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#the way a war happened and nothing shook him fills me with hope

sinner-sunflower · 2 days

Text

P.2 HH Lucifer-centric AU 14/?

STORY 1, PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13

You guys ever read They Both Die at the End cos this is looking a lot like that the more we go on.

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Lucifer had begun to tell them of his trip to Heaven, from what had prompted Michael to almost destroy Hell with his holy weapon to the brewing civil war.

They listened intently to every word he said, not once interrupting him again until they got the full story.

And that's what he gave them.

Well... almost all of it.

He left out the part where the Fates had prophesied his imminent death in the war. Revealing that particular information would raise more questions that Lucifer wouldn't be able to answer.

Charlie: I still don't understand. Why would they involve you, Dad? If Heaven goes to war, how does that affect us?

Satan: Despite what most might think, Heaven and Hell are not two separate entities. After the creation of humanity, it's impossible for one to exist without the other.

Lucifer: He's right. Back then, before... everything. Hell hadn't been made yet because, while yes there was darkness, there were no lower beings to corrupt. Thus no use for a pit to contain them. But then Adam and Lilith happened. Then Eve...

Mammon: So what? We're screwed?

He shook his head.

Lucifer: No. Just me.

Satan: Huh? What do you mean, just you?

Shit. What is with his mouth today?

Lucifer: ..... Michael told me that he took a look at the Fates and saw me among those on the battlefield.

Beelzebub: Excuse me?!

Satan: What the hell??

Leviathan: So it will happen down here? Because there is no way we are letting you go back up there for anything.

Belphegor: Were you also planning on keeping that to yourself? Really, Lucifer?!

Asmodeus: I don't like this.

Charlie: The Fates?

He understood their reactions; after all, this was too big of a revelation to keep quiet for this long about.

Alastor had been awfully quiet beside him, but he can't dwell on that right now nor will he call out the look of disdain the guy is giving Levi.

'Do those two know each other?'

In the end, he chose to ignore Belphegor's accusation (is it really an accusation if it's true?) in favor of answering his daughter.

Lucifer: The threads of life. Pre-written destinies of every being in existence. It might be placed in Heaven, but no one, not even Father, can change what has already been woven.

Charlie: And Archangel Michael saw yours? How?

Lucifer: I-You'll have to ask him that. I fell before the duty of guarding the Fates was passed onto me. I have limited understanding as it is.

He's digging his own grave but it's not a total lie.

Charlie: And do you trust him?

Her question throws him in a loop. Because what?

Lucifer: What?

Charlie: I can tell you have resentment for him. Do you not trust his word? Is that why you were not in a hurry to tell any of us because you think it's a trap or something?

Lucifer: Regardless of what my feelings towards Michael, I believe his words. He is not one to involve Hell in anything that can be solved within Heaven. And I want to say that I'm sorry for not telling you all the moment I got back. The only thing I can say is that I was tired and with everything that just happened in Sloth, all I wanted was to sleep. I promise that I didn't know any of that stuff you saw would happen.

Charlie: But what was that, dad?

Lucifer: My appearance might not be the only thing the ritual affected.

Lies.

Lucifer: I'm handling it.

Lies.

Lucifer: I swear it's nothing to worry about.

LIES.

He gives her a smile that he hopes is comforting enough but based on her crunched up expression, it must have came off more strained.

Charlie: Dad...

Tense silence fills the room. Lucifer's well aware no one believes him but he knows they won't try to push further. They are well acquainted with his character, after all. Cowardly but stubborn.

Satan: We'll get our forces ready then.

Lucifer: Huh?

Satan: What? Did you think we'll just sit here and let our King fight alone?

Lucifer: Look, no one else needs to be involved. I am-

Satan: -the King of Hell, are you not? And whoever threatens our King is our enemy.

Everyone let out a chorus of agreement. The Sin of Pride crumples the bedsheets in his hold. There's tears threatening to fall from his eyes in his disbelief.

How did he find people who are all so willing to fight for him? He feels a pang of guilt for he knows that regardless of what they do, he will meet his end in that war.

But how could he tell them that? Tell his family, these demons he raised, that he'll be leaving them?

A Marigold being tucked behind his ear made him look at his silent pillar. Alastor grabs a hold of his hand and plants a kiss on top of it in a manner that makes his heart flutter like a lovesick teen.

Alastor: We will do everything in our power to keep you safe, my King.

Lucifer: I believe you.

He wishes he could stop with the lies.

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Once the battlecries died down in favor of the Sins giving Alastor a weird version of a shovel talk, they hear shouts outside the room.

It kept getting closer and closer until the door bursts open revealing the rest of the hotel residents, all holding some form of weapons on them.

He would've thought they were under attack until Vaggie and Angel toss something, no someone, on the ground.

It was a face Lucifer never thought he'd be able to see again. Because he's dead. He should know because he burned the body in Hellfire himself.

On the floor, beaten and bruised, is a half-goat demon wearing a face of a dead man. It grunts and let's out an awkward laugh as it meets his eyes.

Adam: Haha..... Sup, bro.

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Apologies if that last part is weirdly cut cos I wanted Luci to say that but then I also wanted Adam to appear now.

I'd appreciate any comments or DMs left on your thoughts about everything so far! Reblogs and likes are also much appreciated <3

Have a happy weekend everyone!

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mehidktbh · 10 months

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Between You And Me (P.t 2)

Pairing: Simon Riley x Nurse!Fem!Reader

Summary: You try to ignore that night and what happened. Ignoring your boyfriend in hopes he doesn't find out what happened that night. But yet he does and just in time too.

Warning: War, unwanted/nonconsensual, secret relationship, touching, ANGST, fluff and comfort, TW SH (SEXUAL HARASSMENT), illusions to SH (SEXUAL HARASSMENT), fainting, little fighting and violence

A/N: Sorry... for the uh... absence... 👀 (Part 1)

Taglist: @lauraliisa, @mxtokko, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @ghostshotwife420, @snortangeldust, @thychuvaluswife, @quesowakanda, @goodsoup03, @cielobgers, @andy-unu-03, @sididakra-jo, @nocti1s, @luvfromkat, @lily-ilo, @iwmtfm, @elentiyaiswriting, @berryjuicyy, @crazyfandomist, @aqxz, @yaaamadaa-blog, @itsquinoa, @tomhollandisabae, @wivwer, @old-red-owl, theverycelestialgemini, leopardfang15, @iwmtfm

As the footsteps drew nearer, echoing through the darkness, they closed in on you with an unsettling stealth, reminiscent of a fox cornering its prey. Your heart pounded in your chest as you reached your office door, desperately grasping the handle and attempting to push your way inside. But before you could find safety within, a hand halted your progress, chilling your hips with its touch. Anxiety washed over you, heavy and suffocating, as if threatening to consume you entirely.

"Let go of me," you asserted firmly, standing your ground and inching your hips back, a clear display of your discomfort. "Don't play games, Princess," a voice sneered, its presence accompanied by an unfamiliar scent that filled your nostrils. Despite your years as a medic within this organization, you had never encountered someone like this—a despicable individual who still possessed an air of arrogance, clinging to his dignity as he perpetrated his vile actions.

You felt his hands rise slowly, and though you were clad in your trusty hospital scrubs, providing a barrier between his skin and yours, you could sense the weight of his touch. The darkness shrouded your vision, as you remained frozen, facing the wooden door, unable to identify the person lurking behind you throughout the night. The hallway, an enigmatic and mysterious abyss, seemed to torture you with its thickness. Then, suddenly, a flicker of light erupted from the far end of the hall, exposing a glimpse of the unknown. At that moment, your assailant vanished into the shadows, leaving you unable to shake off the remnants of fear that had paralyzed you.

♡ ♡ ♡

It's been two days since that night, though it's felt like you've been going through pain and hell to even wake up. You couldn't bare the thought of seeing him just simply existing and walking around with his dignity in his hands. It shook you to your core and now you lay down in your dorm, staring at the ceiling in silence. Draining your energy and clouding your thoughts. With each passing moment, your eyelids grow heavier, as if burdened by invisible weights, tempting you to surrender to the allure of sleep. "Y/N! Get up we need all hands!" A voice suddenly yells from outside your door, banging on it as you jolt awake. Shouting back you'll be down soon as you scatter to get up, scavenging through your clothes on the floor before throwing them on. Opening your dorm door and walking towards the medical section of the barracks. Turning a corner you see out of the corner of your eyes your boyfriend. Ghost. You feel bad for ignoring him for the past two days, trying to avoid his presence and where he always hangs around. Even going far as to sometimes ignore him around midnight, when you guys would stay up in one of your dorm rooms. Talking below a whisper to not wake anyone up beside youse as you whispered sweet nothings into each other's ears. And the more you ignored him the more you longed for him and his touch, his dark voice and handsome appearance. And the second you pass him he looks your way, blocking out Soap as he goes on about something he saw outside the barracks this morning. He eyes you as you walk past, he knows by the way you speed walk past, keeping your eyes trained hard in front of you. That you don't actually want to ignore him yet he doesn't intervene or call your name... he'll stop you later... - - -

Overhead, fluorescent lights cast a bright, clinical glow that illuminates the room, ensuring visibility even during the darkest hours. Medical supplies are meticulously arranged on shelves and in cabinets, their contents carefully labelled and readily accessible. You can find neatly stacked bandages, gauze, and medical instruments, each item serving as a silent reminder of the room's purpose: to provide essential medical care to those in need.

The walls are adorned with informational posters, displaying diagrams of the human body and illustrations of proper medical procedures. These educational tools serve as a constant reminder of the medical staff's dedication to their craft and their commitment to maintaining the health and well-being of the barracks' inhabitants.

A small desk sits in one corner of the room, where you can usually be found, diligently recording patient information, attending to paperwork, and ensuring the smooth operation of the medical facility. An array of medical equipment, such as a blood pressure monitor, stethoscope, and examination tools, are readily available, indicating the room's capacity for comprehensive medical assessments. You stand silently near the sink, cleaning off and disinfecting some of the metal medical tools you used recently. Some tweezers and scissors as you run a disinfecting wipe along the blade making sure the bacteria and any blood are wiped clean. Turning around at the sound of the door opening and closing, thinking it's a soldier you turn around with a smile to greet them. Dropping it instantly when you realise...

"Missed me?" he taunts, a chuckle escaping his lips, his arms wide open as he strides toward you with ill intentions. Despite the rising unease, you muster the courage to hold your ground, determined to maintain your confidence. "What do you want? This room is strictly for medical purposes," you assert, making it clear that anything beyond that is unacceptable. However, he disregards your words, refusing to leave and inching closer until he stands directly in front of you.

"I came to see you, Y/N," he sneers, his voice dripping with revulsion. The knowledge of his intentions sends waves of disgust surging through you, causing an internal struggle. You attempt to sidestep him, but he quickly extends his arm, blocking your path and forcefully gripping your waist, pressing you against the wall. His proximity is suffocating, and you instinctively turn your head away, shooting him a glare filled with sheer loathing, silently conveying your plea for him to stop. Yet, he remains undeterred, his fingers tugging at the edge of your uniform, sliding his hand underneath.

However, before his actions can fully manifest, they are abruptly interrupted. Simon steps forward, towering over the man, his teeth clenched as he hisses through them, inflicting pain on his own assailant, who clutches his head in agony. Visibly enraged by the disruption, Simon turns around, his anger palpable. But before he can utter a word, he reaches out, swiftly encircling the man's neck with his hand. Simon's arm tightens, muscles bulging and veins protruding as he flings the assailant toward a nearby hospital bed. With unrelenting strength, he maintains his grip, applying increasing pressure, observing as the assailant struggles to form coherent words, desperately attempting to free himself. As he tightens his grip on the man's neck, squeezing the life out of him until he finally succumbs, collapsing to the floor unconscious.

Simon turns towards you, his gaze falling and a deep sigh escaping his lips. His eyes carry a profound sympathy that penetrates your heart, causing a sharp ache within. You realize the weight of the secret you've kept from him as he approaches you slowly, his desire to understand why you chose not to confide in him palpable. Succumbing to the overwhelming emotions, you sniffle and tears stream down your face, overwhelmed by guilt and uncertainty, unsure of whom to turn to when it all began.

In the safety of his embrace, you tighten your grip around your boyfriend, seeking solace in his touch. He allows you to cry and sob, offering you the support and protection you need, even if you strive for independence. In this moment, he wishes for open communication, hoping you will share your burdens with him in the future, your voice muffled against his military uniform as you attempt to speak.

"I'm sorry, Simon… I'm sorry," you manage to utter amidst your tears. He silences your apologies, gently placing his gloved hand on the back of your head, soothing your cries and offering comfort. His touch conveys that there is no need for apologies, even without words. Leaning in, he whispers into your ear, his voice soft and reassuring, "This will remain between you and me, sweetheart."

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avoxrising · 4 months

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The Feral One • Ch 25

Finnick x Y/N

Series Masterlist Link

The angst is real lol

Content Warnings - blood/injury

Finnick watches as your bloodied body collapses into a heap at the base of the ladder. Maybe if he tells himself it’s just the sedative doing it’s job then you’ll be fine. Maybe you’ll be ok.

Gale hops back down to help Finnick pull you up to the rest of the squad. Everyone who made it up the ladder seems relatively fine, minus some fresh trauma and minor flesh wounds. You, however, looked more dead than alive.

Finnick’s fingers brush your neck as he feels for a pulse.

“It’s faint but it’s there,” he tells the group, trying to keep himself together. “I’ll carry her.”

Squad 451 exits the sewers, following Cressida to the shop of a woman named Tigris. She leads them to the basement where they can hide out for awhile.

“Have you ever seen this before?” Finnick asks the cat-like woman, referring to the inky nature of your body.

“Hmmm,” the feline purrs. “It looks familiar but I can’t quite put my paw on it. It reminds me of an experiment one of the former game makers used to do on animals but I’ve never seen it in a human before.”

“Do you know what the experiment was?” Finnick asks.

“No,” she hisses. “I only saw the creatures once. My cousin worked with that game maker but he wouldn’t willingly divulge that information to anyone, and certainly not to you.”

“How do we help her?” Katniss asks, looking at your limp form.

“You win this war,” she tells the two victors, slinking her way back upstairs.

Finnick doesn’t sleep a wink, constantly checking your pulse to make sure you are still with him. Katniss used what limited supplies the group had to clean, stitch, and bandage your wounds but she couldn’t do anything about the internal damage using the resources available.

Your fever was gone, signaling to Katniss that the substance had stopped its spread for now. Maybe you bled enough of it out. She could tell, however, that your sleep was not a result of her arrow, but of wounds she couldn’t see.

“Get some rest,” she instructs Finnick. “I’ll watch her.”

The look he gives tells her exactly what his fear is. He can’t lose you.

“If anything happens I’ll wake you,” she assures him.

By morning, nothing had changed. You hadn’t gotten better but you also hadn’t gotten worse.

Snow made an announcement that refugees were being welcomed at the mansion and Katniss made her decision, she had to end this.

The group decided that Katniss and Gale would head out first, followed by the able bodied members of the squad. Peeta and Finnick stayed back with you, unable to stomach the idea of more bloodshed.

After they were dressed in capital disguises, the group began trickling out to join the masses making their way to promised safety.

Katniss had left Finnick the holo in case he needed to be out on the streets. He wanted to carry you to the nearest medical camp but Katniss said you needed to stay put due to all your stitches. She promised to send medics when she could but Finnick was growing impatient.

It was too risky to try and radio for help. If the signal was tracked to your location then you would be swarmed instantly. Finnick had to think of another solution.

“I’ll go find help,” Peeta states.

“No it’s too dangerous,” Finnick shakes his head.

They younger victor doesn’t have time to debate as the building is shook by a nearby explosion. Screams could be heard from the street above and a few bits of plaster fall from the basement ceiling.

“We need to move her,” Finnick states. “Grab a blanket!”

The men wrap your body up in a blanket, hoping it would cushion your stitches enough to move you. They then quickly pull on some capital clothes and venture out onto the street.

People are laying dead everywhere as smoke fills the air. Parents are screaming for their children as they search the rubble and debris.

“I think we should go that way,” Peeta states, pointing away from the chaos. He grips the holo tightly and leads Finnick through a series of alleyways.

Finnick hears a pained moan as you stir in his arms.

“Shhh stay still,” he tells you. “I’m bringing you to medical.”

Your restless bouts continue as the duo of victors makes their way towards the closest known medical station. They make it about halfway when Finnick feels his hand getting wet.

“The stitches,” he mutters as he looks at the blood coating his hand.

“Peeta!” he calls, no longer worried about being recognized. Peeta turns to see the blood seeping through the blanket and makes his decision.

“Stay here with her,” he states. “I’ll go get help.”

Finnick gives the boy a nod before he runs off to find help. He sets you down on the pavement and slowly unwraps the blanket.

One of the gashes in your side had reopened, gushing blood at an alarming rate. Finnick rips a piece of the blanket off to put over the wound, hoping to slow the bleeding.

“Hey,” he says as he notices your eyes opening. “Don’t move.”

“It hurts,” you groan.

“I know love,” Finnick sighs. “Stay with me, ok. Help will be here soon.”

Taglist:

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*if the tag didn’t work please check your settings to make sure other blogs can tag you

#hunger games #finnick odair #hunger games fic #the hunger games #finnick odair x reader #finnick x reader #finnick odair angst #finnick angst #finnick #mockingjay part 2 #the feral one

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mouschiwrites · 2 months

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Helloooo!!! Congratulations on 400 followers and may God bless you to have many more celebrations to come! For me (since I can't choose): Zane, Cole, or Lloyd with either Arcade by Duncan Laurence or Hold on by Chord Overstreet

(pick what you please and have much fun with this!)

Tysm, you're so sweet!! I ended up choosing Cole and Hold On if that's okay :]

Ninjago - Hold On (Cole) (400 follower event)

You really shouldn’t have been there in the first place.

When Cole told you to stay back, you were about to listen; but he just had to add that bit about it being “too dangerous.”

The minute you heard that, there was no way you were staying behind. You told yourself it was because you were worried about Cole, but deep down you knew it had something to do with your pride, too.

And now here you were, rushing into an impossible battle with no plan whatsoever. Well, perhaps that wasn’t true; the plan was as follows: Save Cole.

And that was the last thought in your head as you rushed to place yourself between your love and a killing blow delivered by his adversary.

Cole had been losing. His adversary—a particularly nasty Oni—was far bigger than him, far fiercer, far scarier—but none of that had put him off. He knew he was strong. And he was naturally a very hopeful person, so any doubts he might’ve been having were buried beneath that mountain of self-encouragement.

Unfortunately this meant that he was blind to the situation at hand, which was actually quite bleak and rapidly becoming bleaker.

He couldn’t land a single blow, and he was only pushed further and further back by the second. Soon he’d be cornered against a cliff, and then he’d really be trapped.

But none of this came to his mind. Underneath that cap of thick black hair there was nothing but burning determination. That, and you.

He pushed even harder every time you came to his mind. He swung harder when he remembered your laugh, jumped higher at the image of your smile. But it wasn’t enough. The Oni raised its wretched weapon high above its head and swung.

Cole put up his arm, accepting at the last second that this was it for him. He waited for the pain, or perhaps it’d happen so fast that he wouldn’t even feel any pain, and the white light waiting to embrace him.

It didn’t come. Instead, the sound of your voice filled his ears. Thinking he must’ve been hallucinating, having passed into the afterlife already, he opened one eye deliberately. The white light he’d hoped to see wasn’t there. What was there was you, on the ground, not moving.

The Oni was grinning its terrible grin, clearly pleased at Cole’s horrified expression. It made to come after him next, but at the sound of a war horn it turned and ran, sending one last taunting sneer at Cole. It’d done its damage. It was satisfied.

Cole hardly noticed the Oni from the moment his eyes had opened. He dropped to the ground, taking your body in his arms. He scooped you up against him desperately, as if being on the ground was hurting you more. He brushed a lock of hair from your face, squeezing your jaw as he turned your limp head to face him.

“Y/n!” He shouted, voice dripping with terror.

He gave you a once-over, frowning deeply at the gash across your chest. It was bleeding quite badly, and Cole was scared to even touch it.

“Y/n, please don’t be—!” His hand shook as it grasped your wrist. He tried to remember where you were supposed to look for a pulse, but his panicked mind could recall nothing, so he just wrapped his whole hand around it, hoping to feel something.

“No, no, no…”

He tried your neck. He still couldn’t remember where exactly to feel for a pulse, and his hands were only trembling more and more by the second, which wasn’t making it easy.

“Come on!” He cursed, swiping the tears from his eyes.

He tried to watch your chest for breathing, but his eyes kept drifting to that long slash seeping dark fluid, and nausea found him instead of the clarity he needed to focus. So he went back for another attempt at finding a pulse on your wrist.

“Please, Y/n! Don’t be—!”

His throat tightened, and he had to wipe his eyes again. Cursing to himself, he dropped your wrist defeatedly.

“I told you to stay back!” He snapped, immediately regretting it and pressing your body to his chest. His voice was weak as a child’s when he rasped: “Why didn’t you listen?”

He didn’t wallow for long. With a resolute sniff he jumped up, you still in his arms, determined to save you.

“Hang on, Y/n. You can’t… not yet. I still need you.”

He tried to walk steadily, avoiding roots and rocks to keep from jostling you. He kept glancing at that horrid wound on your chest, wondering if this was the thing that was going to take you from him. He cursed that dark line, cursed it a million times and then some more. Get off my Y/n. You can’t have them.

When you next became aware of yourself, the first thing that registered was a fuzzy feeling in your head and a heavy feeling in your body. You felt your weight pressing into a mattress, a mattress that had the upper half angled so that you were sitting partially upright.

The sound of beeping could be heard as you opened your eyes. It was a slow, rhythmic beeping��like something you’d hear in a hospital. Oh. I guess that’s where I am, you thought as you were immediately blinded by bright white lights.

You looked around the room, your mind struggling to register the machines and cabinets. Why was it so hard to think straight..?

Your eyes landed on a black mass hunched in a chair by the door. Two dark hands were gripping locks of thick, black hair. You blinked slowly, knowing that you knew this person but unable to pin exactly who it was.

“Cole…” The noise came out of your mouth softly, and not entirely voluntarily. It was as if you were trying to remind yourself who it was as much as you were beckoning to him.

His head snapped up, and you could see that his eyes were red and puffy. He ran across the room, dropping to his knees so quickly beside your bed that you almost winced.

“Don’t… hurt yourself,” you slurred, frowning at the effort it took to speak.

Cole shook his head, taking your hand in his. “Look who’s talking.” He smiled sadly, fresh tears brimming his eyes as he looked you over once again.

“I’m sorry.”

“No. Please don’t say that. I’m just glad you’re alive.” He pressed a lingering kiss on your hand, holding it to his cheek while he gazed at you lovingly. There was pain in his eyes, but relief and affection stirred much more prominently in those dark depths.

“I’m glad you’re alive too. When I saw the Oni… I thought…” You huffed, closing your eyes and furrowing your brow. “I thought to myself: not yet. I still need him.”

Cole laughed suddenly, and you blinked owlishly at him. “What’s so funny?”

He was wiping tears from his eyes; sad or happy ones, you weren’t sure. “I was thinking the same thing about you.”

Now you smiled, understanding the sad irony of the situation. “Oh. Well, I guess we understand each other then. No dying allowed.”

Cole nodded, standing up to press a kiss to your temple. “That, I can agree to.”

Thanks for participating in our event!! And thank you for reading, take care doves <33

(divider by saradika)

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago x reader #ninjago fanfiction #cole brookstone #cole brookstone x reader #cole x reader

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nahoney22 · 6 months

Note

*kicks in the door and falls down*

Hello there friend! I humbly ask for Wrecker smut.

Maybe the reader (gn or female) is highly functional depressive and most of the batch it's not noticeable yet but Wrecker figures it out pretty quick that they aren't doing good because they start to buzz their head weekly? they usually do that only every other week when it gets to long but now it's borderline obsessive and wrecker remembers that they once mentioned that shaving their head is stress relief for then. Just soft, comforting fucking please.

Luv u <<33

I’ll Take Care of You***

Wrecker X GN!Reader

word count: 1.4k

When Wrecker notices a shift in your behaviour, he knew he had to do everything to show you how loved you really are.

warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only. Angst. Explicit sexual content and language. Gender Neutral reader. Established relationship. Soft smut, mirror sex, aftercare, comfort. Reader receiving. Mentions of depressed reader. Not proofread.

authors note: thank you so much for the request @cloned-eyes , literally like everything you do! Hope this is okay. 🤍

For the past week, Wrecker had been closely observing you, concerned about your well-being. Seeing you buzz your hair obsessively was taking its toll on him but clearly not as much as it is with you. He knew you shaved your hair when you felt stressed, a sign of relief but it was getting out of control. So, Wrecker couldn't ignore the signs any longer and felt a deep need to take care of you.

One evening, as you made your way to the bathroom, he swiftly closed the gap between you, causing you to gasp in surprise as he entered the tight space. Your bewildered eyes met his, and you asked if everything was alright.

He replied with a simple, "Uh, yeah, sure," but his eyes betrayed his true feelings. You turned to the mirror, saying "okay" slowly, and began to raise the clippers to your head. Just before you could start, his large hand gently wrapped around your wrist and lowered it, leaving you puzzled. "What... why are you shaving your hair again?" he inquired.

As you blinked at him in the mirror, unsure of how to respond, you asked, "Oh, I just think it's getting long. Why?"

Shaking his head, Wrecker used his free hand to caress the buzzed sensation of your hair. "It's not long at all, sweetie."

As he continued to rub your head, it suddenly dawned on you what was happening. Your initial frown transformed into a sigh, and you lowered your head, staring into the basin.

"Are you stressed?" he asked gently.

"Exhausted," you admitted, finally realising how tired you truly must be. You were great at hiding your feelings, had great ways of coping without it becoming harmful but this was starting to become almost obsessive.

Seeing your shoulders slump, filled with care, Wrecker wrapped his arms around your front, resting his chin on your head, his hands moving up and down soothingly. "What's got ya worked up? The missions? Me?" he asked.

You chuckled but shook your head. How could he ever be the source of your stress? "I guess it's just the missions. This life. This never-ending war."

He hummed in agreement as you gazed at your reflection in the mirror, tilting your head back against his chest. "I'll be fine. It'll be fine."

"You know you can always talk to me if you're feeling low? I'm always here for ya," he whispered, smiling at you through the mirror. You knew he was right, but sometimes it was challenging to put your feelings into words, which was why you resorted to actions without even realising it.

"I know," you nodded, interlocking your hands with his and bringing his knuckles to your lips. "I wish I could just relax for a second."

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked, eager to support you in any way he could.

You thought of nothing for a second but an instant urge set in. Your cheeks burn as you meet his gaze. “Fuck me. Softly. Lovingly.”

You see him still for a moment, a little surprised by your request but a toothy grin plays on his features and spins you to face him. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

You should know the answer to that by now, especially when you see the look in Wrecker’s eyes, knowing he will take care of you. They're low-lidded and full of intent, and it only takes a fraction of a second to close the gap between you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he leans down, breath warm against your neck as he gently kisses along your skin. Your eyes flutter close, humming in appreciation when he dips down, soon pressing a kiss to your parted lips. His hands drift down, just brushing softly along your waist, your hips. Large and battle-worn hands caress you, his nails drag easily and gently across your skin as he lifts your shirt over your head.

The kiss is long - deep - and by the time that Wrecker pulls away to dip down and mouth at your neck again, you’re breathless. And nude. He had managed to pry you out of your clothes, his soon following swiftly until your bodies are pressed against one another, his cock erected and pressing against your stomach.

You move your hand down, caressing his chest all the way to his naval but he stops you and shakes his head. “Don’t worry abou’ me, let me take care of you.”

You smile appreciatively at him but soon find yourself gasping as he lifts you onto the basin, wedging himself between your legs. His lips assault your chest in the most divine way that has your toes curling and your heart pumping.

But then he pulls away and brings your lips back to his. Wrecker's touch was gentle and exploratory, as he traced his fingers along your skin. His hands moved with a tenderness that showed his deep affection and desire to provide comfort.

As he brushed his fingers across your arms, your skin felt soft and warm beneath his touch. Goosebumps rippling along your skin. He couldn't help but admire the delicate texture of your skin, relishing in the sensation of it under his fingertips.

His exploration continued, fingers moving over your shoulders, your neck, and down your back. Each caress conveyed a sense of intimacy and connection, as if he were seeking to understand every part of you, both inside and out.

You closed your eyes, savoring the warmth and reassurance of his touch. It was as if every stroke of his hand was a silent promise that he would always be there for you.

In that moment, you felt safe, cherished, and stress free.

His actions are swift and precise but it felt as though he hadn’t even moved you at all. But here you were leaning over the basin, eyes trained on yourself in the mirror as he ruts up behind you, cock sliding between your cheeks. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, Wrecker.” You sigh, wincing a touch as he buries himself slowly into you, waiting with ragged breath to allow you to adjust. “M-Move, it’s okay.”

He fucks you in every way that is perfect. He is slow when you want him to be. Fast when you’re begging him for more. All the while he locks eyes on you through the mirror, whispering words of pure adoration. “Don’t look at me, look at yourself.” He rasps, grabbing the back of your neck and tilting your head an inch down so you could lock eyes with yourself. “Look how perfect you are as I fuck you,”

"Fuck," you mutter, "Fuck me. Please, Wrecker-"

Your wanton moans seems to do the trick, because at that, Wrecker is thrusting in sharply and all at once. You can't help the way you arch your back, lifting your head and crying out sweetly at the sudden movement. You feel every drag of his cock, every press of his hips that felt like he was splitting you in half.

You feel so full. In every way.

"Come on, babe," Wrecker coaxes, voice gentle, even as he fucks into you, hard and slow, "Look at yourself."

How could you not comply? You listen to his request, once again letting your eyes dart over your own reflection - over your flushed face, hardened nipples, sweaty skin.

"Just like that," Wrecker gasps, voice just verging on the edge of a moan. His own face was flushed. His damp skin and blown-out eyes are evidence of that. "Amazing," He murmurs, "You're beautiful, aren’t you? Perfect in every way,” his thrusts become sloppy and lazy. “You look so perfect taking my cock. Feel so good..."

You find yourself touching yourself, that burn in your gut was too powerful to ignore and it’s not long until your legs are twitching before you find your release.

Your own moan is drowned out by Wreckers; his climax evident as you stare back at him in the mirror, back arching, head thrown back and beautiful eyes screwing closed. His pace doubles at your orgasm and the feeling of your muscles tightening around him and it’s only moments until he collapses forward, his face buried in the back of your neck.

You sigh, almost heavenly at the feeling. All your sudden troubles seem to have diminished. Silently, Wrecker stands tall again and turns you to face him and pulls you into his embrace. It’s long and comfortable and before you could say anything, before you could even thank him for taking care of you, he lifts you and the two of you squeeze into the shower and let the warm water cascade over your bodies.

You knew he would always take care of you.

Masterlist

Tags: @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone e @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @tech-aficionado o @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @raevulsix @imalovernotahater

#nahoney22 writes #wrecker x reader #wrecker x you #bad batch wrecker #the bad batch #the bad batch wrecker #bad batch one shot #tbb

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ambrozjas · 3 months

Note

Hiii <3 before i start i wanted to say that ur fics are sooo good <333 okkkk so can you pleaseee please do a fluff with (aged up) sodapop curtis and he finally comes home to his fiancé after monthssss of being drafted out in war, and reader is like really shocked and emotional. maybe a bit of a song fic too? i think “it’s been a long, long time” by kitty kallens, would be suchhh a good fit!! just a LOT a fluff would be so good!! if it’s not any trouble!! thank uuu sm <3

it’s been a long, long time ꨄ︎

sodapop curtis x reader

✧˖*°࿐ notes 🧸ᰔᩚ

TELL ME WHY I LITERALLY LOCKED IN FOR THIS FIC, LIKE ACTUALLY. SOMETHING TOOK OVER ME 😭 also, sorry i got a little angsty at the beginning, it’s more so a comfort type fic?? hope that’s okay 💕

✧˖*°࿐ warnings ᰔᩚ

mentions of war, crying, kissing?? i dunno i think it’s all pretty tame.

✧˖*°࿐ word count ᰔᩚ

622 words, 3,325 characters

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

never thought you would be here, standing so close to me

that’s all you could think about when you saw soda in the doorway, his suitcases in hand and his uniform still on. your mind flashes back to when you first learned that soda was drafted, how that night you were inconsolable. how could you be calm when your fiancé was about to be out fighting for his life? you remembered how that night how soda tried to comfort you, that night filled up with kisses in earnest, that night where you didn’t want to even let him go to the bathroom because you were scared that he wouldn’t return.

when he officially left, you were mainly alone, only keeping in touch with his brothers ponyboy and darry for their comfort and your own.

you remembered the amount of times you sat at your kitchen table, eyes empty as you fiddled with your engagement ring. one thing you thought about was, what if we never get to have this wedding? should we have gotten married sooner? you never stopped thinking about it. you can’t count how many times you lay at night alone in a cold, empty bed. you didn’t even want to wash the pillows for you feared they would lose soda’s scent.

there’s so much i feel that i should say.

you and soda just stared at each other, a small distance between you two, speechless. an almost deafening silence fell over the house. you eyes glossed over with tears as you ran at soda and threw your arms around his waist. sodapop, of course, embraced you back, burying his head in your hair as you shook with every silent sob.

but words can wait for some other day, you thought, tightening your arms around soda’s midriff.

he tilted your face up, cupping your cheek with his hand. you must’ve looked like a mess right now, red blotchy face with tears flowing down your cheeks and your nose wet, but soda didn’t care. he loved you too much to care, you could’ve been the ugliest crier in the room and soda would still dare compare you to a deity.

he brought his lips to yours, the salty taste shining through from all his tears. he pulled away for a quick moment, giving him enough time to press his forehead against yours, before he kissed you again. and again. and again.

kiss me once, kiss me twice

then kiss me once, again

it’s been a long long time

your hands tangled in in soda’s hair, the follicles still a militant length. your heart swelled as it felt like you and sodapop were the only two people in the world, like there was a spotlight shining on you two with no audience.

haven’t felt like this, my dear

since i can’t remember when

you reluctantly pulled away from soda, your hands resting on his chest. you let out a teary laugh at the way he chased your lips before he fluttered his eyes open, and when you looked into his blue eyes, you saw nothing but love.

you’ll never know how many dreams

i’ve dreamed about you

or just how empty they all seemed without you

you smiled at him, you realized that you could finally smell his scent against the bedsheets again, all those wonderful times you had with him can happen once more.

you tilted your head up and kissed your fiancé, and he practically melted into you. you could feel him smile against your lips as he pulled away and littered your face with kisses, kissing away all your tears.

so kiss me once

then kiss me twice

then kiss me once again

it’s been a long, long time.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ how is this only 622 words this felt like sm more in my notes app 😭

kiss kiss ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

#the outsiders x reader #the outsiders #greasers #fanfiction #x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #sodapop curtis #the outsiders sodapop #the outsiders imagine #the outsiders 1983 #sodapop x reader #sodapop imagine #sodapop patrick curtis #ambrozjas #kiss kiss

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multiverseofstrangeness · 11 months

Text

Daemon Targaryen x Tyrell!OC x King Viserys Targaryen (Oneshot)

A/N: Well I don´t know if you call me toxic or weird or something but I tried it. I had an idea and tried to write it down. The final idea was from my friend so shame her haha. I hope you like it. Have a great day/evening/night.

Warnings: threesome, marriage cheating, fluff, somehow of dark and toxic Daemon and Viserys (I don´t know if you can call it that)

Words: 1550

"I intend to marry the lady Isabella Tyrell before spring's end."

She gasped. Her jawline dropped, and she couldn´t control her facial expressions. Her father, in front of her, smiled proudly. Her sister shook her head. Alicent Hightower, the daughter of the hand of the King, ran outside the room. Isabella stood up. Looked around nervously and ran out, also. Her feet led her through the halls and the streets till the harbor was in front of her. The sailors of her realm, the servants of the house Tyrell, stared at her with big eyes.

When she got her breath back, she spoke to one of them. To bring her back to Dragonstone. Back to him. So they did.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

As they arrived a few days later, her heart raced like a carriage. She saw the long staircase as they rowed over the sea till they reached the small beach. She could smell the salty air of the sea. She felt the sand under her shoes and immediately felt at home.

As the soldiers opened the door, her heart began racing again. She heard his voice before she entered the hall.

"We have to fight for them. They are from old Valyria, as we are."

She interrupted them by walking in. His eyes met hers, and his expression shifted.

"I think all of you should leave now."

His dark voice filled her heart with joy. She missed it. She missed him. She missed his lips on hers and his hands on her waist. She smiled through the crowd of men who left and smiled and slightly nodded at her.

His steps were faster than she could think about what will happen next. His hands met her waist. His lips met hers harshly. She felt his breath on her cheek and a smile on his lips. She felt how he pushed her nearer to him. She sighed as he interrupted the kiss.

"You were gone long enough, darling."

She smiled as he ran his fingers through her hair, and she leaned her forehead against his.

"I know. I´ve bad news. Your brother intended to marry me."

He sighed and shook his head.

"As long as you are with me, I promise to protect you and be devoted to you. You will be mine, and I will be yours. You can trust that nothing bad will happen to you."

She kissed his lips softly. He smiled. Now they were together again, and they tried to protect each other.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

3 years later

The war on the Stepstones moves on now for 3 years. Three damm years after he told her he had to leave but will come back before the winter ended. But he was a liar. A damm liar.

Now she sat there and tried to knit or something else. Sometimes, she would go to the library or talk to the soldiers or she trained to fight. But she doesn't want to go back to Kingslanding.

As she got the message of another loss of his side, she decided to go back. Finally. She doesn´t want to stay any longer. She wanted to be with people again.

As the sailors sailed her down the narrow sea she felt the wind. She felt her heart breaking. Silent tears found their way down.

After traveling for 5 days, they finally reached Kingslanding. During the journey, the pain in her heart reduced, and her thoughts shifted. She knew where she belonged to.

She walked through the streets and approached a door. The soldiers standing in front of her acknowledged her presence. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw her sister seated with Alicent Hightower, who appeared to be pregnant. As she approached them, she felt Alicent's eyes on her and a chill ran down her spine.

"My dear sister. What a surprise."

She smiled as her sister hugged her. She missed it. She missed her family.

-----

As they got into the throne hall, she already saw him sitting there on his throne. She felt his eyes follow every one of her steps.

"Your Majesty, my sister. I hope you remember her."

Viserys nodded and smiled at her sister. She kneeled in front of him. Her head was down to the floor.

"Your Majesty. It would be a pleasure if you let me stay here."

Viserys stood up and made his way down the steps to her. She felt his hand on her shoulder and raised her head. He smiled. She missed him, all of them here at the court.

"It would be a pleasure for me too."

She smiled. He gave her a sign to rise, so she did. She felt the gaze of Alicent on her, she was jealous.

"Your Majesty, if I could help somehow. For the last 3 years, I had always my training sessions and I talked a lot to the soldiers. They taught me how to fight and protect me. If it´s possible, I would like to receive additional training to join your army."

Her sister coughed, and Viserys eyes widened.

"You are a woman. I don´t even know if it´s possible.

The hand of the king, Lyonal Kraft raised his voice.

"It is not forbidden, My King. She could try it."

Viserys´s head moved from Lyonal to Isabella. She smiled a little as the hand tried to protect her.

"And if she is really that good as she said. She would be a great honor in our guard."

Viserys let out a sigh of disbelief as he found himself forced to choose between what was right and wrong, all while in the presence of his most longstanding allies.

"Fine, we will try. But if you get hurt or something happens or someone tries to hurt you. I promise I will get you out of it."

He sounded like her father, but she knew he wanted her to be safe. He loved her since childhood, and she knew it. She knew him since childhood, so she knew him way better than she wanted. But she smiled. She appreciated his decision.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

6 months later

As he entered the throne hall, her heartbeat stopped. She has improved in the last 6 months. She got into the King's guards. Her hair has changed too. She cut it 2 months ago now it is shoulder-long. Her eyes were the only part of her that hasn´t improved they simply got inexpressive. She felt his gaze on her as he kneeled in front of the king. She knew what will happen after this.

She got very close to the king in the last 6 months she nearly told him everything about that between her and Daemon. He understood her probably.

---

She followed Viserys after Daemon got out, and they were something like reconnected. As they got into the garden, Viserys stopped her.

"Ya, sure you wanna do this? You don´t have to meet him."

"Viserys, I am your guard. I have to no matter what I want."

He nodded and moved on. Her hand palm was on her sword, and her view was straight in front of her.

As she arrived at the garden with the weirwood tree, she spotted him. Despite knowing it would be enjoyable, she anticipated experiencing a great deal of pain in the coming hours. Her heart would repeatedly break as she watched him conversing with others, realizing that she was no longer part of that group.

She felt the eyes of Viserys resting on her, while the whole stuff, and she knew he was with her and she knew he wanted her after all. Yes, the King wanted her.

-----

Later in the evening, as her shift ended and she was back in her rooms, a knock interrupted her movements.

She opened the door and saw two drunk people standing in front of her.

The breath of booth of them smelled like it.

Daemon's eyes looked up and down her body. He smiled as her eyes met his.

Viserys leaned against the door frame and watched them he smiled as Isabella started talking.

"Why the heck are you two here?"

She didn´t get an answer. She got interrupted by Daemon's lips. She felt his hands on her waist. The taste of alcohol was within.

As she pushed him away and tried to stop him, she felt two hands on her waist that turned her around. Viserys was behind her, way more gentle than Daemon. He tucked a strain of her hair behind her ear and smiled down at her.

"Isabella, you are so damm beautiful."

Viserys whispered as he pulled her nearer. Daemon was behind her and caressed her neck with his soft lips. Viserys lips caressed her cheeks and somehow her lips.

"You are married."

She whispered, but they didn´t stop.

She knew she wanted both of them far more than anything else. Even if one was a married king and the other was her 'boyfriend' whom she actually wanted to escape from.

She knew both were drunk, but she noticed that Viserys was clearly clearer than her, even though she had never drunk.

Her hormones went haywire as both touched her in a way she could only imagine in her sweetest dreams.

She knew it was a mistake, but she gladly made the mistake.

#daemon targaryen x reader #hotd daemon #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen #king viserys x reader #daemon targaryen x reader x viserys i targaryen

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annaphoenix1994 · 1 year

Text

Bedtime Stories

Masterlist:

Simon reads his son a bedtime story.

Tags: Fluff/Domestic Simon/Parent Simon

"Daddy? How did you meet mommy?

Simon was a tough nut to crack when it came to opening up and trusting his partner. You couldn’t blame him though as most of his adult life consisted of military obligations. Having no time for a family or even a spouse.

That was until you two had met at a bar in Mexico. You were off duty and remember Simon’s eyes through his cloth mask. You didn’t think nothing of it as almost everyone that came in with him had one on. And it was cold that month as well, even in Mexico.

You two hadn’t seen each other since until you both were sent home after a successful tour, crossing each other’s paths once again after your car had broken down a few blocks from his house. It all went down from there.

Fast forward to a year later and he’s ready to pop the question. However he wouldn’t admit that he was scared to. He had always been afraid of giving trust into someone else, even though you had proven numerous times that you would never betray him.

After being guided by Soap, his closest friend, he had the confidence in himself to ask you to marry him, Soap telling him that it was going to be the easiest question he would ever have to ask because everybody knew that you wouldn’t say no.

Fast forward to two years later when you’re both happily married with a baby on the way. You thought Simon was protective of you before, but especially now with a baby, his baby, on the way, he’s on you like he was assigned to be your bodyguard. The military never left him after all. He wouldn’t let you pick up anything he thought was too heavy for you, drive on your own, or even go to a highly populated area by yourself unless you were with your friends. At least someone to be there with you. You didn’t mind as he was never pushy with it, just always implying that he wanted to be there to protect you even though being off duty was the safest the both of you will ever be.

“Daddy? Can you tell me a bedtime story?” His son, Lucas, asked as he had his favorite blanket tucked under his nose.

He sighed as he truly didn’t know one to tell that wasn’t filled with the horrors he’d experienced. He never remembered any stories from when he was a kid. He always let you tell Lucas stories as you could make one up on the spot. As for Simon, he couldn’t.

“What do you want to hear?” He asked him, trying to buy himself more time.

“Can you tell me a war story?” He asked, a grin appearing on his lips. His brown eyes matched Simon’s, although they held happiness and innocence whereas Simon’s carried the images of war within his.

Simon shook his head, “I-I don’t know if that’s a good idea…”

Lucas frowned, “Why not?”

“My war stories aren’t what you see in books, kid.”

Simon shook his head, desperately hoping you had come home by now to break the silence.

"Please, daddy?"

Simon shook his head, "Maybe another time. I have to think of a good one."

Lucas nodded before asking another question, "Daddy, how did you meet mommy?"

Finally, something he was more confident to answer. Although you two had met while on duty, he didn't have to tell Lucas that. "I met your mother at a restaurant. Believe it or not, she talked to me first. I was too scared to talk to her."

"Why were you scared, daddy?"

"I was afraid she would think I was silly."

Lucas nodded.

"We had a good night together, but after that, I didn't see her for a while until a few years later when I got back home."

"Then what happened?"

He breathed a chuckle, "Her car broke down on her way to work and I just so happened to be outside, so I went to help her. After that, we got to know each other and ended up how you see us now." He explained, leaving out specific details.

Seeing that Lucas's attention was becoming a bit dull, Simon's attention turned to the children's book on the nightstand, seeing a small piece of paper that marked the last few pages of the book. "Has your mother finished this for you yet?"

Lucas shook his head, "Can you finish it?"

Simon nodded, hiding a smirk, "It's about that bloke of a sheep and how he keeps running off."

"B-But Johnny got it for me for my birthday. He told me you like sheep."

Simon sighed, knowing that it wasn't a surprise for Soap to say such a silly thing, "I'm sure he did."

#simon riley #simonghostriley #simonriley #ghostcod #mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #simon riley fluff #simon riley fic #simonrileyogstory

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arctrooper69 · 2 years

Text

NIGHTMARES

Warnings: bad dreams, war, violence, normal clone wars stuff

"WE NEED TO MOVE!" the captain shouted. I choked on the air thick with smoke and tried to reorient myself to my surroundings. "Breathe" I could almost hear my Master's voice cutting through the chaos, "Let the force guide your way." I squeezed my eyes shut, desperately trying to reach whatever calm lay within me. Blaster fire lit up the sky doing nothing but adding the to sudden panic blooming in my chest. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. Something was wrong, I could feel it. "Commander! What are your orders?" The clone captain's voice came over the coms. I tried to respond, to tell them to retreat, but nothing came out. An army of tanks and battle droids were advancing closer and closer. "Commander!? Commander respond! What are your orders?" The telltale thunder of Separatist tanks shook the ground alerting that they were suddenly upon us. "Commander!?" screamed the coms. "Do something!" the voice of another padawan shouted as she was cut down by a blade-wielding droid, spraying hot, sticky spatters of blood on my plastoid armor. Waves of clones fell with each onslaught of enemy forces. I could name each of them. Fives. Jesse. Hardcase. Echo. Kix. Their faces flooded my mind as the droids shot them down - their panicked eyes turning to anger that seemed to scream "You were our Commander! How could you let this happen to us!?" Their words echoed through the smoke that was once again forcing and burning itself into my lungs.

"Oh little padawan" a mocking voice called. My breath caught in my throat. I felt sick. The voice was different this time. The anguished cries of fallen clones turned to a cruel, cold, voice was that I knew all too well. I looked up, staring straight into the eyes of my former master, General Krell. I felt my throat close painfully as he pulled me closer into his yellow traitorous gaze. I felt my something in my neck snap and the cries of war melted away into my own gasping sobs.

"Hey! You're safe. You're safe now, Mesh'la." My throat ached. I still couldn't breathe. "Come on Mesh'la, breathe with me." A hand grasped my own and I recoiled sharply but the grip was strong and held on as he brought it slowly to his own chest. "Breathe with me. In...and out". The hand was not cold and brittle like a droid's. It was warm, gentle, grounding. I could feel my lungs open up and almost unconsciously start to breathe in sync with him. "That's good Mesh'la. That's good. Just breathe, I got you. You're safe." Mesh'la - the Mando'a word drew me out of the darkness and into the dimly lit bedroom. "Kix..." I whimpered. He still held my hand in his firm grip. I leaned, shaking and exhausted, into his chest and he wrapped his arms around me tightly. His familiar scent filled my nose, further drawing me home. "I'm here."

There was a small knock at the bedroom door. "Mama?" a young voice full of concern called from the other side.

A pang of guilt speared my chest and more tears threatened to fall. I squeezed my eyes shut in frustration. "Shit...I'm sorry," I sniffed quietly. I hadn't meant to wake him. "It's alright." Kix said, softly placing his lips to my forehead, "I'll get him back to bed." I looked up at the handsome face belonging to the strong arms around me, his eyes were full of concern, yet understanding. "I'll be right back," he kissed me again and I fell back into the pillows as he gently got up and headed to the door.

"Come on kid, let's get you back to bed. Mama's alright, she just had a bad dream." There was a small commotion in the hall and suddenly two small, freezing hands and feet scrambled their way under the covers. A smile tugged at my cheeks, slowly melting away the terror in my chest. I closed my eyes, "Jesse, I thought Daddy told you to go to bed," I mumbled. "He did," piped the small voice, "but I wanted to make sure you were ok first." He pressed his face into my chest. "Kriff, you're freezing!" I gasped, then cringed hoping that the four year old didn't pick up on the kind of language that occasionally slipped out. He only snuggled deeper into the covers as Kix came back into the room chuckling at the sight of his wife and son cocooned in the blankets. "Come on, kid. Let's get you back to bed." I shook my head and sighed contently, slowly exhaling the remaining traces of panic. "Nah, it's alright. He can stay." I looked down at the little boy who was already beginning to fall back asleep. Kix smiled as he turned off the lights and crawled into bed on the other side, sandwiching me between himself and our son. His breath fell lightly on my neck as I closed my eyes and for the first time that night I felt safe.

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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 2 years

Text

The Grand Tour - Chapter 1 (AO3)

'I want to show you everything'

'It was a lie. A beautiful, wistful lie, because there was nothing Cassian could do to make any of this okay. Nothing he could do to make her enjoy this life, the life that had been forced upon her. But this was not a night for hard truths and painful realities. As the blood dried under her nails and every snap and crack made her flinch, Nesta clung to Cassian as if he were a rock in the middle of a churning sea. Her strength when she had none, her hope when she was destitute. For tonight at least, she gripped his hand tightly and let him dream of better days.'

(Cassian dreamed of showing Nesta the world. Now he can. Multi-chapter fic; spin off of my two-part fic Just Give Me Tonight. Whilst it's not exactly necessary to read that first, there are some small references to it in this, so I would recommend)

Prologue

The din of battle faded. Blood still coated her hands, so thickly she didn’t think her skin would ever be clean again. She was standing in a war camp, completely at a loss, her arms hanging limply by her side. The weight of her grief was new, a burden she hadn’t yet found the strength to bear. She carried buckets when she was able, fetched water when she remembered how to use her legs. But the soldier’s fires were too much, and the screams of the injured echoed in her ears. She almost buckled under the strain of just being alive.

She would have wept, if she hadn’t been so empty inside. A chasm had opened within her, so deep and so vast she didn’t know how she’d ever cross it. She saw her father’s face, heard his voice, and knew that she’d never see it again, never hear him again—

“Nesta.” A hand clasped her forearm, another on the curve of her shoulder. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

“I have nowhere else to go,” she answered blandly. She didn’t know where her tent was. Didn’t know where Elain was. Feyre was busy, and everything was happening too fast for Nesta to comprehend. They had said their farewell to their father, and left that clearing, but Nesta had first been one step behind her sisters, then two, then three. Now she was alone, treading water in a sea that threatened to engulf her. She had no home anymore, no place in this world. “I don’t know what to do,” she said. She looked up into hazel eyes, bright sapphire-blue stones glowing before her. Azriel. He looked at her with sympathy, and she shook her head viciously. The one thing she could never abide was pity. “We went to the clearing to say goodbye to him,” she whispered, and it felt for all the world like a confession. “And now I don’t know what to do.”

Azriel cleared his throat and gave her arm a squeeze. He nodded, his eyes filled with a kind of empathy that Nesta was too tired and too hurt to try to understand or decode. “He’s asking for you,” he said softly. After a moment, he added, “Cassian,” as if Nesta could ever have been in any doubt. “He shouldn’t get up yet, but he’s tried it four times in the past fifteen minutes. I said I’d try and find you if he’d just stay still until I returned.”

Weapons still clanged around her, the sound of swords being dumped in piles to either be cleaned or repaired. Steel hissed as it was dunked in cold water, and rain began to fall, drumming on breastplates and gauntlets. She didn’t notice, only cringed at every noise, every snap and every crack. Her hands shook, and she nodded numbly at Azriel. She tried to remember how to move her legs, how to make her lungs work so that she could breathe. Azriel kept a hold of her, looking at her as if he was worried she was about to shatter. “Come,” he said softly. “I’ll take you to him.”

She didn’t have words, so she only nodded again and focused on keeping her feet beneath her. Cassian. Yes, Cassian was the one she needed. The one she’d been prepared to die for only an hour ago. She made her way with slow, torturous steps towards the healer’s tent, to find him. To find the one she needed more than anything.

***

“Nes,” Cassian said, with a voice like sandpaper. He reached out a hand for her, and Nesta had to hold back her sob as she saw him, saw the bandages covering every inch of his torso. She felt Azriel’s hand on the small of her back, propelling her forwards when she felt like she was about to collapse. She crashed to her knees by the cot bed, resting her forehead on its edge. Cassian lifted her chin with a bruised and battered hand. He looked over her shoulder and nodded at Azriel, and Nesta knew without having to turn that the shadowsinger had left. They weren’t alone; healers and several wounded were still in the tent, but it faded as Cassian searched her face, his eyes filling with tears.

“You’re alive,” Nesta said at last. His fingers curled around her chin, his thumb brushing along her jawline.

“So are you,” he said with a crooked smile. After a moment, his smile dropped. “I’m sorry, Nesta. For what happened.”

She shook her head, pushing down the grief that threatened to consume her. “It’s over now.”

“It’s not,” he said gently, his thumb still tracing patterns on her jaw. “I’ve been around a long time, Nes. Battle scars don’t vanish just because the war is over, not even for fae. It’s alright not be okay with any of this.” He winced as he twisted to face her more fully, and Nesta gripped his wrist, silently begging him to stay still, to heal.

After a minute, all she could say, was, “I don’t know where to go.”

She couldn’t seem to stop thinking it, stop saying it, because she didn’t. She really, truly, honestly, had no idea where to go from here. Azriel had brought her to Cassian, but what now? She didn’t know who she was now. She’d just severed the head of a king, his blood still stuck under her nails, and what did that make her? A murderer? A killer? How could she ever sit at a dining table with her sisters again, pretending to be civilised, when that king’s blood had flowed over her hands so thickly it had pooled in the crevices between her fingers? She looked down at her hands now, and she couldn’t tell if the blood there was hers, or Cassian’s, or the king’s. Cassian followed her gaze, and gripped his fingers in his own. Something in her calmed at the feel of his skin against hers, but still, there was so much blood, a stain she didn’t think could ever be removed.

“Here. Stay here,” Cassian said, an edge of pleading in his voice. He sniffed as he stroked the back of her fingers, not seeming to care that another man’s blood coated her like a second skin. “I meant it,” he whispered. “What I said to you after…” He trailed off. Nesta didn’t need him to say it, because she knew what he meant. He had meant to say, after your father died. After he sacrificed himself for you, and after I did, too. That was what he meant, but he said none of it, only, “The promise I made. I meant it.”

We’ll have that time, I promise.

She was about to say something - she didn’t know what, exactly - when a healer hurried over carrying a bottle and a damp cloth. “For the pain,” she explained, as she took a spoon from her apron and poured a thick grey substance from the bottle. Cassian grimaced, but swallowed obediently as the healer pulled out a smaller bottle from her apron pocket. She turned to Nesta.

“He needs to rest, love.” She upended the bottle onto the cloth, and Nesta was overwhelmed by the sharp, acidic smell that came from just a few drops of whatever was inside. Her nose wrinkled, and the healer looked at her as if to say, see? You shouldn’t be here. “I need to finish cleaning the surface wounds with antiseptic, and then he needs to sleep. You should leave.”

There was sympathy in her voice - in her eyes - but Nesta made no move to leave, and Cassian made no move to drop her hand. “She stays,” he said firmly. The healer started to protest, but he shook his head. “I’ll sleep. I’ll do whatever you tell me to. But she stays.”

The healer raised her eyes to the roof of the tent, as if praying to the Mother to save her from stubborn Illyrian warriors. She gave Nesta a quick glance but said no more, and Nesta said nothing either, only letting her fingers weave through Cassian’s, gripping them tight, like he was the only thing keeping her grounded. He smiled at her softly, even as he hissed when the antiseptic cleaned his smaller cuts. When it was done, the healer gave him another stern instruction to sleep before she left the tent entirely. Cassian moved over on the cot to make room for her, and when Nesta tried to refuse him - he needed it more, after all - he glared at her until she relented. When she was tucked into his side - very carefully not touching his chest, or anywhere else he was injured - she felt his lips press a kiss to her matted hair.

“As long as I live, you’ll always have a place to go,” Cassian swore. She felt her eyes brimming with tears, and couldn’t fight it as one slid slowly down her cheek. He brushed it away. “Always.”

She nodded, and reached up to kiss his cheek, not having the words or the capacity to tell him what it meant to her that he was offering her a safehaven when she had none, when everything she had ever known had been taken from her. All she could manage was, “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

His eyes grew heavy as the painkiller started to take effect, but he fought it, clinging to consciousness as if he couldn’t bear to close his eyes and lose sight of her just yet. “I need a holiday,” he muttered. “A long one.”

“I think we all do,” she said with a trembling laugh. He hummed his agreement into her hair.

“When this is all done,” he said, his voice becoming heavy and thick. “I’ll take you. All seven courts. We’ll see all of them.”

Nesta looked up at him, but his eyelids were already closed. “Why?” she whispered. “Why go to all that effort for me?”

“Because being fae isn’t always so bad, sweetheart. Let me prove it to you,” he muttered, sighing deeply as he pulled her closer. “I want to show you everything.” His eyes cracked open, and brilliant hazel flecked with gold stared down at her. He’d said those words to her before. Let me prove it to you. On a night where he’d been stranded in her father’s manor by a storm and he’d kissed her in the darkness. Nesta hadn’t believed him then. Ever since, she had raged against him, despised and detested him, and yet, somehow, he’d still been willing to sacrifice himself for her when it mattered. She’d still been more willing to die than live without him.

And because he was delirious, and because she was in a haze borne of pain and grief, she brushed her knuckles against his cheek and nodded. Distantly, she knew it would never happen. This conversation would be lost to both of them tomorrow, when the sun rose and Nesta remembered why she hated this life and everything about it, and Cassian’s medication wore off and he came to his senses. Even through her mournful fog, she knew that when the dust settled, she would be left alone once more. So she burrowed deeper into Cassian’s warmth, making the most of it whilst she had it, and said, “I’ll hold you to it, then”.

It was a lie. A beautiful, wistful lie, because there was nothing Cassian could do to make any of this okay. Nothing he could do to make her enjoy this life, the life that had been forced upon her. But this was not a night for hard truths and painful realities. As the blood dried under her nails and every snap and crack made her flinch, Nesta clung to Cassian as if he were a rock in the middle of a churning sea. Her strength when she had none, her hope when she was destitute. For tonight at least, she gripped his hand tightly and let him dream of better days.

Solstice Eve

Mother above, Cassian was tired.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to bed before midnight, or the last time he’d risen after dawn. His eyes burned whenever he closed them, but there was far too much to do to spend time resting. His bones felt heavy, like every step was too taxing, and whenever he lay down - like now - every nerve screamed at him to sleep, to rest, to stop thinking about war and rebellion for just five minutes and sleep.

But how could he? Dissension wasn’t just brewing in Illyria, it was boiling, and it was almost fever pitch. Rhys said he wanted them to have a few days off over Solstice, but how could Cassian relax, when every breath he took lately was laced with worry?

Soon, it wouldn’t be the blood of his enemies coating his hands. It would be the blood of his own people, people that rose against Rhys and the Night Court in armed rebellion. They called him Lord of Bloodshed or Prince of Bastards, but when Cassian suppressed this Illyrian rebellion, when their blood flowed thickly through the Steppes, what would they call him then? What epithet would they bestow on him when their brothers lay dead in the snow at Cassian’s hand? What hope could there be for reconciliation afterwards?

He let his eyes drift closed for half a moment, listening to Rhys prattle on about something entirely unrelated to the unrest in Illyria. It was ridiculous, he thought to himself. How could he relax, with a rebellion hanging over his head? It was Solstice, his most favourite holiday, and here he was, in a bed that could barely hold his weight, thinking of bloodshed and death instead of revelry and laughter. He had wanted to spend the next few days with his family. With Nesta, too. She was perhaps the only one who could calm him, who could drag his thoughts away from armed conflict, and Mother knows, he’d give anything to spend a day with her. She was the only thing in all seven courts that seemed to make sense to him these days, the only thing that eased his aching soul.

Thinking of her dulled the edge of his insatiable need to be doing something about this rebellion, but it didn’t stifle the urge completely. After all, how could he devote himself entirely to her when he had this to deal with?

It was unacceptable. He wanted to spend his days thinking of Nesta, of the feel of her skin under his hands, of the promises he’d made to her and not yet fulfilled. Instead, here he was thinking of Devlon in Windhaven and the barbed words they’d exchanged that morning. Utterly, utterly ridiculous, and the sooner this rebellion was over the better.

He tapped his foot anxiously against the foot of the tiny, narrow bed, as if it was an effort to keep still for more than five minutes. Rhys raised an eyebrow as Cassian cracked an eyebrow open.

“Really,” Cassian said, interrupting whatever Azriel had been saying about plans for dinner. “Illyria. What’s our plan?”

Rhys groaned, and Azriel sucked in a breath from the other side of the room. They had both neatly dodged Cassian’s attempts at planning their response to the latest crisis, and seemed content to change the subject whenever they got too close to actually doing something, making solid plans. Cassian frowned as his brothers shared a look he couldn’t decipher. The mattress beneath him groaned as he sat up straight. “What,” he demanded. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Azriel said, at the time time Rhys sighed, “Just leave it, Cass.”

The High Lord ran a hand through his raven hair, and Cassian frowned again.

“This can’t wait-“

“It can,” Azriel cut in. He crossed the room in a handful of steps and sat down on the bed beside Cassian’s. The wooden frame groaned— It would be a Solstice miracle if both beds were still standing by morning. “It can, and it will,” Azriel said firmly.

Cassian didn’t know how to do nothing. He’d never been good at taking a break, at just sitting by and letting things happen. It made him antsy, and he tapped his foot against the bed frame again. Rhys flicked his gaze up to Azriel, and there it was again— another indecipherable look. Cassian glared.

“What the fuck are you two up to?” he asked flatly. “You know something. I can tell.”

Rhys gave him a withering glance and tilted his head back, leaning it against the wall. “It’s nothing,” he insisted with another sigh. “But I need a break from all this.” He shifted his head to look at Cassian pointedly. “And so do you.”

“I’m fine,” Cassian scoffed. He reclined back against the pillows and folded his arms behind his head, letting his wings drape over the mattress.

Azriel snorted. It was a lie, and they all knew it. Cassian didn’t think any of them were fine, yet they carried on, day after day, maintaining the illusion. It was wearing him thin, fraying his temper to a dangerous, reckless, edge.

It had been months since the war and still, Cassian couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept the night through. This latest burden wasn’t helping any, and whenever he did manage to sleep lately, his dreams were plagued by visions of his own hands, stained with blood. He was a warrior, and spilling blood had never bothered him— not until now. Now it was his own people he’d slaughter. He’d killed Illyrians before - he’d killed all those that had harmed his mother, after all - but this was different somehow.

This time, there was a sickness in his stomach. Something unsettled him this time, and it was tearing apart his sanity. If Cassian really bothered to ask himself, if he really, truly, thought about it… he guessed he understood it. The Illyrians could be barbaric and violent and cruel, and they had broken him time and time again when he was a boy. But despite it all, they were his people still. They were sick of being on the Night Court front lines, dying for a High Lord who didn’t bother to hide his disdain of them. Sick of giving their lives for little return. Cassian didn’t agree with it, and he’d kill his own people in defence of Rhys, the brother that had given him everything— but it would break something within him when their lives were ended by his hand.

“You’re not fine,” Rhys insisted, leaning back against the wall and glaring. “None of us are, so can we just have this, please? Just a few days where we don’t think about it or mention it, where I can lie in bed for an hour - just one hour - with my mate and not feel fucking guilty.” Rhys exhaled heavily, as if he could already hear the protests rising to Cassian’s lips. “I don’t want to hear it, alright?”

The fervour of Rhys’ response left Cassian a little stunned, the objections he’d been about to voice fading. He’d give his brother this, this moment of peace, no matter how temporary. Cassian shrugged. “Alright, but—“

“No,” Rhys interrupted sharply. “No buts.”

“Solstice offers a respite. The rebels won’t be making their move for weeks yet. I suggest we take this time to regroup. We’re going to need every bit of strength we have soon enough,” Azriel commented darkly.

“Ever the optimist,” Cassian grumbled, letting his head drop flat against the pillows and closing his eyes. His body was begging him to relent, to have just fifteen minutes of rest.

“I’m realistic,” Azriel answered flatly. “You need to rest Cass. We all do, before we face this head on.”

“Like Az said, it will be weeks before this rebellion comes to a head. We have a list of suspects but nothing else. We can’t do anything yet,” Rhys interjected. “I don’t plan on spending these next few weeks waiting with bated breath.” He looked at Cassian and took a deep breath, as if he knew whatever he was about to say might well earn him a punch in the face. “Take a week or two off, Cass.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Cassian asked incredulously, pushing himself up and resting his weight on his palms.

Rhys raised an eyebrow. “You need it.”

“You need me here.”

“We will need you here, later. You can’t do anything right now,” Rhys said with a shrug. “So take some time off. If anything changes, I’ll call you back.”

“You have lost your mind. You’ve gone insane if you think I’m leaving—“

“Take Nesta,” Azriel cut in lightly. The rest of Cassian’s sentence was forgotten as he turned his head towards Azriel, so quickly his neck cracked. He winced, and he could have sworn he saw Rhys smirk.

“I— What?”

“Take Nesta. You promised to show her the courts, didn’t you? Here’s your chance.”

“Nesta…” Cassian began, letting his eyes drift closed at the feel of her name on his tongue. Nesta, like it was the answer to questions he’d never even thought to ask. Like his entire purpose all along had been to speak her name, to know intimately the woman that name belonged to. Five centuries he’d been alive, and every moment of it had been spent waiting for her— he just hadn’t known it. “She isn’t in the best place,” he finished warily.

That was another thing that plagued him. When he wasn’t consumed with anxiety over the rebels in Illyria, his heart was breaking because the woman he— the woman he cared about more than anything in the world was drowning, and he couldn’t save her. He couldn’t fix it, couldn’t take away the grief and trauma that haunted her. He could only lessen its impact, and pray to the Mother that it kept her head above water.

He had fitted her a shower after she confessed, in a broken and tormented voice, that she couldn’t face a bathtub filled with water. He tried hard to make sure she was never around crackling fires after she’d asked him once if he’d ever noticed that the logs sounded like snapping bones. He found a way to see her most days, turning up at her apartment with any excuse he could think of. She hadn’t once turned him away, even though sometimes she refused to see her sisters or anyone else. Only Cassian had never been shut out, so he saw her more regularly than anyone else. Knew her better than anyone else, too. He’d seen her just this morning, before going to Illyria, and there had been shadows under her eyes. Her skin had been so cold to the touch that he’d almost recoiled. Nesta not being in the best place was putting it lightly; she was grieving, and traumatised, and hurting so deeply that Cassian wanted to tear apart the world to fix it for her.

“She’s not,” Azriel agreed. “So I’d say she needs this even more than you do.”

Cassian opened his mouth, but no words came. Rhys hummed in agreement, and with a small, bitter kind of smirk, he said, “I think getting Nesta out of Velaris is a stellar idea.”

That only made Cassian glare at the brother he had loved and served for centuries. “Don’t,” he breathed. “Whatever it is that’s running through your head, whatever vitriol you’re thinking, stop it.”

“Vitriol?”

“I know how you feel about her. Stop it.” Cassian gave him a warning look, and Rhys rolled his eyes.

“Feyre went out of her way to invite her here tonight, and Nesta threw it back in—“

“Nesta knows what she can handle and what she can’t,” Cassian said firmly. “Leave her. If she comes tonight, then I swear to the Mother Rhys, you had better be the most charming bastard alive, because if you so much as glare at her once, there will be nothing left of you after the snowball fight tomorrow.”

As if in a menacing kind of confirmation, the siphon above his heart glowed.

Rhys looked slightly stunned, but he bowed his head in something like an apology. “Understood,” he said with a soft, bemused kind of smile. Cassian huffed a laugh at him, and dragged a hand through his hair.

“If she comes,” he said softly, “don’t ruin it.” He looked up at Rhys, a plea in his eyes. “Please don’t make her regret it.”

“Would I ever?”

“Yes,” Cassian answered flatly. His brother didn’t try to deny it, and Cassian huffed again. He groaned as he pushed his knuckles into his eyes. “Even with this rebellion to deal with, she’s all I think about. If she’s eating enough, or drinking enough water. If she’s warm enough, or if the windows in her apartment are letting in the rain again.” He took his hands away to stare at Rhys. “How the fuck did you cope?”

“I didn’t,” Rhys said with a laugh of his own. He patted Cassian’s ankle, and Cassian saw Azriel raise his eyes to the ceiling, exasperated.

“Do you not remember how nauseating he was with Feyre?” Azriel pointed at Rhys, grinning by the door. “I think you should get out of here just to spare me the fucking headache.”

“Always so supportive, Az,” Cassian said dryly. Azriel turned his head and gave him a sly smile.

“You know you always have my support,” he shrugged. “But that doesn’t change the facts.” His face softened. “I think some time away would do both you and Nesta the world of good.”

Cassian sighed, but said nothing. It was true that every moment he wasn’t thinking about Illyria, he was yearning for her. For her touch, for the kisses she dropped on his cheek, like the one in that healer’s tent. That night, he’d fallen asleep with her in his arms, and even through his agony, through the wounds that had almost killed him, he had felt whole in a way he’d lacked his entire life. He needed her, that was the essence of it. He needed her like he needed air.

But they weren’t together. No matter how much Cassian might wish it, they weren’t together. Even after what had happened in that healer’s tent, they hadn’t spoken of how he’d promised her the world. How he’d almost given his life for hers, and essentially confessed his love for her in the process. They hadn’t said a word about how Nesta had decided to die rather than live without him, either. And yet… They weren’t exactly not together either. It had been Cassian who helped Nesta move into her new apartment. The place was halfway to ruin already, and Feyre and Rhys had been less than impressed, but Cassian knew the importance of having a place to call your own, no matter if the roof leaked and the windows whistled in the wind. It was hers, and he knew well enough what any home was worth after you’d lost everything.

And she hadn’t pushed him away. On the rare occasions she showed up at the town house for dinner, he would sit next to her and she’d let him pour her wine. He would kiss her cheek in both greeting and farewell without fail, and never once did she flinch or pull away, no matter who was present. She’d let him walk her home, and more than once, when he’d felt bold, he’d taken her hand in his own, and she hadn’t stopped him.

When Cassian had turned up at her apartment to build her a second bookcase - the first had been filled already, to absolute no surprise - and she said Feyre had invited her for Solstice Eve dinner, Cassian had almost fallen to his knees. It was all he could dream of, Solstice, and Nesta, his two favourite things in one. But she’d told him she’d declined the invitation. Said she’d never celebrated it before, so why bother now?

It was sound logic, but it didn’t stop Cassian practically begging her to reconsider. Solstice was special to him, and he wanted to spend the next two days drinking, and eating, and laughing until his face hurt, forgetting everything waiting around the corner. He wanted to see her too, to be by her side, and drink and laugh and eat with her.

He just couldn’t imagine spending Solstice without her. She was a part of him now, ingrained so deeply within him that he didn’t think he’d ever survive being apart from her. That day during the war, as he’d lay dying, he hadn’t been able to imagine his life without her, and still, it was impossible. She was grieving hard after the war, still broken in a hundred different ways, and it broke Cassian’s heart to see her cold, shrinking from a fire. He wanted to be the one to protect her, to shield her. To show her that her pain was not limitless, not endless. He wanted to hold her in his arms and take her far away from all of it.

The realisation settled over him, making him feel slightly breathless because… He could, couldn’t he?

When he’d awoken after that night in Hybern - as his wings had knitted themselves back together - he’d dreamed of showing Nesta all of it. He wanted to take her to see the night sky in Winter, lit up in pinks and greens, littered with shooting stars. He wanted to show her waterfalls and mountains, cities and small towns. Not that he’d tell Rhys, but he wanted to swim with her in a Summer sea. Everything, he wanted to show her everything. To give her everything.

He hummed lightly, and looked first at Rhys, and then at Azriel.

“You might be right,” he said at last. There was a pause, and then he asked, “Do you still have that map of Prythian here, Rhys? The big one?”

Rhys blinked. “The one we use to plan wars when we’re not at the House?”

“That’s the one.”

“Somewhere. Why?”

“Looks like I need to plan a trip,” Cassian said with a small, scheming smile.

“With a map designed for moving armies? I suppose a trip with Nesta is a bit like a military campaign—“

Rhys was teasing, but Cassian pulled a knife from his thigh and threw it at him anyway. He caught it by the hilt and tsked.

“Fuck off and get the map, Rhys,” Cassian said with a roll of his eyes. “Seeing as though you’re making me sleep in a doll sized bed, the least you can do is get me this map.”

Rhys looked amusedly at Azriel, who shrugged. Cassian turned to the shadowsinger next. Before Azriel could say a word, Cassian asked, “How quickly can your shadows get a letter to Helion for me?”

***

There was only one reason why Nesta was going to Feyre’s Solstice Eve dinner party. It had nothing to do with either of her sisters, but everything to do with the great overgrown bat that had hardly left her alone since the war had ended.

She had been convinced, in that healer’s tent, that when the sun came up, he would forget all of the promises he had made to her that day. From we’ll have that time, to you’ll always have a place to go, Nesta hadn’t expected him to remember or honour any of the oaths he’d sworn. But the first night they’d arrived back in Velaris, the rest of them had gone into the sitting room of the town house to celebrate the end of a war that, for Nesta, didn’t feel over at all. She had killed a king and severed his head, watched her father die, and still couldn’t stand to be in a bathtub filled with water. She still flinched whenever a log crackled in a fireplace. She had tried to bear it, but her grief was too visceral, too sharp, twisting in her chest at the sound of their laughter. She had escaped upstairs, into the bedroom they had loaned her, and put a pillow over her head to block it all out.

Only Cassian had seemed to notice that Nesta hadn’t been amongst those celebrating.

He had been the only one who cared enough about her absence to venture upstairs. Not even Elain had come to check on her, but he had knocked on her door gently, and when he received no answer, had pushed it open slowly. He had dropped to his knees by her bedside, just like she’d done in that tent, and he’d prised the pillow away from her face. He’d said nothing as he beheld her tear-stained cheeks, only kissed her forehead and climbed onto the bed behind her, above the covers, and held her to his chest. In silence, they sat there for hours, whilst the sounds of his family downstairs filtered upwards. He didn’t leave her, not for a second, until she fell asleep.

We’ll have that time, I promise.

Those were the words she forced herself to remember lately, when all she could see was her father’s blood staining her hands. She conjured Cassian’s voice when she heard, in the crackle of a fire, her father’s neck snap. It was Cassian’s touch as he cradled her face that she forced herself to remember, in the middle of the night, when she couldn’t sleep because it was all too much. When she cried, and the tears flowed free and heavy down her cheeks, it was Cassian’s promise she clung to, that she would never be lost, cast adrift, again. As long as I live you’ll always have a place to go. Always.

Impossibly, in the days and weeks after the war, Cassian had become the only person in Velaris Nesta could stand to be around. He had asked for nothing, but he turned up at her door regularly, with books, or wine, or chocolate, whatever he thought she or her cupboards lacked. Sometimes - when he really, really wanted to piss her off - he brought fruit, and oats, and lectured her on eating healthy. There were a thousand small kisses, on her cheek or the crown of her hair. A casual kind of intimacy and familiarity, as easy as breathing, had settled between them.

Nesta didn’t know how she could ever fit into words how much it meant to her, that even when her own sisters had forsaken her, Cassian still rose to kiss her cheek whenever she entered a room. Somehow, he had become her beacon, a light in the darkness. With every laugh and smile, and every second of banter and teasing, he chipped away at the crushing blackness, just enough to let some of the light back in. She didn’t know what she could do to let him know that only that had saved her from the full weight of her grief. Knowing that he was standing just a step away, waiting to catch her if she should fall, had stopped her from falling apart completely.

Not that she would admit it, but she would have been lost without him. Whenever she insulted him lately, it held no venom, and it only made him grin now, not glare. The moment she’d laid her body over his, waiting for the blow that would kill them both, something had irrevocably changed between them, and now Nesta didn’t want to push him away like she had before.

She didn’t have the words, though, to tell him. All she could think to do was this, turn up for a holiday that meant nothing to her but the world to him. Because somewhere, deep down, Nesta was beginning to realise that Cassian meant the world to her. Not that she’d tell him that, of course. The great oaf would tease her mercilessly about it, so no, she’d never tell him how much everything he’d done since the war meant to her. She’d only do this, endure a celebration that was entirely void of significance for her, all in the hopes that it would bring a smile to his stupid face. His stupid, lovely, face.

***

“I didn’t think you were going to come,” Feyre said, taking Nesta’s coat and turning to hang it in a closet. “You missed dinner.”

There was a hint - just a hint - of disapproval there, one that Nesta did not miss. Her youngest sister smiled at her, but it was awkward, as though Feyre was half wishing Nesta hadn’t bothered to come at all.

Nesta bit back the retort that lingered on her tongue and only said, “I wasn’t hungry.” She shrugged. “And I lost track of time. I’m sorry I’m late.”

She wasn’t sorry at all, but the lie fell from her lips smoothly, effortlessly. If Feyre saw it for what it was, she said nothing, and the apology, no matter how false it had been, seemed to soothe some of the tension between them.

Feyre had hardly bothered with Nesta since the war. Nesta’s grief, she supposed, cast too much of a pall over Feyre’s joy, and neither she nor Elain seemed to understand just how deep Nesta’s pain ran. Nesta had told Feyre about her inability to get into a bathtub, and yet it had been Cassian who had fitted the shower head in her bathroom. Her sister seemed to be more concerned with how Nesta’s grief embarrassed her and inconvenienced her than how it made Nesta feel as though her life was hardly worth living.

Nesta’s false apology was accepted, and Feyre offered her a much more genuine smile afterwards. She extended an arm towards the sitting room, to the open door that let out a soft, buttery light. The sounds of laughter and glasses clinking filtered out into the hallway.

“Feyre,” Nesta said as her sister began leading the way to the sitting room. “Happy birthday.”

That, at least, was genuine. Nesta reached out to squeeze her sister’s arm, and Feyre paused. She smiled at her softly, leaving Nesta wondering if their relationship wasn’t completely broken beyond repair. Feyre’s face softened as she looked at her eldest sister as if seeing her for the first time in years. She blinked and said, “Thank you, Nesta,” before leading her towards the sitting room.

She pushed the door open, and it took Nesta a moment to remember how to move her feet. There was a fire roaring in the grate, and though no logs were cracking, Nesta couldn’t help the chill that went down her spine at the sight of it. The irony wasn’t lost on her. She’d spent years living in that cabin in the woods, freezing and dreaming of warmth, and now just the sight of a fire turned her blood to ice and brought her out in goosebumps.

Nesta looked around, searching for the one person she’d came for, but was greeted almost immediately instead by Elain, her skin flushed and her eyes bright. She looked happy, and whilst Nesta didn’t begrudge her it, she still couldn’t help but… wonder at it all. When Elain greeted her with, “Happy Solstice, Nesta!”, it was just more evidence of the widening gulf between her and her sisters. They had settled into all of this so easily. Had acclimatised, grown into their new environment, whilst Nesta still hated everything about it. She still raged at being stuck here, in this body, above the wall, in a land she still didn’t really know. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but Nesta pulled Elain into a weak hug nonetheless.

Elain produced a gift wrapped box, and Nesta felt her stomach sink. No presents. That had been the rule: no presents. Guilt coursed through Nesta, coiling in her gut and crawling up her throat. She unwrapped the box, and when she beheld the boxset of books by an author she liked, she didn’t feel elated or excited— she felt hollow. She didn’t for a second think that Elain had meant for this to make Nesta anything other than happy, but all it did was remind her how much she was failing at all of this. How inadequate she was, when Elain and Feyre were happily embracing traditions that were entirely foreign to them. She managed a rough sort of thank you, and Elain had patted Nesta’s forearm comfortingly. There was a crease between her eyebrows though, one that said she didn’t understand why Nesta hadn’t been overflowing with gratitude. She didn’t understand. None of them ever seemed to understand.

Still, as she looked around, there was no sight of messy brown hair, no glint of red siphons. Where the fuck was Cassian?

Azriel came to greet her next, wishing her a happy solstice and seemingly not offended in the least when she didn’t return the sentiment. He offered her a drink, and when Nesta took it, she looked around the room again, as if, somehow, it was possible that she’d missed him. That she’d overlooked the well-over-six-foot, hulking Illyrian warrior that was never hard to find in any room, no matter the size. No, Cassian wasn’t here, and Nesta frowned.

“Where is Cassian?” she asked, in a tone that she hoped passed for casual.

Azriel raised a brow, presumably surprised that she’d called him Cassian and not the brute, or something equally as derivative. He frowned too, and cleared his throat. “Around,” he said with a wave of an arm. One of his shadows crawled over his shoulder, and he tilted his head towards the door. “In the kitchen,” he said after a second. “Cass is in the kitchen.” “He told me he usually sits on a sofa and doesn’t move from it all evening,” Nesta commented idly.

A flicker of concern passed the Shadowsinger’s face, and Azriel nodded with a sigh that sounded tired. She had noticed lately that Cassian looked exhausted, too. Every time he showed up at her door, his shoulders were stiff and tension lined his jaw, but no matter how many times she asked if he was alright, his answer was always the same: of course I am sweetheart. Why wouldn’t I be?

Azriel sighed again. “Usually he doesn’t.”

She frowned again, but he didn’t elaborate, and she sensed that the conversation was over. Nesta drained her glass and handed it back over to the spymaster.

“I should go and say hello then,” she said firmly. His lips curved upwards in the beginnings of small smile. Nesta didn’t think she imagined the approval in his eyes, and it didn’t seem to matter that she’d not yet said hello to Rhys, or Mor, or Amren, all of whom were only a matter of feet away. The latter two she didn’t intend on speaking to at all this evening, but since this was Rhys’ home, she figured it was polite to greet him, at least. Later, though, she thought as she passed him, heading for door she’d only just stepped through. There was someone far more important she needed to see first.

He was uncorking a bottle of whiskey - very old whiskey by the looks of it - when Nesta entered the kitchen. Cassian heard her approach, and when he turned, his face lit up in a smile so bright that Nesta’s heart stuttered, and when he pulled her into a hug so tight she almost cracked a rib, she didn’t pull away. She wrapped one arm around his waist, savouring his warmth, the solid weight of him.

“You’re here,” he breathed into her ear. He pulled away, and after kissing her cheek, grinned at her again. “Hi.”

Nesta looked him over, at his hair that was tidier than usual, but still half-up in his usual bun. At his shirt, that was crisp and clean, so at odds with the leathers she usually saw him in. She plucked at his collar, a gesture that, even a month ago, would have seemed utterly outrageous to her. “Don’t you look tidy,” she commented dryly.

He winked. “I put in extra effort for you, sweetheart. I even ironed this shirt.”

“A true miracle. Am I supposed to feel honoured?”

“Yes,” he answered simply. “Sorry,” he said a second later. “For not being there when you came in.”

Nesta waved her hand. She nodded to the whiskey. “You look like you needed it.”

Cassian shrugged. “No more than I need you,” he said with a mischievous, almost boyish, grin. Nesta rolled her eyes and nudged him with her shoulder.

“Really,” she pressed. “Are you alright?”

“Of course,” he said lightly, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes, and his tone was less carefree than it should have been. Fine, Nesta thought to herself. She knew well enough what it was to be pushed into speaking about things you’d rather keep quiet, so— fine. She nodded and Cassian took her hand.

“Come, else they’ll think I’ve kidnapped you.”

“They’ll probably think it’s the other way around,” she muttered, and in answer, he let out a gentle laugh. It wasn’t the echoing, roaring laugh she was used to, and it had her wondering all over again if he hadn’t been entirely truthful when he told her he was alright.

“It wouldn’t be a kidnapping if I went willingly.”

“And what’s to say that you would?” she countered flatly. Cassian scoffed.

“Sweetheart, you should know by now,” he said, opening the door to the sitting room. “I’d go anywhere with you.”

The softness of his voice, the sincerity in his eyes, and the warmth of his fingers laced between hers, rendered her speechless. He didn’t wait for a reply, only led her round the edges of the room to the window seat— the furthest seat from the fire, Nesta didn’t fail to notice. He had plucked up a glass of wine from a tray on a nearby table and pressed it into her hands. He sat down beside her, so close his thigh was touching hers, his warmth seeping into her.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “For coming.”

“You said it was your favourite,” Nesta said with a shrug. Cassian nodded.

“It is,” he said with another nod. “And it’s definitely my favourite now you’re here.” He grinned again, but just like before, it fell just slightly short of his eyes. He drained his glass far too eagerly too, and it was all so imperceptible that it was barely noticeable.

Nesta noticed, though.

She was about to ask what was really going on, but Cassian shook his head and changed the subject.

“I didn’t get you a gift,” he said casually. “I knew you’d kill me if I did, but just out of curiosity… What kind of smut is it that you prefer, sweetheart?” he drawled, crossing one ankle over his knee and resting his arm on the window ledge behind them. “Just so I know for your birthday.”

Nesta slapped her palm against his leg, and he let out a laugh. She scowled at him, but it only seemed to make him laugh harder, and for the first time since she’d arrived, she saw his shoulders relax, saw some of that tension fall away.

“I hate you,” she said flatly. Cassian caught her hand as she moved to slap his leg again, and raised it to his lips. He kissed the tips of her fingers, and idly, Nesta wondered what the others must be thinking. What they must be seeing, because there was no doubt in her mind that whatever it was that was going on between her and Cassian, this was something so much more than friendly.

“You’re an awful liar.”

“Is this your sole purpose in life? Annoying me?” Nesta huffed, wrenching her hand from his grip and settling it in her lap. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips though, and it was an effort to keep her scowl in place. Cassian winked.

“Not my sole purpose princess, but it’s certainly in my top five.”

“I hate you,” Nesta said again, and Cassian smirked as the hand he had resting on the window ledge brushed her shoulder.

“Like I said,” he grinned. “Awful liar.” He paused. “Did you eat enough before you left home? There’s plenty of food left over, and there’s cake in the kitchen—“

Nesta rolled her eyes. “You’re such a mother hen.”

Cassian shot her another wink, and Nesta felt her heart flutter. “Now there’s my sole purpose in life.”

Nesta scowled and called him an ‘insufferable brute,’ but for the first time, she wished she’d arrived earlier. She didn’t know why she said it, but after taking a sip from her wine, she turned to him and said, quietly, softly, “Happy Solstice, then.”

His eyes glittered as he clinked the edge of his glass against hers. He leaned closer to whisper, “Happy Solstice, Nesta.”

***

A log on the fire cracked, and Nesta felt every fibre of her being tense. She was suddenly cold, ice rushing through her veins, and she flinched. Her hand instinctively shot out to grasp the nearest thing, the closest thing that she could hold onto. Cassian’s thigh was warm under her fingers, and she knew she should pull away, but his warmth was grounding in a way that nothing else was. Her fingers curled into his trousers, and she felt his hand rest on the small of her back.

“Alright?” he murmured. He didn’t move his leg, and rested his other hand atop her fingers instead. She nodded mutely, keeping her gaze fixed straight ahead, her face blank. His thumb started rubbing circles into her back, and she didn’t miss the way his wings spread out behind them both, as if he wanted to shield her. “Is it the fire?” he asked quietly. Nesta nodded.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s why I pulled you over here. Furthest seat away from it.”

“It’s alright,” Nesta managed. She inclined her head to look at him, at the worry in his eyes. He knew, of course, about her aversion to fires. She had told him in the first few days after the war, and ever since, he had done everything in his power to spare her from it. Sometimes, though, there was nothing anyone could do, short of putting the fire out altogether. Cassian half looked like he was about to do just that, so Nesta let go of his thigh and twisted her hand, turning her palm upwards, until his palm kissed hers. He weaved their fingers together, and Nesta let him. She made no move to pull away, not wanting to be without his touch just yet. Cassian’s fingers tightened around her own.

“Do you want to get out of here?” he asked, his thumb still moving on her back.

“I’ve barely been here an hour,” she muttered. “Feyre will kill me if I leave.”

“She’ll have to go through me first,” he said with a gentle, easy smile. Nesta swallowed thickly, and the hand at her back pressed more firmly into her spine, as if reminding her that he was still there, at her back, the way he’d always been.

“You’ve done enough, Nes. If you want to leave, say the word. I’ll take you home.”

“And have them scorn me for making you leave, too? I don’t think so.”

Cassian shook his head, and looked briefly over at Rhys and Azriel, speaking in low tones together at the other side of the room. When Nesta glanced up at him, she noticed the exhaustion was back, his eyes no longer gleaming, but dulled slightly. He exhaled heavily and shook his head.

“Trust me,” he said. “They won’t mind.”

Azriel looked up from the conversation and he and Cassian shared a look. Azriel nodded, as if in silent acknowledgement of a question Nesta didn’t know Cassian had asked. Cassian bit back a weak smile, but it dropped after a second, leaving him looking even more tired than he had before.

“Rough day?” she asked, tilting her head. Cassian flicked his gaze back to his brothers, and then back to her.

“I was in Illyria this morning, so it’s been about as rough as yours, I’d wager.”

Nesta blinked. “All you’ve done for weeks is lecture me on how much you love this ridiculous holiday.”

Cassian pulled his hands from hers at last, but only to tap her lightly on the nose. “It’s not all I’ve done. And I do love it,” he said with a shrug. “It’s just been… difficult, this year.”

“Care to tell me why?”

“On the way home,” he insisted. Before Nesta could even blink, he had risen to his feet and was holding out his hand to help her up. “Let’s go, Nes.”

His hazel eyes were hopeful, almost pleading, and she saw in them all the things he needed but would never ask for. She hadn’t heard his booming laugh once tonight, which was rare, and every time he smiled, there was a darkness lurking beneath it, something that was haunting him. He wasn’t asking to walk her home for her sake alone. This was for him, too. She was his salvation as much as he was hers. So when he wiggled his fingers and said, “Let’s get out of here,” Nesta nodded, and said yes.

***

His hand was warm around hers, and as he led her away from the town house, she allowed his touch to ground her, to remind her that she was still here, still living, despite everything. She had a feeling he was doing the same, and when she tightened her grip around his fingers, he turned to smile at her, and for half a second, Nesta wondered if those hazel eyes were the answer to all of the questions she’d been asking since she’d been plunged into that cauldron. If her suddenly long and unbearable life might be made easier by the person gripping her hand.

He breathed in deeply, like this was the first breath of air he was getting all day. He tilted his head up to the sky and exhaled heavily, and when he looked back down at her, he gave her a grin, the first true grin she’d seen on his face all evening. He put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side, and when she looked up at him, his eyes widened in a display of mock innocence.

“What? Wouldn’t want you to slip and fall on the ice.”

“Of course not,” Nesta said dryly, but she wound a hand around his waist anyway, holding onto the smooth leather of his jacket.

He took the long way to her apartment, walking her down to the riverfront. Her steps slowed, and he paused, looking out over the water. The lights from the city glinted off the river, and on the air, Nesta could hear faint music, the sounds of laughter and celebration. Cassian took his arm away from her and rested his forearms on the iron railing instead. He looked down to where the river was swirling beneath them, and without turning to look at her asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Nesta stiffened before leaning on the railing herself. She didn’t look down at the water, but looked at the ground beneath her feet instead, dusted with snow. It was starting to seep through her silk shoes, but she barely felt it. She hesitated, not sure whether she should answer him or not. Eventually, her need for someone to understand, for someone to know exactly what went on inside her head, won out.

“I don’t know,” she admitted at last. “I don’t know how to feel about any of this.” She paused and took a deep breath, the cold air burning the back of her throat. “It’s strange, seeing Feyre and Elain embrace fae traditions.” She glanced somewhat sadly at the box of books Cassian carried for her. “It reminds me all over again that I’m not the same person I was a year ago. The war, the cauldron— something is broken inside me, a wound that just won’t heal. It’s not just the fires, it’s everything. I— don’t know who I am anymore.” She swallowed as she looked up at him, and his gaze softened. He put the books down on the ground, and if she had been in her right mind, she would have scolded him, but— it didn’t seem to matter.

He pulled her into him, his arms wrapping around her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, kissing her forehead. “It’s not easy. After a war especially— it’s never easy.” Nesta felt the breath in his chest hitch. She flattened a palm over his heart, wishing she could feel it beating to remind herself he was here, he was alive. His leather jacket was too thick, though, so she settled for the rising and falling of his chest, the rhythm of his breathing, to remind herself that they had made it out, that neither of them were dead yet.

She didn’t know why, but suddenly she was tired of pretending. Tired of masking, and deflecting. Tired of everyone else thinking she was fine when she was but a heartbeat away from falling apart. She shook her head. “I’m not good at admitting when I’m not fine,” she whispered, her fingers curling into his jacket. “And if it were anyone else I’d tell them to piss off and leave me alone.” She felt him laugh gently, felt his chest move beneath her hand. “But I’m tired. And I’m not fine.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, a broken confession so quiet that even she barely heard her words.

“I know,” he muttered. “I know, sweetheart.”

Nesta raised her chin and looked up at him, searching for those hazel eyes. “You’re not fine either, are you?”

He let out a breath of a laugh. “You noticed, then?”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” Nesta breathed. His hand came to rest on the back of her head, pressing her closer to his chest, as if he needed to cling to her as much as she needed to cling to him. As if she were the only thing holding him together, and Nesta wondered, numbly, if he had been the only thing holding her together this entire time. He had been the only one who saw her pain once the war was over, the only one who saw through her sharp words and biting comments to the vulnerability and agony beneath.

“It’s difficult,” he began. “Illyria is up in arms. They’re sick of the Night Court making decisions for them. Sick of being on the front lines and getting little thanks and nothing in return. Az and Rhys, they don’t— They don’t understand. The Illyrians are furious because they think that we see them as little more than cannon fodder. Expendable, replaceable.” He let out a bitter laugh. “And I can’t exactly tell them they’re wrong, because we lost so many in the war. So many families are still mourning their sons, their fathers, their brothers. We’re going to have a full blown rebellion on our hands soon enough.”

“That’s why you wanted to leave?”

“Yes,” he said, shaking his head. He dropped his forehead until it rested on hers. “Well, no. It’s not just that.” His chest seemed to tremble beneath Nesta’s fingers, and she didn’t know what to say, what to do. She wanted to offer him something useful, but she was no leader or strategist. All she could offer him was a shoulder to lean on, just as he’d done for her.

The stress was eating him alive, and it wasn’t… it wasn’t fair. Not after he’d done so much— given so much. “I’m sorry,” she said, because it was all she could offer him. His hand tightened in her hair.

“Azriel has his shadows searching for the places with the most discontent, but it will take weeks, maybe months, before we have enough information. And Az would sooner burn the place to the ground than try to fix it, anyway. I’m fighting a losing battle because nobody in this court cares enough to listen to what the Illyrians are saying.” He sighed, so heavily Nesta felt it rumble through her own chest. “But the three of us had words today. We… decided on a couple things.” He took in a breath before meeting her eye. “In a few days, I’m taking some time off. Getting away from here.”

Nesta pulled away, enough to look at him properly. “You’re leaving?”

He blinked slowly and then smirked, pulling her back to his chest. “I lied when I said I didn’t get you a present. I want you to come with me. Let that be your gift,” he whispered. “I promised to show you all seven courts, didn’t I?”

“I didn’t think you’d remember that,” Nesta admitted. She glanced up at him, and saw the beginnings of a real smile, an honest one, tugging at his lips. “You were halfway unconscious from whatever they were giving you for the pain.”

“I’m wounded that you think I’d forget such a thing.” His smile faltered. “I mean it. I need to be away from here for a while. Away from Illyria, especially. I figured you wouldn’t mind being away from Velaris either.”

She snorted. “I hate it here.”

“I know,” he said, his voice filled with sorrow and regret. “I know you do. I know that deep down you hate all of this.” His eyes flicked to her ears, hidden by her braids. She knew he was thinking back to the days right after she’d been Made, when his gaze had lingered on her newly-pointed ears once, and she had recoiled, sobs cleaving her chest. “And I wish you wouldn’t. I wish you could see what I see.” He offered her a small smile. “Let me show you. Let me take you away from here, away from all of it. I need a break, and I want nothing more than to spend it with you.”

She pulled back, and this time he let her. His arm stayed around her shoulder, and the hand she’d had over his heart began to follow the curves and patterns on the leather of his jacket. Such easy, casual touches left Nesta wondering again what on earth this was. She suspected Cassian was giving her the time and the space to work it out on her own, to decide what she wanted. Part of her wondered whether he wanted her to fall in love with herself first - with Prythian, with being fae - before she she fell for him, and that alone made her want to weep. She half wondered if it was too late, if she wasn’t already falling.

“How long?” she asked. “How long do we have?”

Cassian shrugged. “However long we want. Two weeks, three. Who knows.” He gave her a slanted grin. “Who cares.”

“And when would we leave?”

“Whenever you want. Two or three days, if you wanted.”

She didn’t need to look at him to know he was grinning, but she glanced up anyway. This time, she noticed, his smile reached his eyes, so bright and lovely it was dazzling. She poked him in the chest. “You don’t give me much in the way of notice.”

He snorted. “Just keeping you on your toes, sweetheart.” His arm snaked about her waist again, as if he couldn’t stop himself from touching her. “Is that a yes, then?”

She pushed his arms away from her and took a step back, folding her arms over her chest, and donning her most potent look of disapproval. “You had better help me pack, then. You can’t just spring something like this on a lady and expect her to be alright with it.”

He looped his arm through hers as he grinned and turned, heading in the direction of her apartment without a word.

Nesta wondered the entire trip back how unlikely this all would have seemed a year ago. There was still an open, bleeding wound in her heart, in her soul, that pained her with every breath. It dogged her every step and haunted her every waking moment— but for just a few moments, just a few, scattered heartbeats, it was easy to forget, with Cassian. She leaned on him and he gladly shared her burden, lifting it from her shoulders and giving her space to breathe. And tonight she’d done the same, taking his burden and lifting it, just for a moment. Just for one, fleeting, fragile, moment.

#nessian #fic #why cant i write short fics

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cosmic-walkers · 1 year

Text

Hope you don't mind another sneak peak of a maeglin fic of mine. I've wanted to write a Maeglin and Eärendil meeting for quite some time now + this leads into maeglin actually joirning the war of wrath! (i apologize for errors. im sleepy and this is just a wip)

“I don’t blame you.” Maeglin responded, quietly. “It is no secret how you feel about me, how many from Gondolin feel about me, for good reason.”

He stopped and faced Eärendil, sadness in his expression. “I must express my deepest sorrow for what I did in Gondolin.” He looked down, and in a quick motion fell to his knee in a gesture of shame.

“I know I've haunted your nightmares for years since then; I know you hated me. I won’t ask for your forgiveness, because I don’t deserve it. But I must let you know how sorry I am–”

“No, please stand. You aren’t a servant, nor a station below me. You are a prince as well.” Eärendil held his hand up and stopped him , gazing down at his cousin. He reached his arms out, and began to help Maeglin to his feet. then , he continued.

“I have come here, to apologize myself, Maeglin. For, I am sorry for not understanding what you went through, and perhaps, we all in Gondolin should apologize to you for how we treated you." Eärendil exhaled.

"I was informed to keep my distance from you, because a darkness grew in your heart after you’d witnessed your mother and father killed before you.” Speaking those words out loud, it seemed even more ridiculous. And he could see the hurt in Maeglin’s eyes, as if he was reliving the trauma and hatred he faced in Gondolin over again.

Eärendil only now realized how foolish, and close minded the kingdom was. What many in Gondolin perceived as a darkness, was trauma Eärendil supposed. Maeglin was young then–nearly still a child in elven years–and he had just seen his parents murdered. Of course he would be heartbroken. Of course he was have faced grief. Yet to many, that was perceived as a darkness.

However, Eäredil could not get delayed on such thoughts, or he would not be able to flesh out his apology. He went on, filled with remorse.

“They said you had orcs blood festering inside of you, and one day you would fully give in to your true nature. That is why when you were captured and tortured by Morgoth, the Gondolindrim did not care to be sympathetic. It was simply because of what you were a Dark Elf…we treated you that way. When I was a boy and heard you turned on us for Morgoth, I thought you a coward”. Eärendil admitted, looking away from Maeglin. “But when I faced his evil myself, I am surprised you were even able to survive him”.

Maeglin’s face changed from impassive to sympathetic, as he looked down shamefully.

“Please, don’t do that.” Eärendil said, sadly. “You’ve nothing to be guilty of. The point I am trying to make is that, I had no right to judge you, nor hate you for what Morgoth made you do. Yet, that does not change how we of Gondolin treated you before that. I can’t help but feel that if Gondolin was more open and accepting to you, then you would not have always ventured out on your own. Morogoth would not have hurt you. You were so young when it happened, even for an elf and…”

It was at that moment, Maeglin placed a hand on Eärendil’s shoulder, silencing him. His expression had changed, and all in all he seemed brighter. A smile curled upon his lips and his eyes were softer. Eärendil felt a great warmth emitting from his elder cousin.

“The way I was treated in Gondolin scars me to this day but you were a child then. There is nothing that you should be held accountable for. What could you have done?"

He squeezed his shoulder tightly before his hand fell back to his side.

“I’ve made peace with a lot of what happened back then but I also acknowledge that I did awful things. Morgoth or not I…I still sold out Gondolin. I wish I was stronger back then. I've heard stories of Maedhros- the eldest son of Fëanor surviving Morgoth's torture. Wherever he is, I wish I was him."

Eärendil shook his head. "Maedhros was the eldest and strongest son of Fëanor and king of the Noldor. He was also older and stronger than you." Eärendil frowned. "I've faced Morgoth's forces and have seen the Dark Lord myself and…I will not blame anyone for breaking under his torment."

Maeglin blinked, as if tears were forming in his eyes. Yet instead of crying, he simply nodded. “Thank you, Eärendil.”

There was another period of silence that passed and both cousins took it as a chance to gaze at one another, smiles on their faces. It was then Eärendil took a step forward, practically throwing his arms around Maeglin and holding him close. He had never embraced his cousin, but he was far too excited to care if Maeglin wanted any form of physical touch. He engulfed him.

At his age now, Eärendil was taller and stronger than Maeglin. In his joy, he was able to lift Maeglin off of his feet.

Eärendil heard Maeglin chuckle, and gently he too wrapped his arms around his younger cousin and for some time they held one another, embracing. Eärendil never knew what he thought Maeglin would feel or smell like. But he was soft and warm; he smelled nice, like fresh grass or flowers.

Eventually he placed his elder cousin down and the two of them continued their walk. It was then Eärendil spoke again, changing the subject slightly.

"You are here , healing in the gardens of Lorien?"

You can read the rest here !!

#maeglin #earendil #silmarillion

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apocketfullofmuses · 1 year

Text

@defectivexfragmented | continued X

The storm continued to rage outside, flashes of lightning filling the room moments before thunder shook the building while rain harshly pattered off the windows. Not that it mattered to them. They were happily wrapped up in their own little world to notice what else was happening. The power had gone out hours before and a few candles had been lit around the apartment so Bucky could move about comfortably, mainly to ensure all of Matthew's furniture remained in one piece after a mishap with a chair.

They lounged in bed dressed in sweats with Thai takeout spread out across several plates balanced carefully on top of the sheets. Laid back against the pillows, Bucky held each of their beers in hand to allow Matt's fingers to smooth over the pages in front of him, carefully reading each grouping of small bumps out loud.

A Flicker in the Dark. Karen had recommended it and it was turning out to be quite good, much to his surprise.

Still reading aloud, Matt was reaching for his beer when Bucky's words made him freeze up entirely, momentarily forgetting what he was doing in the first place while he tried to wrap his head around what was just said. He pulled his hand back slowly, only briefly though, before he took the bottle from Bucky and switched hands with it, giving up on the book entirely.

"I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart." With his free hand, Matt took Bucky's hand in his own and brought it up to his lips, kissing the back of his fingers. "You have me forever, I promise. Nothing is going to change that."

He had no idea why his mind had decided this was the moment; maybe it was the feeling of safety and contentment that was surrounding him, or maybe it was the thought that this was what he wanted for the rest of his life - he wanted to tie himself to this amazing man he'd had the luck to fall in love with, in every way possible. In his younger days marriage had been an inevitability for him, one day he'd be expected to settle down; and then the war had happened, and Hydra happened. For so long, even after getting his mind back, Bucky had convinced himself that no one could ever love him, no one could ever understand the person he'd become; but he hadn't bet on a blind lawyer vigilante changing all of that.

So now, snuggled up with the man who had changed his life, his mind and heart had decided this was it - no forced romantic moment, like he probably would have done in his past life, just them and their little bubble of peace in the middle of a storm.

"I'd feel better if you were legally obligated to be mine forever ... as my husband." There was no change in his heartbeat, no wavering in his voice, nothing but the certainty that this was what he wanted - and the hope that Matt felt the same. "Matthew Murdock, you are the best thing that's happened in my far too long life, will you marry me?"

#defectivexfragmented #muse | bucky barnes #connection | matt murdock #ship | bucky x matt #b v | dance with the devil ( matt murdock )

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yourslytherinprincess · 2 years

Text

:The Lady and The Grim: - Sirius Black x F!Reader

A/N: This is a sort of Lady and the Tramp themed. It was by far a favorite of mind to write. I hope you enjoy it.

Summery: You’re new to the Order and you get to spend some quality time with the rugged, good looking bad boy. ;) Kinda PG-13.

Word Count: 2775

You were new to the Order of the Phoenix, you hadn’t expected to be sent out already. After all, you didn’t know any of these people and none of them knew you. But there you were, patrolling a set of darkened muggle streets with a man you didn’t know.

He had introduced himself as Sirius Black, to which your eyebrow had perked up. You’d heard the name before, but of course your family was made up of the most elite witches and wizards that even the sacred twenty-eight had seen. He certainly didn’t hold up to the House of Black’s reputation. After all, his hair was grown out, seemingly messy though kept twisted into a bun, his skin covered some places in inky black lines that moved this way and that underneath his leather jacket.

“So, what made you decide to join the Order?” He asked, as you walked down one of the streets. “Your family... I’ve heard that they’re a little bit…”

You let out a long sigh. “Yeah, I can guess the sorts of things you’ve heard about us.” Rolling your eyes, you continue. “They wouldn’t even let me attend a real school, I had to learn everything from home. To pure they said, they even wanted to marry me off.”

Sirius shook his head, eyes on the ground, a smile breaking out from the corner of his mouth. “Awful, isn’t it?”

“You’re telling me.” You scoffed. “They disowned me the minute I left to help fight the war. A lady doesn’t do that sort of thing, my mother said. Well a decent person doesn’t sit on the sidelines and do nothing while a war is breaking out.”

You’d waved at a muggle couple, having what looked like a midnight stroll, and out of nowhere there were two black puffs of smoke coming right at you. Before you could blink, Sirius jumped in front of you, wand out sending hexes and curses in each of their directions.

Looking back, you saw that the muggle couple had run for it, and Sirius was fighting both of the dark wizards on his own. Scrambling for your wand, you joined him. You dodged left, shot a jinx to your right, ran to cover Sirius, counter-curse shot straight ahead.

“You’re rather good at this!” Sirius called to you, a laugh trailing off from his voice.

Before you could respond you’d been disarmed, wand flying far from your grasp. “NO!”

Sirius threw you to the ground, jumping in front of you to fight both dark wizards again. One of them seemed to have petrified after his spell hit them, falling to the ground. The other ran to grab him, apparating the pair of them away.

Heavily out of breath, Sirius walked back over to you, stretching out a hand for you to take. He pulled you back to your feet with ease, “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Dusting off your backside, you looked across the ground with squinted eyes. “I need to find my wand.” Spotting it laying on the ground you walked over and picked it up.

“We need to notify the rest of the Order of what’s happened here.” Sirius tucked a piece of hair that’d come loose from his bun back behind his ear. He pulled out his own wand, conjuring his Patronus to send the message. When he was done and the shining dog bounded off he looked back to you, grey eyes roaming your face. “That’ll take care of that for now, fancy a bite?”

You hadn’t realized how hungry you had been until he asked and a rumble when off in the pits of your stomach. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He laughed, the deep throaty sound filling your ears pleasantly. “I know just the place.”

The second that he walked into the restaurant, Sirius was treated like a king. It had brought the slightest blush to his scruffy cheeks, “I’m a regular, that’s all.”

You raised your brow and gave him a cocky smile in return. It wasn’t really a fancy restaurant, but it was much more than just a hole in the wall. Each table was lit up in a warm glow by candles placed at the center, but the vibe of the place was leaning more towards comfortable and less towards romantic.

The waiter guided the two of you towards a table set away from the rest. “You’re usual table, sir.” He bowed before disappearing in the direction of what you assume was the kitchen.

“Wow, Sirius.” You laughed, “I never would have expected this from you.”

“Oh, hush! You don’t even really know me.” He said, but smiled still.

The waiter brought out large wine glasses, along with a sultry red wine and the menus. You’d carried on conversation with him effortlessly, as if you had known him your whole life. He told you bits and pieces of his past and how he had run away from home to live with James. You marveled at his stories of their pranks and jokes, life at school. In exchange for his stories, you told him yours. They were lackluster, boring in comparison, but still he listened like he’s never been more interested in anything.

The night seemed to be coming to a close, and you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of him. You’d never met anyone like him before. Sirius had been raised in a home with similar values, rules, and strictness’s as your own, and yet here he sat, comfortable, happy, and free. It was a breath of fresh air. He was quite the looker as well, that didn’t help you to stop looking at him either.

“You know, I’m not sure I’ve ever had this much fun in my entire life.” You said, searching grey eyes, for what, you couldn’t say, that refused to leave yours.

“I’m not surprised considering how, stuffy things were at home for you.” You both laughed, eyes still unmoving from each other.

For just a second, you’d glanced at your watch. “It’s getting a little late…”

“That it is,” Sirius agreed. He’d had his elbows propped up on the table, chin resting on his laced fingers. The way he was looking at you could only be described at hungry. You could barely stand to hold his stare a second longer, when the waiter dropped the check at the table with a smile. You both reached for it, fingers near tangled together. From his hand resting over yours, your eyes moved back to his face, bottom lip sucked between your teeth.

“Let me, you saved my life.”

“A lady shouldn’t have to pay for a meal she didn’t even know she wanted.” He smiled back, his hand wrapping wholly around your own.

Sirius slammed your back into wall right inside of the front door to his flat, you were being held up only by his hands gripping at your thighs.

You weren’t exactly sure when the kissing had started or how you’d even made it to his place, but here you were. His mouth was pressed hard on yours, tongue exploring the entirety of your mouth. Your hand had been in his hair, bun pulled out sometime before this, and where sliding down his clothed chest.

Pulling away from his mouth, you started to feather kisses around his face, across his scruffy jaw line, then down his neck where the pecks turned into nips, your teeth grazing the soft skin there. He’d let out a noise that you’d rather liked and there was an ever so present firmness pressing into your most delicate of places. Biting down harder had caused him to let out a guttural growl, he pushed off of the wall, carrying you off towards the stairs.

You continued to suck and nip at his neck, one hand tangled in his hair until he tossed you down onto his large bed, a sexy smirk playing at his lips as he slowly dropped the leather jacket down his arms. You watched as it slid down, eyes taking in the tattoos there and as his shirt lifted slowly up his toned abdomen and chest, you’d found the same inky black lines there. You couldn’t take your eyes from him, just looking at him made you feel drunk.

“Like what you see, love?” His voice was thick, brow raised. You didn’t have to tell him, he already knew just how attractive he was, and exactly what it was doing to your body. Reaching out you pulled him towards you, running your hands slowly over his soft warm skin, tracing over the black lines with your fingers, and then your mouth. After a moment, he took your face between his hands, bringing it up so he could look into your eyes again. What had been a hungry look over the table at dinner, turned ravenous.

His mouth was back on yours, a hot mess of lips and tongue, as he lifted your shirt, you couldn’t stop the shiver that came as his fingers grazed your skin. He was already so delicious, and you could still taste the wine on his lips. You knew that this was going to be a long night, a night you weren’t going to be able to forget.

The next morning you woke up to the sound of a woman shouting, which considering how the night ended was terrifying. Sitting up, you’d noticed that Sirius had left out a pair of his own sweat pants, and a tee shirt for you to change into, which you had done quickly, so you could run back down stairs to where the commotion was taking place.

“-AND YOU SENT A PATRONUS MESSAGE INSTEAD OF COMING BACK AND TELLING US WHAT HAPPENED! HOW DID YOU GET SO THICK SIRIUS ORIAN?” It was Lily that had been doing the shouting, you realized as you came down from the last step. Her face was almost as red as her hair, and when she spotted you, she looked you up and down, and turned back to yell at Sirius some more.

“This is the reason you didn’t come yourself?” She’s been pointing at you. “You thought shagging the new girl was the better option? Do you know how worried James has been? He’s barely slept! You dim-witted fool!”

“It didn’t-” You had tried to come to Sirius’ defense but she continued to shout, at both of you now.

“There’s a meeting, the whole Order is going to be there.” Lily turned her angry green eyes at you. “I highly suggest you change before you attend.” And then she apparated out of the house, leaving you and Sirius alone in the living room.

He turned to you, hair back in its bun, a shy smile on his lips. You couldn’t help but remember the things those lips were capable of. “You look cute, relaxed.”

You let a laugh slip between your own lips. “Thank you, I’ve never worn anything like this before.”

Sirius sauntered over to you, placing his hands on your hips, leaving a kiss at the corner of your mouth. “We should get ready to go.” A kiss on your jaw. “I’m already in trouble and I don’t think I can handle getting yelled at by Lily more than once a day.” He left one more kiss just below your earlobe, a sigh escapes you involuntary.

“I really must go change. As comfortable as this is, it’s not presentable at all.”

“Perhaps once this meeting is over, if we’re not on patrols tonight, we can just do away with all of it.” He smirked, pressing one single kiss to your lips before releasing you from his grasp.

“Muggles saw you use magic, Sirius! You know that’s an offence that has to be taken up with the Ministry. They’re not going to let you off easy.” Remus had a stern look in his eye, as he went on.

You knew what kind of trouble he could get it, and you also knew that the Minister of Magic relied very closely on the good word and advise of your father. If it would have been you instead, not only would Sirius not have to suffer the consequences of the Ministry, he wouldn’t be kicked out of the order, and that is what it seemed his fate was going to be.

“It wasn’t Sirius it was me. I used magic in front of the muggles, I did it all, he was covering for me.” You spoke up, interrupting who ever had been talking now.

Sirius’s head snapped in your direction, “Y/N what are you doing?”

“It’s okay Sirius,” You said through gritted teeth, widening your eyes at him, trying to make him take the hint. “You don’t have to cover for me, not anymore.”

“Y/N, you know you’re going to have to take this up with your father?” Dumbledore asked. “You won’t be allowed to participate in the Order of the Phoenix anymore.”

The words left a terrible queasiness in your stomach and prickles in your skin, but the punishment would far worse for anyone else.

“NO!” Sirius shouted, standing in outraged. “No, you can’t make her leave! She didn’t-”

You tugged at his sleeve, pulling him to sit back down. “It’s alright, Sirius. It’s probably for the best anyway.” He sat, and you knew it was only because you had asked him to. He refused to meet your eyes for the rest of the meeting.

The walls of your parents’ house were confining, just as they had always been. You’d been dealing with your mother talking down to you, telling you how stupid you’d been for leaving. “You’re lucky that the Nott boy is still willing to marry you.”

You rolled your eyes, standing from the sofa to make your way to your upstairs bedroom, ignoring your mother who was still calling after you.

There were more important things to worry about than a wedding to a boy you’d never met none the less even wanted to marry. The Wizarding World was in danger, and there was no longer anything else you could do to help save it.

Throwing yourself onto your bed, you thought back to the last time you had seen Sirius. He’d dragged you out of the meeting to yell at you, not giving you a chance to explain yourself. He was very visibly upset, but you’d done what was best for everyone. They’d made up The Order before you joined, and they’d be fine without you.

Even though you hadn’t known him long and didn’t know exactly how you were supposed to think of him, you missed him something fierce. You’d never clicked with anyone the way you’d clicked with him. Sirius tasted like freedom, and now you were trapped again, probably for the rest of your life. But it was all worth it, wasn’t it? To protect him. He was worth it.

You weren’t sure when you’d fallen asleep, but the tapping noise at your window pulled you from your dreams of deep laughter and dark tattoos, soft skin and rough kisses. It had taken a second to register in your mind to open the window, but when you did a small owl flew around your room, dropped a thin roll of parchment, and flew right back out.

The smell that drifted from the parchment was familiar, exciting. You’d unrolled it as quickly as your fingers would allow.

Out beyond the garden.

S.B.

Dropping the note on the ground, you ran for your bedroom door, your shoes forgotten but you didn’t care. Down the stairs you ran, across the house, gaining speed with every step, until you could throw the heavy front doors open, and you shot off again, enjoying the cool air on your skin.

There he was, next to his motor cycle, dressed in his usual jeans and leather jacket. You leapt at him, he caught you in his arms, holding you tightly to his chest as his kissed your hair over and over again.

“Sirius!” You said pulling back to look at him, “I never thought I’d see you again!”

Grabbing your face, he pulled you in for a hard kiss. “Run away with me. Y/N, run away with me. I don’t care what any of them have to say.”

“Yes! Merlin yes, please get me out of here.” His eyes widened, but he didn’t hesitate to climb on his bike, patting the spot behind him for you. Throwing your leg over, you clung onto him tightly, and waited for him to start the enchanted motorcycle, so that you could fly off with him into the night, never to look back.

#sirius black x reader #Sirius x reader #sirius black imagine #YourSlytherinPrincess #YSP

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wndybyrd · 1 year

Note

❛ nobody tells me what to do. ❜

" go away. " what a silly thing for her to have said. no one told him what to do.

of course not. who would dare oppose the all-knowing king of the island ? he whose existence defied all logic and used this advantage to do as he pleased. he'd always do as he pleased, and wendy had always known this. in fact, she'd admired it about him. he was free from the constraints of responsibility that had tied her down in the other place, bound by the expectations of a mother, a father, a brother. she'd always thought that being with him freed her, too, but that would be too good to be true, and things that were 'too good to be true' only happened in her stories. sadly, this wasn't one of her stories, it was his. peter's island, peter's rules, peter's story.

now, even his expectations had begun to weigh heavy on the little girl. they made her curl in on herself, so tight that it felt like the sharp of her kneecaps would pierce right through her ribs. be pretty but be wild. be a mother but be a playmate. be mine be mine be mine. though the mar on her cheek had been quick to fade — only a hint of the red, crooked crescent left, fighting to prove its existence to anyone who bothered to look long enough — the words still stung, perplexing her. she had always been his. for four years, she'd been his. even after all the others had forgotten, abandoning neverland for the other place, she'd clung to his memory with a white-knuckled grip, keeping afloat under the waves of the other place's expectations in the hope he'd return. four years. and then he came. but he'd come for other girls first, leaving her to be plucked up last like some afterthought. four years it took him to return for her. four years too late. things had changed . . . wendy had changed.

" fine then, don't go away. stand there and enjoy your view of the back of my head. i wish to be alone, so, as long as you stay quiet and out of sight, i can at least pretend i am. " she did not dare look at him out of fear that her fickle heart would fail her. it was a terrible feeling, to love someone as much as you hated them. it was not some pure love, either. it was all-consuming, the kind that filled her up til she could feel nothing else. but, like the hate, it was terribly raw. the two waged a war inside wendy's heart that she was sure would destroy her, tearing her into little bits until there was nothing left of the darling girl.

" and if you ever touch me like that again, know that i'll cut you up good. be it with my nails or your knife. it was a mean thing to do. " he'd frightened and confused her that night, and never once apologized or explained for it. in fact, it was as if it hadn't happened at all. the worst part was the memories, things she'd long forgotten, teasing her mind with hints here and there. they'd give a taste and then, as quickly as they'd come, those inklings of moments from days past would recede back into the fog.

rocking back and forth atop the dewy grass, wendy wrapped the cecco's coat tight around herself like some shield — not to guard her against peter's stare but to conceal the uncontrollable mix of emotions rippling off of her. i am going to die here, she thought. the truth rattled in her skull, shook through her bones, slithered its way into her core being. a haunting feeling that'd gnawed at her since stepping foot back on neverland, warning her despite all the wonderment before her eyes, finally made itself clear : something was going to kill her, whether it be her uncontrollable heart, the whims of peter, or some other wickedness upon the island.

something was going to kill her. unless she killed it first.

#*PROMPT : answered.#i'm sorry this is so long #she's unraveling #it's not her fault .... she's just exhausted and stressed and angry #*PETER : promise to never forget me.

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justarandompjofan · 1 year

Text

The First Dead Poets

New Beginnings

Hey y’all, I’m back with another chapter of the first dead poets. Hope you enjoy! (tw: swearing, alcohol, and mentions of war)

“Holy fucking class of ‘43!” Charles exclaimed, holding his glass in the air.

John laughed, “You’re going to have a terrible hangover after this.”

“Who cares, man?,” Charles said, taking a long sip of his scotch. “My best friends just graduated from Hellton, I gotta celebrate.”

“I have to say, this place is surprisingly nice.”

“It’s called daddy’s money, my dear John.”

Jessica came up behind John, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, “He’s right, John, we deserve to celebrate. That hell hole chapter of our lives is over.”

“Here’s to never looking back.”

“I’ll drink to that,” he said, clinking their glasses together. He paused before setting his drink down.

“Is everything okay, darling?”

“Yeah, of course. We’ve got our whole lives ahead of us, we’re going to be okay.”

She smiled, “I know that, John.”

One Year and Three Months Later

John sat down on the couch, head in his hands. “Fuck”, he whispered to himself. He’d been having night terrors every night for months, the image of James flashing throughout his mind. No matter what medicines he was prescribed, nothing helped. He laid his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes.

“John?” Jessica’s voice called from the dark hallway.

He sat up, “Hey.”

“I heard you coming out here, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I just couldn’t sleep, I’m fine.”

“You’re never able to sleep,” she said, sitting down beside him. “What happened to the medicine that Doctor Bauer gave you?”

“It didn’t do anything.”

She put her hand on his back, “What can I do?”

“What?”

“What can I do to help you?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” she said firmly, taking his hands in her’s. “I want to help you because I love you and I’m worried about you.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“But I am. So let me help you.”

He rested his head on her shoulder, “What did I do to deserve you?”

“You were yourself. That’s all I could ask for. I love you, John Keating. You know that, don’t you?”

“I do,” he whispered. Suddenly something clicked in his mind. Nothing had ever made more sense, nor would anything after it. It was the clearest, most obvious thought he had ever had. “Marry me.”

“What?”

“Marry me.”

“John-“

“I’m serious, Jessie. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I know we’re still pretty young but-“

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

She smiled, “Okay. I’ll marry you.”

“Wait, are you serious?”

“Entirely.” He grinned before lunging forward to hug her. With her arms wrapped around him he finally felt the sense of peace that he had been missing. He leaned back and kissed her, his heart fluttering in ways he didn’t even know were possible.

“I’ll get you the ring.”

She shook her head, “I don’t need a ring.”

“I want to get you a ring. I want to be able to see it and know that you’re mine and I’m yours.”

“Well alright then, you can get me a ring.”

“How do you feel about diamonds?”

“John-“

“Only joking,” he said, laughing. “You know I’m too broke for that.”

She rolled her eyes, “Always the jokester aren’t you, darling?”

“You know me too well.”

“Let’s get back to sleep, alright? We’ll…we’ll discuss this more in the morning.”

He yawned, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

Four Months and Two Weeks Later

John stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie for what seemed to be the millionth time. His whole life so far had led to this moment. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind about marrying her, so why was he so nervous?

“You’re going to wrinkle it,” Charles said from beside him.

“Probably.”

Charles grabbed the tie, “I got it.” There was a silence as he fixed it for him. He stepped back, looking John up and down, silent tears filling his eyes.

“Is something wrong?”

He wiped his eyes, “Of course not. I just can’t believe this is happening. My little boy is all grown up.”

“Your little boy?”

“Hey, let me have this, okay? Your dad isn’t here, so I’m just filling in.”

“Thanks, Charles.”

“Anything for you.”

“Likewise.” From inside the church they could hear the organ begin to play.

Charles turned to look at him, “I think that’s your cue.”

John nodded, “I’ll see you out there.” He carefully walked out to the altar, his hands clasped behind his back to keep them from fidgeting. As the music built the doors opened and there was Charles and Jessica’s maid of honor, Lacy, walking down the aisle. He looked out at everyone sitting in the pews. He didn’t regret not inviting his parents, how could he? He just wished that- All of his thoughts were cut off as Jessica and her father walked through the doors. She was stunning, even more so than usual. She wore a simple white gown with her hair tied up in curls. When she smiled at him it was like the whole world melted away. As they reached the alter, her father carefully placed her hand in his, giving him a slight nod.

“We gather here today in the holy matrimony of John Keating and Jessica Gannitt,” the priest began. The whole ceremony was a blur of words and tears and before he knew it, the priest had turned to him and asked those everlasting words.

“Do you, John Keating, take Jessica Gannitt to be your lawfully wedde wife, through sickness and in health, in poverty and wealth, till death do you part?”

“I do,” he said, with not an ounce of hesitation.

“And do you, Jessica Gannitt, take John Keating to be your lawfully wedde husband, through sickness and in health, in poverty and wealth, till death do you part?”

“I do.”

“Then by the power vested in me, by the state of Vermont, I pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride.” The moment he kissed her was the most right anything had ever felt. There was a new chapter of their lives beginning and nothing could ruin it.

“John, I need to talk to you,” Charles said, pulling him aside. They were at the reception now, drinks in hand, celebrating.

“For sure, what’s up?”

Charles looked around, “Can we, uh, can we go somewhere more private?” John nodded, leading them around the wall of the terrace.

“So…?”

Charles sighed, his voice breaking slightly, “I really didn’t want to have to tell you this today, but I couldn’t stress you out before the wedding and I-“

“Hey, slow down. What’s going on?” The look on his face could only be described as fear. Pure and unfiltered fear. The only other time he had seen him like this was…it was when Sarah left.

“I got a letter from the government. I’ve been drafted for the war.”

John recoiled, “What? No, you’re fucking with me, right?”

“No,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry.”

“No! No, that’s not fucking fair! First Sarah, then James, then Will, I- I can’t lose you too!”

“You’re not losing me. It’s only temporary. They say the war is going to be over soon-“

“And what if it’s not? What if it just keeps going on and you never come home? What happens then, Charles?”

He closed his eyes, “Then you learn to live without me.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? No, they’re the ones who need to be fucking sorry!”

“I shouldn’t have ruined this day for you, it was selfish and I-“

“When do you leave?”