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#every wrong thing she could do delay my forgiveness she’s done

desceros · 3 months

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i woke up to this newest chapter and i could not delay my gratification + read it on the way to the vet!! i loved it! i had a feeling leo’s thing was going to be something like that (and was steeling myself for it…) but was unprepared for how much i smiled during the donnie convo. it was so earnest and honest and cute, even, how clumsily they both are trying to communicate and understand each other. his open need for her to stay in his life… viola girl i feel you! that was a crowbar to the knees!!! think i fell more in love with donnie and im chewing at my arm about it as a self-confessed leo girl.

i read that you were writing viola-chan as mostly neurotypical and (as someone who is, afaik, neurotypical) i feel like you hit the nail on the head especially as far as vi’s reactions to realizing her misinterpretation of her relationship with donnie + how hard she’s trying to see things from his perspective go. chapter 20 was especially brutal because i’ve also been in the position of having stupidly assumed and had it come back to bite me in the ass, so really well done on capturing that!!! (← extremely pained by the story but also impressed by the writing) the way she and donnie talk in this latest chapter reminds me of my own relationships with my neurodivergent friends (affectionate), and tbh just captures a sort of working-through-being-two-diff-people-with-diff-ways-of-thinking that is a part of having any relationship with another person. seeing them talk it through like that makes me root for them and want them to work out.

i’m a blurple au lover but i know it’s only in my mind (on my own starts playing) (also, the fact that don thinks vi-chan’s interested in leo? cutely wrong) and have properly shifted my focus to donnie for the rest of this fic despite whatever other leo propaganda you might deliver (clenching every muscle in my body). either way i’m eating well because you write both these turts so well. thank you for writing as much and as wonderfully as you do!

ohhh man i have been BURNING to write the donnie convo for like. five chapters. it's like. oh my god they're TALKING!!! LOOK AT THEM TALKING!!! SPARKLE EMOJI

yeah it can be a little tough for me because i am deeply, deeply neurodivergent. and usually i prefer writing from ND perspectives bc it's sooo much easier for me to imprint on my experiences with being misunderstood than it is to think. ok. what does that look like from the other side. but it's always good to stretch yourself creatively, and that's what i've been doing with viola-chan! so i'm really, really delighted to hear that it rings well to you = v=

i dunno how popular it'll be from now on since people are all but hanging leo in the town square, but i'm still very much a lover of the blurple symphony au!! i mean, come ON. who doesn't want a fic where leo comes crawling back to you on his knees bc on his side of things this has all been one enemies-to-lovers thing and oh god oh god please forgive him he's so into the lovers part of it now and seeing you look at him with such an empty face is akin to rending his very soul from his body???? COME ON.

#thank you so much for your comment!!!! i'm always obsessed w hearing people's thoughts :D #ask tag #symphony tag

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pinkchaosstories · 9 months

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Blood and Thorns - Chapter 16 (Part 3)

Chapter 16 (Part 3): Rituals and Revenge (Read Chapter 1 (part one) here) - (See here for a complete list of chapters)

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who's been reading along so far! If you're enjoying Blood and Thorns, please leave a comment, reblog or follow me here on my Writeblr! Just know that I appreciate every like and reblog I get here and I'd love everyone's feedback as always. 💖

A deafening crack. Sapphire’s hand was suddenly gone and she was thrown off Rosalind. Rosalind gasped and coughed, barely comprehending what was going on. The loud sound, whatever it was, made their ears ring. They heard yelling but couldn’t recognize the voices. Was someone yelling? Rosalind couldn’t tell. Their vision was still blurry, their consciousness shrouded in fog. The burning in their limbs returned and the burning in their lungs’ relieved slightly with each cough, though their throat was extremely tender. They couldn’t see or hear anymore. Fuck, they were going to faint. They were scooped up by someone, they could barely make anything out about the person who had rushed to their side. But what they did recognize was the smell of earthy moss and exotic spice, the feeling of the soft hands cradling their face, the feeling of the arms holding them. The last thought they had before blacking out was embarrassment from being seen in such a sorry state, but it was fine, maybe it looked heroic. Hopefully, Marcus would think so.

///

Marcus knew something was up that morning. He’d noticed Rosalind’s hands shaking and that they’d been almost silent his entire visit. At first he assumed they were just tired, then when they didn’t perk up after dinner, he thought he’d done something wrong and they were mad at him. That thought had been handily dissolved by a glorious evening, but when they were silent the next morning too? He was certain something was wrong. When Marcus hugged Rosalind that morning, his heart broke because it wasn’t only their hands that was shaking. He immediately thought of Frigga’s visit, and wondered if this was connected. But it couldn’t be, not if the thing, whatever it was, was happening tonight because he was hosting her and her aunt, right? But when she arrived for dinner, Sapphire began making apologies on Frigga’s behalf; she had “suddenly become ill” huh? That and Rosalind’s behaviour was enough to convince him something was afoot, especially because it was a full moon. The coven would normally have met to do some magic. From what he understood full moons were more powerful somehow? He didn’t get it, so he took their word for it. The visit was going smoothly and the woman seemed in as good a mood as Marcus had ever seen her in, but when Lady Thorneheart’s manservant came up to her suddenly to whisper in her ear, she ended up leaving abruptly. That was no good. Marcus figured this all had something to do with that weird contract thing, and if that was the case, Sapphire going back home would probably be bad for whatever was happening. He did his best to delay her, but she was way too smart for that. Or determined, Marcus wasn’t sure. He wanted to help Rosalind but what good was he in a situation like this? He didn’t have a magical cell in his body and his limited knowledge of magic had him floundering. If only he’d paid closer attention during Frigga’s visit, perhaps he’d have more of an idea how to be of service. It was then he remembered the new contraption his dad had brought home. It was pretty great and it was pretty dangerous and required absolutely zero magical ability which was Marcus’ favourite part. Good thing his dad had shown him how to use it that morning, it was kind of complicated and difficult to use; he’d accidentally broken off an arm of one of the statues in the garden. It was Scarlet Thorneheart’s too which he hoped wasn’t a bad omen. Marcus didn’t bother asking for permission to take it, opting instead to ask for forgiveness later. The only thing he said was that he was going to pay Frigga a visit to make sure she was alright which wasn’t exactly a lie. He was about fifteen minutes behind Lady Thorneheart, and despite him asking the carriage driver to go as fast as possible, he arrived fifteen minutes after the Lady at Thorneheart manor. When he arrived, the door was ajar. He poked his head inside and heard the telltale sounds of magic accompanying a glow coming from the third floor. That was the room where the coven conducted their rituals. He approached it cautiously, his weapon loaded and ready at his side. As he turned the corner, he saw a hallway filled with items recently acquired for Rosalind’s ceremony, but they’d been knocked about. By now the light had faded and it was silent excepting Lady Thorneheart’s voice speaking quietly, a bit too calmly. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, his stomach lurched, then he heard nothing except a little bit of shuffling.

Marcus was usually a laid-back man, but when he peeked into the room, he decided: if Rosalind died, Sapphire would too. Frigga and Razi were unconscious on the floor, and Lady Thorneheart had her hands on Rosalind’s neck, attempting to strangle them. He aimed his weapon at the woman and shot. He barely heard the explosion, gripping the shotgun as tightly as possible, bracing for recoil. The bullet connected to the middle of her back. She was knocked forward, her hands releasing Rosalind, and she tried to turn, to see what had happened, but she didn’t make it that far and collapsed instead. The second she fell, Marcus ran over to his beloved who was gasping for air and shoved Sapphire away from them with his boot. Rosalind was bleeding from a gash on their temple, was badly burned in places, and their arms covered entirely in small slashes as if rose thorns had been raked over them. Marcus scooped Rosalind up as their gasping for air slowed, their breathing finally beginning to steady, though it was clear they were about to pass out. Before they did, Marcus could swear he saw a small smile make it onto their lips. Their whole body was shivering, or trembling Marcus couldn’t tell, but they were alive and they seemed stable. Marcus’ heart pounded in his ears, his teeth grit, and his eyes finally began flooding with tears. He needed to contain himself, Rosalind was relying on him to take care of them. He ran a thumb over their blood-covered cheek and bit the inside of his lip. He should have known; He should have been here. He held Rosalind tight in his trembling arms, trying not to sob, trying not to scream in rage. He felt their breath on his skin as they rested. Taking the chance to look them over a bit more closely, he was horrified. Their knees were scuffed and bleeding, their palms were shredded like their arms, and a bruise was starting to bloom across their neck and jaw. Marcus looked up to see if there was anyone that could help, finding Frigga starting to sit up and Razi had quietly made her way over to help her. “What happened?” He demanded, his voice cracking and wavering. Frigga was slowly pushing herself up from the floor. Razi guided her to sit up to take a look at the laceration on her arm. It was bleeding, though not as badly as it could have, and the magical brand was gone. Marcus saw that from his place several feet away, the realization dawning on him. “Oh my gods, you did it!” He stared at Frigga for a second, Razi had begun wrapping her wound in some gauze she’d had in her pocket for the event, and looked back at the witch in his arms. They were still breathing steadily. Marcus pressed a tearful kiss to their forehead and softly muttered to them, “Rosalind, baby, you did it.” There was a poignant quiet in the room, Marcus cradling Rosalind and Razi seeing to Frigga, making sure she was alright. Razi then stood to look over at Sapphire a few feet from Marcus and Rosalind. The woman had passed out from a mixture of the gunshot wound and exhaustion from their fight. She was bleeding badly from the wound but still alive. Marcus couldn’t care less, the only thing he cared about was Rosalind. They needed help, but he saw Razi leave the room to get exactly that. He thanked the stars he had got there when he did, that he’d followed his gut. If he hadn’t, Rosalind would be dead and his heart would have died with them.

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oneoftheprettynerds · 3 years

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Fixed: Dark!Steve x Reader (Mob AU)

Chapter 4 in the Lipstick and Crayons Series.

Chapter 3: Love So Soft

Main Masterlist

A/N: It’s shorter than my usual updates but I’m busy so sorry for the delay. My final exam dates have come and all I can do is pray right now lol. Please pray for me if you can, this sis is out here writing fanfics for yall instead of studying so, haha. ANyways, enjoy babies! Shit happens in this chapter.

Warning: Non-Con, Sickening Threats, Mob Themes, Violence, Death, Manipulation, a mild mental breakdown, Cheap Tricks.

Genres + Characters: Mob AU, Single Parents AU, Steve Rogers x Reader.

Summary: Steve can’t ever repay you for what you did. After meeting you, Steve believes his broken family is the missing piece in the puzzle of your own wrecked one. Indebting the crime lord to you has been the biggest mistake of your life, cause now you can’t get rid of him, no matter what. Loyalty and favours go a long way in the mob.

Word count: 5K

Chapter 4: Fixed

You didn’t sleep that night. Or the next few. Your hands shook every time you got a flashback and even though you were numb to emotions that entire day, tears threatened to spill whenever your mind took to you to that overpriced kitchen again.

Now that he had gone to a dangerous and unnerved assaulter from a Dad trying to take care of his daughter, your mind wouldn’t put anything past him. You knew that in the back of your mind that he was a mobster and your ‘friendship’ was alarming to say the least, but now there was no denying his resources and power and the very obvious threat to your life lingering in the air.

At least before you had the luxury to be oblivious and ignorant, not anymore though. Steve felt even more unhinged and liberal now, even messaging you daily, greeting texts that you obviously ignored. He knew you both were aware that you never handed him your number and he felt no need to hide his pursuit.

You read most of the messages, not bothering with a single reply though. You tried to block him but somehow your phone would still receive messages from his number, even though his contact would always peek back at you from the otherwise empty blacklist.

As if his torment wasn’t ample, another message thread from a different number would forward you alarming images, photos of Grace in her daycare, on a class trip to the park and even her playing in your backyard. You had no doubt that this was another game of his to show you his resources.

You skipped daycare for a few days, your mental health worse than it was after the carnival attack, because now you had a personal tormentor and you cursed yourself for falling into this mess. At times, you believed it wasn’t your fault really, you just helped a kid and this situation spiraled itself but what would pointing fingers now get you? The harsh truth was you were in a calamitous situation now and every step from now on had to be thought out.

So, you let Grace attend her daycare and acted if nothing was amiss or altered, after the few initial breakdown days of course, kept going to your job and earning the bread. You considered your options, you really wanted to go to the cops or a higher fair power but those were few these days, almost non existent in your city. You also vaguely recalled meeting three of the Captains of the PD at Sarah’s birthday, all smiley and doe eyed for Steve. You knew they wouldn’t help, fucking kiss-asses.

Maybe you would have to move somewhere else, perhaps to your hometown, at least till things cooled down or better yet were forgotten? But that trail was very predictable and you didn’t want your parents in this mess.

You also came to know that Steve had inserted himself in the other spheres of your life. You were sure your location was always being sent to him, the knowledge a courtesy of the black car following you while you travelled to home at some late day’s end.

Aiden told you whereabouts were easy to track, when you inquired ambiguously. Another instance was when you went to the bank to deposit cash for your debit card, you came face to face with an enormous amount already there. Somehow, the limit on your credit card was also extended. How, you knew. The clerk told you about an email you must have gotten in regards to it, you dismissed that justification away and told them to not accept the cash. To sum the discussion, they weren’t helpful and had no policy against anonymous donors.

Aiden, your trusted coworker cum pal, sensed the shift in your aura and fidgety form very easily, pestering you with questions and you decided to turn to him, stressed and tired and ready to do something. His questioning eyebrows made you confess vaguely but you refused to tell him the extent of it. Just that his prediction came true and you needed help. Let’s just say, Aiden was a good man.

With time, Steve’s ‘affectionate’ messages became deranged, and you found it harder to act nonchalant in your daily life. You were thankful he didn’t come to visit you, possibly occupied with the rumored war between the mobs. You just prayed for a few more days of ignorance, just enough time to think and do something.

“What do you mean someone collected her?!” You had a hard time controlling your voice, you were about to burst, in tears or with anger, you didn’t know.

“The man was verified in the emergency contacts and we got a letter signed and approved by you to skip the day an hour into the first activity.”

“A man? Emergen-, wait no! What fucking approved letter?”

You had three emergency contacts, your mom in another state, Aiden, and one of the other kid’s mom you had grown close to. Aiden was with you at work all day, so did someone disguise themselves as him? And what was the deal with the letter signed by you? You surely didn’t remember writing and authorizing one.

The boy, Pietro, who had been the receptionist for as long as you could remember, shuffled through the chaotic piles of paper and presented a letter to you, and your blood froze as your eyes skimmed the font.

Your beautiful cursive stared right back at you and you knew that no one would ever be able to distinguish between this penmanship and the one in the pocketbook in your clutch. No one but you. Even though you knew you had not written it, the slightly different ‘f’ and ‘g’ told you everything.

Your signature at the bottom though, was done quite perfectly and that made you even more scared.

“I did-, I didn’t write this! What the-” Your widened eyes met Pietro’s from above the paper but all he offered you was a meek smile. Your hands shook with rage and for the first time in your life, you had the urge to slap someone really bad.

“Maybe your family had an emergency to take he-”

“No, you don’t get it!�� You stopped yourself from getting frantic, willing yourself to take deep breaths and think rationally. Today of all days, things had to mess up.

He didn’t know you had no family in this city, that you had a mobster after you or the subtle threats that his hired spy sent to you.

Was going to the police an option? Aiden already told you that the cops were as good as Steve’s men. But this was about your missing kid! You’d never forgive yourself if something happened to her. And you were giving Steve way too much credit, what if he wasn’t behind this all? Come to think of it, what if the other number wasn’t his?

Relax yourself! Thinking of disturbing theories wouldn’t help anyone. You thought you should go to the cops, just in case. No mentioning of Steve, just a woman with a ‘missing child’ report.

‘Missing Child’ left an acrid taste behind and you were too close to a breakdown, but your whole journey of single-parenthood taught you to kick vulnerability aside, well most of the times.

You turned and were about to leave, but Pietro stopped you. “If you are going to the cops Ma’am, they require 8 hours of inactivity or disappearance time for kids under 5.”

Well look who just read your mind.

You huffed and kept the tears at bay, your mind thinking of what to do then? Grace was obviously taken-

“How could you let a toddler leave without informing the parents?” You knew your anger was channeling out at the wrong man but didn’t he all but hand Grace to the stranger?

You beat him answering and inquired, “What did the man look like? Do you have any footage? Anything?” The wrinkles in your forehead and stress creases on your face paired with the eyebags betrayed your age surely. You were sure you had aged more this week than an entire decade, juggling your normal life with the hovering threat.

“You shouldn’t be this worried Ma’am.”

The fucking audacity.

“Your daughter recognized him, she all but ran to him and this other little girl he came with. You should maybe ask your parent-friends around? A blonde family perhaps?”

As all the emotions drained from your face and terror took over, the young lad in front of you looked smug. You wondered as if you imagined the faintest of smirks on his face.

You crumpled the letter in your hands, seething with rage as you stepped in your car. Oh, you were mad, more wrathful than ever. You could take any hits on you, any threat but not on Grace, never on her.

You were stupid, you had already decided you wouldn’t put anything past him but unknowingly, you did put this past him. You thought this man had a shred of decency to not use your kid in this adult war, being a parent himself and all but what a surprise! You were wrong.

You drove to your home, your thoughts a mix of trepidation, anxiety and fury. You were scared of him and his reach and resources but if he put Grace in any type of danger; whether to teach you a lesson or use her as bait or both, there’d be consequences.

Lord knows you killed a man a month ago Grace was threatened.

You had one thing to do before contacting Steve about Grace but you never got to do it because unexpectedly the bastard was in your home. In your home.

The black sports car outside was a huge giveaway but your suspicions were confirmed when you opened the door with your house key. The banter and giggles from inside alarmed yet calmed you; the dread of confrontation and the assurance of Grace’s safety reigned your mind.

As the door opened painfully slow like a horror movie, the sight that met your eyes made you sick with a feeling of failure. It wasn’t gore or blood or grunge, it was Steve bouncing Grace in the air and catching her while Sarah twirled around in the living room.

This man was craftier than you thought, every action of his was calculated, each a refined step. You had been so preoccupied to avoid direct encounters with him in your little family’s life that you didn’t think he had other ways. He was always looming around with Sarah and as Grace began to trust Sarah, she consequently began to trust her blonde guardian too.

As you slammed the door behind you, Steve’s eyes snapped to yours and his smirk made you want to punch him so hard. The smugness on his face while he let Grace down without breaking eye contact told you he had no regret, no remorse. In fact, he was loving every second of this cat and mouse chase between you two.

You were a millimeter close to losing your shit, the only check being the kids in the room. But you were mad and he was going to know it.

“What the hell, Steve? Messing with my kid?” You threw your clutch onto the couch, Steve haughty by the reception of his sent message but still holding back because of the kids. He called Wanda and you didn’t really notice where she came from but you did register Steve asking to take the girls to the park for a ‘private discussion’.

As Grace passed by you, you grabbed her arm lightly, making her look at you with doe eyes resembling yours. You gave her a smile trying to ease her, but you knew she was smart enough to sense the change in the atmosphere.

Apparently, the whining Sarah wasn’t.

You looked back to Steve, your hold still on Grace and continued with a frown and raised eyebrows, “She isn’t going anywhere, not out of my sight and obviously not with you or your goons.”

Wanda had the audacity to look offended and you scoffed at her, eyes staring Steve’s down.

“Honey, I don’t think the kids should hear what I think you have to say right now.” He said nodding to Wanda to take Grace.

“You must be deranged to think I trust Grace near anyone even remotely related to you! Take your people and get out.” You held your hand up to stop Wanda and pointed towards the door with the most menacing glare you could form.

Grace looked incomprehensibly between you two, concern and confusion on her face. That might have been the first time such a tone was used in your household. The grumbling Sarah was close to throwing a tantrum, irritated by the change in the playful air or the lack of attention to her, you didn’t know. She was hanging on Wanda’s forearm, her feet slipping on your printed rug. Wanda was trying to not look hurt still by your previous statement, distracting herself by the blonde kid and you were baffled by her obliviousness to all this.

Steve, the beefy blonde Lucifer, was furious and seething. His white knuckles and ticking jaw were the most obvious giveaways, the fingers just itching to beat the shit out of someone no doubt.

Was he imagining striking you into compliance into his weird playhouse game complex? You wouldn’t be surprised given the extent of his attempt to ‘win’ you over.

The ‘get out’ tone and blatant disrespect was a bruise to his ego for sure, and by you, a middle-class woman nonetheless was a worse injury. Steve was the deadly boss to armored men in the vicinity, the kids’ father figure, according to him, and Wanda’s stern yet kind employer.

People had been killed for less and there you were, standing in all your glory, being the only person alive to reject Steve Rogers and now, the only to raise your voice at him.

You almost scoffed at his impudence to look offended, what did he expect? For you to submit to him after the stunt he pulled? His reach was scary he proved today and that any future with him in your life in any way, was a fearsome possibility to entertain but you’d be damned if you went down without a fight.

“You can’t make me leave; we both know. You don’t have the physical edge nor the mental one. I have no problem drawing out G-U-N-S in front of the kids or to throw the warnings around, although I would prefer not to.”

Your free hand itched to slap him, like how his did minutes ago. It wasn’t a mankind problem about men thinking they were entitled to everything; it was a Steve Rogers’s problem. Of course, with him consent didn’t matter. If he had a ‘housewife, kids and fences’ fixation, he’d make it come true.

“Do you even listen to what I say? Or your own words even? Please, go ahead! Traumatise my kid and also yours in your wooing process! Why are you so obsessed? Leave us alone, you freak! I just ignored few messages!” You had a hard time maintaining your cool, if there was any left. You were sure you were scaring Grace and no matter what happened next, you knew she was already traumatized by this entire ordeal already. You were so sorry, so, so, so sorry to your poor baby caught in this mess.

You knew, no, you hoped, he wouldn’t pull out the gun, his actions at the carnival a proof, you remembered how he hid his gun on finding Sarah. That threat was empty but the next one wasn’t, his words making you freeze in your spot.

“I think you keep on misunderstanding me, sweetheart. I don’t make empty promises,”

Posh word for threats.

“For starters, maybe I should pay my future in-laws a visit in their blue duplex. They might need help with the vast garden they have, it is the season for ‘violets’, isn’t it?”

As you froze with your parents being brought up, he also cooled, albeit differently, smirking once again gaining the upper hand, not that he lost it if you were being honest.

“Isn’t threatening my kid enough for you, Steve?” You hated how your loud voice almost broke, your anger slowly subsiding into helplessness and you hated that. You hated his guts, his entitlement, his claim; everything about him.

“You still don’t see it, do you? Our family of four is the most important thing to me right now and I’m not above doing anything to save it.”

“There is no family of four Steve! I keep explaining and you keep coming back to square one with all this bullshit!” The curse word did tick Steve off but he would correct that later, when bigger things weren’t at ploy.

“Your ignorance makes me a little mad sometimes sweetheart and that is why I have to do all I do. You haven’t realized we need each other yet, but I’m staying until you do and even after that, I promise. You know how much it pissed me off to see your tickets and the packed suitcases after I’ve been nothing but nice? I was so generous to spoil you with my riches but instead I find that in your finances.”

This fucker knew. Of course, he did!

You were wondering in the back of your head what had prompted this visit with so many threats and warnings and anguish. He was pissed even before you ‘acted out’, he tracked the tickets and the plan and that meant he even tracked-

“You have so much to learn, but luckily you interact with quite a few people. I am most tempted to start out with this Aiden guy, trying to be the hero and giving you all the ideas. Maybe I should visit him?” Steve wondered out loud, and you flinched at his suggestion, hating how you were trapped by this man.

You couldn’t live with yourself if anyone got hurt because of you, be it your parents or Aiden or any other possibility Steve would come up with. Of course, Grace was your peak priority but you doubted he would hurt her as he threatened to harm them.

“Steve, please.” The fire was almost out, your hands trembling, Grace worried and Steve smug.

“Let the kids go and I think we can come to a conclusion.”

“Steve this needs to stop.” You said, your breaths heavy and helplessness clawing away at you.

“I won’t repeat myself.” He voiced out with a threatening edge, gesturing to Grace and Wanda, clearly telling you to first get the kids out.

For a deranged fucktard, he sure cared about the kids a lot.

You loosened your hold on Grace, patting her arm softly and nudged her to Wanda. Wanda received her little hand and enticed the kids with the promise of ice-cream. Sarah clapped her hands and as the trio left, Grace did look over her shoulders at you in concern and for permission, majorly in concern though. You nodded and waved, a tear dropping as soon as the door clicked shut.

You were still staring at the door, not wanting to meet Steve’s stormy blue orbs when he began, “Today was a slip up that I won’t tolerate again. Neither the cursing nor the dramatics.”

We aren’t in a fucking play, what the fuck is he labelling as dramatics?

Your eyes slowly flickered to his, and you had a hard time not letting the tears escape except the one traitorous one earlier. The fatigue, the worry of Grace’s disappearance, the threats to your friends and family were all catching up to you. It took all in you to stay strong and not fall down right now.

“Steve this isn’t funny anymore. It’s sick and you know it! I just said no! Was that so inexcusable that you had to follow up with this? You have violated me for that, broken into my home and now kidnapped my daughter! At what extent will you stop?” You broke down finally, arms a flailing mess as fat tears rolled down. Nothing scared more than the helplessness this moment. He won and he knew it. The carnival incident was nothing in comparison to this. The only good thing you could hope in all this was a safe Grace but that too only if you complied, which seemed like what you would do now given your attempts at fighting back and scampering have failed laughably.

“Gosh, I forgot how theatrical women are. You are smart darling; you know what I want from day one, just a happy family. Nothing that horrendous has happened and especially not as badly as put it. I’m just looking out for you and me in the long run.” Steve slowly treaded towards you, his hand extended to pat your arm comfortingly but you involuntarily flinched at contact and stepped back. Steve clearly didn’t like that as he caught your arm in a bruising grip and jerked you towards him. Manhandling you as your wet hands rushed to ease his grip was not a tough task for Steve, a surprise to none.

“Stop trembling like I’ve actually done something to harm you!”

Steve clearly didn’t know how to comfort women and it showed.

You stopped with the cowering away, even though it disgusted you to be this much in close proximity with your assaulter. He clearly had anger issues and no clue how to solve them. You needed to steer the conversation right and get him out. You could see your hands visibly shake as you put them on his chest, just to create some distance and in a way of surrendering to not fight. The tears slowed but you don’t think they stopped; it was hard to tell with a million other things on your mind.

As your eyes made contact, Steve loosened his grip, clearly a bit satisfied by your submission, as he began counting to help you breathe. As much as you hated to admit, it helped you and you got a flashback to the time when you freaked out on him about Grace at that extravagant dinner date. That was a sweet gesture then, not so sweet now. Funny how drastically things change with time.

It wasn’t so much Steve’s help as it was your own mind telling you to be fucking smart about the whole ordeal right now.

“Good. Better. Now let’s talk. Why were you planning to run away? I’ve been busy and coming home to find out that wasn’t joyful, you know.” His smile suggested a better mood than before but his voice, his husky voice always had this daring edge that almost challenged you to defy him but at the same time warned you of unpleasant consequences if you did.

“Steve, I’m scared.” You spoke with utmost honesty. “The part of the world you associate yourself with scares me. You can’t blame me for not wanting that life for Grace, I mean you have a kid of your own. Wasn’t the carnival attack specifically on Sarah?”

The reasoning was right but you knew you triggered him the moment his smile evaporated. He either felt insulted as a parent or disrespected in his profession or probably both.

He was fighting his inner demons already and you pointing it out was a slap to his face, a hit he didn’t want to take.

“That was a slip up, I admit. Never again. I’m only human, okay?” He convinced himself and you, his grip tightening a bit again.

Oh no, not the right direction to take.

You reckoned he still had nightmares about it like you, he really did love Sarah a lot, all things aside.

“Besides, I am looking out for you! Out for you and Grace and Sarah. I remember my promise of never putting either of them in harm’s way ever again.”

You definitely didn’t trust his security or his people because what sort of a mobster let his daughter get targeted and possibly abducted? You definitely didn’t know the whole story or if it was just a bad day but he wasn’t a person that deserved some slack. Despite all this, you knew what all he held above you, above a common man. He might not be ‘Kingpin’ skilled but a threat to you nonetheless.

Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “Is that what you call following me around, huh?” which you immediately regretted.

“Trust the process, baby. Everything is just to protect you.”

Is that what he called stalking even Grace around and twistedly enough, sending you proof of that? The anonymous thread of photos was another nightmare of yours, thanks to him. The last being a candid photo inside Grace’s room, her sleeping in her bed this morning and that’s when you decided you needed to get out. Of course, that didn’t go as planned.

“How am I supposed to do that when you have cameras in my house?!” You scoffed and he reeled back at the accusation, having the nerve to look impressed at being uncovered and caught red-handed.

“Oh my fucking God, it was you! You sick pervert!” You jumped out of his grip, your eyes wide and horrified. “I wasn’t aware of what to make of it but of course, it was you! Who else would be sick enough to do that?” You let out a humorless chuckle. You always put things past him even when you keep telling yourself you shouldn’t. When will you ever learn huh?

You were full on panicking yet again, this man was an assaulter, a stalker and a creep too. It would have made a good dark, psychological thriller for you to watch if you weren’t the protagonist about to suffer his obsession.

He reached out to steady you again, but you whipped and stumbled back, realizing too late that you elbowed Steve’s nose so bad that there was a crunch. That, right there, was the look a man real-fucking-furious on Steve’s face and now you could see the feared mobster, the man who was personally terrorizing you under the beautiful, Greek God façade.

Steve reacted so fast even with an injury that in a split second, your view of his face turned into a view of his crotch.

“You do realize that there are others ways for me to teach you obedience? I think it’s fucking time you show me your gratitude for my care and attention and apologize for your misconduct and unkind response.” Steve spoke with a hoarse voice, a voice running out of patience and just about done with defiance.

His hand fisted your hair, maintaining eye contact while he nodded between you and his crotch. You knew what he wanted, what he was expecting as ‘thanks’.

“Steve, please no, you don’t-”

His other hand grabbed your jaw, stopping you from speaking as he warned, “I think you have done just enough talking for today, so why don’t you put that tongue to a better use and show me how sorry you are. Better make it convincing because I’d hate to pay one of your friends a visit and then bitch about a nasty blowjob.” He smirked at the end of his monologue, eyes shining with triumph and amusement.

You wouldn’t let him harm anyone else, you couldn’t. You and your daughter were already knee-deep in a pit and at this point, it’d just be cruel to drag someone else in. With shaky hands opening his pants, you just hoped you could get Grace out before you eventually were buried in it.

“Now that’s a good girl. Submissive is a sexy look on you.” His hands patted your hair, playing with your tresses while yours pulled his pants and then briefs down.

His member jerked out, almost slapping you in the face as you recoiled at his insolence to get hard and erect at your torment. Your disdain must have shown which he took as admiration and derision to take his affluent cock in.

“No need to get shy, I have faith you’ll be able take it just as well in your pretty pussy as you will right now. Open up-”

“Steve, I beg you-”

Just as you had cut him off, he interrupted your pleading. Your gag reflex was probably the most efficient in the world but that turned this narcissist on. It had been years since you had done it, never with a man as beefy as Steve.

His taste was salty and if you had to put it into better words, it was the like overpriced sea salt flakes that you never bought. High and pricey and for the entitled.

Your hands clutched at his thighs as you blacked out multiple times; your jaw aching, uvula swaying and tears escaping. Him forcing himself on you brough a new sense of vulnerability as your body trembled. Steve relished like a sadist, practically rutting into you all by himself as you just sat there with your jaw unnaturally open.

His obscene moans and groans were crass and nauseating and you just prayed for this to be over soon and for no one to walk in on this, especially your kid.

It seemed like it would never end, your body dehydrating with all the spit it produced, the drool dribbling and landing just beside your knees on your printed rug. You would have to throw that out.

The tears stooped after some point, the sobbing an unnecessary action that just tired you out more on this eventful day. You moved your tongue around to prevent your teeth from scratching him when he shifted angles. If this was what he did on slightly mad, you didn’t want to find what he did for a more serious punishment.

Apparently, that action was something that turned him on even more, his breath hitching as neared closure. In broken whispers he demanded that again and you complied, wanting to get done with it.

He growled in the moment of his release and you tried to lean back but his grip didn’t relent. “Swallow.” His grainy, exasperated voice said out loud and you knew better than to defy.

He released you and you fell on to the rug, hip bruising by knocking into some furniture and tears coming back again after being hydrated by his seed. He packed himself, his smile smug and content as his expressions truly resembled ecstasy being personified.

“You be a good fiancée from now on and maybe you’ll have all your friends alive and present at our wedding. No cheeky business from now on, got it?” Steve hummed then and strutted out, not even bothering to listen to your reply.

As soon as the door slammed, your eyes closed and your demons danced again.

There was no right direction to take when you were stuck in a loop.

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definitelyseven · 3 years

Text

liability | eighteen - final

summary: reporter meets mafia boss, Park Jinyoung

It’s been six months since your wedding; since that night. You remembered your white dress being covered in his blood. No matter how many times you called for him, he didn’t respond.

Without Mark, you don’t know how you could’ve survived these past six months. He trained you to take over the clean side of Jinyoung’s business while he took over the dirty side. He didn’t want you to get your hands dirty. Jinyoung wouldn’t have wanted that either.

“Jinyoung, baby. It’s been six months. Please wake up,” you begged by his bed side. The doctor said the surgery was successful but they didn’t know when he’ll wake up. You rubbed the wet towel on his face. “Who could’ve done this?” you whispered to him.

“I’m looking into some people,” Mark responded. “But I don’t want you to worry about it right now. You need to take care of yourself and the baby.”

You instinctively rub your belly. While Jinyoung was in a coma, you also found out you were pregnant. His mother has been ecstatic and has been nicer to you ever since.

“Baby, please wake up soon. I could really use your help with the baby names. Your mother has some interesting ideas,” you joked. “Ow!” you winced in pain.

“What’s wrong?” Mark asked, rushing to your side.

“The baby is kicking,” you whined as you held onto your stomach.

“Deep breaths,” he instructed. You inhaled and exhaled as taught in your baby classes. You grabbed Jinyoung’s hand and placed it on your stomach.

“Do you feel that Jinyoung?” you asked him. “The baby is kicking me.” You watched as Jinyoung’s fingertips slightly move against your stomach. “Mark!”

“He’s moving his fingers,” Mark cheered before running out to get the doctor.

“Jinyoung, honey?” you called again.

You waited patiently outside as the doctor checked up on Jinyoung.

“How’s my Jinyoung?” his mother asked as she rushed towards you.

“He’s awake. Mark and the doctor is in there right now,” you explained to her.

“Mrs. Park,” the doctor called. “He’s awake. Everything seems to be alright with him considering how long he’s been in a coma-”

“Oh thank God,” his mother exclaimed.

“But his memory may be foggy,” the doctor continued to explain.

“W-what?”

“He might not remember you,” Mark continued to explain. You rushed inside Jinyoung’s room. He can’t forget you - he can’t.

“Jinyoung,” you called with tears in your eyes. He looked at you as if he didn’t know who you were. “No...” you whispered.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” he asked.

“I’m your wife,” you revealed, making your way closer to his bed.

“No, she’s not. She’s not your wife,” a voice from behind you said. “Get away from his bed,” his mother said. “Sweetheart, you remember me, right?”

“Yes of course, Mother.”

“This women is not your wife,” she explained. “Your wife, Irene, is on her way.”

“What? No. I’m your wife,” you argued. “Mark?”

“Jinyoung, she’s your wife. Not Irene,” he agreed with you.

“It’s me,” you whimpered.

You stood outside his room as you watched Irene and Jinyoung talked. He was smiling at her like she was the love of his life. It made your heart ache. How could he not remember you but remember Irene?

“Don’t worry. He’ll remember you. He has too,” Mark comforted.

“Y/N let’s have a chat,” his mother demanded as she pulled you to the side. Mark quickly followed behind.

“How could you?” you asked her with tears in your eyes. “How could you say I’m not Jinyoung’s wife?”

“Now that he’s lost all his memories, I want him to have the perfect wife he deserves and that’s not you,” she revealed. “We’ll keep the baby after you give birth. Irene will raise it as her own.”

“You can’t do that,” you sobbed. “I won’t let you. Jinyoung won’t let that happen.”

“He has no reason to protect you anymore. He doesn’t remember you and I want it to stay that way. You killed his father.”

“I am legally his wife,” you reasoned.

“No papers were signed - saying I do is just part of it.”

She was right. You and Jinyoung never signed any papers. You inhaled a deep breath, “I’m never letting you have my baby.”

“See you in court then,” she smiled before walking away. You exhaled deeply, turning your attention to Mark.

“I won’t let that happen,” Mark comforted. “Give him some time.”

“You really don’t remember me?” you asked softly. Jinyoung looks at you blankly, trying to remember you. “That’s okay,” you comforted him and yourself as you reached for his hand. He flinches at your touch. “Sorry,” you mumbled.

“No, I’m the one that should apologize. I’m sorry I don’t remember you,” he said. “I’m really trying.”

You shake your head, “It’s not your fault. We will find whoever did this to you.”

“Irene said Y/N did this to me. Do you know who Y/N is?” he asked.

“I’m Y/N. I’m your wife. I would never do this to you,” you sobbed. “This is our baby,” you said rubbing your stomach. “Why would I want to hurt my baby’s father?”

“I-I don’t know,” he replied, holding his head. “I don’t know. My head hurts,” he complained.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Irene shouts from behind. She rushes over to Jinyoung’s side, pushing you away as she tries to calm him down to relieve his headache. “Why do you insist on hurting him all the time?”

“You fucking bitch,” you mumbled in between your sobs.

“I heard that,” she glared while pouring Jinyoung a glass of water.

“Irene, you said Y/N did this to me. How did she do it?” Jinyoung asked weakly.

“You can’t possibly think that’s true,” you said in disbelief.

“I hired a private investigator. She deposited a large sum of money to a mysterious bank account an hour before the wedding. I traced the offshore account and it’s tied to a well-known gang,” Irene explained. You shook your head, denying all the allegations.

“No...that’s not true,” you sobbed.

“Don’t even try to lie. I have all the proof here,” she said reaching for her purse. She pulls out the documentation and hands it to Jinyoung. “See baby,” she pointed. “Look at all that money being transferred between accounts.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” you sobbed. “I don’t have an offshore account and the gunman was aiming the gun at me. You got injured trying to save me.”

“See,” Irene quickly asserts. “She knew you were going to save her so of course the target wouldn’t be you.”

“After everything we’ve been through, I would never hurt you.”

“You mean everything Jinyoung and I been through. Babe, it’s true you guys had a relationship. You cheated on me with her, but I forgive you. I will always forgive you,” Irene said tearing up. This fucking bitch.

“How were you able to find all this when Mark wasn’t able to find a single thing for months?” Jinyoung asked, suspicious.

“Oh,” Irene said, caught off guard. “Money can do wonders, silly.”

“I have money.”

“I don’t know Jinyoung; hire better help?” Irene said, annoyed.

“You set everything up perfectly to frame Y/N,” Jinyoung revealed.

“What? Don’t be ridiculous sweetie. Why would I hurt you? I love you,” she tries to convince Jinyoung.

“You were never trying to hurt me. You wanted to hurt Y/N. You just didn’t think I would save her,” Jinyoung revealed. Irene chuckles nervously. “I’m not stupid Irene. I may have just woken up but I know you. I remember you.”

Irene rolls her eyes and moves away from Jinyoung. “Why do you insist on believing her even when you don’t remember her?! I’m your wife!” she practically shouted. “I’m the one you should be loving!”

“Because you’re always so desperate for my attention you’d do anything! Even if it meant hurting someone! That’s the person you are - you’re selfish and greedy. You only want what you can’t have. That’s the Irene I know,” Jinyoung explained.

Irene’s eyes swells up with tears. “You’ll never love me like you love her,” she said with her lips quivering. “She’s the reason your father is dead!”

“Maybe but I can never be with you, Irene. She’s pregnant with my child. I have to be responsible.”

“I will treat the child as my own,” Irene said. “I promise I will love it like I love you. I promise I will change. I’ll be a better person.”

“I will never give you my child,” you tell her. “I will never let her grow up with a monster.”

“Her?” Jinyoung asked. You nodded slowly which made him smile. “It’s a girl,” he whispered to himself.

“Me or her, Jinyoung. Me or her,” she repeated. “This is your last chance. If you pick her, I will have my parents withdraw out of every investment in your company,” she threatened.

“I don’t care if you withdraw your investments. I don’t care about that. I want to be with my child and my child’s mother, even if I don’t remember them.”

“You’ll regret this,” Irene says through her teeth before leaving. You made your way towards Jinyoung’s bed. He grabs your hand.

“I’m sorry I can’t remember. I’ll try harder,” he said squeezing your hand.

“You don’t have to apologize. It’s not your fault,” you assured him. “Are you going to let her off that easy?” you asked, referring to Irene’s attempted murder.

“If you don’t mind. It’s the least I can do for her. She became like this because of me,” Jinyoung explained. You nodded slowly, agreeing with him.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“Can you tell me how we met?” he asked. You smiled at him, nodding.

“I was a reporter and you were a dangerous businessman. I wanted an interview with you,” you began to tell him. Even if he didn’t remember you or everything you’ve been through together, you would be willing to spend the rest of your life making new memories with him.

a little note from jennie: i’m so sorry for the delay on this final chapter. i really wanted to come up with a perfect ending for this and i’ve rewritten this so many times. hope you enjoyed it! :)

168 notes · View notes

ikeromantic · 3 years

Text

Hero's Welcome

A Mitsuhide Akechi story, this scene occurs toward the end of Ch. 13 in the romantic route. Spoilers! Approx. 2500 words.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Delicious SFW/NSFW

As the walls of Azuchi drew closer, Mitsuhide felt a wave of relief. Of course, it was followed shortly by a new tension. He wasn’t sure if Nobunaga would grant him the right to marry his little one, or if he did, what the condition of that union might be. It was practical to make your first bride a political alliance - to give the place of privilege to a powerful family’s daughter. But Mitsuhide had no stomach for that.

He wanted just her.

The chatelaine didn’t seem to notice his reticence to return. In fact, she was practically bouncing on her toes in excitement. She kept walking faster, nearly running toward the city gate.

“There’s no reason to run, little mouse. Azuchi isn’t going anywhere.”

She stopped to turn and smile at him. “I’m just so glad to finally be home.”

Mitsuhide smiled and held out his hand. “Let’s go in together.”

Ranmaru and Hideyoshi were waiting for them.

Mitsuhide watched the cheerful page and wondered if Ranmaru knew that he knew . . . He would need to watch him even more carefully now. Kennyo knew his weakness and Ranmaru was perfectly positioned to take advantage of it.

Hideyoshi interrupted his train of thought with a restrained greeting. His eyes searched first the chatelaine and then Mitsuhide, looking for injuries. For signs of their struggle. “Welcome back,” he said.

“Happy to see us?” Mitsuhide’s thin smile turned his lips up at the corners.

“I am.”

The chatelaine hugged Ranmaru and then wrapped her arms around Hideyoshi. He awkwardly patted her head. “It’s good to see you.”

To Mitsuhide’s ear, his voice sounded strained, but the chatelaine didn’t seem to notice. She grinned up at him.

“I missed you! Both of you! Where is everyone else?”

Hideyoshi extracted himself from her embrace and nodded toward the castle. “Waiting for you both there. We weren’t sure you would make it back today.”

Ranmaru gave a sly smile. “Hideyoshi has been at the gates every day since we received word that the shogun has . . . decided to go into seclusion.”

“I haven’t,” Hideyoshi sputtered.

Mitsuhide shook his head. Hideyoshi was a terrible liar. “We best not keep the others waiting. Come, little one.”

The chatelaine took his hand again. Ranmaru and Hideyoshi led them back.

As they walked through the city, Mitsuhide took note of the mood there. People seemed largely unaware of the conflict, though he noted few merchants from outer provinces. Likely the result of the false conflict with Echigo. A small price to pay, considering the alternatives.

The shadow of Azuchi’s tenshu fell across Mitsuhide’s face as they drew up to the gates. Apropo, he thought, and squeezed his beloved’s hand. She would be his light in any shadow, even this one that came of his own choice.

Surprisingly, the other members of the Oda alliance were all there in the courtyard. Seeing them, his little mouse broke into a run. He could have let go of her hand, followed her in, but he never wanted to release her. Instead, he ran with her. He could tell this amused Nobunaga by the rise of his brows.

Ieyasu actually grinned. “Mitsuhide is actually running somewhere instead of slowly sauntering. I’ve seen everything now.”

Masamune waggled his eyebrows. Never one for subtlety, he said in a loud voice, “That was one hell of a sight!”

Mitsunari nodded, his angelic face lit by a sweet smile. “I understand them completely. I am so excited they are back.”

Ieyasu rolled his eyes and sighed.

Mitsuhide seconded that. “Have things been so empty in my absence that you all have an excess of free time to stand around in the courtyard?”

Hideyoshi frowned. “Free time? Do you have any idea how much time and energy we spent worrying about you both? You sent few enough messages and what you did send - “

“Ah, it’s been so long I almost forgot what one of your lectures felt like. Please. Do continue.”

The chatelaine giggled, Masamune snorted a laugh, and even Ieyasu cracked a small smile.

“Oh, I will,” Hideyoshi’s face flushed.

Before he could get up steam to really lay into Mitsuhide, Mitsunari came to the rescue. He laid a hand on Hideyoshi’s arm. “We really should get them both inside. They look tired and in need of refreshment. Should I prepare some tea?”

This was sufficient threat to unite the two men. “No,” both said in tandem.

Masamune took the chatelaine’s arm. “I’ve prepared some welcome home treats just for you.”

Mitsuhide might have intervened if Nobunaga had not taken that moment to speak. “Mitsuhide, and my chatelaine. You’ve returned.”

The two of them bowed, and brought Masamune with them as he hadn’t released the chatelaine just yet.

“We have, my lord.” Mitsuhide held his bow. Officially, he was disgraced and this was his crawl back to service. He had to play the part, much as it grated.

“You have done well, Mitsuhide.” Nobunaga’s voice was loud enough that the passing servants and guards would hear. A signal that the wayward kitsune was welcomed back with open arms.

Mitsuhide and his little mouse straightened. It was the welcome he’d hoped for, but hadn’t expected. Nobunaga could have left him in limbo - an uncertain status with conditional forgiveness. Of course, even with this pronouncement, Mitsuhide intended to stay at the fringes of the alliance. It was necessary.

Nobunaga then beckoned the chatelaine.

She let go of Mitsuhide’s arm. The absence of her made him feel unbalanced. He made as if to follow, but Hideyoshi and Masamune intercepted him.

“So?” Masamune’s one blue eye searched Mitsuhide’s face.

Hideyoshi’s jaw tightened. “She looks bruised. What happened?”

Mitsuhide gave them both his crescent moon smile. “The little mouse is a brave one. Now, if you don’t mind . . .”

“As it happens, I do. I have many questions about how this assignment wrapped up.” Hideyoshi’s expression was guarded. There was a wealth of brotherhood held tight behind walls of distrust and betrayal. He wasn’t ready to welcome the kitsune back with open arms.

“There’s no rush to report, Hideyoshi. I don’t plan on hiding or running from you.” Mitsuhide softened his smile. “Can we not celebrate our return first? Then I can provide an answer to all your questions. All together.”

Hideyoshi’s frown relented. “That would be a change.”

Masamune laughed as Mitsuhide nodded in agreement.

Though he would never admit it aloud, it felt good to be among friends. People who had shown time and again that they valued him. It hurt too. To know that his duty required their betrayal and may yet again.

Hideyoshi gestured to Ranmaru. “Make sure he doesn’t escape. I need to prepare a war council. Right now.”

Nobunaga and the chatelaine turned to look.

Ranmaru gave her a little bow. “I’m sorry my lady. I need to borrow Lord Mitsuhide for a bit. I promise to give him back.” His laugh was mischevious, high and false.

Nobunaga took the chatelaine’s hands. “We will speak again soon. I must attend to this.”

Mitsuhide waived to her, hoping to ease her sudden, worried look. “Why don’t you go rest now? I’ll be along soon.” He exchanged a look with Ieyasu, who thankfully understood what was needed.

She nodded, though she didn’t look happy about it.

“Mitsunari and I will walk you back to your rooms.” The young warlord took her arm gently.

Mitsunari was quick to follow. “Oh yes! Let’s walk together. You can tell me about your trip.” He smiled cheerily, as if oblivious to the tension.

Masamune looked between the chatelaine and Mitsuhide. “Think I’ll walk aways with the lass as well.”

“Good.” Nobunaga nodded. “You three can explain the current situation to her.”

When they disappeared into the castle grounds, Mitsuhide allowed Ranmaru to lead him to the council chamber. Nobunaga sat down at the head and Hideyoshi followed after.

“Ranmaru, bring us tea.”

The page bowed and left, casting a side-eyed glance at Mitsuhide once he did.

When only the three of them were left, Nobunaga spoke. “Your solution to the problem is novel, but carries with it some risk. There are still those that knew Yoshiaki personally.”

“Novel?” Hideyoshi sputtered. “All he did was delay the problem! When the emperor’s court learns what he’s done they’ll -”

“They won’t. The shogun will announce an interest in Buddhism and his need for solitude. This will keep most away. For the others . . . Kyubei and I will be there to guide him. I plan to keep an assistant at his side at all times.” Mitsuhide smiled. “And if it is discovered then, what says I had anything to do with it? Yoshiaki and I parted on amicable terms . . . if his scribe murders him in secret, it has nothing to do with me.”

Nobunaga thought about this in silence.

“You’re very sure of yourself.” Hideyoshi’s brows were drawn down, his face hard. “What happens if you’re wrong?”

“Then I will deal with whatever comes. Have I not done so, as long as you have known me?”

Hideyoshi gave a reluctant nod. “And the chatelaine? Why did you drag her into it? She was supposed to stay in Kyoto.” His voice rose on this question, stained with anger.

“I did leave her in Kyoto,” Mitsuhide sighed. “Yoshiaki went after her.”

Nobunaga’s face was impassive as he waited for additional explanation.

“His ninja kidnapped her and took her to the daimyo’s estate, bypassing our siege. He injured her,” Mitsuhide admitted. “But once in the estate, Kyubei was able to-”

“You couldn’t protect her from your enemies.” Hideyoshi’s voice was heavy with held emotion. “She was hurt because of you. She still has the bruises on her face, and who knows what other injuries! You - you-”

“Enough, Hideyoshi.” Nobunaga’s voice cracked like a whip. “The chatelaine was ordered to accompany him. She was hurt doing her duty. This fault does not lie on Akechi.”

Hideyoshi clamped his mouth shut, clearly not satisfied but unwilling to speak against Nobunaga.

“Yes, that is correct,” Mitsuhide inclined his head. “Even when our plans changed and she was captured, she performed admirably. Acting as both spy and distraction. I have a written report from Kyubei detailing their efforts, as well as some notes I took afterward.”

Nobunaga smiled. “So you come back to me having accomplished an impossible task. Yet I cannot publicly embrace you. Traitor twice over, and spy . . . what plan do you have now?”

Mitsuhide knew this was where things would get difficult. He faced it as he did most struggles. By smiling widely, his golden eyes like opaque windows giving nothing away. “I plan to be banished to my lands for a time, sent away with a bride to bind me to the Oda forces.”

Nobunaga’s eyebrows rose. Hideyoshi leapt to his feet.

“You can’t think-”

Ranmaru entered with the tea tray. “My lords?” He took in Mitsuhide’s smile and Hideyoshi’s posture. “I’ll just set this here.” He put the tray on the table, bowed, and left the room.

“Did you have a bride in mind,” Nobunaga asked after they were alone again. His gaze held a knowing light.

“I do.”

“You don’t get to betray us and then waltz back in, and, and, walk out with - she already - “ Hideyoshi didn’t seem to be able to finish his train of thought.

“Nobunaga Oda, my lord. I would humbly request permission to marry a princess in your keeping. You have already given your consent to our betrothal. I would take her into my family now.” Mitsuhide bowed low and held the position, waiting.

Hideyoshi, however, wasn’t going to let this moment pass. “No! My lord, you can’t really think that betrothal was serious! She’s half afraid of him! And - and just look at the state of her. She came back hurt. Because of him, his enemies - and it’s not the first time. He would drag her down with him. She deserves . . .”

“You?” Nobunaga’s voice was gentle, the question clear.

“My lord. I would keep her safe.” Hideyoshi bowed beside Mitsuhide.

“I am of a mind to let the fireball decide,” Nobunaga replied. “If I told her who she was going to marry, she’d likely refuse out of stubbornness.” He grinned. “She may not want either one of you.”

It was not the response Mitsuhide had hoped for. Not that he thought his little mouse would choose another - but he’d hoped Nobunaga would grant him this right clearly. Still, he rose and nodded. “As you will, my lord.”

Hideyoshi shot him a triumphant look. He clearly believed he’d be able to sway the girl. Which only proved he didn’t know her as well as he thought he did.

Masamune, Ieyasu, and Mitsunari filed in and sat down.

“Did we miss anything,” the one-eyed dragon asked. His smile said he knew more than he was letting on.

Nobunaga shrugged. “Mitsuhide asked for leave to marry the chatelaine. I’ve told him she will pick her husband.”

Mitsunari smiled brightly. “That’s very kind of you, my lord. I’m sure she’ll choose wisely.”

“I doubt it,” Ieyasu muttered.

Masamune laughed.

“Now, there are more important things to discuss.” Nobunaga’s lips thinned line. “Echigo is still a problem. And we know the Mouri have something planned. What is more, Kennyo still seeks me for revenge. We cannot rest yet. Mitsuhide, what is the rest of your report.”

It took hours to discuss what he’d learned of the Mouri and the remnants of the Ikko Ikki. Plus Masamune and Hideyoshi both had reports on Echigo and the false conflict they’d staged. By the time the discussion ended, it was well past dark.

Crickets chirped and the trees whispered in a cool, night breeze. Overhead, the stars shone like gems. Mitsuhide found himself appreciating all of it, even as he hurried out. He went to the chatelaine’s quarters to find her, but her rooms were empty. It barely looked like she’d been there.

He knew where she would be, if not there, and he smiled. His steps were light as he approached his estate. Kyubei met him at the entrance.

“My lord. She waits for you in your room.”

“Bold little mouse, isn’t she?”

Kyubei smiled and ran a hand over his short hair. “She is. Last I checked on her, she was reading as she waited, though she looks in need of rest.”

“That sounds like her.” Mitsuhide left Kyubei and continued to his room.

He slid the door open gently and stepped inside. The room was spotless, much as it had been when he was imprisoned. And there at his desk, sat his little mouse. A book was open in front of her, though her eyes were shut tight. Her head lay on the desk, cushioned by her arm. She looked so sweet, so innocent, that for a moment, Mitsuhide’s chest hurt.

His footsteps were almost silent as he crossed the room. His fingertips brushed gently down her hair and the sweep of her neck. “No matter how many times I see your sleeping face, I find it hard to look away.”

Mitsuhide shrugged out of his haori and laid it over her shoulders to keep her warm. Then he set up the bed. He kept expecting her to wake, but she didn’t stir. When the futon was ready, he carefully lifted her up. Cradled against his chest like this, he felt reluctant to set her down. Only knowing she’d be in his arms all night made the choice easier.

When he lay down, she turned her face to her chest and curled tight against him. Mitsuhide put his arm around her and closed his eyes. This was a true welcome home, he thought. Wherever she was, would be home to him.

Next: Loyalties

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen mitsuhide #mitsuhide akechi #ikesen nobunaga #ikesen hideyoshi #otome guys #otome #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff

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duskandstarlight · 3 years

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Embers & Light (Chapter 30)

Notes: Well, it's here... the chapter you have all been waiting for. I can only hope that you like it and that it tugs at your heartstrings. This is my Valentine's day gift to all my wonderful readers who have stuck with me for thirty chapters for... this, I imagine. It's a start—a beginning for these two—as they step into something new. As usual, forgive any typos and I intend to reply to every one of you who commented on the last chapter. I'm so sorry for the delay in replying, things have been a bit crazy on my end, but I appreciate every single one of you.

ACOSF in two days...! And because I am desperately trying to keep spoiler free, please don't mention any snippets you may have received beyond SJM's teasers. That includes the leaked chapters—please keep it to yourself but of course, let me know what you think of the chapter and my inbox is open for any of you wanting to speak to me spoiler-free. Thank you so much <3

Chapter Thirty Cassian

Pure, undiluted rage burned inside of Cassian. It roared, drowning everything out as he landed to a blood bath of winged males impaled with pine needles, charred ashen bodies and the evidence of killing blows. But Cassian only registered them because of the years of training that had been drummed into him to catalogue and analyse his surroundings.

His hands wielded twin swords as if they were an extension of who he was but his legs… they moved of their own accord, racing towards the opening of the cave without him asking them to. Towards that scent that Cassian had no problem detecting above the blood and shit and gore.

Behind him, Lorrian swore as they stepped over the threshold of the cave’s entrance, their siphons flashing and flaring to find rusty cages lining the walls and a pit of blood in the centre. The awful images of dirty abused girls registered as Cassian desperately scanned the cave—until his eyes fell on Nesta’s back. Her leathers were streaked in red and she was kneeling in a pool of blood before an injured girl who was wreathed in that wondrous, singing light.

Frawley appeared beside them in a swirl of smoke, moving in that way she often did that hinted she was more element than being, stopping them in their tracks a few feet away.

“What took you so long,” Frawley snapped to Cassian, one blue eye boring into him whilst the other flicked to Lorrian at his side, as if her attention could not help but be drawn to her husband. “Get Nesta out of the trance—now. Pull on that damned cord, do whatever you need to do. She channelled her energy from the fear and despair, but her body is dropping into exhaustion. She’s going to crash earlier than expected. We haven’t trained for this. Only you—”

Frawley’s voice tuned out as the crack of Cassian’s knee-caps jarred his body as he hit the rocky floor. Wet seeped through Cassian’s leathers, courtesy of the pool of fresh blood coming from the dead male to Cassian’s right, but he barely registered. He was too busy detecting the stale scent of arousal and death and cruelty. This was a male had no doubt stuck his cock where it did not belong and caused unimaginable harm to innocent, defenceless girls as they cried and struggled.

Anger soared into the snow ruffled peaks of Cassian’s fury at the thought and the cave… it quaked in response.

“Don’t bring the cave down as you do it.” Frawley’s words bit through him, her voice wholly ancient—too like Amren’s. “Put a leash on it otherwise we’ll be buried in rubble.”

It was easier said than done to reign in that snarling beast. But then time seemed to—change. From the moment Cassian pressed his back to Nesta’s and hoarsely began to chant her name, everything blurred and tumbled. As Cassian’s eyes shut of their own accord, the cave became as dark and depthless as a night sky devoid of starlight. As Cassian was pulled deep within himself, sucked inwards by a vacuum he had no control over.

The black Cassian spiralled down towards was as thick as tar, but to his right, a shadowed veil rippled in an invisible wind. It chanted in tandem with the screaming in his mind, that one word repeated over and over and over—a mate calling to its mate. A male calling to their beloved and hoping they were enough.

That beautiful healing lullaby had started to miss the right notes, the music falling into something off-kilter and gut-wrenchingly wrong. Panic rose like bile in Cassian’s throat and he reached for that twisted rope, and, without hesitating or second guessing himself, he tugged on it with all of his might.

The resounding crack and splinter in Cassian’s ears was awful. Pain threw itself down that bond and into the heart of his chest. And then, for a beat as that pain ebbed away, there was nothing… Even the healing music stopped. The quiet was so eerie Cassian could only hear his heart beating wildly in his ears. But then he felt it: fiery strength and steely determination. A light travelling down that tether to meet his, scenting of jasmine and vanilla—of Nesta.

Then Cassian was thrown outwards and his eyes opened to find the cave bleeding back into focus and that enthralling power dying at Nesta’s hands. Her magic dropped with such suddenness that she lost balance and careened backwards into his chest. The jolt had the world tilting again, but Cassian scrambled to collect himself, encasing Nesta safely in wings and arms.

By the time those smoky blue eyes snapped open and stared up at him, Cassian was already ferociously scanning Nesta’s body for injury. He catalogued every cut and scrape, every smear of blood. He turned her hands over in his to find them stained red. There was so much death on Nesta’s hands if the charred remains and bodies impaled with fiery weapons were anything to go by. This strong, sharp female fighting for what was right—to fight for those who could not defend themselves, even as it sent her spiralling into the darkest of places.

And Cassian knew it had effected her in unthinkable ways. Knew as he stared into those beautiful eyes that had held such life in the past month and found her pupils blown wide and unseeing. Felt the churning emotions that Nesta was too overwhelmed to keep in check as they hurtled down that bond between them. Frozen wrath and terror and agony. Each sensation a double-edged sword as it was plunged into the gut, over and over.

Fury clambered inside of Cassian at the injustice of Nesta’s magic. That not only was she burdened with the tireless task of keeping a check on her own heightened emotions, but others as well. Constantly monitoring them day in and day out so they did not become too much—so they did not swell and spill over the wall she had resurrected for herself. The wall that had been lowered so it was waist-high rather than a fortress—so she was not doomed to float through life numb and unfeeling and at a distance from others.

Understanding all of that—the sacrifice and burden Nesta carried—had the cave shaking again as Cassian ordered Nesta to put her walls up. Loose pebbles and dust rained down from the ceiling, and in the periphery, Cassian heard Lorrian swear and Frawley hiss, but that anger… he couldn’t control it. It was white hot and sizzling, boiling his blood and making his power itch. His siphons hadn’t stopped flaring since he’d first felt Nesta roaring down that bond and he’d known something was dreadfully, knee-tremblingly wrong. He and Lorrian had torn through the sky as he followed that invisible tie wreathed in light—emerald and ruby shooting stars tracking their way across the sky.

And now… that anger that had been pushing against his skin was morphing into something truly terrible—the monster who became consumed by blood lust. Just as he had that day when he’d slaughtered and tortured all of the males at the Spearhead camp—

A hand rested on Cassian’s cheek, cutting through that urge to massacre and ask questions later. The touch was grounding and so unquestionably right that he leant into that blood splattered palm, relishing in the cool, slim fingers which cut through that fire.

“Walls up, Nesta,” Cassian ordered, as he felt those talons hooking deep inside of her, clawing at her, tugging her down into the oily depths where he could not reach her. He watched those eyes glaze over until they were hollow, and even though that bond was open, everything went so unearthly quiet that Cassian would have thought some vital connection had been severed if it wasn’t for the faintest glimmer of her that sparked in the gloomy dark.

Everything moved too fast after that. And the entire time Nesta walked around the cave and clearing like a phantom ghost, even as she held her hands out to assist Frawley in healing any urgent injuries.

“We need a support unit or we need to get out,” Lorrian said roughly in Cassian’s ear, as together they surveyed the bastard tied to the tree. Nesta’s bindings still glowed silver and the bastard’s head hung limp against his chest from where Cassian had knocked him out.

“Frawley can cast a shield over this place so nobody can get in or out without our say so,” Lorrian continued, “but I don’t doubt that Ironcrest will have warriors out searching for us. Not after we left so abruptly without informing anybody of where we were going. I bet the first thing Rufous did was send a messenger straight to Marsh or Kallon. I suggest we leave and come back tomorrow with males we can trust to search the place.”

Kallon—the prince who none of them had seen all day. Not even in the sparring ring. And whilst Marsh hadn’t made an appearance, it was the latter that sent warning bells ringing in Cassian’s head. Something about it was off. All of them could all sense it, but right now there were bigger matters at hand. Namely what to do with the females.

“Can you host the girls at the cottage?” Cassian asked his friend. From the girls that had been able to speak, it was clear that all of them apart from Samra and Ailie had no parents to speak of. “Set up makeshift accommodation until we decide what we need to do?”

It was dangerous territory they were stepping into. A statement and the beginnings of power-play to take females from a camp, even if it was for their safety. Lesser actions had started wars between the clans, but Cassian would not stand by. Rhys wouldn’t either. Especially not when the males were wearing bands around their arms that Cassian was certain belonged to the rebellion.

“Of course we can,” Frawley announced as she came up beside them. Nesta and Sala were close behind. The manticore had stuck to Nesta like a shadow since Cassian had arrived, as if she too could sense that Nesta was far, far away. “It will be quicker if I channel us to the cottage.”

Lorrian was frowning with concern. “All at once?”

“Needs must,” Frawley clipped, but she did not meet her husband’s eye. “It will drain me after I cast a shield but I can do it. It does mean that I won’t be able to channel you and Nesta back to Windhaven. There won’t be room—”

“That’s fine,” Cassian interjected, with a quick cut of his hand through the air. “We’ll fly from the Steppes.”

“I can help.” It was the first time Nesta had spoken in a long while and it came out as a rasp. “I still have some magic left—to help heal the girls. I can heal their wings.”

Terror gripped at Cassian’s gut but he would not tell Nesta no. He wouldn’t take this from her—her ability to heal and bring life rather than take it away. Even though Cassian was tired, he could feel the whisper of Nesta’s magic churning back to life, no doubt fuelled from the sickening history that had seeped into the landscape.

Those eyes slid to Cassian as her chin tilted upwards. And although there was a fierceness to Nesta’s expression, something was missing, as if she wasn’t really there. “I can do it.”

He nodded to show he understood, just as Frawley added, “Caer has already gone on ahead to alert my sisters. They’ll come to help heal the injured. One of them can send word to Velaris for you, assuming that’s what you need to do.”

Cassian nodded. That was essential. Cassian needed to connect with his family to tell them what had happened here. He needed to let Rhys into his mind so he could showcase the horrors and get Azriel down to interrogate the bastard Nesta had thought to keep alive rather than bring about his death.

The male that Cassian knew to be called Alaksandar had struggled and thrashed against Nesta’s magical bindings when he had first spied the general—had pissed himself as he surveyed the iron rage on Cassian’s face. It had taken everything in Cassian not to murder him on the spot, but they needed him—needed the information he would bring once Azriel plucked out Truth-Teller from its shadowy sheath. Not that Cassian wasn’t tempted to wrestle the information out of the male himself.

Time sped by after that. Frawley obliterated the shattered remains of the shield hiding the cave from sight before casting an impenetrable web of her own. Then she had weaved another bubble—her magic a smoke that glittered with such gentleness that Nesta did not tense beside him. Cassian pulled her to him anyway, burying his hands in her hair at the nape of her neck. But Nesta did not look at him. Did not even seem to notice as they blended into smoke and mist—into water and earth and air—until they were channelled into the muddy paddock that served as a sparring ring at the back of the cottage.

Frawley’s sisters had kitted out the barn with inviting, spacious beds and cast their magic so it was wonderfully warm and inviting—safe. And even though Frawley’s sisters were far more intimidating than the white-haired witch, they had all dampened their glow, emitting an aura of calm that even made Cassian forget at times that they were something ancient—something other.

Cassian sought out Kalika as soon as they landed—the dark-skinned witch of the Northern Steppes and the most terrifying of Frawley’s sisters—and dared to ask her to cast a message to Rhys which disappeared on a moth-carried wind. Frawley’s other sisters—Narihara and Andraste—swished between the kitchen and the barn, remedying and administering sleeping draughts and tinctures designed to ease pain.

Frawley saw that all of them received her tea tonic and Cassian had felt energy flush into his system before it was promptly drained again as he ferried between the barn and the cottage, pressing drinks into Nesta’s hands whenever he saw her start sway.

Somehow Cassian knew when Nesta was done—when her body was close to giving out—the tea no longer enough to replenish her magic levels which had seen her hanging just barely on the precipice of her magic reserves. Nesta had not had enough power left to heal the cuts in the girls wings, but was able to knot bone and membrane back together. It had taken Madja weeks to repair the tatters of Cassian’s wings—the spell-work too intricate for even the most skilled of healers—but Nesta melded bone and membrane back together with an ease that others could not muster. Even Frawley’s sisters had eyed Nesta with cautious admiration, as if they could sense that celestial something inside of her that set her apart from everyone and everything. A queen on a much-earned pedestal.

Cassian found Nesta kneeling by another makeshift bed, her hands emitting that pure white light as they hovered over a set of bent and torn wings. The light was buttery soft rather than blinding white, and Cassian could tell from the way it sang softly that her power was a whisper of what it should be—just as his was. Despite the multiple brews he had drank, his siphons throbbing had ebbed to a flickering pulse, something which had Frawley eyeing him in that disconcerting way of hers as she brusquely waved at him to go home and come back when he was useful.

He had not protested. He wanted to get Nesta home. For her to convalesce in a place that was associated with safety and warmth. Where she could bathe and rid herself of the blood whilst he sat with an ear to the door. Where he could ensure that she ate and looked after herself. A place where she could be herself—where she could be quiet and digest and allow herself to be hollow if that was what she needed. But Nesta now—pretending to be ok when her eyes were so blank—was making it hard to breathe.

And still down that bond, Cassian felt nothing. Wide open, for once, but utterly empty—like a tunnelled-out void.

“Nesta.” Cassian touched his fingers so they rested gently against a shoulder. She did not reply or twist to look up at him, but the light faded from her palms, like a star winking out.

Cassian took a healthy step away as the girl Nesta had been healing watched him with wary, glazed eyes. He made himself smile at her, even as the girl shrank back into herself, pressing herself into the mattress as if she was willing herself to disappear.

For the first time in Cassian’s life, he wished he could vanish the wings and the tattoos—anything that marked him as Illyrian. That reminded the girl of the horrors she had suffered.

Bending over, Nesta spoke in such hushed tones to the girl that even Cassian could not hear her. But then Nesta was standing, her posture as steely and distant as she rose as if she were balancing a crown on her head. Narihara swooped in to administer the girl a sedative to help her sleep and Sala, who had been sitting on her haunches by the bed, rose to her feet.

Together, they walked in silence out of the barn. Cassian deliberately paced himself a few feet behind Nesta and the manticore who padded at her side. Dusk was well and truly descending and starlight already dusted the night sky. In the Steppes nature was its own creature and despite the cottage, it felt as if the sky was a tangible canvas, so low they could reach up and brush the starlight with their fingertips.

“Sweetheart,” Cassian rasped softly. He had intended to say something else, not that he knew what that was going to be, but as Nesta turned to him, speech left him. She looked so lost—so broken and traumatised—that Cassian felt as if he had been transported back to when she had first arrived in Illyria with him. When she was gaunt and traumatised and wholly unreachable.

Cassian’s blood-stained fingers lifted her chin so he could search her eyes. And in them—nothing. No whisper of that colossal fire or that fierce defiance that he loved. None of that at all. Only vast emptiness.

“I want to go home.”

The confession was small and almost childlike and Cassian nearly fell to his knees.

Home. She wanted to go home—with him.

Cassian pulled Nesta’s unnaturally pliant body to him. One hand fisting into the hair at the nape of her neck—into the tangled brown hair that had all but fallen from her braid. Nesta did not hug him back, but after a moment, she fisted her hands against his chest and her forehead came to rest just over his heart.

“Ok sweetheart, we’ll go,” Cassian murmured, dropping his lips to the crown of her head and pressing them there—instilling all the love and comfort into the gesture that he could muster. “I’ll take you home.”

***

Windhaven was sleeping when they finally landed outside of the bungalow with Sala close behind them. Even the skies had been quiet on the flight back: Cassian had only seen the odd Illyrian patrolling the skies, their figures a streak of darkness temporarily blotting out the starlight as they tracked the perimeter. They usually knew better than to stop Cassian mid-flight, but he had winked his siphons into the dark anyway, warning them to steer clear. The last thing they needed was to be stopped when they were so close to home.

The stone house was eerily quiet when they stepped across the threshold, and bobbing faelights gently flickered to life, illuminating the way as Cassian led Nesta by the hand down the hallway. He had been touching her at every opportunity since he had found her on her knees, covered in blood and her hands humming with that ancient healing light. Cassian had hoped the physical contact might anchor her, but Nesta had continued to slip away from him ever since, until their connection was nothing but an empty, lifeless corridor.

“Shower then bed,” Cassian told Nesta as he pushed open the door to the bathroom to reveal the large tub. “You’ll feel more fae once you have cleaned up.”

Nesta did not respond. She just stared past him, her pupils blown wide and unseeing. The sight nearly undid him. It had been a long while since he’d seen that look.

As he turned on the faucets and pulled the lever under the taps, Cassian wondered if this was how Nesta had been after the war. If whilst he and his friends had been toasting their success and trying to pretend everything was fine, she had gone up to her room, hollow and broken, already changed into someone else.

And the worst thing about it all was that Cassian had left Nesta to her own devices. He had not chased after her and reiterated what he had told her on the battlefield. Already he had been so consumed with the terror of rejection—the fear that now they weren’t on death’s door, Nesta might shatter his heart rather than allow him to kiss her.

It turned out that fear had only served to cement Nesta’s opinion of him—that he merely lusted after her, the bond tricking him into thinking he wanted something that he didn’t. That what his heart really wanted was Mor instead. Nesta had made that much clear the evening before.

He was a fucking idiot. Not just for failing to pursue Nesta, but for failing to intervene when he had known how sick she was. For not using his years of warrior training to understand what was truly going on—how it was not about him and his bruised ego, but something else entirely. Something much bigger.

Running a hand under the water, Cassian waited until it was hot and the tendrils of steam filled the room with its wispy fingers. When he turned back to Nesta, all it took was one look at her small and blood-stained body to know that if he left her to it, she’d stand in that shower long after the water ran cold.

“Usually we take our clothes off for a shower, sweetheart,” Cassian teased, hoping that his words would coax out some sort of reaction. When Nesta remained quiet, he cupped her pale, blood-streaked face with a hand. “Don’t finally give me that opportunity to undress you,” he warned.

Nesta’s fingers clasped around his arm and his leathers creaked at the impact. It was a silent plea for him to stay, so Cassian just gave her the lopsided smile he usually saved for her. “My lucky day,” he said softly.

Tugging off his stained clothing, Cassian stepped into the shower in his shorts. He bit back a groan as the hot water ran over his flared wings, soothing away the sharp cold which had bit into them as he flew them home.

After adjusting the temperature, Cassian held his hand out to Nesta. Her eyes were still devoid of expression, and although she was watching him, Cassian had a feeling that Nesta was really floating somewhere above them, detached from her body and unable to come back down.

“It’s nice and warm,” Cassian coaxed, but his voice remained a soft echo rather than playful.

There was a pause where time seemed to stretch out too thin. Where Sala looked beseechingly at Nesta with worried golden eyes. When the manticore nudged Nesta’s arm with her nose, Nesta startled, as if she had indeed been very far away.

He knew things were bad—very bad—when Nesta mutely peeled off her own leathers and joined him.

Cassian had fantasised about taking Nesta in the shower more times than he dared to count. It was usually hard and fast against the wall, her breathy moans ringing off the tiles as he made her come around him. It had never crossed Cassian’s mind that they might shower together covered in blood and still wearing their underwear.

Slim fingers curled around his as Nesta stepped into the tub and Cassian only had time to briefly note Nesta’s body had filled out—those sharp, skeletal edges softened with flesh and toned muscle built from hearty meals and rigorous training—before he realised just how cold she was. Goosebumps littered Nesta’s skin and her lips held a blueish hue that had alarm bells sounding inside of his head.

Wings and arms curved around her on instinct, coaxing Nesta under the water with him so he could cocoon her in heat. He foamed up a sponge, and when Nesta made no move to take it from him, Cassian gently began to run it over her pale skin—until dried blood smeared, running down her white skin before it swirled down the drain.

For the entire duration Nesta remained vacant and unresponsive. Yet, even though Cassian couldn’t feel the faintest flicker of emotion through their bond, he knew that she trusted him enough to care for her. So, when the water ran clear, Cassian did not ask for permission before he slowly started to unravel her braid. It was hard work—matted dark red ensnared the hair but after working shampoo into the strands, Cassian was able to run his fingers through without any snags.

Leaving Nesta to wash out the shampoo herself, Cassian started to make work on his own body. He was covered in far less blood than Nesta—by the time he’d arrived, it had been too late to massacre those bastards himself—but red coated his knees and legs from where he had dropped into the pool of blood on the floor. And his hands…they had been smeared with it from where he had held Nesta’s wrists, trying to coax her back to him as she plunged to rock bottom.

Cassian was so consumed by the memory that he was only just in time to catch Nesta tipping her head back under the faucet with her eyes wide open. A hand shot out reflexively, cupping Nesta’s hairline as shampoo started to run down her face and into the long spikes of her eyelashes. The bubbles must have stung, but Nesta didn't even blink. It was as if she hadn’t even noticed.

After that, Cassian didn't take his eyes off of her, and once Nesta’s hair was free from shampoo, he turned her in his arms so her back was flush against his chest and began to tackle her fingernails. Her body was so unusually pliant—so mouldable—that Cassian felt as if he were a puppet master with strings, her arms and hands limp as he scrubbed at the arcs of her fingernails until they were free of red.

In fact, Cassian had become so used to supporting Nesta’s body that he almost startled when he turned back from shutting off the now lukewarm water to find her facing him. Frozen in place, Cassian watched a pale arm lift so Nesta could brush her ice cold fingers over a whorl of ink curving around his left bicep.

Cassian was barely breathing—not only unsure of what to do but also of startling her, somehow—but then something broke inside of him and he reached for her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles for far longer than he should have.

It hurt to move away from her—to step out of the tub and wrap a towel around his hips—but Nesta had started to shiver uncontrollably, her skin entirely bleached of colour. He threw the largest, fluffiest towel he could find around her body, and desperate to warm her up, rubbed his palms over her arms, encasing her in wings as he lifted her onto the bath mat beside Sala. And whilst logic told Cassian that Nesta was shaking from a combination of both shock and cold, it didn’t stop the worry that took a hold of him.

“Get yourself dry,” Cassian told Nesta. “I’ll go and get you some clothes.”

Suppressing a grunt at the winter chill that clung to the air and snapped at his wings, Cassian lit the log burner in his room before he quickly tugged on some loose pants. The unconscious decision for Nesta to stay with him was already fully formed in his mind. There was no way he was leaving her to sleep alone given her current state, and whilst Cassian could sleep in the armchair by her bed, the territorial part of him needed her safe with him, in his bed, as close to him as she would allow. And after last night… it wasn’t as if they hadn’t shared a bed before, anyway.

The panic that flared inside of Cassian when he arrived back at the bathroom with a clean nightgown clutched in his hand was so sharp and twisting that his breath caught. Nesta hadn’t moved—not an inch—and whilst Sala was nudging her companion’s torso with her muzzle, Nesta just continued to shiver violently as if she hadn’t felt the impact at all. Her skin was still wet and her hair hung lank against her shoulders. Droplets of water dripped steadily onto the floor tiles from where she had failed to ring it out.

Cassian swore. Stumbling towards her, he grasped at Nesta’s shoulders with his hands. She was cold to the touch. “Sweetheart, we need to get you dry,” he rasped.

He ducked his head to look at her, but Nesta just curled in on herself, her arms wrapping even further around her body as she shook. Cupping her face in his hands, Cassian hoped that his touch would bring her out of the far reaches of her mind, but she just continued to tremble, mute.

So, with gentle, efficient hands, Cassian towelled Nesta dry before pulling her nightgown over her head. He pressed her hair gently between the swaths of a towel, coaxing out as much water as possible, and when he was satisfied her hair wasn’t going to soak her nightgown, he stepped back.

“You’re staying with me tonight,” he told her sternly, and not bothering to wait for the reply he knew would not come, Cassian scooped her uncharacteristically malleable body into his arms and carried her to his room.

The log burner was still blazing fiercely as he lowered Nesta onto the midnight blue sheets. He piled the duvets on top of her anyway, plus a few more thick blankets over that. Not wanting the fire to go out, he threw some more wood through the cast-iron door, working quickly in case the fire crackled or popped. With Nesta’s magic near drained, the last thing Cassian wanted was to trigger her flashbacks on top of everything else, but he was too concerned about her blue lips to forgo the fire altogether.

Only the top half of Nesta’s head was visible beneath the mountains of blankets, her pointed ears poking beneath her wet hair. She looked so small and vulnerable it was hard to believe that she had slain so many males earlier, that power of hers sizzling and burning through flesh until they were nothing but charred remains and shells of who they once were. Those males might have taken those girls freedom but Nesta had taken their lives before Cassian had even got to her.

He wondered when he would stop failing her—if he ever would.

“Come here,” Cassian murmured as he climbed into bed beside her.

Nesta surprised him when she did as he asked. Her knees knocked against his thighs as she inched closer—like a moth to a flame—and she rested her cold forehead against his chest without being prompted, right over his heart, as if the warm beat of life would thaw the frozen ice in her bones.

Tangling their legs together, Cassian tried to ignore how his skin hummed as their bodies intertwined, hating himself for reacting so strongly to her touch when she was suffering. He lifted a wing instead—an unknown apology—and wrapped it around her, using it to direct the heat from the fire towards their bodies.

The rustle of his wing made Nesta stir. Slowly, she looked up through her eyelashes and as their eyes locked, something clicked deep inside of him, turning. His heart let out a long, deep thump, the sound reverberating throughout his body. He felt it in the air at the same time that Nesta’s hands fisted in his tunic. The sensation was heavy and delicious and as intoxicating as any drug.

Their sudden intimacy felt so right. They had never touched like this—her body entangled with his—and now he knew what it was like, he never wanted it to end. He couldn’t bare the thought of sleeping without her. Even in his sleep last night he had reached for her, his wing protecting her instinctively.

He wondered if Nesta knew what that meant.

“Better?” Cassian made himself ask, rubbing a palm up and down the arm that wasn’t pressed to the mattress. It was a poor attempt to sever his thoughts, but his voice was hoarse… nervous. His heart had started to kick again, the sensation hard and slow against his ribcage, his blood thick and sluggish in his veins. Her eyes were the most blue he’d ever seen them; they were the colour of the sky after a strong bout of rain, as the clouds parted to make way for the sun.

Somehow, Cassian knew what was going to happen before it did. He couldn’t even say who initiated it, only that their heads tilted and dipped in unison, like two magnets inexplicably and undeniably drawn to one another.

If they ever kissed again, Cassian had always imagined that it would be passionate and frantic. A screaming match turned into a lusting frenzy, his mouth hot on hers as he swallowed her moans. But this… this was better. This was perfect. It was his undoing.

It was slow and scorching, the intensity of it so immediate that Cassian felt like he was suspended in time… hovering. And he knew… he knew that they were meant for this, he and Nesta. They were meant for one another from the instant their open lips brushed, from the way that they moulded together like they had been kissing for centuries. Heat bloomed in his chest, a torturous burning pleasure that spread through every nerve in his body, licking its way down his limbs before settling like a weight in his groin. His body was taut and pliant at the same time and all he wanted was to be even closer to her, to feel every inch of her body fit against his own.

He wanted to taste her skin, to bury himself in her scent. He wanted—

A groan rumbled through him as their tongues met, the sound deep and almost animalistic. Desperate for more, he tangled a hand in Nesta’s wet hair, gently tilting her head back so he could be granted better access to her mouth.

Nesta made a strangled noise in the back of her throat—the first sound she had made in hours—and her knee slipped further between his thighs, her body moving to press flush against his—

The movement sobered Cassian, the hazy fog of want parting slightly for reason to stumble through, like a newborn fawn on gangly legs.

The gravity of what they were doing hit him like a punch to the gut.

If she moved any closer, she would feel just how much he wanted her.

There would be no turning back, after that.

Even though his body was screaming for him to flip her onto her back and settle between her legs, Cassian made himself pull away. The movement felt wrong… agonising.

His hand shook with restraint.

If Cassian had ever doubted their mating bond, he wasn’t now. Instinct was driving him to claim her, even though he knew in the back of his mind—the part that cared so deeply—that Nesta was too raw, too exposed to know what she wanted. Even though she was the most vulnerable he’d ever seen her, the territorial male in him wanted to bury himself inside of her; to solidify the very thing that had been driving him insane for the past year and a half. What kind of male did that make him, he wondered? He was ready to bet all his wealth that it didn’t make him a good one.

Panting, Cassian searched Nesta’s face. She was breathing hard, her lips pink and swollen, her hair already starting to curl in the heat from the fire. Cassian had always thought her beautiful, but now she was breathtaking. It took Cassian a few seconds to realise why and when he did, his heart contracted to the point of pain: the light was back in her eyes, as if their kiss had woken her up.

Cassian’s resolve wavered. Maybe this was what she needed. Maybe—

As if sensing his inner conflict Nesta slid a cool hand up to his neck, levering herself up to press her lips to his. Her leg rode up over his thigh… over his hip and he moaned into her mouth, his will splintering as he felt the desire thrumming through her—between them. He tightened his grasp on her, resisting the urge to slide his hand round to her ass. To tug her closer.

With a last long, lingering kiss, Cassian made himself tear his lips from hers. “Nesta, stop,” he murmured against her mouth.

She stilled then, and as the implication behind his words dawned on her, that light started to fade in her eyes; dazzling blue dulling to an unreadable grey. Cassian pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, to her nose, to her mouth. They were gentle and he hoped each one conveyed how hard this was for him, how he didn’t want to let her go, not really.

“We shouldn’t,” he rasped finally. His words sounded unconvincing even to his own ears, his voice husky and low despite everything. Sinful.

“Why?” Nesta breathed—her first word in hours coming out hoarse. Her fingers curled around his wrist where it still gripped her hip—holding him there.

“You know why. We can’t—”

“This makes me feel,” she whispered, her words breaking. And that was pleading in her voice. “You—”

“You’ll regret it tomorrow,” Cassian tried to explain, cutting her off because he had done this. He had fucked his way through enough females post-battle to know what she was doing. He understood the desperation for anything that would pierce through that pressing numbness that descended after bloodshed, but he also knew the disappointment that would chase it when she realised that pleasure didn’t last.

Cassian couldn’t sacrifice the progress they had made for a few moments of pleasure. Not now... not when they had come so far.

Nesta’s fingers slid down to his palm, the flat of her small hand pressing against his, encouraging him to slide up under her nightdress. He hissed—her thigh, her hip, her waist were sinfully smooth beneath his callouses. “I won’t regret it,” she promised. “You won’t either.”

Cassian studied her—the want in her eyes. What would happen if he denied her? Would he lose the progress they had made anyway? What if his rejection stacked that icy wall against him and she shut down the end of her bond again? He couldn’t bare the thought of it—of her barbed insults and the indifferent way she had treated him. He couldn’t do that again. Not ever. He had been slowly gaining on Nesta Archeron inch by inch, and he’d be damned if they started moving backwards.

It was a risk either way.

His greed won out.

Nesta’s mouth immediately yielded to him when he kissed her again, and this time it was her that moaned, the sound a strangled surprise in the back of her throat. Almost as if she hadn’t expected him to give in. Almost.

“Promise me,” Cassian murmured, his lips now on her neck as he propped himself over her. He allowed himself a moment to do what he’d fantasised about more times than he could count—graze his nose slowly from her collarbone to the nape of her neck—and relished in the way that she shuddered beneath him. “I don’t expect anything from you, this can just be... this. A one off. But promise you won’t freeze me out. That we won’t go back to before. That things won’t be cold between us.”

Pressing a kiss behind her ear, Nesta breathed another moan as he chased it all the way to the pulse point beneath her jaw. He sucked, feeling the flutter of life against his tongue—her body as it arched into him.

“I promise,” Nesta panted finally, her fingers curling around the strands of his damp hair. She tugged, telling him what she wanted, the words singing in the air between them; more, more, more.

As if in response, his blood surged, singing what it always sung—her name, over and over. The name he heard on the wind. Everywhere he went. Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

“Good,” Cassian rasped into Nesta’s skin, his lips imprinting on the shell of her ear. He waited until goosebumps littered her skin and then he pulled back to stare into those blue, blue eyes to make his own promise. He hoped it would undo her as much as it undid him. “I’m going to make you feel good,” he told her. “I’m going to make the numbness go away, ok sweetheart?”

Something moved behind the surface of Nesta’s irises as she shivered. And this time it wasn’t from the cold or from shock; it was hot anticipation and want and… her breath caught as his palm traversed along her now warm side, along the dip of her waist, hitching the material of her nightgown up, up, up.

Her fingers tightened in his hair as his movements turned light. As his fingers trailed from the underside of her breasts all the way down her side to the top of her thigh, coaxing her to shudder—for every nerve ending to sing.

Their kiss was searing and desperate when she pulled his face back down to hers. All around him, Cassian could smell the all-consuming scent of her. It was as intoxicating as any drug and he couldn’t help but cave, rolling his hips into hers, desperate for some sort of relief. He had never been this hard in his life, had never wanted anybody like this in the long time he had been alive. He needed to feel her skin against his, the sensation suddenly as vital as breathing—

“Off,” he growled into Nesta’s mouth, tugging her nightgown over her head and tossing it away. He flared his wings, lifting the heavy blankets so he could kick them down to their ankles. and—

Cassian swore at the sight before him. Nesta was beautiful. Where his skin was golden and marred with scars, hers was cream and unblemished—untouched—and her breasts… Cassian’s mouth turned dry and his insides twisted. They were far better than the inferior image he’d conjured in his mind, even as he pyrite glittered tauntingly between them, as if to say; I was here first.

With a soft snarl, Cassian reverently dragged his fingers over the smooth plains of Nesta’s stomach, watching her abdominal muscles tense, mesmerised.

“You’re perfect,” he told her with hoarse honesty, cupping the breast closest to the mattress as he took the other dusky nipple into his mouth. He sucked and teased it with the flat of his tongue, relishing in her sharp inhalation of breath… the way her fingers desperately wound their way through his hair again and again. “These are perfect. You have no idea how perfect you are, Nesta.”

A flicker of…something sparked down that bond. It was the first he had truly felt of Nesta in hours and Cassian tried to clamp down on that emotion, to dissect it, desperate to hold on to that sensation of… surprise. It was surprise, Cassian realised. As if she did not expect him to say that, let alone think it.

So, Cassian pushed back everything—his sincerity and awe and want for her and only her. And then he stared up at her with what he knew were dark eyes and scraped the peak of her nipple with his teeth.

A shuddered moan skittered the air around them and Cassian watched Nesta’s pupils dilate with a want that had his heart kicking in his chest. It was that sensation which sparked her into action, her hands feverish as they grappled at the material of his tunic, tugging at it until it was discarded on the floor beside the bed. Then her hands were on his chest, those lithe fingers feverish as they explored the hard lines of his stomach… the silvery scar that ran from his sternum to his lower abdomen.

Burying his head in her cleavage to stifle a groan, Cassian listened to the hammering of her heart as she followed the fine train of hair that started at his naval. In a desperate plea to distract himself from her touch—to distract her—Cassian cupped and squeezed her breasts, rolling his fingers over her nipples until her breath stuttered and her hands stilled just as they grazed the waistband of his pants.

Knowing that his restraint would melt if she wrapped her hand around him, Cassian began to press a path of open-mouthed kisses down her stomach. They were both still lying on their sides and he lifted his body, coaxing her leg against the mattress into a right angle just above his hip so he was cradled between them.

When he hoisted the leg slung over his waist up into a right angle and pressed it up into the blanket with a splayed palm on her knee, Nesta realised what he intended to do. He felt her waver and stiffen, her body going rigid against him, that bond constricting. So Cassian stilled too, taking the time to brush his lips over the right wing of her hip—to savour the taste of her skin against his tongue. To soothe away her hesitancy, somehow knowing that the vulnerability of him sliding down between her legs made her uncomfortable.

The gravity of it hit him then, that Nesta had never done this sober. And Cassian had no idea whether she had even experienced this before—whether she had found pleasure in it. Did not know whether the many one-night stands had bothered to have her clenching around them before they finished themselves of.

Pain sparked as fingernails bit into his shoulders in warning, but Cassian only waited patiently, kissing and soothing away that concern until she relaxed around him. Some animalistic, masochistic part of him hoped that she’d marked him there—that tomorrow he would look in the mirror and see the proof of what they had done. He’d wear those silver half moon circles proudly, more so than any Illyrian tattoo. If only Fae bodies didn’t heal so quickly…

Placing a final kiss to her lower abdomen, Cassian grazed a downward path with the tip of nose until he was hovering just over her centre. Until his head was resting on her thigh.

He couldn’t stop the groan that tumbled out of him at the scent of her. “Gods, sweetheart, I can smell how wet you are.”

The words stretched out between them until everything was pulled taut. Nesta’s hands had moved from his shoulders back to his hair. When he spoke, her fingers slid uncertainly through the damp strands without finding purchase. He didn’t need to look at her to know she was blushing. He knew her well enough by now.

But instead of swiping his tongue through her folds, Cassian reached up to run his mouth over the top-most part of the inside of her thigh. The movement was leisurely and unhurried despite the roaring of blood in Cassian’s ears. Because he had thought about this enough since having met Nesta to know how he wanted this to go. Nesta had spent a year fucking and chasing release and Cassian would not be another notch in her bedpost. By the time he was done, he wanted her squirming and moaning beneath him. He wanted her to anticipate his touch rather than merely using him to press the right buttons. He wanted her to be consumed with it; to feel that anticipation build until she was boneless against the mattress. He wanted to be the kindle for her fire and watch her burn and burn and burn.

He would not fuck her in a whirlwind of limbs and snarled, panting breath. She had done that. He would do something different—just for her.

So, Cassian made Nesta wait. With each brush of his lips he edged closer to her centre, moving from her thigh to her lower abdomen, his tongue swiping against creamy skin after every kiss until finally—finally—she trembled.

The movement travelled between them, vibrating down the thin tie that roped around his ribcage. A soft growl rumbled from the back of Cassian’s throat at the sensation, his grip tightening on her hip as he ghosted over her centre, his breath a phantom caress on her skin.

Yet, he still took the time to pause, letting a second stretch out into a moment—until Nesta’s fingers pressed into his scalp in anticipation. The touch was light but it spoke volumes, the movement more certain. Still Cassian made her wait, trying to calm the desire thrumming through his blood which wanted to spark him into movement—to devour her whole.

Those fingers twisted through his hair and that restraint dissolved as Cassian reached forward and swiped the flat of his tongue through her folds. The action was slow and premeditated, his touch gentle. For a moment, Nesta went preternaturally still, but then her breath stuttered as he did it again and then again, her hips tilting towards him of their own accord.

It was silent plea for more and a moan tumbled out of him, his chest rumbling as he moved closer, locking his lips around that bundle of nerves. Nesta’s breath caught again and again and Cassian catalogued it all—every movement, every intake of air—using her body language to dissect what she liked and didn’t like, lazily drinking her in until that bond widened and roared at each leisurely stroke.

It was this that Cassian had imagined over anything else. He had fantasised about going down on Nesta more than burying himself inside of her—more than her wrapping her lips around him, or the way her tongue would feel when it ran along the underside of his cock. So, Cassian took his time tasting every inch of her, and only when he had her panting did he pick up the pace; drawing circles and fluttering rhythms across her flesh, licking a path from top to bottom until she was writhing beneath him, edging her closer and closer to breaking point, letting that swell build inside of her until even he could feel it in the air around them—a tangible, living thing.

And down that tether Cassian felt the truth in every whimper... every moan. That alone nearly had him unravelling. Never before had he felt her so keenly, and Cassian had to fight the urge to drop his hold on her leg to wrap his hand around himself and relieve the pressure. He was rock hard, and even though his cock twitched with each burn of pleasure that flooded between them, he didn’t dare divert his focus from her. Didn’t dare make this about him when it needed to be about her.

Cassian had never been this turned on without having been touched before. He had never been this turned on period, and he didn’t trust himself not to cave if he so much as grazed the tent in his pants. And the knowledge that earlier she had moved to slide her hand beneath his waistband… just the thought of those cool, slim fingers wrapping around the length of him made his cock throb and his heart stutter.

Growling to rid himself of the image, Cassian sucked her folds into his mouth. The distraction didn't work. Nesta cried out and the sound had his hips thrusting, pleasure robbing him of any other sensation despite the fact that he was met with nothing but air. The sound was sharp and desperate and perfect, and he knew that he could do this all day; bringing her to completion over and over until she couldn’t take it anymore.

“You taste incredible,” Cassian groaned reverently, pulling away for the first time since he’d slipped down between her legs. His lips made a gentle smack against her wet flesh and Nesta whimpered, the sound a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment.

Another long lick followed by slow, wet kisses to her thighs—anywhere but her swollen clit.

He still wanted her to beg. He needed her to, and she wasn’t there yet.

Coaxing her onto her back, Cassian carefully hooked her legs over his arms so they avoided his wings. He had a feeling that if Nesta even so much as brushed them that something would snap inside of him; a beast unleashed.

Spreading her legs wider, Cassian reached up to cup her breasts, satisfaction thrumming through him as she arched into his touch.

Staring up at her with dark eyes, Cassian looked at her for the first time since he’d slipped between her legs. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her pink lips parted. He wished she’d open them; he wanted to be met with that depthless blue that latched onto his soul and made it hard to breathe.

“Fuck Nesta,” he groaned, his voice gravelly as he gathered her wetness on his tongue, drawing broad circles before sucking the bud into his mouth. “I could do this all day just to hear you moan.”

Nesta whimpered at the words, the sound wild and untamed against his ears, but her eyes remained squeezed shut. Gently, he dragged his fingers through her wet folds, purposefully running them over the sides of her clit, relishing in the way that her hips jerked at the touch. At the way that bond continued to widen, light spilling into the inky dark.

A wave of fresh pleasure coursed through him.

“That’s it,” Cassian murmured huskily, slipping a finger inside of her. He bit back a groan—wishing it was his cock easing into her. “I want you to come for me, sweetheart.”

Nesta mewled as he brought his mouth back to her. Curling a finger inside of her, Cassian focussed his attention on drawing wide circles with his mouth, coaxing strangled throaty moans as his finger and tongue worked in tandem.

Only when Nesta’s cries were a steady beat and her fingers were yanking at his hair, did he add another finger.

“Oh,” Nesta whimpered, her head rising from the pillows as he hooked his fingers inside of her at the same time that he drew her folds into his mouth. As he rolled her nipple between his fingers with his spare hand and dared another look up at her.

He groaned as those blue, blue eyes connected with his. They were glassy and swimming in the faelight, utterly mesmerising as her face contorted with pleasure. Nesta had never looked at him like that before; so open and vulnerable and soft.

It only lasted a moment and then Nesta’s head had dropped back onto the pillow in concession of the pleasure coursing through her—through him. It urged him to work faster, to continue his attention on that bundle of nerves that was hurtling her to release. As he splayed his palm on her flat stomach and relished the way it spasmed beneath his touch with every swipe and lick and suck.

When she rocked against him, Cassian’s moan was so coarse that Nesta clutched at his head with a near death grip. She held him tightly as the sound vibrated through her, but then Cassian was scraping his teeth lightly over her clit before sucking it into his mouth and Nesta cried out. Her legs attempted to yank out of his grasp to clamp around his head with a strength Cassian should have predicted for, but he managed to pin her down, holding her open.

“Cassian,” Nesta gasped—finally, finally saying his name out loud—her voice breaking and desperate as she tried to push her hips towards his mouth, begging. She was begging him now. “Cassian.”

“Yes,’ he growled, sensing how close she was. “That’s it, sweetheart. Come for me.”

He felt her walls grip around his fingers like a vice. Felt something peak inside of her—

And then Cassian slowed everything down. His fingers slid in and out of her, pushing in to the hilt in long, drawn out strokes as his tongue circled her—as that preternatural stillness seized her again. Cassian heard the break in her moans as that cresting pleasure suspended above them, ready to crash down. Felt the pleasure course through him so fiercely that for a moment he mistook it for his own—

The sudden cry that unleashed itself on the room was a sound that Cassian had never dreamed would come from Nesta’s mouth. He stroked her steadily through the waves of pleasure as she shattered against his tongue, convulsing beneath him again and again until her whimpers gave way to shuddering gasps. Until she shuddered from the intensity of it, her hands pushing his head away. Cassian allowed her limp and panting body to melt into the mattress as he pressed kisses to the bare skin of her thighs. Her fingers were back in his hair again, running through the strands that had dried into curls before she tugged gently, urging him upwards.

Swiping at his wet mouth, Cassian crawled back up beside her, pulling the blankets with him.

To his satisfaction, Nesta had thrown an arm across her flushed face and her chest was heaving, as if she were at loss for air. She didn’t resist when he moved her arm to the pillow, threading his fingers through hers.

She moaned softly against his lips as he kissed her. The sound was content—another noise he’d never heard from her before—and the knowledge that he had caused her to feel that way left him dizzy. Surprise speared through him as her hand curved around the back of his neck, keeping him there, deepening the kiss as she tasted herself on his tongue.

And down that bond, beyond the sated satisfaction and pleasure was amusement, as if she sensed his surprise and delighted in it.

“Ok?” he asked hoarsely when he finally pulled away. He rolled to the side, taking her with him, his hand splayed on the underside of her thigh, his wing thrown over her body like a blanket.

Nesta’s eyes were glazed as she hummed in reply, and a knowing smirk pulled at her lips as she skimmed her free hand down his bare chest to his stomach and his muscled twitched under her touch.

Locking her leg firmly around his hips, Nesta pulled him flush against her. He snarled softly against her neck when she ground into his erection. His blood was boiling again, a heat ignited in his very core, and it was an entire feat of its own that he managed to tear himself away from her, catching her hand just as those fingers dipped to slip between the hem of his pants.

He watched Nesta frown, and the expression on her face was so unchecked that something twisted inside him.

She wanted to touch him. She wanted more...

“I said I’d make you feel good,” he rasped in explanation, bringing her hand to his lips so he could press his mouth to her knuckles

When he was done, he gently ran a hand over her hair. “Sleep, Nesta. Your body needs to rest.”

“What? No,” Nesta protested, that defiance he had missed for the last few hours firing across her expression.

But he just pulled her closer to him, and unable to help himself—knowing that he might not get another chance—he kissed her again. It was slow and tender, his fingers pushing back her damp hair from her face. It was a kiss to soothe rather than to arouse, even as his cock throbbed painfully against his stomach. His thumb brushed an arc across the glowing skin of her cheek, savouring the ability to touch her like this; without fear of her pushing him away, or worse, punching him in the gut.

“Sleep,” he urged again, wrapping his wing tighter around her—cocooning them. He felt Nesta’s body start to relax into the mattress, felt the blanket of sleep settle over her in that post-climactic haze. He pressed his mouth to her forehead—now warm beneath his lips, as if he had chased away the cold. “I promise I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Tags: @arinbelle @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @iammissstark @lovelynesta @melphss @nestalytical @darkshadowqueensrule @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @little-diyosa @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @sjm-things @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta @inyourmindeye @amelie775 @iwastoowildinthe70s @helen-the-weirdo @pizzaneverdisappoints @wishfulimaginings @trash-for-nessian @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @hatemecozuaintme @vidalinav

#acosf #acotarfanfic #embersandlightfic #nessianfic #nessian #nesta x cassian #nestaarcheron #cassian #acowar #acomaf #nessiansmut

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starswornoaths · 3 years

Text

Wild Rose

Not long before the formation of the Crystal Braves, Minfilia bequeathed a special set of armor unto one of the Warriors of Light.

It was just a surprise that it wasn’t her favorite one.

Or:

I love Minfilia, and the Wild Rose Cuirass, and Firion, and none of them get a fair shake, and they all deserve better. Also, I fawn over @holyja‘s Hyana Geriel, but what else is new :p

Word count: 2,558

~*~

When Minfilia asked for Serella to hold back a moment, at the conclusion of their mission report, she couldn’t hide her surprise; there had been others in attendance— several others had been in attendance— Hyana among them, and it had been a mundane enough operation, what would merit being spoken to alone with the Antecedent? And why Serella, specifically?

Even Hyana had a look of mild surprise, and had hung back, bouncing in place on the momentum of her abandoned mid-step to turn back, before she could stop herself, and the two Warriors of Light passed that expression between one another for a moment.

Before Serella could even think to reassure her, Hyana had retrained her features into immense disinterest. Rather than words, she reciprocated Serella’s silent nod of reassurance, a quiet we’ll catch up later, shared between adventurers, and within the next moment, Hyana had wound her spindly, scaled tail round the door handle to shut it behind her, on her way out.

And then it was just Minfilia, and her most stalwart companion, just as she had asked.

“Is aught amiss?” Serella asked, once she had properly faced the Antecedent.

There was nothing but peace radiating off of Minfilia, as she shook her head. When she spoke, her words were sweet, but not sweetened; though she charmed as she spoke, her charmspeak was nowhere to be found.

With a radiance found only in the warmest sunrise, Minfilia reassured her, “Naught more than we’re already working on! I wished only to speak to you, regarding a matter close to both of our hearts, I should think.”

Curiosity piqued, Serella canted her head in a quiet show of interest, to avoid interrupting. It was obvious that Minfilia was nervous: even without her Echo’s sensitivity to emotions, from the tick of Minfilia’s fingers tapping at the pommel of the dagger, ever slung close to her hip.

When it was clear that Serella was waiting for her to elaborate, Minfilia steadied her hand by laying it over her heart. Her smile eased into something softer, as she said, “I felt it high time to bequeath to you a fitting reward, for all that you have done for the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.”

“How formal of you, Antecedent!” Serella laughed brightly, and mirrored her Antecedent’s motion, to tap a hand over her chest in momentary salute. “That’s not necessary, though. You know that.”

“I do. But it’s necessary to me.”

When Minfilia smiled at her again, it more resembled a wince. “Grant me this one trespass, my friend?”

Serella wanted to snort indignantly: Minfilia should know better by now. Still, she reminded her, “You can’t trespass where you’re welcome, Minfilia.”

It seemed she had, in fact, been in need of a reminder; her smile widened around a startled, delighted gasp.

“For all my ability with charmspeak, you seem to always know just what to say!” Minfilia beamed at her. “Thank you. Pray, grant me a moment to find the right words to explain, while we walk.”

With another nod from Serella, they made their way out of the Antecedent’s chambers without further delay. As they rounded the bend to walk past the bar counter, Serella turned and happened to catch Hyana watching them hawkishly. There was a burning curiosity in those garnet eyes that watched them; Serella hoped the smile she threw back at her was reassuring enough. Judging by the way Hyana squinted in response, she figured she had failed. Ah well.

The armory itself was as well stocked as it was unremarkable; Serella had been in here more times than she could care to keep track of, in the time since they had moved to the Rising Stones. She could only imagine how many more times Minfilia has had to come in here, for routine inspections, and scheduled maintenance.

Rather than keep to the main room that Serella had grown familiar with, Minfilia instead guided them over to a door in the far corner of the room, one that Serella had noticed before, but had never had the clearance to inspect— or at least, had no merit to ask, at least.

A key wrought in iron cleared the way for them, and Minfilia ushered her inside. It was dark, but there was no smell of must that hung in the air; this room still had consistent use, even with its limited access. Save for the singular slice of light that had carved a misshapen streak in the floor, Serella’s eyes could only make out the outlines of several suits of armor, and several miscellaneous weapons, all carefully hung on racks.

Holding the door open with one hand, Minfilia brought the other up in front of her, as she leaned toward the lantern hung on the wall. She scattered her breath over her palm, as though she were gently blowing away the fluff on a dandelion. The air from her lungs ignited in petal-like sparks, that drifted, intently, to the wick on the lantern. Immediately, the mageflame flickered to life, clinging to the wick on the lantern, without burning it.

Dancing leaves of light fluttered in the air over her palm, as she then swept her arm out, as though she were presenting the room. Those fractals of light scattered, striking the other lanterns in the room in streaks of brilliance, like comets across the night sky.

As it always did, Minfilia’s radiance filled the room with warmth, light, and life. The details became much clearer, and Serella made a noise in the back of her throat, as her brain caught up with what she was looking at.

The suits of armor draped so carefully, the weapons mounted so meticulously, became obvious in the light: this was the reliquary, from the Waking Sands, wherein they had enshrined the arms and armor of heroes past, recovered and restored.

Serella had wondered whether they would make the move to the Rising Stones, alongside them, but then, she supposed that she needn’t have bothered; some of the pieces here belonged to Minfilia’s father, according to F'lhaminn. It only made sense that they would be here, then.

With another wordless motion, Minfilia beckoned her deeper. Obeisant, Serella followed gamely, curiosity mounting with every step. Worming through the boxes that had yet to be unpacked, the yet barren racks, and the odd armor rack with only some of its set unboxed, they eventually came up to a particularly intriguing set, tucked away in the corner.

Serella had certainly seen other sets that had been designed in the same vein; an understated darksteel set, tasteful embellishments here and there, draped with fine fabric that looked as though it were spun from lilacs. The detailing on the fabric was more bold, patterned, and pinned with a labradorite brooch, at its shield-shoulder.

Combing through her oldest memories, Serella would almost swear she had seen this specific like elsewhere. As if in the fairytale book, read to her as a child, as she had dreamt of a brighter future than this.

Minfilia seemed content to let Serella ruminate on this, as she gathered her thoughts. After a breath, she explained, “It feels as though it were a whole other lifetime ago, the last time I gifted one of my best suits of armor. But the time felt right again— though I must ask that you forgive me, as it comes with a personal request.”

Serella couldn’t hide her surprise for anything today, it seemed; she recalled how Arenvald had been so proud to wear the armor that Minfilia had gifted to him, when they had only known the Waking Sands, and the Waking Sands had only ever known peace. Before those halls were so filled with ghosts, that the living all but vacated.

As Minfilia said: a lifetime ago.

Were it almost anyone else, Serella would have to fight the urge to roll her eyes at being asked a personal favor. But this was Minfilia; if anyone understood what, precisely, she was asking of Serella, it would be her.

Thus, her response was as swift and decisive as her sword strokes, when she said, “You need only ask; if it’s in my power, it will be done.”

It seemed both the right and wrong thing to say; Minfilia was graceful enough that it was only the ripple of hesitation in her aether, that betrayed her lingering uncertainty.

“I would bequeath to you this armor— it is among the oldest of our recovered arms and armor.”

Though Serella got the impression that Minfilia was stalling, to try and find the right words, for the heart of the issue. Thus, she entertained listening to Minfilia recall a tale of a Warrior of Light, not unlike Serella herself. “His friends called him Firion,” the Antecedent supplied. “By all accounts, he was a good man, who defended all against the darkness— those who fought alongside him, included. I thought the tale sounded familiar!”

The playful twinkle in Minfilia’s eyes was only answered with a wry twist of scarred lips, though only for a moment, before they both dissolved into delighted giggling.

“Go on,” Minfilia said, once they had gotten their breath back, with a gesture toward the display. “Try it on, won’t you? It’s been fitted.”

With a sigh and a smile, Serella stepped up to the rack, and settled for being grateful that she had dressed down from her armor, upon return to the Rising Stones; it made donning the mantle simpler.

Despite being told that it had been refitted, it still surprised Serella, how well the armor settled on her shoulders. How the cloak draped elegantly around her neck, over her shoulders, how the layers of fabric that lined the belts were made of the supple, soft purple fabric. It hung on her form, as though it had been hammered for her from the first. As if it had always been made for her.

Rowena must have overworked poor Gerolt again. That, or Uthen took on a more personal commission, this time around. Serella could think of no other hand to guide a hammer to making such an impeccable craft, save for either of them.

When she turned to present herself to Minfilia, the Antecedent gave a gasp, as she clapped her hands together, once, in delight.

“Why, it looks just right on you!” She declared, with a giddy bounce on the balls of her feet.

Serella believed it, unquestioningly, because Minfilia always told her the truth. She was one of the few people that Serella could trust, to do so.

“You honor me, Antece—”

“Stop.” Minfilia said, though it sounded like a plea, and shattered her voice on impact, like a brick through a church window, ruining something blessed.

It sounded wrong. Serella snapped her jaw shut with a click more audible than the rattle of her new mail, when she flinched bodily.

A motion Minfilia mirrored, though she flinched outward— even in her own upset, she could only think to reach out to comfort.

“I— I’m not asking, as your Antecedent, that you take this armor.” She said, and slowly curled her arm back into her own chest, as if to self soothe. “Please. I’m asking, as your friend, to accept this gift.”

Softening her shoulders, Serella swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Alright, Minfie,” she said softly, and held her hands up in reassurance. “I’ll put it to good use.”

The relief that she felt, when Minfilia’s posture melted into joy again, was indescribable. It felt like benediction, and dispelled the tremor in her heart.

Thus settled, she peered around, curious, and searching for a set that would be more befitting one more beloved to them both. When no such mail was forthcoming upon cursory view, she couldn’t hold back the question that formed on her tongue, following that observation.

“What of Hyana?” She asked, looking back at Minfilia.

The Antecedent seemed surprised at the question. “What do you mean?” She asked, tone touched with a hint of caution.

“If I may speak as a friend?” Serella asked. At Minfilia’s nod, she answered plainly, “You love her.”

The comment didn’t bother Minfilia. It had no reason to. Nonetheless, she fiddled with her hands in front of her, and shuffled her weight from one foot to the other, as she contemplated her choice of words.

“That I do. But we both know her: she would never accept it, as a point of pride, and, in part, in reluctance to have something so claiming, upon her person.” After a moment of further hesitation, Minfilia stepped close enough to flatten her palm across the spot over Serella’s heart.

She focused her gaze on the back of her hand, pressed there over the breastplate, as she cautiously spoke again, “And...you love her, too. I know, in giving you this armor, that she will be safer.” After another moment, she lifted her gaze, to meet Serella’s. “I have little choice, in sending the both of you out there, to face such horrors as the Ascians may inflict upon us. But I can give you the best chance, of bringing her back to me.”

There was a peculiar ache, in the space where Serella’s heart was meant to be. Not quite raw, not nearly a wound, but still something tender and pointedly ignored. Where Minfilia might have, however unknowingly, pierced something too close to the truth and most certainly unrequited, Serella chose to fill that hole with pride, with joy.

And why would she not? She was a trusted friend to both of them. Trusted enough, by Minfilia, to be sent into battle with armor she could never hope to properly deserve. Trusted enough, by Hyana, to fight alongside her.

Was that not, in itself, a sort of love? What had she to mourn?

“As you say, my friend.” Serella said, on a soft exhale, and laid a hand atop Minfilia’s. “On all counts. I pray I will be worthy of such trust.”

“You already are, my friend!” Minfilia insisted.

When her eyes glimmered peculiarly in the lamp light, the two of them embraced tightly, and took a few more moments to be human. Not long enough to form the habit, but long enough to be reminded of the feeling.

By the time they stepped back out of the armory, and Minfilia locked up behind them, none were the wiser, that such a conversation had happened at all.

Hyana had most certainly noticed, however, the new armor that gleamed to an almost headache-inducing shine, in the light of the Rising Stones. Her eyebrows met her hairline, as she watched Serella approach.

“The hell'd you do, to earn that?” She snorted into her drink, and poorly feigned disinterest.

The truth settled heavier upon Serella’s shoulders, than the mantle she now wore. How could she profess to love Hyana, if she were to inflict such a thing upon her.

“My fucking paperwork, Geriel!” She instead half-lied, with a playful elbow to the Dragoon’s side.

A half truth was still true enough to slip by, undetected, it seemed, as Hyana rolled her eyes, and grew immediately bored with the conversation. As was her wont.

Serella took no offense; how could she, when Hyana then pressed a flagon into her hands, with a half-restrained smile. How could she, when that was, in itself, a little act of love, too?

And wasn’t that enough, for her? Wasn’t this, enough?

#ffxiv #Minfilia Warde #Serella Arcbane #Hyana Geriel #vague 2.0 spoilers #Two Woman Wolf Pack #they're fine and everyone is fine and I don't actually mean that in a sarcastic way #like sure. Serella would love to be loved by Hyana. possibly even Minfilia.#but she doesn't have to be loved romantically by either of them to still be loved #so like. it's bittersweet #but it's not bad. and it's not a loss.

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bigwhispersbluebird · 3 years

Text

Look into my eyes, and lie: 2

Author’s Note: Apologies for the delay but here is the second part. It is written more from Taehyung’s pov.

Angst

Warnings: Mentions of cheating

Read part 1, here

Our lives eventually fell into our normal routine and when public appearances became common, the scandal which had taken over every channel finally died down.

Although seemingly everything was fine, there was a glass wall between us which was never there before. When together alone, questions would form in the back of our throats but never make it past our lips but the death of all those questions lingered like a ghost.

Taehyung was the most disturbed by this. He would often watch you when you were not noticing. His eyes would linger on every nose scrunch, every stress line, the subtle rise and fall of your chest as you breathed. He often anticipated for you to finally snap and ask him what that woman was doing in his arms that night, why had he decided to go to a bar alone. But you never did. And he didn't know whether to be relieved or scared. But he knew one thing for sure, he had not been completely honest and the truth hanged like a sword over your heads; when it would fall, it would pierce through both of your souls.

*****

Taehyung stopped Kai from getting up from his seat with a gesture of his hand, as he made his way to your office room. Last time that he had walked through these halls, his heart was barely beating, knowing that his truth would break yours. He had wanted to tell you the truth and get what he deserved. But you had given him a way out, and he had taken out; realizing that it might be the only way to hold onto you a little longer.

But he had never felt more far away from you.

Now, he walked the same halls with a plan in his mind. He had to come clean to you, he knew that. But before everything would shatter for good, he wanted to give you one day like before; one day where he was completely yours and you were his and a wrong decision was not in the way of it. He wanted to grab you from your office, take you on a cliché date, hold your hand until it felt like his own limb and kiss you until he could taste you on him for the rest of his life- because after this day, nothing would be the same again.

But all his plans came crashing down when he opened the door to your office and saw the familiar faces of his elder hyungs there. Yoongi sat on the edge of the sofa, his hands frozen in the air because of the door opening suddenly while Namjoon stood beside you, his hand on your shoulder as if calming you down.

What were they doing here? Taehyung would have asked but the look on your face told him that he did not want to know.

You looked like you had just seen a ghost, your skin visibly pale and eyes void-so contrasting from how they would always shine. You were now looking at him straight in the eyes and he felt guilty, his mind begging him to break the eye contact because it hurt but his heart too scared to look away.

“Taehyung, I think you should not be here right now”, Namjoon said, carefully, trying to find the right words for this situation but you were quick to speak, “No, he should be here. He should know what is happening”.

“Y/N...”, he managed to croak out, still scared and confused as to what was happening but he had an idea that it was related to that night.

“It is Ms. Y/L/N to you, Mr Kim Taehyung”, you interrupted, your voice now tweaked perfectly to show no emotion, your tone authoritative and formal- like he had heard you use with your clients several times. Caught off guard, Taehyung forgot what he was even going to say next, giving you a window to talk again.

“We are here to discuss how the to deal with this situation”, you said, turning the laptop screen towards him and pressing play. The video on the screen was taken from the CCTV in the elevator and showed two people pressed into each other, kissing and shedding clothing. As the video progressed, Taehyung’s colour drained from his face and he could bet that if anyone heard closely, they would feel his heart shatter. You were still watching him carefully, your eyes boring into him as if daring him to look at her and justify it all but he couldn’t.

Yoongi who had shrank back since Taehyung had walked in could not watch this happen any longer. He moved forwards and slammed the laptop shut, stopping the video in process, “You both need to talk”, he said as he moved to get up but you stopped him.

“No, Yoongi. This is not between us. ‘Us’“, you scoffed, “there is not even an us now, I don’t think there was one to begin with”.

“Don’t say that”, Taehyung could only say silently. His eyes were still fixated on the laptop and he wished he could turn back time and change the decisions he made.

Ignoring him completely, you continued, “So, now, I will pay her and the staff to not distribute this video, making sure that all copies are deleted and the involved parties sign an agreement never to bring this up again. Even if they ever do, it will be another false rumour without any proof. The end of the year shows are coming up so showing up to them with y’all will be enough for the media to know that everything is fine. After that, I will leave with TXT for their tour and it will later be announced that due to distance and schedules, Mr Taehyung and I broke up”, you had kept talking like it was just another problem of a client you had, like it was a presentation you had spent days on- not like it was the end of a relationship you had thought was your last.

“Y/N, don’t”, Taehyung tried speaking again. This time, his eyes were on yours, trying to search for one emotion even if it was anger. He could take you crying and screaming at him but this was nothing like what he had expected.

“Y/N, you should talk to him”, Namjoon suggested, “At least for the sake of closure”.

“Closure? What more do I need when the woman he slept with had the audacity to walk up to me and tell me that my boyfriend, who by the way looked into my eyes and lied about it, had slept with her, IN OUR ROOM, IN OUR BED!”, your voice was now loud and boomed against the tall walls of the room.

“I did not sleep with her”, Taehyung spoke, knowing that he had to offer some clarity.

“Lie to me again and I will forget that I ever loved you”, you challenged now closing the distance between you two and Taehyung would have stepped back had he not been so fixated on your use of the past tense. He needed to speak now, the whole truth.

“I went to club that night because I had been jealous of how much time you were spending with Jungkook. I know it was stupid and that is why I could not say anything to you but I was too drunk and you know that I don’t drink often and she was there”, he saw you squirm; your body finally showing some difference. Shock, confusion, hurt and betrayal- all emotions passed through your face till disbelief settled. He continued, “It is the truth, once we were inside the apartment. I realized that I could not do it and I asked her to leave. I swear that I did not cheat on you”, he was now on his knees. His hands holding yours and his eyes begging you.

Namjoon and Yoongi took this as their cue to slip through the door, both scared of what was unfolding in front of them.

It took you a minute to grasp everything that had come up out of Taehyung’s mouth but once you comprehended it, you were quick to pull your hands from his grasp.

“And just because you did not put your dick in her, it is not cheating? Am I supposed to apologize for being mistaken and forgive you?”

“No...”

“You think this is easy for me don’t you”, your voice now broke as if tired of keeping its composure. “Is it easy for me to look at you everyday knowing that you are hiding something? Is it easy to silence you with a kiss every time you try to talk about that night because I am scared? Is it easy to have her walk into my room and tell me that you lied?”

Tears now fell down your face mimicking Taehyung’s, you both looked defeated. You fell on the couch, letting it hold you because the only person who had held you up had brought you down the worst.

“You know what the worst part is? I wanted to forgive you. My first instinct was to forgive you just to keep you and I hate that. I hate it that I questioned my own beliefs for you. I don’t deserve that”, your voice was now low but Taehyung felt each word weigh a ton on him. He wished he could say something, something that would make it better but there was nothing to say or do. This was the end. You had said that you didn’t deserve it and he could swear on everything real and true that you did not.

After several minutes, Taehyung felt you move and come close to him, he closed his eyes and let the tears fall again, all the while trying to remember everything about you. Your scent as you closed the distance between you two, your arms as they tightened around his neck and the way your head fit in the crook of his neck.

“I wish you had not done it. That you had talked to me about it. That you had driven to my house instead of the bar and that you had not...”, your voice broke and he felt your tears fall on his shoulders.

“But I will forgive you. Not today, not tomorrow, not anytime soon. But one day when I am capable of it, I will forgive you but for that, I need to walk away from you. And from what has become of us”.

Taehyung tightened his grip on you knowing that he had done this and there was no other way this could have gone. He held on to you, knowing that every part of him would hate him for breaking the one thing he had held most precious. And when you broke free, he dropped his arms and let you move away, knowing well that he had no right to stop you.

You left the room and left him there and it took hours for him to get up and leave, his eyes on the framed picture of you two on your desk, your love still intact in memories.

#bts #bangtan #taehyung #taehyung fic #taehyung x oc #taehyung x reader #angst #breakup #cheatin #fiction

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silma-words · 3 years

Note

Hey if you’re still accepting prompts then can you do #2 and #19 from prompt list 1

N/A: Thank you so much for the prompts Anon, and sorry for the delay! I hope you will like this, and that you are ready for some angst! :)

~~~~~

Choices: Bloodbound

Pairing: Adrian Raines x MC (Ellie)

Rating: PG / Warning: None

Genre: Angst

AU Chronology: Bloodbound AU (after book 1 – the events of book 2 never happened) – ‘Inevitable - Arc II: About time’ (Masterlist) - Sequel to "The right thing to do" and “Seventy-two”.

Summary: She was ready to leave everything behind, but Adrian shows up at her door step.

Inspired by prompts #2 and #19 from Prompt List #1: 2: “Please don’t cry. I can’t stand to see you cry”; 19: “I think I’m in love with you, and that scares the crap out of me”

Words: 2900

**Disclaimer: Characters and background plot are the property of Pixelberry.**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Picking up the pieces

What the hell was he doing here? Why now? Why did it take him that long to do what she had been hoping he would for over two months? What was he expecting of her? Drop all of her plans and crawl back to him after he had shattered her heart?

Unable to control the flow of questions that were rushing through her head, Ellie was shaking. Her back still against the door that she had quickly shut in Adrian’s face after finding him crouching on her doorstep, she could not stop the flow of tears either.

It had been so hard for her to wrap her mind around Adrian’s unilateral decision to end whatever was blooming between them and find a way to pull herself together, she now felt dragged back to that night in his apartment where he had delivered the blow. Just like that night, she felt her body being twisted and pulled apart in every direction from the inside, confusion mingling with anger, hurt, heartbreak, and love.

Why did he have to come back here and plunge another knife into the wound had barely started to heal? Wasn’t she doing what he wanted? He wanted her to chase her dreams and get out in the world without him tying her back, and that was what she was forcing herself to do. That’s why she had decided to take a leap and try her luck away from America, on neutral ground. Why would he change his mind now that she was about to leave? Had he always expected her to remain in his midst, close enough so she would never forget him? Close enough for him to reach her if he ever changed his mind? Or had he been waiting for her to come back to him all along?

*Ellie… please… Please come home… I miss you*

The sound of Adrian’s voice from the other side of the door tore through her. It brushed aside the million questions that had been invading her head as it reminded her how defeated he had looked at her feet in the corridor just a few minutes before. It was such a clear contrast with the resignation that she had read in his eyes the night he had delivered the blow.

She had believed him when he had claimed that this decision had been difficult for him as much as for her, but somehow part of her had tried to convince herself that he did not want her as much as she wanted him. That he had known that she was in it deeper than he was, and had been kind enough to end it before she relied on him too much. He had never hinted as much, but to her, it made more sense and hurt a little less than to believe that he had been really willing to sacrifice what they had just to give her a chance at a normal, mortal life. He had claimed he wanted her safe. But safe from the dangers of supernatural beings, or safe from the heartbreak that he would inevitably cause her?

Now that he was here, begging for her to come back to him, she was even more lost than when he had left her with no hope to convince him to let her stay. Her entire body physically ached at the thought of Adrian waiting desperately for her to answer his plea. But the idea of facing him filled her with dread.

Would she be strong enough to push him away? Did she want to? Would she even be able to reason properly and decide what to do with him standing before her?

She could feel his presence behind her despite the wooden door separating them. It was heavy. It was familiar. It was tearing a hole through her chest at the thought that he might turn around and leave before she could hear what he had to say. She could not ignore him a minute longer.

Drawing a deep breath, she wiped the tears from her cheeks, straightened herself and fumbled with the lock with trembling hands, bracing herself as she slowly opened the door. The guilt and yearning that she found in his eyes the second their eyes met drew her breath away, as if she had taken a punch straight to her guts. As much as she had wanted him to hurt as much as she did, it was a sight that made it all even worse. God, she cared way too much for that man.

“Adrian, I…” she started feebly, not sure what she really wanted to say. “I don’t understand what you want from me… I did as you asked…”

His silence was terrifying. He did not seem able to move away from the door frame, staring at her in shock as if his earlier plea behind the door had stunned him as much as it had her. Or was he surprised that she had accepted to face him, one last time?

“Adrian, please…. You have to explain, I… I… what the hell do you want?”. She had aimed her last words to be sharp and assertive, but they only came out as a desperate whisper. That seemed enough to shake him from his trance.

Closing the space between them, he wrapped his arms around her without a word, cradling her against his chest so tightly that she thought he might crush her. He let out a heavy sigh, burying his nose in her hair and swaying them both gently from side to side, as if trying to shake a nightmare away. A nightmare that they had both shared and were desperately trying to wake up from.

Ellie wanted nothing more than to let him sooth that ache away and forget all about the past two months. She would have never thought that the feel of his body against hers and the scent of him surrounding her could have so much power, stronger than any balm, any medicine, or any drug that had ever been designed to relieve unbearable pain. She felt like she could just fall asleep right there, lulled by the vibrations of his heartbeat and by the way his chest was heaving against her ear with every dragged breath that he took.

“I am so sorry, Ellie…” he finally spoke, a soft whisper blowing through her hair.

*I am sorry*. Words that she had been craving to hear from his lips but that now sounded like a joke to her ears. No matter how good it felt to be in his arms again, she could not forget the pain and anger that had been eating her up for weeks because of him. She could not let him win her over like this so easily. She would never forgive herself if she did.

Pressing her palms flat on his chest, she gently pushed against him to force him to take a few steps back and let her look at him in the eyes.

“What are you sorry about, exactly?” she asked, her voice sturdier now that she felt confident enough to confront him. “Sorry that you pushed me away? Sorry that you hurt me? Or sorry that I am leaving because of you?”.

She could see the hurt flashing through his eyes at her words, although guilt was still masking his beautiful features painfully.

“I am sorry for all of it, Ellie.”. There was no hesitation in his voice. No lie and no false chivalry. She could tell that he was offering her the whole truth. “And I am sorry that I never left you a choice in this, that I assumed that I would know better what would be good for you… I was so wrong… so wrong…”.

He tried to reach for her, but she took a step back, wincing, and shaking her head slightly.

“What makes you think now that you were wrong? Has anything changed between now and the night you told me I needed to move out from your life? Am I any less mortal? Are you any less of a vampire? Is your life any less dangerous now?”.

Adrian looked like she had slapped him. Turning against him the arguments he had used to make her leave was the last thing she wanted to do, but she knew she had to. His words were engraved in her mind forever, and she was convinced that not even Scholar Jameson would be able to erase that from her memories. The words had burned so slowly and so bright through her skull throughout the past two months that they had become a truth that she had forced herself to accept.

“No, you’re right” Adrian conceded. “These things have not changed. There is still so much that I wish a life with me could not deprive you of, but… what changed is that I thought I could be strong for the both of us by letting you go, but… I was fooling myself… I cannot stand the idea of you moving away while I never really gave you a choice in this….”

“So…” she started tentatively, raising an eyebrow betraying her confusion. “This is about giving me back my right to choose? I could either go and start a new life somewhere else, or stay here and get back to you?”

Adrian nodded silently, letting the idea sink in her head.

Not having to make a choice had somehow made things easier for her before. She could not have done anything else but to move on. But now that he was here and offering her a way back to him, she was clueless about what to do. She felt raw, exposed, vulnerable. His piercing blue eyes seemed to be digging through her soul, trying to read her mind and to find the emotions she had been desperate to hide.

“What do you want Ellie?” he asked softly, raising a tentative hand towards hers to reach her cheek. “This is what I should have asked you from the start, and I am sorry I didn’t. So I am asking you now: what do you want to do, Ellie? What does your heart tell you to do?”

She closed her eyes, letting her cheek lean into his touch, forcing her breath to calm down to find the strength to finally pull out of her these words that she had wanted to say for so long. “Adrian, I think I’m in love with you, and that scares the crap out of me.”

She felt her body weaken at her admittance, feeling more vulnerable and exposed than ever before now that her heart was on display before him, bare and beating erratically in despair.

As if knowing this, Adrian instantly wrapped his other arm around her waist to pull her back against him, preventing her from seeing the reaction on his face, but allowing her to feel him tremble against her, and to hear his heartbeat mirror the irregular pattern of hers.

But she could not stand the silence. Nor could she stop the flow of thoughts and doubts that now seemed to want to pour out of her soul now that her love for him was all out in the open.

“Maybe you were right, Adrian.” She whimpered against his collarbone, repressing the urge to cry at the realisation that Adrian’s doubts and worries had now taken siege in her mind like weeds with ever-growing roots. “Maybe us was all too much, all too soon…. I don’t…. I think it would just consume me if I stayed and then you changed your mind and pushed me away again….”.

She felt Adrian jerk against her, his hold on her tightening dangerously as she heard him swallow painfully. “I won’t… I promise…”. His voice was rough, nearly strangled, betraying the emotions that were clearly overtaking him.

“How do you expect me to believe that?” she insisted, blocking her tears by burying her eyes into his shirt as deep as she could. “The situation is the same… nothing has changed… you think that now because you think irrationally but… we both know your doubts will never truly go away…”.

For a moment she thought he had stopped breathing, his hand in her neck tightening to the brink of pain, and his face sinking at the top of head as if he was trying to smother his breath in her hair. When he finally relaxed and released his hold to bring trembling hands around her head, there was nowhere left for him to hide his tears as he leaned to rest his forehead against hers.

“I will never push you away again… I promise… I don’t think I could even if I wanted to…” he breathed against her lips, his tears now falling freely from his lashes to her cheeks, a vivid testimony of the truth behind his words.

Bringing her hands to frame his face, she gently stroked her thumbs against his wet skin, before tentatively pushing forward to get closer to his lips, close enough to feel their shaking breaths mingle and their damp eyelashes brush each other’s skin.

“Please don’t cry”, she murmured with a feeble smile. “I can’t stand to see you cry”.

When their mouths finally met, it was the most gentle and careful caress that she had ever experienced. It was like discovering the softness of his skin for the very first time, and the way he moved against her felt like he was exploring every inch of her lips one at a time, as if trying to draw a map so that he could never forget his way back to them.

Their kisses were short, a little weak and breathless, the salt of their tears gradually invading their mouths as they could not refrain from caressing each other’s skin, smearing the wet trails of their tears with their fingertips.

This felt so familiar and yet so foreign, the intensity of what she felt threatening to make her crumble at his feet if he ever released his hold on her. Would she ever be able to reason and think straight when she was in his arms? In this moment, she did not care. All she wanted was to relish every breath, every shiver, and every tremor coursing through him, pressing her body as close to him as she could to let him feel how much her love for him was possessing her.

“Ellie...” he whispered against her lips between two kisses, his gaze betraying the exhaustion he felt from everything that just happened, but filled with a softness that seemed to wrap her like the softest fabric that could ever be made. “You have no idea how much I love you and how much I missed you...”.

If she had dared to doubt his words, his next kiss would have proved her otherwise, as she felt his entire being shake with relief and the tension instantly leave his bones, as if these unspoken words had been a burden that he would not have been able to carry any further. His warm lips had captured hers avidly, hungrily, gentle but yet urging and demanding, roaming and pressing against hers as he was relinquishing the last remaining bit of restraint that had been holding him back.

Ellie was gasping for breath but she did not care. She was blinded by the raw emotions that were washing over her in the darkness of the room. Mere minutes before, it had been like she was being slowly dragged underwater, weakened and bared by her admission that she loved him. Now, it felt like she had finally been yanked out of the terrifying depths by the strength of a few words, Adrian’s confession filling her lungs like the air she had been gasping for.

“I missed you so much”, he kept repeating between kisses, unable to stay still or silent anymore, and probably eager to make sure she believed his promises to never push her away again. “I missed you so much, please... come home with me”.

Staring into his eyes as she was finally able to steady herself and catch her breath, she could not repress the smile that was starting to form on her lips at the sight his beautiful dishevelled face, love, warmth and tenderness finally finding their place back in her chest after weeks of being forbidden to take a seat too close to her heart.

She was not entirely sure yet what she was going to do with her choice, but she surely could not ignore what she felt for Adrian anymore. Tonight, they had laid the shattered pieces of their hearts at their feet, and picked up the largest pieces, hand in hand, willing to start putting them back together one at a time. Whether they could mend their hearts together, side by side, or whether they would have to do this alone, was something that only time would tell. But for now....

“I am home”, she simply answered his request, her voice soft and calmer now, her eyes darting across his face to take in all of the tiny perfections and imperfections she had missed so much. “Stay with me, please, Adrian... Stay with me tonight”.

~~~~~

N/A: Thank you again Anon for the prompt, and thank you for anyone who read it all the way! This segment is far from over, so more should come soon, hopefully!

If you liked it, any comments and/or reblogs would be deeply appreciated! J

~~~~~

Tagging @adriansbiss , @itsjustwinter , @shanzay44 , @purvishraick, @thefrenchiemama

@choicesficwriterscreations

#bloodbound #bloodbound choices #adrian raines #adrian raines x mc #bloodbound fanfiction #cfwc #choices fanfiction #play choices #choices stories you play #choices fic writers creations #fics of the week #asked and answered #writing prompt

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resident-of-storybrooke · 3 years

Text

Nothing Good Happens After 2AM (Ch 4)

Rating: M (finally earning that for this chapter)

Words: 2900

Read: ao3, ff.net CH 1 CH 2 CH 3

Summary: Emma took Killian home for the holidays as a fake date. Things seemed to be going well…until it didn’t. What happens when two fools in love didn’t confess their love over the holidays like they planned and have to go back home to reality? This. This is what happened…(A twist on fake dating during the holidays)

AN: Well....shit lol here we finally are! I wish I had a good reason for the year and a half delay. Honestly, I got one not so great review and it shook me a bit and I was already iffy about writing. But thank you to so many incredible souls being so encouraging and supporting me to get back into writing. Thank you to @kmomof4 who read all four chapters and edited them (make sure to check them out). I really hope you enjoy this last part as I’m so happy to finally have this out for you all. A very late and final contribution to @csjanuaryjoy

tagging some of the fam squad (please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @kymbersmith-90 @let-it-raines @artistic-writer @hollyethecurious @hookedonapirate @carpedzem @nowforruin @kmomof4 @wellhellotragic @thesschesthair @teamhook @winterbaby89 @zaharadessert @stahlop @ultraluckycatnd @blowmiakisscolin @peggyswan @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @tiganasummertree @batana54 @pirateprincessofpizza

ALL THE LOVE

Ruby made her way back up to the party, excited to see how the rest of the night would play out after her phone call to Emma. As she made her way back into Killian’s apartment she saw the Nolans as they gestured rather animatedly. Then Ruby rounded the corner and looked in to see who they were yelling at.

Shit.

It was Killian.

And from the looks of it they were letting Killian have it. And he was just standing there taking it.

What the hell did he get into in the last five minutes to warrant this? Ruby was both concerned, but mostly entertained because the sweet sunshine Charmings never yelled. She strolled into the kitchen with a grin, figuring she would enjoy the show. That was until the furious couple saw her - apparently she was their new target.

“Ruby Elizabeth Lucas! You have a lot of explaining to do.”

Ruby was confused to say the least. How the hell was she involved in... whatever this was?

“Um...I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

“Bullshit, Ruby!” She was completely taken back, Mary Margaret never swore. “You just told me that Emma thought Killian was dating Elsa. And last time I checked Killian and Emma have been together for the last three months. So please, explain yourself. Now.”

“I feel like it’s not really my place,” she said, darting her eyes toward Killian, but she could tell no one was buying it. “Listen, Snow White and Prince Charming, your poor sister felt pressured to bring a date home for the holidays. She and Killian decided to go to Ruth’s and tell y’all they were dating so you’d back the hell off. And it worked and everything was fine. Then Elsa showed up and spooked Emma because she thought she lost her chance with him. Because shocker,” she looked fiercely at Killian and had to restrain herself from smacking him upside the head, “they’re both in love with each other and are being absolutely idotic and not telling the other the truth.” She turned back toward the stunned silent Charmings, “And you two are not helping the cause!”

Killian looked up in complete shock, his eyebrows nearly reaching his hair. The Nolans stood gaping at her, obviously not expecting her brutal honesty.

“Listen,” Ruby took a deep breath. “Cut them some slack. You two were acting like Emma was going to turn into some crazy old spinster if she didn’t find a date soon. Also, you two act as though you are a literal fairytale couple.” She shrugged. “Sometimes it’s hard to live up to your kind of love.”

As David stood in shock, Mary Margaret finally spoke up. “We went too far, didn’t we?” That’s when she turned to Killian. “We’re sorry, Killian. We shouldn’t have ever put you in this situation. We love you, we love Emma, and that wasn’t fair...I hope you can forgive our behavior this evening.”

Just as Killian was about to speak up, the door opened revealing an out of breath Emma Swan.

Emma was confused by the odd looks she was receiving as her welcome. She should be used to their bizarre behavior at this point, but this felt different.

As she made her way over to the group her nerves set back in. She was here to tell Killian the truth. She was going to finally confess her love for her best friend. On his birthday. What could possibly go wrong?

“Right, well, this has been fun. Perhaps we should give these two some alone time.” Ruby elbowed the couple so Emma and Killian could have a moment.

As Emma walked towards Killian she finally took in her surroundings and realized how packed the apartment was. “I wish there were less people here…”

“Why, Swan? I love large parties, they’re so intimate. At small parties-”

“-there isn’t any privacy. I like it when you quote things to me.” Looking at him, she realized how close they were. She wasn’t even aware of her own movement toward him. Then she looked into his blue eyes. She missed them.

She missed him.

They stood there, taking each other in. It’d been weeks since they’d been together, really together. Neither one knew how to start.

“Emma, you came.”

She wished in that moment she had something poetic to respond with, but that wouldn’t be Emma. “That’s what she said.”

The two instantly burst into laughter, the tension dying with every laugh.

“I missed you, Swan.” Killian reached his hand out to tuck a loose strand behind her ear, Emma leaned into his touch.

“I missed you too. I’m so sorry I ran…I wish I had a good excuse, but I don’t. I wanted to tell you so many times how I felt. I was going to tell you. On New Year's Eve. I was finally going to tell you. I had this whole plan. It was a good plan. And then Ruby fucking decided to be Chef Julia Child and give me food posioning. And then...I saw how happy you looked with Elsa and I thought, I thought, I’d lost my chance with you.” Emma finally found the courage to look up when she finished.

Killian’s eyes were full of unshed tears. When Emma opened her mouth to try and say something to break the tension Killian wrapped his arms around her. Emma finally took a breath. A breath she had been holding for weeks. He didn’t hate her.

“Emma, my love, I promise nothing happened with Elsa. She was Liam’s fiance. She’s an old friend and nothing more. You though...you’re so much more than that. I’ve been a coward. I’ve hidden behind our friendship, behind the lie we told your family, and I will not do that any longer. I’ve had three words on the tip of my tongue since the night we met, I swear, and I will not waste another minute without you hearing them.”

Emma extracted herself from his grasp. “Before you do, I have something for you.”

Killian lets out a sigh, “Really? Right now?”

Without another word Emma pulled the small red box from her clutch and handed it to Killian. He looked at her with curious eyes. “It’s your birthday, open the damn thing, Jones.”

“So demanding. Now what do we have here? It's a-”

He stopped.

Mistletoe.

It was the most infuriating object that haunted his dreams - well, besides Emma. That trip to her home, the infernal garnish was everywhere.

There was that kiss.

God, that kiss. He relieved it daily, prayed that it wasn’t the last kiss he’d ever share with Emma. Up until this moment he was convinced that would be the case.

“Well, Swan, this is quite the gift. I don’t know exactly what to say.” He scratched behind his ear, a nervous tick they were both well aware of.

“I, um, do you wanna see if it works?” Killian’s eyes shot up to Emma.

“Well, love, seems only right I try it out with you since you were the one that gave me such a generous gift. Shall we...”

Emma cut him off with a bruising kiss, it caught him a little off guard, but it only took a moment for him to catch up. Killian didn’t give a damn that there was a party going on around them. He finally had Emma in his arms. Emma’s hands wandered to the nape of his neck, holding on for dear life. Killian’s hands roamed down her sides before anchoring on her hips, holding her tightly against him. He cursed the fact that Emma was wearing a dress, even if she did look bloody gorgeous in the tight red piece. He couldn’t wait to have that blasted thing on his floor.

They finally broke for air, still clinging to one another, foreheads touching. Killian was ready to dive back in when he looked up and remembered they weren’t alone. Mary Margaret was crying, Ruby was cheering, and David looked slightly annoyed but Killian saw the small smile he was trying but failing to hide.

“Come on, love. I think it’s time we faced the vultures. And I’d like you to meet Elsa, if that’s alright with you?”

“Yeah, I think that’s a pretty good idea, Captain.” Emma reached down and grabbed Killian’s hand before they walked over.

Maybe the trope board wasn't wrong after all.

CSCSCSCSCSCSCSCS

As the party went on, Killian and Emma were inseparable; the two constantly touching the other. At one point, while talking to Mary Margaret and David, Emma laid her head on Killian's shoulder, something she'd done a million times, but this time Killian placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

The two were in their own happy bubble. They pretended to be engaged with those around them, but they couldn't ignore but feel the sparks ignited with each touch.

"So, Emma? It's nice to finally meet you. I'm sorry for the miscommunication. I feel as though that was my fault." Emma was confused on how Elsa seemed to be privy to their issue, but then she saw Mary Margaret across the room and assumed her friend had filled her in.

"Please, don't be. I was...scared I lost my chance with Killian."

"Oh, honey. I don't think you could ever lose this one." Killian squeezed Emma closer to prove her point.

Turns out Elsa was hilarious and had wonderfully embarrassing stories about Killian. Emma had a feeling the two were going to be good friends after tonight.

The party eventually wound down a little after one, slowly the various couples left. That's when Emma realized she was alone with Killian.

Finally.

Suddenly, Emma felt her nerves grow. They'd declared their love and haven't left the others' side since, but she would be lying if she said she wasn't nervous. She absentmindedly threw out some empty cups as she tried to plan her next move.

"Love," Killian called for her from the living room, "can you come here?" Emma slowly made her way into the room as Killian stretched out his arms to embrace her.

"Emma, I...I know that tonight has been a lot. Our relationship has always been a lot. And I know the future is uncertain, but there's one thing I want you to be certain of - I will always be by your side. For as long as you'll let me, my love."

She didn't even know a tear had slipped until Killian pulled back to wipe it.

"I haven't always made things easy. I get spooked easily, but I'm tired of running. I want to be with you, Killian. I love you."

"And I you, my beautiful Swan."

The kiss started off slowly, different than the one earlier, but no less passionate. Emma brought her hands around Killian's neck, playing with the nape of his hair. As Killian kissed down her neck, Emma didn't recognize the noises that escaped her mouth.

As their kisses continued, Emma was surprised when Killian's legs hit the couch and he fell down. She hadn’t been aware that they moved. Emma said she was tired of running, and she was ready to show him. So she straddled his legs and hovered over him for just a moment.

They felt like teenagers again, making out on a couch like this. She could feel him harden beneath her, driving her wild. But, it wasn't enough, she needed more. Emma started unbuttoning his shirt, the bastard already had the top three undone. Without a second thought, she began to rake her fingers through the coarse black hair.

"I've been dying to do this since we first met. So soft," she murmured. Killian found a spot behind her ear that made her mewl. Emma brought her lips to his ear, "I've always wondered how it'd feel against my breasts."

With that, Killian pulled back. "My love, are you sure? We can wait. Because once I have you, I'm never going to let you go." Emma nodded slowly. As she looked into his eyes, she could barely see a trace of blue. His pupils were blown.

Before Emma could stand, Killian wrapped his arms around her to carry her to his bedroom. He only ran into the wall twice as Emma was no doubt leaving marks on his neck. Killian gently placed her in the middle of the bed.

"I always swore that if we got here, I would worship every inch of you."

"Killian, please, worship later. I need you now."

"Just a taste. Patience, darling." Killian was beyond thankful at that moment Emma had opted for a dress as he quickly removed her thong.

Before she could speak, he brought his mouth to her sex. "You're already drenched for me. You..fuck...you taste delicious."

Emma couldn't speak, he was overwhelming in every sense of the word. She grabbed a fistful of his hair, not that she needed to guide him; he knew exactly what he was doing.

Killian replaced his mouth with two fingers. "That's it, Emma. You look so beautiful like this. I want you to come for me, darling. Come and then I'll give you what you really want."

His voice was deeper, accent thicker. Emma had a feeling she could finish from his voice alone, but right now, it was his fingers and mouth that were going to do the trick.

Emma lost all control of her limbs as he sent her over the edge. He didn't let up though, he continued slowly licking as she came back down. As her breathing returned to normal, Killian kissed up her body.

"Worship later, Killian,” she moaned again. “Please. I need you. Now."

"So demanding, Swan,” he observed, taking his pants and boxer briefs off. “I think I like this side of you, all in a commanding voice, chills really."

He climbed back on top of her, but instead of responding, Emma hooked her legs around Killian and flipped him, so he laid on his back. He looked up in awe, he had never been so turned on than in this moment.

Emma decided she was tired of waiting, but before she could sink down Killian stopped her. "Give me a moment, let me grab something, I -"

"I'm clean, and I'm on the pill. I...I don't want anything between us."

"Gods, Emma. If you're sure? I'm good too, I haven't been with anyone since...since we met."

Emma dove down to meet his lips as she sank down onto him. Killian swallowed her gasp as she adjusted to his size. Of course, he lived up to every innuendo, and Emma couldn't be happier for that than in this moment.

For first times, they were both surprised with how easy it was to fall into rhythm with the other. There were only a few slightly awkward moments, but that didn't stop them from enjoying this moment. Emma's hips met Killian's with each thrust, quickly driving the other wild.

"So fucking glorious, Emma. You're so tight like this. Ride my cock, such a good girl. I want to feel you come around me this time. You're stunning when you come. That's...fuck... that's it Emma, take what you need, darling."

Before Emma could even respond, Killian decided it was her turn to be flipped on her back. "Now, if I remember correctly, you wanted to know how it feels with me on top."

"That's, ugh, that's not exactly what I said. But I'm not complaining."

Emma felt that familiar sensation growing in her stomach as Killian's pace intensified. "Killian, I'm close. Together, I wanna -"

"Aye, love, together."

Killian felt her tighten around him as she moaned out in ecstasy, pulling him right after her. He gave her a searing kiss as he spilled himself inside of her. Killian fell on top of her, too exhausted to worry about crushing her for a moment.

"Killian? As much as I love how, uh, close we are now, do you think you can move? I can't breathe, and I need to clean up."

"Oi, you're gonna give a man a complex!" Killian slowly rolled off her, in awe of the glow Emma radiated at the moment. Emma couldn't help but giggle as he was being an annoying ass, but mostly he was still...Killian.

They were still them. Except they just had mind-blowing sex.

She could get used to this new addition to their relationship.

"Stay here, love. Let me." Killian was back in a moment and helped clean Emma. When he finished, he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, just like before.

"What is it, Swan?"

"Nothing, I'm just happy. It's just so surprising."

"Aye, love, me too. But this doesn't change anything. I've loved you for years now, and we'll go at whatever pace we both see fit, but I'm in this for the long haul."

"As am I, Captain."

The two laid in bed, cuddled close, and shared lazy kisses. When Emma looked at the clock, she saw it was nearly three in the morning. A few weeks ago, Emma had thought nothing good happened after two am; it turns out she was wrong.

"Swan? Can you tell me what the bloody hell a trope board is?"

#tori finally finishes a story #nothing good happens after 2am #(formerly) another name #so close and still so far #captain swan #emma swan #killian jones #ouat #once upon a time #cs fanfics #ruby lucas #david nolan #mary margaret blanchard #elsa #part four #IT'S FINALLY DONE #THANK YOU K

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king-maven-calore · 3 years

Note

5,6 or 7. Angst. Mareven

ok ok, so I had to be in the right state of mind to write this, sorry for the delay. This fits as part of a fic/request that I started writing and may never finish bc damn it hurts so much.

This is uhm... marecal fam y'all should keep your distance🚫🚫

Some days were easier than others. Wasn’t that the way of life? Some days Mare’s figure was a mere shadow at the corner of his eye, disappearing whenever he tried to focus on her. Others, she would linger, muttering snide comments at the Cygnet’s handle of political affairs. Needless to say, she had a great deal of disdain for them. Being married to Iris, he had a right to attend the meetings where such matters were discussed. He wasn’t trusted enough to have an opinion though.

Maven was a prisoner in all but name, in a foreign nation, doomed to roam the halls of The Royelle, chased at every minute of every hour by the ghost of the woman he loved. The dead woman he loved... because he had killed her. Tricky how that worked, that her ghost had chased away the echo of his mother’s voice inside his head, and instead made it her task to torture him.

“You know that plan will only get silvers killed and red deserters for the Scarlet Guard,” Mare chirped with a bounce to her step.

‘Task’ wasn’t the right word, when she enjoyed torturing him so thoroughly. If this was his punishment, it was also her paradise.

“Acute observation,” he sneered, keeping his head down until he reached his chambers. “Thank you for stating the obvious.”

Word on the Lakelander court was that he was mad. A fallen king who often got caught talking to empty air and gazed at nothing, full of longing and loathing in equal measure.

“Obvious, and still you kept your mouth shut.” Her tone changed to scolding and she materialized right in front of him. “You could’ve stopped this.” Her eyes the color of trees in autumn, dead and cold, drilled holes in his.

He sidestepped her and kept walking at a brisk pace. Days such as these, when he could see her so clearly, he could also touch her. It was never a pleasant sensation. Today she looked the same way she had when he branded her in Harbor Bay; hair in a tight braid that fell over her shoulder the braid had come undone when she’d wriggled in pain on the floor when he used Cal’s torture device on her. She was wearing unassuming jeans and a shirt he’d moved out of the way so easily to burn the M on her skin. The spot was unscarred now. A pity. No matter how many times he re-branded the letter, she would just show up without it the next day.

Taunting him. Daring him to commit his sin all over again. Well, joke was on her. A tiny part of him would always sing at seeing her writhing on the ground beneath his hand, it was proof he could too, make her feel something.

“I couldn’t stop anything. They won’t listen to me.”

Maven closed the door of his chambers behind him and started yanking off the layers of heavy black clothes covering his frame until he was in his pants and shirt. It was getting hard to breathe.

“You can be pretty convincing when you want to be,” Mare spat in his face. “Do something, your highness.”

“Why should I?” He gripped her elbows with enough force to bruise. He hated how real, how warm she felt.

She’s not real. She isn’t here. Two sentences that held no weight by now. Not when his heart missed a beat and his skin prickled at the point of contact.

“I have no interest in my wife’s kingdom, or its citizens,” he gritted out pushing her until her back hit the wall, covered in scorch marks the palace staff didn’t bother to clean anymore. “Red or Silver. Their lives mean nothing to me.”

“Nothing ever mattered to you but your precious crown, right.” Mare laughed darkly; her eyes even darker as she glared at him. He loomed inches above her. “How miserable.”

She made it sound so small and simple. An existence reduced to a circle of iron... but it wasn’t true. Underneath the incomprehensible obsession with the power, there had been other things. Phantoms of things erased and squashed with surgical precision: curiosity for art and theatre, affection toward his father and brother, a taste for certain board games, love for two Reds.

The latter, rather than being squashed like the others, had morphed into this; staring into the fascinating, beautiful, horrible face of a phantom that felt more real than his own. He loved her so much he wanted to kill her all over again.

He didn’t realize his hands were burning until Mare’s shirt caught on fire. She remained unfazed, unharmed by his fire, still glowering.

“Not the only thing.” Maven’s voice was strained. “You mattered to me. I told you that.”

“And yet...” she added dryly, without feeling the need to complete the last part. The evident. The tragedy. His last, unforgivable crime. Ripping her away from the world and attaching her to him in return.

Forgive me, I beg of you. But some words could kill if spoken out loud, and he knew these ones would end him. And he was afraid of the darkness that followed, ironic as that may be for someone who had so comfortably inhabited darkness his entire life. One was a familiar comfort, while the other was the black dot at the end of a final paragraph. He refused to end it like this.

“I love you,” he gritted out through the noose tightening around his throat.

“No,” she whispered easily, without even pausing to consider his words. The flames were up to her collar now, licking at her neck. “You don’t. I believed you did, once, in your own way. But I was wrong because you don’t willingly murder the one you love, Maven.” Her eyes glinted with amusement, reflecting the orange light of the fire. “I loved you. I even chose you before you decided to throw it all away.”

Past tense. His gut recoiled like he’d been electrocuted, even though the ghost had no sparks. The room spun, the air scratched its way down to his lungs, his clothes asphyxiated him.

“Then leave me.” He pressed his face to her temple roughly, pushing her against the wall. “Go with him!” he growled like he was gurgling on venom. “Leave me! Leave me alone like all the rest!”

His screams would surely be heard across the palace but he did not care. Mare was all he had left... but not really. He’d made sure of it.

“LEAVE!” His throat hurt and the wallpaper behind Mare started raining down on them in hot embers that clung to their hair and clothes.

She shook him off and murmured in his ear, sweetly, as warmly as if she was pressing a knife to his neck and drawing out silver blood in rivers. “You thought you were the only one capable of hunting? I’ll haunt you even after your body is buried and left to rot.”

And then she was gone. He was left staring at the burning wall, carpet, and ceiling. Behind him, he heard the chandelier drop on the burning mattress. Maven fell to his knees grasping at the now empty air and screamed his throat raw for the first time, burning it all until the room was nothing but ashes, surrounding himself with fire to fight off the dark and the cold that permeated all things.

He let it all out because he did care, deep down he still cared. It was finally starting to push to the front of his consciousness and it was like a dam breaking, like birthing humanity, or himself, he did not know. The chaos and the pain were too great.

No one came to check on him.

When he woke up on the floor the next day, so tired not even 10 years of sleep could have helped, Mare was standing over him. Arms crossed and a quirked brow.

“Are you done?”

Leave it to the Little Lightning girl to shit on a perfectly good dramatic moment.

“Mare, dear,” he sighed, feeling slightly grateful for her presence. “I’m only getting started.”

#Mareven #my fics #red queen #RQ fanfic #don't mind silly things like coherence or grammar #this is pure vibes #fml #ask

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issamhysa · 3 years

Text

all of my kingdom for your return

eren and reiner with a warrior s/o hcs

this was supposed to be an actual fic but i didn't feel like having to deal with pacing shut up i am SAD :(( i've had this idea for a while so reeee but MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE SERIES/MANGA under the cut!!!!! i might give this like two separate endings if y’all like them!! <3

the mission was a simple one. that's what all your superiors, what zeke, reiner, annie and colt kept telling you. infiltrate their military, climb their ranks and retrieve the coordinate.

you don't know how, or when it got this out of hand.

maybe it was when you stood back and watched marcel get devoured by the titan. maybe it was when you didn't fight your brother when he held you back from tearing annie off reiner.

maybe it was when you befriended the coordinate, eren jeager, whilst you helped him "escape" shiganshina after the attack on wall maria. maybe it was when you watched him cry out and yell, blissfully unaware of just how much he would grow to mean to you, and how troublesome he would come to be.

you were meant to join the military police with annie, but you opted to join the scouts instead. you wanted to stay close to your brother, but you also needed to keep an eye on eren. out of the four warriors that remained in paradis, you were the most perceptive.

you, bertholdt and reiner are quick to establish yourselves within the scouts regiment and befriend the rest of the cadets, but you all made the same mistake. you get too close to them, you start to care for them and to slowly detach yourselves from the mission.

that is, until marco. you weren't there, you didn't see it happen, and to an extent, you were glad you weren't. marco was a sweet boy, one of your closest friends, and you were sure that watching him die would've ruined you. that's when you started to realize, you had to focus. you all did, you couldn't afford any more slip-ups, especially if they could cost the lives of those you grew to love and care for.

eren comforted you that evening, after the wall was plugged. you hated to admit it, but the way he held you close made your stomach flutter the same way it did when reiner touched you. he reassured you, mourned with you and promised to kill every damn titan in his way. before you knew it, you were falling, and you were falling hard.

the expedition came, in which annie revealed herself to be the female titan. in the end, you could do nothing as she was beaten by eren, forced to crystallize herself in order to save herself. in order to hide the secret you four shared.

time went on, and your attachment to eren grew. mikasa accepted you, slowly, and armin became a good friend of yours. you and eren began to spend more time together, whether it was training or staring up at the stars from the wall, your fingers intertwined as you reveled in the warmth of his presence alone.

little did you know, reiner was slowly unraveling. here you were, falling in love with the enemy, when you were his to begin with. you and reiner had always had a "thing", though unspoken. bertholdt knew, annie knew, everybody knew. you falling for eren only fueled his resolve.

it was time to finish this.

reiner and bertholdt told you about their plan to reveal themselves at the tower, when everybody was sleeping. you had tried to tell them it wasn't time, that this could be delayed, but you knew he was right. this had gone on for long enough, and you had made too many mistakes. you managed to hold them off until you got back to the wall.

you were meant to reveal yourself along with them, but when the time came, you couldn't do it. when your brother and reiner shifted, you braced yourself against the steam, anchoring yourself to the wall with your odm gear. you wanted to stay, but you knew you'd never truly belong here. not knowing what you had done.

when eren transformed, there was nothing you could do but watch as he and reiner pummeled each other to the brink, until eren had found a way to slowly crack away at the armored titan's neck. soon, the nape would be exposed, and reiner and bertholdt would be in trouble.

the scouts were near, waiting for the opportune moment to strike and tear reiner out of his titan, and in that moment, you had a choice to make.

you could stay still and cooperate with the scouts, letting eren kill reiner and hoping eren wouldn't hate you for betraying them. or you could help reiner and bertholdt escape, leave for marley and never look back.

reiner's armored titan called out, and though nobody could understand the reason for his sudden cry, you did. he was calling out for you.

you realized you had grown sick of being nothing but a bystander to tragedy. you had done nothing as marcel got eaten, you had done nothing when annie was defeated.

you couldn't let reiner get killed, no matter how much eren meant to you. so, managing to wrangle yourself out of jean's grasp, you grabbed on to the blade you were given and jumped off the wall. with a cry from your lips, the speed titan enveloped you in hot, steaming flesh.

six meters, short dark hair and fearsome teeth resembling that of the ancient smilodon cat came down onto the attack titan, sharp claws digging into his eyeballs.

your titan yowled with each tear of skin, but tears were streaming down your flushed cheeks. you weren't screaming out in anger, you were devastated. it should've never come to this. if only you had guarded your heart from this, it wouldn't hurt as much as it did.

"eren, forgive me" you cried over and over and over again, though you knew the possibility of eren ever forgiving you after this was unlikely.

you loved eren. truly, you did. but you loved your brother more, you loved reiner more, and you wanted to go home.

bertholdt took your sudden attack as his cue and let the colossal titan fall, shrouding everybody with steam. with an unconscious ymir and eren, you and your brother latched onto the armored titan and disappeared into the forest.

the forest of giant trees was as silent as ever. you, bertholdt, reiner and ymir were waiting for eren to come to while simultaneously planning your next move. the boys picked up in your sudden shift of mood, though, wondering why you had gone so silent. but when bertholdt followed your line of sight and found you watching eren, he knew.when eren woke up, the first thing he did was scream at the three of you. bertholdt and reiner were able to shake it off, but his anger cut you deep. the hatred and betrayal in his eyes. the way he called you a "traitor", despite you already knowing it. it hurt more coming from his lips.

eren was watching you fall apart, and part of him thought he could somehow talk you into helping him, into realizing that what you were doing was wrong. but he knew better. after all, he watched you jump to reiner's rescue without hesitating.ultimately, you had chosen reiner over him. despite the nights spent together, the hidden kisses shared under the blanket of stars, the silent moments on top of the wall.

reiner and bertholdt's betrayal could never compare to yours.

the scouts were on you quicker than you had imagined. you were all barely able to make it out alive. your attempt to capture historia failed, and the scouts quickly gained hold of eren once again.

before the titans could overcome you as you and your brother hid under the palm of the armored titan, ymir gave you a way out.

the next time you saw eren was while you were looking for bertholdt during the second attempt to capture him. zeke had finally come to your aid, and victory was surely yours, that’s what zeke had said.

what you weren’t accounting for was erwin’s suicide charge allowing levi to get close to zeke. what you weren’t accounting for was armin’s intelligence, although you really should’ve known better than to underestimate him. you weren’t accounting for the thunder spears that almost killed reiner, either.

you had lost long ago, you just hadn’t realized you had. it wasn’t until you were pinned onto that rooftop, helpless to watch your brother get devoured by armin’s new titan, that you finally realized.

you were doomed from the start.

had it not been for zeke and pieck coming to rescue you and reiner, you were sure the scouts would’ve taken you into holding, tortured you for information without so much as blinking. levi and hange would’ve enjoyed that. and maybe, just maybe, you would’ve let them.

but your mission wasn’t over yet. this had all been the easy part.

the hard part would come four years later.

but for now, you would settle for watching eren’s broken expression shift into nothing but pure anger as you left him once again, knowing the weight of your betrayal would bear down on both of your hearts for years to come.

#apologies but like #this is all over the place #this idea's been swirling around in my head for a MINUTE so #had to do something about it #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #aot #aot x reader #snk #snk x reader #reiner braun #reiner braun x reader #eren jeager #eren jeager x reader #fanfiction #my writing

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Note

Can I have something involving apollo having a darling that wanted to be monogamous?

While I hesitate to involve myself in anything that involves monogamy, I do love watching our second favorite Sun God struggle to compromise. It’s fitting, for someone as… /generous/ as Apollo.

Title: Divided Attention.

TW: Implied Kidnapping and Emotional Manipulation.

You learned quickly that Apollo was a man of great extravagance.

You’d always known it, really. Even when you were simply a bystander to the antics of his cult, you didn’t have to travel far to find one of his gold-plated temples, his altars always decorated with the rarest of flowers and his sacrifices more akin to feasts than the sparse, sparable scraps other deities required. You had no great desire to participate in his theatrics, not beyond an annual festival or two tradition demanded you attend. It had been no surprise that, when you were whisked away to a palace closer to the sun than any other, there were dozens of guests who’d received their invitation long before Apollo had thought to send yours. Every room was full, every conversation shouted, and you didn’t care for it. You loathed it, some days.

Almost as much as you loathed the God who brought you here.

You were the newest toy in an overflowing collection. Countless eyes, all young and clouded, watched your every move, appraising your value as they parted to either side and made a path down the center of the massive, blinding throne room that occupied the majority of Apollo’s domain. You did your best not to be intimidated by it, keeping your eyes on the creature you were being directed towards, a man too tall and much too happy to see you. Promptly, you decided it actually was not a good idea to look at him, and instead directed your attention towards the velvet carpet guiding your advances.

Alas, avoidance wasn’t a sustainable method. As you came to a stop in front of him, you moved to kneel, but a strong arm was quick to correct your posture, taking you by the midriff and lifting you onto Apollo’s lap unceremoniously. He nodded towards the amassed crowd, and without further argument, they blended back into one lingering, unattentive group, conversations picking up where they’d been cut off and activities proceeding as if they’d never been interrupted. You watched, for a moment, but another intrusion was quick to steal you away. You didn’t try to decide which disturbance was more unwelcomed.

“You haven’t changed,” He began, his hand coming up to cup your jaw before trailing towards your neck, a long, painted nail tapping twice against your chest. You knew what he was referring to without further explanation - he’d made his hatred for your drab, grey frock more than clear. You were given clothes, a wardrobe in every color of the natural world, but every piece was just as lavish as your surroundings. You’d forgone it without much thought. “I was excited to see you in attire more fitting of your beauty, you know. Is there something wrong with what I’ve provided?”

You were in a strange place and you weren’t allowed to go home. You were surrounded by people with dead eyes and silver tongues and none of them had any interest in befriending someone as separate as yourself. Apollo had stolen you and he wouldn’t give you back, and you resented him for it and everything else and a million other reasons you couldn’t name in polite company.

“They’re not my taste,” You answered, knowing better than to purposefully displease him. “I once heard Athena say a great mind needs no decoration.”

“And I once watched Athena start a dozen different wars over a single bronze breastplate she could never seem to get her hands on.” Despite the delight in his tone, he was quick to let out a long, labored sigh, pulling you closer to his chest as he went on. “This is your home now, my love, do you understand that? I want your comfort, and if there’s anything I could do to gain your trust, all you need to do is say the word.” Once again, his fingers ran through your hair, tilting your head back and allowing him to capture your lips in a soft, fleeting kiss, romantic by intention and onesided by execution. You remained rigid, present only in a physical sense, but that was all Apollo required. He pulled away with a noise of contentment, if only to better stare you down with a gaze far too concentrated. Far too intense. “Your desires are my own.”

You could practically taste the opportunity. You didn’t allow yourself time to falter, you’d spent far too long waiting for an opening. “The only thing I desire is commitment, my lord.”

There was a pause. This time, Apollo couldn’t seem to summon an elegant rebuttal. “Commitment?”

“I do not wish to be a piece of a set.” It wasn’t a lie, just a truth out of context. You did not wish to be Apollo’s, alone or with company, and you knew he could never be satisfied with the lover he already had. It was an impossible bargain, and surely, it was a bargain he couldn’t risk accepting. “I am not a jewel to decorate your riches, and I refuse to be another facet of your ever-growing harem. Either send me away and be done with it, or prove that you’ll be loyal to me. I don’t want to be with someone who isn’t willing to make sacrifices in my name.”

There was silence. Rigid, frozen silence. You swallowed, and Apollo forgot to pretend he was human enough to blink.

Then, abruptly, he laughed.

“My stubborn disciple has no faith in me,” He chuckled, his voice completely and utterly rejuvenated. He held up an arm, beckoning his reluctant lovers forward and wordlessly calling them to gather, to be ready for his next demand. “You don’t think you’ll be cared for. You forget that everyone here shares in my love, and they’re just as prepared to distribute my affection as I am.” He paused, a hand coming to rest on your hip, squeezing playfully as he turned you on his knee, leaning forward just enough to let his grin press against your bare shoulder. “It’s my fault, really. I should’ve ensured that you received a proper welcome, but a delayed celebration will have to do. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive my negligence, my love.”

You moved to contest, to argue and tell him exactly what he could do with his negligence, but before you could speak, a woman’s hand had latched onto your ankle, a man’s wrapping around your wrist. They pulled, and willingly, Apollo let you fall into the mass, each and every one of its many occupants dead-set on contributing to something terrible. There were cheers, sounds of celebration and a few rough jostles to your form, but there was no changing their aims, escaping the fate you’d talked their deity into carrying out. And, as someone grabbed at your back, clawing until they’d torn through thin fabric, it dawned on you just how vile your fate was going to be.

Apollo was a being of indulgence, after all.

You weren’t sure why you expected his lovers to be any different.

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jamilelucato · 3 years

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could u do one where the reader has had a rlly bad day and then ron comforts her with cuddles and then they fall asleep tgt but the reader has nightmares and wakes up to ron shaking her while she’s crying in his arms 👉🏻👈🏻 while he tells her everyth is gg to be okay

Home [Ron Weasley]

Pairing: Ron Weasley x reader

Summary: reader (any house) spends the summer in the Burrow because she’s running from where she thought was her home. But she’ll soon find out she has a new home.

A/N: thanks for the request! I’ve never written for Ron before, so I’m sorry if he feels out of character. Anyway, it’s a bit sad but also very cute, it has a somehow happy ending. Kinda inspired by Home (Edith Whiskers) because I was listening to it nonstop while writing.

PS: if you’re waiting for the rest of the fics from the HP Musical, it’s coming, guys, be patient. Gotta say the same for those waiting for their requests.

Harry Potter Masterlist || Musical Hogwarts Series

One of the best things about being Ronald Weasley’s best friend was the chance to spend summers at the Burrow. In your opinion, there was no more beautiful sunset than the one you, Harry, Ron and Hermione would watch from the top of the hill.

When you stayed at the Burrow, nothing could bother you. Not even Fred and George’s pranks, nor Percy complaining you all were too loud. Not even having to help Mrs Weasley out was a problem.

Last week, before you came to stay with Ron, you and your mom got into a big fight. She had got herself in a deal that you could not forgive her for. Your mom was now the newest Death Eater in town, and you could not believe she would side with the Dark Lord.

It wasn’t like you hated your own house.

Well, perhaps you weren’t very fond of your mother — that was one of the reasons you were “hiding” at the Weasleys.

But she did, and so that meant that your house was no longer your home. You couldn’t stay one more day there, living with such a dark witch, so you asked Ron if you could crash there for the rest of the summer. You didn’t tell him why, though.

Somehow the Weasley’s place was your only home left. Deep down, you knew why, but you didn’t want to admit — it wasn’t just the Burrow that made you feel like home. It was Ron.

“I think you kids should go to bed,” Mrs Weasley said, speaking in that way that only she knew how. It could sound like a suggesting for inattentive ears, but the truth was it was a command.

The boys complained, slowly getting out of the couch, scared of what their mom could do to them. Hermione looked at you with a tired smile, and without a good-bye, she and Ginny headed to the room you three were sharing.

You careless delayed your leaving, too scared to let go of Ron. Sure, it was not the first time he was laying on you tummy, but, every time he left, it felt like he wouldn’t come back.

He finally got up, stretching his arms up and fixing his jumper, letting you take a quick glimpse of the abdomen. He is taking his Quidditch practice way too serious, you thought, analysing marks that weren’t there before.

Ron looked back at you, still laying on the couch and offered you a hand you gladly accepted.

You two walked up the stairs, side by side, which was quite hard, but neither wanted to say good-night yet.

Ron stared at Ginny’s door room, which was closed. You followed his glance, breathing hard. Fred and George passed you two, and for the first time that week, they didn’t comment on it.

“Well, good night, y/N,” Ron said, pressing his lips together.

You stared from the door to him, scared to say something you would regret.

“Can I...” you swallowed hard, moaning already but Ron eagerly waited for you to finish your sentence, “...sleep with you tonight? I promise not to make a sound.”

Ron quickly smiled, and he had to tell himself to stop being so happy. It was a habit of you two to sleep in the same bed since you were eleven, so he had to remind himself that for you that probably was just a simple request.

But, by Merlin, for Ron, your request was practically his salvation.

“Sure, follow me before mum catches us,” he said, and you giggled, immediately reaching for his hand. When you touched, both felt something like an electric shock running through each nerve ending, dissipating heat throughout their bodies.

Harry was already there, and upon seeing his two best friends walking in and holding hands, he smiled before hiding himself under the covers.

Harry knew that you two fancied each other and he thought it was pretty stupid that none of you had the balls to confess it. But he wasn’t gonna be the one to ruin the moment.

Since you two were in your pyjamas already, there was not much more to do then to get under the covers yourselves and sleep. But who could warn your heart to slow its beats? It felt like you were in a bloody party!

Ron wasn’t doing much better either, squeezing himself in his bed so it could fit both of you. It was supposedly a single bed, only larger — a magic trick that the twins cast that went wrong, but for Ron, the spell had gone very very well.

“Hm, y/N?” Ron whispered in the darkness.

“Yes?” you were wondering if he could hear your heartbeat.

“Can I hug you with an arm? I’m too close to the edge,” he muttered.

You smiled in the dark, happy that he wouldn’t be able to see how much glad you were that he was about to squeeze you in his chest. His hot, callused hands found your waist with such delicacy that you never imagined Ron would have.

In a second, your face was on his chest, and you could feel his heartbeat as fast as yours. But both were slowly coming to a less quick rhythm.

“Sleep well,” you whispered to him, moving your head slightly just so your voice could find his ears better.

“I will,” he whispered a minute later, hoping that you would be too sleepy to remember.

Your last memory before giving in to the dream was Ron running his fingers through your scalp, and all you could think was how nice it was.

***

“Shhh, y/N, it’s okay!” Ron kinda whispered-shouted in your ear, holding your arms. “Please, wake up, you’re safe!”

You could feel his hands grasping your arms, but you couldn’t manage to open your eyes.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he whispered again, kissing your forehead.

It was finally then when you woke up — scared, confused, sweaty.

Ron saw your eyes spark in the dark and he hugged you, placing a hand in your scalp and bringing you close to your chest.

“You scared me,” he said.

“What-what happened?”

“You had a bad dream, I guess. I woke up to you screaming ‘mum, it’s me, please don’t hurt me’ or something like that,” he informed, pulling you away to see your face. “Crazy nightmare, huh? Scared of your own mother,” his tone suggested he could be siling, but in the dim, you just couldn’t tell.

Ron noticed how quiet you were after his comment.

“y/N? Are you and your mom okay?” he asked, placing a hand in your cheek at the exact same time a tear fell from your eyes and wetted his hand. “What is it, princess? You can tell me.”

You tried to fight the tears, and Ron helped, trying to clean them up.

“My mum and I... the reason I came here without days’ notice—”

“—you never need to give a notice,” he interrupted.

“— is because my mum told me what she had done,” you kept going, scared that if you stopped whispering, you would give up. “She’s with the Death Eaters, Ron. She’s one of them now.”

Ron tried hard to keep himself together for you and not to scream because of Harry. “She what?”

“She said she wanted to protect our family, going to the winner side,” you kept telling. “Winner side, can you believe that? That woman is bloody stupid.”

He revived when you came in, a couple of days ago, with a big smile in your face, no sign of sadness. How you hugged him — yes, this time a bit longer, but he thought he was imagining it.

Ron didn’t know what to say.

Really, what do you say to someone who had a death eater for a mom? If Molly told Ron she was a Death Eater, what would he do? He had no idea, but he would be probably way more freaked out than you.

The fact that you were having just some nightmares about the whole thing and not running around, cursing everyone, only made Ron realise how much special and strong and brave the girl he was in love with was.

By Merlin, did he have to realise it now?

“It’s gonna be okay, y/N,” he said, not sure if it was the right thing to say, but pulling you close anyway. “We’re gonna find a way to save her. Talk some sense into her.”

“She has the mark, Ronnie. She showed it to me,” you sighed, hugging him tighter. You needed it — you would, and you have always needed it, but now you had an excuse for it.

“Doesn’t matter, princess. She’s gonna realise the mistake she’s made, and she’ll come around, and the Order will help protect her,” he whispered, running his fingers through her hair. “And if she doesn’t come to her senses... we’re not gonna hurt her, I promise. I’ll make sure of it.”

You faced up, meeting his sparkling eyes in the dark.

“But, Ronnie, what if she hurts me?” your question was barely audible, you were scared to even say something like that.

“She won’t. I won’t let her,” Ron muttered, kissing your forehead. “She’ll have to kill me first.”

Still looking into his eyes, you finally smiled. Not happy, but hopeful. You had Ron, and he was all you ever needed. He was your home, your best friend.

“I love you, Ronnie,” you whispered in a quick moment of bravery. You were not worried he wouldn’t feel the same, you weren’t worried if you were dumb to say such a thing.

But, as your home, he had the right to know. If it came to you, you could spend whole days telling him how much you loved him.

His eyebrows shot up, surprised at what he had heard. Somehow, Ron knew that you meant that you loved him as a woman loves a man, not as simple friends. He knew because of your hearts beating in the same rhythm, the exchanged looks causing goosebumps and colouring the cheeks, and the touches leaving trails on the body.

“I love you too, princess,” he whispered back, and all your worries suddenly disappeared.

Ron was in a sudden peace. He knew you weren’t going anywhere. You were his and he was home too.

#ron weasley #ron #ronald weasley #ron weasley x reader #ron x reader #ronald weasley x reader #Harry Potter #the weasleys #the burrow #fred and george #Draco Malfoy #death eathers #dark lord #ron weasley x you #ron weasley x y/n #ronald weasley x you #ron x you #ron x y/n

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nyerus · 3 years

Note

Hi, nyerus.....If you don't mind me asking, who are your favorite MXTX characters (top 5 from each novel)? And why? I'm sorry if you've answered this question before.

Thank you so much for asking! I would love to! (Apologies for the delay, and also for how long this is lol....)

TGCF

1.) Xie Lian: I could write forever about why I love him, but XL is just a really great character who subverted my expectations. He's gentle and compassionate, but also funny and snarky on the inside. His character arc is the classic hero's journey but told out of order. So we meet him when he's already wise and world-weary, then get to see what he was like before, and how he finishes his journey later on. He's extremely inspiring, to show that our choices and our actions are what make us, and ultimately no one can take those from us.

2.) Hua Cheng: This is no surprise! I also just adore HC for being a very intense character! He's completely devoted to XL and that zealotry is very unique in a character. He's 100%, not 50, not 75. While he has a lot of relateable aspects, this part of him is utterly fantastical, on the level only myth and fable can achieve--which tracks. After all, he isnt a Ghost King for nothing. In the story, he is the embodiment of the purest devotion, no strings attached.

3.) He Xuan: I actually like him for the same reasons as HC! He too is a walking fable, only instead of devotion, he represents vengence. (They're actually like foils of each other, which is quite neat.) I really adore his arc, and how murky his whole character is. It tells a cautionary tale of how sometimes, our worst enemy--the one who makes us most miserable--is often ourselves. SWD wronged him greviously, but HX's obsession with vengence ultimately prevented him from getting the peace and recompense he wanted in the end. Absolutely stellar storytelling.

4.) Mei Nianqing: While I often question his motives and methods, he is still a really good character. Caught between wanting to be a mentor and protector to XL, but still loving (platonically or romantically, that's up to you) JW. He's the only father figure in XL's life that actually took him seriously, even if he did have to come around to it. But ultimately, he was proud of who XL became even before he ascended. He was just terrified of XL drawing the attention of the one man he shouldn't--and did. However his belief in superstition and fear of Hong Hong-er also makes sense, even if it's sad. MNQ is also just a quirky and fun dude lol.

5.) Mu Qing: I really like how complicated and murky MQ's is in terms of his inner turmoil. I'm somewhat similar to him in the way he thinks, and it's real work not to make things worse for myself by expecting the worse. His background makes him naturally suspicious of... basically everyone, all the time, and it's honestly understandable. Ultimately, he does understand that you can't make assumptions about people's intentions by projecting your own insecurities onto them--which I think is something everyone can relate to. I really like his subtle journey of self-realization and self-forgiveness, and he ends up far better for it.

MDZS

1.) Lan Wangji: I love the fact that LWJ was just so ready to Night Hunt himself to death upon the loss of his beloved. As you can tell, I really like complicated characters who have extreme traits, haha! That being said, I just also really like his stoicism and reliability.

2.) Wei Wuxian: Naturally, it's hard not to love WWX! He decided "yeah maybe the ends do justify the means" and went for it. To us, he is the hero. To the regular people of the world? Whose ancestors were dug up and disturbed to be used by the Yiling Laozu? His blackened reputation is not without cause! (Like... JGY literally has done more positive and helpful things for regular people than Wangxian, but those metas already exist lol.) Once again, his gray morality is what makes him so damn good, and can be debated at length!

3.) Jiang Cheng: JC gets a bad rep, but oh boy he doesn't make things easy for himself at all. However if I was in his position, I probably would be much worse off. He lost EVERYTHING, and still trudged on because there were people who depended on him. His hatred of the Wens also makes sense in the context that... that's often how humans react to and process extreme trauma. We find something to blame and *waves at literally every major conflict since the dawn of time.* (His rumored torture of innocent people due to that is reprehensible, of course, but given that MDZS is a book about how rumors can make or break someone's life... we should take that line with a grain of skepticism, much like all other hearsay.) He's not typically the type of character I like, but I found him really interesting to read.

4.) Jiang Yanli: I really love JYL, who decided to be the emotional backbone of her family from the time she was a child. It was an undue and extremely heavy burden to bear, but she did all of it without complaint. That's strength. I think many elder siblings can relate to her having to step up and be the third parent, when the actual adults fail at it.

5.) Wen Qing: I really like her arc in the novel, where she makes some of the hardest decisions anyone will ever have to make, over and over and over again. I don't typically love very "rough" characters, but she has ever right to be that way (and it makes sense for her character, and isn't just a tacked-on character trait like hair color or eye color in a CC), and honestly I want to marry her very seriously.

SVSSS

1.) Luo Binghe: Probably the most misunderstood main character of all of MXTX's works. LBH is neither truly a crybaby nor is he a ruthless maniac. He's right in the middle, in the valley of misanthropy. And yet, he knows just how to use his charisma to get his way. Cunning and devious, intelligent and ruthless. Meanwhile, he craves love and intimacy--something he could only ever dream of.

2.) Shen Qingqiu (Shen Yuan): Extremely refreshing to see an transmigrator know how to handle transmigration almost flawlessly. (Me reading/watching other works with this trope and wanting to tear my hair out at the protags = me sympathizing on a personal level with SQQ.) This also proves to be SQQ's fatal flaw!! His knowledge of the novel is both a boon and a obstacle to him, and prevents him from understanding the other characters as people until he lets go of his pre-conceived notions. And of course, his snarky as heck inner dialogue is amazing.

3.) Liu Qingge: I don't actually even know why I love LQG as much as I do. He's just neat.

4.) Tianlang-Jun: Honestly same goes for TLJ. He's just great though, and I have a blast reading about him. He wanted to see the good in humanity, and ultimately comes around after writing them off.

5.) Yue Qingyuan: He's a fascinating character. Harmless on the outside, but a quagmire on the inside. His love for Shen Jiu was quite... problematic, in that he saught forgiveness from SJ, without actually ever taking the time to understand him or to make amends. Patronizing and judgemental, yet willing to let SJ get away with literally anything because of his own unresolved turmoil, etc etc. Fascinating.

#if this sounds like I want to study some of these characters under a microscope then you'd be correct #i also have a lot more faves i would want to talk about but actually it's a lot of work to Think #i just really love characters who make me think or are very complicated #tgcf #mdzs #svsss #asks #nyerus.txt #thanad-zid

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