for not foreseeing this future, but then again, she was pretty sure she almost died the day before, so maybe giving herself some slack was understandable. So much for her big plans of relaxing and taking it easy, there was no way to do so now that the bakery was filled with family. 

Oh, the misery.

The Bakery was small, never meant to hold too many guests, instead mostly a place to buy your treats and eat on the go, so having this many people in it was crowded to say the least. And all that attention was on Selena, the mood shifting between being worried for her at one moment, then grateful she was okay in the next, to being angry - whether at her for being reckless or at the Emperor in general for even forcing her into this position at all. It was emotional whiplash, that much was certain.

“You have to stop, sweetie.” Her mother whispered, the way her voice strained tugging at Selena's heart, filling it with guilt “It's dangerous.”

“Mom, you know I can't.”

There was resignation in Ursula’s face, knowing her daughter was right. But it didn’t mean it worried her any less, that it hurt any less. Gently, she took Selena’s face into her hands, leaning in to press their foreheads together.

“I keep searching the looking glass.” Ursula spoke, barely above a whisper “Looking for you, trying to find where your path leads. And there’s nothing but static there. Obscuring the roads, making me unable to see.”

Selena paused, panic fleeting through her face “Am I-?” her mother instantly pulled away, as if burned, and started shaking her head.

“No! Goodness, no.” she was fast to assure her “Not like that. I know what the end of one's road looks like. This isn’t it.” Ursula said “The paths before you are so uncertain, so… out of the realm of possibility. It is as if you’ve taken one you never should have, that I can not see them. As if it’s unwritten.”

At the memory, Selena felt her brows furrow in confusion “That’s impossible. Every path is written, whether we take it or not.” she muttered to herself.

Sure, some ways were possible to obscure the vision ahead. They varied from impossible to highly improbable. There were stories of powerful witches, for one, who are able to conceal the paths ahead one might thread. Something like that was so rare that one could doubt its existence in the first place. 

Messing with time magic was another, which, again, was so rare it’s thought of as either forgotten or made up completely, and Selena was not one to delve into that, anyway. Too many paradoxes, she grimaced at the thought.

If there was one thing any oracle abhorred with a passion, it was paradoxes.

Bare feet on wooden floors made no sound as Selena made her way to the kitchen, intent on grabbing a glass of water. Gran brought some top-of-the-shelf potions to help her regain her strength, but Titan knows they tasted vile. So some water to wash it down before she headed to bed would have to do. Perhaps taking it with a spoonful of sugar could help, as well?

Her family had left just under an hour ago, once it hit them that it was already pretty late and that Selena would want to get some rest. And once they left, the oracle had the privilege of enjoying the complete silence that being alone provided, as well as finally having time to actually think about what had transpired. 

Truth be told, she preferred the distraction that company offered her, but she knew she had to face the truth sooner or later.

“If I did die, that could explain why mom can’t see ahead.” she muttered, holding the full glass in her hand, leaning against the counter with one hip. “Near death experiences are something that would mess with readings.” she took a sip, forgetting that it was meant to wash down gran’s potions, and continued talking to herself - hearing her thoughts out loud helped her format them better “I mean, yeah, it messes with them temporarily, while the soul re-aligns to the paths before it. It should be back to normal in a few weeks, a couple of months at most.” she stood there, in silence, frowning at the glass of water in her hands.

“Is that…” despite having just taken a sip, her throat felt dry as she swallowed “...what death is like?”

It was like nothing from the books. Nothing like the stories she heard from the spirits, from her teachers and elders. Being in the black, feeling it press on her as she sank lower and lower, that felt like entering eternity. Going to sleep. Forgetting. 

The place she was in when the moths pulled her out of the waters out didn’t. Impossible scenery, bathed in dark, saturated colours, shifting and changing before her very eyes. It was constantly buzzing, as if everything was flowing through it.

It felt more like a terminal, a place you pass through. 

Like a place in-between.

Selena felt a shudder crawl through her entire body. She had been feeling the cold still, even with the assurance of Hettie and the Emperor she was fully healed. It seemed the effects of the mist still lingered deep inside her blood. Finally remembering the potion from her grandmother, Selena downed it fast, eyes watering at the unpleasant taste as she did, then proceeded to wash out the aftertaste with the water she prepped before. Letting out a plethora of unpleasant, disgusted sounds, the witch filled her glass back up with water and made her way back to her bed, placing the glass on the nightstand and crawling under the covers. In a way, - she reasoned in an attempt to stay positive - it could be almost a blessing; Selena was not a fan of the scorching weather of the Isles. She would find any excuse to vacation in the Knee she could, so having a tiny part of the Knee’s magic inside her, keeping her cool, felt almost poetic.

What doesn’t kill you and all that.

As soon as she got comfy, Pip jumped from his nest on the other nightstand and snuggled close to her. Selena let out a deep sigh, pulling the palisman close and letting herself relax. “It could just be someone obscuring my future.” she continued with her earlier train of thoughts “Though that would take some extremely powerful magic. And I don’t know why anyone would even bother to do that in the first place.” she looked down at Pip “What do you think? Did the mean old Emperor put a spell on me?”

The palisman let out sounds almost resembling a purr, a soft little creek accompanied by little clacks of his beak, enjoying the pets he was receiving. Selena let out a huff of air through her nose, too tired to laugh “No, I suppose not.”

She laid her head back down on the soft pillows, still petting her palisman as she stared ahead into the dark. It was nice and quiet, the streetlights grew dimmer as it became late, and the windows of her neighbours bore no light as well, most witches retiring for the night. The dark was comforting, the dim slivers of light coming into her room through the painted window and making the entire room even more dreamlike.

And yet, despite the calm, her mind was fully awake, running a thousand miles in mere moments.

“...He was nice.” there was hesitation in her words “Very much so.” When she didn’t say anything else, Pip looked up at her, trying to parse her emotions in the darkness. He moved closer to her face, laying his beak against her cheek, his neck fitting perfectly over her jaw as he did. Selena sighed and moved her hand up with him, pushing him closer into a cuddle with her.

“I wish he wasn’t.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~

The next few days, Selena took it easy, as per the Emperor’s request healer's orders. She closed down the bakery to do so, staying mostly inside and moving from the bed to the couch and occasionally to even lying on the floor. She hasn't lazed around this much since she was a teen, but if anything, she had time to chip away at the collection of human books she had acquired over the years, which was a positive. This, frankly slothful, routine was interrupted by visits from family, usually Ursula, but often accompanied by either one of her siblings, for at least an hour daily. Magnus came once as well, him and grandpa Waine together, but he mostly checked in via crystal ball - which was the preferred method of gran Isabella as well.

It wasn't all just rest and relaxation. Twice she sent her magic double to fly around Boonesborough in full Midnight attire, just to be seen. She wasn't taking any chances. Midnight could not be out of commission while Selena Fortuna was taking a sabbatical. 

And, when switching from one lying position to another proved to be a killer on her back, Selena was back in the kitchen again. Not the downstairs one, she felt like it would feel too much like work if she used that one. Instead, she pulled out one of the more contemporary human cookbooks from her collection and got to work in her own kitchen, wanting to test out brand new recipes that she had left to gather dust due to her hoarding tendencies and then never giving them a second look.

Human cupcakes, she discovered, were incredibly similar to screamcakes. However, without the screaming as you bite into them. Which does make for a somewhat more boring dining experience, but the taste was just as good. And without the pastry opening its doughy maw to screech, it left a lot more room for intricate decorating. Not to mention, they had a longer shelf life, because one would not be forced to either throw them out or eat them because they were prone to screaming at random intervals for whatever reason. And they didn't try to hop away, either.

“Since the cake was a bust, these could be great for next time.” Selena took another bite from the cupcake in her hands, fingers gingerly peeling away at the paper liner. “And I can make multiple flavours from one batter.”

Pip let out a sound of annoyance from where he sat, making Selena roll her eyes “I’m not constantly talking about Belos.” she huffed, and Pip shot back with another caw “I do not always think about him either!” When the palisman continued chastising her, she opened the nearest cupboard, taking out a particularly large mixing bowl and, without hesitation, put it over the bird that was on the counter. 

“Go to baby jail.” the woman nodded her head decisively, watching as the upside-down bowl jerked around on the counter, muffled outraged caws coming out of it. It was, in fact, quite a humorous sight, and she couldn’t help the giggles that were bubbling in her throat.

She burst into a full laugh when the bowl and Pip fell off the counter all together.

One more day passed, the bakery still closed, and Selena using the free time to experiment with baking some more. She was just finishing up a batch of human muffins, when she heard the bell chime from downstairs.

“They're hot, don't touch them.” Selena warned Pip as she took off the purple oven mitts, rushing down the ladder to see who was at the front door. She smiled widely when she saw a visitor waiting patiently behind the heavy wood and glass doors of the bakery. 

“Darius, hello!” she greeted as soon as she opened the doors for him.

The man looked bored, examining his cuticles with little interest “I am using the front door like you asked, Lena. I hope you appreciate that.”

“Truly, I am grateful.” Selena shot back smuggly, letting him inside “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

As the two walked in, Selena went for the ladder to climb back into the apartment. However, Darius was faster. He dissolved into abomination goop and raced past Selena, rushing up the hatch and into the apartment, where he reforming back into himself again and peered down at her over the edge “Why, I came here to shake the hand of the hero who so selflessly threw herself into harm's way to protect our beloved Emperor.”

Selena grimaced at that and started climbing up “Ugh, is the palace still on that?”

Darius smirked, her annoyance feeling like soul food “It’s the hottest topic among the scouts.” He teased cheerfully “And the rest of the Coven head's, too, my word Selena, you do know how to leave an impression. Hettie has been waxing poetic about you non stop.”

“Uuuugh, come on!” She whined, accepting Darius’ hand which he offered to help her with the last ladder rung. It took no effort on his part to lift her completely up, helping her stand on firm ground “It's already been a couple of days, does nothing interesting happen in the palace to still be talking about that?!”

“Alas.” He let out a chuckle, giving a small bow whilst still holding her hand “You have bewitched the minds of all, Fortuna.” He gave her a wink “The Emperor, in particular, has been in a low mood ever since your enchanting presence has left his side.”

“Darius, please.” Selena scoffed loudly, snatching her hand back “You're the worst.”

“Oh, you wound my heart, hero.” Darius laughed, putting his hand over his chest where his heart would be, in faux hurt.

“You’ll get over it.” She huffed and went behind the counter to put the kettle on “Tea?”

Following after her, the man took a turn once she entered the kitchen to sit at the table instead, watching her over the bar that separates the kitchen area from the rest of the studio apartment. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

Selena nodded, muttering something about “poisoned tea” as she prepared the ingredients and mugs for them both “So how is the mood at the palace?” She asked “Magnus refuses to talk about it, frankly he avoids the topic of his work even more than usual.”

“Well the Emperor is sulking, probably because he misses his favourite little baker being by his side.”

“Very funny.”

Darius chuckled

“It's very much the same as it ever was.” He continued “Speaking of a security breach of such a magnitude would give away an impression of weakness, so no one is allowed to speak of it outside of the palace halls.” He wiggles his eyebrows at her “And even then, most are afraid of talking about the incident in anything more than hushed whispers.”

“And yet they have enough gusto to discuss me?”

“But of course.”

A loud groan escaped the oracle, muffled by the sound of the teakettle starting to whistle. Selena took it off the burner and on autopilot proceeded with preparing the hot drink for them both. She didn’t feel like drinking tea, not really, but since she was already there, she reasoned.

“And Le- the attacker?” she asked after a bit of hesitating, eyes trained on the mugs as she poured the water. At this, the humour in Darius’ demeanour dropped. “Any news of her?”

“Kept tightly under wraps from most everyone.” he answered, smirking slightly when he saw the woman's face scrunch up in a pout “But I am not just anyone, of course.” perking up at this, Selena rounded the counter with two mugs in hand, taking a seat at the table and placing them down “The girl is kept in solitary confinement in the deepest parts of the conformatorium.”

Selena frowned in confusion “Only the conformatorium?” she asked “I would have thought that after trying to murder the Emperor, she would be immediately dealt with.”

“It is unexpected, that much is certain.” Darius hummed, deep in thought “However, there is zero talk of her being sentenced to petrification.”

Despite everything, Selena felt a stone fall from her chest at the news. Because, after all, she saw a sliver of logic in the girls' thinking, and she was so young. While she may not ever forgive her for her stupid actions, Leila was still someone undeserving of a faith like petrification. She was Asra’s little mentee, and she dreaded having to face her school friend after everything that went down.

But the little moment of respite was broken by Darius finishing his strain of thought “For now.”

Ah yes. For now. 

But at least, for now, she wasn’t under immediate threat of death. That gave Selena more time to- 

Frankly, she didn’t know what she could do, but she was thinking about it.

“Did you know her, Lena?” Darius asked, fingers gently pressing on the top of his mug as he turned it.

“In a way.” Selena licked her lips, suddenly they felt very dry “She is mentored by a friend of mine from school. I met her exactly once before this.”

The conjurer regarded her with a raised eyebrow, making the woman nervous. “Mhm. I see.” he tapped the edge of the mug “Don’t do anything… stupid.”

“Pfft, stupid, come now, I don’t do stupid!” Selena laughed it off quickly.

“I mean it.” Darius continued to push “Lay low and don’t make waves. I’d advise you against mentioning her to the Emperor once you return.” he waved his hand in the air “If you are truly pressed about getting updates about her, then I’ll provide them to you. Don’t go sticking your nose in things that don't concern you.”

Selena guffawed “Don’t concern me?! How can you say that, don’t concern me, if anything this absolutely does concern-”

She was cut off “In the eyes of the Emperor, this does not concern you.” he raised his voice in order to overpower her “It’s clear he does not wish to involve you in this matter any further. If he deems it does not concern someone, then it will be so.” he huffed “He does the same to Hunter. As well as-” he shook his head “Which is why I will keep you informed.”

Huffing, as she had started to get riled up just moments before, Selena crossed her arms and slumped back in her chair. “...thank you.” she muttered after a longer silence “I mean it, Darius.”

Despite her grumpy exterior, Darius appreciated her words, a smile tugging at his lips “I told you before, didn’t I?” he brought the mug to his lips 

“You have allies in the palace, little Lena.”

[earlgreydream]

war.

| 1940s!bucky x reader | angst |

warnings: mentions of blood, violence, war, etc... general angst 

Your feet smacked the pavement as you ran. Your muscles felt like they were burning in fire, but you kept going, terrified. Bombs crashed all around you, buildings crumbled, and the ground shook as if it were going to open up and swallow you. You almost wished it would. 

Gunshots popped and bullets whizzed past your ears. You made it to a rocky staircase, and you tried to run down when you tripped. You tumbled down the stone stairs, smacking against the ground, blood rising to the surface of your hands and knees. You swore, and before you could stand up again, the soldiers surrounded you. 

You screamed as your ankles were grabbed, and you were flipped onto your back. 

“Stop! it’s a woman!” A soldier called as your cloak was ripped from your body. You were hyperventilating, panic seizing you as you stared up at the American soldiers. The dagger sheathed in your belt was confiscated, and the men stared down at you. 

“Please!” you begged for mercy, your accent thickening in your desperation. 

“Sergeant Barnes?” The soldiers looked to their leader, the man who had yelled for them to stop attacking you. 

“We are not going to kill her!” He sounded angry.

“What if she’s a spy?”

“I’m not, I swear. My home was bombed, I was running in fear!” You cried, pleading with him for mercy. 

“We cannot leave her in the streets-”

“Of course not.” The Sergeant spoke to his soldier, wearing a uniform different than the others. You winced at a sharp pain in your side, and you looked down to see blood soaking through your dress. You began to feel lightheaded, but you were terrified to black out and be left at the mercy of the likely sex-deprived soldiers that were invading your country.

Your eyes grew heavy and you moaned in pain, gripping the wound on your side from hitting a rock in your fall down the stairs. 

“We need to get her to the medbay, come on!” 

The words echoed in your head as you were lifted by the leader, carried in his arms. You wanted to struggle and try to make a run for it, but you were far too weak and you had nowhere to go. 

“You’re safe, doll, I’m going to protect you.”

Your head dropped as you slipped into unconsciousness, limp in his arms.

Bucky stood over your unconscious body as the best medic treated your wounds. She wrapped your hands and stitched the gash on your side, and Bucky winced as he watched. 

“Will she be alright?” he asked the medic anxiously.

“Yes, she’ll be fine. I think she’s asleep from the shock.” The medic nodded, and he breathed a sigh of relief. 

She wrapped the wound on your side and left Bucky with some morphine to give you when you needed it, instructing him to monitor you. 

“Do you think she’s a spy, or a soldier?”

“No, there’s nothing that would suggest that. I think she really was just a victim-- collateral damage.” 

Bucky was alone with you, then. He sat beside his bed that you were currently sleeping on, in his private chambers, away from the men who wouldn’t be able to keep their hands to themselves with a pretty young girl unconscious. 

Your eyes opened slowly, and you looked around, disoriented. You tried to sit up, but weakly sank back against the pillows. You noticed him sitting beside you, and you looked down. You were now wearing loose pants, and an oversized t shirt-- an army green, from a soldier. 

“Did you-?!” You cried in horror. 

“No, no. The medic cleaned your wounds and changed you. She said you’re going to be fine!” Bucky assured you quickly, and you relaxed a bit. 

“Are you going to kill me? Or keep me as a prisoner of war?” You asked, turning your head to look at him. 

“No. You’re not a captive, or a war criminal.” He shook his head. He handed you a glass of water, and a piece of buttered bread and some blackberries. You accepted them with a quiet thanks, and he sat back, giving you space.

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

A small smile pulled at his lips, and you gazed down at your lap.

“I’m James Buchanan Barnes.” 

You spent two weeks recovering in his quarters, while he slept on a cot, guarding you and making sure you slept and had plenty to eat and drink. He’d opened up to you in that time, telling you about growing up in Brooklyn, New York. He had been drafted into the war, not really wanting to go overseas and kill people, and hurt innocents in the process-- innocents like you. Bucky was consumed with guilt, and was growing fond of you. 

He wished that he could just leave, go back to America and take you with him.  He had learned that you weren’t any kind of enemy like others suspected. You were orphaned by the war, by your own people. Almost everyone you knew and loved had been lost in the bloodbath, and now you were alone, struggling for survival in what felt like an apocalypse. 

Bucky convinced you to get some fresh air, and go outside. You’d stayed hidden under his protection, feeling safer with him than you had in years, since the war started. 

“James...” 

“It will be fine.” 

You took a walk with him, holding his hand as you walked through the soft grass. You giggled as he picked a daisy, handing it to you with a smile. 

“Are you trying to impress me?” You asked, blushing as you looked into sweet grey eyes.

“Is it working?” He grinned boyishly at you, and you saw a glimpse of the real James, not the soldier. He leaned down and kissed you, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, squeezing him tightly. 

“I love you, Y/N” He smiled at the bright spot in the misery, the girl he began to wake up for. His gaze was filled with adoration as he looked at you, a rescue from the streets of a war-torn village.

“You’re not bringing that nazi bitch with us!” A soldier shouted, and Bucky was at his throat immediately. 

“Don’t ever speak about her that way!” Bucky yelled, pinning him to the wall by the throat, a gun pressed against his chest. 

“Stop!” You cried, trying to pull Bucky off, not wanting him to murder the soldier in front of you, and all his troops. 

“Sergeant Barnes, you cannot seriously think of bringing Y/N to the Danish border with us.” Steve, Bucky’s loyal friend asked, giving you a pathetic look.

“Shut up, of course she’s coming with us!” Bucky wrapped an arm around you, trying to calm your shaking.

“Sergeant, she’s a nazi.”

“She’s NOT!” Bucky fired off a shot, and you winced against him. The bullet sank into the wall, but you were sobbing with fear, memories of being shot at flooding your mind and taking over your ability to think. 

“Ever since she came, you’re not the leader you were. You’re not thinking clearly!” Steve argued with him as if you weren’t there. 

You already knew what everybody thought of you. There was no hiding it. To the Americans, you were just a nazi whore that Bucky kept around for sex, and nothing more. They didn’t know the way he kissed you, the way your eyes sparkled with joy at even the slightest bit of attention from him. When you had nightmares, Bucky read to you from one of his books, or sang a song softly from Ella Fitzgerald. 

There was no one else. Every day, every night, all Bucky could think about was you. Leaving the war, taking you back to America, and building a life with you. He thought of a brownstone in Brooklyn, buying you dresses and making a family with you. He wanted to spin you around and dance with you to records in your living room, and take you on dates to a drive-in-movie. He wanted you to be the last thing he saw at night and the first thing in the morning. He was in love with you. And you were in love with him.

But you couldn’t escape the slurs and hate of his colleagues, and dearest friends. You knew it would be nothing like what you would receive in Brooklyn, your accent and broken English giving you away. It would make Bucky an outcast too-- a former soldier who left the war for an enemy girl. He would be a disgrace. 

You knew you could receive asylum in Denmark, a country not plagued by the war like elsewhere. You’d be a refugee, but you could join their society safely, and build a real life there. You traveled with the soldiers, transported there safely. 

You laid in bed with Bucky, kissing him sweetly. He ran his fingers through your hair, your head on his chest. He talked about New York pizza, and you smiled, tracing shapes on his skin with your fingertips. His voice sounded so happy when he talked about a future with you, you felt like your heart was going to shatter. 

“I love you, James.” 

“I love you more than the stars, Y/N.”

You pretended to sleep, but fear and nausea kept you up all night. You didn’t stir as Bucky got up for an early meeting with an officer at the American Embassy in Denmark. 

As soon as he was gone, you were on your feet. You got dressed silently, slipping money and a knife into your clothes and pulling a coat on over it. Tears blinded you and made it more difficult, as well as struggling to be quiet in the dark so you didn’t catch the attention of Bucky’s soldiers. 

The sun had barely peaked above the horizon, the sky still mostly dark, and the world asleep. You broke into a run, escaping out the window in the back. You ran from the base, getting as far away as you could. Your heart shattered into a million tiny pieces, pain shooting through your chest. 

Nightfall, you made it to a home for female refugees, women left alone by the war. You were dirty and exhausted, and barely able to breathe. You had sobbed the entire day as you traveled, making it nearly to Århus. 

“Welcome. You’re safe now.” A danish woman said, embracing you as you were taken inside the safehouse. You broke down in her arms, screams of heartache ripping through your chest.

“Y/N! I’m home, doll!” Bucky called, opening the door. His brow furrowed in confusion upon finding an empty room. He went to the bathroom, checking to see if you were in the shower. He couldn’t find you, and he walked through the halls. 

“Has anyone seen Y/N?” He asked every soldier desperately, all of them shaking their heads. 

He went back to his room, finding a note written inside of the book cover on his bedside, left open. 

I love you. more than the stars. I hope you understand.

He screamed your name, dropping down to his knees, his head falling into his hands as he rocked back and forth. Steve ran in, dropping down and wrapping his arms around Bucky as he fell apart. Sobs wracked his body, his dreams falling apart, his lover slipping through his fingers. He had just gotten news that he could be honorably discharged in three months, to start a family with you. He came home to tell you that you just had to stick it out a little longer. The flowers he brought were discarded and littered amongst the floorboards. 

[the-obelisk]

Grief - Fae Collection

Loki x Reader

Summary: A mission gone wrong. The one where he had watched you fall at the hands of a mad man. And also, watched as you crumple in grief at the twist of fate.

“Unhand her or I will kill you myself, mortal.” Loki stepped forward in a protective stance, anger etched into his expression.

The older man looked at him, clutching you even tighter than before, taunting the trickster. “Ah, ah, ah. Don’t play fake hero with me, you—”

“What do you want from her?” Sam asked with urgency in his tone. He was unsure why he had taken you, with no attempt to engage with anyone else.

The man pressed his nose against your head, inhaling deeply. He smiled through the strands of your hair and stared at the two men before him sadistically, “She is my safety ticket out.”

 He smirked. “And by the looks of it, his weakness.” He gestured to Loki.

Sam looked at him with determination, “You know you won’t make it out of here alive. Let her go.”

“But you won’t shoot me if she is my living shield, now would you?” He taunted Sam.

The raven-haired 50-year old scientist looked at you as you felt something sharp press against your back, “Now tell me, agent, what is that little light trick of yours?”

And in that moment all three of you had realized, the mission now posed a real problem.

And you were at the center of it.

The mission was simple: Full team onboard. Part of the team moved to search and secure the civilians, the others were tasked to take out the target.

And there you all were.

One hundred miles from the Avengers compound, it was suspected that Dr. William Endo was kidnapping recent runaways and outcasts from nearby small towns to experiment on.

Tony was sure it would be a day long mission. In and out, until it wasn’t.

Sick of the world over run by super-powered individuals, Endo wanted to harness and transfer those powers into what he deemed his own subservient human army that were effectively trained to combat any threat through one of Hydra’s old brainwashing techniques.

This time all super-powered.

And his end goal: To sell the individuals to highly volatile regimes and dealers on the black market.

Endo had seemed to have his contingency plan all in place. One wrong move and the shout of a code word, the entire compound could be effectively blown up from the bottom up.

Wanda, Natasha, Rhodey, Bucky, and Clint were moving in to secure those in the compound— the issue was that they were underground and the people held against their will were scattered, most likely still being experimented on.

Steve spoke over the comms, “Team Two, heat signatures in the left wing, second level. Thor, back up is needed in the courtyard.”

The team quickly moved. Meanwhile, you, Loki, and Sam had cornered the mastermind in the courtyard.

“Diversion.”

Sam projected his thought to you, and in that instant, you made a fast move to turn around and face Endo. You had planned to blast him with your light, but on the defense, he moved in retaliation.

Taking the blade he held against your back, the man pushed it through your upper abdomen as you conjured your light.

Sam took the shot and Loki ran to catch you before you fell.

Rushing beside you, Sam noticed the pained, hurried look on Loki’s face as he pulled the blade out. His eyes had widened at the sight of the blade itself.

“Brother.” Thor called as he landed on his feet opposite to the two men.

Loki looked up at him in fear, an expression Sam had never seen. “What’s happening? Why aren’t you healing her?”

Moving his eyes to the blade in Loki’s hand, Thor spoke “He cannot heal her.”

“What? He’s healed the others before!” Sam looked at him with confusion and anger.

You were already falling limp and there wasn’t a way to get you to a medic soon enough.

“It is bronze. Deadly to the Fae. No magic can heal the wound.”

Sam shook his head calling all to the courtyard. “Man down in the courtyard!”

Confirmations swarmed in at the other members running towards the location.

Loki held your form, tears forming as he called for you to stay awake. “Stay with me, little one. Do not leave me so soon.”

You looked up at him noting his quivering voice. He wasn’t angry or hurt, but defeated. The idea of you soon slipping from him before he could ever experience all the joys you could possibly bring to him had broken him.

He was reminded of Frigga and her death. Two women that had always seen past the monster and into the soul of a tortured man, now leaving him.

Thor stared in fear. He was her protector, how could he had let this happen. The blonde-man stared helplessly. He couldn’t help you or heal you.

All he could do was simply watch as you began to fade and Loki’s heart breaking in front of him.

“I am not her.” You spoke softly. The three looked at you as your form slowly changed to into a man that would stand a foot taller than you.

Thor’s eyes widened at the sight of the 30-year old mocha skinned man, and kneeled down. “Lord Ambrose.”

Loki looked at Thor in shock. This was the man that had swore Thor in as Y/N protector. “She is safe.”

Sam stared in utter shock. Completely unaware that the man had used a glamour to mirror a version that looked exactly like you.

And then you had entered the courtyard alongside Natasha and Wanda in hurry.

“What can I do?” You said out of breath from running across the lot.

Only you and Loki had the power to heal, however, yours were more helpful with deeper wounds while Loki had limitations to his healing properties.

It had taken practice, but Loki offered some of Frigga’s old journals. It was a natural talent you had seemed to possess.

Loki looked up at you with tears, “Y/N?”

He was sure he had lost you and yet, you stood with your gloves off and ready to heal whoever needed it.

“Holy shit.” Sam mumbled as he stood up to look at you in utter shock. But you were confused at his reaction to you.

Noting the bottom half of a man with Loki blocking the first half from view, you inhaled.

You move to come closer but Thor stopped you, “It was Ambrose.”

The mention of your guardian shocked you. You were now truly confused at why Ambrose would be there, in the compound, especially in this moment. However, you felt the instinctual connection between you two dwindling. And then it had struck you— he was fading.

“He glamoured himself as you to protect you.” Thor offered a further explanation. You looked at him with an expression he couldn’t interpret entirely. He then moved aside revealing Ambrose’s barely breathing form. Loki kneeled next his form with an haunted look on his face. Once again, Thor spoke— this time in a quiet voice. “You must say your goodbyes, Y/N.”

You dashed over in a hurry looking to Loki who only shook his head. He offered only one word confirming why Ambrose could not be saved, “Bronze.”

Looking back down at your guardian, you placed your hand over his gash, “It is okay, father. Accept my life force.”

Life force. It was the one thing that could save any soul. Transferring your life into the body of another was no light feat. The giver would perish, and the recipient would live.

Loki looked at you with fear in his eyes. You were unharmed and yet here you were ready to die for the second time— but this time, it would be real.

Rarely had others of your kind offered theirs unless it was moments of pure desperation as it signed their death warrant, but this was Ambrose. And to you, his life had much more meaning than your own.

It was the ultimate sacrifice.

He was the leader of your realm, your guardian, your father, brother, friend, and closest companion. You now understood why he feared allowing you to make a life on Midgard instead of remaining on your plane.

“N-no... you are destined for much more. It is time for me to join the others in the Summerland.” He spoke quietly.

His skin began to desecrate, leaving you to shake your head. “Please, don’t leave me. I never should have left your side. I was wrong— I was selfish. Our people will have no one to turn to.”

“But they will. Anders has been prepped to lead one day. It is his time.” You cried at the sound of your brother stepping up to the plate, it was a role he never truly wanted. “Send him my wishes. Tell him, he has come of age.”

“Oh, Ambrose.” You barely choked out.

This was the man who had taken you and your brother in after fleeing from war on your realm. Anders held you in his arms at age seven, scared with his newborn sister in his hands when he appeared on the plane you would call home for hundreds of years. Your brother, still young, never knew of your origins and with his memory erased, he would never know. But Ambrose— as elusive as he was— was all knowing and had taken you both in.

He spoke even softer, “You protect this world as Anders protects our realm. Your mother would be very proud.”

“My mother?”

“I see her. She is quite beautiful...”

Closing his eyes, he smiled softly. “Aelsa, take me home.” Loki looked at Ambrose in surprise of the name he mentioned. He knew exactly who he had referred to. He looked at Thor, who had his eyebrows furrowed. Both drawing the connection of your origin.

For you, he name rang of familiarity but you were too consumed by the soft shimmer that surrounded Ambrose’s form. He was leaving and you could do nothing to stop him.

And within mere seconds all you held was the dust of his now death. Fairy dust, often claimed by folklore. The magical finality of all deceased Fae.

The world had seemed to go quiet around you. And all you could think of was all the loss you had faced, even before your arrival to the place you would call home above Midgard.

And your guardian, your only true parent in your life, vanished.

“Dove?”

You looked to Loki who seemed to be filled with utter concerned as he pulled you in noting the tears in your eyes. You clutched to him tightly, while a vicious sob erupted from your lips.

“I- I can’t. It’s my fault—”

His hand rested on the back of your head while you cried. Loki was thankful that you were unharmed. The thought of losing you was a reality he could not bare to imagine, but the sight of your heartbreak pained him so.

He could feel the deep sorrow and pain roll off of you. And in your mind, you were consumed with a plethora of thoughts. Ones of grief, of guilt, failure, anger, and confusion.

Loki only held you tighter as your hands gripped his shirt. He sent you emotions of love and comfort but your walls propelled them away.

“I did this.” You cried out. He held you tighter and kissed your head, “My little dove,” he cooed to you.

He had no way of knowing what to say. In truth, no one knew what to do. What can one say to someone who had watched their loved one die so instantly, so unexpectedly?

Thor ushered Natasha, Wanda, and Sam away instructing them to proceed with the rest of the mission of bringing the victims home.

Sam followed the two women out of the courtyard, informing Steve and Tony what had occurred. Thor would most likely fill them in when he returned.

Turning back to Loki, he nodded and walked away. He knew the last thing you would want were minds buzzing all around you, and so he parted.

Leaving you and Loki to the silence around you.

[wlfkssd]

Hide & Seek

summary : ABO AU. ivar cheats at plays hide and seek with his sons and finds his youngest, baldur, is incredibly bad at it. 

pairing : ivar x aethelred ( with mentions of hvitserk x aethelred ) warnings : as stated, this takes place in an ABO au - if you don’t like it, don’t read it, basically. mentions of hvitserk’s daughter being pregnant at 17. word count : approx. 1500

On sunny days like this one, when the wind only dares kiss the shore of Kattegat's great dock, Ivar has come to appreciate spending time with his sons. There are countless things they could be doing; training with the sword, hunting, or learning runes but today is a time for play. The game is hide and seek and Ivar has no intention of losing to any of his children - though he knows they should all feel the pride of success at least once in their lives.

Perhaps one day the battlefield will allow it.

"I am coming, little piggies." He says, voice rising and falling in his usual cadence as he stalks from one stall to the next in the market. Many of the settlement's residents watch in amusement at their king - gone is the once feared ruler and welcomed is one who knows what love is.

Thanks in no small part to his husband, omega, and father of his children. Prince Aethelred of Wessex.

In the beginning, their union was one of unease. Ivar's suspicions as to why the prince might choose him above his brothers having been the main cause of any such rifts that formed. Given Ivar's status as a beta, surely his brother Ubbe would have been a better choice but perhaps Aethelred had been taught a little too well. Perhaps he knew better even than Ivar how to survive this life. How to choose a strong and intimidating mate.

Of course, the daughter he bore with Hvitserk didn't help much either.

That little girl was first to arrive and she brought much light to both Aethelred and Hvitserk's lives. With her golden hair and her blue eyes; taking the best parts of each parent and becoming an elegant yet incredibly capable young woman, now, at seventeen. Long past are the days when she would sit on Hvitserk's shoulders and knock him on the head with her carved, wooden sword. Now, she stands by his side, shoulder to shoulder. Very tall for her age.

Needless to say, when Ivar comes up beside her, eyes narrowing as she pulls her cloak in closer to her, he can see she is hiding something.

"Uncle Ivar." She begins, turning her head to look at him, a genuine smile beaming. Her long, braided hair looking, for all to see, the exact same as Hvitserk's. "If you are here to buy furs, there is no need. My father said he would have more by the next full moon."

"I was actually looking for my sons. We are playing a game, you see, and I would hate to lose." Ivar treads the ground, steadying himself as he tilts his head. "What are you hiding, huh?" Blue eyes shift to her cloak and up again to her face, one hand slowly reaching out to part the material.

"If there is something I am hiding, it is not one of your sons." Allowing the two pieces of long, green fabric to fall aside, something is indeed revealed but it isn't so much a child. Yet. For her belly shows only the first signs of life growing inside.

"You are with child." Ivar's eyes widen but he allows her to pull the cloak tight again, concealing her secret. "I hope it was your choice or one of the alphas here will lose his cock today."

Looking down, she blushes. And that is everything Ivar needs to know. It was conceived in love.

"He says he wants to marry me but I don't know how to tell my father or Aethelred about this." Arms close in, tight and protective, around herself and Ivar takes a breath, having seen the gesture before when Aethelred was carrying his boys. The fingers that had so gently revealed the truth now catch beneath her chin just as softly and Ivar's gaze is filled with nothing but promise.

"We will tell them together, if that is what you want." He lets it sit for a moment before humming. "But for now, I must ask if you have seen my sons."

Nothing comes for free with him and his niece laughs, one hand coming out to grasp around the leather brace on his wrist. "I saw Baldur running towards the long house."

"Thank you." Giving her forehead a kiss, Ivar slips past her, stake on the bottom of his crutch picking up the soft dirt of the trodden path leading to the long house. Two guards move aside for him when he arrives and goes inside.

A child's laughter faintly rings out before Ivar allows himself to be heard, very obviously, coming in. Low fires burn, giving the room an orange glow but also keeping it warm against whatever chill might still hang in the air from winter. Hvitserk is to the right, sleeping off the mead from their feast the night before and, at the end, upon the throne to the left, sits Aethelred.

His robes are typically saxon; the way it has always been. It's one of the things Ivar has come to admire most about his omega, really. That sense of stubbornness that's even more brutal than his own. He approaches but Aethelred doesn't even look up from the small pile of papers upon his lap.

To the right side of the throne, a very definite shape is covered by Aethelred's cloak and a pair of feet stick out. 

That will be Baldur.

"Husband," Ivar begins, coming to stop a few feet from the steps up to the thrones. "Have you seen our son?"

"Which one, Ivar? We have four." Aethelred's voice is nonchalant, as though anything in the world would be more interesting than answering such a silly question. But anyone with eyes could see he is amused.

"I think you know exactly which one, Saxon." No spite comes with the name and Ivar even sees Aethelred smile with his down-turned eyes. While waiting for the answer, though, Ivar takes his time to look around falsely, leaning to search behind this pillar and that before, after a short moment, Aethelred's cloak giggles.

Though he tries to shush the small boy, Aethelred can't stop himself from showing his husband just exactly where their son is.

"Huh. Strange. It sounds like my son Baldur is laughing at me. Did you hear it?" Carefully, Ivar approaches once again, taking the steps one at a time. Slowly, slowly. As he nears, Baldur lets out another giggle.

"No. Perhaps it is only your imagination, King Ivar." And with that, Aethelred lifts his head, using the full power of his heavy blue eyes to draw his mate in close. It works, of course, and they're very soon face to face, feeling one another's breaths.

"Well, then, as we are alone, I don't see anything wrong with a kiss."

Mere thought of a touch is halted, however, when Baldur throws the cloak aside to reveal himself. His perfect face is scrunched into a sneer that amuses not one but both of his parents as they part. The noise he makes is one of disgust but before he can run, Ivar snatches him up by the waist and lifts him with one arm, planting a solid kiss on the crown of his little boy's black hair. Wriggling, Baldur pushes at his father's chest, wanting to escape and, once he's let down, his legs carry him away as fast as the wind now gathering up outside.

"You're not hiding anything else from me, are you? Huh?" Though in the past such a question would have come from insecurity, now it only comes from Ivar's need to sit, for peace and his legs' sake.

"Not today, Ivar. No."

"Thank the gods." He sits, heavily, down on his father's throne and sighs. Being one step ahead of everyone has been exhilarating for as long as he can remember but, now, knowing about Hvitserk's daughter's child, it only feels like a burden.

One that Aethelred can all-too-readily see upon his face.

"Are you well, love?" Large, tender hand falls to Ivar's forearm and he feels the reassuring squeeze of Aethelred's silent promise to listen to whatever may be bothering him. But only if he wishes to share.

"Yes. I am well enough. It is only... I have spoken to your daughter and I think it would be wise for you to do the same. Without my brother. Knowing Hvitserk he will jump to conclusions." Ivar gestures, idly.

"Conclusions about what?" Aethelred sits forward, brows furrowing as he moves the parchments from his lap to the floor. "What has happened, Ivar?"

"You will have to speak to her. I swore I would say nothing in exchange for her telling me where the boys were. That is all."

For a long moment, Aethelred blinks and then he sits back, having decided in his mind to speak to his daughter before evening. "So you cheated?" Is the next question that comes out and Ivar laughs beside him.

"Of course I did. It was a game I was not prepared to lose."

[livia-dovehallow]

Hello ! I just finish COI and I love your gabrily fics,

CHAIN OF IRON SPOILER

so can you do one about the part of Gabriel near death experience, maybe in the infirmary or Cecily realising Gabriel in distress with Anna, Christopher and Alexander in it ?

THANK YOU!! :’) You actually have the perfect request as I was already working on a piece on that exact topic. I plan to make an extended version of this soon, but for now, please enjoy!

WARNING: COI SPOILERS AHEAD

Stay With Me - Gabrily (Chain of Iron Fix-It Series by livia-dovehallow)

Characters: Gabriel Lightwood, Cecily Herondale-Lightwood, Anna Lightwood, Christopher Lightwood, Alexander Lightwood, Will Herondale, Thomas Lightwood, Alastair Carstairs

Time slowed down.

As if the world had stopped along with the beat of her heart, Cecily could only watch as the creature’s barbed tentacle grabbed hold of her Gabriel and brought him down.

“Father!” she heard her precious Kit scream before he ran toward Gabriel, Thomas and Alastair Carstairs close behind.

No, Cecily thought, Raziel, no, please no. She held the witchlight stone in her hand with a grip that should have shattered an ordinary rock. She knew she shouldn’t scream; Alexander was in the room, sitting quietly on the bed behind her, and she need not frighten him more than he already was.

“Be brave, my darling,” she had told him when they first fled up the stairs. She had tucked him in below the sheets, kissed his head, and gazed into his wide, scared eyes. “We are brave, yes?”

Alex had nodded and believed her. Cecily did not believe her own words now.

A scream—a terrified, broken scream—lay stuck in her throat. Gabriel was nowhere to be seen, taken below the murky waters. The only sign he was still alive were the signs of struggle in the rippling water and the young boys slashing vigorously at the creature’s extended body. Christopher was unlike his normal self; his face was hard, his body swinging and throwing with all its might. Cecily did not know what she would do if she lost them both today—the love of her life and their sweet, sweet boy.

She knew her marriage runes were symbolic—meant to display their vows of love and loyalty to one another—but she did not lose faith that there was something more. Something beyond symbols that connected her to Gabriel.

Come back to me, Cecily prayed. Come back to me, Gabriel. Please don’t leave me now.

.

.

This was not how Gabriel wanted to end his day. Or his life, for that matter.

The barbs on the tentacle twisted around him dug deep into his skin. Had he screamed with the pain then he would have drowned by now, surely. He heard Christopher’s shout before he went below the water and hoped he was all right. Gabriel wanted to live, but if giving his life meant his family would live, it was an easy decision.

Above him he could see the faintest of shadows indicating that there were people above him fighting to set him free. He knew from the shape of one of the shadows that it had to be Thomas and Christopher there, hacking away. The third shadow was anyone’s guess.

Gabriel thrashed, ignoring the continual digging of the barbs into his skin. He’d lost his knife in the fall but there was no time for sorrow now. Just as he was about to pull a Will Herondale and sink his teeth into the closest flesh, a ringing sound went through his mind.

Come back to me, Gabriel.

It was Cecily. He would know her voice anywhere. He thought of years past, when she had nearly died taking down a pack of Raum demons and he was sure he was moments away from losing her. He would not do that to her.

A wave of strength came over him. He turned his body and rammed against the boulder he had fallen from. He fought for a sturdy grip, reaching higher and higher until—

A hand clasped around his wrist and pulled hard. At the same moment, the tentacle engulfing him fell away with a screech, and the rest of his body came flying through the waves and back onto the solid rock, where he lay gasping for air.

“Father!”

“Uncle Gabriel!”

Gabriel coughed up water before looking up into the concerned and frightened eyes of his son and nephew. “Are you hurt?” he choked, reaching his hands toward the both of them.

Christopher burst; his lavender eyes wild. “Me? Father, you are bleeding! Thomas, where is your stele?”

Thomas fumbled at his coat desperately and swore. “Bridgestock took it from me!”

“Use mine.”

Gabriel glanced behind Thomas and was surprised to find Alastair Carstairs standing there. He held his hand out to Thomas, offering his stele with a softer expression on his face than Gabriel had ever recalled seeing. Without a moment’s hesitation, Thomas took the stele and began scribbling runes all over Gabriel’s arm.

The world suddenly went silent. Then, a roaring thunder sounded across the Institute lawn as the water that had filled the land drained away; the monstrous tentacles draining away with it.

“Bring him down,” Thomas said to Christopher. “They’ll be filling the infirmary soon.”

Christopher paled; his eyes wide toward the Institute. Gabriel started. He was badly injured and bleeding, but the look of fear on his son’s face paled in comparison. “What is it, Kit?”

Christopher swallowed; then, in a shaking whisper, said: “Mam’s coming.”

The boys scrambled quickly to bring Gabriel down to flat ground. Gabriel turned toward the doors. The closer Cecily got, the more he realized that the fierce expression on her face was not anger--it was desperation. She was, or at least had been, crying.

“Mam,” Christopher started, but faltered when Cecily reached them. She fell to her knees beside them and brought Kit into her arms in an iron embrace. “Are you hurt?” she fretted, looking him over. A stele had appeared in her hand, though from where, Gabriel couldn’t say. Years of marriage had not yet answered the mysterious origin of a mother’s love and protection.

Christopher shook his head. “Father—”

Cecily turned to him, her skin flushed, eyes wide with worry. She kissed Kit’s head and scrambled to Gabriel’s side, her eyes now scanning his body. He knew it was not a pretty sight—the barbs had torn his flesh and he’d lost a significant amount of blood. “Cecy—” he began and was promptly cut off.

“Boys, we must move him to the infirmary,” she commanded, gathering her skirts and squatting, ready to lift. “Now.”

There was no disobeying her; Thomas, Christopher, and Alastair all assisted her in lifting him off the ground without the slightest hint of hesitation or protest. The scenery passed Gabriel in a blur; of Anna spotting them and racing down from her position; Will running between the injured and barking commands; even James, Lucie, Matthew, and Cordelia appearing at the gates.

The infirmary was in chaos. Beds had been quickly assembled and set across the vast room. There had been no deaths reported yet, and Cecily Lightwood was determined to keep it that way.

After ensuring that all three of her children were safe and unhurt, she sent them upstairs to stay with Alexander. “Keep him busy,” she had told them, her heart racing. “He’s frightened.”

“So are we,” Anna had answered, but it was not argumentative. Cecily placed her hands on both their cheeks.

“Your father is a stubborn one,” she had said. She smiled, though it was wavering. “He will not go without a fight. I will make sure of that.”

With a flurry of kisses and “I love you’s,” the children finally left to care for their brother, leaving Cecily at Gabriel’s beside squeezing his hand tight while a Silent Brother tended to his wounds.

“Stay with me,” she whispered to him. His eyes were fluttering. He was fighting hard to stay awake, yet he had not the energy to do much else. Against her will, Cecily’s tears had begun to fall again. “Stay with me, Gabriel. I love you. I love you.”

Cecily had begun to fall into a dark pit of grief when she felt a hand grip her shoulder tight. She turned to find her brother looking at her intensely, concern evident in his expression. He said nothing, but she knew that he would always be there when she needed him, and here he was. “I can’t lose him,” she told him blankly.

“You won’t,” Will said.

“Is that what you told him, too?”

Will’s eyes were sad. “Yes. And here you are, aren’t you?”

Cecily placed her hand over her brother’s on her shoulder and looked back at Gabriel. His fight to stay awake was lost. He was too pale for her liking, his lips faded into the slightest memory of pink. “The children need their father.”

She felt a tugging at her arm and found herself being lifted from her seat and into Will’s arms. He held her tight and rubbed her back soothingly. “The last thing Gabriel would ever do is leave you or the children,” he assured her. “Not if he has any say about it. The man is a stubborn and loyal bastard.”

.

.

Cecily was unsure how much time had passed since she had last seen her children. Jem had come by to treat Gabriel, who slept, and had told her to take a break. It would do him no good if he woke and saw she had not eaten or slept.

When Cecily emerged from the infirmary, she found all three of her children posted along the wall across from the infirmary entrance. Anna and Christopher sat beside one another, each resting their head on the other’s. Alex sat in Christopher’s lap, his back to his brother’s chest, and was fast asleep. The sight alone warmed Cecily’s heart, a welcome distraction from the wounds that nearly tore the love of her life away from her.

She stepped forward and kneeled in front of them. She hated to wake them, but the corridor was cold, and she worried they may catch a cold waiting out there for too long. “Fy anwylyd,” she said gently, brushing their cheeks with the pads of her thumbs. “Come along. It’s much too cold to wait here.”

“Mam?” It was Alex, blinking sleepy eyes at her. He shifted his position, which woke Christopher with a sudden, “What ho!” and disoriented expression.

Cecily smiled gently at them. Her boys were such gentle people that sometimes she could not believe they came from her. “Come along now,” she repeated.

Anna lifted her head from Christopher’s with a tired scowl. “Watch your head,” she told him, rubbing her temple. “Those curls do not provide ample cushion for sudden movements.”

“Sorry,” Christopher mumbled, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. “Mam,” he said upon noticing her kneeling in front of him. “Is Father all right?”

Cecily brushed his curls from his face. “He will be,” she said softly. “It will take time for him to heal, but he will be all right.”

Relief filled her children’s faces—even Anna’s, who had pretended she wasn’t terribly worried despite rightfully being so. “Can we see him?” she asked carefully. Cecily patted her knee.

“In a bit,” she told them and stood. She held her hands out to them, to help them stand or hand Alex over, whichever they chose. They chose to hand Alex over. He immediately hooked himself onto her neck and dug his heels into her side, firmly planting himself there in her arms. “He’s been given a sedative to sleep while the Brothers work to heal him. Your father will fret over us all if we have not eaten or slept before visiting him, you know.”

“Bridget is cooking a feast in the kitchen with so many people about the Institute. I hope there are still lemon tarts,” Christopher said wistfully. “I can save one for Father, too.”

Cecily smiled. “Let’s go find them before the others do.”

.

.

When Gabriel awoke, he had forgotten where he was. His body ached terribly and he could feel beads of sweat drip from the hair at the base of his neck. He could feel something warm in his hand—something comforting. He forced his eyes opened and groaned.

“Father,” someone gasped. The warm feeling—a hand—tightened in his and a head full of dark hair shot up beside him.

Cecily gazed at him, her grip strong as it ever was. Her hair had fallen from its pins when she rose from his shoulder, but he’d never been so happy to see her looks so disheveled. She rose her other hand and brushed at his cheek softly. “How are you feeling?” she whispered. Over her shoulder he could see his children. Anna, with Alexander climbing about her back, and Christopher stood beside each other, hope and weariness filling their eyes. He smiled at them all.

“I ache,” he admitted. “I don’t think I can move very much. But I don’t feel terribly under the weather.” He squeezed his wife’s hand with as much strength as he could muster. He saw the tension release from her shoulders and felt himself relax with her.

“Incredible!” Christopher said in awe. Gabriel met his son’s eyes and smiled in amusement. Christopher was observing the bandages across his body with fascination. “These were severe injuries, Father, and you only ache? I must figure out how that’s possible and recreate it in the lab.”

“I’ll do what I can to help,” Gabriel answered affectionately. Christopher grinned.

.

.

Cecily brushed away the hairs that had fallen into her husband’s eyes. He had regained color in his skin soon after waking up and looked like her lively Gabriel once again. She’d sat beside him for hours upon hours, her children coming and going throughout. “How many times do I have to tell you to stay with me?” she wondered aloud with a soft shake of her head. Gabriel chuckled. “This is not a request. It is a demand.”

“Leave this?” Gabriel asked, gesturing to their children asleep, their heads on the end of his bed, and Alex clearly enjoying the nook between Gabriel’s feet and the iron railing at the foot of his bed. He turned back to Cecily. “Not a chance. I’ve worked too hard to get here. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Lightwood, but I will not be throwing away all my hard work.”

Cecily’s smile grew until she could no longer hold in her laugh. “Hard work indeed,” she said and kissed him.

@tsccreatorsnet

[onechicagorpf]

Equal Justice Under Law

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader (Prosecutor)

Requested? Yes -  Are you still accepting requests? If you are can you do one where the reader is a prosecutor and working a case alongside intelligence. She gets in trouble and jay is the one to save her?

Warnings: Mentions of sexual abuse and murder. Swearing, the usual cuss words.

A/N: Okay so this is HELLA long. I really meant for all my requests to be blurbs (i.e. short fics) so please note that future requests will probably be much shorter than this! I just got carried away on this one! 😅

Also I realise the anon asked for the reader to be working alongside Intelligence, but in mine she’s kinda taking over after the police case is done, which is what happens in the episodes of Chicago Justice most of the time so that’s what I had it my head - hope y’all still like it! I also tried to switch it up this time and write in past tense, which I realise is sooo not my thing because I kept instinctively writing stuff in present tense and then having to go back and change it lol Let me know if you have a preference one way or another because I’m very curious as to how people feel about this! 

Up next? 3 more  Jay x Reader requests to fill!

PS: Send me asks/messages/leave a note if you liked this and want to see more!

You sighed, dropping your face in your hands. Some days, you wished you hadn’t taken up the job as the Cook County Assistant State's Attorney. The late nights and high stress situations sucked, but more than that your job had a way of bringing to light the worst things about humanity.

Looking down at your desk, you ran your fingers across the scattered pictures. Amelia Langstrom, age 16. Pamela Park, age 18. Lacey McDonald, age 19. Julia Sanderson, age 15. Maggie Thane, age 16. Every photo of the girls, smiling at the camera, came with another one. This other photo wasn’t as well-lit, as happy, as pretty. It was an emotionless, clinical photo taken of their naked bodies, covered with injuries and bruises and cuts, surrounded by leaves or trash depending on where they were dumped.

It was an awful, awful thing. 5 young girls, all missing for over a week before their bodies were found. All with signs of sexual assault, yet no DNA left behind to trace back to the killer. All of this, by itself, would be enough to turn your stomach over. Which it did, but above that, watching your boyfriend come home every night with his head down, shoulders sagging, looking completely distressed as he and his team were no closer to finding the perpetrator of these crimes…it was terrible.

“You guys will get him. I know you will, Jay.” You said, brushing his dark brown hair out of his eyes as the two of you laid in bed together. Your boyfriend’s green eyes, usually bright and full of life, were dark and distant in a way you hadn’t seen in a long time.

“How many more girls does he have to kill before we find him?” Jay whispered, not even looking at you, as his frown - one that seemed to have made itself at home in his forehead over the last two weeks - deepened.

It was a week later when Anna Valdez, your second chair, knocked on your door. Her face was dark, and her lips were tight.

“Another girl?” You asked, your voice cracking.

Anna shook her head. “Intelligence got the guy.” She replied, still looking troubled.

You frowned, tilting your head at her. She paused, crossing her arms across her chest, trying to shrink herself. Like as if she didn’t want to say the next words. You stood up, now beginning to fear what was coming.

“What is it?”

Anna swallowed. “They’re saying he confessed.”

***

“Jay - ”

“You don’t believe me?! Seriously?!” Jay’s eyes were wide with outrage on the other side of your desk.

“It’s not about whether I believe you! It’s about - ” You lowered your voice, remembering that there were many, many people who were working right outside your office. “ - it’s about the fact that Voight is saying this guy confessed. Hank Voight. He’s not exactly a shrinking violet. And all this on top of the fact that - ”

Jay opened his mouth to cut in, but you silenced him with a raised hand and bulldozed onward.

“ - On top of the fact that there just so happened to be no one else in the room with Voight when Dylan Rhodes confessed? Hmm? And it happened in a - in a cage that’s in basement of your district? No cameras, no audio, no video?” You glared at Jay, barely hiding the seething rage that was boiling under your skin. You leaned across the desk, shoulders tight, voice now raised without a care about what anyone outside was going to hear. “Not to mention he’s got cuts and bruises all over his face from ‘resisting arrest’ even though he’s a 20 year old who’s maybe 120 pounds soaking wet and there were seven of you cops, all armed with guns when you went to arrest him!” You yelled, flinging several of Dylan Rhodes’ mugshots across the table, some of them flying all the way over to hit Jay’s body and land at his feet.

There was nothing in the air but the soft whirring of the ceiling fan, and the squeaking of wheels as you dropped back into your chair, exhausted.

Jay called your name, his voice different now - softer and sweeter. You tried not to look at him, tried to let him know just how angry you were…but you weren’t angry at him. Not really. You were angry at the man he worked for. When your eyes connected back with Jay’s, you could see that he knew that. He placed his palms on your desk and leaned towards you.

“You know that I have issues with Hank sometimes, with the way he does things. You know that. But Y/N, you gotta believe me on this one. I looked in that kid’s eyes. I know he did this.” Jay whispered, and you ducked your head, letting your vision graze over the one remaining photo of Dylan Rhodes on your desk.

You just sighed. Looking back up at him, you shook your head.

“It’s not about him, Jay. I know he did it too, I can feel it. But if I’m putting him away, it needs to happen the right way.” You offered, your voice almost didactic.

Jay’s jaw clenched. “Needs to happen the right way, or not at all?” He straightened, pulling away from you. The look he was giving you was one that you could only describe as fervent disapproval. Like he hated what he was seeing in you.

You decided you were done with the argument. Leveling Jay with a cold, emotionless stare, you spoke.

“Yeah. Because there’s some of us who still believe in the law. Who choose to serve and protect in the right way.”

The words spilled out of your mouth so matter-of-factly that they became so harsh. Jay was speechless, and in the beat of silence that followed, you regretted your words.

Your door opened and you jumped, too absorbed in your tête-à-tête with Jay to even give notice to the outside world. Anna looked over you and Jay - who was staring at his feet, jaw tight - with concern in her eyes.

“What is it?” You asked Anna for the second time in a day, just as terrified as the first time.

“Defense counsel just filed a motion to suppress the confession.”

***

“Mr Howard, if you’re ready we can begin - ”

“Sorry to interrupt, your honour, but it won’t be necessary.” You announced, standing up in the courtroom. Everyone’s eyes were on you, even the court stenographer’s.

The judge raised his eyebrows.

“The People will not object to Mr Howard’s motion to suppress the defendant’s confession.” You said, and a flurry of excitement broke out in the gallery - reporters shouting questions, members of the public yelling, camera flashes going off.

“So,” Anna began, facing you as you stopped to grab a cup of water from a dispenser in the hallway. It’d taken about five whole minutes of gavel banging by the judge to settle everyone down, before she dismissed the session. “Your boyfriend and some of his coworkers are at the end of the hallway, and they keep shooting us looks but no one’s coming.”

You tipped the paper cup into your water, swallowing the ice cold water, flinching a little at the tingly sensation it left in your mouth.

“Do you want to go the other way, or do you want to go talk to them? To him?” Anna asked, softly. If anyone else had been saying it, you would’ve snapped at them to mind their own business. But it’s Anna - Anna, who from day one has been by your side, who’s practically made it her mission to be the person you count on.

You shot Anna a gentle smile, squeezing her shoulder. “I’m good. I’ll take the south exit. Meet you back at the office after lunch?” Anna nodded, trying but failing to hide the concern in her eyes.

Side-stepping her, you walked down the hallway, away from where Jay and the rest of Intelligence must be gathered. A part of you hoped, strangely, that he’d come after you, even though you knew that there was no way he wouldn’t be pissed at you. You’d been with him long enough to know how he operated. How he felt everything so intensely, how he was wired through the heart. Jay lived and died by his instincts and his emotions, and there was something to be said about the simplicity of it. The man was a soldier, and maybe in war you didn’t have the time to think about procedure and precedent, about the sharp edges of red tape and the rules and regulations in a bureaucracy. The cosmetic battles didn’t matter to him – he didn’t care what something seemed like, he cared what it was.

But you weren’t Jay. You loved him, but you were not him. You weren’t a soldier - you were a lawyer, and your battle was in the courtroom, not Afghanistan. And in the courtroom, almost just as much as what something was mattered, what it looked like mattered too.

Dylan Rhodes had to be brought to justice, yes. But it had to be done the right way, not by way of coerced or falsified confessions. Equal justice under law was what you swore to uphold, and damn Voight if he thought you couldn’t put Dylan away while doing your job the right way. And damn Jay too, then.

***

“So, how’s the case coming along?” Will Halstead asked, pouring maple syrup over his waffles.

You leaned against the red leather seats in the diner, in an example of truly terrible posture. Shrugging, you answered him: “You know I can’t really talk about that.”

Will scoffed, picking up a fork and knife. “I think you’re allowed to tell me how you’re doing.”

You raised at eyebrow at the doctor, a smile starting to creep onto your face. “But those aren’t the exact words you used, and you actually asked me something completely different - ”

Will threw his hands in the air:‌ “Okay, we get it, you’re a lawyer and I shouldn’t argue with you.” He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, and you laughed, leaning forward to swat at his arm.

“Really, though.” Will said eventually, and you just nodded. “I’m feeling good. I think I’ve got motive, and I think I can get him to snap if I put him on the stand.”

Will smiled wide. “Attagirl.”

As you sipped your coffee, you kept going over your question in your head, trying to find the best way to phrase it. But just like his brother, Will could practically read your mind.

“Jay’s…you know how he is.” Will said, in a gentle tone.

“Stubborn, adamant, refuses to think he’s wrong about anything, ever?” You shot back in a grouchy tone, and Will raised his eyebrows. “Wow, you just said the same thing three ways - you must be pretty pissed!” He commented dryly, and you glared at him. Chuckling, Will waved you off before leaning across the diner table. “Y/N, he knows he shouldn’t have pushed you the way he did. He knows that. And he’s sorry.”

“He can’t come say that to me? Send me a message, come by my office, come home? He’s still gotta crash on your couch?” You shook your head, struggling to contain the hurt in your voice.

Will shot you a sympathetic look. “You know us Halstead boys; it takes a little while before the mea culpa can come out of our mouths.”

You stirred the spoon in your coffee, watching the little bits of foam go round and round and round, before dragging your spoon across in the opposite direction. The foam still swirled around a few times before stopping. Too slow.

“My bed’s been empty for a week, Will. I miss him.”

Will didn’t say anything; the good doctor just slid over a piece of tissue, and that was when you realised you’d started crying.

***

“You’ve got this.” Anna whispered, as the defense attorney took his seat. The judge turned to you and called for you to make your closing argument.

This was usually your favourite part - getting to talk directly to the jury, showing them the facts of your case, walking them through every step of the process with all the detail in the world so that they could get to the conclusion that you knew to be true.

But today was different. You shoved your hands in your pockets to hide that they were shaking. And when you looked over your shoulder at the gallery, you couldn’t see Jay.

He’d never missed any of your closing arguments. Ever.

Until today.

“Ms Y/L/N? Can we begin?” The judge tossed a concerned look your way.

Your eyes landed on Dylan Rhodes, who was smirking at you like he’d won.

Smiling back, you calmly turned to the judge. “Let’s begin.”

Starting from Dylan’s teenage years, where he racked up countless misconduct records in high school for all sorts of problems, you traced the development of this man, this awful human being. You painted a portrait of him as needy, sad, and lonely, and connected that to his need to hurt and attack girls who were otherwise unattainable for him. As you spoke, you could see the jury process your words and go where you were taking them.

Dylan had, by this point, dropped the cocky smirk. Instead, his face was red, his jaw was clenched, and veins were popping in his neck. You knew you had him - you knew it was over.

“Members of the jury - I have just one final request to ask of you. Today, you have the opportunity to see that justice is served to a man who more than deserves it. A man - a boy, who decided that raping and killing girls was the only way he could live with himself, because that was the only way he could have these girls.” You paused, turning to look at Dylan, who was shaking with rage.

“A boy who decided to hurt girls to cover up the fact that he is so weak, and so pathetic.” You punctuated the tense air in the courtroom with words so sharp they felt like the final nail in Dylan Rhodes’ coffin.

There was a moment of bliss, you knew you’d done your job, you knew you’d brought the jury over, you knew you’d succeeded - but just as quickly as things came together, it all came crashing down.

It happened so quickly - Dylan roared, lunging over the table towards you. Everyone started screaming, and you froze in shock and in fear.

The bailiff intercepted Dylan on his way over to you and tackled him to the ground. It all seemed settled for a second, but they kept struggling on the ground, and all you saw was Dylan’s hands reaching around the bailiff’s and - and his fingers wrapping around - oh god - 

“Gun!” Anna yelled, and the release of that one syllable was followed immediately by a gunshot. And then another.

***

“You gonna talk to Y/N? She’s closing the Rhodes case today, you know?” Hailey Upton asked, lifting her feet up to place them on the dashboard of the GMC Sierra.

Jay shrugged, fiddling with the radio in his hand.

“This is the part where you use your words.” Hailey remarked in a slightly sarcastic tone, smiling and Jay just shot her a look. Reaching over, he shoved her feet off the dash petulantly, and Hailey laughed.

Moments later, she turned back, cheek pressing against the headrest of her seat. “Jay.” She said, her tone gentle but still a little pushy. It was what he needed then, and she knew it. The last few days had been tough on him - he hadn’t talked to her about it, other than updating her that he was staying over at Will’s, but his entire demeanour was off - he’d been down and depressed.

Jay shrugged again, frowning. “I don’t know what to say. I screwed up, and I know it and she knows it and - I don’t know. I’m starting to think…” Jay ducked his head, eyes scanning his fingers as they traced the outlines of his radio. “…starting to think maybe she can do better than me, you know?” When he finished, his voice was much lower, much softer than it was when he began.

“Oh, she can definitely do better than you.” Hailey grinned, her dimples showing and Jay just reached across, punching her shoulder. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Hailey chuckles, before turning to face her partner again.

“Seriously though, I’ve seen the way she looks at you - that girl is one hundred percent in love with you.”

Jay’s heart felt full hearing that, and he knew it to be true, too.

“So get your shit together, stop sleeping on your brother’s couch, go back to her and apologise for being an idiot.” Hailey advised. Before Jay could say anything, his radio went off.

“10-1, 10-1, shots fired at the Third Municipal District, hall 5! Dispatch, get Intelligence on the scene now!”

“Isn’t that where - ” Hailey started to ask, frowning. She didn’t have to finish her question, because she got her answer when Jay, who suddenly went as pale as a ghost, turned on the lights and sirens and floored it.

***

“Dylan…just - think about this, okay?”

Your hands were out in front of you, shaking.

Dylan Rhodes was about 10 feet from you, with a gun in his hand. The gallery had cleared out and the people on the jury had managed to escape to their deliberation room, separated from the courtroom with a thick wooden door. The only people who were left with you and Dylan were the judge, Anna and Mr Howard.

Your eyes flickered down to where the bailiff laid in a pool of his own blood. Dylan had fired two shots straight through the bailiff’s chest. You didn’t need to be trained in medicine like your boyfriend’s brother to know that the bailiff was dead.

You’d said hi to him once, in an elevator. He’d smiled back, and asked you how your day was.

You can’t remember what you told him.

“You’re scared now, aren’t you?” Dylan asked, and you snapped back to him. He had a deranged smile on his face.

“Dylan, please, it doesn’t have to be like this - ” You started speaking, but the judge - Judge Kinnaman - cut you off.

“Son, I swear if you don’t drop that gun now, you will never see the light of day. I will personally ensure that.” Judge Kinnaman’s voice resounded in the empty courtroom with authority. Dylan turned to him, gun following his line of sight.

“Fuck you.” Dylan punctuated his words with a squeeze of the trigger. Anna screamed, and you heard a loud thump. When you turned over your shoulder, you couldn’t see Judge Kinnaman at his seat behind the counter anymore - all you saw was blood splatter on his chair and the wood behind him.

The numbness you’d felt until this point suddenly gave way to waves upon waves of fear. It felt like a chill going down your spine - your body was cold, your mind was racing, and you were absolutely terrified.

“Dylan - Dylan, listen to me.” Jon Howard, the defense attorney, spoke softly from the defense table. “Just - just put the gun down, okay?”

Dylan’s eyes practically went red with rage. “You - you fucking…you’re useless, you’re pathetic, you know that?” Dylan swings back around, yelling at you and Anna. “He asked me to make a deal! A deal! What kind of a shitty lawyer gives up before he even tries to win, huh?!” He yelled at Jon, spit flying out of his mouth. Jon flinched, leaning back as Dylan moved closer to him.

Suddenly, a voice on loudspeaker boomed from outside the closed doors of the courtroom.

“Dylan Rhodes! This is Jay Halstead of the Chicago Police Department. We have the courtroom surrounded!”

Your knees almost buckled as you heard Jay’s voice. Relief flooded your veins, but you were still scared as you watched Dylan suddenly turn around, eyes wide.

“We do not want you or anyone in there to get hurt, okay? Just let the people in there come out, and I swear I will help you.” Jay finished, and Dylan just grabbed his head in his hands.

“No, no, no, no!” Dylan whispered to himself, tears springing out of his eyes. You turned to Anna, both of you equally terrified. Suddenly, Dylan raised his head, almost like a lion that had suddenly spotted a gazelle over the lines of grass.

Dylan surged towards you. Screaming, you flattened yourself against the witness stand, but it was to no avail - Dylan’s left hand grabbed your throat, and he pulled you to him, turning you so that you were in front of him, his left forearm like a bar going across your neck. You felt the cool metal of the gun against your temple, and you gasped.

“I have a hostage! I’m coming out, and I want everyone to stand back!” Dylan barked, before walking you to the door. You were shaking against him, tears streaming down your face at this point. The pressure of the gun against your head seemed to be drilling into you. As you reached the door, and Dylan instructed you to open it, all you could think about was that at least you’d get to see Jay before you died today.

The door opened with a loud creak, and you were stunned to see so many fully uniformed police officers with assault rifles standing right outside. Per Dylan’s instructions, they were all standing back, but still it was absolutely terrifying seeing all those guns pointed at you.

Your eyes immediately found Jay, who had his head tilted, looking down the sight on his rifle but the moment Dylan had brought you out, he picked his head up. His mouth was open slightly, his eyes were wide and wet, and he looked to be completely distraught.

Seeing him finally after days apart…it made every argument you’d ever had feel so inconsequential. You were so full of love for him and the only thing you wanted to do was run, run to him and wrap your arms around him. Unable to do any of that, you just mouthed “I love you” as you tried to hold back sobs.

“I want a car, and - and I want a - a jet fueled at O’Hare!” Dylan shouted.

Jay just shook his head. “You need to let her go first, alright?”

Dylan tightened his hold on you. “I’m not a fucking idiot!”

“We know that, okay?” Hailey spoke up, from a few feet to the right of Jay. “We don’t think you’re an idiot. We just want to make sure you don’t do anything you don’t want to do.” She said, putting her rifle down. Raising her hands, she took a couple of steps towards Dylan, who at this point had completely turned to face her.

“No - no, I don’t want you to move! Just - just stay where you are!” Dylan snapped, his voice raging. Your heart was beating so loudly that you could almost hear it in your ears. Closing your eyes, you just prayed silently.

“I know you don’t want to hurt her. So let’s just make sure - ” Hailey spoke gently, but Dylan cut her off, laughing sharply.

“You stupid bitch! You’re all stupid bitches! Damn right I want to hurt her! This bitch - ” Dylan shouted, pulling in his forearm, the immense pressure against your neck strangling you, “ - called me pathetic! I’m gonna show her how fucking pathetic she is when I get her somewhere alone and I - ”

A loud bang goes off, and you jumped. Your eyes flew open just in time to feel Dylan sag against you, and you instinctively leaned out of the way so that he fell to the ground. 

Arms wrapped around you, and your first reaction was to flinch, to scream, to turn with eyes wide, trying to claw away from whoever it is. But then you heard his voice.

“Baby! Baby - it’s me, it’s Jay!” Your boyfriend’s eyes were wide and teary. His eyebrows were furrowed deeply, and he looked like he was in pain.

Everything clicked in your head.

“Jay,” You moaned, shaking fingers clutching his vest as you engulfed yourself in him. Jay’s arms wrapped around you tightly and you soaked in his scent, his warmth, his safety. Sobbing into his neck, you refused to let go, still not really believing this to be real. Jay didn’t say anything for a while and you weren’t sure why. But then you heard him crying into your hair, and you pulled back to see him. His eyes were wet, pooling with tears, and you immediately brought your hands up to hold his face. Jay leaned down as you got on your tip toes and you kissed, wet and soft and scared. Jay’s hands cradled your face, and when the two of you eventually split to breathe, you just looked up at him, speechless, shaking your head.

“I’m so sorry,” Jay whimpered.

“It’s okay. We’re okay. Just - just come home, please,” You begged, running your thumb over his jaw.

“Of course. Of course. I’m never leaving you like that again, okay? No matter what. Y/N, I love you so much. When he came out with you - I - I almost died right where I stood.” Jay told you as his face contorted into something painful. You pressed your lips to his again, quick and chaste. Pulling back, you smiled up at him.

“I love you too, Jay.”

The rest of the day was a mess - the cops moved Dylan’s body, as well as the bailiff’s and Judge Kinnaman’s, while paramedics cleared you medically. You flung yourself at Anna when they brought her out, swearing to her that you were okay and asking repeatedly if she was fine. The two of you held on to each other, crying, as Jay kept rubbing your back. In fact, he never left your side, not even for a second. After you were done giving your statement, Jay took you home, and the two of you got undressed and sat in a warm bath together for a while. You kept thinking at times that you were fine, but then you’d remember the feeling of the gun against your head, or the way the bailiff slumped over, and you started crying again. Jay brought his arms around you, pulling you to his chest and peppering your face with kisses as he soothed you.

At night, you curled into each other. The two of you drifted asleep, in the safety and warmth of your embrace.

*** Please leave a comment/like/reblog!

[minsimagines]

what’s in a name | demon!j.k

next part

A/N: part two coming soon! also, images are not mine, i’ve just put together the collage. credit to owners! and also, can we talk about his hair? specifically in the header under here? help. feel free to talk to me about his hair.

   warnings: none, i think??

   summary: On the day she’s about to turn 18 years old, Y/N finds out she belongs to a demon.

★ ⋆ ✰ ✦ ☾ ✮ ⁎ ★ ⋆ ✰ ☾ ⁎ ✦ ✮ ⁎ ☾ ★ ⋆ ✰

  You stood in the middle of the living room of your parents’ gigantic house, staring at their faces. Their expression held sadness, though your rage didn’t leave room for pity. Your eyes flickered over their bodies, wondering if they really even were your parents. You didn’t want to believe it.

  “When did you do it?”

  “Sweetheart, we’re sorry,” your mother tried to console you, but you took a furious step back.

  “When!?”

  You mothers brows pushed together in a sad, despaired frown. “We contacted him on your first birthday.”

  “So, you sold me, signed my whole life off before I’d even lived any of it?” You asked, your voice a mere whisper.

  “You’ll be safe, that was the deal! He’s not going to hurt you,” your father said urgently.

  “The deal,” you scoffed, a humorless smile on your face. “And what happens if it doesn’t get me?”

  Your father’s face dropped. “I… I don’t know.”

  “I guess we’ll find out,” you muttered, watching their faces twist into expressions of fear.

  “Sweetie, running won’t help, he’ll find you!” Your mother yelled, desperately. You slowly shook your head and ran out of the living room, one of many in the huge mansion. You ran past old paintings and staircases, your shoes tapping against ancient floors. You didn’t take anything but yourself and your phone with you, you didn’t stop to find out if they were following. You ran through the huge kitchen, slipping past chefs in the middle of preparing supper. Through the windows you could see the sun was setting.

 Throwing the backdoor open, you bolted through the massive garden, and the bushes shaped as bunnies. It had been for you, they’d said. All they did, was for you. What a load of crap. You would never let yourself be sold like some kettle. You were a human being with a mind of your own. You were turning 18 as soon as the clock rang midnight, and your parents would never see you again after this.

  Passing through intricate gardenwork, you ran into the dense forest behind your parents’ estate. You’d always played out there when you were young, and you’d always swore you’d had a guardian angel watching over you in those woods. You’d fallen out of tall trees, you’d scraped every inch of your body on branches, stumbled over stones. There had been incidents where you should have died, yet you never came out of the trees with anything more than a pale red patch wherever you’d hurt yourself. Perhaps the guardian angel was still in there.

  You didn’t waste a second. You heard your parents and a few servants call after you, but you blocked them out. You ran and ran and ran until you couldn’t breathe.

  Falling to your back in the middle of a meadow, you gasped for air. You didn’t care how much sound it made, or how loud you were crying. You had to get it out. Your chest hurt; your soul hurt. Weren’t parents supposed to love their children? Weren’t they supposed to protect their children?

  You didn’t know how long you laid in the small, damp meadow. Your jeans were soaked and probably green on the backside. Your body was numb from crying. From realizing your life was a lie. Your life had been a means to and end for them. You couldn’t fathom how anyone could do such a thing, and to their own child!?

  As you stared up at the sky, you knew he’d be coming for you. If it was really true, then he would come for you no matter where you were. Unless you were dead. No, didn’t demons rule the dead as well? The air felt thick.

  “I take it you’re not happy with your current… predicament.”

  You jumped up at the deep voice. A hand flew to your chest, your wide eyes staring at the man leaning against the trunk of a tall tree. He was… well he was breathtaking. Hair, black as night, framed his face. His eyes were dark, intense and amused as he watched you, blinking lazily. His hands were in the pockets of his dress pants. He wore a black suit, which one would usually find weird deep in a forest, yet he seemed to just… fit.

  You didn’t say anything. What were you to say? That you didn’t like it? You thought that part was pretty obvious. Your eyes flickered over his appearance. Had you not known his true nature; you might have freely spoken to him, told him you weren’t going with him and how you were going to be free. You might have been interested in what he had to say. But you knew, and you didn’t want to know any more.

  “Come here,” he said, his voice didn’t leave room for discussion, but you were frozen. Both in shock and fear. He watched you, seemingly patient, his eyes not leaving yours for even a split second. Did he even blink? You didn’t think he did.

  “Don’t make me repeat myself,” he muttered, his voice turning darker along with the look in his eyes. You felt your vision blur as you shakily took steps towards the man. The edge of his full lips twitched up in a smirk at your compliance.

  He stood up straight, towering over you as you stopped in front of him, a hot tear rolling down your cheek. You hated him. Or, maybe you hated your parents. You didn’t know, you just knew you didn’t want to be a slave.

  “Please,” you whispered, whishing for nothing else than to be left alone. You wanted to be away from him, from your parents, from their stupid massive estate. You didn’t care about any of it, you wanted to be free.

   He decided to take your plea as a wish for him to take you right away.

  “As you wish,” he whispered, his eyes turning as dark as night as he reached out for your waist, pulling you against him. You yelped and pushed your hands against a chiseled chest. The world around you turned loopy and dark smoke enveloped you both. You instinctively gripped his jacket, your wide eyes staring around yourself in terror. He watched in amusement, finding himself already loving the look of fear in your eyes. Your big orbs glowed with horror, and he could stare at the wonderful sight for hours.

  The world shook and trembled around you as you were both swallowed by the darkness. A grunt left your lips out of fear, your eyes squeezing shut. What was he doing? Was he going to hurt you?

–

  You startled upright, your arms grabbing at your body, your lungs gasping for air. You looked around yourself, but it was so dark, you could barely make out anything. You could, however, tell it wasn’t your room. It looked modern, stylish, dark. Black furniture against dark walls. Everything was so dark. The bed sheets, black silk, slick around your bare legs.

  You threw the covers off, your jaw dropping. You were wearing a big t-shirt, down to the top of your thighs. Your eyes carefully wandered around the room once more, your mind completely blank. You couldn’t remember how you got to this room, or where your clothes had gone. Or… if it was you who removed them.

  Quietly slipping out of bed, you slowly stepped towards the window. The curtains were closed, and you hoped the view could give you a clue to where you were. Gently taking a hold of the fabric, you pulled them apart.

  The view… though broad, was unhelpful. You looked down, and your breath caught in your throat at the height. You were so far above ground. You could see so far, yet you had no idea what city it was. The lights from the streets and the buildings were beautiful, but the sinking feeling in your stomach was not.

  Hands wrapped around your waist from behind, and you squealed in surprise, your body jerking forwards. The hands held you back from bumping your head into the glass. You spun around and found a pair of dark eyes staring down at you, looking very amused. You, were not. You glared up at him, your cheeks warming. Had he been in there the whole time? How did he sneak up on you like that?

  “Are you insane?” You asked, your voice low, feeling agitated. You’d never asked to be put in this situation, and you definitely couldn’t remember asking him to change your clothes for you.

  “Whatever do you mean?” He asked sarcastically, his lips curling up in a way too sweet smile, hands pulling you closer. You pulled a face and pushed against his chest, but his grip was locked behind your back. You shot him a look, which he mirrored, mocking you.

  “Where are my clothes?”

  “Trash.”

  “Excuse me!?” You yelled, your brows furring. Who the hell did he think he was?

  “You went all crazy and ripped them,” he shrugged, as if that was something that could just happen to anyone. As if it happened to him a lot. You narrowed your eyes, not believing him.

  “You think I’m going to believe some story about me just suddenly going ham and tearing off my clothes? I’m no Hulk.”

  “I didn’t say I was totally out of blame,” he smirked, taking a step back from you. You frowned.

  “What did you do?”

  “I just took you here,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “You inhaled something you shouldn’t have, and you went nuts,” he smirked, turning and walking towards the door. You ran after him as he walked down the dark hallways.

  “Inhaled what?” You asked, your voice raised with anger. Why couldn’t he just explain it in a proper way? Why be so god damned mysterious?

  He abruptly stopped and spun around, giving you no time to slow down. You bumped right into his chest, though his body didn’t move an inch. It was like hitting a brick wall. A… soft, brick wall. He looked down at you and you had no chance of reading his eyes, they were just looking at you.

  “This,” he said, his voice deep as he held his hand out. His fingers slowly began turning black, as a soft mist formed in his palm. He held his hand a good distance away from you, yet you could smell it as if it was right in your face. It smelled caramel, and the forest after it rains. And leather. Your eyebrow twitched as you turned you head towards his hand. Your eyes peered into the mist, and the deeper you looked, the more delicious the smell got. The mist flickered like a flame, and you wondered if the mist was a result of his skin burning.

  His other hand grabbed a wrist you hadn’t realized you’d stretched out towards the mist, and he pulled you towards the other side of his body as he closed his palm and forced the mist away, his hand turning back to normal.

  His eyes shifted as he looked at you, his expression one of confusion. You could only stand there and gape at him. You couldn’t wrap your mind around what had happened. It was as if you had been in a trance, and as he put the mist away, you felt almost sad. Maybe you really had gone crazy, like he said you had.

  He turned his body to face you, his hands on your upper arms as he leaned down towards your face. You looked up at him with wide eyes, your heartbeat picking up. Was he going to eat you?

  “What did it smell like?” He asked, almost carefully, which didn’t fit his image at all. You frowned at the question. Why did it matter what it smelled like?

  “Uhm… like a few things,” you said, uncertain. “A few things that have absolutely nothing to do with each other.”

  “What things?” He asked, more urgent.

  “Caramel,” you whispered. “And the forest. And leather.”

  He leaned back, and you watched as his eyes flickered all over your form. You swallowed, instinctively taking a step away from him. His eyes narrowed, and the intense look in his eyes returned. He was quiet for a while, and you didn’t dare move. You felt like a prey under his dangerous gaze. His dark t-shirt was tight around his firm muscles, and you swallowed, thinking about all the awful things he could do to you.

  “Y/N,” he whispers your name carefully, as if it was a prayer, and it knocked the wind out of you. Your mind began spinning, and all you could hear was his deep voice calling your name. You desperately looked up at him through your dazed vision. It felt like you were flying on clouds and being held down to the ground by bolts, bth at the same time.

  You tried speaking, but your lips just parted, no sound leaving them.

  “I know,” he whispered, as he took a few steps closer to you. You were frozen in your place, your skin tingling. His hands reached out, slowly, as if to not scare you, and rested on your upper arms. Your whole body practically vibrated at his touch, a shudder running down your spine and some of the tingling under your skin disappeared. You frowned, staring up at him, hoping he could give you an explanation. You mind was blank.

  He hummed, slowly letting his hands run down your arms. You stood there in wonder, amazed at how his touch seemed to make the heavy feeling lift. Though, if it was him who initially made you feel weird, then maybe it wasn’t so strange.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered, pulling you into his chest in an embrace and your hands automatically rested on his waist. You wondered what he was sorry about, but the softness you felt inside was occupying your mind. It was strange – you’d met this man, this demon; he’d spoken a few words to you and taken you to what you presumed was his home. He… he owned you. He looked every bit a demon, all but the sharp teeth and claws. His deep voice, his heavy presence, his intense stare, his magic. Yet you didn’t really mind being in that apartment with him.

–

 The next few days were strange, to put it mildly. He would often scare the bejesus out of you by appearing right in front of you or engulfing the whole living room in shadow as he entered, his eyes glowing bright red. The sight scared you so bad you had to run straight to the bathroom to not pee yourself. He used every predatorial bone in his body, sneaking up on your from behind and pinching your waist. You’d scream. Each and every time.

  He took you out to fancy restaurants for dinner. You’d wake up and find expensive gift bags waiting for you in the kitchen, though he claimed it was all to make you look the part. He constantly asked what you wanted of certain things, and what you liked, though never straight out. It was always like a guessing game. He was mysterious, and nothing could ever be simple. You felt like he was somewhat doing the most to make you feel like living with him wasn’t a prison sentence. You didn’t feel like that, however, you had quite a lot of questions on your mind. There were quite a few you didn’t dare ask, for example: why did your chest feel so heavy and your skin so cold, until he touched you? What had he done to you? Had he done it on purpose? He had apologized for something; you just didn’t know what.

  He’d sneakily began sleeping in your bed, slipping in behind you when you were deeply asleep, draping a heavy arm over your waist. You’d groggily mumble incoherent protests, feeling his presence, but too tired to try to move him away. He was warm, and he fit very nicely against your back. You let him stay.

  “Are you going to tell me your name?” You pried, following him around the big apartment as he typed away on his phone. He didn’t answer you, so you asked again. This had become a sort of daily ritual. You’d asked him the first day, but all he’d said was: “Did your parents tell you nothing of my kind?” It had you so curious you could burst.

  “Can you tell me something?” You asked, growing bored of not knowing anything about him. He leant against the kitchen counter, his eyes glancing up at you. The stare was a warning to leave it be. You didn’t care, you wanted to know. It wasn’t fair.

  You narrowed your eyes and moved to sit on the counter opposite of him, on the other side of the kitchen, as he went back to texting. Maybe you could use something as leverage? He seemed to like sleeping in your bed. A smile crept over your lips, but you tried your best to conceal it.

  “If you don’t tell me something, I won’t let you sleep in my bed anymore,” you said, trying to keep your voice even. His eyes locked on yours, his stare was dark. Intense. Had you broken through? In the blink of an eye, he was in front of you, his chest pressed against yours. A surprised yelp left your lips.

  His eyes slowly roamed over your face, his lips tipping up in the slightest smirk. You felt your stomach flip at the sight of it. Your breath hitched in your throat as he leaned in even further, his nose nudging against yours. Your mind was going haywire, wondering what his next move was. You waited for him to scare you in some way, fully aware of how much he liked seeing you scared. You thought, though hoped against, that he might use his magic on you.

  What you had not expected, was for his lips to brush against yours. The touch sent shivers down your spine, and you had an urge to lean in a press your lips to his, fully. You didn’t.

  It seemed like he had trouble restraining himself, but he did. He backed off and disappeared right in front of your eyes. You sighed, your hand reaching up to cover your hard beating heart. You couldn’t deny his beauty, and you couldn’t say you didn’t like his sense of humor, and his way of speaking to you – even if he was mysterious. Did you have feelings for him? You had feelings for his looks, that you could agree with yourself on, but for him? You didn’t know him.

  You knew he worked a lot. Exactly what he did, you didn’t know, but he worked a lot. And when he wasn’t working, he was around you, but always had his phone within reach. He’d often be busy working, even when home. He was fancy when it came to, well, everything. He would stare at you until you cleaned up your cereal bowl, even if you weren’t even finished yet. He was very touchy, very ‘hands on’. It was unsettling at first, not being used to it, but when you live with someone, no matter the conditions, you sort of get used to their ways.

  When he was annoyed, which was quite often, though rarely towards you, his eyes glowed red and he unbuttoned a few buttons on his shirt. The day prior, he had actually ripped it apart on “accident”, and you had been caught staring at his chest. He teased you the whole day, though you could never be sure if he was really teasing or serious – his eyes were always intense, and his body language didn’t change between the two.

  He was ripped. Like, really ripped. You’d seen him shirtless several times over the last few days; you’d even seen him naked. He seemed to prefer walking around naked, and though it made you feel profusely uncomfortable, you couldn’t deny it was a pleasure to look at the muscles in his back move as his arms lifted, and the biceps curled and tightened as he held the phone to his ear. The main question on your mind was: why?

  Why had he been interested in ‘buying’ you?

  Why was he being so nice and taking care of you?

  Why did he not want to reveal who he was to you? Other than his nature.

  You weren’t ungrateful for his caregiving, though you had to wonder why he was caring towards you. You had seen how easily irritated he got; how driven he was by his primal instincts. How easy it was to push his buttons, though you tried your hardest to avoid doing that.

  A part of you hoped he was interested beyond the deal he had with your parents. That a man like him, a demon; dark and cruel, more beautiful than any angel you could imagine, was interested in you. Plain old Y/N. You didn’t have a low self esteem per say, though you knew you weren’t the best at most things. Looks wise as well, though you didn’t think you were ugly. You just… reality was that compared to a lot of people on this man’s level, you weren’t even considered pretty.

  You laid awake in your bed that evening, still thinking about the kiss. It was a kiss; you had decided it was. It was your first kiss with him. After your rapidly beating heart had calmed, your senses were overflowed by that same sensation as whenever he left you alone. The air was so cold on your skin, there was an uneasy feeling in your stomach, and you just didn’t feel right.

  The mattress dipped, with no warning, and your body jolted slightly in surprise, though you didn’t move. His hand slid over your waist, and under your hip, taking a hold of you and spinning you around. A gasp left your throat at the sudden movement, and your hands gripped onto his chest for support. You stared up at him in shock.

  He was laying on his side, head propped up on his hand, looking at you with those dark eyes and you were about to say something clever when you noticed his eyes weren’t the same. They were telling you something different.

  His hand slid across your torso, slowly and gently, easing off the pressure in your chest; the horrible cold feeling. How did he have this sort of effect on you? You couldn’t get a grasp of it.

  “What’s happening to me?” You whispered, your voice laced with fear, though your tried to hold it even. He didn’t answer. He leant down and nudged his nose against yours. You felt his breath fan over you face, and you bit your lip. You wanted to be closer. You had such an urge to hold onto him and push your body against his, it almost hurt to hold yourself back. You had to close your eyes, your body tingling with longing.

  “Look at me,” he whispered, and you couldn’t even control your own movements as your eyes snapped open, looking up at him as if he might be the answer you were looking for.

  “Do you trust me?” he mumbled; his voice low. The question caught you of guard. You hadn’t thought about that. Did you trust him? He had kept you safe, for now, at least. He hadn’t acted like the monster he probably could be around you - or, not that much at least. When you pondered over his question, you came to realize that yes, you did trust him.

  “Yes, I think I do,” you whispered, feeling incredibly stupid but also hopeful.

  His eyes shimmered red at your words, though not the angry, fearsome red. They held primal instinct, sure, but not for killing. His fingers tightened their hold on your waist.

  “My name… is Jungkook.”

[celestialmark]

Solitude - Epilogue

Characters: Mark Lee x reader, members of nct 

Category: sniper!mark, mafia au 

Word count: 4.9K

Warnings: death, cursing, violence 

Navigation: preview | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | epilogue  

Author’s note: ahhh! this really does mark the end of this series ;; I felt emotional writing this I had to stop every now and again hahaha but I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who have been patiently following this series from the day the preview was released. I had so much fun working on this and I hope I did the plot and characters justice. love you guys, and I really hope you like this. 

The sun shines brightly above Johnny, the cloudless skies giving it all the space it could possibly need to spread as much light as possible. Still, the wind that blows occasionally is cold, sometimes even biting his skin, but nonetheless, it’s a beautiful day to be out and about. Too bad, the weather just didn’t seem to fit Johnny’s mood, no matter how much it would’ve lifted his spirits on any other given day. 

Johnny sighs for the umpteenth time in the day, too early for his liking to be sulking when he hasn’t even gone through half of it yet. His hard eyes are trained below him, re-reading and re-reading the words engraved on the cold stone. Lee Taeyong’s name shouldn’t be on it, it really shouldn’t because Taeyong was still so young and still had so much ahead of him, still so much to patch things up with Johnny. Yuta was gone, but Taeyong was too. It’s been weeks, it’s been long agonising weeks after the incident but Johnny remembers it all so well, like it was just yesterday. But what he remembers the most is his best friend, slipping away right in his hands where he vowed to save him, to save his life, because Johnny swore he couldn’t deal with another loss of someone he wanted in his life forever. 

But Lee Taeyong is gone. Forever. 

And Johnny isn’t so sure exactly he’s holding up because he’s always known that being a part of this kind of world, of this kind of a job even when he left ages ago, that lives are bound to be lost. He just didn’t expect it to be Taeyong. And he most definitely didn't expect it to be so soon. At the back of his mind, Johnny was for sure convinced nothing would be worse than losing the love of his life, that maybe nothing would ever compare to that kind of loss, but being here now, standing right in front of a dear friend’s grave, reminds him that losing anyone you hold so close to your heart will always be just as heartbreaking and as painful as the first. 

Johnny bends down after a good fifteen minutes to set the bouquet of flowers he’s been holding in his hands since his arrival, setting it down beside the others that had already been put there by previous visitors of the group. Johnny’s eyes are empty when he stands up straight again, releasing a big sigh. It’s a pity, he believes, how his last moments of Taeyong weren’t pleasant, how he’s grown all too complaisant the past two years of always believing Taeyong would be around, and that there’d always be a time to make amends whenever the time was right and when he had properly healed himself. 

That’s when the guilt sets in. 

“Hey.”

Johnny finds Jeno to his left with an arrangement of flowers in his hand. He smiles at the elder as he walks towards him and Johnny tries to return it. Johnny watches as Jeno sets the flowers down next to his, falling into the space beside him as he breathes in the fresh air of the hills. There’s silence for a good two minutes, each of them unconsciously studying Taeyong’s headstone laid flat on the ground. When Jeno sees Johnny sigh again from the corner of his eye, that’s when he decides to talk first. 

“I hope you’re not blaming yourself,” he starts lowly, not really sure how to address such matters to the elder who’s always been the one on the giving end of advices. “You’ve been here every single day for the past two and a half weeks.” 

Johnny should have expected this from Jeno by now, his sharp personality literally not missing a single thing without even trying. It’s no surprise he’s noticed something even he didn’t, for coming here every single day didn’t feel like anything to him at all anymore. “I don’t know.. I just.” 

“Yeah,” Jeno agrees even when Johnny doesn’t finish his sentence. “We.. the boys still can’t believe it either.” Jeno kicks lightly at the ground, tearing his eyes off Taeyong’s name for the first time since he arrived. “But, it’s not right to blame any of ourselves, I think.” 

Johnny shrugs his shoulders. “I just feel like I should have done more to keep him alive. Maybe if I’d just taken him out of there sooner-” 

“Okay Johnny stop,” Jeno interferes, twisting his body to face him. “We were all there, alright. And if you had done that, who knows, we would have lost more than just Taeyong that day.” Jeno sighs, his shoulders dropping, “Taeyong is already so much to lose... we can’t afford to have lost you either.” 

Johnny doesn’t answer, still too lost in his own thoughts. 

“Look,” Jeno huffs, but feels for Johnny. “There is nothing Taeyong wouldn’t have done to protect all of us, to make sure we’re safe, right? It’s always been his utmost priority to keep us alive and knowing him, he wouldn’t have hesitated to do anything to stick to that.” Jeno reaches a hand out to pat Johnny on the shoulder. “Yes, it’s a shame to have lost him in the process, but Taeyong... he would never want any of us to point fingers because it was no one’s fault.” 

Johnny sighs again, the last memory of Taeyong too similar to his last memory of Ari and he thinks that’s why it’s killing him inside. 

“Just..” Johnny murmurs. “His last words to me were “I’m sorry”... I wish it was something else. Because knowing he died feeling sorry to me, just makes me regret so much, makes me feel like there was definitely more I could have done to save him.” 

Jeno gives Johnny’s shoulder a squeeze, seeing him vulnerable for the first time ever since Ari’s incident. “You know, for the past two years, Taeyong has wanted nothing other than to say sorry to you.” Johnny looks lifts his head from the ground and looks at Jeno. 

“And the fact that he finally got to say it you, already meant so much to him.” 

Donghyuck heaves a sigh to himself when he sees Jeno, Renjun and Jaemin all slumped on the couch on a Thursday evening, right before they’re about to set out for a transaction that’s been planned from way before. Nothing feels right, his chest too heavy sometimes it’s too much for him to bear. But knowing he’s next in line after Mark, he couldn’t help but shoulder all the responsibility that’s suddenly thrown in the air after Taeyong’s passing. It’s cruel, he thinks, how the world continues to revolve even after something so tragic occurred. But it’s a reality he knows they’re all going to have accept sooner or later. Sure, they’ve lost members before and have definitely put their lives on the line to secure deals and payments, but this time it was different, because it was Taeyong they’re talking about, the very alpha of the mafia, the very person who breathed them into life from years back. It felt weird not having him around, despite the constant fear he elicited in them, because at the end of the day, Taeyong always looked after their wellbeing on the down low even if he didn't show it. 

Donghyuck’s never seen the boys so sullen before and now that he’s suddenly in charge for the time being, he needed to be the one to pull them altogether, otherwise, they’d all fall down together and that was the last thing he wanted.

 Life had to go on. 

“Alright boys,” Donghyuck half yells as he claps his hands together once, the sound echoing in the almost empty room. “Let’s get this done fast so we can all go home and plan for our next.” 

Jeno rises from the couch quietly as Renjun follows almost begrudgingly while it takes Jaemin a little bit more effort to get up. Donghyuck sighs again, walking over to Jaemin and grabbing his hand so that he can pull him up. Jaemin grumbles, his body flimsy from not wanting to get up. 

Donghyuck is about to snap, his short-tempered nature threatening to show but he figures it’s not what the boys needed today. So he sympathises instead, “Look, I know it’s hard. But we have to do this. We can’t sit here and mope around all day. We have to keep going.”

Upon hearing this, Donghyuck gets the most response from the boys for the first time in a while. Jeno had been doing well up at this point, but seeing Renjun and Jaemin acknowledge him and his instructions, makes him a little relieved and a little less on edge, the determination on their faces evidence of the need to do well. 

They were going to be back in business in no time. 

It takes no less than thirty minutes for Jeno to drive to their destination with the crates secured in the boot. From what they’ve gathered, it’s a small transaction with a group they’ve almost never heard of but upon research, are supposed to be very brutal with exchanges. Donghyuck’s not too worried and he can tell the others aren’t either when Jeno pulls up to a secluded area right in front of an open gymnasium. It’s the perfect place be, no people around, dim lights flickering over the whole building, and just three people waiting in the middle for them. Donghyuck steps out of the van first, followed by the rest of the boys who take it upon themselves to grab the crates from the back. But what surprises Donghyuck is not by what he sees, but by who he sees. 

He runs his tongue across the inside of his cheek and a smirk follows when he realises who he’s about to make a transaction with. He raises a brow as a he rests his hands on either sides of his hips, tapping his foot on the gravel three times. 

“You’re Charlie?” 

The woman in front of him tips her head upwards, raising her chin as she inhales a breath, crossing her arms across her chest in the process. 

“And you’re eighteen minutes late.” 

Renjun and Jaemin stop right behind Donghyuck as they place the crates on the ground in front of them. He’s just as surprised as Jeno when their eyes widen, their attention falling on the woman who appears to be the leader of the two men on either side of her. 

This was definitely a first. 

Donghyuck frowns when she retaliates, not only was she meeting a female leader of a mafia for the first time, she was calling into question his authority of the situation too. Donghyuck suddenly feels threatened, and it hasn’t even been five minutes yet and she’s barely spoken a few words. But Donghyuck is convinced it’s because of the way she’s looking, no, glaring at him from where she stands, facial features sharp that make her look extra aggressive. Her orbs are dark, the dark shadows on her lids adding to the intensity of her stare with her black hair tied up neatly in a ponytail, loose curls falling just past her shoulders. When Donghyuck eyes her up and down discretely, he realises they’re wearing almost the exact same clothes, all black from head to toe, topped with a leather jacket that hugs her body perfectly that he can't seem to take his eyes off of her. 

Jaemin blinks from behind Donghyuck when he notices how long the silence has stretched on and how his friend is just only ever gawking at her. So Jaemin nudges Donghyuck using his elbow to hopefully snap him out of his trance. 

Donghyuck’s throat runs dry and he coughs when he finally comes back to his senses. Straightening himself up, he reminds himself what he’s here for and that he wants to finish strong, just like how he always does. 

“Better late than never, right?” Donghyuck challenges, his voice mocking. 

But Charlie does not look amused, she doesn’t even twitch a muscle, just continues to stare at Donghyuck like he’s the most absurd creature she’s ever seen. And this puts Donghyuck on edge even more, more than he’ll ever admit. 

“Either you arrive on time or never come at all,” Charlie replies calmly, pulling the sleeve of her jacket to briefly glance at the watch on her wrist. “My time is too valuable for people who can’t respect it.” 

Renjun makes eye contact with Jeno and they both share unsure looks with each other, already knowing Donghyuck was going to have a hard time dealing with the lady who’s probably making him sweat by now.

Donghyuck is never nervous nor intimated, and absolutely never both at the same time. But Charlie has made history tonight because those two are exactly what he’s feeling. And it feels so unfamiliar it makes the hairs on his skin stand. 

Donghyuck clears his throat again and it only makes the three boys behind him even more nervous. “So then why don't we get this transaction on the road so that we no longer “waste” your time?” Donghyuck attempts to fight back, making sure to use quotation marks as a way of obviously mocking her in attempts of masking what he’s feeling. 

“Thought you’d never ask,” Charlie mumbles but loud enough for Donghyuck and the boys to hear as she rolls her eyes. 

Renjun and Jaemin push the crates to the middle, in between where Donghyuck and Charlie stand. Charlie walks over to it, tapping both boxes with her foot before signalling her two men to step forward and examine the contents of each wooden crate. She doesn’t take her eyes off the two even for a second and when they're done, both looking back up at her with a nod to let her know everything in there is everything that was initially agreed on, Charlie nods back, the two falling in place behind her again. 

Charlie throws a black duffel bag on the ground and it lands right by Donghyuck’s foot. Donghyuck, taken aback by how laid back this person is, especially considering she might have a good idea of who he was and which mafia he belonged to, looks back up at her slowly after watching her toss the bag to him. 

“The exact amount is in there,” Charlie says, unbothered and clearly bored. “See you around.” 

There’s something about this woman that Donghyuck can’t seem to point his finger at, something about her that makes it almost impossible for him to take his eyes off of her and he’s annoyed with himself for feeling so... mesmerised by her, by her every word, by her every move. No one, and he means no one, has ever caught his attention this much before. So he continues to watch her, continues to examine her to try and find what it actually is about her that's gotten him in a tongue-tied mess, as she lowers herself, readying to pick up one of the crates from the ground, pulling both the sleeves up of her jacket in the process. 

Donghyuck’s eyes almost pop out of their sockets in that second. 

Because that’s when he sees it. 

The dragon etched on her right arm. 

The exact same one as his. 

Mark keeps you close, as close as he could possibly have you, pressed up against his body as you become oblivious to the world around you when you fall into slumber. He still can’t fathom that you’re here, with him, right beside where he can hold you like this, arms wrapped around your frame, your breath against his skin. And what’s even better is that every now and again, you’re scooting and shuffling in your spot, needing to feel more of his warmth unconsciously. He’s never been this close to you before, not even during all those times you shared shelter in the same roof and to finally be able to embrace you for as long as he desired, for as long as you needed him to, feels too good. Too good it doesn’t seem real.

But when you jolt under his arms, he knows it’s real.

And as much as he loved the idea of you right beside him like this, he hated the fact that you were suffering and hurting right before his eyes.

You startle in your sleep again, a jolt that’s stronger than the first, your body trembling from its after effects. You’re having another nightmare, Mark believes, and he’s almost sure it’s a replay of one of the events you’ve had to witness in the past few weeks. Nights have consisted of these, of him losing sleep just to he can make sure you’re getting yours, of him holding you close because you’ve told him it helps you sleep better, of your nightmares seeming too real you jolt awake in tears.

Mark begins to rub your back with his palm in a soothing manner in hopes of putting your nightmares to rest. The shaking stops momentarily and that’s when your consciousness brings you back to life, making you flutter your eyes open only to be greeted by Mark’s orbs that are already staring at you.

“Nightmare?”

You force a small smile before you move closer to rest your head against his chest, “Mhm,” breathing a sigh of relief at his warmth. “Taeyong, this time.” 

Mark has apologised to you a thousand times before, so much so that you’ve had to stop him from ever saying those words to you because even without vocalising how sorry he was, you already felt it. You felt it in the way he tended to all your needs during the aftermath of it all, in the way he looked at you with sad eyes and in all the ways he’s made extra effort to look after you even in the smallest ways. Mark didn’t have to say he was sorry, his body gave him away too much, it always has. 

But Mark has never felt even more compelled to say sorry than now, at times where you can’t sleep at night. Because at the end of the day, he will still always feel responsible for your suffering now, no matter how many times you’ve reassured him. 

“Please don't say sorry,” you murmur into his chest, Mark’s eyes widening at your words that correlated with his thoughts. “Please,” you lift your head away from his chest and crane your neck to look up at him, “Don’t say it.” 

And Mark understands. 

“Okay,” he breathes. “I won’t.” 

You let your eyes linger on his sparkling ones, captivated by the thousand galaxies they held, even in the darkness of the room. They’re searching yours, looking for something, anything he can possibly hold on to so that he doesn’t feel the need to say sorry any longer, something that can tell him you’re okay now. 

“I feel safe with you,” you almost whisper, meaning every word, gazing straight into his painfully crystal eyes that are reflecting you. 

Mark doesn’t move, letting the words sink in because if there was anything else in this world he wanted you to feel around him, it would be safety and security. And knowing that now, those words coming right from the deepest part of you, relieves him in so many ways he didn’t expect, from having been on edge the moment he chose to drag you into his life. 

He knows you mean it, but a small part of him wants to make sure, “You do?” 

You nod, bringing your thumb to swipe across his cheek repeatedly. “I do,” you smile, feeling him lean into your touch, “I feel the safest with you.” 

Mark doesn’t remember the last time he cried because he isn’t the type to and never in a million years did he imagine he’d be on the verge of tears from having heard those words come out from you. But then again, they’re words he’s been longing to hear, and it’s coming from the one person he’s always wanted to hear it from. 

“You don't know how happy that makes me,” Mark whispers back, a smile now lifting on his face, his cheekbones appearing in the dark. “That’s all I ever want.”

You mirror his smile, content to have put his worries and doubts to sleep, his smile reaching his glistening eyes. “Hey, what time is it?” You ask. 

“A little past two in the morning.” 

“Let’s go for a walk?” 

Staying in Johnny’s for the meantime house had a lot of pros, and one of them was that you had access to the beach in no less than two minutes. It’s a full moon tonight, the bright light it emits shining through the few clouds and reflecting right onto the gentle waves lapping by the shore. You’re warm in Mark’s hoodie, one of the many things you missed during your time apart and he reaches for your hand and laces it with his fingers, like it’s the most natural thing for him to do. But you smile anyway, because his hand feels warm in yours and he’s smiling gently at you with a gaze so soft it can melt your entire being. 

It all feels nostalgic, remembering the very last time you were here was with Mark and with the discovery of him being your soulmate. You remember how scared and confused you were then, wondering what the future had in store for you. But tonight, there was none of that. It felt right to be here, to be here with Mark and even though you still had no clue what the future held for you, you didn’t seem to mind it too much anymore, because you knew that you weren’t going to be fighting for your life anymore. 

You let your bare feet sink into the sand as you traipse along the shore, the stillness of the air soothing you, untying the knots in your muscles you weren’t aware had formed. Mark falls in step with you and you feel his eyes linger on you, not even one short moment passing where you don’t feel his gaze on you. 

“Mark, I’m going to melt if you keep staring like that,” you say without even looking at him, catching him off guard. 

Mark chuckles bashfully and finally tears his eyes off of you, “Sorry.” 

The sound rings in your ears and it makes your heart stop momentarily, remembering just how endearing this man was. No one speaks for a few moments, allowing the gentle sounds of the waves take over and that’s when you realise you’ve never really talked about soulmate aspect of your relationship with Mark, the only time it ever really came up was when he confessed. So you decide to ask him tonight. 

“Mark?” You call out, making his head turn. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course.” 

You purse your lips together as Mark anticipates your question before you finally muster the courage to ask, “When... you found out, about, you know, about me being your soulmate,” you pause, looking upwards to see him react. He only nods at you with a smile, urging you to continue. “How.. how did you feel?” 

Mark draws in a breath as he looks away from you, looking straight into the distance to help himself find an answer. He begins to think back to that time, when he unintentionally came across that picture of you and your mark. “I felt curious, I guess. I mean I never really believed in the whole soulmate thing you know? Or, well, I mean I didn't believe in it happening to me. I just never thought about it up until that point.. that I actually have one. But-- it’s not that I didn’t believe in them completely, Johnny found his.” 

“And then I found out you were mine. I felt shocked because wow, I actually do have one, someone out there exists for me. But then you turned out to be the person I had to...” Mark trails off and looks at you with a shrug of his shoulders and you get what he’s trying to say. “Fast forward, we began to live under the same roof, I got to know you over the few weeks that we had and if I'm being honest with you, I slowly started to understand why you’re my soulmate.” 

Your brows shoot up, your curiosity growing, “Mhm?”

Mark laughs to himself awkwardly, avoiding your eyes as he uses his free hand to rub the nape of his neck. “This is going to sound really cheesy. Are you sure you want to hear it?” 

You chuckle and urge him to continue speaking with a nudge, “I’m sure.” 

Mark blows air out of his cheeks and braces himself, pretending to stretch his muscles in the process. He gives your hand a light squeeze and you return the favour to let him know you're all ears. “Okay, here goes. Have you ever noticed the way I've never talked about my family before?” You blink and then nod when you have no recollection whatsoever. “Well, that’s because I don't have any. I’m an orphan. I used to live on the streets y/n, for a really long time until Taeyong found me. And that’s how I got into the mafia.. the boys have similar stories, and that’s why we owe everything to Taeyong.” 

You feel Mark hold your hand tighter and you prepare yourself for what he’s about to say next, comforting him by using your free hand to rub his arm. “That mafia, the guys, this thing that I do, that was all I ever knew growing up. I didn’t have anything else. And I guess, a part of me, there was always, kind of, some place empty, you could say. I was looking for something I didn’t even know, just because, I didn’t feel enough. I- I, didn’t know what it was like to feel.. complete.” 

Mark stops in his steps and turns to face you, your heartbeat pounding and your knees growing weak because you see something in his eyes you haven’t noticed before. “But then.. you. You changed all that. You’re my soulmate because, you,” Mark pauses to smile, bringing both of his hands to cup your cheeks. “You fill all the empty spaces. You, you make me feel complete. And for the first time I'm not wondering what I'm missing, because I finally have it, 

I.. finally have you.”

You’re not sure how you’re not crying yet but you can definitely feel the tears brimming your eyes. “God, I'm so glad you feel the same way,” you blurt out in a breath, half laughing to yourself incredulously. 

Mark’s eyes widen, “What?” 

You chuckle as your first tear falls, “It means I like you too, idiot.” 

Just when you thought Mark’s eyes couldn’t get any bigger, they do, “You do?” 

“Mark, I’ve lost count of all the times I thought I was going to die..” You start, just as Mark runs a thumb across your cheek to wipe away your tear. “And then I met you and a part of me, a big part of me wished and hoped my soulmate would’ve been you because God, everything with you just felt so right. I felt so safe and secure and it was a feeling I never knew existed but couldn't get enough of..” 

Your breathing starts to become uneven when the tears don’t stop, but Mark doesn’t drop his gaze and never stops catching your tears. 

“After years of running away, for the first time, I, I felt at peace,” you muster a weak smile, your vulnerability on full show.

You step away from Mark, using the back of your hand to wipe away the remainder of your tears. You turn your back to him and bundle up your hair to one side before you're tugging down at his hoodie to show him your mark on the nape of your neck. Mark, having seen it for the first time in real life, thinks it’s beautiful, that tonight, you've proven him it was actually possible for you to be even more beautiful than you already were. 

“This mark,” you say, your back still facing him. “Our marks, do you know what they symbolise?” You turn to face him again when he doesn’t answer, fixing his hoodie on your body. “It symbolises peace Mark, and it fits so well because you’re my peace.” 

Mark falls for you even harder than the previous times. 

“Why are you crying?” You ask with a breathy laugh, another set of tears falling when you see Mark’s. 

Mark laughs and is quick to wipe away his tears. He shrugs his shoulders after, “I don’t know. I'm just really happy.” 

You reach to embrace him and he holds you tight by the waist, nuzzling his nose into your shoulder and hoping for this moment to never end. You run your fingers through his hair, a sigh of relief and contentment leaving you to finally have everything off your chest. 

When Mark pulls away, his hands never leave you, lifting them both up to hold carrels your cheek and neck. He’s looking straight into your eyes, his orbs shining like they always do, and there’s so much adoration and affection in them and knowing that they’re all for you makes you feel overwhelmed all over again. 

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers, leaning forward to lean his forehead against yours. 

You close your eyes to relish in the feeling of having Mark so close like this, “Yes.” 

Mark takes another moment to study your features, mentally thanking the heavens for blessing him with someone as painfully amazing as you. 

Then he kisses you. 

And you swear that nothing has ever felt this right in your whole life ever. 

[its-a-secert01]

~A father’s Love~ Elijah Mikaelson

Really excited about this one!! Hope you enjoy! And remember Request are open!!!  ______________________________________________________

* “Elijah please I beg of you.” the woman pleaded with the Original   “Now Sarah you know I would do anything for your family but this..you know not of what you ask.”  “It won’t be for long I swear, I just need enough time to make it safe for her.”   “And who’s to say she shall be safe with me, you know how my brother Niklaus is he’ll use her as a pond in one of his games.” “Yes but I believe that you would do anything to protect her and that is why I trust you, after all these years Elijah have I ever asked anything of you?”  Elijah sighed “Give her to me.” the women put a tiny little infant girl in to the vampires arms, she cooed up at him and smiled there was no possible way he could let her here to be a lamb to the slaughter.  “Alright fine I shall keep her with me until your troubles are over.” he said looking back up at the mother, “Thank you.” she almost cried, she grabbed a bag full of dippers, bottles and clothes.  “Your a good man Elijah.” she commented as she handed him the bag, “Just promise me something?” she asked she continued after Elijah didn’t say anything “Promise me if anything shall happen to me and her father you’ll raise her as your own, you’ll love and protect her always and give her this when she’s ready” Sarah handed him a box inside was a necklace with a small gold heart locket on it “I want her to know who her mother was.”  Elijah nodded “You have my word.” he said taking the box after Sarah had said goodbye to the child, Elijah put her seat in his car an they set off for new Orleans.*  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “Daddy, daddy!” Leah cheered breaking Elijah out of his thoughts she ran over and jumped in to his arms “Hello darling.” he said kissing her forehead the 6 year old giggled “How was the park?” he asked  “It was great Uncle Kol went on the monkey bars.” she said smiling from ear to ear, “Oh did he now?”   “Yeah auntie Becks said he looked like a giant monkey.” Elijah laughed he loved to see his little girl smile “Well why don’t you go wash up for dinner it’ll be done soon.”  “Okay!” she chimed Elijah let her down and she ran to the stairs to go to her room.  Rebekah sighed leaning against the counter as her brother stirred sauce in a pot “I can’t believe how much she’s grown.” she said   “Yes.” Elijah said looking at her, “Seems as if I just brought her home.” he added   “Despite how i’d hate to ruin a good day we have a problem.” Rebekah said moving closer to him  “At the park Leah’s eye’s they...”  “They what Rebekah?” Elijah asked  

“They turned black, they where darker then the night sky.” she said just above a whisper “When did this happen?”   “When I said it was time to come home she didn’t want to leave she grabbed my arm and her eye’s turned black.” Elijah filled with fear “That’s what happened to her mother before she went mad.” he said  “But she’s only six! Those bloody witches couldn’t possibly be that curl.” Rebekah ranted “I’m afraid they could, was there anyone else at the park?” Elijah asked  “Not that i seen, you don’t think someone put the spell on her while we were there do you?”   “I think someone just activated her magic earlier then it should have been and cursed her to use it for wicked things.”   “What are we going to do?” she asked “We’ll have to find the person who started this.” Elijah said just then Leah came bouncing in to the kitchen holding the hand of her uncle Klaus smiling from ear to ear.  “Is dinner done daddy?” she asked “Umm yes dear.” he said Elijah placed a booster seat an Leah clammed up on the chair, “It smells so yummy!” She cheered.   “Can I have a drink with dinner?” she asked “After you eat my love.” Elijah said “But I want one now!” Leah wined   

“Now now little girl your father said after dinner.” Klaus spoke up, Leah began to breath heavily  and clinched her little fist, “I SAID NOW!” she screamed she pushed her little hand out in front of her, the table flipped over and Klaus went flying across the kitchen.  

“Bloody hell!” Rebekah said Leah turned towards her aunt with her hand still raised “Leah Sarah Mikaelson if you hurt your aunt, I’ll send you to your room for the rest of the night.” Elijah scolded the little girl lowered her hand and began to cry.   At that time a very Pregnant Haley walked in “What is going on?” she asked “I believe we have a little witch on our hands.”  Klaus said standing to his feet.  “Elijah?” she asked giving him a confused look Elijah sighed  “Her mother was a witch before i brought her to live with us, she suppressed all of Leah’s magic, Now I think someone has undone the spell and put a curse on her like they did her mother. She’ll use all her magic for evil and over time her ancestors will turn against her they’ll drive her mad eventually causing her death.”  Elijah looked down and brought his hand to his eye’s as whipping awake a tear.  “Well brother you didn’t think to tell us this could happen before, Oh I don’t know when you first brought her in to our home!” Klaus shouted scaring Leah she jumped down and ran to her father clinging on to his leg.  “Now look what you’ve gone and done.” Rebekah said to him, Hayley put out her hand to Leah, the little girl ran to the wolf’s side “it’s ok this isn’t your fault.” she said  “Uncle Klaus is just scared.” she added “I am not scare of a child!” Klaus fought back,  “Auntie Hayley can I say hi to the baby?” Leah asked Hayley smiled  “Of course.” Leah placed a hand on Hayley’s stomach and smiled when the child inside kick she got exited and giggled with joy “Ouch!” Hayley let out Klaus took a step towards her.  “I’m fine she just shocked me, when she got exited it was like electricity going through her hand.”  “Elijah she can’t control this!” Klaus said “I know brother I’ll work on it there’s not much we can do now. Leah darling why don’t you go to your room I’ll bring you some food in a minute.” Elijah said the little girl placed her head down “Okay daddy.” she said and made her way to the stairs.  Elijah rubbed the back of his neck and began to past the kitchen “We need a witch to undo a witchy spell.”  Klaus said  “Maybe devina will help.” Hayley added    “It’s possible but she herself is a young witch she might not know how.” Elijah thought more to himself “It’s worth a shot isn’t it?” she asked he sighed  “Yes I suppose you are right, Klaus talk to Marcel see if he can convince Devina.” Klaus nodded and got on the phone  “In the mean time I’ll try to keep her calm, try and stay away from Leah as best you can I don’t want you or the baby getting hurt.”  “She’s only six.” Hayley said  “Yes but a six year old with extreme power all coming on her at once as of right now she can’t control it, even if she doesn’t mean it she could still hurt you.” Hayley nodded holding her baby bump.  Elijah fixed the table and cleaned up the mess, he made Leah a grilled cheese and took it up to her room, when he walked in she was curled up under her blankets he could hear soft sobs coming from her.  “Leah darling i brought you a grilled cheese and some milk.” he said trying to sound cheerful  “I’m not hungry.” she mumbled “Come on you have to eat something.” he said setting the plat down on her nightstand and setting on the bed  “Darling It’s going to be ok I promise.” he added “I hurt aunt Hayley.” she cried  “Honey it’s okay she and the baby are fine.” Elijah said  “And what about Uncle Klaus he is going to hate me.”  “Oh that would be physically impossible love.” Klaus said walking in to the room “I could never hate you.” he added Leah climbed down from her bed and ran over to Klaus hugging his legs “I’m sorry.” she sobbed.  “it’s ok sweetheart.” he said picking her up, “Now I just want you to have something to eat and get some rest uncle Klaus and your father will make everything okay.” he said the little girl sniffed and nodded her head she had her sandwich and milk Elijah picked out her pj’s and got her changed an tucked her in to bed.  “Daddy can you tell me a story?” she asked “What do want to hear?”  “I want to hear a story about a princess.” she said “Let me handle this one brother.” Klaus said placing a hand on Elijah’s shoulder he kissed Leah on the forehead and said goodnight and walked out Klaus shutting the door behind him.  “Now.” he said sitting down next to his niece “Once upon a time there was a brave prince he was strong and noble everyone loved him but he had a secret.” Leah gasped “What was it?” she asked  “He had secret love for a princess, this princess was his daughter not many people new about her in fear his enemies would try to harm her or use her to their advantage so he kept her a secret, to everyone but those he trust...His family. And they swore to protect her from any and all harm.” Klaus took a breath  “But one day the princess grow ill and the prince was scared he would lose her, so they had to tell more and more people about her in order to save her from the illness.”  “Poor princess.” Leah said her eye’s starting to get tired “Yes poor princess indeed for she suffered a great deal but the prince and his family where able to save her with magical friends by their side and the princess lived happily ever after.”  “Did the princess have any brothers or sisters?” Leah asked “No but she had a baby cousin who she loved dearly and who loved her just as much.” Klaus said Leah smiled “good.” she whispered and drifted off to sleep.  ______________________________________________________________ Thought this be a good point to let off, I hope you enjoyed it!! 

[hellowkatey]

Febuwhump Day 9

Prompt: buried alive

Warnings: very brief mentions of panic attacks 

Read on AO3

All That Remains

Anakin Skywalker was never claustrophobic, but maybe Vader is.

He thinks this as he is encased in a medical tank, flooded with oxygen and bacta. The procedure is not as gentle as when he used to get it at the Temple healers. It's rough and frantic, his limbs, or what remains of them, being tugged in various directions with no regard for his burnt, raw flesh.

If he could scream, he would. The oxygen mask only makes it sound like muffled gurgling, and it only makes his lungs burn and feel as though they are deflating. Maybe they are. Black dots dance in front of his vision, sweet Force will they please put him under a sleep suggestion or some kind of pain killer?

Eventually, he does fall into unconsciousness, but he can't even be given a break in sleep.

Vader sees his face, standing upon the lava rocks Mustafar. His wretched mentor who left him for dead. Through his tear-stricken eyes, he told him he loved him, told him they were brothers-- obviously he meant the man Vader used to be, but still. Obi-Wan Kenobi walked away as he asked for mercy.

You were my brother, Anakin!

Not anymore.

He wakes up in a new hell. Lying on a hard table, still in agony. It feels like someone is sitting on his chest, but when he tries to look at himself to see the perpetrator he realizes he is not just lying on a table, but strapped down. Panic courses through him, making it feel as though he is breathing through a straw. Vader sputters, gasps, and then something is thrust into his arm, coldness sweeping through his veins, and the darkened room blurs into a darker void.

He sees his padawan. Former padawan. He used to consider Obi-Wan as more of a father than a brother because if anyone was Anakin's honorary sibling it was Ahsoka. Strong and snippy. Her departure was one of his biggest regrets, but the young woman she came back to be turned out to be his biggest moment of pride. Ahsoka is a firecracker, cloaked in a blanket of the light despite the injustice the Order did on her. He will never be as strong as her. He will never forgive himself for their bond that now hangs tattered in his mind like an exposed wire.

Vader is glad she is dead though. He isn't sure what he would do if he ever has to face her.

A blinding light. Vader opens his eyes and finds half a dozen medics surrounding him. Implanting mechanical arms and legs and electric nerves to the tattered remains of Obi-Wan's handiwork. Someone at least had the sense to give him drugs so he doesn't feel their surgeries, but his consciousness isn't appreciated. He feels nothing. Not his body, not the Force, not even a singular emotion. Vader is drifting through the twilight, just feeling the seconds of time in their entirety as they pass. It's tedious. Almost meditative.

Long ago, his mother used to tell him that one day he would count the stars. He would visit so many places, see so much of the galaxy, that he would be the first to know exactly how many there are. But in order to do that, he must practice. So Anakin did. He would play games while he worked. Counted how many people passed by his window, or how many times Watto swore during a workday. He even tried to count every grain of sand one day. Then he would go home and tell his mother how high he made it.

"Oh my sweet, Ani," she would say. "Every day you grow closer to having the patience and diligence to count every single star. You made me so proud."

Of course, her game was a tactic to keep his young mind off the horrors of their servitude. It didn't work-- Anakin was well aware of his status as a slave, but it did give him something to do. And when he did become a Jedi, he would look into the sky and count as many stars as he could see. Just for her.

Now he doesn't count stars, as there is no sky to gaze at. So he counts the seconds as they pass.

When his surgery is over, they dress him. He's stuffed into a thick, compression suit with cutouts where the new cybernetic portions of his body are easily accessible. Vambraces, thick gloves, black boots that fall below his knee. When a heavy panel is strapped to his chest to control his erratic vitals he longs for the body he once had. Never again will he move with the same ease. He will undoubtedly have to relearn how to wield a lightsaber. Despite the time he spent in bacta, his skin has lost the ability to feel as it once did. Warm sometimes feels cold, and cold feels like his flesh is burning off all over again. Never again will he be able to feel the breeze on his skin, the relief of jumping into a cool lake on a hot day. Or the silk sheets of the bed he shared with his wife.

Padmé. Guilt riddles him at their last interaction. His anger took over him. She wasn't supposed to be there. She was never supposed to see him like that.

He looks up as the sound of hydraulics catches his attention. From above, a black helmet descends. They told him his lungs are too damaged to not be on a constant respirator. They assured him the helmet would protect his skin and improve his eyesight. He knows these things, but as he watches it grow closer and closer, Anakin can't help but feel like this is the lid of his coffin closing.

"Padmé," he whispers to himself as it encloses over his face. "Help me,"

For a few long moments, before the respirator kicks in, Anakin Skywalker lays in his final resting place. He is surrounded by darkness, both in a literal and in the Force. His new suit is suffocating, feeling like he is being lowered into his grave instead of being reborn into the Sith Lord is to be. Maybe death wouldn't be so bad. He wouldn't have to live as half man and half machine. He could see his mother again. Ahsoka. Everyone else who perished.

Then it dawns on him. They wouldn't want to see him. His hands are covered in their blood, and there is no way back. He betrayed the Order. His best friends. Everyone who trusted and loved him. There is nobody to go back to, now.

Vader breathes. The respirator makes an exaggerated whooshing noise as he inhales and exhales, pushing fresh oxygen into his lungs. The operating table tilts his body back to a standing position, and next to him stands his Master, wrapped in a dark hooded cloak.

"Lord Vader," Sidious croaks. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes, Master," he replies between heavy breaths. For so long he has been unable to say a word, and now he finally can ask the question that has been sustaining him through all of this. "Where is Padmé?"

The beautiful thing about non-Force sensitives is that they have no concept of their presence in the Force. The Force is everywhere, flowing and surrounding every living thing in a special way. Just as Jedi could sense one another through their signatures, and subsequently block their presence from others, non-wielders also have a specific signature. They usually have no grasp of reigning in their signatures, so they are easy to distinguish. And then there are some who manage to project those, shining brighter than the others.

And Padmé, oh... if there were a star at the center of the galaxy, it would be his Padmé. He can sometimes feel her worlds away, her bright presence like a beacon made specifically for him. Padmé is his home, his love, and he will give his life for her to live, as he couldn't do for his mother.

"Is she safe?" he asks when Sidious doesn't reply. "Is she all right?"

His master falters a moment, his chapped mouth opening and then closing. His pulse quickens at the hesitation. "It seems, in your anger, you killed her."

You killed her.

In your anger, you killed her.

"I? I couldn't have," he rasps, his knees feeling like jelly all of the sudden. "She was alive! I felt it!"

But when he reaches out through the Force, drawing on the raw strength of the dark side to amplify his request, he doesn't find a beacon. He doesn't find his home. Padmé's Force presence has been eliminated from every corner of the galaxy. She's dead. He killed her.

His wife and his child are no more.

Something within him snaps. Maybe it's the last remaining strand of light. Maybe it's his heart. Grief clouds him, pressing on every wound and burn that covers his body because all of this was to prevent her from dying. This entire plan, his devotion to the dark side, and the fall of the Jedi were for the light of his life who he didn't even manage to save. Now he truly feels like he is being buried alive in the thick ink of darkness.

The dark side feeds on his pain. It wraps around him, but unlike when he would bask in the power of the light, the darkness just engulfs him deeper and deeper.

Everything around him is shaking and crumbling as he saturates the Force with his despair. Durasteel medical devices crunch as though they are sheets of flimsy, syringes explode, and he smashes through the restraints that bind his hand to the table. Though it is Vader's power, he recognizes Anakin is the one who wails, both for the death of his love and the last moments of his own existence. Without Padmé there is no more Anakin. Darth Vader is all who remains.

[hoodwinkd1]

Your Eyes Whispered Ch 8-10

Fic Summary:

Chapters 4-7 here. Ch 11-13 here.

Chapter 8: why they lost their minds and fought the wars

“His eyes fluttered shut a moment before his head hit the soft fabric, meaning Eris did not watch the massive blade appear above him and stab him through the heart.”

A burst of agony shot through her heart, jolting Rhia awake. She grabbed at her heaving chest, a scream stopping halfway out her throat, as her mind caught up to her instincts. As sudden as it came, the pain vanished.

“What the fuck?” she breathed out, blinking a few times to confirm that she was, indeed, conscious and no longer dreaming. A glance around the room told her that she had fallen asleep on the couch again, too anxious to go to bed, but too exhausted to stay awake.

The soft glow of the parchment caught her eye. Rhia snatched up the paper, cursing herself for missing Eris’ reply. She read the short message three times before her blood stopped pounding. Thank the Cauldron. He’d arrived back at the palace and had even reconnected with his most-trustworthy brother in the search for their mother. Rhia might have rushed to the palace and demanded entrance if not for that reply.

One worry aside, Rhia’s mind turned back to the phantom pain. She checked her body again, finding nothing unusual or injured. Running a hand through her knotted and frizzy hair, she stood up and walked over to the kitchen. Nothing would fix a mysterious, bad dream like a cup of tea.

----

Eris let out a weak gasp at the very real, very painful burst of agony that shot through his heart. The golden sword had appeared out of thin air, slicing through his ribcage and landing disturbingly near his most vital organ.

“Help.” His voice was soft, hoarse. “Lucien--”

Thank the Cauldron for Fae hearing. His brother shoved the door open, metallic eye spinning wildly. “Eris!” Lucien shouted, sprinting to the side of the bed.

“Don’t close your eyes,” Lucien demanded, placing his hands on either side of the blade. “Send a signal, a message, fucking something to the healers. Don’t give up on me now, you horrible prick.”

Eris took in a shaky breath, summoning his magic as best he could. He flexed his fingers and shot out a weak blast of fire that zig-zagged out of the room, hopefully heading towards someone who could help.

He could feel his power fading. “My...I can’t...healing isn’t…”

Lucien closed his eyes, trying to feel the extent of the damage. “Your healing isn’t kicking in,” he finished, his tone tinged with panic. “The blade is stuck, cursed to prevent you from removing it or stitching yourself back up. FUCK!” His long-hair fell across his face as he pulled and pulled, to no avail.

“Try something else,” Eris hissed. Dark and light spots danced across his vision. Blood loss would kill him faster than any nasty curse if Lucien couldn’t get the damn thing out.

The younger brother swore again. “I don’t know what else I can--.” He took a deep breath and focused both his eyes on the sword. Lucien tightened his fingers around the jeweled handle.

“I can feel it,” he murmured. Eris had no idea what had changed, but wasn’t exactly in a position to ask for clarification. “There’s a spell.”

If Eris could speak, he would have offered some sarcastic reply for that obvious answer. He managed a half-hearted eye roll instead.

His eyes started to close of their own accord. The sword had struck almost perfectly, killing him faster than anyone would arrive. “Lucien, you can’t let Auster--”

“Shut up. Shut all the way up,” Lucien snarled. Eris’ eyes flew open in surprise, only opening wider when he beheld the sight in front of him.

His brother’s hands had turned molten, shining with light as pure as day. Eris could see cracks forming in the sword’s handle, as jewels began to fall off. Lucien grunted, squeezing his hands even tighter, before letting out a large growl and yanking the sword fully out of Eris’ chest.

There were many ways Eris could have reacted to the anomaly, but his body chose to black out immediately.

--

The High Lord dreamt of dark brown lips and curly hair. He couldn’t speak, so he kept thinking of a name, over and over again.

--

Rhia.

Rhia dropped her tea cup, shattering the pretty little trinket on her hardwood floor. She whipped her head towards the door, expecting to see one devastatingly handsome red-head in her foyer. She swore she heard his voice calling her name, but her house remained empty of him and his scent.

“That’s it,” she declared, waving a hand to fix the cup and marching towards the front room. She grabbed a long, black cloak, placing the hood over her face. Even if she must break into the most heavily guarded building in the whole damn Court, Rhia would find Eris and get some answers on the oddity of the past few hours.

---

“Welcome back, my Lord.”

Eris groaned at the sarcastic use of his title, cracking his eyes open just enough to see Gerwin standing over him. His head ached at the tiny movement.

“What happened?” he asked, coughing to clear his dry throat. He didn’t sense Lucien nearby.

The weapons master shifted his weight. “Not sure. By the time I arrived, you were unconscious and beginning to heal. Lucien provided some additional medicinal power to close up the wound enough to transport you to the Hospital Wing.”

Eris let his eyes drift shut again. “Where is he?”

Gerwin coughed. “Well, let me start by clarifying that this was not my idea.” Eris growled lightly. “Fine! Some of the council decided to...restrain him.”

Yet again, his advisors proved to be the most useless and idiotic group of males in this world. “They’re all fired immediately, of course. Remove Lucien from whatever cell they put him in.”

His friend snickered. “I hope you heal quickly, if only to allow me to witness whatever shit storm comes of this whole ordeal.” He squeezed Eris’ shoulder once on his way out. A nurse quickly took his place, their practiced hands gliding over his chest to sense any lingering bleeding. They also placed a small cup of water in his hands, which Eris drank eagerly. He considered passing out again, but thought Lucien might appreciate his attention until he was no longer in prison.

Unsurprisingly, Eris received a truly unpleasant visitor only minutes after Gerwin left. Moris stalked through the door, black cape fluttering behind him. The male didn’t do himself any favors by dressing like a villain caricature and making melodramatic entrances.

“My Lord,” Moris greeted, planting himself next to the bed. “I heard you were awake. Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Eris smirked. “I never left, though I appreciate the sentiment. Is my brother out of bonds?”

The older male stroked his chin. “About that. We cannot let him free until we are certain he had nothing to do with this atrocious act. After all, Lucien could stand to benefit from your demise.”

So could you, you treacherous fuck. Eris held his tongue. “I am ordering you to release him or forfeit your position as an adviser. Any further questions?”

He enjoyed the gaping look on Moris’ face immensely. “My lord I--”

“And it’s Lord Lucien. Do you forget your place so quickly?”

Moris looked furious. He was saved from responding as a young guard burst into the wing. Panting, she bowed to Eris.

“My apologies for disrupting your healing, my Lord,” she managed between breaths. “Normally we could handle an intruder, but this one seems...different.”

Eris bit back a groan. He really didn’t have the energy to handle some overeager Fae trying to break into the palace, which happened almost biweekly. “If you’ll excuse us, I’m sure Captain Fern can handle--”

“She’s very powerful,” the guard interrupted. Her face flushed bright red. “I--I didn’t mean to interrupt you, but Captain Fern insisted this was abnormal. She made it to the third floor before anyone could stop her and it took seven of us to finally subdue her.”

Eris was relatively sure he had stopped breathing. He held up a hand to stop the guard from her rambling. Praying to the Mother, the Cauldron, anything, he felt for the unbreakable thread attached to his heart and gave an experimental tug.

Rhia was in the palace.

“Get out of my sight,” he snarled at Moris. “In fact, never enter it again. I want you and your fucking cronies out of my palace before dawn.” Turning to the guard, he pushed the blankets off his legs. “Take me to her and to my brother now .”

“What are you doing?” Moris sputtered. Eris ignored him. “You aren’t fully healed yet, sir!”

The guard, to her credit, didn’t waste a moment to stare at his blood-soaked tunic or ask if he was healthy enough to sprint through the halls. She turned on her heel and led him down several flights of stairs, nodding to her peers protecting the entrance to the dungeons. They opened the doors just as Eris swept through, pushing past two more advisers and four other guards that attempted to stop him. The bond pulled him forward.

“Open the gates,” the High Lord demanded, punctuated by a low growl. “Both of them. Now.”

Gerwin appeared at his shoulder. “Eris, you shouldn’t be up so quickly.”

He brushed off his oldest friend. The iron gates on two adjacent cells swung open. Lucien stepped out of one, giving his brother the dirtiest look he could muster. “Took you long enough,” the younger Vanserra mumbled.

Eris didn’t acknowledge him. A smaller figure had stepped out of the other cell, her face unreadable.

“Everyone out.” No one hesitated to follow the command. Eris’ tone promised swift violence. Even Gerwin took a step back, before Eris grabbed his wrist to stop him. The underground hall remained silent for several more heartbeats, until the retreating footsteps quieted.

Ever the obnoxious twat, Lucien broke the tension. “I saved your life one time and immediately got thrown in prison. Very classy, brother.” He gestured to Rhia. “Who’s the trespasser?”

“You’re covered in blood,” Rhia stated. Her face remained impassive, but Eris could feel a bit of panic from the bond. “Like, the most blood I’ve ever seen on someone who isn’t dead.”

This was shaping up to be the longest night of Eris’ life, and he’d slept through most of it.

He decided to handle one problem at a time. “Your hands glowed and removed an enchanted blade from my chest. What powers are you hiding from me?”

Lucien rolled his eyes. “I’ve never done that before, obviously.”

“Blade? In your chest?” Rhia questioned.

“Enchanted?” Gerwin added.

Could a person have multiple headaches at the same time? Eris rubbed his forehead. “All of you, we’re going to my chambers and discussing...well, all of this.” His gaze snapped to Gerwin. “Oh, and I officially fired all of the advisers, so you might want to start handling that.”

“Fantastic. Truly wonderful timing.” He shook his head. “I will be demanding an absolutely massive raise this year.” Gerwin turned to leave. “And a full, detailed description of the last few hours.”

Eris’ strength began to fail him. “Lucien, will you do the honors and winnow us upstairs?” He leaned against the cold, stone wall, not bothering to hide his weakness anymore.

Lucien raised an eyebrow. “Winnow my half-healed arse of a brother and a mysterious criminal up to his chambers? Sure, why not?” He grabbed Eris’ shoulder and held out a hand to Rhia. She squinted her eyes in suspicion, but took it anyways.

---

Rhia tried to keep her breathing even as Lucien vanished them. She detested winnowing with other people, hated how out-of-control her body felt. She opened her eyes to see a lavishly decorated room, covered with gold and red patterns. Several couches and chairs surrounded a large fireplace, nestled between ceiling-to-floor windows with the fanciest curtains she’d ever seen.

“And yet you always insist we meet at my place,” Rhia muttered. She almost jumped when Eris let out a bark of laughter, blushing when she realized the others could hear her comment. She turned her head, watching closely as Lucien helped him onto one of the couches. “What happened?”

All of her worry and panic came rushing back. A fucking enchanted blade. That explained the phantom pain and the discomfort she’d felt as the bond chafed her. It had tried to show her something was wrong, pulling her towards her injured mate. She even had to hold back a possessive growl at Lucien’s less-than-gentle handling of his brother.

“I think I understand it now,” Eris began. “Auster tricked me into leaving the palace long enough to set some sort of trap. Kidnapping our mother, I would guess, was simply a distraction.”

Lucien collapsed onto a maroon chair. “Then where the fuck is she? And why hasn’t he shown his face yet?”

“He’s waiting for an official announcement of my death,” Eris guessed. “Or to feel the mystical High Lord’s power come to him.”

Rhia cleared her throat. “As much as I hate to interrupt, someone needs to tell me how the hell my--the High Lord came to be covered in blood.”

Eris shifted his gaze to her. Her knees almost buckled, adrenaline leaving her body, as she scanned his face for any lingering pain.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized, sitting up slightly. “I should’ve started there. When I arrived in my room earlier tonight, a blade appeared and stabbed me through the chest as soon as I lay in bed. Lucien had to undo some sort of spell that made it unremovable and stopped my healing powers.”

Her knees actually did buckle at that. She stumbled backwards, fortunately landing on an armchair. “That-- I felt something a few hours ago.”

“Who are you?” Lucien demanded. “Eris?”

Rhia waited for him to respond, only to realize he was looking at her for permission. She melted a bit, at Eris’ willingness to put her needs first, even during this chaotic time.

“You can tell him,” she said quietly. Lucien looked at her again, his mouth opening slightly.

“She’s my mate.” Eris did not stop looking at her. “We haven’t made anything official yet. This remains a secret.”

Lucien stood suddenly. “Excuse me.” He stalked towards a door to the side, swinging it open to reveal a bathing chamber.

Rhia jumped slightly as he slammed the door shut. “Did I do something?”

“No,” Eris denied sharply. “You’ve done nothing wrong. He’s sensitive about mates.”

Rhia made a mental note to ask for more details later. “He saved you from the enchantment?” she asked instead of probing.

“It doesn’t make much sense, but yes.” Eris stretched his arms out, working out some kink in his back. “That kind of magic isn’t usually found in the Autumn Court.”

“What do we do now?” Rhia sunk back into her chair.

Eris tilted his head. “We?”

“Don’t even try to send me home,” Rhia warned. “I know we haven’t...made anything official, but I’m here now and I’m staying.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He shot her an infuriating smile. “Once Lucien calms down we’ll have to--”

They both froze in shock. The most beautiful female Rhia had ever seen winnowed in the middle of the room. She had long, blonde hair that curled perfectly, draping down her back, over a body that would entice even the most faithful male.

“You,” she hissed, pointing a sharp, manicured nail at Eris. “Don’t speak. Where is Lucien?”

Eris didn’t flinch at her obvious fury. “I’ll have to speak to answer your question, Morrigan.” The blonde snarled. “He’s in the bathroom.”

Rhia would find the situation humorous, if she wasn’t physically present. One of the most fearsome warriors of all time stood in front of her, threatening a High Lord without hesitation.

Lucien chose that moment to rejoin the conversation. “How did you get past the wards?”

Mor scoffed. “A nice attempt to keep me out. We’re going to Velaris, immediately.” She stalked towards the younger Vanserra.

He took a step back. “You can’t show up and start making demands. What is going on?”

“Elain sent me to find you,” Mor explained.

Lucien shook his head. “She wouldn’t just send for me.”

Mor sighed. “Something...happened to Carina and Elain saw that you would be the only one who could help her.” She snapped her fingers. “My niece is dying and you’re coming with me now.”

Eris stood up. “What happened to her?”

“I know you have some bizarre friendship with her, but you do not speak to me,” Mor growled. Her eyes widened as she fully took him in. “What happened to you?”

“An enchanted blade appeared and stabbed me, and Lucien saved my life” Eris snapped. “I’m betting the same thing happened to her, did it not?” He looked at his brother. “Go. Quickly.”

Lucien didn’t hesitate any longer. “I’ll be back and we’ll renew our search.” He grabbed Mor’s arm, and the duo vanished again.

Eris stared at the spot where they’d last stood, his chest heaving. Rhia felt for the bond, hoping he hadn’t ripped his wound open.

“Rhia, I am so sorry.” His gaze didn’t meet hers.

“You know infamous war heroes and are friends with Carina Archeron.” She smiled slightly. “I’m a bit shocked, but you don’t have to apologize for any of that.”

He still didn’t look at her. “There’s history there. A history that I haven’t shared with you yet, which makes me a wretched person.”

She shook her head. “You can share anything with me.”

“Not this,” he responded, then winced. “I mean, I will share this with you, because you deserve the full truth, but it will change the way you look at me. I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle that.”

Rhia stood up and walked over to him slowly. He tracked every step. “I told you about the darkest part of myself and you didn’t even blink. In fact, I’m pretty sure you told me you loved me.” She let out a soft laugh. “We have too much on our plates tonight. You’ll tell me after we bring your mother home safely, and I won’t look at you any differently.”

“You can’t promise that,” he whispered.

She raised her hand to his face, gently tilting it up until he looked at her. Finally. “I can promise that. Fortunately, my logic and rationality are completely compromised. Because I find myself in love with you, too.”

She didn’t wait for his response. Leaning in, Rhia slid her hand from his chin to his jaw. They shared a breath, a heartbeat, before she closed the distance and kissed him.

He froze for a moment, before placing one of his hands on her cheek and spoke against her lips. “A horrible choice, really,” he muttered, then kissed her fully.

Chapter 9: time moved too fast

HUGE TW FOR VIOLENCE AND MENTIONS OF BLOOD! I have put "XXX" before and after, but it's most of the chapter, so please don't read if that's a trigger for you.

Eris was reasonably sure the enchanted sword had killed him. It must have, since this moment could surely only exist in death.

His mate. His strong, fearsome, powerful, brilliant mate saying she loved him before kissing him.

If this was death, Eris didn’t really mind.

He moved slowly at first, giving Rhia time and space to move at her own pace. Eris’ hands slowly slid down her arms, coming in to grab her waist when she pressed herself closer to him. He let out a small gasp when she responded in kind, twisting one arm around his neck to grip his hair. Eris died a second time when he felt her lips quirk up into a smile against his.

“Sorry,” Rhia laughed. The sound raised him from the dead. “We have some larger issues at hand to focus on, don’t we?”

Eris pushed a curl out of her face. “Never apologize for doing that. But, yes.” They stepped away from each other slightly, both sighing softly at the loss of contact. “Hopefully, Lucien won’t take much longer in…” He trailed off. Eris cursed himself for forgetting that one of his best friends’ lay bleeding, in the same position he had been in mere hours ago.

“He’ll save her.” Rhia’s tone was firm, matching the hand she placed on his shoulder as she guided him back to the couch. “What horribly impulsive plan are you thinking up?”

“Nothing unnecessary,” Eris countered. “Gerwin already placed the palace under lockdown, shutting down all communication with the rest of the court. So now all we have to do is send out my death announcement.”

Her eyes narrowed. “To draw Auster in?”

Eris spread his arms out wide. “Well, I’m not actually dead am I? Though I wasn’t sure I hadn’t gone to some paradisal afterlife for a moment there,” he teased.

“That’s not funny,” Rhia huffed, crossing her arms. He held out a hand to pull her to the couch, which she refused. “Are you sure no one’s able to leave? Mor seemed to show up rather easily. And if word gets out that you’re alive---”

“Mor is more powerful than anyone in this building,” Eris insisted. “I promise, the announcement of my death will travel fast, too fast for anyone in this palace to deny.” He extended his hand more, quirking one eyebrow. “Come, sit with your poor, injured mate.”

She finally took his hand, failing to restrain a small smile. “Are you using your wound to entice me into coddling you?”

Eris grinned, before yanking her suddenly into his lap. “Is it working?”

He waited eagerly for her reply, continuously monitoring her body for any signs of discomfort or tension. Whatever snark she planned to throw at him was interrupted by Lucien’s return.

XXX (beginning TW: blood)

The tan male said nothing at their mildly compromising position. Eris noted his grim expression and bloodied hands, heart rate rising with worry. “Did you--”

“She’s stable,” Lucien confirmed. “The Inner Circle is acting more insane and territorial than normal, but Carina will recover in a matter of days.” He seemed to notice the blood on his hands for the first time, crinkling his nose in disgust. “I should clean myself up, but I’ll wait if we’re about to murder another family member.”

XXX (ending TW: blood)

Rhia controlled her expression with ease, but Eris could sense a wave of shock and horror through the bond. He hadn’t specifically told her Lucien had helped Tamlin kill two of their brothers on Spring Court lands, deservedly so, and hoped she wasn’t reconsidering their entire relationship at the moment. Eris also hoped this would be the last time him or Lucien had to kill a relative, not only because they were simply running out.

“I’ll send a note out right now.” Eris magicked a piece of parchment and scrawled a message to Gerwin. “Let’s hope the Court doesn’t get too excited over my demise; I would hate to let them down when they hear from me again.”

----

Lucien thought it disrespectful that Auster made them wait three tedious hours before showing up at the front gates, declaring himself the new High Lord of the Autumn Court. If a male put so much time and effort into overthrowing his brother, then he should at least be timely in seizing the throne.

XXX (beginning TW: blood)

The blood on his hands itched. No wait, that wasn’t right. His hands itched under the layers of blood. Lucien scratched his left hand idly, admitting to himself that his mind might be heading towards some sort of breakdown. It really did feel like the dried blood was moving, tickling his skin.

XXX (ending TW: blood)

Eris hadn’t brought up his newfound power. Neither brother had any sort of explanation for Lucien’s curse breaking abilities and neither brother wanted to uncover any new secrets at this point in time. Feyre’s face flashed in his vision, the memory of her sharing a meaningful look with Rhys when he yanked the sword from their daughter’s chest haunting him. Of course those nosy bastards would have a theory or know something he didn’t.

Maybe he should just go back to the human lands. Even the light scent of fear and apprehension from the mortals around him hurt less than the cold wall of separation he slammed into everywhere in Prythian. His life continued to be a series of lonely places, watching from the outside.

Eris’ snarl drew him out of his melancholy. For Cauldron’s sake, they’d reached the throne room while he drowned in his self-pity. Lucien steeled himself as he followed his brother past the guards, throwing a satisfied smirk at their wide eyes.

“Move,” Eris demanded. Everyone in the hall slid to the walls, some even kneeling at the sight of their clearly-not-dead ruler. Lucien admirably stopped his eyes from rolling at that.

Rhia and Gerwin had taken a secret passageway to a corridor that overlooked the throne room, only used by the elite guard to monitor from above. Lucien hadn’t expected Eris to allow his mate to come anywhere near the imminent carnage, but his brother had actually suggested she accompany the weapons master. Watching them interact was equally fascinating and agonizing.

The double doors swung open. Lucien wished he could frame the moment Auster saw them enter. His sociopathic brother usually kept an entirely emotionless face, never showing joy or fear or anger, until that moment when surprise took over his features.

Auster controlled himself. “Lying to your people now, are we Eris?”

“Stabbing your High Lord through the chest?” Eris retorted. “This will be the quickest treason trial and execution in history.” He waved a hand towards the elders that had assembled to hear Auster’s claim. “I would offer you all the chance to vote, except I fired you hours ago. Leave my damn palace.”

Lucien felt a small niggling in his brain. Two against one, truly four against one; the odds were not in Auster’s favor. And yet the twisted male didn’t make any attempt to flee or plead for his life.

“Tsk tsk, brother,” Auster clicked his tongue. “Is that any way to address the males that have served this Court centuries longer than you have?”

Did he expect them to fight on his side? Lucien eyed all the non-Vanserras in the room. Six old bastards made the fight seven against four, but none of the advisers would cause any trouble for even him, the lowly banished son. Eris could easily burn them to a crisp himself.

XXX (beginning TW: violence)

“Enough.” Eris drew his sword and sent a wave of flames down his arms. “Remove yourselves or stand against me, I really don’t care.” In a heartbeat, he’d launched himself at Auster, who raised a shield of fire in the last second, barely dodging the attack. Two of the advisers ran for the doors, wisely removing themselves from the violence. The other four backed away slowly, eyeing the brothers analytically as if to see who would gain the advantage.

Lucien’s senses went on high alert. His instincts jumped before his brain could register what had caught his attention, his left hand shooting a burst of flame to incinerate an arrow that shot at his face.

“Fuck,” he growled, drawing his own sword and launching himself towards Eris. The arrow had come from the secret corridor, which Gerwin and Rhia were allegedly defending. He blocked two more projectiles that aimed for his brother, his movements distracting Eris from making a killing blow. Auster’s allies were here.

Another adviser bolted for the door, which didn’t go over well with the hidden archer, who shot him down quickly before continuing to harass Lucien.

“Finish him already,” Lucien roared, the heat of his brothers’ battle stinging his back. His metal eye whirred around the room, anticipating arrows before a normal Fae would.

Auster laughed. “Am I to understand you killed our father? Your pathetic attempt today has me questioning if you were truly capable of doing it alone.”

Eris snarled in response. Lucien turned his head in time to see him throw a massive wave of flame at Auster. While the entire royal bloodline could defend themselves against burns for a while, a wall of fire would suck enough oxygen from their lungs to weaken them quickly.

“He has a protection spell,” Eris panted, keeping his vision locked on Auster’s attempts to escape the inferno. “I need you to break it.”

Lucien slashed another arrow. “I have no idea how to do that!” The temperature in the room swelled.

Eris glared at him. “My mate is running around a palace crawling with assassins and traitors while you whine. BREAK IT!”

One breath in. One breath out. “When I say, stop roasting him and turn your attention to the archer.” Lucien flexed his fingers, allowing the forbidden magic in his soul to run through his veins unchecked, allowing the secret part of himself that he never acknowledged to rise to the surface. “NOW!”

With a grunt, Eris shifted the flames to the hidden window, blocking any more arrows from landing. Lucien didn’t give Auster enough time to inhale before thrusting his hand around his neck and squeezing . He ignored the knife that rose up to meet his chest, only focusing on leeching the spell onto his own body.

The world shifted into slow motion. Lucien heard a yell from the brother behind him and a wheeze from the brother in front of him. He felt a breeze flow from his hand, down his arm, across his body, flowing over his heart at the exact moment the knife hit his flesh.

Time sped up. Lucien flexed his finger one more time and Auster fainted, gravity pulling his body to the ground. He heard a crash behind him, turning to see Rhia standing in the broken edges of the formerly hidden window, the archer’s body bleeding out on the marble floor beneath her.

“Sorry I’m late,” she breathed, only looking at Eris. “We ran into a few complications on the way.”

----

Eris wanted to stare at her forever, standing meters above him like the angel she might be. He gave himself one last second of adoration before forcing himself back to the real world. He spun on his heel and approached his brothers.

“Lucien.” He placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, afraid of whatever trance the male seemed to be in. “You can let him go.”

The tan hand unflexed, one finger at a time, and Auster’s body slumped to the ground fully. Eris didn’t hear a heartbeat.

“Are you injured?” He couldn’t smell any blood but… “I saw the knife hit you.”

“I stole his protection spell,” Lucien explained, stilling staring at the dead body. “Did I--he’s dead.”

XXX (ending TW: violence)

Oh Cauldron. Eris really hadn’t wanted his youngest sibling, his only true sibling, to tarnish his soul any further, had wanted to take that burden himself.

“Thank you,” was all he could think to say. Lucien finally met his gaze. “Please, stay here as long as you need. Just don’t...don’t feel like you have to run away.”

Lucien nodded. “I’m not leaving until we find Mother.”

Gerwin swept into the room. “I cleared the halls and sent out another notice, revoking your statement of death. Also, a messenger from the Night Court arrived and requested your presence at the border.” He took in the scene before him. “Unfortunately, they want you immediately.”

Eris squeezed Lucien’s shoulder and stepped away. “I’ll go at once.” As he passed Gerwin, he lowered his voice. “Make sure they both get settled for the night.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he stood close enough to touch Rhia again. Breathing in her scent like a pain killer, he reached out a hand. After so much violence, he wouldn’t blame her for retreating into her protective shell once more.

Delightfully, she took his hand and pulled him into a tight embrace. “Hurry back,” she whispered against his tunic.

Eris couldn’t and wouldn’t argue with that. “Will you stay?”

“Hurry back and maybe you’ll catch me before I leave.” She had the audacity to wink at him. He heavily considered ignoring Rhysand’s summoning.

Rhia released him and shoved his arm lightly. “Go be High Lord.”

Eris glanced around the room one last time, quelling his anxiety with the sight of his family alive and well. He blinked and the dense forest appeared.

Feyre and Rhysand watched him appear. His heart almost stopped at the Fae standing next to them.

“Mother,’ he croaked, almost falling to his knees at the sight of her. Two long strides brought them together, into a crashing embrace.

“My baby,” she crooned, pulling back to look at his charred and bloodied clothing. “My poor son. What did you have to do?”

Eris brushed off her concern. “Are you harmed?” He spared a glance for the couple across the border. “What happened?”

“She was being held in the Hewn City.” Feyre stepped forward. “Auster and Keir formed an alliance months ago. Our spymaster is creating a report for your Court with all of the details we uncovered today.” She let out a shaky breath. “Please, tell Lucien, we owe him a life debt for what he did today. If he hadn’t shown up, Carina would have…” Her mate stepped forward as she trailed off.

Eris looked at his mother. “We all owe Lucien more than he deserves after this week. What happened to Keir?” The asshole should have died the moment he sold his daughter into slavery, but there was no time like the present to rectify past mistakes.

“Mor and Azriel had no trouble handling his trial,” Rhysand commented drily, rubbing a hand idly on Feyre’s back. “Treason is a capital offense, after all.”

Eris nodded. “Interestingly enough, Lucien and I agreed. Auster won’t bother your Court ever again.” He shifted his gaze away from his mother, unprepared to face whatever emotion shadowed her face.

“We’ll be sending a summons for a meeting in the next few weeks.” Rhysand slid his hand fully around Feyre’s waist. “Your attendance is mandatory.”

The arrogant male winnowed his mate away before Eris could respond that of course, he would attend. The dramatic effect of it all almost made him chuckle. Almost.

“Let’s go home, Eris.” His mother placed a warm hand on his cheek.

Back to his throne. Back to the weight of his crown. But also, back to the only people he loved.

Chapter 10: one step, not much (but it said enough)

Eris released his mother as soon as they landed in the foyer. Their arrival turned heads, including Gerwin and the Vanserra’s head of household, Liang. The two Fae walked over to meet them immediately.

Eris stepped out of the way as Liang grabbed his mother’s hands. “What happened? Do you need a healer? By the Cauldron, Eris, what took you so long?”

“Hush.” The Lady of the Autumn Court squeezed her oldest friend’s hand. “Let’s not draw unnecessary attention to ourselves.”

“It’s your damn palace,” Liang muttered. “I’m taking you to the medicine wing.” She turned her sharp gaze to the males. “You have quite the political mess on your hands. Fix it.”

Gerwin blinked at her disrespectful tone, but wisely kept his mouth shut. Eris rolled his eyes and turned to walk to his chambers, waving at his friend to follow. Liang and her husband had served together as Generals in the First War, earning enough victory for the Autumn Court that Beron had offered them both generous rewards. The couple had divorced because Liang only asked for her husband’s demotion after he refused to listen to her and allowed the escape of several important prisoners. Eris could still see his mother’s face lighting up at the female general’s request, could still hear her requesting Beron hire Liang as their overpaid, under-worked head of household.

Gerwin had likely only heard of her battlefield prowess, but everyone in the palace knew to give Liang the utmost respect usually accorded to the royal family. Which she basically was, Eris mused, especially since she had moved into his mother’s chambers following Beron’s death. A topic he had no interest in probing further.

“The Night Court will be sending a summons in the next few weeks,” Eris stated. “Make sure you have some people available to run security checks on whatever location they choose.”

Gerwin nodded. “Will you want me to join you?”

Eris shrugged. “If you want to. I’m wishing for a calm, boring meeting, but imagine that won’t be the case.”

“Nothing delights me more than temperamental High Lords,” Gerwin grinned. “I mean no offense, but do you really want me in your chambers right now?” They’d stopped in front of the door. “I would guess you have...better things to do.”

“Don’t be like that,” Eris groaned. “And no. I’m ordering you to go away and get some rest. You’re on personal leave for the next few days after I’ve so horribly overworked you.”

Gerwin slapped his shoulder, a bit harder than needed. “Yes, yes you have. If you see a massive tab in your name racking up at The Oak, ignore it.” He stalked off, avoiding any denial the High Lord might have with using royal funds to buy drinks for the entire city.

Truly, Eris didn’t care. Gerwin could spend his money far better than he could. He only cared about the fact that he could smell someone in his bedroom, sense a warm presence that heated his blood and settled his heart. He pushed open the door, and Rhia spun around to greet him.

“Is your mother--OOF,” she sputtered, as he grabbed her into a tight embrace. “Hello to you, too.”

Eris pulled back just enough to rest his forehead on hers. “Is this okay?” he murmured softly. Rhia nodded, her nose brushing against his lightly.

“More than. You look happy.” She ran her hands up his chest, fingers dancing until they reached his jaw. “Tell me your mother made it back safely.”

“Yes, she’s unharmed and in good hands.” Eris leaned his head into one of her palms. “How are you? Today was intense.”

----

Rhia scrunched her nose at his question, drawing a quiet chuckle from his lips. She didn’t want to think about the ordeal, beginning with a fatal stab wound and ending with a murder.

“He wasn’t the first Fae I’ve killed,” she replied after a moment. “I’ll get over it soon enough.”

Eris sighed and pulled away. She almost protested, but he was only moving them towards the couch. “Not what I asked. How are you right now?”

She sat sideways against the velvet back, tucking her legs underneath her, dropping his hand to run it through her tangled hair. Unsurprisingly, her fingers got stuck only a quarter of the way down.

“I’m a lot of things. Happy that you’re safe. Thrilled that the prick is dead. Worried about Lucien, because he’s clearly not fine, although I know I just met him--”

Eris flicked her nose lightly. “Has anyone ever told you that you don’t know how to talk about your feelings? I asked about you. What do you need?”

Rhia frowned. “Pot, meet kettle.” She grabbed the hand that had flicked her and linked their fingers, letting them both drop to her thigh. “I don’t know. I guess, I think it would help me if I knew what happened. Everything before my arrival and everything after you left.”

She had never been good at naming her emotions or asking for something from others. Yet, as Eris began speaking, fulfilling her request with no argument, Rhia did feel the tension begin to leave her body. Her usual strategy, make sure everyone else is okay and deal with the private shit later, took a much larger emotional toll than necessary.

His story filled in the gaps in her understanding. She tried to remain impassive when he finished telling her about meeting Rhysand and Feyre at the border; he sensed her excitement nonetheless.

“You can never tell them how obsessed you are,” Eris teased, pulling their joined hands to his mouth for a quick kiss. “I’ll never forgive you if you inflate their egos even more.”

Rhia smacked his shoulder with her free hand. “Don’t make fun of me! It’s just hard to imagine that Feyre Cursebreaker just appears and has a conversation with you. You make her sound so normal.”

“Seeing the High Lord of Autumn isn’t impressive enough for you?” She could’ve sworn he pouted, actually pouted at her. “You never seem surprised that I’m normal.”

“I was a complete mess when you first appeared on my doorstep,” Rhia argued. “I could barely form a sentence or say anything coherent when you announced we were mates. Thanks for giving me absolutely no warning on that, by the way.”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t my brightest strategy, I’ll admit.” Had he drifted closer to her? Rhia found it a bit difficult to focus on his words. “I had pined over you for a century, imagined your voice and pictured the day I would officially meet you countless times. Can you blame me for losing all sense of dignity and propriety in that moment?”

Rhia gaped at him. “Could you try to be, oh I don’t know, less good at taking my breath away?” Eris’ eyebrows shot up. “I try to tease you about something and you turn it into a beautiful, heart-melting remark!”

“Are you asking me to not to say beautiful things to you?” Eris asked, his tone incredulous. “If it helps, you took my breath away the first moment I saw you, and you haven’t given it back since.”

Rhia ripped her hand from his to throw a pillow at his face. “This is exactly what I’m talking about!”

Eris caught the pillow easily and tossed it back to her. “I thought females enjoy compliments and beautiful prose. How am I supposed to impress you, then?”

“And what do you know about complimenting females?” Rhia narrowed her eyes in mock anger. “I thought you were tragically pining over me this past century.”

“Of course,” Eris acquiesced. “I haven’t even looked at anyone else in a hundred years. Maybe that’s why my attempts to flirt with you are so weak.” He glanced at the window briefly, drawing her gaze to the dark sky of night. “Will anyone worry that you haven’t returned home yet?”

Rhia sighed. She really did need to get back. Sofine would be out of her mind with worry and her students would expect to see her first thing tomorrow. “I should go.”

“Let me winnow you,” Eris insisted. “I know you’re more than capable but…” He hesitated for a moment, gaze sheepishly turning down to the floor. “I’ll feel better if I see you home safely, after all you had to go through today.”

She placed a finger on his chin, tilting his chin back up. “Please.” Grasping his arm tightly, however, she winnowed them to Malefic before his magic could spark. He let out a small gasp at the sudden movement, before shooting her a heart-stopping smile.

“More than capable,” he echoed. Rhia hid her blush by turning towards the door, removing her wards and leading him inside, neither one eager to end their time together.

They stared at each other, taking a minute to soak up the simple joy of knowing tomorrow would be better than today and that the story line hadn’t ended.

“I should--”

“Do you want to--”

A nervous chuckle. A confused glance. Eris cleared his throat.

“Do I want to what?”

Rhia rolled her eyes. “Would you like to stay the night? With me?”

Eris’ eyes widened. “Are you ready for that?”

“Not like that,” Rhia rushed to add. “I have a guest bedroom. I’m not… very good at sharing a bed.” She coughed once. “This is silly, we could’ve just stayed at the palace, instead of my boring guest room--”

“I’d love to,” Eris interrupted. “I’m sick of the palace. People always try to make me wake up early.”

It was such a small gesture, but such a lovely one too. Rhia couldn’t explain the fluttering feeling that came from having Eris spend the night, something that a normal couple might do. Even if they couldn’t share a bed and wake up in a tangle of limbs, having her beloved under the same roof felt like progress.

She expressed her thoughts in the only appropriate way. With a small smile on her face, Rhia stepped into Eris’ space and wrapped her arms around his waist. He responded in kind, reaching one hand up to cup her cheek, the other rubbing circles on her arm.

“Can I kiss you?” she breathed.

“Always.” He closed the immeasurable distance between them, their lips connecting in a way that sent shivers down Rhia’s spine. Kissing Eris felt like a dream, her body intangible and her mind foggy. The infamous prince of Autumn, the cruel son of a cruel High Lord, savoring her mouth like there was nothing else he’d rather be doing. She leaned even further into him, both their hearts jumping at the contact, before settling into a synchronized rhythm. Rhia heavily considered pushing herself in that moment, testing the boundaries of her sanity, and inviting him to her bed tonight.

Eris pulled away first. He placed a delicate kiss on one temple, then the other. “Show me my room?” His voice slid over her like a blanket.

“Follow me.” Rhia led him upstairs. She was equal parts disappointed and relieved that he’d asked before she could revoke her earlier insistence of different rooms. Kissing Eris should count as an intoxicant, she decided, prohibiting her from changing her mind on her boundaries. The thought made her chuckle.

“Will you let me in on the joke?” inquired the male of her thoughts.

Rhia opened the door to her barely-furnished guest room. “Maybe tomorrow. If you make coffee.”

The High Lord of Autumn pressed one last kiss to her unruly hair. “You drive a hard bargain, Rhia. Good night.”

Eris fell asleep quickly that night, the scent of his mate luring him into peacefulness. Rhia took a bit longer to succumb to exhaustion, however. Face blushing at her pathetic heart, she spent a good ten minutes writing down every lovely and romantic thing he had said to her that day. It was silly to think, but she couldn’t bear the thought of losing a single memory of this experience, of falling in love with Eris.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Deep and Rapid River, Ch. 7 [18+]

<- Chapter 6 | Chapter 8 ->

Summary: The horniest chapter yet. And the beginning of the end. 

Over the next few weeks, your arrangement works out smoothly—or it seems to, anyway. The creature remains hidden in the hayloft, undiscovered. As often as you are able, you are down in the barn with him, lying in his arms, sharing books and stories, or listening to the low, raspy panting of his breath in your ear and feeling the roughness of his hands on your bare skin. 

Sometimes you cry together, frustrated and isolated, wishing the world you lived in was kinder, gentler.

And sometimes you dare to ramble in the woods, breathing the spring air and the changing harmony of scents of each new crop of flowers brings, listening to bird songs, and trusting in the solitude of the forest to protect you from prying eyes.

Every day his wound heals a little more. The bone-shattering gun blast which would have taken a regular human months to recover from—if they recovered—improves at an astonishing rate. Each morning you open the barn door to discover more of your chores have already been done, the dark-haired creature grinning proudly at his work, until one day, he had finished everything. You try to convince him he doesn’t have to do all that work for you, but, rubbing his neck sheepishly, he explains that it’s not so much a favor as a way to get you to spend more time with him. 

You have to admit, it is much nicer this way. 

Some mornings, you lie with your head in his lap in a quiet meadow you discovered along a solitary bend in the river. You gaze lazily up at your protector, his eyes bright as he weaves together the delicate stems of flowers. You had shown him how to do that—at first his large hands and herculean strength made him clumsy, and you giggled in commiseration, but soon he was gliding through the task as if he were one with nature, while you still managed to snap the stems more often than not. So you lie back and watch him work, smiling as he adorns you with spring. A crown of daisies circles his black hair. 

How could anyone ever be afraid of such a gentle creature?

He still cries at every word of kindness you have for him. He still can't fathom how someone could show love toward an unlovable wretch—how you contradict his reality by telling him he is not unlovable at all, but loved. He still feels a sick squirming in his intestines at these incompatibilities of truth. Liar! Contemptible. Disgusting. Unworthy. LIES! his mind repeats at every compliment you bestow, but he swallows down the bile. Somehow, you find him pleasing, he reminds himself. He doesn’t flinch away as you touch his face, as you press mollifying kisses to his lips. He swore never to hurt you again, and he intends to keep his oath. 

With no more manual labor to toil through, you are free to proceed with your pet project, as promised: making your dear daemon look human enough to be accepted by polite society. 

Your theory is, the creature’s grim, unnatural complexion and titanic stature played only a small part in the terrified reception he received from everyone he had met (save you). His tattered, incomplete clothing, wild hair, and general state of dishevelment added to the bewilderment. People saw a crudely-dressed outsider emerging from the forest, of course they were afraid—they probably thought he was a cave troll! 

But if you could make him look cultured and dignified… 

After all, Lazarus Colloredo, whose half-formed brother protruded forth from his chest, exhibited himself at royal courts. It was common in any city to see humans with unusual physical characteristics begging on the streets, finding themselves unwanted in more sophisticated circles, but at least tolerated, and not feared or driven away. That would be enough.

People would tolerate your companion if they believed his condition were a natural one he was born with… if you could dress him to look like someone who had been born. 

This proves easier said than done. 

You find a few old clothes that fit him with a bit of tailoring, but you're not the best seamstress, so the finished result is only a small step above the rags he'd been wearing. And since you're not a cobbler, he still has no shoes. He looks disarrayed, and he needs to be perfect for this plan to have any chance of success.

Taming his wild mane is at least a pleasant task. After an initial battle with the worst of the tangles—filled with frustrated tugging and snagging of the brush, accompanied by his jolting and pitiful whimpering—you reach a comfortable, methodical pace. His whole body shivers as you run the brush through his hair, letting out soft noises of appreciation. The greatest impediment to progress is that he enjoys it too much. You’re no help, either. His noises encourage your hands to massage his scalp and purr words of praise to him, trying to draw more little breaths and groans from him. Soon he has flipped around and has you pinned under him, whispering sweet, sinful desires into your ear, grinding his tented pants against your thighs until you beg for him to take you right there. 

It takes a few tries, interrupted by his superhuman stamina and overly-human desire for touch, but soon his hair is smooth as black satin, and looks just like a courtly gentleman’s when pulled back. Though he doesn’t like it pulled back. It exposes too much of his face, which, he points out, still looks like a corpse’s, and no amount of grooming will disguise that. 

Reforming his appearance is not the only difficulty plaguing your idyllic life. 

   ***********************

Bess stops by the barn to see you one afternoon in late spring. With the creature’s reflexes nearly back at full strength, there is little risk of being caught—he hears her coming and disappears into the loft without a sound. 

“Come out to the dance tonight!” she implores. “It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t know…” You fidget with your fingernails, trying to think of a normal-sounding reason you can’t make it. 

“Pleeease? I haven’t seen you in ages! Now that you finally dumped the loser,” she adds with a mischievous wink, “I've got a friend I think might be perfect for you.”

Ah, so that’s what this is about. She usually doesn’t push so hard to get you to socialize when you’re not in the mood, more of a you-do-you attitude. But she’s playing matchmaker now. “Oh, no,” you laugh nervously. “I'm not getting back on that horse yet, it’s way too soon.”

“It’s been months. You’ve waited an appropriate amount of time,” she crosses her arms, tilting her head to the side. “Nobody will think you indecent for moving on too quickly, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

Is it getting hot in this barn? You pull at your collar. It feels like it’s getting hot in this barn. “It’s not that. It’s just, that whole situation was a disaster; I don’t want to go through it again.” There. That technically was not a lie. You’re not lying to your best friend. 

“Come on, don't give up!” she slaps your shoulders encouragingly. “Love can strike when you least expect it!”

“Now that I agree with,” you meant to state without emotion, but you can’t curb the secret smile blooming across your cheeks.

Bess picks up on it instantly, her mahogany curls bouncing in shock. “DID YOU FIND SOMEONE?”

“W-what? Nooo!” you backpedal unconvincingly. 

“Who is it? Someone I know? Where did you meet them?!”

“Shhh,” you hiss, looking past her exuberant eyes over her shoulder to try and see if your parents had magically appeared in earshot, like a pair of demons summoned by the sound of secrets. “There's nobody, just... shhh!"

“So that’s how it is, huh?” she raises an eyebrow. “Well, you better not be getting into anything scandalous, young lady,” she warns, putting on her best impression of your mother, before breaking character with a grin and a laugh, bouncing on her toes. “Oh please just tell me it's good. It must be juicy if you won’t even tell me. An errant noble? A gypsy lover? A married man? A woman? A married woman? Tell me tell me tell me!”

Eventually she lets it rest, and agrees not to pry (or say anything). But your secret isn’t safe. 

“Come to the dance,” she pleads with you, back to the point of her visit. “People are starting to talk.” You’ve been acting stranger than usual. Keeping to yourself. Talking to yourself. 

So that was why she was so adamant about you going. The romantic interest wasn’t the reason, it was just the carrot. 

There are rumors that since your near-death experience, you’ve been haunted by something that followed you back from the other side. Your soul cursed by evil or some such nonsense. Ferdinand has been furious, and only making matters worse, adding fuel to the flames. Why else would someone of your station break things off with him? It could only be madness. 

“Of course all but the most gullible of us knew Ferdinand’s ravings were just jealousy, but… A few people are claiming they’ve seen the beast he described lurking after dark. I don’t know, maybe he’s putting them up to it...”  

A dagger of ice strikes you in the heart. They weren’t just rumors. The creature would wander at night—the only time it was safe for him to be out in the open. Or not so safe. You realize with a creeping dread down your spine that you have not been as clandestine as you thought.

You force yourself to laugh dismissively. “I’m sure if there was a monster, it would have found me and gobbled me up by now, don’t you think? So silly!” Ha ha ha. 

“You’re so rational! To be honest, I would be terrified just by the thought some creepy demon thing might be after me,” she shudders. “You have to explain to everyone else what you just told me. Make an appearance, show everyone you’re fine.” 

At length you relent, and go to the dance. 

Everyone stares. 

Nobody talks to you. 

Ferdinand is there, and you spend the night avoiding him. 

You miss the creature. 

You wish you hadn’t gone. 

  ***********************

 When you finally get to see him again after the disaster of a dance, sneaking down to the barn in the pitch-black of night, he’s currying down the mule by lamplight. A bright smile splits his face when he sees you come in—wide, and showing rows of white teeth, which, you wonder, might seem terrifying to someone who didn’t know him very well, combined with hollow cheeks, dark-ringed eyes, and sallow skin pulled taut over the bone.

To you, he looks like a field of sunflowers on a summer day.

The animals seem to agree with your assessment. Even the mule, who used to rear up and bray at the sheer size of him, seems to have finally been swayed by his courtly manners. Now it snorts its disappointment as he puts away the brush to greet you. The chickens come running up to him, clucking for extra corn meal, one landing and perching on his head in a flurry of feathers. Barn cats swirl at his feet, and the cows are already lining up patiently to be milked, appreciative of his efficient hands and all-hours schedule.

You remember when you first taught him to milk. Now he’s more at home here than you ever were. 

Unsettled by the rumors Bess had told you about, you pray nobody finds him. You pray that this can last. That he can stay here, smiling, until you’re ready to make his presence known to the town. 

You long for a day you wouldn’t have to hide—that you could live together like a regular couple. You wish the world could see him the way you do, that this fantasy could become something real. 

How could anyone ever be afraid of him?

    ***********************

He bolts into the barn, cloak whipping behind him, and skids to a halt over the hay-strewn floor, shutting the door quickly behind him. His wild eyes dart around the structure, adjusting to the dim light. When they focus on you, his body finally acknowledges it has found safety, and leans, trembling against the wooden walls for support. A frayed bouquet of wildflowers wilts in his left hand, stems destroyed in his crushing grip.

“Someone saw me.”

The pitchfork you were holding clatters to the floor.

“Who?! Where? When?? Are they coming? Are you alright? Did they hurt you?” You rush to his side, searching for fresh injuries, brain reeling with all the ways you were completely fucked.

It was broad daylight!

He hides his face behind a gangling hand, and tips his head down to get lost behind a forest of loose hair. “I… I do not know. A hunter?”

“What did they look like?” You reach up to grab his shoulders, trying to get him to look at you. His eyes are panicked and unfocused. You groan. “Not that it matters. Nobody in this town will understand. We have to control the circumstances carefully to introduce you without causing a panic. This is bad… If they followed you—”

“Fear in their eyes…” he murmurs, voice cracking. “Everyone who ever looks upon me has fear in their eyes.”

He’s still shaking, his face twisted up and on the verge of tears.

Oh. 

He’s falling apart and all you can say is “This is bad”? This is no time for you to start panicking, too. You take a deep breath, and put a steadying hand on his arm. “Hey, it’s going to be OK,” you force a smile. “There have been rumors about you since I fell in the river—lots of people claim they saw you—this doesn’t change anything. We’re OK.”

“So much fear. That look of terror… Is that how I am meant to be looked at?” he collapses to his knees, letting his nails scrape down the wall as he sinks, the forgotten flowers dropping in a heap by his side as tears begin freely flowing down his cheeks. “How could I forget I am nothing more than a blot upon the earth? A sight to be abhorred.”

You wish you could swallow him up in your arms—cradle him like he does you. You give it your best try, spreading your arms wide and draping your whole body like a second cloak over his enormous, curled form. He rocks, continuing to mutter that he is a wretched thing made to be hated, while you whisper and hum soothing noises, rubbing his back.

“Look at me…” you whisper over his shoulder, gently tipping his chin toward you. He obeys, eyes dull and glassy as they meet yours. You smile, trying to pour every bit of love you feel for him into it, so even from whatever dismal well his heart has sunk to the bottom of, it will radiate affection to him like the sun.

For an instant, his tears stop actively flowing as he observes you. “Except for you. The way you look at me is so different.”

“This is how you're meant to be looked at.”

He chokes and turns away, rubbing his eyes. You circle around to his front, and lean your forehead against his. He looks at you again, a little calmer now. The adoration in your eyes is almost too much for him to bear, but he tries to smile back. The attempt shatters your heart. 

“Oh, you kind, benevolent angel, blessing this foul villain with such a favorable gaze.”

“My wonderful, powerful protector,” you coo softly. You move to sit, and he instinctively makes room for you on his lap—muscle memory of the way you fit together—holding you comfortably in his strong arms. “So sweet and gentle.” Your voice dips flirtatiously, and you touch a hand to his cheek, serenely caressing his jawline.

“How can you look at me like that, in spite of all my flaws?”

The answer spills from your mouth with an infatuated grin before you have a chance to think. “You don’t have flaws. You’re perfect!”

He frowns.

The frown deepens until it nearly becomes a scowl, and he closes his narrowed eyes against the feeling threatening to boil out.

“Please stop that,” he removes your hand from his cheek. “Do not pretend I am not what I am. It is… mockery.”

Shit. You got carried away. Of course he would take that the wrong way. You had to be careful about paying compliments to his body, they hurt him. The cruelest words of insult wouldn’t sting half as much as calling him handsome. But you don’t want to apologize this time. After all, you meant it.

“My beloved,” you stroke his face with the hand he didn’t have restrained, determined to beat down his walls of insecurity with relentless affection. His neck and the tips of his ears redden with heat. “I—”

“Do not flatter me with sugared lies, and ignore the truth,” he interrupts, the tremor returned to his voice. “I know what I am. Being pitied is enough for a wretch like me; it is enough that you endure this unsightly visage without hating its owner. Do not pretend you cannot see me. It is worse to pretend.”

Your throat tightens, and a prickling of tears threatens your eyes, but you don’t cry. It’s heartbreaking that he still thinks of his body as something you have to endure. That you only put up with it, rather than adore it as you do. But he is stubborn in his hatred for his creator’s work. To explain your feelings to him, you will have to choose your words carefully.

“It’s not that I don’t see you, or your scars. I have eyes. I know most people are frightened by your appearance, and I know you’ve suffered horribly because of it. I should have realized you would think I was teasing you to say you’re perfect, but… I mean it.

“You are my heart’s gleam, my gentle dove. My beloved daemon. To me, you are the most wonderful being in all of creation. I am so happy to have met you, and to have had you in my life these past months. There is no one who lights up my heart as you do, none whose face it pleases me to see more. I am never more comfortable than when I’m in your arms, and I never feel so beautiful as when you look at me, nor so important as when you speak to me as if my thoughts matter. Your intelligent mind and poetic soul fill my days with wonder, and you make me feel accepted in a way I have never been before.”

You are stroking his face and the sides of his neck with both hands now, and he is melting into your touch, breaths drawing in slowly and puffing out in shaky bursts. You twirl a finger around a lock of dusky hair.

“I have never wanted you to be any different from the way you are. So I must conclude that the world’s measure of beauty is wrong—for you are perfect. Entirely, completely perfect.”

His head collapses into yours, leaning his forehead against you. He grips you tightly with both arms, squeezing you into his chest like he’s trying to absorb you. Warm, agitated breaths fan your face, and you feel his shoulders convulsing; you think he’s weeping, but then you realize it’s laughter.  

“I sound wonderful,” he says, a hint of pride licking the edges of his voice.

“You are.”

He kisses your neck, awing that you let him press his lips to you, then buries his face against your skin. “In books there is always passion, but... this is far greater than that. You are so patient with me. What did young Werther and Charlotte truly share? What did Juliet know of Romeo? Only the impulses of desire. You offer friendship, and I should like to spend my life repaying the kindness you have bestowed on me.” 

You hum with excitement. “Oh my daemon, my dove, my flitter-mouse,” endearments fall from your lips like apple blossom petals. Goaded by your words, he hefts you up with a now-familiar (yet still shocking) ease, an impish smile sparkling in his eyes as he bridal carries you across the room, ignoring the petulant clucking of chickens scattering from his path. 

“You are perfect,” he kisses your forehead. He sets you down on top of a storage chest, your back supported the wall. “And wonderful,” he kisses your nose. From your new perch, your hips are close to the height of his, and the outline of something growing at the front of his pants tells you exactly where his mind is heading. “And you are mine, yes?” He asks, voice heavy. Instead of kissing you again, he waits for you to close the distance.   

“Always,” you answer, stretching up to grasp his lower lip between your teeth, nibbling and running your tongue over it. He gasps at the novelty, and a surge of heat flares to life inside him. He moans as you tug his lip away from his teeth, and he chases your mouth down, a hand at the back of your head preventing your escape as he envelops you with a smothering kiss, his thick tongue demanding an invitation which you happily give, caressing your own tiny tongue on the probing muscle filling your entire mouth, wrapping your arms around his back as he consumes you. 

Finally he pulls back, a string of saliva still connecting you, a wolfish hunger in his eyes. “You’re mine, and I love you so much…” 

Love. 

You pant, hands curling through his hair. Had you said that before? Had he? Well, yes, you had used the word to describe your feelings, but never so directly. Never in a way that couldn’t have been intended as general, familial, platonic love. You never obfuscated your camaraderie and affection… but this felt different. Pointed. 

I love you so much.

You shiver with pleasure as his corpse lips trace your jaw and down your neck. He leaves a trail of tender kisses all the way down your arm, lingering to suck at the soft skin on the underside of your elbow. A sudden tightness builds in your core, accompanied by a sinful wetness that urges you to wrap your legs around his hips, hiking your skirt up above your knees, and pull him close. The pressure of his clothed cock—now fully erect—pressing into your inner thighs makes the urge worse. You shift to position the bulge against your aching clit, and rock your hips mindlessly seeking relief as his soft kisses up and down your neck and arms drive you into oblivion.

“I love you,” you murmur.

He stands straight, which makes you whine with disappointment as his warm lips leave your body, but he’s looking down at you with the softest eyes. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. “Those three words fill me with joy enough for a lifetime; and beyond even the veil of death, the happiness of that one utterance shall warm me for eternity. Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

A tingle of goosebumps spread up your arm at his sudden demandingness—the way he leans over you, a hand against the wall, voice thick, and low. 

“I love you.” 

“Again,” he commands, leaning in close to your ear, voice barely a whisper. He nips the flesh of your earlobe and your back arches involuntarily. 

“I love you,” the words brush against his cheek. 

“Again,” he sighs, before his lips fall on yours, swallowing your reply. 

You had been in the middle of refreshing the straw bedding for the cows when he burst in, and there is still a nagging at the back of your mind of what if he was followed? But no angry mob has appeared at your doorstep yet, and everything else can wait its turn. This is definitely… the most important thing on your mind. 

It is a soft kiss, as his usually are—gentle and careful with one so much smaller than he is—but grows in intensity, his tongue parting your lips, running across your teeth and plundering your mouth as you moan and twitch your hips. All his insecurity disappears with the noises and writhing he can draw from you, how eager and helpless you are under his touch. Every fear eclipsed by his burning need to bury himself inside you, and hear you scream out for him as he satisfies himself. 

His large fingers unfasten the lacing of your bodice with the same practiced ease as weaving flower stems, pulling down your blouse as his hot, sloppy kisses move from your mouth, over your jaw, and down your neck—this time leaving red hickies in their wake. You feel the direction of his mouth toward your exposed chest, and whimper in anticipation of the warm slickness in just the right spot. He kneads the fat of your breasts in his palms, his sucking kisses down your collarbone growing ever more needy, filling the barn with wet smacking.

With an electric jolt, his tongue finally reaches the sensitive flesh of your nipple, and you feel a flood of warmth surging through your body, curling your toes, and settling in the base of your spine. Your fingers curl into his hair, against his scalp, pulling him against the hardening bud, his lips closing over it, tongue making languid circles that make your head loll back, and your hips buck up to grind against him—but only meet the air. To bend his towering body enough to reach your chest, he had to adjust his hips away from you, and without the pressure of his erection to grind against your cunt felt desperately empty, aching for contact. 

“Ah,” you gasp, grabbing his hand and placing it between your legs, under your skirt, “P-please!” 

His lips pull into a smile against your breast, exposing his tongue as it flicks across your nipple, now bright red and sopping wet. A large digit runs down the length of your slit. You gasp and jerk into it, but his hand is already gone. He rubs the moisture between his fingers. “Hmm, already so excited,” he taunts in a velvety voice, switching to your other breast, rolling the first between his thumb and fingers. 

When did he get so confident? He used to follow your lead, waiting on you to instruct him. He was still terrified of the world, but with you… 

“Tell me what you want me to do,” he purrs, sucking your nipple sharply to draw another gasp from your lips. 

In your private world, when things got like this… 

You let out a strangled whine, moving his hand back between your legs. He lets it rest there idly, ignoring your frustrated, pleading groans and clawing at his hand to do something. He pinches a nipple, delicately tugging at it, slowly drawing his tongue across the other. 

“Hmm? You must speak up. I want to hear your voice.”

...He could be such an arrogant little shit! It’s so hot. 

“F-fingers! Please!” 

“As you wish.”

With a possessive growl, his long finger plunges inside you, moving in and out, getting coated with your slippery wetness as he treats your breasts as his playthings. You can hear his breathing increase, too, each exhale a loud snarl. His hips begin jerking in time with the pulsing of his finger into you, feeling the twitch of your velvet walls squeezing him as he drives you toward your climax—he imagines it’s his cock inside you, and suddenly, this isn’t enough. 

“S-so good. You’re so good,” you whine, eyes closing as you lift your hips into his finger, deepening every thrust. The heat in your core is building, coiling, tightening… You stroke his hair, savoring the motion of his head and the wet sucking noises at your chest as he sends wave after wave of pleasure through you with his tongue. You run your hand over the striations of muscle in his shoulder, over his healed gunshot wound, the feel of his skin and the sound of his ragged breathing sending you over the edge—

His finger pulls out. His tongue moves away. 

The release so close on your horizon fizzles. 

“Wah!” Your eyes shoot open, complaints pursed on your lips. Then you see the hungry look in his eyes, and a shudder runs down your spine. Maybe he’ll fuck you right there. By the look of it, his erection is ready to rip through his pants.

“Patience,” he purrs, swallowing the tightness in his throat—the only sign of his slipping composure. 

He spreads open your legs, kneeling between them, strong hands on your thighs helping you balance on the edge of the crate. His chest rises and falls slowly as he inhales your scent. “S-stop it!” you blush, squirming but unable to budge from his firm grip. Why does he like to smell you so much? You close your eyes and look away from the lewd act. He’s really changed so much, no longer so eager to please you that he wouldn’t risk drawing things out, or embarrassing you. He trusts you, that you’re never going to push away from him in sudden disgust; he knows you enjoy every minute of his attention. 

He extends his long, thick tongue, and traces it along your thighs, teasing you with nips and kisses. Your body shudders at the welcome heat. He’s become an expert on your body, listening to your breathing and waiting for exactly the right moment to finally taste your dripping cunt. Your fingers clench in his hair, urging him on, but he takes his time with a long, measured, broad-tongued lap down your inner thigh, his eyes watching yours, studying your reaction and giving a self-satisfied smirk at your struggle to contain yourself. 

“Please… more.” 

Slowly, patiently, he finally dips his tongue into your quivering, saturated heat. He lets out a muffled moan into you, savoring you, hands clenching on your thighs as he revels in it. You can feel that tension start to coil again, but he’s still taking his time with such an indulgent, unhurried pace, you’ll never reach the orgasm you were denied.

Your fingers dig into the back of his head and your hips twist in his vice grip, helpless to create their own pace. “Faster.” You try to jerk your hips against his tongue again, to no avail. “You feel so good, my love,” you coo in a honeyed voice, hoping flattery will achieve results. “What must I do for you to let me come? I’ll do anything. Please—faster!” 

In a blur of motion, your legs are over his shoulders and he’s standing at full height, large hands holding up your hips to his mouth, your back resting on the box where your ass just was. It feels like the wind was knocked out of you—you can barely breathe as he points his tongue into a stiff rod and attacks your clit with incredible speed and vigor. You didn’t know tongues could move to fast! His mouth is working magic, and the angle he’s holding you at somehow makes it feel even better. Maybe it’s the blood rushing to your head, or the way you have to look up at him, holding you as you dangle helplessly at his mercy, but you can feel your climax returning in greater force. 

“I’m… going to finish already,” you writhe and moan, cheeks hot. 

He doesn’t stop this time. “Come in my mouth,” he instructs, licking and lapping you deeper, faster, his own moans of pleasure lost in yours, crying out louder, thighs clamping around his neck, pulling him in harder, deeper, until your muscles convulse and you bite your lip to silence your shaking scream. He thrusts his tongue deep inside you, feeling your walls twitch around him, tasting your hot release coat his tongue. 

“Fuck, you’re so good. So perfect,” you praise as you start to come down. 

He’s not through with you yet, however. Not by a long shot. 

He keeps writhing his tongue inside of your still-twitching heat, then brings his mouth back to your over-worked clit, ghosting his lips over it, flicking softly and quickly with the pointed end of his tongue. 

You cry out in surprise, an unpleasantly strong contraction ripping through your body in protest. “N-no!” you try to wriggle away, pushing your arms out against him, but from your upside-down suspended position, the only part of him you can reach is—your heart skips a beat as your hand grazes his throbbing steel shaft. A renewed surge of heat flushes between your legs, overwhelming the over-stimulation with pleasure. You swallow. 

“Do you want more?” he murmurs, drunk on you. You nod breathlessly. You need him to keep going. To put that in you. “Good.” 

You grope blindly for the inhumanly thick bugle in his pants, and lay your palm against it, feeling its incredible length. The heat it gives off is amazing. There is a sharp inhale, and a hiccup in the steady working of his tongue. Not so easy to stay cool, is it? You smile, finally turning the tables a little. You rub his clothed shaft until he makes muffled whines into your cunt, and his hips start rocking against your hand as you stroke him up and down. 

This is heaven. He could live between your thighs, drowning in the taste of you. He loves making you happy—seeing you shudder with pleasure from his touch—and the power he has over you in these moments makes an intoxicating combination. You belong to him. 

“Do I make you feel good?” he rasps. You stare back up at him—his tongue stopped. You pull at the back of his head with your legs, trying to get him to start again, to give you what your body desperately needs, but he only looks at you with heavy-lidded eyes and tips his head to the side. Fuck, he’s cute when he does that. 

“Y-yeah.”

Lick. 

Your hips buck into his mouth in appreciation, an electric pulse vibrating down your back. 

“Only I can make you feel this way?” 

Oh god, this is the game he’s playing? You’ll say anything to get him to keep going, but the only answer you can make right now is a pleading, affirmative whine and a nod. 

Lick. 

That was good enough. Your eyes squeeze shut. You were so close again! 

“Only me?”

“Please don’t stop!” 

Not good enough. “Say you’re mine,” he purrs, “That only I can make you feel this way.”

“Only you!” you cry, squeezing your thighs around him, trying to pull him back in, “I’m yours! Please!” 

He smiles, and gives you a delicate swirl of the tongue, tracing your clit, then plunges his tongue deep inside you, fucking you with the large muscle, pulsating and tasting you, filling your longing core up with its heat. Oh god, it wasn’t as big as his cock, but the way it could move inside you was so strange and delicious, and the wet, hungry noises his mouth made sent you over the edge a second time, your hands grasping for something to cling to—one clenching the edge of the crate, the other gripping the outline of his shaft. 

He slips his tongue out of you, dripping with a mingling of your juices and his saliva, and puts it back to work on your throbbing clit without pausing. In its place, he soaks two bony fingers in your empty core. The fingers are cooler and less slithery than his tongue, but make up for it with length and firmness, reaching deeper, and hitting nerves that his tongue missed. 

“R-right there!” you squeal, voice shaking as he finds your g-spot. He feels your muscles twitching and pulling beneath his hands. Sucking hard on your clit, he pumps his finger harder in and out of your drenched pussy, focusing on that sensitive spot that makes you cry out for him, until you come again, your walls clenching and unclenching around his hand.

You expect a break after that. Your body is exhausted and trembling, especially in this uncomfortable—if arousing—position. But, whether he’s working off his earlier panic, or he just has that much more stamina now that he’s healed, he doesn’t stop. Instead, he adds another finger, stretching you farther and making you moan with the feeling of fullness. You don’t bother to protest or try to wriggle away, only whimpering praises and encouragement, eager for more. He builds you up and sends you over the precipice again, and again, and again relentlessly until you can’t stand any more.

Only when you’re shaking and soaking, so dizzy with sensation you can no longer speak, does he release his iron-clad grip on your hips and lowers them back down to the top of the storage chest, sitting you up with your back resting on the wall. Breathing erratically, he presses a tender but sloppy kiss to your lips, the flavor of you on his tongue. 

“This is what… perfection tastes like,” he pants. 

Settling between your legs, he finally frees his unbearably hard erection from its prison, the unearthly member glistening with precum and throbbing with pent-up desire. 

The storage crate is tall enough that he barely needs to bend his knees to achieve the right height, and with little need for adjustment, he’s rubbing his giant cockhead along your entrance. It feels so good, but your tired muscles are too limp to buck your hips up to help push him in, so you merely bite your lower lip in anticipation of being filled with him. 

After being forced to wait for so long, his cock aches to bury itself up to the hilt in you with one thrust, but if he just pushed it in, he might split you in half. He is your gentle creature, needy as he may be, and he can wait just a little longer if it means not hurting you. He rubs his shaft along you, coating it in your slickness with his hand, making sure you’re ready to take him. He pushes the head inside. A gurgled moan escapes your lips at the satisfying pressure. He studies your face. 

“Do you want me?” His hands trace over the bone of your hips, kneading the fat of your thighs. You nod weakly, and he pushes in farther. He’s spreading you wide, filling you so magnificently. This is what you’ve been waiting for. Yet he still waits, pausing for your body to adjust to his size. “Are you all right?” 

You put your hand over his, marveling at how much bigger it is than yours, and squeeze. “I love you so much. Now fuck me.” 

He lets out a strangled whimper of affection at your declaration, and jerks his hips forward into your eager pussy. A cry of pleasure and brief pain tears from your throat. Those words were all the encouragement he needed to become ravenous, nipping at your neck, pinching until a trail of red bruises blooms over your skin. Suddenly, you’re in the air, still fully impaled on his prodigious length, and being slammed against the wall. He begins pounding into you hard and fast, hands squeezing your hips and shoulder, keeping you effortlessly off the ground, while your legs instinctively wrap themselves around his waist, holding on for dear life as he fucks you into the wall, the sloppy sounds of flesh striking flesh filling the serene bucolic air. 

You hold him close, running your hands up his back and around his ass, feeling the powerful jerking of his muscles beneath the skin as he thrusts into you. So big. Everything about him is oversize, his arms, his cock, all of the scars covering his body… the textured discoloration of his skin. He did look devilish—but he was so sweet, and kind, and so, so passionate for you, he was more like a prince. Or, at the very least, he was your devil. 

Even in his lust-fueled frenzy, he notices you noticing him. 

Your eyes are undisguisedly observing parts of him he would rather not think about, and suddenly he remembers what he looks like—self-awareness lost in the passion of the moment returning like a revelation. What you see whenever he mounts you is a monster… and you still let him. You still beg him to. You moan, and whimper, and plead for more of him, your body at his command.

His grunts grow louder and less controlled, and each thrust of his hips sends tremors through the entire barn, little trails of dust and hay falling from the rafters. 

“How does it feel to be fucked by a monster? To belong to me?” 

It feels warm. You can barely articulate an answer through the fog. It feels rough, hard, fast, tender, passionate… 

His breath hitches, a low rumble in his throat, and you realize you’ve been muttering out loud. 

“You’re so perfect. So big. You know exactly what I want,” you run your hands up the misshapen grooves of his chest, struggling to keep your voice smooth and seductive as he knocks the wind out of you with each thrust. Compliments can often backfire with the self-hating creature, but in moments like this, you can praise him like a puppy dog and it gets him more red-faced than… than the fact that you’re fucking!

“You feel so good inside me,” you keep singing praises as he pounds into you, his grip getting harder and harder until you’re sure you’ll be left with bruises. “You're so big, you're filling me up. Nobody can do the things you do to me.” 

Finally he buries his head in your neck and lets out a full-throated sob, as his hips meet yours in a powerful thrust, burying himself deeper inside you than you believed possible. You feel the warmth of his hot seed filling you, so much of it that it overflows out of you and drips down your ass.

He doesn’t move. He pants against your neck, practically growling, arms holding you in place possessively, pinning you to the wall. You’re not getting down just yet. He wants to savor his cock buried deep inside your warmth for a little longer. You sigh contentedly, closing your eyes and leaning your head against his sweat-dampened chest. 

Exhausted and sated, his senses begin to return. He stares at the huge mummy-like hands practically swallowing your small body, your skin so elastic, vibrant, and alive in contrast. Softly, he asks again, absent any passion-fueled bravado, “You love me?”

“I love you.”

“Foolish girl.”

“You love a foolish girl,” you tease, grinning. You grab both sides of his face, rubbing your nose against his. 

“I do.” 

You could get lost in the little world the two of you share.

Unfortunately you were so engrossed in your own little world that you didn't hear the hens clucking as they rushed to the edge of the fence, or the cows mooing a friendly greeting to a familiar face.

You didn't notice Bess standing in the doorway of the barn until she let out a blood-curdling scream.

[morningfears]

In the Ring

Rating: PG-13 (There’s blood and violence!)

Summary: Calum hadn't been the same since she left. He was a shell of the man he once was, bitter and angry at the world. It was his fault, he knew that, but it hurt to know that she was no longer around. So when Calum gets to fight the man that encouraged her to leave, he’s out for blood. Her unexpected appearance, though, leaves him desperate for something else. | Underground boxer/vaguely mechanic!Calum. Ft. Descriptions of blood and violence. Language.

Word Count: 8.8k

A heavy copper tang hung in the air, thick and threatening to suffocate the horde of jeering spectators as they crowded the main floor of an abandoned warehouse. None of them seemed to notice the bitter stench of sweat and blood and if they did, no one said anything about it. Despite the harsh winter wind raging outside, despite the snow piling on the roof and the ice lining the roads, the warehouse felt akin to the center of the sun as they all crowded the makeshift ring and eagerly awaited the main event. They’d seen the up-and-comers, seen the cocky assholes who had nothing better to do than beat the shit out of one another, and now they were foaming at the mouth as they eagerly watched the makeshift tunnels for their champions to appear.

Illegal liquor, likely brewed in the dingy basement of the warehouse, coursed through their veins as shifty-eyed men spewed vitriol at one another. The liquid courage only served to fuel the flames of their bloodlust and kept them all hanging onto the edges of their seats as the clock ticked closer to midnight. These men, each with more money riding on this fight than any other, choked on their liquor as the women they’d dragged along shifted uncomfortably on their heels. The few children in the crowd, young adults by any other standard but children in the eyes of the fifty-somethings surrounding them, steeled themselves to watch their friends endanger their lives for a few hundred dollars as the chiming of a bell signaled five minutes until showtime.

The chiming of the bell echoed through the building. It carries with it the bitter stench of blood and sweat and enveloped every surface in the dingy old warehouse. Not a single room, not a single nook or cranny, offered a respite from either the sound or the smell and they burned themselves into the ears and lungs of all who dared enter the building. They left a mark on each of the inhabitants, chipping away at the decency of their souls until nothing was left but darkness.

The locker rooms, in another life filled with signs of humanity, were dark as the few remaining florescent bulbs struggled to illuminate even a portion of the vast, empty space. There were no windows, no exit doors, no alternate routes of escape. The smell was even worse there, decades of sweat mingling with new blood, but the familiarity was sickeningly comforting to the two men who paced the opposite sides of the room. A patchwork of sheets hung in the middle, dividing the room where a wall once stood before it was knocked down and stripped of actual, valuable copper, but it does little to mask the movements of either side.

Calum, as he paced the floor in the black gym shorts that had become his signature, could clearly see his opponent’s silhouette. He was illuminated by the cheap lanterns the promoters had set up to give their bare bones teams (most often a friend with a first aid kit) room to patch them up after the fight and Calum felt his blood beginning to boil. He’d never been one for senseless violence, every punch was thrown only to ensure the quick end to a fight, but he was itching to take a swing at him, itching to send him away a bloody mess, and the anger that consumed him almost scared Calum.

However, the thing that truly did scare him was the sound of her voice. Though she was speaking quietly, her voice barely above a whisper as she breathed soft words of comfort, she might as well have been yelling. Calum could pick out her voice anywhere, could hear it even when it wasn’t meant for him, and it made him stop in his tracks as fear shot down his spine. The anger that he’d felt building for weeks was still there, thick and bitter in the back of his throat and clouding his vision red, but the fear that she’d see him as a monster immobilized him. Her opinion had always mattered more to him than anything else and the thought that she’d see him for what he truly was, what he had become in her absence, sent bile creeping up the back of Calum’s throat.

A perfect storm of emotion roiled in the pit of his stomach. There was just enough blinding rage, just enough paralyzing fear, to keep his heart racing and the adrenaline flooding his veins as his manager placed a careful hand on his shoulder. Calum could hear the two minute warning bell, ringing hollow and loud and echoing through the humid halls, and he knew that it’s time to move. They were all waiting for him, waiting for the star of the show to enter the ring, and the icy prick of anxiety that he felt as he held out his hands for his royal blue gloves, something akin to stage fright, surprised him.

Calum had been doing this for far too long. He’d been fighting for longer than he ever imagined he would and it had long since gotten old. He didn’t register the jeers anymore, he didn’t register the taunts or the teases. He barely noticed the eyes on him and would be lying if he said he cared. The stage fright he felt the very first night, the fear and anxiety that saw him retching into a bucket and earning the laughter of what felt like thousands, no longer lingered in the pit of his stomach. This was standard now.

But tonight, knowing that she would be there, watching with wide eyes and bated breath, Calum felt the pinpricks of stage fright puncturing the protective armor he’d managed to build around his mind. The only pair of eyes that mattered, the only spectator that he has ever cared about or will ever care about, would be standing by the ring and he didn’t know how to handle that.

She’d only attended one match in the years that he’s been fighting. It was long ago, just after he’d gotten good enough to remain standing for longer than one round but before he could count himself among the champions, and it had upset her so much that the pair of them never broached the topic again. He thought that was partly why they fell apart, his desire to remain in this world and her need to avoid it, but he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that she’d managed to avoid this dirty warehouse for years, had managed to avoid stuffing herself into a seat beside some fifty-something creep and watching as he got the shit beat out of him. 

He didn’t like it, didn’t really want to think about it, but he understood why she decided to make an appearance.

Calum’s opponent, the man in red that he spotted walking down the hall just ahead of him, was once his best friend. Once upon a time, the pair of them had been inseparable and where you found one, the other was sure to follow. They spent nearly every waking moment together and swore that they would continue to do so for the rest of their lives. So it only made sense that Calum would end up falling for his best friend’s sister. After all, she was the only girl that he saw regularly. She was the only girl that he knew would be able to handle what was essentially a package deal and he was the only guy that her brother trusted enough to be near her.

The pair spent two blissful years together, in love and happier than anyone had ever seen either of them. They completed one another in ways that they hadn’t even known was possible and were two sides of the same coin that seemed destined for forever. But the future had always been contentious and their plans for life after graduation always seemed to be at odds.

Calum didn’t mind staying in their hometown. The idea of working in his father’s garage, living just a few streets over from his parents, and one day having children of his own didn’t scare him like it did her. To her, the idea of remaining there forever, stagnant and decaying, was like a waking nightmare. She wanted more for herself, wanted more for Calum, and she struggled to convince him to join her when she decided to move to Los Angeles for university. She begged him for months, cried until she had no tears left to cry, and spent every waking moment attempting to convince him that that would be the best move for their future. But when he refused, when he decided that leaving wasn’t an option no matter how hard life got, she had to let go.

When she broke up with him, Calum became a shell of the person he once was. When she left town, he became a recluse. The only time anyone managed to catch a glimpse of Calum was if they popped into the garage near closing time and even then, they only caught him if he couldn’t convince someone else to deal with the situation. Calum cut contact with almost everyone in his life, save for his parents and sister. 

His best friend had been the first to go.

Calum hated him for encouraging her to leave. Calum hated him for encouraging her to leave him. Calum hated him for being angry that he wouldn’t pack up his life and move to California. Calum hated him for calling him a coward and telling him that he was wasting his life. But most of all, Calum hated him for not understanding why he couldn’t just pack up and go. He hated him for not understanding that he wanted, more than anything, to be by her side but that he couldn’t hold her back.

Calum hated him for being her brother first and his best friend second.

He knew that the anger he harbored for his former best friend wasn’t fair. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that his anger was irrational and to continue holding onto it was petty and childish but he couldn’t seem to let it go. His life had crumbled over the two years she’d been gone, broken down bit by bit until all that was left of him was the steel frame of anger and bitterness that kept him standing, and he had a sinking feeling that seeing her would be like taking a sledgehammer to what was left of him.

It had been two years since he’d seen her face, two years since she’d been home, and Calum could only imagine that she was there to see the fight because of him. He could only imagine that she’d done her best to convince her brother not to go through with the fight over the phone and failed so she made the drastic decision of hopping on a plane. He could only imagine that she was just as afraid to see him as he was to see her.

Again, the realistic portion of his brain told him that she’d moved on. It had been two years, after all, and she hadn’t given anyone any indication of her desire to return to her former life. Her brother visited her for holidays, opting to soak up the California sunshine instead of subjecting her to the biting winds and miserable cold of her former home, and he gave minimal updates to anyone who asked. Conversations about her suddenly ceased whenever Calum stepped into a room but, through friends of friends of friends, he’d heard that she was doing alright.

After she left, he imagined her life without him on nights that he couldn’t sleep. He imagined that she’d go off and earn straight A’s, get herself on some dean’s list and stay there until she graduated. He imagined that she’d find happiness, real and true, in whatever form that happened to be. He imagined that she’d grow into the person she had always wanted to be, all poise and prestige and power that she could use to change the world for the better. 

He always told her that if she were a color, she would be yellow, good and bright.

She always told him that it was up to them to be the good they wanted to see in the world, otherwise nothing would ever change.

The moment that she left, everything changed and nothing had felt even remotely good since. His world, once full of love and laughter and light, felt empty and dull. Though she had always included him in her definition of good, he realized the moment she left that he was never even okay.

As he stepped into the tunnel, staring ahead at the crowd without truly seeing them, Calum thought that maybe for some to shine others must suffer. As the roar of the crowd began to reach his ears, the announcer telling them all to make some noise for their reigning champion, he thought that maybe his pain was necessary for her success. But as he began his walk, head down and eyes focused on the ground, the rational part of his brain told him that that wasn’t true.

She wanted him to succeed, she wanted him to be happy and live a full, fulfilling life. She wanted him to shine beside her and revel in the positive changes she made in the world. She wanted him to help her make those changes. It was his own pride, his own doubt, his own fear that kept him from doing so.

The suffering he’d endured was his own fault.

The moment he stepped into the ring, Calum lifted his head and tried his best to keep from looking around. He focused on the opposite corner, watched the stool that his opponent would soon occupy, to keep from searching for her. The knowledge that she was there was enough to set his body alight, enough to make him grit his teeth and wish for it all to just be over, but he still hadn’t seen her and he knew that the moment he did, it would all be over.

Despite his best efforts, it was as if the two of them were opposite ends of a magnet. His eyes were drawn to her the moment he so much as turned his head and he felt his breath catch in his throat as he met her eyes for the first time in two years. He felt a surge of regret wash over him; regret that he ever said no to her, regret that he ever stepped foot inside the warehouse, regret that he ever even loved her in the first place. She looked so broken, her once bright eyes dull with sadness. He could see the redness that told him she’d been crying, could see the bitter disappointment and burning anger buried deep within her, and he hated himself for doing that to her.

Calum had never been one to step away from a fight but in that moment, that was all he wanted. He wanted to run. He wanted to tear off his gloves and bolt for the nearest exit but that wasn’t an option. He couldn’t leave then, couldn’t give up, not when his admittedly misplaced anger was still winning the battle of hearts and minds. So he tore his eyes away from her, steeled himself in his own corner and let his manager talk at him as the announcer began to speak.

“In the black shorts, we have your reigning champion. Standing tall at six feet even and weighing in at one-hundred and eighty pounds, the heavy-hitting, king of mean; Calum “The Sensation” Hood!”

The announcer paused, letting the crowd cheer and jeer at their own will, and Calum paid it all no mind as his gaze drifted to her once more. She was standing near her brother, hand on his shoulder and nails digging into his skin as she begged him not to go through with the fight. Calum watched her mouth move, her lips forming desperate pleas to just let it go, and he ached to hear her speak to him once more. But before he could even consider giving up, Calum watched him nudge her away. He could see him gesture for his manager to get her out of the ring and Calum knew that the two of them were on the same page; they had to do this, they had to fight.

Calum’s eyes stayed glued to her as she climbed off of the stage. He watched as she stood beside another figure from his past, another old friend that he pushed away after her departure, and it pained him to see her digging her nails into her palm as the announcer continued speaking.

“And in the red shorts, we have your challenger. Standing at six feet and one inch tall, weighing in at one-hundred and eighty-five pounds, the quick-tempered brute; Ashton “The Beast” Irwin!”

The jeers grew louder and rang in Calum’s ears as he shifted his gaze from her to face Ashton. Though they lived only miles away and frequented the same bar and the same gym, they did their best to avoid one another. Calum, with his misguided anger and bitter resentment, and Ashton, with his justified anger and feelings of abandonment, had come to blows before. Shortly after she left, and even closer to the time that Calum cut Ashton out of his life, they met in the ring for the first time. It had been a blood bath, neither of them able to leave the ring on their own, and had been so bad that word spread around town.

Wherever the two of them went, whenever they occupied the same building, every eye in the place was on them just in case they tried to pick up the fight again. No one would’ve intervened, they both knew that, but they had enough respect for their families that they kept the fighting confined to the ring. They both itched to get back in together, to continue where they left off, but they’d frightened the townspeople so bad that they were barred from fighting one another. Now, with two years of experience under their belts and a need to crown a new champion out of the two of them, they were picking up where they left off.

Only this time, they were both acutely aware of her presence.

Ashton didn’t want her to see this, he didn’t want his little sister to watch him pummel the love of her life, but she insisted. As Calum had correctly suspected, she’d spent weeks trying to dissuade Ashton from going through with the fight. After Luke, one of the few people from home she still kept in touch with, called her to let her know about his plans, she nearly got on a flight that day. She remembered how bad the first fight was. She remembered the phone call from Luke, the tears that they shed and the curses she leveled, and she still wasn’t sure who she cried for the most.

Regardless of her meddling, Ashton was convinced that going through with the fight was the only option he had. He was convinced, or maybe he was trying to convince her, that finishing this fight would mean being able to move on. He was convinced, or maybe he was trying to convince her, that finishing this fight would free them both to potentially become friends again.

She wasn’t convinced that either of them would make it out alive.

When it became clear to her that neither Ashton nor Calum would be the one to say ‘uncle’ and give in, she shoved as many of her things into a carry-on bag as she could and took the first flight home. She hoped that her presence would be enough of an incentive for Ashton to come to his senses but seeing her, a stranger in her own home due to her reluctance to face Calum, only seemed to spur him on.

Now, she stood in the crowded warehouse with Luke by her side. She could see Michael, one of the few people that had managed to keep some semblance of contact with Calum, across the way and she offered him what she hoped came across as a smile. The bitter stench of illegal liquor, sweat, and blood filled her nose and left her lightheaded. She was stood in a pool of what she hoped was water but, judging by the rusty tinge, realized was at some point blood.

Time seemed to crawl as the bell, signaling the start of the round, rang. The sound, so close to her, felt so far away as it vibrated through her body. She felt as if she was an outsider looking in, a spectator to her life rather than the one living it, as she watched Calum and Ashton circle one another. She had listened to Ashton’s manager in the two days she’d been home, had listened to the plans the two of them concocted and the moves they planned for him to use, but none of the planning they did seemed to have stuck as Calum broke the stalemate and threw the first punch.

Calum’s gloved fist connected with Ashton’s jaw with a resounding smack. The sound rang in her ears and she recoiled as if she was the one who had been hit as Ashton staggered back. And from that moment, from the moment the first punch was thrown, it seemed as if neither of them would stop. 

Round after round, bell after bell, punch after punch; the match dragged on. Those who bet that Calum would knock Ashton out early on had long since ripped up their betting slips, stormed out in fits of anger as their usually quick to end things champion let the match run its course. Those who bet that Ashton would fold Calum in the fourth round had joined them, standing in the frigid winter wind with cigarettes in hand and curses on their lips. Those who bet that the match would last until one of them dropped dead, they clutched their betting slips in vice like grips and watched the white tarp bloom with patches of red.

Droplets of blood and sweat land on her, staining her pale pink sweater and dotting her cheeks, but she couldn’t bring herself to care as she watched the pair of them stagger. Ashton could no longer see out of his right eye, it had swelled shut somewhere around round four, and his left was soon to follow. Calum’s nose was almost certainly broken, blood dripping down his chin and torso, staining the mat and spraying those standing too close to the ring every time he tried to breathe.

Everyone left in the crowd was watching with bated breath, the jeering and shouts of delight having stopped when they all realized that they would be witnessing yet another blood bath. The room was eerily quiet. The only real noise was the sound of gloved hands hitting skin and grunts of exertion, save for the occasional gasp as one of them took a harder than normal hit. Luke held her hand tightly in his own, allowing her to dig her nails into his palm and squeeze his arm as she stared at the scene before her. He knew that she wanted to look away. He knew that she wanted nothing more than to leave and never look back, but she couldn’t. No matter how upsetting he knew this was for her, she’d be even more upset if something happened and she wasn’t there to witness it.

Calum was exhausted, running on fumes and desperately wishing for Ashton to just drop, but he knew that that wouldn’t happen. Ashton was, and always had been, persistent, stubborn to a fault and determined to go out with his head held high. And Calum knew that it wasn’t his fault they ended up here. The anger that once blinded him, the anger that raged in the pit of his stomach and was only satisfied when his fist met Ashton’s face, had started to ebb and he felt the guilt replacing it as blood began to drip into his eyes.

The guilt that he felt the last time the pair of them came to blows, the guilt that he felt when he watched her leave town with tears streaming down her cheeks and disappointment in her eyes, the guilt he felt when he realized that he’d ruined her life just as much as he’d ruined his own; it all crashed over him like a tidal wave as Ashton threw a haymaker and hit Calum square in the chest.

Calum met her eyes and even through the blood and sweat that clouded his vision, he could see the tears coating her lashes. He could see the dots of blood on her clothes and the blood on her palm from digging her nails into her skin. He could see the shaking of her limbs and the blood on her lip from biting it all night. He could see the fear in her eyes, a fear that she was going to lose someone she loved, and he knew that it was over.

Even if he won the fight, he’d still lost.

Calum had never given up a fight but for her, he’d do anything. Without losing eye contact with her, he let himself fall and remained on the ground in a pool of sweat and blood. He didn’t so much as twitch when his manager yelled for him to get up. He didn’t acknowledge the jeering of the crowd or the counting of the referee. None of that mattered.

He struggled to keep his eyes open and waited for her to understand. She stood there in shock, her mouth open and poised to rush to the ring, but he could see the recognition in her eyes. He could see the realization that he’d taken a dive hit her and as soon as he knew that she realized he had done it for her, he let his eyes slip shut and the exhaustion pull him under.

Ashton staggered in the center of the ring as Calum fell to the ground, confusion clouding his brain as he stared down at him. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he hadn’t hit him that hard and that Calum wasn’t as badly injured as him. He shouldn’t have fallen, not so easily, and Ashton didn’t understand what was happening as he waited for Calum to stand. It felt as if time had paused, as if someone had placed them in slow motion, and it still didn’t register that he’d won even as the referee grabbed his arm and lifted it above his head. 

It took hearing his manager shouting at him, feeling the older man shake him with a sort of pride that Ashton hated, to return him to the moment. Every muscle in his body ached, he could barely see, but he knew that it was finally over.

Ashton watched, blood and sweat obscuring his vision, as Calum’s manager climbed into the ring with Michael hot on his heels to help lift Calum. They managed to stand him between the two of them, both with an arm around his waist and him with one on either of their shoulders. Calum was limp between them, barely conscious as they pulled him out of the ring and guided him down the tunnel toward the locker room, and Ashton only felt emptiness as he watched them go. He thought that this would feel better, that it would feel like a victory, but it felt more like a loss than anything.

The roar of the crowd around them, the cheering of those who bet on Ashton and the swearing of those who bet on Calum, faded into nothing as she climbed into the ring with Luke right behind her. Ashton groaned in pain as she hugged him, not noticing or even caring that a bright red stain had started to blossom on her sweater. She had a towel in one hand, soaked with water, and a bottle of water in the other and Ashton didn’t have the heart to swat her away as she began cleaning blood from his face.

She didn’t move more than a few inches from Ashton as Luke and his manager helped him out of the ring. She kept dabbing at wounds, wiping away blood and frowning at already blossoming bruises, and Ashton knew that her mind was racing with a million different ‘what-if’s’. He knew that was desperate to get back to the locker room, knew that she was desperate to get a glimpse of Calum and see that he had at least regained consciousness, but he also knew that she felt as if her loyalties laid with him now.

The moment they stepped back into the locker room, he was ready to send her across the room to check in with Michael. When they stepped inside, Ashton was half-certain that the darkness was because of his swollen eyes but when Luke asked her to find another lantern, he realized that the locker room was empty and Calum was gone. Though it was hard to see much of anything, Ashton could tell that she was staring intently at the wall of sheets that divided the room. He could see the slump of her shoulders, the way she looked so deflated, and he could tell that she was disappointed and anxious. She wanted nothing more than to know that Calum was alright, or that he would be, so he nudged her away when she turned to him and attempted to reach out with her towel once more.

“Go,” he breathed, struggling to choke out the word before he coughed and spit more blood into a bucket near his feet.

When she glanced at him, hoping that he meant what she thought but still uncertain, Ashton nudged Luke’s leg. Luke nodded at her without looking away from Ashton and waved the first-aid kit in his hand. “I’ve got him,” he assured her as he cracked open the worn box and began rummaging through its contents for the antiseptic. “Calum lives in the apartment above the garage. Michael’s probably there patching him up but if he’s not, the key’s hidden behind a fake doorbell.”

She glanced at Ashton once more, met his eyes, and when he nodded, she returned the gesture. She wanted to hug him but didn’t want to risk hurting him further so she laid a careful hand on his shoulder before she bolted out of the locker room. She didn’t really care how she looked, covered in blood and frantically shoving through the still gathered crowd. Some of them attempted to stop her, congratulate her for her brother’s win, but she paid them no mind as she shoved her way out of the building. The garage was right down the street, barely a two minute walk, and the frigid air was something that she desperately needed to clear her head.

Although Calum had been under the impression that she hated him, that she had to for his refusal to continue their fantasy life together, she knew that she could never. She’d often found herself wondering why. For a long time, she found herself curious as to what could make Calum choose a life of pain and violence over one freedom and love, but she could never hate him for choosing to stay. She’d often wondered why he shut down after she left, had often wondered why he shut out every person in his life and became one of the biggest recluses in their hometown, but she never hated him for it.

She thought that it was because he didn’t love her. She thought that he shut down and let her go because he didn’t want to keep up the charade anymore. She thought that he gave up his life after she left because he no longer had to pretend for her sake. 

She thought that he he never loved her like she loved him.

Despite that, she always knew, even before she saw him again, that she still loved him. Whether it was because he was her first love or because they really were meant to be, she had loved him for most of her life and she was certain she’d love him for the remainder. Seeing him again, meeting his eyes and watching him take a fall just to end her suffering, made her realize that time and distance had done nothing to quell the intense love she had always felt for him.

If anything, she loved him more now than she ever had.

She didn’t know what she expected to find in his apartment. She didn’t know what she expected him to say, if he could even speak. She didn’t know what she even wanted from him but she felt the overwhelming need to see him and she was grateful that Ashton understood. The animosity between Ashton and Calum had gnawed at her for the past two years and it pained her to know that those two, once closer than brothers, had now nearly killed one another on two different occasions. She hoped that this would be the end of it, that even if they could no longer be friends, maybe they could at least look at one another without feeling blinding rage.

But most of all, she hoped that this was what let Calum return to his former self.

The sweat that had gathered in her hairline felt frozen as she climbed the stairs to reach Calum’s apartment. The two minute walk passed far quicker than she thought it would, though she imagined it was because she broke into a sprint the moment her feet carried her out of the warehouse. She took the stairs two at a time and only had to knock once for Michael to throw open the door.

Michael looked surprised to see her and paused in the doorway to stare at her. He didn’t move for a long moment, eyes wide and mouth dropped open, before the sight of her shivering sent him scrambling to invite her in. “Wow,” he breathed, his voice clearly conveying his surprise at seeing her on Calum’s doorstep, “I saw you, earlier, but I… It doesn’t matter, hi.”

“Hi, Michael,” she breathed as she fell into the hug that he offers her. He had once been one of her closest friends and it pained her to see him as a stranger. They were both silent for what felt like a lifetime, taking in the no longer familiar sight of one another, before the emotions weighing on her chest and the tears pricking at her eyes sent her searching for something else to focus on.

She allowed her gaze to rake over the living room. The walls were bare, a muted tan that Calum swore he’d never have in his home, and she was surprised to see not even a hint of his family in the form of photos or decoration. His couch was the same dark brown one that she remembered from his parents’ home and she thought that they must’ve given it to him and gotten themselves a new one when he moved into this place. Nothing about the living room screamed Calum, nothing about it screamed home, and it hurt her heart to realize just how much had changed in the past two years.

“He’s in his bedroom,” Michael told her as he watched her scan the room and her frown deepen by the second. “He’s awake and he’s fine, just tired and sore. I, uh, I think he’ll be surprised to see you. He didn’t expect to see you tonight, none of us did.”

She shrugged, not really interested in explaining herself to him, and hesitated for a moment before she glanced down the short hallway to Calum’s bedroom. “This feels like a bad idea,” she whispered, mostly to herself but somewhat seeking validation from Michael. She knew that she shouldn’t be there, knew that Calum had spent two years isolating himself from anyone and everything that could remind him of her, but she needed to know that he was alright.

She needed to see him.

Michael stared at her, eyes piercing and brows furrowed, before he shook his head. “Nothing has been the same since you left,” he informed her, his voice quiet. “Calum isn’t the same person that you were in love with and I know you’re not the same person he loved but I think it’ll be good for both of you. Even if it’s just to get closure, I think you need to see him.”

Michael watched her stare down the hall, fear in her eyes and shoulders slumped, before she nodded. She nodded resolutely, steeling herself as if getting ready for battle, before she breathed a quiet thank you and began to wander down the hall. Michael watched her disappear down the hallway before he stepped outside and took a seat at the top of the stairs to give them at least some semblance of privacy.

She stood outside Calum’s bedroom for what feels like hours but, in reality, was only a few minutes. She stared at the door, cracked just enough to see the darkness inside, and picked at a loose string on her sweater as she attempted to gather the courage to enter.

It felt strange, not being able to just waltz into Calum’s room with a smile and a giggle when he would inevitably reach out and tug her into bed with him. The weight on her chest presses down harder, heavy and leaving her short of breath, as she stared at the blackness beyond the door and wondered what she’d find. She wondered if he’d be angry with her. She wondered if he’d even speak to her. She wondered if he’d tell her to leave and stay gone.

She wondered if he’d missed her as much as she’d missed him. She wondered if he still loved her like she loved him. She wondered if things had been different, if she’d be lying in bed with him rather than standing in the hall too afraid to even knock.

She wasn’t left to wonder for long as the click of a lamp illuminated Calum’s bedroom. The first time she head his voice in two years was to hear him say, “Stop thinking and come in.” She hesitated for a moment longer before she pushed open the bedroom door and stepped inside.

The bedroom was just as bare as the living room. Same tan walls and no decorations. His furniture was, as she expected, the bedroom suit from his parent’s home and barely managed to fill the room. There was a bass in one corner, dust coating the shiny black instrument, and a collection of vinyl in another that looked as if it hadn’t been touched since it was placed there. The room looked barely lived in, lifeless and cold, and it was a direct contrast of everything she ever knew Calum to be.

But she supposed that Michael was right. Calum was no longer the same person she loved once upon a time, just as she was no longer the person that he loved.

Seeing him lying there, bruised and bloodied, brought tears back to her eyes. It pained her to see him like that, broken and beaten, and she wanted to look away but the moment her eyes met his, she had no choice. Calum frowned at the tears tracking down her cheeks, frowned at the sobs that she attempted to choke back, and breathed her name as a quiet sigh. “Sit down,” he urged, voice quiet and rough as he gestured toward the bed.

She kept her gaze locked on his as she crossed the room and took a seat at the foot of the bed. Though this was the closest they’d been in two years, it felt as if they were farther apart than ever. Neither of them knew what to say, neither of them knew where to begin, and the silence they shared was awkward. It had never been like that between them, had never been hard for either of them to express themselves to the other, but she supposed they were strangers now and that it made sense they could no longer speak so freely.

The only thing that she could think to say was, “Thank you.”

Calum knew what she was thanking him for. He knew that she was expressing her gratitude for him throwing the fight. He knew that she was grateful he ended things before either he or Ashton got too seriously injured, so he nodded. He nodded and watched as she dug her nails into her thighs, scraping at the denim of her jeans and struggling to find the words to speak.

He knew that he owed her an explanation. When she wanted to leave, he never really told her why he refused. He told her that he wanted a small town life and that he felt comfortable here but that was never really the case. It was always the case that he didn’t want to hold her back. He didn’t want to follow her to California only for her to realize that she could do so much better. He didn’t want to be the reason that she never lived up to her full potential.

He didn’t want to slow her down.

Calum wanted to explain all of that to her, he wanted to tell her that he only ever wanted the best for her, but the words wouldn’t come to him. He couldn’t find the words to tell her that he loved her, that he’d always loved her and would always love her, so he settled for, “I’m sorry.”

He knew that it didn’t even come close to what she deserved, that it didn’t come close to being enough, but it was a start. And when she nodded, when she whispered, “I’m sorry, too,” he could feel his heart breaking.

He’d spent the last two years wishing for this moment, waiting for her to come back to him and for them to fall back into their old routine. He’d spent the last two years hoping that she didn’t hate him, hoping that she loved him enough to come back to him someday, but the moment felt nothing like he ever imagined it would.

He’d heard Michael’s warning and though he hated to admit it to himself, no matter how much he still loved her, he loved the her he once knew. If she still loved him, she loved the him she once knew. They were strangers now, separated by two years and a thousand miles, but he wanted desperately to return to what they once knew. He desperately wanted to reach out for her, to kiss her and feel the heat of her body pressed against his. He desperately wanted to love her, to settle down with her and live out the future he always imagined. He desperately wanted to just know her again, to be amazed by her light and her grace, but he felt as if he has no right to ask for that.

It had been him who refused to be good he wanted to see in the world. It had been him who caused the negative change.

“I’ve never been in the position of not knowing what to say to you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she leveled a watery smile at him.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Calum assured her, his own voice betraying the pain that he felt. “You didn’t do anything.”

“I left,” she breathed, her heart breaking as she turned her head away from Calum to stare at the carpet. “I knew how much it would hurt you and I left anyway.”

Calum shook his head at her words, shook his head at the guilt he knew she felt, and said, “You did what you had to do. You were meant to change the world and you couldn’t do that from here. I understood then and I understand now.” He hesitated for a moment, his hands shaking and choking on the bitter sadness settling in the back of his throat, before he continued. “There was nothing here for you and I don’t blame you for leaving. But I couldn’t go with you.”

“Why?” she asked, her voice cracking as she lifted her head to glance at him once more.

Calum stared at her, his heart breaking at the tears tracking down her face and the quivering of her lip. He wanted to tell her everything, wanted to tell her that he was afraid and selfish, but he couldn’t. He knew that if he told her the truth now, she would only blame herself. She would hate herself for the spiral he’d fallen into and he didn’t want her to live with that guilt. He didn’t want her to feel anything other than happiness so he lied to her.

He told her what he knew she’d been thinking, what she had been afraid of hearing, for the past two years and hoped that it was enough to keep her away.

“I tried to think about a future with you,” he began, willing himself not to break as he blinked back his own tears, “but I couldn’t see it. We wanted different things. You wanted a big city and you had a million plans and I didn’t fit into any of them.”

“Plans change, Calum,” she whispered, her heart breaking as he worked to confirm the theory she’d held for two long years. “Plans change and futures are whatever you make them. We were happy. We could’ve made it work.”

The pleading undertone of her words made Calum’s heart clench. He hated himself for doing this to her. He hated himself for lying, he hated himself for making her think that he could ever imagine a future without her in it, but he knew that it was necessary. He knew that she needed to move on and forget that he existed so that maybe she could have the future she’s always dreamt of so he shook his head.

“No,” he whispered, “we couldn’t have. We were never meant for forever. We were convenient. You liked me because I was the only boy your brother didn’t scare away. I liked you because you were the only person who didn’t give me an ultimatum when it came to my friendship with Ashton. We were never supposed to last as long as we did.”

Calum bit his lip to keep from taking back every word he’d spoken as she exhaled. She sounded, and felt, as if she’d just been punched in the stomach, as if she were the one who’d just gotten out of a fight, and Calum wished he’d let the fight continue. He wished that he’d let Ashton finish him off. He wished that he’d given up a long time ago because it would hurt less than watching her cry because of him.

“You don’t mean that,” she whispered, voice barely audible as she glanced up at him. Her lashes were wet with tears and she was struggling to breathe as she attempted to keep the sobs at bay and Calum wanted to tell her that she was right, of course he didn’t, but he couldn’t.

“I do,” he sighed, his voice clearly conveying the exhaustion he felt. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, though he only wished she knew just how sorry he was.

“Don’t,” she choked, her jaw set and her hands clenched into fists as she stood from the foot of his bed. “Please, don’t. I loved you. I still love you. I know that I do and I’ve always loved you. It wasn’t convenient or easy. It wasn’t because I had no other choice. I loved you because of who you were. It was because you were good and kind and smart. It was because you cared, because you wanted to see the world become a better place. It was because you meant something to me. We were supposed to be forever and I don’t know if you’re just a really fucking good actor or if you’re playing some bullshit game but you can’t tell me what we felt wasn’t real.”

Calum was silent for a long moment, weighing his words carefully as he contemplated his response. He’d gotten better at hiding his emotions over the years. He’d gotten better at pretending that he was fine when he was a wreck. He’d gotten better at masking what he wanted in favor of what he thought he needed.

And he thought that he needed her to be alright without him.

“It might’ve felt real back then,” he shrugged, “but it was sixteen year old bullshit. We didn’t know anything about the future. We didn’t know anything about love. You can look at the past however you want to but you shouldn’t lie to yourself.”

As soon as the words left his lips, she stopped in her tracks and stared him down. He met her gaze, head on, and could feel his resolve crumbling. He wanted nothing more than to tell her that he didn’t even believe his own bullshit, wanted nothing more than to ask her to lie with him and love him. He wanted nothing more than for her to ask him to come back with her to California because this time, if she asked, he’d say yes in a heartbeat.

But before his resolve could turn to dust and before he could tell her that he’d only ever wanted her, that he’d only ever seen a future with her by his side, she nodded. Her shoulders slumped in defeat, her eyes filled with tears and her hands relaxed. He could see the blood staining her nails from where she’d dug them into her palms. He could see the shaking of her shoulders and the quivering of her bottom lip. But he knew that he’d won. He knew that he’d convinced her that her greatest fears were not unfounded.

He knew that she believed him, even if he didn’t believe himself.

“When?” she asked, her voice cracking and sounding smaller than he’d ever heard her sound. When he tilted his head in confusion, eyebrows scrunched, she continued, “When did you realize that you didn’t love me?”

Calum hated himself, he truly did, but the lie slipped off his tongue easily. “I don’t know if I ever did love you.”

And that was all she needed to hear. 

She nodded at this, a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding rushing out in a sharp exhale. She could feel the pain in her chest, could feel the burning anger and disappointment and upset bubbling in the pit of her stomach, but at least she knew now. At least she knew now why he so adamantly refused.

“I hope nothing is seriously injured, Calum,” she breathed, her body on autopilot as she wipes her cheeks and sent him a tight, lifeless smile. “I’m sorry for bothering you. Good luck with everything.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he watched her reach for the doorknob, “I wish things had been different.”

“You can’t help what you don’t feel,” she shrugged, her voice muffled as she covers her mouth. “But no matter what, I’ll always love you. And I hope that, one day, you find someone to really love and you make them as happy as you made me when you were pretending. Goodbye, Cal. Take care of yourself.”

Calum watched as she left his room, his eyes fixed on her back as she disappeared down the hall and stepped out the front door. He stared at it for a moment, waited until he knew she was gone, and turned off the lamp. He never wanted to lie to her, never wanted to cause her any pain, but he knew that her life would be better without him in it. They were strangers now, no longer meant for one another, and he didn’t even want to begin to think of what would happen if she realized that he still loved her.

She was made for the world, made for things much greater than loving him, and he knew that it would’ve been selfish to keep her for himself. She deserved to be loved and to love in return and he only hoped that one day, even though he’d lied to her, she’d find it within herself to forgive him. And maybe one day, after they’d both grown and matured and learned to love, they would be lucky enough to find one another to try again.

But until then, until the universe decides to reunite them, they both had to live with a lie.

______________________________________________________

Author’s Note: If this looks familiar, I wrote this sometime last year and published it on a different blog but it’s mine. I just wanted to experiment and write like no one would read it so I did. I really enjoyed this. I love a boxer AU.

[prophecy-is-inevitable]

Tourniquet - Part 1

Jim Mason x Named Reader/OC

(Jim is in his 20s on this fic. I know most people prefer Y/N or second person, but this one is hard for me to write and hits very close to home, so I gave the reader a name in order for me to feel some distance when writing. It also didn't feel right to wish any of these feelings on "you". Adding it under a Read More because of the possible triggers.)

Summary: While in an appalling rehab hospital, Jim sees another person struggling to deal with life, emotions, and the crushing desire to leave it all behind. She ends up adding a little spark of excitement to his usually mundane day and drawing his interest.

Word Count: 1, 888 (is a baby intro chappy!)

Warnings: SO. MANY. WARNINGS. Please heed the warnings, loves, and don’t read if anything will upset you or make you uncomfortable. If I have missed anything, please let me know so I can add it as soon as possible. Thank you!

Angst, Poor Medical Practices, Rehab Setting, Trauma, Drug Use, Drug Overdose, Withdrawal Symptoms, Suicidal Thoughts, Attempted Suicide, Severe Depression, Self-Harm, Scars, Language, Violence.

Tourniquet - a device which applies pressure to a limb or extremity in order to limit – but not stop – the flow of blood. It may be used in emergencies, in surgery, or in post-operative rehabilitation.

It had been a while since he’d been brought to this place. The plain walls and terribly uncomfortable cot of his room greeted him day after day. Jim had lost count of how many days that had been. He remembered there were at least a couple days where Medina had come to visit and wished him a happy birthday. It should have been a day for them to celebrate together, and instead she was here with him in this awful place.

“I’m so sorry, Medina,” he would whisper as they laid on his cot together, nearly nose to nose. A slight burning sensation tickled his nose every time, but his eyes were too tired to release any more tears. He simply stared at his twin, or through her more like, and let the guilt eat him inside.

“Jim, it’s okay. Don’t be sorry. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than with you. You’re my best friend, my other half. It’s just you and me, remember?” Medina always pulled him close and whispered comforting words to try and quell the storm inside of him. It just made him hate himself more. She should have been outside, free and living her life, enjoying the waves she loved so much. Of course, that wasn’t something he would ever share with his loving sister. He didn’t know what he would do without her.

Jim was just...confused. His best memories of the place were the days Medina would visit. She would bring magazines and articles on surfing or the places they had talked about visiting someday. Envisioning a life beyond this mundane and monotonous existence always brought him a fleeting joy, but that feeling always left with his sister. It was exhausting to have his emotions swinging back and forth inside of him like a tangled yo-yo. He wanted to see her, to feel happy for even the smallest moment, but was it worth the inevitable and painful crash that followed? The guilt that he was holding his sister back and the fear that she resented him?

“Perhaps we should limit your sister’s visits. We could see if that helps improve your mental state.” The doctor had made the suggestion one day after one of Jim’s episodes following Medina stopping by. He’d bruised his hand and nearly punched a hole in the wall in his frustration as he’d spiraled once again. Jim did not take the suggestion well. Orderlies were called in to restrain him while he cursed out the doctor, screaming that his sister “was all he had left”, and he’d been put under heavy sedation for at least a day until his mind and body were too numb to fight back anymore.

Rehab. A place where he was meant to heal and recover and lose his dependency on drugs and stolen medication. All he found was that they used his problems to load him up with all new drugs and all new problems. Most of his day was spent laying in the same spot on his cot, as close to the wall as possible, and counting the flecks of dirt that had gotten stuck in the paint on the wall. He found it hard to sleep after the episodes requiring sedation. His hands trembled and his heart raced. More often than not, his nights consisted of pacing the short distance of his room and clutched his chest in fear that his heart would burst through his ribcage. He couldn’t breathe and swore he was suffocating, panicking, crying for someone--anyone--to help him and make it stop. Please!

It was a day like any other the first time he saw her. They’d forced him into the common room where some patients played games together or watched whatever sitcom rerun showed on the shitty cable tv. Jim sat by the window, tired, empty eyes staring at the palm leaves swaying in the breeze as he dreamed of the ocean waves he’d surfed with Medina. He wondered if she was out there at that exact moment. His thoughts were interrupted by an unusual silence filling the room. Everyone turned to look at the doorway where a nurse was giving a tour to a slightly smaller young woman. Her hair curtained her face as she stood with her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. A sense of holding the shattering pieces of herself together, most likely. Not once did she look up to see who else was stuck in this place with her.

Jim didn’t blame her. Most of them came and went, only to come back again if they didn’t manage to find the eternal freedom they all chased at some point. Jim knew the mark of defeat she wore so obviously; it was identical to his and everyone else that was forced to be here. “Danger to themselves or others” they called them. Her shoulders tugged her upper body down to the ground, her steps slow and aimless as she shuffled over to sit at the far end of the window. Her legs tucked up to her chest and she shrank into the chair in an attempt to disappear. Jim’s eyes widened at the slow droplets of tears slipping down her cheeks. The dark circles beneath her eyes mirrored his own. She was sedated, too. He wondered what had happened to her, why she was here, and then he noticed the thick gauze bandages wrapped around her wrists. Oh.

Her eyes caught his staring at her forearms, and she quickly tugged the sleeves of her sweater down. He couldn’t tell if the look in her glassy eyes was hurt, embarrassment, or anger. Maybe all of the above. She wasn’t sure either. She curled in on herself and turned sideways to rest her forehead against the window. Her chest rose and fell with the jagged breaths she tried and failed to control. Jim forced his gaze back to the world outside, but the quiet sniffles from the armchair a few rows away brought his eyes back to her. She looked tired. So tired.

And she felt tired. So tired. It hurt to feel her heart beating. Each miserable thump inside of her chest continued to pump blood and forced her to keep breathing when all she wanted was for it to stop. Why couldn’t it just stop?! A soft sob parted her lips, and her distress only made her heart beat stronger. There was no more room for her to hide within herself. The muscles in her body shook for exhaustion and the effort she put into trying to will her body into an implosion. Weren’t the meds supposed to help them feel better? Now the guy across the room was staring at her like he didn’t have the same dead eyes and weight inside his soul. Asshole. Fuck him and his gorgeous crystal eyes that shone like the ocean in the sun.

One of the other patients that had been playing cards came over and sat down in the chair next to her. Her eyes remained glued to the outside, and that didn’t seem to sit well with her visitor. He wanted to know her name, why she was so sad, why she was there. Jim knew the guy, Harry, meant well, but he just didn’t know when to leave things alone and call it quits. It wasn’t going to end well for Harry. You never made someone already on edge feel interrogated and pressured. The biggest mistake came when he reached for her arm to see the bandages peeking out from under her sleeves. She jumped up quickly, ripping her arm out of his grasp, and cradled her arm protectively against her chest again.

“Don’t you fucking touch me!” Her scream filled the room, and she let loose a right hook that landed on his nose. 

“Oh, shit!” Jim’s eyes widened in surprise and an unusually bright smile lit up his face. The crunch of bone on bone let anyone within earshot know the guy’s nose was broken. He crumpled to the floor with a cry, holding a hand to his bleeding face, while she stood and panted over him with panicked eyes. A nurse rushed over quickly and looked between them, and two orderlies came running in. one of them bent to help Harry while the other held the girl firmly by her shoulders to keep her back.

“Samantha! What did you do?” The nurse glared at the young woman, Samantha, who opened and closed her mouth while trying to calm herself enough to form words in her defense. Her arms were wrapped around her middle again, and Jim could see her nails digging into her palms from where he sat. Large, fearful tears trickled down her cheeks as she looked up with wide eyes at the nurse towering over her.

“Harry grabbed her arm. She was just defending herself--I saw it. It looked like it hurt a lot.” Jim decided to help her out. Seeing her knock Harry on his ass had been the best thing he’d seen in months, if not years, and he still had a lazy smirk on his face from replaying it over in his head. Samantha stared at him in confusion. He had no reason to defend her, and yet here he was, trying to get her out of trouble. There had to be some ulterior motive, and that made him dangerous. She shrank back against the burly orderly holding her upper arms, even more so when the nurse reached forward and pulled her hand to move her sleeve up. Small patches of red had begun to blossom on the gauze, and the nurse sighed.

“Thank you, Jim.” The nurse nodded at him and quickly turned her attention back to the girl before her. One orderly was already taking Harry to get cleaned up and away from everyone else. “Come on, Samantha. Let’s get you looked at. You know you won’t be allowed to socialize with others if you can’t control your outbursts.”

“What a fucking loss,” she muttered under her breath.

“Samantha! Language!”

They walked past Jim, and he watched her go. Her eyes were trained on her slippers until she stepped next to him and gave him a sideways glance through her hair. He smiled softly only to be met with a teary glare. Jim lifted his hand in a weak attempt at a salutation. Samantha’s brow furrowed and she quickly turned away. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she owed him for stepping in on her behalf. The orderly pushed her forward and broke their eye contact. 

Jim wondered when he would see Samantha again, if she was going to be punished. Samantha hoped she didn’t have to see Jim’s blue tourmaline eyes peering into her ever again. It felt like he could unravel her from the inside out, and she didn’t need any help in that department. She glanced back at him once to see that he was back to looking out window, tired, empty eyes staring at the palm leaves swaying in the breeze as he dreamed of the ocean waves he’d surfed with Medina.

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

This one is a bit different and not for Michael. If you’d like to be removed from the taglist for this fic, please let me know!

@guiltyfiend @drasangel @michaellangdonstanaccount @jimmlangdon

[sinner-as-saint]

Bad Guy.

Mafia! Bucky AU

Requested by @millennialdisaster a.k.a my Baseball Bat Anon who sent a cute request a while ago.

I’m sorry this took so long, love. I hope you liked it! ily

 Run-through: The world is a bad place, cities and town alike are now filled with violence and bad people. And in the middle of it all, Bucky Barnes finds love where it wasn’t supposed to be.

 Themes: smut, violence, slight gore elements, fluff

 The night sky, an obsidian tapestry, acted as a witness to all the sin that went down in the city. At night time, all the sinners prowled, lurked in the shadows – hunting.

Deals sealed among gang members. Mobsters killing away anyone who opposed them – protecting what they swore to protect; be it family, or just pride.

Drugs. Money, sex and power were all people cared about. The world was a bad place.

During daytime, the city was somewhat safe. However, at night; it became a playground for all the devils who inhabited the city.

Among those devils, was Bucky Barnes. Powerful, filthy rich and feared – he was the ultimate King of the underworld.

A mob, mafia, gang leader – he had many titles.

Bucky had everything he ever wanted; wealth, power, loyalty from those who worked with and for him. Yet, the one thing he never got was the true love of a woman.

After all, the King needed his Queen to complete him.

However, his wish was soon granted.

 ---

 It was a regular night for Bucky. Having sealed a promising deal with his ally – Wilson, and little bit of alcohol in his system; Bucky made his way home.

He would probably stop by some brothel and find a beautiful woman to warm his bed for the night. However, no matter how pretty, they could never fill the void he experienced.

 He walked to his car, which was parked a little far away from the club he was stepping out of, surrounded by three of his guys, when he heard a few shouts – followed by the sound of metal crashing on the concrete ground.

At first, neither him nor his guys thought much of it. They thought that it was probably some drunkard being kicked out of one of the many shabby pubs.

However, Bucky stopped in his tracks when he heard the voice of a woman. A young one at that. It sounded like she was in pain, or in trouble.

Bucky couldn’t walk away knowing a woman was in danger, so he signaled his guys to follow him. Two of them cocked their guns and held it at the ready while one walked behind him.

Bucky’s hand lingered on the gun at his waist as him and his little crew approached the source of the voice.

 “In that alley way, boss. Right by the dumpster,” one of his men spoke in a hushed voice.

A sound of something hard hitting the dumpster could be heard, followed by the grunting of a male voice. Whoever this woman was, she was surely being manhandled by a man.

 Bucky sure was a practitioner of evil but he wasn’t entirely heartless. Having being raised in a family where his ruthless father used his mother as a punching bag; Bucky was not one to allow violence against women.

And whoever this man was, Bucky and his men would surely teach him a lesson of a lifetime.  

 As they neared the alley, they could hear the pants and groans of someone being in pain. One of his men ran to the dumpster and lowered his gun immediately – as if there was no need to shoot someone. He motioned for the others to march forward.

Bucky frowned at the weird gesture and walked towards him anyways.

 Upon reaching where his guy stood, Bucky could not believe his eyes.

The situation was the opposite of what he thought it’d be. Being mercilessly beaten with what seemed to be a baseball bat, was a man – on the concrete ground, writhing in pain and groaning as he was being repeatedly hit on the head.

And the one standing above him, beating the shit out of the man, was you. Your hair fell around your face, so Bucky could not see who the badass chick was.

He studied your form. Legs clad in dark jeans, a simple white t-shirt – with a few drops of blood on it. Upon seeing the blood, Bucky was concerned.

He took a few steps towards you, but since you were busy beating someone with a baseball bat, you didn’t notice.

 “…I swear if you ever steal from my pub again, I will shove this bat so far up your a-,”

 “That’s enough, doll, he’s unconscious already,” Bucky cut you off, approaching your agitated frame with caution and watch how you slowly looked up at him.

Panting, you stared into his blue eyes with your e/c ones. And once you did, he could’ve sworn the world around him got a few shades brighter.

He noticed you didn’t recognize him right away. He wondered why.

 “Fucking deserved it, this piece of shit walked in like he fucking owned it and took my entire day’s earning,” you panted as you complained to him.

While stepping away from the thief’s bleeding body, you kicked his side and his body laid limp on the ground.

Bucky held back a chuckled as his brain registered your colorful speech. You were something else. Most women he knew always pretended as though they needed to be protected and kept like a glass figurines, but you – you seemed like you were used to fighting your own fights.

And he liked that. Very much.

 Bucky watched how you bent down and searched the thief’s pockets for the money that he took from you. He watched how you smiled in triumph once you found a thick bundle of notes in the inside pocket of his leather jacket.

Bucky was about to say something, but then a certain mark caught his eye. Right at the base of the thief’s neck was a tattoo. A skull, below which were six tentacles spread out.

Definitely not a random tattoo. This was a criminal mark – to show one’s loyalty towards HYDRA.

HYDRA; a notorious organization who only acquired power by snatching it and ruining lives of the innocent, and they were Bucky Barnes’ most flagrant rival.

 Bucky didn’t know how to react. A girl just took on a HYDRA goon, alone; with just a baseball bat. Damn.

 “Step away doll, this is no regular thief. This guy’s a HYDRA goon. You’re lucky we found you, if it were HYDRA, you would be in their dungeon by now,” Bucky spoke and watched how realization slowly hit you.

 You looked at him for a moment then at his men. Your eyes slowly trailed down to where his metal was, at his side and he saw how fear flashed in your fiery eyes.

 You clutched the bundle of money to your chest and started backing away, slowly, from him and his crew.

The dimmed lights of the streets allowed him to get a good look at you. You were pretty. Very pretty.

Then he noticed the blood trailing down your chin. He furrowed his eyebrows at you.

 “You’re bleeding, doll. He hurt you?” Bucky asked, while his men grinned as they picked up the limp body of the goon off the ground. Of course, they had finally found a member belonging to the rivals – they were just happy that they would get to torture him and get every secret out of him.

 You froze to the ground as Bucky approached you. He walked in your direction until he was standing right in front of you, not far from his men.

He extended his metal arm and touched your face, the cold metal against your warm skin felt oddly soothing, and you stuttered when you tried to talk.

 “You’re B-Bucky Barnes, aren’t you? I-I’m sorry, you can have the money, sir. Please don’t hurt me, I-,” the flows of your weak words came to a halt as he traced the skin around the cut on your lip.

You watched how intently he observed the cut on the side of your lip, and how lazily his eyes roamed your face while he caressed your skin.

Dressed in a dark suit, tall and power flowing around him, wrapping him in an invisible cocoon – he sure as hell looked intimidating. Yet, his touch was gentle.

You had heard about him several times before. The city you lived in was more or less entirely a terrain for men like him. Rich, powerful men who only knew the language of violence.

 There were stories about how he got his infamous, prosthetic metal arm. Some believed his lost his arm in an accident. Others said that he was once captured when he was young, and tortured in the basement of his enemies. Then when his family got him back, the arm was attached to him, and he had no recollection of what had happened to him.

And many more.

No one knew the truth. Few people ever saw him in person. And now, you were among the few.

 The man chuckled at your words. It was the only audible sound apart from your heartbeats which rang in your ear.

 “I don’t want the money, doll. You’re bleeding, you should get it cleaned before it gets infected. Come on, let me drop you home. You live around here?” he asked, lowering his hand back at his sides as he realized that he had been cradling your face for too long and it was beginning to get awkward and weird.

 Your eyes widened at his suggestion.

 “I- no, sir. There’s no need. I’ll manage, I-,”

 “I wasn’t asking, doll. It’s not a safe area for a girl to be on her own. Although, you definitely are very capable of looking out for yourself but I insist, let me drop you home. Or your pub, whichever you prefer,” he spoke again, a faint smile on his face.

You dared to admit that the man the news called the ‘King of the underworld’, was rather handsome. With some of his long, dark locks pulled back into a little bun, and his perfect beard – he looked like every girl’s dream.

And his eyes… the darkness of the night and of his outfit complimented the ocean blue eyes he had.

 You mentally scolded yourself for admiring such a man. But you couldn’t help yourself. He was, indeed, very dreamy.

But, still, you couldn’t accept his offer. People talked a lot in this city, and every girl who was seen with men of Bucky Barnes’ caliber, were often given labels. Bad labels.

 “Really, I’ll be fine. I could walk home, I don’t live far from-,”

 “What’s your name?” he abruptly cut your rambling off.

 “Y/N,”

 “Listen, Y/N. You just beat the hell out of a HYDRA goon. Who knows, maybe he was keeping an eye on me for a while now. You just saved me so much trouble, doll. Plus, you’re hurt. The least I can do it see to it that you reach home safely. Who knows, maybe HYDRA is even keeping an eye on you,”

Okay, he totally exaggerated the last part. But he only did it just so you would agree to his suggestion. Bucky was enchanted. You were beautiful, strong, kept your calm and were a total badass.

You were the kind of woman he hoped to have by his side. And he was not letting you go just yet.

 Your eyes widened as he said the last words.

 “So, please, let me escort you home,” you noticed that the three men turned their heads at the same time to look back at the two of you.

They were, shamelessly, eavesdropping.

 You nodded. You feared HYDRA just like any other civilian of the city, and now, having injured one of them – you were very scared.

  “He’s not dead, is he?” you asked as you watched how the men carried the limp body of the goon and walked in front of you and Bucky.

You held the baseball bat in your hand and the bundle of money in the other hand as you walked alongside Bucky on the pavement.

The night was getting a bit cold, and your t-shirt was barely keeping you warm.

 He chuckled.

“He’s not, doll. Not yet. Thanks to you, I now have an enemy in my grasp. I should thank you,” he spoke, a playful tone lacing his words.

 “Oh, well, you’re welcome, sir,” you spoke as you neared two black cars.

 Bucky ordered two of his men to take the goon to his mansion and told them to have their ‘fun’ but keep him ‘alive’ until he got there. They walked away and threw the goon in the back and drove off in the first car.

The third guy sat at the driver’s seat of the second car and waited for you two to get in.

 You watched how Bucky opened the car door for you and you immediately rushed inside as the air got colder.

Once you settled against the leather seat, you dropped the baseball bat at your feet and tucked the bundle of money in the pocket of your jeans.

Bucky walked around the car and got inside as well. He sat beside you and you noticed how he very subtly inched closer to you.

 “Where to, miss?” the guy in the driver’s seat asked.

 “Uh, drive straight and take the next right. Then another left and my pub should be there,” you gave him the directions and he nodded in understanding.

Once the engine purred, you leaned against the leather seat and shivered. You were cold and the man beside you noticed.

Without a word said, he removed the dark jacket of his suit and held it in front of you.

 “Oh no, I’m good, sir. I don’t-,”

 “Okay one, call me Bucky. And two, I can tell you’re cold, doll. Just take it,” he watched the slight tremble in your lip as you hesitantly accepted it.

You leaned forward and slipped your arms through the sleeves and once it was around your body, you immediately snuggled into it.

Bucky watched you with a faint smile on his face. Seeing you in his clothes did things to him, and he didn’t know how to explain it.

It felt…right.

 You subtly sniffed his jacket. It smelt nice. Fresh, strong and powerful. Exactly what you thought mob bosses smell like.

 Soon, with a few turns, the car stopped right outside your pub. It was still lit, which meant that even after you took off running after the goon, your friend was still working.

You didn’t get out of the car immediately. You slowly removed the jacket and handed it back to him. You smiled politely as you did so.

 He took it back and gave you a small smile.

  “Go on, I’ll be waiting. I’m gonna drop you home after,”

 You opened you mouth to tell him that it was fine and that he shouldn’t bother but he beat you to it.

 “Again, I wasn’t asking, doll,” he spoke again, a smirk on his gorgeous face.

 Good lord…

There was not a single flaw on the man’s face. Everything about him was perfect. The crinkles by his eyes, his beard, his tired yet dreamy eyes – he was beautiful. And equally as dangerous.

 You shut up, and made your way out of his car. As you walked up the couple of steps and walked inside the pub, you felt a glare on your back. And surprisingly, you didn’t mind.

 Walking inside the pub, you were immediately tackled by your co-worker. She held you tight in her arms and told you how worried she was after you took off running.

You narrated the entire story to her, while the two of you gathered your stuff and prepared to close down.

  Through the glass windows, Bucky watched how you gracefully moved across the pub; securing your bag on your shoulder and your jacket in your hand.

In the dimmed golden lights, you looked divine. Bucky watched in awe how you hugged your friend goodbye.

 “Never seen you look at a woman like that before, boss. She’s special, I believe,” commented his guy who was in the driver’s seat.

Bucky chuckled and lowered his eyes for a moment before looking at you again.

 “She’s not like the rest,” he said, smiling and watched how you made you way towards his car again. Wind blowing through your hair and he caught the bruise which was forming around your soft lips.

 Bucky sighed. And his heartbeat quickened when you got in beside him and gave him a polite smile.

   That night, after he dropped you off. Bucky somehow managed to convince you to let him in so he could tend to the cut on your lips.

At that point, the two of you knew that he was doing all this to be close to you. And while his heart did a little victory dance when you agreed to let him help you; you wondered why a man like him would even want to be around an ordinary girl like you.

 Bucky followed you to your bathroom, and stood in front of you while he examined the cut on your lip. Your lower back pressed against the counter as his body was merely a few centimeters away from yours.

He grabbed a cotton pad and wet it with water and cleaned the wound gently. Normally, you would wince at the sting but since all you could do was focus on how close he was, you didn’t make a sound.

 “You live here alone, doll?” he asked, eyes on your mouth and face frowning in concentration. His warm hand was placed on your cheek while his metal hand cleaned the cut.

 “Me and Colby,” you whispered as his eyes flicked to yours and then quickly back to the wound. His body inched forward. And suddenly, you had trouble breathing.

 “That’s your guy? Boyfriend?” he asked again, placing the cotton pad down and picking up the antiseptic lotion from the kit. He picked up another cotton pad and squeezed some of the lotion onto it.

 “No, that’s- Colby is my pit bull,” you watched how flustered Bucky got when you cleared his misunderstanding. Guess that’s what happens when you give your dog human names.

 “Oh,” was all Bucky said before getting back at cleaning your wound. He leaned in closer to your face and applied the lotion very gently.

You tried to look away from his face because he was making you breathless. So, you stared downwards. Bad idea.

His lower body was merely inches away from yours and it might’ve been your brain messing with you but it seemed as though there was a bulge forming in there.

You found yourself fantasizing about him again.

Given his reputation, there’s no way that he enters people’s home and cleans their wounds often. Then why was he so concerned with you?

Would he ask for something in return? Like the other men in his profession did?

 You were aware of how the society had become. You had heard the stories of how certain mobsters granted women favors; jobs, money, or save them from any trouble. But then in return, they would ask them to-

 “…suck on it,” you heard his voice and your eyes immediately moved from staring at his lower region. He was now staring at you – his face just inches away. He was so close that you could see the flares of grey in his eyes. He must have noticed that you were staring at his- well, down there.

Did he just-

“Pardon?” you must have misheard him, right? Unless…

 “I said, get an ice cube and suck on it. It’ll reduce the swelling,” he completed his sentence and had you feeling like a desperate idiot.

 “Right. Yes, I will. Thank you, for everything,” you thanked him and he just smirked; but didn’t moved.

He leaned in and placed both of his hands on either side of you, leaning slightly against the counter behind you – trapping you between his muscular body and the counter.

You looked into his blue eyes and your thoughts were a hot mess. Jesus, why did he have to be so handsome?

 “Take care, doll. I’ll have my people make sure nobody messes with your pub again. Good night,” he whispered, leaned in and kissed the other side of your mouth. Lips dangerously close to yours, your heartbeats shot up when he allowed his lips to linger on your skin. His beard stabbed your skin a little bit, but weirdly, you liked it.

He smirked when he saw how hot and bothered you got just by one simple touch of his. And he knew this wasn’t the last time his lips would be on you.

  He bade you goodbye and walked out of the house. As soon as you heard his car driving away, you also heard your puppy finally coming out of his hiding spot. For a pit bull, he sure was shy.

He ran to you in the bathroom and you picked him up, kissing him carefully on top of his head.

 “He’s so dreamy, isn’t he? Oh my God Colby, am I falling for the bad guy?” you asked your pup and he just stared at you.

  Turned out, you were.

 ---

 For the next few days, you couldn’t get Bucky out of your mind. He even stopped by a few times, at the pub. And one of his men were always keeping a watch over you.

It was weird in the beginning, but then you got used it. it made you feel safer.

He would order one pint of beer and spend the next hour talking to you. He was a big flirt, and he even told you about how they ‘handled’ the goon.

Then one day, while taking casually, he finally dropped the bomb.

 “Can I take you out on a date, doll?”

 You stared at him in disbelief. Then laughed. And agreed.

 ---

 The date went by just fine. And as cliché as it was, you found yourself falling for the bad guy.

 While casually talking about the recent activities in the city, Bucky made a suggestion.

 “It’s a tough world out there, why don’t you let me teach you how to defend yourself? I mean, the baseball bat is not really that handy. Maybe guns, fighting techniques and all that,” he sipped on his glass of red wine and watched you intently.

You smiled.

 “What makes you think I would want that?” you questioned, a spark in your eyes.

 “Because I see who you truly are. You like danger, there’s this excitement in your eyes every time you stared at my revolver. Y/N, you weren’t afraid to take on a HYDRA goon in an alley way, all on your own. That’s pretty impressive. You have skills, you’re a natural,”

Seems like he was quite the observer.

Bucky noticed how your eyes would linger on the shiny metal of his gun each time he was around you.

You chuckled.

 “I did that because I didn’t know he was one of HYDRA, believe me, all I did was hit him in the head repeatedly, until he passed out. How did you even know he was one of HYDRA’s goons?”

You liked his idea, but you were also a bit hesitant.

People normally tend to stay as far away as possible from men like Bucky. But here you were, on a date with him – in his kitchen; having dinner which he made for you.

 “The mark, on his neck. The HYDRA mark. See, I could teach you all that. If you let me,” he spoke again, leaning onto the kitchen island.

You sat up straight in the stool and faced him with a smirk.

 “Then? You teach me all that then, what? You’re gonna make me become a bounty hunter?” you asked, smirking still.

By now, it was probably the wine speaking.

 Bucky chuckled and shook his head.

 “No, of course not. But all that will help while you’re with me,” he raised an eyebrow at you.

You didn’t quite get what he meant.

 “Okay you’re amazing, but the last thing I want, is to be part of your gang Mr. Barnes. I’m fine with bartending, really,”

 Bucky smiled, and placed his metal hand over yours on the surface of the counter.

 “Not part of my gang, sugar. Mine. I want you to be my girl,” he corrected your misunderstanding. There was a promise in his eyes as he spoke, along with a sense of playfulness.

He was serious, and he needed an answer.

You thought it over for a while.

Then agreed.

 ---

 Initially, you were over at Bucky’s place every few days. Days filled with excessive flirting, lingering touches and training.

He taught you the basics; how to spot HYDRA goons, how to fire a gun, and self-defense moves.

You learnt all about his past, and how he was practically forced to become who he is. He initially wanted to become an artist, but his father crushed his dreams and handed him a shotgun when he was only 12.

 Then later on, your training shifted to more intense stuff; handling blades and sparring. Your relationship with Bucky morphed into something much more stable as well. And the lingering touches turned into steamy make out sessions.

 Then one day, Bucky couldn’t take it anymore. While training and sparring, he had you under him so many times that the hard on in his pants started to hurt.

So when you went upstairs to use his shower; he followed you.

  ---

 You sighed as soon as the warm water fell on your skin, washing away the sweat and the dirt. You were worn out, and some of your muscles hurt and your body was sore. So, when you felt two large hands on your hips pulling you into a muscular torso, you allowed it with a smile.

 Bucky’s hands wrapped around your waist and he pulled you into him, placing his chin on your shoulder and turning his head to the side to kiss your jaw.

You tilted your head back and relished the feeling of being in his arms.

“How classy of you, sneaking up on a woman while she’s in the shower,” you mumbled and he chuckled while he peppered your skin with kisses.

You sighed in comfort.

 “My woman,” he corrected and turned your body so you faced him. And not an ounce of shame could be seen on his face as he allowed his eyes to roam around your bare chest.

You did blush for a moment, but the moment you felt his lips on yours; nothing else mattered.

 Soon, your back hit the cold tiles of the shower and you moaned into Bucky’s mouth while he pulled you up and wrapped your legs around his waist; hands on the curve of your ass holding you firmly between him and the wall.

His lips moved against yours feverishly; eagerly.

Stealthily, one of his hands dipped in between the two of you and lazily rubbed your wet folds. You gasped at the sudden caress of his fingers.

His lips moved from your lips to your neck and he nibbled along the side of your throat while his fingers slipped past your entrance with ease.

Your arousal coated his fingers as he pumped them in and out of you. A series of moans, mewls and cuss words escaped your lips as you felt a familiar warmth wash over you.

You felt a certain firmness pressing against your thigh and excitement coursed through you at the mere thought of him being inside you.

 “Don’t come yet, baby,” he whispered in your ear as he felt your walls pulsating around his fingers. You groaned at his words and just as you tried to grind against his hand, he abruptly removed his hand from you.

You whimpered and cursed again while he smirked against your skin. Your hand held on to his shoulder while the other cradled his face gently, guiding his lips over to yours.

Your dripping core throbbed as it rested against his lower abdomen, pressing against his pelvic area. His erected length stood proud and tall, lightly touching his Adonis belt.

He looked tempting, and the hunger in his eyes didn’t help at all. Your hand slowly left his face as you trailed down his torso.

His muscles tensed under your touch; abs tightening and his cock twitched as soon as you wrapped your hand around it.

You smiled into the kiss as your hand started stroking his velvety skin. Your thumb rubbed the slit at his tip lazily and he moaned into the kiss; tongue diving into your mouth while you pumped your hand up and down his length – taking your sweet time as you brought him on the edge.

 He pulled away and tilted his head back, cussing as your quickened your pace around him; eyes shutting while his face frowned in pleasure. He moaned and bit his lip as you pumped him faster; watching how his tip started leaking. He was close, you could tell.

His fingers dug into your skin as he got closer and closer to his release. Subtly, he moved his hips forward, thrusting into your hand while he mumbled incoherent words in your ear.

 You leaned in and kissed his neck, biting and teasing his skin while he slowly rocked his hips against your hand.

You felt his cock twitch again, while he moaned against your cheek; you internally admitted that it was the hottest sound you ever heard.

However, to give him a taste of his own medicine, just as he was about to come undone; you abruptly stopped stroking his length.

His eyes flew open and it was his turn to groan and look at you as if you had stabbed him in the back. You smirked as he stared at you in the eyes; his eyes so blue and clear that you felt like you were in a trance.

 “Such a fucking tease,” he whispered and tugged on your lower lip.

If someone had told you a few weeks ago that you would find yourself in Bucky Barnes’ bathroom, in his arms, kissing him soon, you would never have believed them. But here you were now, and you wouldn’t change a thing.

  You whimpered when Bucky filled you up with his cock, stretching you to your maximum and grunting occasionally while mumbling how good you felt.

Slow and steady at first, then gradually building up his pace; Bucky rocked into you, stroking your walls with his thick cock.

His thrust quickly grew rougher and with each one, your back slammed against the wall behind you. Your legs tightened around him as he bit down on your shoulder, muffling the sinful moan which escaped his lips.

The sound of the water falling down on the tile beneath you suppressed the obscene sounds of your skin slapping against one another and the moans which left both your mouths.

 You felt his grip tightening on your hip and thigh; promising to leave behind a loving bruise.

Bucky fucked you against the wall relentlessly until your thoughts were a mess. The only things you could focus on while his length slipped in and out of you were the sounds which escaped his lips and the words he mumbled in your ear; accompanied by his ragged breaths.

 You felt the pressure forming in between your legs, hot and fiery; a need flowed between the two of your connected bodies. You had spent most of your life on your own; fighting and struggling to get rid of the loneliness.

Yet, there in his arms, you felt a sense of belonging. A comfort which you had been craving for so long.

 All it took was a few more strokes of his cock against your walls and you were a mess. Walls clenching around him, you came undone and felt the pleasure wash over you.

You whispered his name incessantly as he kept rocking into you until he reached his release. Warm seeds spilled in you as he leaned against you to catch his breath. Yours arms wrapped around his shoulders as you placed your forehead against his.

His warm breath fanned your face. And when he finally opened his eyes, he gave you a genuine smile. And suddenly, everything around you was a shade brighter.

You smiled back and stared into his oceans eyes.

 “I could get used to this,” he whispered against your mouth; lips brushing against yours gently. He was still a little breathless.

 “Me too, actually,” you replied, caressing his cheek with your thumb. Bucky leaned into your touch and exhaled.

 “Move in with me,”

 Nothing more had to be said. You felt safe with him around, and he felt complete with you.

You agreed, because you were hopelessly falling for the bad guy.

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