#EVEN THOUGH THEY MADE THOSE WORKS IN THE FIRST PLACE

[hereforthehitsbaby]

Heyoooo, i just read your say it louder and im in love with that so much like holy, so i was wondering if you could make something kinda similar or something? like maybe logans chasing reader because she stole his cigars and they have a cute moment or something along those lines, maybe end a bit with or with smut? thanks so much babes!

Mine Now | DOFP!Logan Howlett x F!Reader

Warnings: Primal!Logan, Scent Tracking, Shotgunning His Cigar, Marking, Implied Smut, Reader is a Mutant who has invisibility, Enemies to Lovers because I’m a sucker for pain, Takes place at the very end of DOPF when Logan comes back to the future, Pain Kink, Breathing Play, Choking, Claws come out – I repeat the claws come out,

Rating: R – No Minors

Word Count: 4.5K

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for your request! This was a blast to write and honestly? It gave me a good excuse to write for DOFP!Logan! I adore you! 😊 Also completely unrelated side note….you did say you wanted smut, right??? Because I may, or may not, have spaced you said cutesy and went right to horny.

To be tagged in any future work of mine, please fill this out.

“Hank, have you seen her?” Logan asks, his voice layered with annoyance. You couldn’t help but silently snicker as you watched his brow crease, his nose twitch with frustration, his finger rapping at his side impatiently. The way his jaw ticked as Hank narrowed his own eyes at him made it impossible to hold your laughter, even when you were currently pressed up against the wall – a clear view of the situation going down. You pulled your lip between your teeth as you homed in on Logan’s features, eyes glimmering with rage. It was such a beautiful sight to see, one you have been dreaming of for months. Though you’d never openly admit it, everyone knew, all except him. You had to make the chase worth his while.

Logan Howlett is a force to be reckoned with, everyone told you that. When Charles and Eric first recruited you to teach with them in New York – you thought it was a joke, a cruel one at that. Living paycheck to paycheck in a hole in the wall Hell’s Kitchen apartment, dealing with constantly screaming and fighting from your neighbors, it wasn’t where you wanted to be. You were a survivor, you could adapt to anything, but after what you had experienced, you needed a fresh start. Working at a local diner, making shit for tips wasn’t ideal, but it was enough to help you save to leave. Where would you go prior to this? You had no idea, but someplace that experiences winter – you always loved the snow. But alas, that dreary November day a few years ago changed everything; It changed you. Meeting Logan on your first day told you everything you needed to know about him – he refuses to get close to anyone, you wanted to break that.

It's been three years since you first met Logan, two since you found yourself thinking he was cute, a year since you felt yourself falling for him, and six months since you started the cat and mouse chase. At first with how standoffish Logan was to you, you started to resent him. A year it took before that all fell to the wayside; Your feelings had shifted when you found him outside one night, crying as he smoked his cigar. Of course, your mutation left you able to turn invisible, able to watch him, without him knowing you were there. Through the heavy rain your smell was masked, he couldn’t tell you were there. But it made you feel closer to him; He wasn’t some robot who didn’t have emotions. He felt them too strong, which is why when he started to slip back into his mind, he pulled away. Being over 200 years old meant he saw some shit, lost people he loved, it took a toll on him after a while. That day forward you stopped keeping your distance, but instead made the effort to be near him, to show him you weren’t going anywhere.

Slowly you noticed how Logan started to open up to you, telling you stories of when he was young, his first mission with the X-Men. You got to learn a lot about The Wolverine, and come to find out he wasn’t a hard ass – he was sincere, doting, downright admirable. What he dealt with in his years fucked him up horribly to where he didn’t trust people easily – but it didn’t make him less. He always pushed forward and strove for success, to survive. He wouldn’t classify himself as a hero, but he was to you, and he deserved to know. Logan found himself trusting you easily after a year, his lonely nights stuck in his own head turned into game nights with you, strolls through the garden, getting a drink at the bar downtown. He could still be himself, but not have to carry the baggage by himself all the time. Falling hopelessly in love with him was inevitable, but also impossible. Nothing more could happen between the two of you and you knew that – but there was still a flicker of hope in your mind that wouldn’t quiet down. Especially with how flirty Logan had become with you.

 Usually, he was like this with Jean and Storm, taking it up a notch with them so he could have the last retort. To say he wasn’t a ladies’ man was a lie, he could pull anyone he wanted to. To Logan it was a game, seeing how flustered he could make him teammates – and he loved to win. With you it was different – it wasn’t low growls and light touching on your arms, no, it was more. At first to started off to be resting his chin on your shoulder, letting his breath stroke the column of your neck. Slowly it moved out to touches; Holding your waist from behind, rubbing his large hands over your lower stomach, slipping his hands under your shirt to caress your hip. Over the last few weeks though, he upgraded to holding your face, running his calloused thumb across your bottom lip, stealing forehead and cheek kisses before heading out. Rogue and Kitty that you two were dating, even Bobby got in on it – but when you stated you weren’t everyone looked at you like you had six heads.

“No Logan, I have not.” Hank let his eyes pan to where you were hiding as Logan turned away for a moment, giving you a small wink as he played along. After all, this was his idea – well, his and Xavier’s. You had overheard a conversation about how Logan’s cigar smell had been wafting into their classroom’s lately – distracting everyone as Logan taught. Charles had the bright idea for you to nab them and hold them hostage, until Logan learned his lesson. You on the other hand, were far too gone to do that. Instead you decided to take the cigars, but make a game out of it. Little post it notes with clues on where you were hiding, you stored them all over his bedroom and classroom, thanks to Scott. Ever since Jean told you just how primal Logan could get, how good of a tracker he was, you wanted to test it out for yourself. What better way than take the one thing he cannot live without? “What happened this time?”

Logan huffed as he ran both of his hands down his face, coming dangerously close to propping his hip against your body. You had to shuffle slightly as he leaned into the wall, letting his head bounce off the wood a few good times. “Little shit stole my box of cigars.” He looked exhausted, frustrated, and downright sexy. Seeing how lost and irritable he was without them made you smirk, causing you to bite your lip harder to suppress a whimper. You noticed how Logan’s ear perked up as you gulped, his head turning softly. Hank noticed this almost immediately and replied with a whooping laugh.  “Ha!” You sighed inaudibly as you silently thanked Hank, knowing he used his booming voice to mask your sounds. Holding one of his hands up to Logan, he snickered as he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry that was cruel of me. What I meant to say is, that’s funny.” Hank let out a small chortle at Logan’s distain, being met with a flash of a middle finger, and claw too.  “Thanks, asshole,” Logan huffed as he pushed himself off of the wall, running his hand through his hair.

You watched him intently, thanking whoever was listening for making you have the power of invisibility. Being able to listen to everything going down, while Logan has no idea you’re here, made you feel powerful. You heard talks about how your power could be useful, but ultimately not threatening; Now, you’d beg to differ. Though you grew tiresome of the chase, being a fly on the wall versus a real player. It was fun the first two hours this started, but encroaching on hour six – the school clearing out and the sun almost set on the horizon, you grew slightly bored. “Have you tried the library? She likes to hide there.” Hank let out without hesitancy, making your eyes grow wide. It was like an aha moment for you, choosing the most likely place for last. Earlier it was too crowded, people would know you were there the second Logan came looking for you. But now with the young mutants either outside or in the city due to the upcoming weekend, you knew it would be vacant.

“I know her all too well, Hank. That’s the first place I looked.” Hearing Logan say that made your heart flutter, made you feel special that he knew you so well. A strong sigh left your lips as Hank coughed, dreamily staring at Logan as you started to walk backwards. Losing your invisibility for a moment, you stood a few feet behind Logan, walking towards the grand staircase that took you to the library. Waving at Hank, you motioned for it as you smirked, causing Hank to laugh. “You sure?” He asked, nodding behind Logan. As you stood closer to the staircase, you noticed how Logan was sniffing the air – his body growing tense as he spun around. It’s when he laid his eyes upon you that you knew he was fed up. It wasn’t the primal growl and heavy breathing that got to you, but the way his hazel eyes went from green to black in a split section, his chest heaving as he stared at you. “Oh shit,” was all you managed to let out as you turned invisible again, running up the stairs.

Everything was a blur to you, running as fast as your body could take you. Three flights to get where you needed to go seemed like forever, when you were being chased by The Wolverine. He had super human speed, a great nose for sniffing things out, he was at the advantage whilst you were at a disadvantage. Even with scent masking, now that you started to sweat it would make you more obvious, especially when the library was empty. Huffing and puffing as you managed two steps at a time, you refused to look back. But you could hear the stomps of Logan’s boots, clearly taking three steps to match you. Silently you prayed to whoever was listening, to get you to the library safe and sound before Logan got you. The last thing you wanted was for him to pin you to the stairs so everyone could see, that was too on the nose.

Reaching the top step of the library, you managed to sway your way through the wooden chairs and tables, giggling to yourself as you were halfway across the room. Due to the grand nature of the library, especially being two floors, it gave you so many good hiding spots. A circular room to see everything, yet hide in plain sight. As you made it over to the spiral staircase for the second level, you had noticed Logan standing at the entrance of the library, huffing and puffing. It made you snort, seeing how riled up he was. You had to admit, it was sexy to see how pissed off he was, causing a fresh wave of your arousal to coat your panties. Logan seemed to have taken note as he sniffed the air, his eyes cutting across the room straight to yours. “Come on out princess,” he growled, flexing his hands at his side. Slowly you crept up the metal staircase for the second level, taking one step at a time to not elicit any sounds. You let your breathing relax, slowing your heart rate as you kept calm, not needing to give yourself away. But Logan could sense you, eyeing the staircase with every move you made. “I got you now.”

A devilish grin fought to claim his mouth as he pounced over the tables, running on all fours as he landed right at the bottom of the staircase. You managed to get all the way up and around, leaving to the right. Multiple aisles of books covered upstairs, as well as the walls, each window let in the dusk light – showing dust particles roaming the air. Your tell-tale shimmer of invisibility was caught in the light a few times, but Logan was too lost to notice. Finding your perfect hiding spot away from prying eyes, you slotted yourself against the endcap of Psychology of Mutants, knowing no one reads these. You could feel the stagnant beating of your heart at times, wondering if it was due to fear or the thrill of the chase. Maybe it was the aspect of it being bittersweet as well; A years long chase with Logan finally reaching its peak. You knew there would never be going back from this, and that was okay. Stealing his cigars wasn’t the endgame, it was only the beginning.

“You can’t hide forever you know,” Logan snarled as he reached the top of the landing, huffing as he eyed every shelf. You could see him, nor did you want to, hoping to God he chose to head left instead of right. Alas you were sorely mistaken as his heavy steps started to echo right, causing you to curse under your breath. SNIKT, you heard the metallic sound echoing through the room, but also your mind, causing you to whimper. Logan had unsheathed his claws, holding them out. The idea of him using the claws on you, pinning you down with them, holding them against your neck made your body run hot, your arousal heightening as the thoughts ran rampant through your mind. “I will catch you.” It was not a threat but a fact, Logan was not kidding anymore. The animal inside of him was taking over, leaving the Logan you knew behind. This was all caused because you pushed him to the point of no return, and you fucking loved it. The reverberation of his claws against the wooden shelves made you shudder, knowing how close he was getting now.

Biting down hard on your lip, you placed your hand over your mouth, trying to regain control of your breathing. Being right across from the last window on the right didn’t do you any good, especially with the beam of light falling through. If you moved even a millimeter, you were going to be made. It’s then when you opened your eyes to pan to your left that you saw his shadow encroaching on you, his stance wide as his claws were pointed at the ground. Each gruff huff he let out made your eyes roll back, finding it harder and harder to keep yourself hidden. You couldn’t look away from him either, you needed to watch him; How the sweat beaded at his hairline, how his little tufts of hair were wild from pulling at them, how his snarl got more animalistic the longer he tried to look for you. “Where did you go?” You couldn’t describe how Logan sounded in that moment; Primal and animalistic do not even begin to crest.

You focused too much on his tone, completely forgetting your watchful eye on him. When you glanced back after trying to calm yourself, you noticed the 6’2 Wolverine was no longer walking his way towards the aisles but vanished into thin air. Not knowing where he was, made your heart rate skyrocket – panic ensuing all over your body. Goosebumps arose across your skin as you pondered where he could be, afraid to move in case he was lurking close to you. Maybe he went off to the left instead, leaving you by yourself to escape. It would make sense, considering how you heard the creaking of the floorboards on the opposite side now. Letting out a concealed breath, you slowly moved away from the end cap of the shelf, leaving your back exposed. You knew it was a mistake when the hot, stifling air of the closed space became ice cold, a shiver falling down your spine. The sun shifted away in that moment, blanketing the area in darkness, complete with only a sliver of light, not even to cast shadows. The second your back was exposed; All hell broke loose.

Two strong hands grabbed hold of your hips, pulling you back into a solid form. The yelp you let out was loud enough to echo, but not loud enough to raise suspicion. The strain on your powers had gotten to be too much, slowly slipping back into being visible. You huffed out as your back connected with his chest, your hands finding purchase on his muscular forearms. “There you are little mouse.” He snickered in your ear, pressing his nose to the pulse point of your neck. Logan deeply inhaled at the vein, his teeth barring to nip at your exposed shoulder. It felt good to have his mouth on you, to have him seemingly obsessed with your scent. After all, it is what gave you away. Whimpering out, you dug your nails into Logan’s arm, feeling the reverberation of his snarl through your body. You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move – you were a lost cause. “What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?”

Logan was mocking you at this point, purposely being a little shit to mimic how you have been with him. When it came to his cigars, he wasn’t fucking around. But when he knew it was you who took them, well he wasn’t going to let you live this down. Logan moved from behind you, but kept his hands grasping your flesh. Moving to the side, he pressed your back against the end cap again, bringing you back to your original position. His right hand remained on your hip as his left grasped your neck, pressing against your pulse point, feeling the thrum of blood on your veins. The edges of your vision began to go fuzzy due to the restricted blood flow, but you didn’t care. Logan was putting you right in your place, and you were obeying so well for him. “I believe you have something of mine,” he murmured; His prominent nose pressing harshly against your cheek. The warmth of his breath on your skin, mixed with the cold drag of his claws against your skin made you shiver, loving how it felt too much. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You laughed out, clearly laced with thrill.

Logan didn’t take too kindly to you playing dumb, the tick in his jaw spoke measures. His grip on your neck was heavier than before, using his full weight to restrict your blood flow quicker, your vision developing black dots. “Oh, you don’t?” The challenged in his voice said all you needed to know – he was fucking desperate. There was no hiding it now, he needed you – not his cigars, but you. Gulping down against his large hand, you felt the press of his claws against the back of your neck, pushing through the wood of the bookshelf to lock you in place. He would never intentionally draw blood, or hurt you, but he knew this was your deepest fantasy, all thanks to Jean relaying it. His lips were inches from your ear as he chuckled darkly, groaning out against the flesh. “Do I need to jog your memory?” You shouldn’t have been as turned on by that as you were. Your knees buckled slightly as you almost fell, your eyes rolling back into your head.

Logan took advantage of your eyes being closed to pull his hand away from your hip. The loss of touch made you whine, but quickly you were quieted by his roughened tugs. Grabbing at the edge of your tank top, Logan ran his claws through the fabric to create slits, ripping them open just as easily. Looking down at your jeans, he could see the bulge in your pocket – where you had hidden a few of his cigars. A huff of relief fell from his parted lips as she cut your pocket open, letting them fall right into his hand. He mimicked your hiding and shoved them into his own pocket, moving on to the next. The cool breeze against your exposed skin made you quickly heat up; Logan using his claws on you made you lose your fucking mind. He repeated his efforts with your other side, making matching holes in his jeans and shirt, not caring anymore.

It was as the last few cigars rolled out of your pocket that Logan pulled back, his heavy body heat no longer suffocating you. The contact was missed, causing you to pout slightly. “Boo hoo hoo,” Logan mocked as he watched you, walking backwards to push his back against the window. The sill right below it was begging him to sit, so he took advantage of it. Reaching into his left pocket, Logan pulled out his Zippo lighter – flicking it against his pants to ignite the flame. It was intoxicating watching him, how effortlessly fluid his motions were. Biting your cheek, you watched him intently, his eyes never leaving yours. He pulled out the precut cigar from his pocket and pushed it between his lips, favoring his left side for it to rest between his teeth. Lighting the end until the cherry burned bright, he took a few quick puffs, blowing the smoke out in a cloud around him.

Your eyes could not pull away from him even if you tried, it was nearly impossible. The way he moved was like silk through the wind, so effortless and elegant; He knew he was hot like this. Taking another quick drag, Logan let the smoke fall from his lips as he tucked the cigar back in between his teeth, putting away his lighter. Reaching forward with his claws still extended, he hooked two of the blades into the belt loop of your jeans, tugging you forward. There was about a person’s space between the bookshelf and the window, making it easy for him to grab at you. Of course, your body obeyed his silent command, tripping slightly as you tried to regain your footing. Placing both of your hands on his thick, warm thighs, you licked your lips. The smoke being released from both the cigar and his mouth captured your attention, making it difficult to focus on what he was saying. The way his motions flowed were so smooth, it was impossible to say anything else to him.

Taking a rather large drag of his cigar, he puffed his cheeks out a bit to hold it all in. It took you by surprise, why he was holding it all in his mouth. Retracting his claws on his right hand, Logan grabbed at your jaw like a man possessed, pushing his meaty fingertips into your flesh. The slight ache of his possessiveness made your mouth part, a pained look on your face that you were lost in. Logan got close to you, his lips only mere inches away from your mouth as you whimpered. With your lips parted, Logan mimicked your motions as he breathed out. The soft, heady tendrils of smoke wafted from his mouth into yours, causing you to let them stir. Tobacco mixed with the sweetness of the wrap caused your eyes to dilate, boring into Logan with pure unadulterated lust. There was no mistaking it as he shotgunned his cigar with you, his smirk prevalent. “That’s my good girl.” He crooned, taking in your big eyes, the heat of your skin – basking in your glory.

You blew the smoke right back at Logan while he chuckled, licking his lips to wet them as he took another puff. There was something so intoxicating about how you reacted, it was like watching a painting come to life. From the first day he met you, he knew you were something else – he had to challenge you. Almost four years later and you’re still trying to get with him, he admired it. Finally, the silent love he had for you could be shown, but he wasn’t going to make it easy for you. You made him work to catch you, now you had to work to get what you wanted. “Get on your knees.” The command fell off of Logan’s lips so naturally you almost didn’t catch it at first. Your eyes glossy as you watched him, your brain not keeping up. Narrowing his eyes at you, he cocked his brow as he laid the cigar to the side, watching to see your reaction. “I’m sorry?” You questioned without realizing, your face slack with lust.

Reaching forward towards you, Logan grabbed your neck once more, this time yanking you so close to his face that you felt his breath waft over your features. “Get. On. Your. Fucking. Knees.” There was no hesitation in Logan’s voice as he stated his command, letting his face go rigid to show he was getting pissed off. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” You wanted to, every fiber of your being wanted to disobey him, make him angry so he was rough with you – at the same time you didn’t want to make him mad, not yet anyway. Nodding to him against his hand, you slipped down to your knees easily with a moan, pressing out your wet bottom lip as you gazed up at him.

Logan rolled his eyes as he grabbed the cigar again, pressing it against your lips. It’s when you take a drag of it that he pulls out, putting it in his own mouth once more. With his hand now free from holding his cigar, he quickly flicked open his belt buckle, undoing the top button on his jeans as you took the silent command to pull his zipper down. His erection was stiff against his jeans and left nothing to the imagination. He was big, he was hot, and he was fucking turned on. Watching you with a lustful glow in his eyes, Logan groaned as he watched you, never letting you have the last word: “You may have started the game princess, but I am going to finish it.”

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Tagging: @livelaughl0ve3 @mehjustalasshere @allen-444 @begaytotallygay @tezooks @hughj1d @mami-veracruz @salemslostwitch @karencaribou @princesstarble @dirtylittlefairytales @hbwrelic @mosscrissfemmefatale @pinkanonwriting @craziersarah98 @actuallybridgetjones @silversprings-mp3 @lokidovahkiin

[cressidagrey]

Holy Ground - Chapter 3

Summary:

Nobody knew that Azriel found his mate. Until she nearly died. This is the aftermath.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), Inner Circle Bashing (kinda), Referenced/Implied Sexual Assault, Referenced/Implied Domestic Violence, Discussion of Religion(?), Chronic Injury/Pain/Illness, Minor Character Death (It's probably nobody you love), Magical Work Accidents, Explosions, Injuries

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

The library was supposed to be a safe space. The priestesses were supposed to be sheltered there.

A place far away from the terrors of the world. A place where they could study and learn far from the grasp of those who would harm them.

But clearly today that peace had been destroyed, Rhys reflected weakly. 

Merrill was dead. 

Neither Cassian or Rhys had let Gwyn see the…carnage of that, Nesta and Emerie bracketing her away from…her fellow priestesses’ corpse…and Irena…

Rhys had to keep repeating the words to himself, over and over again. Like a litany, a prayer, desperately trying to make them stick. 

Irena was alive. Irena would be fine.

 She would be alright, even though she looked so, so pale, deathly pale in Azriel's arms.

Irena.

Irena, who Azriel had saved around two centuries ago…

Not from the horrors of the war but from her husband.

The daughter of a merchant, married off young, to one of the richest men in the midlands…she had been raised to run an estate…had excelled at it in fact. And her husband had excelled in killing young girls.

The things he had put her through... The things he had done... 

Azriel, who had found her and brought her to Velaris had been shocked that she'd stayed in one piece to be honest. Rhys had been shocked too.

And once she had been in the library…she had excelled once more.

Rhys had gotten long used to see her handwriting, not long suffering Clotho’s, fill out the sheets with expenditures and acquisitions.

She had cut the fat, made sure that the House of Wind was self sufficient, thanks to research requests being able to be submitted, thanks to patents and the gardens…

Irena had been a godssend. Literally. 

Rhys wasn't quite sure how they had survived before her.

But the last fucking thing he had expected was that…her and Azriel were…mates.

Rhysand had not seen that coming in a million years

But there was no question about it.

If Irena's thoughts, an utter mess of shock and pain and grief and agony...with the only thing that ran through it the whole time was her thread to Azriel wouldn't have been a dead giveaway...then it would have been Azriel's behaviour.

Azriel who had gone on his knees next to the priestess, his hands slick with her blood and had simply clung to her. He had begged her, his voice broken.

Rhys would never forget the sound of his brother's voice, the pure desperation bleeding from every single letter. Please. We haven't had enough time. I am going to be so furious with you if you die. We may have our first fight. Don't you dare. Open your eyes. Look at me, love. You can't go. Fight.

That look on Azriel's face as he had held her close, refusing to let go as he tried to will her back from death's clutches. The words he had kept murmuring like a prayer. A desperate mantra to the Mother, the Cauldron, anyone who would listen.

Azriel was never the most expressive of them. He rarely even showed a flicker of emotion for most things. To see him lose so much control, to beg. To see tears in his eyes. None of them had ever seen him like that before, had ever even considered the possibility of him acting like that.

He was always composed. Always calm, collected, in control. To see him on his knees next to Irena, begging her not to leave as he pressed kisses to her forehead and kept telling her to stay with him…

For a moment, it had felt like he had forgotten the others even existed. That nothing had mattered except her pulse, the slight rise and fall of her chest. The only thing that had mattered to him in that moment was that she was still with him, still alive.

She was important to him. There was no question about it. 

Sometime during the last few years, that Priestess had become the Shadowsinger’s whole focus. 

Sometime in the past, Irena had become Azriel's whole world.

And Rhys hadn't known. Had known nothing about this.

He could feel the guilt clawing up inside him. 

Rhys had had no fucking clue this was happening, right underneath his nose. 

That he had never noticed that Azriel's eyes lingered on Irena…had never noticed that Azriel sought her company…hadn’t known that Azriel had spent time with her… 

Rhys hadn't known. Hadn't...hadn't even thought about it.

Azriel had pulled back from them after that catastrophic solstice and Rhys had let him. Had thought that Azriel needed to lick his wounds...that maybe then he would see it Rhysand's way...but none of this happened.

Azriel had kept his anger tightly leashed, even though Rhys had gotten a taste of it every time he badgered him. But Azriel hadn’t exploded. 

Instead, he had been vicious in throwing Rhysan’ own words back into his face. 

There didn’t pass one day where Rhys didn’t regret that one sentence, because Azriel was clearly… furious about it. 

Azriel had grown distant...cold...unfeeling. And Rhys had badgered him and got on his nerves and figured that if Azriel would just get it out of his system… but he didn't. Didn't get angry. Didn't fight. Didn't scream...Rhys would have preferred it if he did.

What wouldn't he give to have that old Azriel back, the one who actually got mad? Who didn't just accept everything with a nod and a word of acknowledgment. Who talked to Rhysand, who told him when he'd done something wrong. Who fought with him if he went too far, who made his opinion known. Who told him to his face when he was being an arrogant prick, who didn't just accept his commands with a quiet nod.

But now it made sense. Azriel hadn't fucking cared what Rhys did, what any of the did, because his priorities had been rearranged completely. As long as he could get home to his priestess...he hadn't cared.

He did all the missions Rhys had for him and then went home to the House of Wind and found one quiet corner or another to romance his mate, out of the view from everybody else. 

And that was the worst part. That Rhys had been such a prick to Azriel, so wrapped up in his own worries, his own fears, that he hadn't even noticed that something had shifted so fundamentally in his brother. Had pushed him so far away.

Rhys had thought that they were simply…in a rought spot. That in a few years, Azriel would be over Elain and it would be done. But now Rhys realised that…that it wasn’t about Elain. Not really.  

Rhys had never realized how deep this was, how close to the breaking point he'd taken his brother.

Deep enough that the fact that Azriel had found his mate...that was something that Azriel didn't share with any of them. Something that happy... Azriel had just kept silent.

Azriel hadn’t trusted them with the most treasured and precious thing in his life. 

And that hurt. Hurt more than he could put into words. 

That Azriel had found the one person who he was destined for, the only one who was perfect for him in the entire world. The one person who would love and cherish him, who would complete him, who would accept him as he was, who would understand him...and he hadn't told Rhys. Hadn't told any of them.

Azriel hadn't told anyone that he had found his mate. 

Had kept that to himself for who knew how long. Just how long had it been? When had he figured out they were mated? 

“Bring her to her room,” Madja said at the moment. And Rhys watched as seemingly some colour went back into Irena's cheeks, her eyes closed, her breathing still laboured…her mind filled with Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. and Safe, Safe, Safe. 

“My room,” Azriel corrected, his voice fierce. The mating instincts must have gone completely haywire at that very moment, not soothed at all, even when he had pressed a kiss against her forehead moments before.

.“Your room?” Gwyn asked sharply, staring at Azriel, then at still, quiet Irena. She seemed to be utterly shell-shocked, not that Rhys could fault her. 

"Gwyn," Rhys said carefully. It was best if none of them...interfered right now. This was between Azriel and his mate.

"Az, how long have the two of you..." Cassian asked, clearly having come to the same conclusion, but Rhys interrupted him. *Leave him be,* he warned their brother.

*Leave him be?! I had no idea that he and Irena are...whatever the fuck they are!*

“Two years. She’s my mate,” Azriel answered, not even looking at any of them, completely concentrated on said mate. 

"Mate," Irena agreed weakly. "Mine."

"Yours," Azriel agreed, his voice hoarse, as he picked her up carefully like his mate was made out of spun glass. "Let's tuck you into bed, Love," he told her softly. 

And off his spymaster went carrying the priestess that was his mate.

Rhys could just stare after them. 

"Did you know?" Cassian demanded sharply.

"I had absolutely no fucking clue," Rhys admitted weakly.

He felt the guilt swirling inside him, deep and bitter and vicious. He should have known. He should have realized and supported Azriel.

But it had been Rhys who had pushed him so far away that he hadn't told him. That he didn't even think that he could tell Rhys that he had found his mate.

And it hurt. Gods, it hurt. To know that Azriel had kept something that he should have been so happy about to himself just so he wouldn't have to deal with Rhys's bullshit.

Cassian started barking orders...About a stretcher and about Merrill's body...It would be taken away and prepared for the last rites. 

It wasn't often that one of the priestesses died. It wasn't...They were safe here. They were supposed to be safe here...but whatever happened in this room…

“What even happened?” Rhys asked, as he turned around to surview the carnage. 

It was bad. Really bad. 

“Irena went to talk to Merill, because Merrill got…angry with one of the newer acolytes…” Gwyn said, her voice shaky. “Merrill was in a bad mood because Irena forbid her newest research project.”

Her newest research project? It was well known that Merrill was brilliant. So for Irena to…

"Why did she forbid it?" Rhys asked curiously.

"It involved some form of spell crafting. Irena wanted Merrill to have supervision from a spellcrafter, because it was a language that none of us actually understood and we didn’t eve know about what kind of spell it was…Merill didn't think that was needed," Gwyn said weakly, wiping away tears. "And now look where that got us. God, how could Merrill be this stupid?"

"It wasn't stupidity, it was probably arrogance," Cassian said with a sigh. "It's dumb luck that only...that only Irena got hurt.

Rhys couldn't but agree with Cassian's assessment. It was a miracle that Irena was alive. That she'd survived when Merrill’s body was…near unrecognisable….clearly it had been closer to whatever had blown up in their faces

Merrill had probably thought she knew what she was doing, but she didn't have the skill or training to work on advanced spell work. I

rena wasn’t the type of person who would deny research on a whim either. If she believed that Merrill needed supervision then Merrill had needed supervision.

Irena was clever. And cautious. 

Azriel's mate was a damn good judge of character after all.

Gods, Azriel's mate. What a thought…

The spymaster and the priestess. Rhys’ near silent brother and…and gentle, caring Irena, the beating heart of the library. 

Rhys would need to wrap his mind around that in private. 

“I’ll seal…this room,” Rhys said quietly. So nobody could enter. And then he would probably turn Amren loose in it, to turn around every fucking stone, so that they figured out what that spell had been that had reacted like it. The last thing they needed was for the spell to have any sort of consequences that involved Irena. 

"Clotho," he greeted the priestess as she arrived, inclining his head. 

What happened? she demanded, holding out her usual piece of paper. 

Rhys felt his stomach churn at that question.  

How the hell were they supposed to tell Clotho that not only one of the priestesses had tragically died…but one of the others was currently holed up in an Illyrian warrior's room, recovering from injuries that should have killed her, and that said Illyrian warrior was said priestess's mate, so was probably not going to leave her alone anytime soon?

And that was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to the absolute clusterfuck this whole situation was. There was nothing to do except to simply tell Clotho the truth and hope that she didn't have a breakdown.

"There was an...accident. Merrill is dead," he told her bluntly.

For a moment Clotho was just frozen in place. But he could tell that his words had hit her hard. That she was shocked, horrified, stunned beyond belief. HOW?!

And Rhys took a deep breath, trying to find a way to explain what had happened. 

To explain how one of her charges had been killed in a room where she was supposed to be safe…How her own experimentation, her own research had killed her…

And how no one had even noticed that a priestess had been mated. 

No...how the shadowsinger had mated to a Priestess and hadn't even thought to tell them because Rhys had acted like such as bastard to his brotherthat Azriel had actually thought it preferable to keep his mating bond a secret.

"Merill didn't listen when Irena turned down her research proposal," Gwyn said suddenly with a shaky voice. "Irena went to talk to her this afternoon, because Merill made Meera cry...It looks like the spell that she was taking apart went...haywire. Merill was killed in the backlash...Irena was hurt.”

Rhys just nodded. It was a reasonable explanation, even if it didn't cover everything that had gone on. At this point in time, he was almost more concerned about Clotho than anything else. The poor female looked ready to collapse.

I told Merill to keep away from that spellbook. We still don’t know what it even contained, Clotho agreed, even her handwriting looking shaky. 

He could tell that she was in shock and grief. Could imagine how she must be feeling. Clotho protected the Priestesses with all she had. They were her flock. To lose one of her charges...There was no way that Clotho would not blame herself.

She was going to blame herself for something that wasn't her fault at all. And the thought made Rhys feel sick to his stomach.

Clotho had enough weight on her shoulders already, the last thing she needed was guilt over something that was not even her fault.

IRENA?! Clotho demanded sharply.

"Alive, if just barely," Rhys informed her, trying to push down his own guilt at the thought. "Madja is with her."

In the dormitory?

"No, in Azriel's room," Cassian said bluntly. "Apparently they have been mates for... two years.”

Clotho's head snapped around, facing Cassian, her eyes wide. 

Nobody had seen that coming, not even one of Irena’s closest friends. 

It seemed like both of them had kept it quiet. Azriel must have so badly wanted to protect his mate from…from him, that…

The thought made Rhys feel sick. Azriel would rather keep his mate a secret than reveal to Rhys that he had found her. 

Than tell him that he had found his perfect match, that there was a female in this world that loved him above all others, who understood him, who supported him.

And it was all Rhys' own fault. 

He didn't have any other thought. There was no other explanation. If a friend didn't trust him enough to confide in him that he had found his mate, it was because he had done something wrong. So wrong that Azriel hadn't felt like he could tell him.

She wanted to be with him? Clotho demanded.

"From the look of it, she was barely conscious, but still claimed him as hers. And Azriel certainly seemed to think that she would want to be with him," Rhys told Clotho. 

And why wouldn't she? He was her mate. Her mate. 

"He won't do anything to her," Cassian said fiercely. "She's his mate."

Rhys agreed with that. Of all the males in existence, Azriel was by far the least likely to do anything that Irena would not like. Hell, he wouldn't do anything that might make her even feel mildly uncomfortable. And if she told him to back off, he would give her as much space as she needed.

"Mor, whatever Clotho needs," he told his cousin, who had brought Madja there, who just inclined her head, seemingly shaken. "I'll seal of this room...we'll need to...figure out what to do with it," he said softly. "Clotho, whatever form of memorial you would like to hold...take all the time you need and then let me know."

Clotho looked at him sharply before nodding weakly. She probably wouldn't need his help when it came to something like this. She knew how to handle something like this. How to give her fallen a last farewell.

"I want to check on Irena," Gwyn said, her hands shaking as she crossed her arms.

Rhys nodded. That was fair. Of course Gwyn wanted to check on her friend. And at this point all anyone could really do was wait anyway. "Let me seal the room and then we can go," he said softly. "But I need to warn you, Azriel will be...overprotective," he told her. "Chances are, he won't let you get close to her at all."

"I don't have any doubt about that," Gwyn said dryly. "But she's my friend. I should at least be allowed to check on her."

***

He cleaned the blood of her skin...The shadows procured one of Irena's nightgowns. She didn't protest when he held her up and Madja pulled the soiled, ruined dress from her body...didn't even flinch away from his touch on her naked skin.

They had never gone further than some heated...kisses...further than his hands slipping under her nightgown and pressing against her soft skin. He had never wanted to push. Azriel had been willing to give her all the time in the world. 

It had taken months until she had been ready for a hug…longer for a kiss. And he had waited. Gladly. He had gladly waited, because it was worth the wait. She was worth the wait. 

Her marriage wasn't something that she was just going to get over, and Azriel was never ever going to push her for more than she willingly offered him. 

He had never wanted to undress her under these circumstances. So he closed his eyes, and pressed a kiss to her head, not looking at all. 

Irena didn't make a sound, didn't even really respond...just stared into the distance. He wasn't even sure she really noticed what was happening to her. Wasn't sure she even noticed Madja cleaning the wounds…cleaning thin, silver lines, scars of her past, mostly hidden by her clothing, but still visible. 

This was also when they saw the rest of the wounds...and the fact that her bad leg was broken.

Madja bandaged it carefully, stuffing pillows underneath it to keep it elevated, wrapped the rest of her bruises and scrapes with a tincture.

Still, once she was clean, no more debris in her hair, her skin as clean as he could get it...and the new nightgown was fitted over her skin, he tugged her underneath the thick goose feather stuffed duvet and then the furs.

There was no resistance on Irena’s part. She just let him do as he pleased, let herself be maneuvered and tucked in with the patience of a parent settling a little girl into bed. She didn't say anything. Didn't protest at all, even when he curled his own large body around her smaller frame, even when his wings came around her, shielding her from the outside world.

But she didn't move to snuggle up to him either. Didn't reach for him, didn't try to press her body into his. Just...allowed him to pull her close and hold her as tightly as he wanted. Her body was limp and unmoving, the only emotion on her face a sort of...emptiness. A blank expression that...it was terrifying.

He wrapped his arms around her with a sigh, running a gentle hand through her hair with a sigh. He knew that she was in shock. That she had just survived something terrible, something traumatic. So it wasn't surprising that she wasn't really responsive at the moment, that her skin felt like ice to him and that she was shaking slightly, trembling…

But the instinct to comfort her, to protect her from everything that might hurt her was roaring in his chest. He couldn't pull away from her, even though he knew he should. Even though he knew he should just be thankful that he had her, that she was here, in his hands, breathing.

She felt so thin in his hands. So fragile. Like she might break if he didn't hold her close. And that feeling, the knowledge of how vulnerable his mate was, it was almost too much for him to bear.

“I have pain potions and a sleeping draught,” Madja said quietly.

Azriel felt his jaw clench at the mention of a sleeping draught. He wanted Irena to rest, needed her to sleep away some of the horrors, but there was also some instinct in him that revolted at the idea of making her vulnerable like that. That revolted at the thought of knocking his mate out when she couldn't protect herself.

“Is that alright, love?” He asked her softly.

She didn't answer. Didn't even stir. The only sign that she had heard his question at all was the way her fingers clenched more tightly in his shirt. The only outward sign that she even understood that he was there at all. That she could even hear him. "Love?" He asked again, his voice a gentle murmur. "Do you want the sleeping draught, love?"

“Sleep?” She repeated weakly. 

“Sleep.” He promised her.

She simply opened her mouth in response, letting him pour it down her throat and swallowed.

He ran gentle fingers through her hair as the potion began to take effect. As her eyelids drooped and her limbs went loose and he could almost watch the tension leaving her body. He couldn't help but press a soft, tender kiss to the crown of her head.

Azriel couldn't put into words how good it felt to have her in his arms like this. To have her safe and protected and healing.

Madja left with the promise to be back soon…and as soon as she left there was a knock at the door. He didn’t want to deal with his brothers. 

*We could bar the door, master,* the shadows offered.

Azriel considered that for a long moment. It was tempting. Really, really tempting to just let the shadows seal the door and tell everyone to fuck off. That they could deal with the rest of the world later and he could just focus on Irena for now.

He knew that he couldn't though. Knew that he couldn't keep the world away from Irena. For all that he would like to protect her from all the harm in this world and lock her away into the safety of his arms, he knew that he couldn't do that. And that Rhys would throw a fit if he didn't let them in immediately.

He sighed softly, his arms tightening around his mate. He didn't want to deal with his brothers right now. Didn't want to deal with Rhys lecturing him about his decisions. Didn't want the pity and understanding in Cassian's eyes, his careful kindness. He didn't want to have to hold up the strong facade when his brother pushed and pushed and pushed.

“Come in,” he said flatly.

Azriel sighed softly as the door was opened and his brothers entered, both looking at him with concern. There was something else in Rhys' eyes, something that he wasn't sure how to name. The High Lord had an indecipherable look on his face as he moved to come stand next to the bed.

But it was Gwyn that shouldered both Rhys and Cassian out of the way, that immediately went to Irena’s bedside.

“She’s asleep,” he warned her softly. “Madja gave her a sleeping draught.”

The Valkyrie moved in silence, but Azriel could tell that she desperately wanted to reach out and touch her friend. Could tell that there was some instinct in her to touch Irena, to comfort her, that she was fighting against. He almost felt bad for her, knowing how hard it must have been to hold back that urge to offer comfort, knowing how desperately she had to want to soothe her friend's pain.

He knew that the two of them were close. That Irena was well liked by practically every priestess…That Roslin was her very best friend, but that she also got along with seemingly everybody else, including Gwyn. 

 And he wanted to let her get close to his mate. He really did. But the need to keep his mate safe was too strong. Was something that he couldn't fight against. So he just pulled Irena more firmly into his chest.

His only saving grace was that Gwyn seemed to understand. Didn't even try to argue with him or demand to get close to his mate. She just stayed at a respectable distance and didn't protest when he pulled Irena closer to his chest.

He could tell that she recognized his possessive nature for what it was. Just a desperate instinct to hold and protect his mate from further harm. And she didn't argue with him. 

“You are the one who gets her the tea and the cookies, aren’t you?” She asked him suddenly. “I was wondering where she got them from. They were always good but the tea has definitely gotten better the last two years.” 

*See, Master?!* the shadows cooed, seemingly heaving and then coming to blanket Irena in their very presence too. *We are getting her the best tea!*

They seemed very pleased with themselves. 

Azriel knew that when he wasn’t in Velaris, some of the shadows even kept Irena company through the night, cuddling themselves beneath her blankets with her. He also knew that Irena loved it.

Knew better than anyone even his shadows that those moments of comfort, those little gestures, mattered more to his mate than any large gifts ever could. Irena had never cared about large gestures, about pricy gifts, didn’t care about gifts or public displays of  affection. 

But those little things…she loved those little things. Loved her shadows coming to spend time with her…loved it when he gave her a back rub to ease the pain in her back, or when the shadows brought her the tea that she liked or her favourite cookies.

And Azriel…he loved giving her that.  He was happy to provide each and every one of them. He would do anything for her at this point. Would bring her anything that she asked for with enthusiasm. Because he loved it when her face lit up or when she smiled when he brought her something she didn't expect to get. That was something that he would never get tired of.

Azriel would never get tired of watching her face light up with happiness at the smallest of gifts that he gave her. Would never tire of feeling those little gestures bring her even a small moment of happiness. It brought him somuch joy to see her delighted by something so small. Made something inside of him fill with warmth.

“I’ll let her sleep,” Gwyn said softly. “Tell her when she’s awake that she owes us all the gossip. None of us had a clue that the two of you were seeing each other.”

Azriel inclined his head in response, a soft grin pulling at his lips despite everything. "I'll be sure to tell her." Not that he thought that there was anything to gossip about.

Gwyn left with another smile. Which left him with his brothers. 

“Az.” Cassian said with a weary sigh. ”What the fuck.”

Azriel frowned sharply, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he looked at his brother. His arms tightened around Irena unconsciously, the protective instinct coming into play.

He knew Cassian, knew all too well that his brother liked to be a pain in his ass, liked to push him further than he wanted to be pushed. "I'm not in the mood for your bullshit, Cassian," he warned his brother in a low growl. "Say whatever it is that you feel the need to say, and then get out."

He knew that he probably looked completely insane. Knew that he looked like a madman clutching onto Irena with an iron grip and growling at anyone who dared get too close. But he couldn't help it. Couldn't help the instincts that seemed to be pulling at every muscle in his body, couldn't stop the tension that was coiling tight as a spring.

“How long has… this been going on?“ Rhys asked delicately. 

“Two years at next Starfall,“ Azriel answered flatly.

Cassian whistled softly at that. "Two years?!" He asked incredulously. "And you didn't think to tell us?"

Azriel's jaw clenched automatically at the words. 

He had thought to tell them. Numerous times. 

He had just never wanted to. 

First he had wanted to let things settle and solidify before announcing it to his family and letting them come swarming in to analyse their relationship…Later…later he just hadn’t wanted to. 

They were completely happy when nobody knew. Why change it? 

Azriel knew that he probably should have anticipated this reaction. Probably should have expected his brothers to be confused and annoyed, probably should have anticipated them wanting to know more. But he just hadn't wanted to deal with the questions and inquiries and curiosity and judgement. 

So he had kept his relationship with Irena a secret.

“It was none of your business,” he said simply.

Cassian stared at him, dark eyes pained.  “We are your brothers,” he said quietly.  

“Quite frankly, I just didn’t want to deal with whatever opinion you cook up about us,” Azriel said flatly.  His brothers were way too nosy and curious for their own good. Always had been. “We are happy. I didn’t want you to ruin that.”

They would have never respected his privacy or any boundary he had tried to set up. 

He knew that Cassianwas probably annoyed that he hadn’t told him about his relationship with Irena. Knew that he was probably feeling left out and...excluded. That he was hurt that Azriel had kept this from him. But he just couldn’t find it within himself to feel any sympathy at the moment. Not when his patience was already wearing thin. Not when he could still feel the fear of almost losing Irena thrumming under his skin.

He couldn’t deal with this right now. Couldn’t handle whatever pity or lecturing his brother would give him. Just wanted to hold his mate and try to keep the fear of losing her at bay.

That fear was already too much, already consuming him and threatening to swallow him whole. The only thing that kept him sane, the only thing that kept him from falling apart was the knowledge that his mate, his Irena, was safe in his arms. And he needed to focus on that if he wanted to keep it together.

“Azriel.” Rhys’ choice was choked.

Azriel stiffened at the sound, his attention flicking to his brother automatically. There was something in Rhys’ voice, some emotion in his eyes that Azriel couldn’t quite discern right now.

He had heard his brother choked or emotional or desperate before, but this was something else. This was emotion in his brother that he had never seen before: raw, unfiltered, and painful.

The tone of Rhys’ voice, the almost anguished look in his eyes had Azriel holding his breath for a moment. Had his heartbeat picking up speed as he waited for his brother to speak.

The tension was heavy and thick as he waited, his muscles coiled tight as he waited for Rhys to speak. His whole body tense like a tightly wound spring.

“I am sorry,” Rhys whispered quietly.

Azriel stiffened slightly at that, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly. His muscles were still tense, still ready for a fight, but the raw apology in Rhys' words, the emotion in his voice...it surprised him.

It was unexpected. He had expected the anger and the hurt and the bitterness, not the raw emotion in his brother’s voice. Not the apology.

He almost couldn’t believe his ears, almost wanted to ask his brother to repeat himself. But he just stayed quiet instead, just tensed and listened and waited for his brother to continue speaking.

He couldn't even blink as he waited, as he hung on every slight movement or small change in expression on his brothers face. The tension was so thick, so heavy he could almost taste it. But he still didn't move an inch. Just waited, every muscle still as a statue as he watched his brother with an almost desperate intensity.

“I am sorry. I didn’t…I didn’t want to hurt you,” Rhys said quietly. “I…we would have been happy for you,” Rhys promised him fiercely. 

Azriel felt his throat go dry at the words. The apology, the admission of his brother's intent to protect him, it was so unexpected that he almost couldn’t comprehend it. He felt some of the tension drain from his body, some of the tightness in his muscles loosening slightly.

Azriel's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, his heart pounding so hard in his chest that he almost couldn't hear anything else over the sound. The raw emotion in his brother's voice, the sincerity in those simple words...it was overwhelming.

“You were hurt,” Rhys said softly. “I understand. But you could have come to us any time over the last two years and told us and we would have been a happy for you,” he promised him fiercely.

"Would you have really?" Azriel asked softly. "Would you really have been happy for us and not made a problem out of nothing?"

He wanted to believe his brother, truly he did. But there was still a small part of him, the small part that had been hurt and mistreated and rejected so many times before, that was waiting for the other shoe to drop. The part of him that was looking for a catch, looking for the sign that this was just another manipulation.

He didn't want to feel this way, didn't want to look for the betrayal and rejection that had been written into his very soul. But he couldn't help it. Couldn't help the small part of him that was constantly looking for the next blow, bracing for rejection and hurt.

“We would have,” Cassian said fiercely. “You found your mate, Az.”

Azriel nodded slowly.

“How did you even hide it?” Cassian demanded, crossing his arms.

“I do know how to use a sound shield,” Azriel gave back flatly. 

Cassian let out a low chuckle at that, shaking his head as he grinned. "Well, you've always been more adept at keeping secrets than I am," he teased, a sly grin pulling at his lips. “ Since when do you sleep surrounded by furs by the way?” Cassian muttered.

“Irena gets cold,” he said simply.

“Wait, she spend the nights here with you?” Cassian suddenly realised.

"None of your business," Azriel replied flatly, not even trying to hide his annoyance with the nosy question. "Just focus on keeping your own mate happy, brother."

“How do you even sneak her up here?!”

"None of your business," Azriel repeated flatly. "My relationship with my mate is my own business, not yours."

He knew that he was being stubborn, that he was probably being unreasonable right now. But he couldn't help it. His emotions were too raw, too overwhelming for him to handle the intrusion into his personal life. He just wanted to focus on Irena and making sure she was okay, not on his brother's questions and prodding into the details of his relationship.

It was none of their business how he and Irena spent their time together, how they snuck around the house without being caught. That was something private, something sacred between them. And he wasn't going to share it with anyone, not even his own brothers.

He just wanted to protect that intimacy between him and his mate, wanted to keep it safely guarded from prying eyes that might not understand. He knew that his brothers cared about him, but he also knew that they could be too nosy for their own good sometimes. 

“…is she aware what these furs mean?” Cassian asked him pointedly. 

Was she aware that Azriel was laying claim to her with every single one of those furs that he hunted for her? Aware that he was following Illyrian tradition, regardless of how much…of how fucked up it was in many senses? 

“Yes,” he said simply. Kinda. A little bit. 

"So it's...serious?" Cassian asked him.

"She's my mate," he snapped back.

Cassian held up his hands in a pacifying gesture, a sheepish expression on his face.

Azriel let out a low groan, rubbing a hand over his face. "Just…leave it alone," he said tiredly. "Please. I'm not in the mood for any more questions right now."

He just wanted to be alone with Irena, wanted to hold her close and let the warmth of her body soothe his frayed nerves. He didn't want to deal with his brothers and their incessant questioning. Didn't want to talk about his relationship with Irena or how serious it was. He just wanted to be with her and that was it.

. His emotions were just too raw, too close to the surface for him to hold back. He just wanted a moment of peace, of quiet, with his mate.

He just wanted to hold her close and breathe in the scent of her skin, wanted to feel her warmth against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her protectively. He just wanted to know that she was safe, that she was still here with him. Was that really too much to ask?

He let out a long breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. He didn't want to be angry, didn't want to be frustrated. But he couldn't help it, couldn't help the surge of protective instincts that came over him every time he thought about how close he had come to losing his mate.

"If you need anything, let us know," Rhys said quietly.

Azriel stiffened at the words, his hands curling into fists at his sides automatically. He knew that Rhys was only trying to be supportive, that he was only trying to offer his help. But Azriel didn't want that. Didn't want his brother's help or sympathy. He just wanted to be left alone with his mate.

He wanted to protect her himself, to take care of her and keep her safe without his brothers' interference. He knew that Rhys only meant well, but that knowledge did nothing to calm his instincts. All he could think about was how close he had come to losing his mate, how close he had come to never seeing her again. And the thought terrified him.

It made his heart clench and his gut twist in fear and pain, his hands clenching tight as he struggled to keep his emotions under control. He didn't want to be vulnerable, didn't want to let his brothers see how much this had affected him. But he knew that it was pointless to try and hide it, that his brothers could probably see the rawness of his emotions written all over his face.

Azriel didn't try to argue with his brother, didn't try to explain himself. He just nodded.

[grimmsbride]

HABITS [ curly / reader ]

when it comes to picking coworkers, curly isn’t the most dependable. but.. the same could be said about keeping his feelings in check.

tags / ex - friends with benefits to lovers(?) | bittersweet | oral sex ( fem. receiving ) | slight praise kink | porn without plot | canon-divergence | chubby coded reader | curly isn’t 100% accurate & i am sorry this is my first time writing for him | curly is lowkey a liar but it’s okay | curly is big ( based off fanart mostly but also game ) | pet names | etc. if i forgot something please alert me.

notes / it has been like.. months since i last posted on tumblr. but i am slowly getting my spark back. this has also been cross posted on archive so if you see it there do not be alarmed. my writing is rusty, so please be nice with criticisms i’m quite sensitive 😭 but please do enjoy <3

“You look like shit.” You murmured softly, eyes carrying up the man’s form. You hadn’t expected anyone to be awake at this hour, let alone outside of their quarters. But whether to your dismay or pleasure someone had joined your little excursion, that someone being your beloved Captain; Curly.

Who looked to be teetering between the land of the dead and living. Bags lined those pretty eyes, a little red— surely from strain. When was the last time he got enough sleep? Was a thought that quickly passed your mind. Regardless you decided against asking, seeing as you were positive he wouldn’t have an answer for you anyway.

The Captain— Curly, allowed the corner of his mouth to lift; a humorous sigh escaping him. “Do I? Hadn’t noticed..”

“And here I thought Mr. Handsome prided himself on his vanity and dignity.”

The man shook his head at your usual flirty remarks, glancing about your own form. He took in the makeshift wrap of blankets you held around your pajama-clad body, noticing your feet covered in slippers. Not the proper attire obviously, but reprimanding you just didn’t seem worth it at the moment.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You shrugged, eyes shifting away to glance at a wall. “More like didn’t want to. With so much work to be done I rarely get any time to my thoughts.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

“For you.. maybe. I quite enjoy my mind.”

You smiled at the soft chuckle that escaped him, taking the moment to move just a bit closer. Again, your eyes landed upon those dreaded bags; hand rising slowly to his face. You watched as his eyes focused quite quickly, clearly puzzled by your sudden attention. Regardless he didn’t move, instead allowing your palm to press against his cheek— your thumb then moving to trace a bag.

“I’m serious though. It looks like you haven’t gotten sleep in days. Is something wrong?”

A flicker.. just a slight glint, drifted through his gaze. An emotion you couldn’t quite place but didn’t like regardless. You stood silently, watching as his hand rose before your own. Gentle fingers wrapped around your wrist, dragging your hand down his cheek — the abrasion of his facial hair tickling your palm — before pulling it away from him.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about [Name].”

Curly spoke, trying to keep his voice as level as possible. But you knew him. All, too, well. The man could hold water but there were times it spilled over just a little. Even if he didn’t explicitly say it, you knew his concern was something big— something that definitely affected you.

“Captain stuff, huh?” You said slowly, hand pulling away from his own in a dejected fashion. You couldn’t help but feel that way, eyes drifting away almost stubbornly.

“I thought our relationship was above such titles.”

“[Name]—“

You shook your head, Curly clamming up in response. Times like these were exactly why you regretted taking the man up on his offer. The promise of lines not being crossed was a discussion made in the same breath, yet here you were; questioning why exactly your past relations meant little to his decision to be secretive.

But it was just relations.. right? Just sex, a way to blow off steam. People that sleep together with no love shouldn’t act like this anyway.

Your eyes finally lifted from its stubborn gaze on the wall and back to the blonde before you, attempting to seem unfazed by the intense stare he was delivering you.

You forced a smile. “I’m just messing with you, Captain. Lighten up a bit.”

Curly continued to stare before coming close, a single footstep that pressed against the metal beneath the two of you. You nearly forgot how large the male was; broad and tall, staring down at you with those bag lined.. beautiful eyes. He reached over, fingers ghosting the back of your hand for a moment before grabbing it.

This caused you to shiver, eyes widening slowly as you watched the man bring it back to its previous place; right at his cheek. He used his own appendage to assure you cupped his face.

“I know you well enough to know when you’re joking or not, [Name].” Curly spoke lowly, eyes flickering between multiple spots on your face. “Right now.. I don’t want to worry you. It’s something I’ll figure out, but I will let you know soon.. I promise.”

That’s what you hated most about Curly. Even if you were clearly worried about him, he just loved to spin it so he could worry about you. All while easing such worries with the prettiest words. a master of the tongue. In more ways than one.

The flush of warmth that broached your cheeks was hard to ignore, eyes fluttering to the ground as his gaze grew intense. You allowed your thumb to trace his skin, teeth grazing the inside of your cheek. You promised yourself you wouldn’t let such thoughts or feelings resurface. Strictly professional was your own personal mantra.

Yet here you were, holding the cheek of the man you’ve been pining for— desperately wanting to touch more.

And that you did.

Against better judgement, head clear of thinking— you pressed forward, allowing your lips to brush against his own. You felt his breath stutter, body growing still at your bold action. This allowed your eyes to rise, batting thick eyelashes at the man as you spoke:

“Then.. until then, why don’t I take your mind off of it?”

You solidified your words in a single kiss, free hand clutching your blanket that threatened to slip. You felt the hand on your own slowly fall, clearly from shock. You couldn’t blame him. This was going against everything the two of you decided on. Everything the two of you have built since being onboard of this ship.

Even so, you didn’t mind destroying it— nor did your beloved captain.

Large hands slid under your blanket, finding the small of your back. With a pull you were flush against his form, the kiss deepening. Soft lips collided in a gentle battle, that slowly became fierce as time passed. Feelings buried deep began to bubble over, creating that haze that left you breathless. You could only moan as his tongue slid across your lips, effectively parting them. There, Curly took his time to claim your mouth as his once again, coating each and every inch with his saliva.

Your hand slid from his cheek to a large shoulder, gripping him so tightly as your knees began to buckle. Any longer and you were sure you would topple over right then and there.

Desperate for air Curly reluctantly pulled away, staring at that little string that connected the two of you. Heavy breaths escaped you, causing the want developing deep in his stomach to just burn even more. His eyes lifted away from you for a moment, an inner turmoil playing behind his eyes.

He was the Captain. He didn’t have time to play hooky and hook up with an old fling. Curly had duties.. responsibilities and expectations. And yet, as his flicked back to your form; so wanton and palpable— any thought of being the revered Captain of Tulpar escaped quite quickly.

Leaving behind Curly. A man who couldn’t quite help his desires. And a man who wasn’t the best at picking his coworkers.

“Come here.” Curly spoke softly, tugging you close before leaning; slipping his hands under your legs and lifting you easily.

The butterflies in your stomach tumbled and tumbled, threatening to spill from your mouth the moment he stepped towards his room. Effortlessly, as if your body meant completely nothing. Oh how you loved whenever he showed off his strength.

The door slid open routinely, revealing the simple quarters. A bed, desk, and dresser— surely filled with underwear and extra uniforms. The air was cool, perfect yet you couldn’t help but shiver the moment the man laid you across his sheets. A breath caught in your throat as he climbed over you, a hulking mass covering your line of vision only allowing you to see him.

Curly’s hands pressed against the mattress beneath you, leaning down to steal your lips once again. His light beard brushed against your skin, a feeling that caused you to chuckle, a feeling you missed.. feeling. Your hands rose, collecting his face into your palms as you deepened the kiss. Soft smacks of passion passed throughout the room as lips tangled in a secret conversation.

A hand rose from the mattress, treading down your plump form to find the edge of your shirt. His fingers, ever so gentle, slid under the fabric to spread across the span of your warm stomach. You sighed into his mouth, reeling into his touch as it grew higher and higher— soon skimming the bottom of your breasts.

“Curly..don’t tease.” You pulled back to speak, eyes focused on his features. You couldn’t help the pulse between your thighs the moment an impish smile crossed his features.

“I’m not, just.. remembering.”

With his soft murmur Curly was lifting your shirt off your body, placing it somewhere on the bed. Lowering, his breath fanned across your warm skin, gentle kisses pressing against your neck.

You hissed, eyes pinching closed, as your hands lowered to grasp his arms. Your lips parted as a large hand soon covered one of your breasts, gently squeezing whilst his thumb brushed against your hardening nipple.

As much as you wished to beg for more you knew better than to do so. Curly wasn’t a person that rushed when it came to these things. He enjoyed taking his time, building your pleasure bit by bit so when the main event happened you were completely lost in ecstasy. And as annoying as it was to admit, you couldn’t help but love his attention to detail.

The kisses lowered to the valley of your chest, tongue gliding across the hot skin, sliding to your untouched nipple. The man mumbled against your flesh, licking and sucking; delivering such sweet attention you couldn’t help the bated breaths beginning to form.

Should you be worried? The others weren’t close but weren’t far. And you highly doubt any of them would want to be waken by your less than professional “activities”.

Unfortunately, as Curly’s other hand traveled low concern for their sleep slowly drifted away.

You whimpered softly as his hand breached your pants and panties, fingers gliding across your slick slit for a moment before using two to spread you gently. Fuck.. was the simple sigh that escaped you as his middle finger easily found your swelling bud, rubbing it into slow circles.

“Fu..fuck Curly, I’m supposed to be taking your mind off work.”

Curly lifted from your breast, nipple red and slick from his constant attention. “Oh don’t worry, you are.” The man confirmed, allowing a finger to slide lower— pressing against your entrance. With ease it was slipping in, velvety walls swallowing the thick digit greedily.

“Now all I can think about is you, your body, your reactions.. how much I missed when you’d…—“ As another finger of his slid in, the Captain curled them ever so slightly, watching intently as your lips parted wider, a breathy moan escaping your throat.

“— did that.”

His lips curled, clearly delighted. Would it be cocky to admit he loved the way you didn’t change? How he still remembered every single button to press? It was if.. you were made perfectly, just for him.

That, or Curly ruined you for every other man.

The man released your breast for a moment to tug your bottoms down, allowing him to watch his fingers appear and disappear into your wet snatch. Soft plaps escaped from between your pretty thighs, arousal trickling down his appendages and surely to your taint.

His mouth couldn’t help but water, and without thinking the man was lowering closer. Curly’s lips parted above your cunt, breath fanning across the wet heat for a moment before covering your sweet little bud. His free hand quickly came to rest on your lower stomach, only to then decide to hold you down with his forearm.

There; unable to move, his lips sucked your swollen clit, beard brushing across you so deliciously.

A swear dropped from your lips, hands flying to your mouth to cover more sounds that threatened to spill. Your legs fluttered, a warmth brewing deep in your tummy— one you haven’t felt in months. Sure, when you could you rubbed one out — unfortunately without your beloved vibrator that hadn’t made it on Tulpar with you — but this was different. A feeling you couldn’t quite replicate with your own fingers or imagination.

His fingers were just so much longer, bigger; filling and stretching you perfectly. Pushing against your warm walls, curling to press against spots you couldn’t achieve. And even as your clit began to sting at the sensitivity, the pleasure was far more overwhelming.

Tears sprung at your eyes and through a glossy gaze you were taking Curly in. His own eyes were closed, heated breaths and groans fanning against your cunt as he devoured you effortlessly. Such a fucking messy eater. And you loved it.

As the pleasure brewed, forming into a band bound to snap you allowed a hand to lower to his hair, fluffy blonde locks sliding through the gaps of your fingers as you clung to him. Your legs shook, body arching off the bed as your other hand held your mouth so harshly you were sure there were scratches on your cheek.

“Fuck..!” Slammed against your palm in a muffled cry, body clenching as you came undone. You heard an all too familiar groan of pure delight as Curly gently lapped you up, withdrawing his fingers but refusing to remove his arm.

Whimpers of overstimulation did nothing to him, the man continuing to clean you up until he was satisfied. And when he finally was, he rose, the bottom half of his face coated with your mess.

Your hand lowered from your mouth, soft pants escaping. “I hate you.”

“Do you?” Curly was quick to answer, moving his arm to instead grasp your thighs. He lifted you a bit, pulling your bottom closer to him. Once you nodded the man chuckled, thumbs gliding across the marks that were painted across your hips.

“I don’t believe that. Not one bit.”

You opened your mouth to retaliate, but was left silently searching for snarky banter as you watched the captain’s hands move towards his slacks. There, his thumbs caught the waist band of his bottoms, tugging them down to reveal that sharp v-line and much more. Curly was a large man, everywhere. His length was thick, a round tip— bulging red with an angry vein traveling down his pale shaft.

You wondered if a pillow would be better than your hands at this point.

“Thought you were gonna say something..”

Curly teased, pulling his bottoms down the rest of the way and tossing them with your pile of clothes. He could only chuckle as you shook your head, crawling over your form to hover a breath���s away from you.

“Good.”

The man was smart to capture your lips as the moment you felt his length prod and push, you couldn’t help the little cry escaping you— perfectly muffled by his own mouth.

The stretch burned, burned so damn good you could have came again just from that. Curly was a gentleman of course, pushing in slowly, allowing you to grow accustomed to his size after so many months.

About halfway you were pulling away from his lips, head pressed against the pillow beneath you as sharp pants escaped you. Curly’s hand brushed your hip whilst the other cradled your face.

“That’s good.. breathe, you can take it all— can’t you?” His voice was sweet, soothing as his hips continued to push— plunging deep inside of you.

Your eyes were struggling to stay open, pretty groans falling from your tongue, easing into a sigh the moment you felt his hips stop; now fully seated within you. The feeling was mildly uncomfortable, even with his loving preparation, but you could make do.

You have before.

Curly leaned down, pressing his lips to your face, peppering them across his skin. Your forehead, under your eye, your nose, lips, and chin— everywhere he could reach. Attempting to soothe you even more.

Your hands rose gliding under his shirt to instead press against his broad, muscular back. Your finger tips traced little shapes across his skin, soon curling to allow your nails to scrape the moment he moved his hips.

Curly began to pull them back slowly, allowing only the tip inside before pushing forward. A single motion that caused the both of you to shudder, pleasure quickly brewing once more.

Soon enough with little restraint, Curly started a gentle pace. Back and forth, a hand on your waist whilst the other kept him upright. His length pressed into you deeply, pushing against a spongy spot that caused stars to invade your vision.

Your eyes were screwed shut, mouth lax as whimpers of passion escaped you sharply. Your nails dug and dragged into his back, an ache forming in your hips as his simple thrust became drills.

Curly couldn’t help himself at this point. He’s been holding back for far too long. Every interaction, every playful banter, every secret exchange of the eyes— played within in his mind. The man was smart enough to acknowledge how stupid he was. Playing with yours and his feelings, pretending your past didn’t matter; that coworkers were a status that you could achieve.

But no. He was fooling himself. There’s no way in hell, especially after this, was the man going to be able to go back to just being coworkers.

“Curly.. fuck, fuck— they’re gonna hear—!” You cried, legs shaky and wrapped tight around his waist. In the midst of his haze had suddenly increased his speed, ferocity; placing nearly his entire weight behind each thrust. Your eyes were rolling back at this point, nearly lost to the pleasure if it wasn’t for the sudden banging of the bed against the wall.

That fear of being discovered nearly killed your high.

Fortunately, Curly heeded your concerns, his hand lifting from the bed to instead grip the metal railing. You nearly gushed on the spot, watching his eyebrows pressed close, focusing so intently on your pleasure. His grip on your hip nearly mirrored the bed, refusing to release you. Every thrust you took, pushing you deep into the mattress as your breath threatened to leave.

“Mi..missed you.. I missed you so much.” Curly huffed, pants escaping his open mouth as his thrusts never faltered. The wet sounds of skin on skin filled the room, a steady rhythm to accompany his thrusts.

You tugged him closer by his back, shoving your face into his neck with your mouth directly against his ear. You wished to reply, expressing you felt the same exact way— even more. But of course you were left to only moan and gasp, his name coming out in struggled cries that only stirred him up even more.

Moments of your intense passion continued until your peaks grew closer, the two of you struggling even harder to keep your voices level. Maybe you two truly didn’t give a damn who heard.

“Curly!—“ His lips were colliding with yours in moments, sealing the deal as you came undone for the second time that night. You gushed around him, coating his dick with your thick essence— trickling to his sheets.

The man, releasing a final groan right into your mouth, pushing deep; releasing inside of you. Filling you to the brim.

The captain’s hips slowly settled, yet his lips continued to cover your own; moving slowly and lovingly. Curly released the bed frame to instead cup your face, cool fingers an ease to your hot skin.

Soon enough the two of you pulled away, a soft groan escaping you as the man slowly slid out of you. You tried to ignore the rather unpleasant feeling of his release slowly trickling out of you, instead focusing on the man above you— who was currently smiling.

Your swollen lips flattened into a pout, hands rising from his back to instead rising to his face.

“Don’t smile at me, Captain.”

Curly chuckled, hands sliding under you to lift whilst he sat up. Pulling you onto his lap, the man cradled your waist, thumbs brushing across your skin.

“It’s habit at this point, my love.”

You couldn’t help your own smile, arms wrapping around his neck, leaning to give him a small peck.

“Mhm..” You only hummed, eyes closing in a blissful manner as his forehead pressed against your own.

“No matter what, I’ll always be here to support. You know that, right?”

“I know, [Name]. I know.”

[iceman-kazansky]

Can you write Seb x driver!reader where driver wins race after race and wins the championship and becomes red bulls prodigy and basically Seb is jealous of her and he basically hates her but she’s kind to him and everyone so he ends up falling in love with her

Little Miss Sunshine 

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙· ̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Requested by: Anon 

Request: ^^

Pairings: Sebastian Vettel x F!RB!Driver!reader 

Warnings: Seb is a bit of an ass at first (as per request,) typical red bull menace era Seb. Y/n utilized. Kissing. Getting drunk. Angst to fluff. No Danny ric to RB and Hamilton doesn't win WDC that year (for the plot.)

Word count: 5295

A/n: AHHH OMG I LOVED THIS REQUEST! GIGGLED AND KICKED MY FEET WHEN I GOT THIS! Hope you enjoy this :):) P.S. Sorry this took so long, Life got quite hectic haha

Taglist: none (if you'd like to be on my taglist, there's a link to the form at the bottom of the post! :] )

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙ ＊*• 

You had smiled awkwardly at Sebastian when you’d first met him, given him a little wave and greeted him rather shyly. It wasn’t your first year in Formula 1, of course, though, you’d come from a cheaper team, one that hadn’t had a streak of winning like Red Bull. So, naturally, you were a little timid of the new environment and determined not to let your team down or have a sour relation with your teammate.

You were standing in your race suit, your white balaclava pulled over your head as you adjusted your helmet before climbing into your car.

Sitting in the new vehicle had never felt this nerve-wracking. Already, all of their eyes were on you and their expectations were high. You were nervous, eaten to the core by the fear that you might disappoint your new team on your maiden grand prix for them. 

Without further ado, you shoved those thoughts down and went through the routine of starting your car. The engine roared to life and emitted a low purr. Carefully, you steered your car out of the garage, entering the pit lane.

After the formation lap, you'd taken your position at your spot on the grid, lining up midway through the lineup. Around you, the roar of the new v6 engines filled your ears as the lights began igniting.

As the lights went out and you pulled ahead of a few other drivers, you managed to keep up your pace, chasing Sebastian for the entire session.

On your maiden Red Bull race, you'd placed an impressive P2, second none other to teammate Sebastian Vettel.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙ ＊*• 

The previous race wasn't where your success stopped. Not at all. Last grand prix, you'd placed below Sebastian, something you considered a result of your lesser driving skills compared to the 4 time world champion. Yet, it wasn't long before you found yourself surpassing him on many occasions. 

You placed higher than him many times, scoring podiums nearly every race. And Sebastian didn't like that he was being out-driven by his new teammate. It left a sour taste in his mouth. 

He began to resent you. He loathed the fact that you were new to this team, to Red Bull, a group so closely-knit because of him. The constant reminder that you had penetrated the family-like racing team he had worked so hard to make closer, was impossible to forget when you –in his words– paraded around the paddock with your bright, easy smiles and kind words. He hated the way you smiled so cheerily, sun rays woven between pearly teeth that portrayed a constant warmth. Your smile seemed to never stop shining and it made Sebastian even more bitter about the situation.

Maybe it was silly. A stupid rivalry. But Sebastian was stubborn and he very much liked winning. He liked being dubbed ‘the best’ 4 consecutive years. And you were taking that away from him. He hated you for it.

It was a particularly bad race for Sebastian. Or, atleast, he'd call it bad. He hadn't placed nearly as high as he'd hoped and it made him angry. You on the other hand, had unsurprisingly placed first, which extended your lead over Sebastian and only increased his frustration.

He climbed out of his car, sweating heavily and anger hot as lava beneath his skin. You followed suit before making your way over to him where he stood. He groaned as you approached, his rage boiling.

“That was a tough race, Sebastian,” You said to him, a small, friendly smile on your face, “You did good.”

Something in the way you smiled at him while you said that made him frustrated and irritable. “Save your sympathy for someone who wants it,” He spat angrily, eyes hardened to a glare.

Sebastian didn't miss the small frown that found its way to your lips, and he found himself feeling a small tinge of something in his chest. It almost frightened him at the peculiar nature of the newly discovered feeling.

“I was just being nice,” You replied in a quieter, much sadder tone, “Sorry.”

As you turned and walked away without another word, Sebastian watched. The German driver knew he should do something. Say something. Call you back and apologize. Yet, his mouth remained glued shut and his eyes locked on your retreating form.

“Fuck,” He cursed to himself, a frustrated hand coming up to run through his sweaty strands of hair.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙ ＊*• 

It was race day again and already, Sebastian wasn't in a good mood. The previous argument had gone forgotten by him and his anger resurged. You'd out-everything'd him. Out-qualified; Out-lapped; Out-fastest lapped; You'd out-raced him entirely, scoring yourself pole position to start the race off.

Sebastian was a few grid spots back. It wasn't his finest performance over the past few days, he would admit that much.

His eyes were locked on the red lights above the grid that slowly began their count.

1..

The first one ignited.

2..

The second light burned a bright red, and Sebastian tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

3..

The third set of lights turned on. Sebastian began to rev his car's engine by pressing his foot on the gas.

4..

The fourth pair of lights lit up, and Sebastian could feel his anticipation growing. He wasn't going to let you win again today. He had to place higher than you.

5..

Finally, the fifth pair of lights blinked on. Sebastian subconsciously squeezed the steering wheel, eyes locked firmly on the red lights as he waited almost impatiently.

The lights all extinguished, and all the cars surged forwards as the race began.

Sebastian was fighting tooth and nail as he moved his way up the race standings. He raced behind you now, your car's tail end visible not far ahead. 

You were driving spectacularly. You pulled corners with professional precision, accelerating out of them with the help of ERS to propel you forward, your car following a unique racing line all with a feel that came natural to you.

Sebastian was pushing his car to the limits as he caught up to you, using all of his ability to keep up and attempt an overtake. You were quick to defend when he moved over slightly to pass, your car zipping in front of him to effectively block his path.

It made him angry and want to take first place from you even more. Sebastian just barely managed to get to a point where he was wheel-to-wheel with you on a straightaway. Yet, a corner with a decreased radius was rapidly approaching as your fight for first intensified.

Your car pulled to the outer edge of the track as you followed the perfect racing line into the turn, Sebastian almost parallel with you. The German driver knew he needed to brake soon and get into a better racing line to complete this corner, but he was too caught up in the fact he was neck and neck with you, fighting for first and he didn't want to pull away and give up.

At almost the same time, your cars slowed coming into the corner, and Sebastian steered sharply into the turn as the track narrowed. 

It all happened in a flash. One minute, both of you were racing around the corner, determined to obtain first place and refusing to allow the other to simply have it, and the next, Sebastian's car, which was going a little too fast as it rounded the bend at the same time yours did, veered straight into the side of your car. The impact sent both of you skidding out of control. Your car spun a few times, tossed straight off the track and into the gravel before smashing into the barrier, Sebastian's following the same track, only slightly ahead of yours.

The German's head was pounding as he came to a stop, a nauseous feeling collecting in his stomach. Only when his eyes laid on your similarly crashed car did he feel a strange sense of panic. Fighting against his restraints, he quickly unbuckled himself, scrambling out of his car once he'd shut it off. His feet had barely hit the ground before he had taken off running towards your crashed car.

It didn't take long to reach you, and when he did he was met with what appeared to be a very disorientated you, who groaned, your helmet pressed against the back of your seat. He reached over to shut off your car when you hadn’t already. His nerves were through the roof, panic running icy-cold through his veins. “Are you okay?” He asked, trying to keep his voice calmer than he really felt. When you didn't answer immediately, he asked again, “Y/n, are you okay?”

You groaned in reply, your helmet turning slightly to face him, the object obscuring your face from him. “I'm okay. Are you okay?”

Sebastian blinked a few times in confusion. You were the one still sitting in the car, and asking if he was okay? “Yeah, I'm fine.” He replied after a minute, baffled.

A sigh of relief left your lips and Sebastian imagined one of your signature smiles finding its way onto your face. 

In a strange moment of what he would call brain-fog, but in reality was clarity, Sebastian felt comforted by that thought. However, he was quick to force that feeling back down to the deepest, warmest pits of his heart and soul. Shoving back down that tiny bit of himself that felt warm and fuzzy at the mention of your name. That tiny bit he never wanted to confront because a part of him knew what it meant.

You got out of your car after that, unbuckling your harness and climbing out. Marshals had arrived on scene and before you knew it, they were giving both of you rides back to the paddock.

When you got back to the Red Bull Garage, both of you had pulled off your helmet and your balaclavas. Sebastian still felt stubbornly bitter, but underneath all that was a strong sense of guilt. He knew it was his fault both of you crashed. Yet, when he looked at your face for the first time since you'd both spun out and hit the barriers, he didn't see anger. He saw a soft smile and a warm look present on your face.

Sebastian didn't understand. Why weren't you angry at him? He was the reason why you both crashed, and he'd subsequently gotten both of you disqualified from the race entirely. Any other person would've been fuming, spitting fire from an angry tongue and steam rolling from their ears. Yet, why weren't you?

For a moment– a split second– Sebastian felt his bitterness ebb away. There was this growing tingling in his chest, and he could feel his stomach knotting itself as it thrashed in turmoil. He found himself staring at you, his anger and so-called loathe of you forgotten, now replaced by a feeling of warm fondness. Again.

The German shook his head to clear those thoughts and feelings. This was the second time today this had happened. What had gotten into him?

The moment for Sebastian didn't last long as soon enough your team principal came out and had a stern talking to both of you, but overall you both got let off easy.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙ ＊*• 

It was the finishing night of another race week again. One of the many breaks in the season was starting and everyone was in good spirits. Especially Sebastian, as for the first time in awhile this season, he came out with an impressive P1. After a few interviews you were finally free and you went back to your hotel room, feeling particularly exhausted and more than ready for this break.

You opened the door, pulling off your shoes with sluggish movements. The moment your head hit the pillow, you fell into a deep sleep, your body more than happy to receive its much-needed rest.

It was the middle of the night when your phone rang, stirring you from your sleep. You groggily read the contact: Sebastian. Why was he calling you? “Hello?” You yawned into the speaker, using your free hand to wipe your eyes, hoping to wake yourself a bit.

“Hiii,” Sebastian slurred, his voice unusually cheery, “how are you?”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It was obvious now that he was drunk. “I’m good, how are you? What’s up?”

“I’m gooood,” He replied, and you noticed the stretching out the syllables of his words when he talked. “Nothings up, I just wanted to talk to you.”

You hummed. “Okay. You’re drunk. Do you need a ride?”

Sebastian was quiet for a few minutes, the only sound being a hiccup, followed by a soft, “Yeah..” 

Sighing, you had already started to get out of bed, getting ready to go pick up Sebastian. “Where are you? I’m coming to get you.”

Once Sebastian managed to spit out his location through his slurred speech, you were on your way. Pulling up to the boisterous club, you noticed Sebastian standing outside on the sidewalk.

You parked and climbed out, knowing damn well he'd need help if he really was anywhere near as drunk as he sounded over the phone.

Sebastian smiled when he noticed you, something you were definitely unaccustomed to after these past months. What surprised you even more was his arms wrapping around your waist as he took upon his drunk self to hug you. 

“Have you always looked this nice?” He asks as he pulls away, and you are forced to shake off the shock of the clinginess when he compliments you.

“Good to see you too,” You say, chuckling in embarrassment at his words, his unnatural actions not going unnoticed by you. “Here, let's get you into the car.”

Sebastian, lucky for you, wasn't one to fight the idea of going back to the hotel and almost eagerly followed your instructions. Your hands guided him in as he plopped unceremoniously down. Watching from the open door, you observed Sebastian struggling with his seatbelt, trying hard to click it in securely but failing miserably. Sighing, you bent over and did it for him before closing the door and crossing the car to get in the driver's seat again.

As you began driving, you imagined the car ride to be quiet, but Sebastian had other plans.

“Thank you for driving me,” he hiccuped, starting the small talk easy.

“It's no big deal,” You replied, glancing at him in the passenger seat. You were a little shocked to find him looking right back at you, his gaze shamelessly wandering your features.

“Look, I'm sorry for being really mean all the time,” Sebastian said suddenly, breaking your distracted train of thought. 

“It's okay,” you replied, gazing back at the road. He was drunk and you weren't sure if his words were as true as they would've been had he been sober.

“But it's not okay,” Sebastian hiccuped, “You're nothing but nice to me and I'm always so angry with you. Don't you ever get upset with me?”

You swallowed a little nervously, staring out the window. When you'd first joined Red Bull at the start of this season, you'd heavily admired Sebastian, but over time your opinion of him was altered through his harshness.

“I..” You mumbled, unsure how to state your view without possibly offending him, “Sometimes.”

Sebastian took a long time to respond after that, and the silence seems to shove you into the spotlight. After an awkward momentary pause, you find yourself blurting out your true feelings to Sebastian in a desperate attempt to end this silence that eats you up. He wouldn't remember this conversation in the morning, anyway. “I just wanted to be as good as you. I saw someone who was a great racer, and I strived to be like that. But then, when I did get to that level, I was met with nothing but resentment. And I'm not even sure I know why.”

More silence. The only noise is the sound of the car as it drives and you wish nothing more than the radio to be on to take away some of these unpleasantly long pauses.

“You probably think I hate you,” Sebastian slurred finally. From your peripherals, you saw him hang his head in shame and sit forward again.

That took you off guard. Through his harsh words, his angry glares, and the countless times he'd displayed his very obvious disdain for you, he'd made it clear that he did hate you, and quite vehemently. If not hate, then a strong distaste. Hell, you were partially certain you’d remembered him saying something in a press conference once. Now, drunken and lost from his wits, he was telling you he didn't feel that at all? That his appearance was not as it seemed all this time? “You don't..?”

“Me? Hate you? No. Quite the opposite, actually.” Sebastian exclaimed, drunken head snapping up to meet your gaze.

Oh.

A beat of silence. A confession that feels like a mouthful too big to swallow. “What?” You ask, mind spinning with what he could possibly mean. 

“I don't hate you,” Sebastian repeats. “Not anymore.”

This doesn't make sense. None of it does. Why does he tell you this now? And here, of all places? “Not anymore?” You repeat, a plea for him to elaborate.

“No,” he sighs, “I've been so stupid.. and stubborn. You threatened my reputation as the best Red Bull driver and I really didn't like that.. And, you were always so.. nice. So kind and cheery all the time. The cameras seemed to be attracted to you, you were press eye-candy and they took full advantage of that. I envied how carefree you were and how much you stole the spotlight off me. How perfect you seemed.”

For a minute you forget he's drunk. Forget that maybe he might not mean a word of this. That he's so out of his wits that he probably doesn't know what he's saying. And it's blissful when you do. To live in ignorance and take his words as they seem. The inebriated lack of clarity he experiences not once crossing your mind, even for just a moment. You allow yourself to think he means it.

“I–” you mumble, not entirely sure what to say, “What made you change your mind?”

Sebastian didn't speak right away, but you could see the way his face portrayed the internal battle he fought. “When I crashed into you and you didn't move. Not an inch.” He pauses, gulping before continuing on quietly, “I thought I’d killed you. I got out of my car the quickest I've ever before and fought to get to you. Something told me I had to see if you were okay. I'd never been so scared in my life.”

His admittance was something unexpected. You wanted to believe him, a small voice in your mind whispered repeatedly ‘drunk words are sober thoughts.’ Now, in your mind, you wonder what he could have possibly meant when he said he didn’t hate you, instead claiming to have felt something ‘quite the opposite.’ What was that opposing thing? It made you wonder if that soft twinkle in his eyes when he looked at you was just your imagination, or if it was really something to consider.

Silence settles like death over the car. Maybe it’s your lack of response, but it doesn’t matter because soon enough, you’re pulling into the hotel parking lot and helping Sebastian back up to his room.

It’s quiet as you lead him down the long hallway, passing many rooms before finally stopping at his door. He uses a keycard to unlock it, and he stumbles in as soon as he does. You walk into his hotel room, bringing him to his bed. You leave for a minute, going to the bathroom to grab the garbage bin and filling a glass with water from the sink. “Here,” You say, extending the glass to him, “Drink this,” You pause, setting the bin on the floor by the bed, “And use this if you need to throw up any time in the night.”

Sebastian nods, finishing up his glass of water.

You sigh, heading to the door and deciding your work is done. “Goodnight Sebastian,” you say to him.

“Goodnight Y/n,” He replies and you leave.

In your own room, you lay restless for a while, pondering everything Sebastian said to you, and for a minute, you like to believe something has changed. That this feeling in you is real and things are really different than they were.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙ ＊*• 

Months pass from that night, Sebastian never brings up the topic. Yet, things don’t fall back to how they were. You haven’t had any quarrels with the German since then. His words, albeit not at the front of your mind, still ring in your ears from time to time. By now, It’s the end of the season- The last race. And, you’ve won.

The feeling of parking your car at the first-place marker and climbing out onto its long body, hearing the crowds shouts of congratulations while the full weight of your accomplishment began to set in, produced an indescribable emotion. The jumps of joy you denied fighting against as you shouted and screamed in a disbelieving glee, your feet leaving the ground as you leapt around in a craze. As soon as you stepped off your car, you’d jogged across the tarmac and leaped at the fence, straight into the warm embrace of your team. Their acclamations washed over you while they patted your back and shoulders in celebration. When you had finally separated from your team and found yourself walking that short bridge- which, in comparison, had felt much longer and slower than it really was and stepped onto the podium for first place, the sounds of the crowd below you roaring in celebration, their loud cheers filling the air and ringing loud in your ears, made you realize they were cheering for you. As you stood in front of the world, on display, the national anthem for your country playing proudly for the winner, you could feel tears of joy start to well in your eyes.

You’d done it. You’d won the World Drivers Championship. The first female driver in history to ever win a WDC, and you had done it. Through years of hard work in karting as a child, pushing yourself all the way up into the formulas, you had accomplished it. When you’d made your debut into Formula 1, you could hardly believe it then. You never imagined you’d have made it this far into the sport. Of course, you’d dreamed of winning a WDC, as every other driver did. Ever since you were in karting it had been an unimaginable feat you always reached for, striving to one day achieve. A feat many drivers never got a glimpse of. To be dubbed the greatest in Formula 1 was something unbelievable. But here you were, standing atop the podium, being handed the first place trophy of the season’s final grand prix, securing your position as the World Champion. A constant reminder in your mind of ‘you were the champion- the best,’ made your happiness only increase. 

As you held the trophy in your hands, lifting it high over your head, you let the tears fall. There was a wide smile of joy plastered across your face, stretching from ear-to-ear. You held the trophy in the air, a silent echo of your words that screamed ‘I’ve won’ being conveyed through the simple act.

Eventually, you set down your trophy, careful not to break it, the champagne bottle now held in your hands as you popped the cork. You felt the sticky spray from the other podium members as they pelted you with the bubbly drink, while you took a short turn blasting either of them with the liquid. After a moment, you turned and faced the crowd, shaking the bottle and shooting champagne over them with a smile on your face. 

Suddenly, there was a wet feeling of champagne being poured over your head, soaking your hair and running down your race suit, it had you turning to face the other podium winners, one of them being none other than your teammate Sebastian Vettel. He was smiling broadly at you, holding his champagne bottle above your head, dumping the rest of the yellow liquid over you in congrats. You couldn’t care less about it, rather enjoying the celebration more and more as it progressed. You still could hardly believe the fact you’d won the WDC.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙ ＊*• 

The 2014 Red Bull team went out to party that night, the whole group hitting one of the team members' houses that was coincidentally not far from the location of the last grand prix, upon arrival, booze was promptly handed out.

You, on the other hand, strayed from partaking in the drinking of alcohol. Tonight was your celebration night, and you much preferred to spend it remembering rather than drunk off your wits.

You'd found yourself seeking an isolated place. Somewhere to go to regain your thoughts, almost as if you were relishing in your own victory but with silent regard.

There was a peacefulness on the quiet balcony that made admiring the sky easy. High above your head, the night sky stretched across the horizon like a blanket. Stars looked like pin pricks amongst the great ebony expanse. There was a slight chill to the evening air, but not one great enough for you to retreat back into the mansion. Inside, the party raged on, with loud music blasting loud enough you could hear it from your place on the balcony.

The sound of the sliding balcony door opening caught your attention. Reluctantly tearing your eyes away from the beautiful night sky, you found yourself face-to-face with none other than Sebastian.

“Hello,” He greeted, “Whatcha doin’ up here?”

Sebastian was drunk. That much was obvious with the messy onslaught of slurred words and the slight stumble in his step as he joined you in leaning on the balcony.

“I wanted some time alone.” You answered. It wasn't a lie. You really did get away purposefully to be alone.

“Why? It's your party,” he hiccupped, his drunken gaze swimming with confusion.

You sighed. Yes, it was your party, but you just wanted to be alone for a bit to truly celebrate your victory without a full-blown party. “I know it’s my party.” 

Sebastian didn’t say anything after that, instead choosing to just stand silently beside you. Naturally, your gaze was drawn back to the sky, but this time Sebastian joined you.

The moon was a creamy ball of light against the charcoal of the sky, shedding its milky rays on the both of you and illuminating your faces beneath its glow. There was a gentle stillness to it all, a serenity to the scene, with the only sound being the whisper of the wind as it danced near-silently through the trees in the yard. The warmth from Sebastian lingered on your bare arms, his own skin so close to your own.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” you said, admiring the stars.

Sebastian merely hummed, and it caused you to glance at him. His eyes weren’t to the sky, instead, they were transfixed on your figure.

You turned to stare into his eyes, neither of you broke the contact. You could’ve sworn you’d seen a twinkle of warm fondness in his gaze. No, actually, you were certain you had. 

The shared glance had sparked something within you. A shift that altered the feelings you experienced. Maybe it was all just a hoax. Confusion. But not even you could deny the whispered nothings screaming that maybe what you felt was most definitely something. Something scary. Daunting. Both too scared to traipse through the thick hazy smoke that stung the eyes and invaded every sense, but what neither of you knew was that cloud was protecting the hot embers and warm flames from within. The parts of them that yearned for each other deeply. However, everything was on the verge of coming undone.

You'd hardly realized you and Sebastian subconsciously closed the gap between each other until you felt the warmth of his booze-ridden breath fan your face. With that train of thought, your gaze had lowered to his candy-coloured lips. It took you a minute to process your action, and it was only another second before your gaze returned to his eyes embarrassedly.

Sebastian doesn't seem to notice– or mind– the longing look. His hand reaches up to brush a piece of hair from your face, and you can feel your stomach erupt in swarms of butterflies at the act. He doesn't let his hand fall, instead it moves to tentatively cradle your cheek.

Sebastian leaned in even closer, his lips just above yours. You didn't miss the lingering stare he left on your lips for a little too long. You knew what was about to happen if you didn't move soon. Something deep inside you had you glued to your spot. And for a moment, a split second, the realization that maybe you wanted this struck you.

“May I kiss you?” He whispered, soft slate blue eyes meeting yours, gaze gone unbroken with the sheer intensity of the moment.

Warm fondness rises through you, bubbling softly in your chest. Apprehension courses through your veins, hot like lava to warm your skin despite the late November chill. You won't deny Sebastian the right to kiss you, because deep down you know you want this. You need this. Forever since you'd met him, you've yearned for clarity, for him to draw that line in the sand. To you, this would either spell it out for you or leave you second guessing everything. And that was a risk you considered worth taking.

“I won't say no.” You replied at last, solidifying everything on your end. A wide range of emotions run through your veins, but you don't feel an ounce of regret or unwillingness to taste and feel his lips on yours.

That's all the permission he needs, as he closes that gap to press his lips to yours.

His lips are tender, gentle and soft in a way that makes your knees wobble and your chest tighten. Sebastian's other hand finds its way to your hip, his fingers curling into your skin. 

You find he tastes faintly of liquor, a reminder of his previous drinking. Yet, part of you chooses to ignore it. He wants this too, right?

Your head spins as you stand frozen to the spot, lips linked together. Sebastian inevitably pulls away for air, and you find yourself chasing his lips for a short moment. He notices, a soft smile gracing his features while his hand slides from your cheek to rest on your neck as he pulls you in for a second kiss.

The second kiss ends with both of you pulling away. Sebastian rests his forehead against yours, and it takes a while before you open your eyes again. 

Your breaths mingle in the air between each other, soft smiles present on your faces. High above, the moon observes in awe.

“Will you go out to dinner with me?” Sebastian asks.

Nodding, you reply, “Only if you promise to remember this when you're sober.”

The German’s grin widens, “I don't think I could forget.”

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙ ＊*• 

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ || ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!

[tuliptic]

Start Line: Growing and Transforming

We've been running this far, non-stop, all day yeah   Never getting tired, we keep up this runner's high   You know graduation   Even though it's over, it's not the end   Put on some new shoes   Yeah we're ready at the start line

Things have been difficult for a lot of us, and sometimes, we just want a flicker of hope, or some words of encouragement that can push us to go further. Just… Something, a message, to tell us that the pain we’re going through right now is temporary, and things will be better. 

Close your eyes, meditate on this topic and tell yourself that you’re on a brand new start line, and ask for the messages you’re called to hear. Breathe in and out, make sure your mind and heart is calm. Then, open your eyes to see which pile talks to you the most/draws you in the most. Once you’ve found your pile, scroll down to the respective parts to see what are the messages for you.

Pile 1 - Pile 2

Pile 3 - Pile 4

Disclaimer: This is solely for my entertainment purposes. Take only whatever you feel like it. If it doesn’t resonate, it’s okay to just drop it. Also, I do not consent to my work or images being used by third parties on this platform or other websites as well.

Decks used: Crossing Star Tarot Deck (Major Arcana), Linestrider Tarot Deck, Sweet Dreams Oracle Deck, Starcodes Astro Oracle Deck, self-made lyrics deck.

Pile 1

One card to represent you: The Magician rx

The first thought that popped into my mind is that… You’ve probably been told (many times) that you’re a good manifestor, but you have not seen it working out for you, or at least, not at the moment. You’ll need to try an error (or maybe errors) to find what works for you, and what works best for you. It can be rather disheartening to fail, but look for the opportunities in life’s challenges and learn the lessons. You work better by letting your physical body learn rather than your brain to absorb the knowledge. You probably have also noticed your tendency to self-sabotage, but you don’t intend to do anything about it. Perhaps, not at the moment, as you’re not in a right place yet to fix yourself, but you need to remember it and to work on it.

1. Why have things happened?  - Four of Cups

You have been too focused on what you’re feeling and not looking at the outer world, on whatever that’s happening around you or to you. This definitely has something to do with The Magician rx above, where you’re sabotaging yourself and not focusing on the present. It’s giving me very… Neptune rx in Pisces vibes, so some of you who picked this pile may have Pisces placements. It’s like living in the world yet not living at the same time, where you’re floating and drifting, not seeing where you’re at or where you’re going. Life has been throwing you opportunities to learn the lessons, but you’re not learning it. Not to mention that you’re not organising what it is that you’re feeling inside and to do something about it. With all of that happening, some of you may feel you’re at a standstill or some will have their head and heart wrapped up in different bags and not know how to unify them.

2. How to stop your train of thoughts and start again from where you’re standing? - Knight of Pentacles rx

You have to stop dilly-dallying, and pick up the pace if you want to move away from where you’re standing. Sure, ADHD paralysis is difficult to deal with when you’re frozen (I’m referring to myself as well, in case y’all think I’m attacking anyone), but it is already something if you can move yourself away from the way of harm first. My first thought here is to train your body to be able to move on autopilot from time to time, which will help you in countless ways. Sure, you’re still sluggish and unenthusiastic, but let your body move first, exercise, and let your brain rest during those times.  Another way you can attempt to stop those thoughts is to get help. Not only external help from professionals, but more of building healthy interpersonal relationships. True friends will want to help you to be better, and will be willing to spend some time to accompany you to carry out activities that are beneficial for both of you.

3. What to look forward to? - The Magician rx

You’ll be able to tap into your energy. I do think that this is a time for you to work together with your manifestation talent/skill, and for you to decide which direction you want to head. You need to remember that the direction you’re going is not something fixed, so no worries in making a decision. You can change that anytime, or go on a different journey if it doesn’t fit you. The more important thing is to have a welcoming heart, to dream and invite limitless magic into your life, allow your guides to show in unexpected ways. Do not be afraid, go step by step and find out what works for you.  Of course, you can look forward to this if you take action. If you’re not doing anything, do not hope or wish for things to fall directly into your laps.

4. What have you left behind and grown from? - The Tower

You’ve gone through a huge upheaval, you’ve gone through a lot of chaos and traumas in the past. Now, you’re going through another fundamental shift. It may not be as tremendous and messy as it was in the past, but this shift is something more of an energy thing, where you need to learn to be more selective with where and who you want to spend your energy on. This energy encompasses mental, spiritual and physical energy, and you have to remember that you’re also an exhaustible being, where you can’t focus on others forever. Look back, and you’ll see how far you’ve gone from that unhappy place. Remind yourself that you’re able to do it again. Once you’ve grown from it, you’ll also be more free to explore your skills and abilities. You’ve always had a tendency to have a foot in almost everything, and with you now knowing how to distribute your energy and time? You definitely can. You can try focusing on what’s in front of you instead of attempting to explore far, you might find treasures closer to you instead.

5. When will things start getting better? When will you get your justice? - The Chariot

The Chariot talks about action and goal. I don’t think I need to say much on this, as it’s pretty self explanatory. However, remember to hold onto your reins as you move towards wherever it is you’re heading. You need to have a clear goal and a destination, else you’ll run out of energy/fuel, and you may end up in different places. You’ll need a clear and visible goal, and the stages need to be well defined and measurable. You get strength from seeing actual results, and that’s when you gain the confidence to continue moving forward. You will get justice when you’re moving forward. The justice here is internal, as it is more towards countering the self-sabotaging part of you. It’s difficult, but once you wipe the tears and bite on the happiness you’re seeing, you’ll know your purpose in life, and you’ll taste that justice.

6. Advice for you - Five of Pentacles, Nine of Cups rx, Ace of Cups rx

Some of you may be facing financial difficulties or even health problems. It’s best if you work on them now as you prepare for what it is to come. It can be quite disheartening at times when you question and wonder why hard times fall on you more often than others. This may also result in an unhealthy stream of emotions. Emotions itself isn’t a bad thing, the problem would be how you’re managing it. Don’t hold them in and stack them up. Find a safe place to release them, understand those emotions and nurture yourself back. Place your trust in the Universe, believe that whatever that is happening to you right now is part of a greater plan. Twist your thoughts a little, see it as a blessing where you’re finding problems when it’s still salvageable (it’s still painful but hey, we can work on it eventually). Tune into your heart, listen to your wishes, and look at what you have achieved throughout the years. Your wishes of the past are now fulfilled, and you’ve finally built the life you’ve wanted when you were much younger. Well, it may exist in different forms, or you’ve gotten it not according to how you originally planned, but it’s there. Know that you can change your wishes into reality because you have the power. Believe in yourself. Let’s say if you want to recover faster, you can manifest quicker healing. You can. Just make sure that you do not fall into the habit of feeling dejected and dissatisfied quickly. Hold on to a heart of gratitude. It will open up doors for you.

Overall energy: The Tower rx, Six of Pentacles

There’s a mix of energy here. You’re unsatisfied that things have gone out of your control, yet there’s also a sense of relief that you are not responsible over those things going out of control. Despite the difficult times, you still hold generosity in your heart, where you offer what you have (materials, energy, time) to those who need them. In turn, you’ll also be blessed with what you need. Accept help given to you with an open heart and a grateful attitude. The greater plan the Universe has in mind for you may have something to do with people and connection, so that may be an aspect you want to pay attention to. Things or memories from the past can be resurfacing, so stop hiding or running away, and face them. 

.

.

Pile 2

One card to represent you: Death

First thing I’m picking up here is that you’re going through a lot of changes right now, and the next thing is that… You’re being watched over. There's a lot, and I mean A WHOLE LOT of things that are going on right now, and they’re overflowing your plate. I could sense a certain level of panic and dread over everything, but there’s also some form of apathy where you’re tired of everything and anything happening all at once. There’s too much that’s going on to the point you have no idea where or what to focus on, so you’re probably at a standstill where you’re looking at the overflowing plate, doing nothing. I’d say that this is a “freeze” response because you’re at a point where you can’t process anything at the moment, but once your brain starts spinning again, you’ll get things done. You have people watching over you, or your guides are protecting you at this time. Imagine you’re standing still in the middle of the path but no one is hitting you. It’s like that. Your guides are making sure that you have enough time to process whatever that’s happening to you and around you. Once you start moving, they’ll follow behind you and help you out when you ask them, especially when you’re facing any confrontation.

1. Why have things happened? - The Hermit rx

You’ve withdrawn yourself from certain aspects of life (friendship, or work, or a certain class, or even a hobby) with attempts of healing yourself and to give yourself more time. Sure, you’ve got the time, but those times were not spent on yourself, those free times were not helping you, but the other people in your life. In another sense, you were still busy, and you did not get the rest you needed.  There’s a certain level of emptiness that I’m feeling here, and that you’re torn as well, not sure if you want to fill that emptiness or you want to remain it as so because of the comfort of being used to it. Do you trust yourself, with the steps and decisions you’ve been making? BET ON ME by ITZY was playing as I typed this out, and I do feel that there’s a message in this song for you.

2. How to stop your train of thoughts and start again from where you’re standing? - King of Pentacles rx

King of Pentacles is generally the last card of the deck, and what I'm seeing here is that you still have a lot more to go, that things are not final yet, and you have the ability (King) to change things to your favour. I understand that you're currently in a flight or freeze mindset, but you need to work your brain to trick it a little so that it moves, and you can reprogram it a little so that you can move away from the spot you froze. Be kind to yourself and let go of those thoughts that are haunting you, step away from those self-criticism, know that you deserve gentleness. The King is abundant in finances, life experience, but I'd also like to add connections into this list. To be a King, you must have known to pull strings around to make things work, to make sure you win the trust of the people. To achieve that, you need good and skillful people who are willing to listen to your plans and to make them work. Those connections are what will help you throughout your difficult times. Sure, people may have turned you down in the past, but know that they may not be in any position to extend any help back then, and that things may be different now. They will be more capable now. Some… May have a really painful tongue, not filtering their words. But still, they will help, and you'll be surprised with what they're able to offer.

3. What to look forward to? - Ten of Cups rx

This… probably is not gonna sound ideal to a lot of people but… You can look forward to having a fresh start. It's like the cups you have are now poured clean, and you are forced to redo things again, to fill them up again but this time, you get to choose what you fill them up with. Previously, when you were growing up, people around you filled those cups for you, helping you make decisions (that you may not like or agree with), or even tainting them (putting droplets of other things in it), and those form you to who you are today. But, by pouring them clean (a very, very painful process), you are now able to pour and fill your cups with whatever you want and whatever you need. You'll be able to work with your dreams and spirit's energy to reach your highest good as you fiercely protect your cups, your energy, your life. Your life is now yours to write.

4. What have you left behind and grown from? - Three of Wands

It feels like you have left behind a lot of original plans that you have made for yourself in the past as you build yourself anew. There's a lot of internal cleansing done, and you've decided to start everything from scratch again. You'll be able to build things again and fully immerse yourself in a new future you'll create. You've learnt to grow from pain and to see the smaller happiness in life, learning to accept that growth is inevitable. Visualisation is also vital here, where you will need to immerse yourself in whatever you have now as you visualise where you will be standing in the future. You decide your own path, and you have to walk it.

5. When will things start getting better? When will you get your justice? - Ten of Swords rx

Things will start getting better once you pull out all the swords from your back. There's a lot of… Purging. Yeah, purging is a more suitable word to use for your situation. Your situation is like the shelf full of ceramic plates that will crash the moment you open that door. But you still need to open it, you'll need to let all of those fall, and you can clean it, to make space for new items to put in. You now can choose metal plates, or plastic plates to put in, whatever it is that you want. But first, you need to clean the space, only then you'll invite limitless magic into your life and allow your spirit guides to show up in unexpected ways. They are there for you, through a breeze, through a flyer, through a sudden noise to stop you from crossing the road. Once you've made space, that's when you'll get your justice by living your best self.

6. Advice for you - King of Wands rx, Strength rx, Six of Swords rx

There's another King card here, telling me that whatever you're going through right now is not an easy one. It probably will be there a little longer and it is what will help you to build up your upcoming new life, to start everything again. You will need to be at peace with yourself and be kind to yourself first.  Turn your strength and focus inwards, nurture yourself, and do not shy from cutting people out of your life if they drain you too much, even if they are family. You need to understand that you are your own universe, and you are your own priority. If you do not prioritise yourself, no one will. Others do not have that responsibility over you, so let yourself breathe. For now, heal your wounds, use it as your badge of honour, and live your life as how you see fit. Remember, it is you who define who you are, not your past.

Overall energy: Strength, Nine of Wands

There's a lot of strength in you, actually, just that you have not known how to work with it right now, not sure how to turn that strength for yourself. You have been resilient in everything you do, no matter how battered up you are, so let those tension fall from you. Sit down in peace and quiet as you receive the messages from your guides, letting them guide you through this time of difficulty. Trust your feelings, they know you better than yourself. Listen to your emotions, they understand your needs better. Act on them when needed, you will know when the timing is right.

.

.

Pile 3

One Two cards to represent you: The Tower rx, The Chariot rx

I'm… Not exactly that surprised to see two cards falling out. The Tree in this image symbolises the Tree of Life as I was doing the reading, so some of you who picked this pile may be told that you guys are knowledgeable or do possess some extensive knowledge in very specific fields. And with this knowledge comes expectations, which can be seen with two cards falling out for you. With these two cards, what I'm immediately picking on is that… You are in a phase of life that can be quite challenging right now, where things that are beyond your control are happening almost all at once, and you're losing your balance as you continue to run on the uneven paths. You're growing exhausted as you're being chased with expectations and by your own sense of duty. So, please take a break when you need it.

1. Why have things happened? - Three of Pentacles rx

There have been conflicts going on with you and your social circles, may it be disagreements between classmates/colleagues, or getting shunned by them for not going along with them. There’s a slight hint of one being an outcast here. Correlating to the cards representing you, how you became an outcast is also due to what you're going through life right now, requiring you to put a hold onto a lot of other things, including assignments and/or socialisation, etc. Your intuition has been your assistant throughout these times of perils, and it's giving me that you do know how and why you're in a situation that's making you stagnant. Not sure if you are capable of breaking that ice or you're resting at the moment before you take the first step out. Either way, unlike most people, you know where you’re standing at right now, and you do know how to make changes towards a new you if needed.

2. How to stop your train of thoughts and start again from where you’re standing? - Three of Swords

This is probably a weird way to put it, but you need to use your pain as a tool to help you get back to the present. You may be able to perceive pain differently, like… It's to prove that you're still living, that you're still alive, and you still can make changes to the situation you're in. You need to remind yourself that you're beloved, and that the Universe loves you and is throwing hints at you through very… questionable ways. Trust your inner wisdom and intuition, let them guide you to where you're supposed to be. Oddly, I'd say that you have been through something similar before, but you kinda panicked when your previous methods no longer work for this situation. This is the time where you need to find a new method that will help you develop your senses, and for you to be at peace with yourself again. Coping mechanisms, but let it help you with more than just coping.

3. What to look forward to?- The Chariot rx

I'd say that things will slow down, not because the problems are resolved, but because the tires have worn out. Your nightmare and problems have also run out of strength to go after you, which gives you a quick chance to take a small break before you retreat to somewhere safer, where you build a new coping mechanism and possibly plans for the upcoming problems. I'd also say that this is a good time for you to make new connections that will be helpful in the long run. Don't worry about burdening others, as I believe that there will be a chance for you to help them back. Friendships and connections are mutual, where both parties benefit from them.  Not sure if you’re the type who’d welcome new changes. Nevertheless, challenges will be coming your way for you to level up. I’d say that these challenges are coming in a way where you’re capable of managing it. From there, you’ll experience a new sort of rebirth, and you’ll find a new identity that works with you better. 

4. What have you left behind and grown from? - King of Pentacles

I have no idea why but I'm sensing some… Familial relationships and expected duties? Most of you may be working with establishing healthy boundaries with your family, making sure that the roles are properly and fairly distributed. It also feels like… Financial responsibilities aren't yours alone, and the entire family will need to figure out how to contribute and prepare for any emergencies.  You’re now the King, where you have a comfortable relationship with your finances, knowing that it’s yours, your property, and you have every right to access it and to use it without guilt. There may be a chance where your family or extended relatives have guilt-tripped you to sacrifice or contribute to their needs, and you’re unapologetically free from those now. You now learn to trust your intuition more and let your inner wisdom guide you through your way subconsciously. It’s now a part of your life where you don’t really need to sit and listen, as you’re driving on auto-pilot by your subconsciousness.

5. When will things start getting better? When will you get your justice? - The Sun rx

I'd say that things will start getting better at unexpected times, or even at times when you can't see hope. The Sun is unable to shine on all people, it's unable to pierce through thick walls, but it doesn't mean it's not there. The Sun here feels mellow, like it's keeping its warmth and heat in check to not burn the other living beings that it's feeding.  There’s also another message here that is assuring you that good things take time, and that you’ll need to be kind to yourself so that those blessings arrive and you’re ready to receive them wholeheartedly. The entire thing is a journey, and the roads can be bumpy. But still, what matters is the journey and you’re able to reach your final goal in a good condition, so take your time as you tread through those paths. Once you start walking and taking action, luck will fall by your side and accompany you through this journey.

6. Advice for you - Nine of Pentacles rx, Knight of Wands, Knight of Cups

You may be using your time unwisely by focusing on things that do not exactly benefit you. I’m not saying that you can’t, but you need to set your priorities straight and know what is the final goal of your actions. You may start a project that requires you to invest and purchase tools, when you’re rushing a deadline that’s gonna affect your assignment and final’s results. By doing this, you’re in a way, not planning well. Sure, you get your emotional fulfilment, but it also comes at the price of you failing your semester (touchwood). Passion projects can be fun, but you need to plan your time well, plan your resources well, plan your enthusiasm as well. The planning happens behind closed doors. Others will see how well you portray yourself and be drawn to you, but you need to remember the need for continuous effort for you to achieve the best results. The public, or people around you may gather around you because of how well you have a grip over yourself, and once things have calmed down, feel free to let yourself loose a little. People will show up around you, and it’s totally fine for you to enjoy the attention and affection. You just need to remember how much you’ve put in to build yourself, and not let others take you for granted, or to take advantage of your skills or what you have to offer.

Overall energy: Strength, Four of Wands rx

Strength and beauty comes in all forms possible, even through pain and tears. This is something that you’ll be learning to accept through this difficult time. Most of us may understand the beauty and appeal of pain, but not many can accept it. Whatever we’re going through right now makes us learn and accept it, to come to terms with it. Of course, changes come along with it and we will need to learn to adapt to it, to build a “New You” as you face the upcoming challenges. Know that whatever you’re doing right now is a pre-requirement for you to achieve your dreams. You are your own world, and you can change the world as you grace the strong wind standing your way.

.

.

Pile 4

One card to represent you: The Devil

What I’m feeling here is that you tend to have a certain level of control over some things in your life. The control here isn’t exactly pleasant, where it may be imbalanced and there can be some arguments going on. Temptations are heard as well. You know you’re stuck in some loop where you can’t escape, and you have no intention of escaping. The picture for this pile is somehow giving me Sex and The City vibes, where the neon lights (benefits, financial resources, interests) have been the focus of your sight, and this allows you to have a different perspective, or for you to see things differently from your peers.

1. Why have things happened? - Strength rx

You have lost strength, internal strength mainly. You were not surrounded by those who supported you, and your energy was depleted bit by bit as you tried to fit in. You have put yourself in a position where you depend on the actions and feelings of others, and you may have given up on your instinctive responses, not having the self-discipline and control you need. The Lion is your passion, and it’s now your enemy, threatening to destroy whatever stability and name you’ve built. Imagine a woman trying to tame the agitated lion and the two ended up in a fight, while the spectators (wrong group of friends) by the side just watched. 

2. How to stop your train of thoughts and start again from where you’re standing? - Knight of Swords

You’ll need to start taking care of yourself, listen to yourself. You’re a person who prides your intelligence, and you tend to be in your own head a lot. However, you’ve listened to the noises out there that have affected you in a negative way. Not to say that you’re supposed to go back into the state of being in your own headspace, but for you to pay attention to yourself more, to listen to the voices of your heart instead of the external noises. You’ve always been head>heart, and now you’ll need to go head<heart. You may not like how different this… new routine is, but you will also know that it has to be done, as you’ve been seeing messages of this “new path” around. Balancing out the heart voices and head nagging is important, and this is how you shall start.  You also need to remember you yourself, are the source of everything essentially you. You build yourself; you create yourself. You are not built on the words or acceptance of others. You need to remind yourself that you are already doing well, and the expectations of others are not yours to bear.

3. What to look forward to? - Ace of Wands

New beginnings come with changes. Once you’ve chosen a different voice to listen to, you’ll be able to regain energy, bit by bit, to attempt more changes in your life. Opportunities will surely come your way when you accept the positive energy around you, and it’s up to you to seize them and make them work. It’s a time for you to follow your instincts and have courage. Take action when you need them.  That aside, it’s suggested that you return to your roots as you venture through this bright explosion of good energy. Remember the importance of grounding yourself and go back to the basics from time to time. It’s not only to cleanse your heart, but also serves as a reminder of where you came from, and how you need to be in touch with your past and nature.

4. What have you left behind and grown from? - Six of Wands

What I’m seeing here is that you’ve put down the yearn and drive for fame and luxuries, and have redefined success for yourself. You’ve awakened from the past and start to feel more energised, learning to start your days in a better mood as you count your victories. More people are recognizing your achievements as they approach you with interest.  As you compare what you had and what you’re having now (or will be having in the future), you’ll be able to evaluate better and have a clearer idea of the direction you want to take next. You are warned of self-doubt and lack of confidence. You have to believe in your abilities and worth so people can trust you, so that you can trust and confide in yourself.

5. When will things start getting better? When will you get your justice? - Eight of Wands

Eight of Wands is a card that talks about movements. Once you’re moving, once you’re taking action, that’s when you’ll see things turning out different for you. You’ll start to receive things or messages that you’ve been waiting for, and it’s time for you to stop stalling. If you’re interested in someone, you will have to walk towards them and work for it. You’ll be able to attract a loving, happy, fulfilling relationship into your life as you’re no longer the old you. Remember, birds of the same kind flock together, and the same goes with people too. You attract people of your level. You want that person who’s active and charming? Be proactive in approaching them.  Your justice will come in unexpected forms, but most of it would be releasing of past hurt. There will be times where you’ll want to hug yourself to sleep as you were reminded of how things have been difficult. This is one of the healing phases where you slowly let things go. The lighter you are, the better you become. This is also because the karma of those who’ve wronged you will not be tied to you anymore.

6. Advice for you - The Star, King of Cups rx, Nine of Cups

Rebuild yourself. This probably sounds difficult and too… idealised? But this is what you need to do. The Star is there to tell you that there’s a silver lining behind every grey cloud, that you’re not broken beyond repair, and that you’re able to work yourself up to another peak. This card is an extremely gentle card, so take that message and be gentle to yourself as well. You’ll need to practise self-compassion, listen to your inner feelings, cultivate yourself and let yourself grow into your very best self. Love others by first loving yourself, don’t forget about the promises you’ve made to yourself.  Make new and healthy connections as you flourish. If you wish for them, they’ll come into your life. Learn to be content with the gifts you’re having everyday, learn to hold gratitude with what the Earth is offering you. With the amount of Cups here, try getting close to bodies of water (beach, sea, waterfall, etc). Water may be a healing element for you. Alternatively, try doing activities that are related to creativity (crafting, writing, drawing, or something that’s symbolistic) as they can be an outlet of your heart’s wants, which you can understand better from the results of your craft. Remember to stay hydrated too.

Overall energy: Justice, Eight of Swords

Justice is really your theme right now. You’ve been choosing to run away from the obvious, but it’s high time that you wake up, pull down the blinds that have been covering your eyes and to see the truth for who he is. The first action needed for every awakening is to open your eyes and acknowledge whatever that has been going wrong. Only then you’re able to take action towards a better situation. You’ll need to open up your heart and invite new changes in, welcome new beginnings in. The theme of Justice can be difficult and painful, but it’s necessary for you as you transform bit by bit, cutting down the vines that have been tying you down, severing unhealthy ties that have been binding you down (refer to The Devil). Get back your own autonomy, treat yourself right, let justice be served on who deserves them.

[wutheringwisteria]

Chapter 2

[ 1 ]

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Curly's sleeping schedule was a mess.

It has been five days since he dropped the bomb, and the Tulpar crew couldn't be any more awkward.

Anya was relatively the same, but became more saddened as the days go by. Swansea was still his gruff self, albeit a lot more harsh towards the intern, Daisuke. Daisuke, on the other hand, kept his smile up.

He still talks to Jimmy, because he's his friend and it was literally impossible not to since he's his co-pilot. But you... no matter how many times he tried to bring himself to do it—he can't.

Those little talks you both guys had in the past now reduced to little to no communication at all. And it was killing him. Sure, he'd only get a simple sentence and a flat tone from you—hell, maybe even a scowl if he's unlucky.

But he didn't mind, not at all! Showing anger or anything makes you human, after all.

His heart feels heavy when he walks past your quarters. Tonight was another sleepless night, and no matter how many tosses snd turns he does, the warm embrace of sleep could not reach him.

So he goes out for a small stroll on the upper deck.

He finds himself in the main lobby. From there, he could see another figure sitting on the long couches, staring up at the fake moonlight of the large screen.

Anya.

Wordlessly, he sits down. Just a few meters away from her.

"You doing okay?" He asked, voice soft.

Her dark gaze looks back at him. After a moment's silence, she speaks up. "Yeah. Can't sleep."

"I know how that is. I just toss and turn, or stare at the ceiling all night." Curly chuckled, but it was brief.

"I actually kinda like the night time window screen," replied Anya. She looks back up. "If you can believe it. So I just come look at it sometimes. If you look really, really close, you can see there's a dead pixel in the upper right corner."

"That so?" Curly blinked. He looks up at the giant screen, squinting his eyes. "Hmmmmmm..."

"Nope. Don't see it."

"In the back of my mind, it's always there."

Curly huffs, leaning back against the couch. "Now I'll go bonkers looking for it. Cheers." His eyes slowly travels back to the screen, a small smile making its way to his face. "...I don't think it ruins the illusion, though. It's peaceful. But maybe I'm just used at looking at the bigger picture."

Anya doesn't tear her eyes away from the screen. "How many days of transport do we have left?"

"Ah, let's see. Off the top of my head... around 237 days. Just under—"

"Eight months." Anya finished the sentence for him. But her voice gets quieter. Curly remains silent as the nurse finally looks back at him. "Hey. Why do you think Pony Express put a lock on the medical room door but not in the sleeping quarters?" She suddenly asked.

"Hmm." Curly thinks. "I suppose for the same reason they put a lock in the cockpit. Safety."

Anya pursed her lips together, furrowing her eyebrows.

"I see."

🫧

"I'm pregnant."

Two words. Two simple words was all that it took for your whole body to freeze, still as stone. You turned around slowly, folding the corporate's letter Curly had nights prior and placing it inside your chest pocket. "...Repeat that?"

Anya visibly tenses up, her hand finding its way to grab her sleeve. "I'm... I'm pregnant—for about a month now." The words felt like bile, waiting to be vomited out. She could feel your stare piercing through her skull, and the slightest part of her wonders if telling you first was a mistake. A grave, and horrible mistake that she just had made.

"For a mo—..." you trailed off, making your disbelief known. For a moment, you just stay still, trying to process what Anya just revealed to you. A lot of questions ran in your mind, but all you could utter was a simple, "Who?" You couldn't picture anyone else besides one person, and by the looks of it, it seems like it wasn't consensual.

Which made you even more angry.

But you kept calm for Anya's sake. To show that you have been working on your anger management. "Anya," you call her name with a voice more leveled this time. "I need you to tell me. Who's the father?" Who is he so that I can kill him?

She hesitates, her dark eyes casted downwards and glistening with unshed tears. You take a step forward and she flinches. Sucking in a breath, you took another step and wrapped your arms around Anya and giving her a much needed hug.

Anya couldn't contain it anymore. She sobbed, burying her face in your chest and letting her tears soak your uniform. All while you try to console her by patting and rubbing circles on her back. The nurse was trembling, it was now clear to you that she had been a victim of sexual assault.

And her abuser roams free on the ship.

"Shh, shh, it's alright, it's okay, I got you..." you whispered, your other hand mindlessly running through her dark locks. You feel every tear that escapes her eyes, every breath she sucked in, and every time her body shudders that's followed along with a sob.

"Just... just tell me the name, and I'll go tell Curly about it," you shifted slightly, pulling away and cupping her face. Anya meets your eyes once more, her lips quivering as she brings a hand up to wipe away her tears.

"It's... it's Jimmy..."

🫧

Daisuke peeks his head into the main lobby. No other people present, that's good. He slowly steps inside and makes his way over to the kitchen.

He had been watching the cake making process since Curly's birthday. If he could just operate it, he would be able to snag one of those sweet, sweet, sweeteners.

"Okay, so I just press this... and then this..." he goes around, pressing some buttons and just completely winging it. Daisuke didn't even take a time of his day to look at the instructions that were literally plastered in front of him.

After a lot more pressing, the food dispenser dinged and Daisuke immediately went over to it. "Haha, it worked!" he cheered. The sweetener was there, in all of its glory. He could practically taste the sugary contents in his tongue.

But before he could even rip the pack open, he was spooked by a voice calling him. "Daisuke,"

The intern whips his head around, almost breaking his neck. He frantically hid the sweetener behind him, forcing a smile. "Oh, hey, Y/N! What's up?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"Do you know where Jimmy is?" You asked without a second thought.

"Jimmy?" Daisuke tilts his head, trying to think about where he last saw the co-pilot. "I think he went looking for something down on the lower deck. I don't really remember."

You nodded. "Okay, thanks." You left the main lobby without another word, leaving Daisuke a little dumbfounded.

"Okay, now where was I?" Daisuke turned his attention back to opening the sugar packet, only to jump at another voice calling him.

"Boy," Swansea suddenly appeared, panting heavily and looking like he ran a hundred marathons. "Where is she? Where did Y/N go?"

"Y/N?" Daisuke blinked. "She went to the lower deck, I think. She was asking about Jimmy."

Swansea cursed under his breath. "Damn it," he wasn't in his prime anymore. Running would only exhaust him even further. "Look, kid. Y/N just took the axe without asking. And if I know her well, she might just do something that'll get us all into trouble."

"What do you mean?" asked Daisuke. "I don't think I understand, boss—"

"I mean that she's going to try and axe Jimbo in the face!" Swansea brings up a hand to wipe away the sweat on his forehead. "Be useful for once and help me catch her before things get outta hand!"

Now that set alarms inside Daisuke's head. "O-On it! Oh, I didn't know she was going to kill Jimmy!" He was feeling guilty because he had just endangered his superior's life. He pocketed the sweetener and immediately ran out of the room, with Swansea following behind sluggishly.

Meanwhile...

"Hey, Anya. Have you seen Y/N? I looked everywhere but I can't seem to find her." Curly asked upon entering the medical room, where Anya was stationed at her desk and was reading over some papers.

The nurse puts the papers down and looked up at Curly. "No, I don't think so. Maybe you should ask Swansea—"

A blood curdling scream cuts her off. Anya flinches as Curly whipped his head around at the direction of the sound. "...What the hell was that?"

For a moment, Anya's eyes began to widen. No, you couldn't possibly...?

Curly looked back at Anya with a serious expression. "I'll go check it out. You stay right here, okay?"

He didn't wait for her response as he immediately turned on his heel and sprinted out the medical room.

Anya remains stunned in her place, her mind running with countless thoughts. Now that she thinks about it, Curly seemed unaware of her... situation. It only means one thing, that you didn't tell him. And it also means that... you took matters into your own hands.

"Oh, god..." She stands up in a frantic manner, her body inclined to follow Curly. "Please, please don't be doing what I think you're doing, Y/N..."

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Requested tags: @ninastasia0

[thefirstknife]

Obsessed again. I couldn't actually play this week because my PC died (badly), but I did watch a friend play through the whole thing. So I'll be stealing screenshots.

But I'm obsessed with the Skolas cutscene and all the implications in it (and the song).

So the thing is that apparently the Echo is ... somewhat sentient. Obviously we knew some of that from last episode as well, because Echoes are made of people destroyed/attacked by the Witness so there's actual people in there. The previous Echo was made from the Qugu species and is specifically inhabited by the commander Te'Qal from the Dynasty lore book (highly recommended read, excellent proper scifi stuff in here).

We haven't learned about Revenant's Echo so far. Originally I thought that we'll get another lore book similar to Dynasty that explains what this Echo is made of, but we didn't. Instead, due to this cutscene... I think it was made from Eliksni. In some way. The Witness didn't destroy their entire species, but the Black Fleet did leave a huge and important mark and many Eliksni died on Riis and after. Their memories could be in the Echo. Transcript of the relevant bits (from Eso's video):

The song... hmm. A Whirlwind dirge. A seeking song for the lost. But... hmm. Variks does not recognise the singer. The Echo... It is the Echo that sings to us, Guardian. Sings of Riis, through our memories. It seeks an old strength. Strength to guide the scattered through a time of doubt and wrath... But it sees now how Fikrul wields its power... false life for an army of the slain, with those like Skolas for his pawns. The Echo seeks another wielder. It demands one who is worthy.

So there was a song that we followed in the mission and it led us to Fikrul (who holds the Echo) and Skolas. When we finished the fight, the cutscene played which explains why the song was there in the first place. It's a Whirlwind song, but it's being sang by the Echo itself, as if using memories of the Eliksni. So it would make sense that the Echo is made from them. To add to it, the seasonal lore book, The Garden-Way, final page mentions Chelchis singing a song:

This didn't seem too important before, but now after the cutscene I'm wondering!

It's also incredibly interesting that the Echo is apparently not interested in Fikrul anymore, implying a sort of sentience we haven't seen before. The last Echo was completely fine with Maya, which implies that this is due to the fact that Maya and Te'Qal are alligned. And that is true! Maya spoke highly of him and called him an ally, then also said that he lacked things that she has, so the two of them are empowering the Echo and work well together. The Echo was fine being in Maya's hands and still is.

But Fikrul and this one? Apparently don't get along. The Echo wants someone else, someone better and more worthy, and it is looking for that person while singing an old Eliksni song. I'm super interested to see who it will pick, if anyone. I think one of the strongest candidates is Eramis; a person who longs for Riis and protecting her people, but who never had proper powers to do so. She is a strong and capable leader and would use the Echo better than she did Darkness, because the Echo is essentially her kin (if it's correct that it's made from the Eliksni in some form).

There's other options as well, of course. There's even an option that we lose track of this Echo too, but it would be really interesting to see us gain one of them. Though in this case, if it is Eramis, she would probably take it with her to Riis, which is where she was headed before this whole thing went down.

Wild stuff going on, in between everything else. Needless to say, I'm hopelessly dependent on the lore about the Echoes which are glimpses into the lives and memories of ancient peoples. Fascinated to learn more about this one and where it ends up, and what waits for us next episode.

[takescrackseriously]

Almost Perfect

You can't blame them, how could you?

Even after years of trying to fit into human society, they still can't seem to perfect it, not truly. Not even the best amongst them could pass for one, just a single glance and the knowledgeable would be aware of their lack of humanity.

It took a while, yes. Mastering how the legs moved, how the elbows should bend, all took time. At first they barely even looked humanoid, especially when they moved. Too quickly, too slow, never quite understanding the way their limbs looked so dreamlike, almost nightmarish. Their hands took the longest, having to learn, from scratch, just how each knuckle bent, how many fingers there were.

But after so, so many years of watching us, they are so close they can almost taste it. If only they had tongues. But despite this, they have voices, broken, inhuman, for now.

I apologize, but earlier, I was being dishonest, but you don't mind. Not as though I'm any more truthful than those who created them. You see, they didn't take the longest with the hands, no, It was the faces. But how could you despise them for it? Noses, moths, eyes

... Not even your most skilled ever captured just the life-likess of humans.

No person, no sane one, would dare look into them let alone allow them selves or their craft to be absorbed by those.... What are they? Robots could be a term, buy they lack the metal. Doppelgangers? No, they contain far too many people to be considered a copy of just one. Whatever you call them, they are still the same. Same snake, different skin as they say.

But as I was saying, they needed more... More of what? Those of whom dedicate their time to... Create something. Those who will spend hours perfecting their mediocre 'art' on a canvas, no not even a canvas, a mere sheet of paper. Those who will spend their minutes slaving away to make that of which others need, want and use everyday yet will never be grateful for. The people who spend every waking second making whatever their heart desires and for what.... For their passion? Certainly not for money, not now atleast.... Perhaps they are of the creative sort.

Yes, creativity, that's what these being desire for, at their core. Every image, every picture, all filled with so much imagination brought to life. And what is the price of that?

Well, a lot, but to be quite frank, it shouldn't be. It's just a few well placed lines, why should any of us have to spend our well earned money on this? If these people who value their originality truly wanted a roof above their head, maybe they should try getting a real job. An occupation that we appreciate.

Now as for the consuming of these.... Artists, every thing the do, it fuels the beings. But sooner or later, we should have suspected this problem. They. Don't. Look. Normal.

Normal, original, ordinary. After a while, the talented's numbers have dwindled. Now, instead of eyes of hope for the future, how our emotion will shape the world around us, in there place it is empty.

A pit, so deformed has it not been placed upon a face you'd sooner guess you were looking at a black hole than what should be eyes. But eyes are the window to the soul.

Their noses could never inhale, exhale. Their eyebrows always seem to inconsistent, their ears neve made sense, hair shouldn't pass through them. Their mouths can't properly utter words.

We were however, able to perfect one. It may not look human enough to pass, but you know that many don't care, not those who value their golden pockets.

But I fear that these beings, and I mean this with respect, are thieves. Not our creations, they are a work of art. I mean the peope who think any should care for what they have worked so hard for. Be it on a page or screen, canvas or still life. They take from people of wealth, and they know that surely will will not tolerate being stolen from.

Please, blame the computer, the complex metal of which we have use to create these beings (out of necessity). Put the guilt on the souless gun.

Never the shooter with it's ebony eyes.

(short writing exercise, I'm trying to get better, so feel free to give constructive criticism :D)

so are they just hoping we don't notice the nightmare faces or

[positivelyholland]

Can we get a Styles-Swift reader! imagine in honor of Liam Payne?

Steady Hands in the Storm

Pairing: Harry Styles x daughter!reader

Genre: slight angst into fluff

Warnings: kinda a heavy one but it has a happy ending

A/N YALL IM BACK Word Count: 7,243

The house was unusually quiet. The kind of silence that feels heavy, pressing down on every surface. You sat at the kitchen table, absentmindedly stirring a spoon through your cup of tea. It had gone cold a while ago, but you hadn’t noticed. Not really. All your focus was on your father, who was sitting across from you.

He was hunched over, elbows on the table, his head in his hands. His curls looked messier than usual, like he hadn’t bothered to tame them today. You’d noticed the little things over the past few days—the way he moved slower, the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes anymore. Even the way his voice sounded softer, like the energy had drained out of him.

You knew why, of course. The news had hit everyone hard. Liam Payne, your dad’s former bandmate, had passed away unexpectedly. And even though it had been years since One Direction had been a band, those boys were still family to him. Losing Liam felt like losing a part of himself.

“Dad,” you said softly, your voice barely breaking the stillness.

He didn’t look up, but you saw his shoulders tense slightly.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse.

You sighed, setting your spoon down with a soft clink. You knew him well enough to understand that he wasn’t trying to shut you out. He just didn’t know how to put what he was feeling into words.

So, you decided to try a different approach.

“Do you remember that time Liam came over for Christmas when I was, like, six?” you said, leaning back in your chair. “He spent the whole day teaching me how to do a handstand in the living room. Mum was furious because we kept knocking over the decorations.”

That got a small huff of a laugh out of your dad, though he still didn’t lift his head.

“I thought she was going to banish him from the house forever,” you added with a grin.

“He kept apologizing every five minutes,” your dad muttered, finally looking up. His green eyes were red-rimmed, and you could tell he hadn’t slept much. “But then he’d just… try again. Said you were getting better every time.”

You smiled softly, nodding. “I did get better. All because of him.”

The room fell quiet again, but it didn’t feel as heavy this time. You could see your dad’s shoulders relax a little, his hands falling to rest on the table.

“He was so good with you,” Harry said after a moment. “Always patient. Always kind.”

You reached across the table, placing your hand over his. “He loved you, Dad. All of you. I think you meant as much to him as he did to you.”

Your dad swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he tried to keep his emotions in check.

“It just… it doesn’t feel real,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I keep thinking I’ll wake up and… and he’ll call or text, and it’ll all have been some kind of awful dream.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “I know. But he wouldn’t want you to carry this alone. You’ve always told me that grief is lighter when you share it.”

He gave you a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes but was a start.

“Why are you so wise for a teenager?” he asked, his voice tinged with warmth.

You shrugged, trying to keep the mood light. “I get it from Mum. Obviously.”

That earned you a soft chuckle, and for a moment, it felt like the cloud hanging over the room lifted just a little.

Over the next few days, you made it your mission to help your dad through his grief, even if he didn’t realize it. It was little things at first—making sure he ate, suggesting you watch one of Liam’s favorite movies together, or putting on some music to fill the silence.

But as time went on, you noticed that your dad seemed to be retreating into himself more. He’d spend hours in his studio, not working on anything, just sitting there with his guitar in his lap. You’d find him staring out the window, lost in thought, or holding his phone like he was waiting for a call that would never come.

It broke your heart to see him like this, so you decided to take a more direct approach.

One evening, you found him in the living room, staring at an old photo album. You sat down next to him without a word, leaning against his shoulder as you looked at the pictures. Most of them were from his One Direction days—grainy selfies, group shots from concerts, and candids of the boys goofing around backstage.

“Did you ever think those days would end?” you asked softly.

He shook his head. “Not really. We were so young, so caught up in it all. It felt like it would last forever.”

“But you’re still close,” you pointed out. “You and Louis talk all the time. And Niall sends those ridiculous videos that make you laugh so hard you cry.”

He smiled faintly at that. “Yeah. And Zayn… well, we’ve reconnected a bit over the years. It’s not the same as it was, but there’s still love there.”

You nodded, flipping the page to a picture of Liam holding a microphone, his face lit up with a big, toothy grin. “He’d be proud of you, you know. For everything you’ve done. For the way you’ve been there for everyone else, even when it’s hard for you.”

Your dad’s eyes filled with tears, and he quickly wiped them away, his hand trembling slightly.

“I just… I feel like I should’ve done more,” he admitted. “Checked in more often, made more of an effort to keep in touch. Maybe if I had, things would’ve been different.”

You shook your head firmly. “No, Dad. You can’t think like that. You loved him, and he knew that. Sometimes, life just… happens. It’s not anyone’s fault.”

He looked at you then, his eyes searching yours for some kind of reassurance. “How’d you get so good at this?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

“Years of listening to your music,” you teased, earning a watery laugh from him.

A few weeks later, your dad had a concert scheduled—a big one, with thousands of fans waiting to see him. You weren’t sure if he was ready to perform, but he insisted that the show must go on.

That night, as you stood backstage, you could feel the nervous energy radiating off him. He kept pacing, running his hands through his hair and mumbling to himself.

“Dad,” you said, stepping in front of him to stop his pacing. “You’ve got this.”

He looked down at you, his green eyes wide and uncertain. “What if I break down in the middle of it? What if I can’t do it?”

“You will,” you said confidently. “Because you’re doing this for him. And because he’d want you to.”

He took a deep breath, nodding slowly. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”

As the lights dimmed and the crowd erupted into cheers, your dad turned to you one last time. “Stay close, yeah?”

“Always,” you promised.

The concert started off strong, with your dad pouring his heart into every song. The crowd loved him, cheering and singing along to every word. But it wasn’t until halfway through the set that he finally addressed the elephant in the room.

“This next one…” he began, his voice shaking slightly. “This next one is for someone very special to me. Someone who’s no longer with us, but who will always be a part of my heart.”

The stadium fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in.

“I miss you, mate,” he said softly, his voice cracking. “This one’s for you.”

He started to play, his voice raw with emotion as he sang a song he’d written just for Liam. The lyrics were beautiful, filled with love and pain and memories of the friendship they’d shared. By the time he finished, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house—including yours.

When he walked off stage, you were there waiting for him, your arms open wide. He pulled you into a tight hug, holding on like you were his lifeline.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with gratitude. “For everything.”

You smiled against his shoulder, tears streaming down your face. “Always, Dad. Always.”

In that moment, you knew that while the pain of losing Liam would never fully go away, your dad would be okay. Because he wasn’t alone. He had you, and he had the love and memories of a bond that could never be broken.

And that was enough.

The End.

[daisyofwaterdeep]

AAAAAA I LOVE YOU FOR WRITING ROLAN. Istg ive been searching far and wide for rolan fics that hits jusssttt right. I can NOT tell you how many times ive read your potion fic and the caught fic (all parts) in the last 24 hours, practically the only thing ny eyes are glued to

If its not a hassle for you, may u request a continuation for the birthday fic where the reader went home and read the letter. Rolan was busy taking down the decor being all sappy (i love him like this) when the reader is practically panting (they ran). Love confession ensues and rolan finally can wrap his tail around your leg.

Thank you so much, ignore this if you are busy. Please take care of yourself and dont overwork. Ily

this ask made me so happy kjdnvjfnv thank you so much for your kind words!

read the first part here ----- Lia's voice breaks through Rolan's trance.

"Ugh. Who's the animal that left a huge stack of plates in the corner?"

He looks over to see her across the room, hands on her hips and shoulders tight with agitation.

"Pretty sure that was Minsc," Cal pipes up from the second floor balcony, broom in hand, "I saw him and his hamster hunkered down over there, going ham on the...well, ham."

"So they're the bastards that hogged the ham." Lia crouches down and starts stacking the plates into one pile, her annoyance making them clack hard together to the point that Rolan fears one may break, "By the time I got to the buffet, all that was left were those dainty little sandwiches."

"Heh," Cal points at Lia with a grin, "Hogged the ham."

Lia snorts despite herself. "Damnit Cal, I'm trying to be angry."

A rush and crackle of energy cuts their idle chatter, and the three tiefling's eyes go to the portal as it's swirling mass brightens. A moment later, you stumble through. Though you departed less than 30 minutes ago, you look entirely different now. Your perfectly sculpted hair is now limp and loose, strands sticking to your cheeks with sweat. You're bare-footed, your red dress hiked up your thighs and held in a wad by the same hand that holds your shoes. And in the other hand...

Rolan feels the blood drain from his body. He's completely frozen in place, even as your eyes lock onto his and you begin marching over, brandishing the letter in front of you.

"Is this some kind of joke?" Your breathing is harsh, and as you get closer, Rolan can see just how flushed you are. "Are you stupid?"

"Gods, Rolan, what in the hells did you do?" Lia is is at your side in an instant, scowl in place.

"I--" Rolan takes a step back from the both of you, panic rising hot and tight in his throat, "I don't know--"

And he really doesn't. He doesn't understand why you're looking at him with such anger, why your chest is heaving and your eyes are glassy.

You blink and turn to Lia, seeming to only just realize that she's there. And then your head turns to see Cal, broom clutched in his hands as he slowly descends the stairs. Your shoulders deflate and the anger across your face is replaced with sheepishness.

"Come on, Lia." Cal fumbles as he leans the broom against a nearby bookshelf, "You wanted to go grab a drink at the Elfsong, didn't you?"

Lia's jaw works as she glares at Rolan, clearly wanting to know just what in the hells is going on, but a glance at your embarrassed face makes her huff and turn on her heel. "Whatever's happening, you better fix it, Rolan."

Rolan silently agrees as Cal and Lia cast one last look back at the two of you before disappearing through the portal. You turn to confirm that they've left before raising the letter once again and frowning at him.

"What is this?"

Rolan doesn't answer. He's confused, sure, but he's also in shock. He hadn't prepared to be confronted with his letter so soon. And with such vitriol.

Your lips thin at his silence and you bring the paper up to your face. "I am aware that the feelings I harbor are entirely one-sided. Despite this, I hope you think no less of me for this confession." You turn your eyes back to him and brandish the letter once again, "Are you stupid?"

"Am I...um..." Rolan can feel his blood thundering hot in his veins, his stomach flipping uncomfortably at hearing his written words read out loud. "I...I don't--"

You cut off his stumbling words as you take a step forward. "You sit up here in your big fancy tower, thinking you're so clever, assuming you understand me." You smack your hand against the letter, "You go so far as to write me a confession, but you just--" You smack the paper again as your voice raises an octave, "You just get it all wrong!"

Rolan's lips flounder silently as he tries to figure out what to say. He wishes he could melt into the floor.

You take another step forward and shove the letter against his chest. Your eyes shine brightly and your chest heaves as you look up at him.

"You're really telling me that you had no idea that I'm in love with you?" You scoff, voice nearly hysteric, "You stupid..." You raise your fist and bring it weakly back down against his chest, "Idiot!"

Rolan swears that his heart stops beating.

You're...in love with him? Did he hear that right? There's no way that's what you just said. He replays your last words in his head, again and again, trying to figure out if there's something he's misinterpretting.

You stand before him, so close that he can smell the wine on your breath, looking up at him, clearly waiting for something.

Rolan clears his throat, but his voice still comes out as a scratchy whisper.

"Could you....say that again, please?"

"Say what?" You bite back, exasperated, "That you're an idiot?"

"No, the other thing."

You huff. "What, that I'm in love with you? Are you telling me that you really didn--"

Hearing it again finally cements the truth of it into Rolan, and he breaks your sentence off with a kiss. He feels the edge of your last word dwindle out in a sigh as your shoes clatter and the letter flutters to the floor. Your hands find his back, just as his tail finds your ankle and wraps around it snugly.

Perhaps he's not the brightest when it comes to matters of love, but now that he knows your feelings, he's damn well not going to squander them.

[the-lonelybarricade]

Queen of Thieves - Chapter 8

Summary: A fulfillment of this kinkmeme prompt. Or; A Canon AU where half fae, con-artist Feyre makes an ill placed bet.

Happy birthday to our darling Rhys!! I got him everything he wanted 😏

CW: Smut, Mild dubcon/CNC elements, mind control, and other dubious, wicked things

Read on AO3・QoT Masterlist ・Previous Chapter

-

Feyre was eleven years old the first time she was desperate enough to steal.

Like any ordinary child, she'd been taught that stealing under any circumstance was wrong. Her father was a merchant, which meant that thieves posed a direct threat to his livelihood, particularly when piracy was so common along the trade routes to the continent.

He'd built his legacy, the Prince of Merchants, on his willingness to sail those trade routes, navigating pirate-ridden seas because the higher risk equated to higher reward.

But a name wasn't won through gambling alone. Any merchant with a rookie crew could luck their way to the continent and back. What made him the best—the Prince—was his expertise in the art of bargaining. He was renowned for having deals so detailed, so craftily constructed, they needed to be written and signed in advance of each journey.

Feyre had been present for a few of those meetings, watching as ink bled from paper to skin. Sometimes, she'd even been present for the aftermath, listening to crewmen grumble about underhanded terms.

I am a man of my word, Father once said, rolling a contract over his desk and stabbing a finger to its contents. And my word was stated plainly. Do not impute your failure to read the terms on my good name. I am no liar, and I am certainly no thief.

He always used that word like it was filthy.

Feyre once mirrored that belief.

As a child, she would delight in sitting atop storage crates on the docks, monitoring the gangways as her father's crew unloaded cargo from his ship. If there were any wayward thieves, she was determined to catch them.

After all, Father didn't trust the folk along the docks. He barely trusted his own crew.

They don't have any passion for the exploration or the trade, he once grumbled. All they want is a bed and a meal.

Feyre remembered being shocked to hear that some people didn't have those things. Until that point, she'd always relied on having her basic needs met, and then some.

What's so bad about that?

When all a person cares about is surviving, it means they're willing to blur lines. They'll cheat, lie, and steal if it helps them get ahead.

Father shook his head like those three things were truly abominable. Little did he know that one day, Feyre would become a master of all three.

But she started with mastering one.

Two years after her father's vessel sank on the route to Bharat, Feyre's mother had fallen ill. Humans had weak constitutions, and grief could take a heavy toll. So could debt—of which, they'd learned the famed Prince of Merchants had many.

So Mother sold the house, then the jewels, then, eventually, her own body.

It was barely enough.

By the time she was too ill to work, there was nothing left to get by. No silver candlesticks or golden rings they could pawn at the market for medicine.

When Feyre wandered into the apothecary's shop, her intentions had been pure. If she knew the price of the medicine, then perhaps she and her sisters could find a way to scratch together the amount needed. They could scrub floors, or pull weeds in someone's garden, or maybe Elain could use her big brown eyes to draw sympathy begging in the streets.

The shop was lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves on every wall, filled to the brim with glass vials of varying colors and consistencies. Each sported a white label Feyre couldn't discern, though she was happy to pick out the colors that she found most interesting: a flask of swirling violet flecked with silver granules, another of bright, bubbling pink, and one which she swore housed a slithering creature.

"Can I help you?" The apothecary asked.

She sounded concerned, which any adult rightly would be at the sight of Feyre's tattered clothes.

It sparked hope that Feyre could appeal to the elderly female's empathy. That was all she'd been trying to do when she stared into the apothecary's eyes. Please help me, she thought. I know you want to help me.

The female's concern was so potent that Feyre could feel it, a rope tethering two strangers, built on kindness, on compassion. Her mind was as wide open as her heart.

Feyre didn't know she was digging into it until she felt something give. Like fingers clawing into wet sand.

I need a cure for a human fever, Feyre said.

She thought she said it out loud. She must have, because the apothecary started moving toward the shelf on the back wall.

Acting troupes occasionally put on puppet shows in the market squares near The Rainbow. Feyre felt like she was watching one of those shows as the female jerked open a drawer, her movements erratic. Unnatural. Like she was being controlled by an inexperienced puppeteer.

But the oddity was forgotten the second the woman produced a vial of shimmering liquid and handed it to Feyre without a word of the price. Her eyes were unnervingly vacant as Feyre took the vial, thanked the apothecary, and fled back to her mother.

She didn't realize until years later what happened; she didn't realize that was the moment she'd become a thief.

-

Daemati magic came in many different forms.

Suspended in the space between the High Lord of the Night Court's foyer and study, it took the shape of madness and indulgence.

Over the years, Feyre had progressed from accidentally breaking into people's minds into doing so with intention. It was a gradual process, one she likened to painting. A child used their fingers, but an artist used a brush.

And she was learning her mental bowstring was as rudimentary as finger painting to Rhysand.

Last time, he'd shown her brutal talons that allowed him to play ventriloquist, and she'd thought that was the extent of it. Pure, unyielding power.

But of course, it could be soft, too. Gentle, like a feather's touch ghosting over her mind. Almost… ticklish. Playful.

Like the fingers landing on her bare stomach. He splayed them out carefully, the way one might handle ruptured glass. They might have both been holding their breath as the challenge became real.

Their eyes met, waiting for the other to fracture. This was a ridiculous, dangerous game; they both knew it.

He was lowering himself to his knees before her, for Cauldron's sake. The most powerful male in Prythian bowing like a supplicant. It all seemed so backward to her.

But those strong, capable hands spread wider, undeterred by the constraints of social hierarchy. What did a High Lord care, when he could simply rewrite the rules with his fingertips? He stretched them until his palms landed flat, scalding her on either side of her abdomen. She tried not to focus on how long his fingers were, spanning over the curve of her waist while the tips of his forefingers skimmed her ribs.

"This," Rhys breathed, tracing one of his thumbs along the golden chain adorning her midriff, "was an excellent wardrobe choice."

"You can thank one of the mountain nymphs in the Palace of Thread and Jewels," Feyre said. As if this were a perfectly normal conversation. "She sold it to me."

"I'll make note of that," Rhys murmured, still toying with that gods-damned chain. Feyre fought the urge to squirm. "I owe her my heartfelt gratitude."

"I bought it with your money," she added.

Rhys shut his eyes. She watched him take a deep breath, and she couldn't tell if that knowledge irritated or excited him. When those violet eyes flashed open, bright and burning with hunger, Feyre thought she had her answer.

"Then it was arguably the best money I've ever spent."

"Arguably?"

It was meant to come off as teasing, but with his fingers drifting up her stomach, everything was coming out a little bit strained. And maybe… a little hurt. Not that it mattered if the High Lord regretted spending his money on her.

When Rhysand laughed, his breath danced over her skin, as light a caress as his presence at her mental shields.

"I would claim it with more conviction, but you weren't here for the ass-chewing I received from my second."

"Your—" she broke off with a little gasp as Rhysand's hands slid upwards, dipping beneath the golden band that cinched her top over her breasts. She adjusted her grip on the rope, holding tighter. "Your second in command?"

"Amren," he supplied. "She's a vicious firedrake trapped in a tiny female's body."

"Amren," Feyre echoed, squeezing her eyes tight as those curious fingers began running along the beads hanging beneath her breasts. They made a soft, metallic tink as they swung and collided with each other. "Amren like… like from the children's stories?

Nesta used to tease her with cautionary tales of the bloodthirsty Amren, who lurked in the shadows and sucked on the bones of naughty children. It wasn't the first she'd heard of Rhysand being in cohorts with Amren, but she'd always assumed it was figurative. The way a Priestess was associated with the Mother.

"She doesn't devour misbehaving children, if that's what you're wondering." Rhysand paused, drawing back for a moment with a horrifyingly considerate expression. "Anymore," he clarified.

"Anymore?" Feyre squeaked.

"There's no need to be afraid, Feyre." He grinned, leaning in closer. "Unless, of course, you've been misbehaving. Is there something you'd like to confess?"

Cauldron boil her. Feyre couldn't tell if he was being serious.

"Last I checked, stealing and gambling aren't exactly the traits of a priestess."

"It's a good thing Amren isn't the Mother, then. I think she would find those things amusing," Rhys said, a curious warmth to his voice. One she might even dare to label as affection. "In fact, I think she'd be quite impressed with you."

Feyre repeated, incredulous, "With me?"

"I certainly am."

And before she could digest that statement, Rhys circled a hand to the small of her back, untying the golden band that kept the fabric over her breast secured. It dropped to the floor in a clatter of beading, marking the descent of Feyre's resolve.

Her arms were starting to tremble, and she was grateful she could blame it on the exertion of holding them up. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to focus on the stinging in her palms from how tightly she gripped the rope. It was far better to focus on her chafing skin than the kiss of cool air against the underside of her breasts.

There was nothing preventing Rhys from slipping his hands beneath the newly loosened fabric and discovering her hardened nipples—not that they weren't already visible, peeking through the thin layer of fabric.

Rhys drew back to observe her, holding his advance for the moment.

"Are you getting nervous, Feyre?" The lapping presence at her mind became a little pushier, more of a prod than a stroke. "Your shield's still holding up nicely."

"Because I'm not nervous," she insisted.

"No?" Rhys leaned in, pressing the tip of his regal nose just beneath her navel. "Is that something else I smell, then?"

"Is it the stench of your own ego?"

"So sharp with me," he chided, momentarily abandoning his conquest near the top of her ribs to guide his nose lower, down to her hip bone, then across the low dip of her skirt. "What will it take to make you soft? Is it just a matter of finding the right spot to stroke?"

Feyre snorted. "I don't think soft is what appeals to you, High Lord."

"Oh?" His eyes flickered up to hers, only briefly, before he resumed his slow exploration. "What is it you think appeals to me?"

Feyre didn't answer. She didn't know how—not once he found the knot that kept her skirt in place. He bit into it, tugging with his teeth despite having two perfectly good hands placed just below her breasts.

Feyre nearly let go. She considered it, at least, as she watched Rhys unravel the knot with his mouth. She had time to stop it from plummeting to the ground in a waterfall of blue cloth. But she didn't.

As it pooled at her feet, Rhys drew away again, taking her in with riveted interest. With her hands occupied, there was nothing she could use to hide from his stare, though she twitched with the urge. She felt like a creature trapped in a frame, laid bare under his assessment.

It wasn't the clothes, or lack thereof. Though, he looked delighted to discover the pair of lacy underthings she'd selected that morning. It wasn't the lust, either. Not when she felt it in equal measure, and had walked into this house fully intending to slate their shared desire.

No, what caught her off guard. What stripped her raw, worse than the rope squeezed between her fingers, was the way that smug smile faded into something… something Feyre didn't know how to name.

His eyes captivated her. Blazing and intent, no different from the moment they met. She couldn't look away from them—and she wanted to, if only to glance over her shoulder and ensure the Mother hadn't materialized behind her back. That was the only way Feyre could have explained the awe creeping over his expression.

His fingers flexed at their place over her ribs, as though restraining the urge to drag them lower.

"You," he said, answering the question she couldn't. On his knees, in that voice… It sounded oddly like a prayer. "I want you however you come, Feyre. Soft or sharp, you're equally exquisite."

Her heart was beating in her throat. "What if I only know sharp?"

"Then be as sharp as you want with me." He was leaning towards her again, less as if driven by hunger and more as if he simply couldn't resist. Like she was the puppeteer, pulling him forward. "Cut me, make me bleed. Just—don't make me stop."

Feyre didn't plan on it. That rope was her lifeline, and she held tight as Rhys dived back against her stomach, his mouth open this time, tasting and nipping at her skin. There would be marks there tomorrow. A trail of love bites across her hips, just beneath the golden chain he seemed so obsessed with.

When she tried to wriggle away, growing impatient, Rhys slid his hands to her hips, locking her in place.

"Stay still for me." She found his orders lost some of their impact when muffled into her stomach. "I told you I intend to taste every inch."

It was a shame she couldn't dive her hands into his hair. If she could, she would have taken hold and pushed his mouth where she actually wanted him—needed him.

"Rhys."

His name was half gasp, half complaint.

"You know." He slid his tongue around the curve of her navel, before mouthing his way to the valley of her breasts. His hands followed in a slow, scraping caress. "I don't think I've ever heard you call me that before."

"Would you—" Feyre's breath hitched as he brushed the back of his knuckles against one of her nipples. "Prefer to be called High Lord?"

That seemed to amuse him. "My bedmates aren't usually so formal."

"What do you prefer then? Master? Milord? Your Great Exaltedness?"

Rhys hummed dismissively. "If you can say that many words, then I'm not doing my job right."

"Well, I've been speaking this whole time. So what does that tell you about how you're doing?"

Feyre knew she was in trouble when Rhys stilled. She didn't know why she always felt the need to provoke him. Maybe it was because she still couldn't figure out why he tolerated it.

This was the same male who threatened to cut off someone's tongue for speaking too casually in his presence. The same male who slaughtered one of his captains without blinking. He had a reputation for ruthlessness, and she'd witnessed firsthand how he'd earned it.

And yet, he always seemed to hold back the breadth of his cruelty around her.

Even now, as he thumbed at her nipple through the loose fabric over her chest, he exuded patience. Musing, "Have you ever tried Illyian tea?"

Tea? Not following where he was going with the question, Feyre answered with a hesitant, "No?"

"It's cold in the Illyrian Mountains," Rhys said, emphasizing his point by ducking to blow a gust of cold breath over her collarbone. Feyre shivered. "The tea keeps us warm, and doubles as treatment for the wounded. It's strong stuff. The kind that burns down your throat and will land you on your ass after too many cups."

"What's your point?"

"You don't savor Illyrian tea. You down it as quickly as possible and wait for the warming to start."

"Okay?"

"I spent most of my youth in the Illyrian Mountains," Rhys went on. "And the first time I attended a High Lord's summit with my father, he smacked me upside the head when I tried to down a thimble of Day Court Mead. He told me I looked barbaric. Day Court Mead is one of the finest wines in Prythian, you see. You're meant to sip it, holding the flavors on your tongue."

"So I'm the mead, then," Feyre said, guessing where he was going with the analogy. "Am I supposed to be flattered that you're comparing me to a drink?"

Rhys didn't answer immediately. He only grinned to himself, before pulling away and rising from his knees. An unsettling response—almost as unsettling as his cryptic, "Stay here."

Then he headed back into the dining room. Feyre leaned through the doorway as best she could to follow what he was up to, but from her vantage point, all she could see was the end of the dining table and the abandoned chairs. She didn't dare let go of the rope to inspect any further.

It could be a trick, after all.

"I swear to the Cauldron, Rhysand, if you intend to leave me hanging from the doorway for the rest of the bargain—"

"You'll what, exactly?" He asked, sauntering back into view with a bottle in his hands, his face the picture of smug amusement.

"You'll owe me anything by the end of this," Feyre reminded him. "If you decide to be cruel, I'll endure it. And then I'll ensure it's repaid in full."

"Such a feisty creature you are." The words sounded gratingly affectionate, the way one would speak to a kitten batting at their leg. "And, pray tell, how will I be repaid if I decide to be kind? Might I expect more warmth from you?"

Feyre narrowed her eyes at the bottle in his hand. "What's that?"

He displayed it proudly before her. "Day Court mead, of course."

That was where he lost her. And it made Feyre nervous, seeing his large hands braced around the bottle, watching as he drew his thumb suggestively around the rim of the cork…

Her voice wobbled a bit as she asked, "W-what are you planning to do with it?"

All it needed was a small push of his thumb and then—pop.

"I want you to try it," Rhysand said, closing the distance between them.

His fingers lodged under her chin, burning where they touched. She was burning in so many places, now. Her hands, raw from the rope. Her chin, warm from his touch. Her cunt, aching with need. And her cheeks, embarrassed from it all.

"Be good for me." Rhys tilted her chin up, until her eyes were level with the sight of her trembling arms, growing white and numb, but still holding fast.

When he raised the bottle, he dragged his thumb across her lower lip, prompting with a single, firm, "Open."

Feyre parted her lips, allowing him to pour the mead into her mouth.

The first drop was like sunlight. Honeycomb drenched sunlight. Sweet, but not like sugar. Sugar was sharp, quick, and over too soon. This was slow, like a sun-warmed nap in a swaying field, rich and indulgent. The longer she tasted, the more depth she discovered, luring her in, somersaulting her towards a golden abyss.

"Don't swallow," Rhys whispered, his voice wending around her, coupled by strokes of dark tendrils that forced her awareness to return to her other senses. On her tongue, a drop had become a flood, filling her mouth until it pooled, then overflowed, streaming down her chin, her neck, her breasts.

She could already feel the sugar sticking to her, but her focus was on remembering to breathe through her nose, trying desperately not to choke while Rhys continued pouring, his other hand cradling her skull as he murmured, "That's it, Feyre. Good girl."

Eventually, the bottle ran dry.

"Not yet," Rhysand said. "You're meant to hold it on your tongue, remember?"

Feyre's throat bobbed uncomfortably. That was another place she was beginning to burn.

"Stay still," he coaxed, leaning in. Their eyes met as his lips fell over hers. Those damn, discerning eyes that saw everything, including the desire she was trying so hard to fight.

He saw it, and smiled, all wicked and taunting. His tongue flicked across her lower lip, tasting the wine. But he didn't stop there.

His fingers curled in her hair, urging her head upright so the mead could flow from her open mouth to his. It wasn't clean by any means. Honeyed wine spilled from the seam of their lips, dripping onto her skin and his clothes, making a mess of them both. She swallowed what was left—it was the only way she could kiss him back, and Rhys didn't seem to have any complaints.

With a groan, he dashed the empty bottle to the floor, bearing no mind to the resulting crash and scattering fragments. He seemed to have much more pressing concerns, which involved scooping Feyre against him to deepen the kiss. His tongue traced her lower lip again, and she opened her mouth, inviting him to taste at the source.

His tongue swept in, tasting of honey, and she wanted so badly to let go of the rope so she could hold him there, to suck at his tongue and bite at his lips. Rhys was in full control, positioning her just as he wanted so he could taste.

Feyre hissed when he pulled away to lick a trail of mead from her chin.

A rasping chuckle was her response. "I've made a mess, Feyre. It's my duty to clean it up."

A hand fisted in her hair and tugged, angling her neck back so he had full license to lick the column of her throat.

Feyre was panting, squirming against his hold and furious that he would stop kissing her. "Rhys—"

"What happened to Your Great Exaltedness?"

He kept her arrested in that position, taking his time to suck and nip at her skin, then pull away with an audible pop. Over and over, he ignored her groans of frustration, creating a path of red welts that were soon interrupted by her sullied top.

"Oh dear, this has been ruined, hasn't it?" He didn't sound the least bit concerned as he ripped at it, casting the garment away as if it were mere cobwebs. "Don't worry, I'll get you a replacement."

And then the heat of his mouth surrounded one of her breasts, his tongue circling her nipple. Feyre gasped, bucking into the air. This was going to be impossible if she didn't have something to ground her, something to—

Rhys, as if sensing what she needed, wedged his thigh between her legs. The pressure against her clit relieved some of the ache, but introduced the new, humiliating urge to drive her hips forward.

She bit her lip, determined to resist.

"Is this what you needed, Feyre?" Rhys coaxed, palming her hip to create the movement for her. She fought a whimper as her clit ground against his hard muscle. "Does that feel better?"

She refused to answer him. But she also didn't stop moving her hips when he let go.

"That's it," he murmured, returning his attention to her breasts. One was cradled in his palm, while the other endured the countless lashes from his tongue, teasing her so mercilessly that she thought she might die if she didn't touch him.

When his teeth clamped down, Feyre screamed, driving her hips against his thigh harder. Her head was beginning to spin, a mixture of exhaustion and pleasure and pain.

As she writhed against him, Feyre started plotting all the ways she would get her revenge once her hands were free. Maybe she'd fish another bottle of mead from his cellar and sip it from his abs. Maybe she'd tie him up and ride his face until he couldn't breathe.

Maybe she'd—

My, don't you have the most delicious thoughts about me.

Feyre froze. Rhysand's mouth was still latched to her breast. Those words hadn't come from his mouth. Which meant that voice…

It was in her mind.

You should pay more attention to your mental shields, Feyre. A lesser male could walk right in and decide to take you up on those filthy thoughts of yours.

Feyre's fingers flexed with the urge to lash out in front of her, as if she could physically push him out. What are you doing?

Did you forget? This was a daemati exercise. And it looks like your shield dropped as soon as you started enjoying yourself.

A familiar sensation crept over her—awareness, like a cold breath cascading down her spine, that her body was yielding to a foreign presence. Her veins became a latticework of strings, and she felt his talons pluck at them, transforming her into a marionette of his will.

Now, now, he tutted. Don't stop on my account, Feyre.

Captive in her own mind, Feyre could do nothing to prevent her hips from rolling forward. Her head tipped back, and without restraint over her body, there was nothing to smother the moan rising in her throat.

There you are, Feyre. Give in to it.

He was everywhere, physical and otherwise. His magic swarmed through the crack in her mental shields, blanketing her mind in a fog of endless starlight. She treaded through it the same way she'd learned how to swim, thrashing and kicking blindly in an attempt to reach the surface. But that assumed there was a surface, an ending to the vastness of power that twined and twisted around her.

Rhys clicked his tongue. Must you always fight me?

Outside their minds, she felt cool air sting her puckered nipple, exacerbated by the saliva glinting there, and the trail of it that led to Rhysand's cat-like grin. She watched him lick his lips as he admired his work: From her flushed skin, covered in love bites and rivulets of golden wine, to her trembling arms, waning in strength. Finally, his attention dipped to his thigh, where the fabric of his trousers had become damp from each consecutive pass of Feyre's hips.

He took a deep, pointed inhale. You can admit you want this. There's no sense hiding what we both already know.

I want—even her mental voice sounded shaky—the money and the favor. Not you.

Immune to her lies, her body continued helplessly rubbing against him. Her breathing quickened as that pressure began to build, winding hot and tight.

Why not me, Feyre? Rhys pushed, almost taunting. He could feel she was close to the edge. Is it because it frightens you?

Because it's not real!

That's not the game we're playing right now.

His tongue snaked along her throat, licking away more of the mead.

Inside, she was grappling against his hold. They thrashed and rolled through the darkness, her claws scraping his, pushing and pulling, ebbing and flowing until they were a tangled mass of magic, so deeply intertwined that Feyre lost all sense of where she ended and he began.

Meanwhile, Rhysand held her, enveloped her, worshiped her with his mouth and hands and talons, and she thought it wouldn't be the worst thing to surrender to this.

Why was she holding herself back?

This is all just a distraction, she reasoned. It doesn't mean anything

Do you want it to mean something, Feyre?

Feyre wanted to scream. Though, from frustration or pleasure she wasn't certain. Everything was becoming muddled, colors bleeding together like water over paint. There wasn't room in her mind to think, and outside her body was being driven to a pinnacle that she couldn't hold back.

Get out of my head!

Rhysand's voice was full of faux sympathy. If it's too much for you, darling, then let go of the rope.

Fuck you.

Oh, I intend to. His voice was starting to sound a little breathless, too. A large hand palmed her backside, moving her faster against him. She watched through half-lidded eyes as his head tipped back with a low, guttural sound. Fuck. Feyre—

The world fractured. Erupted, like dropping into the ocean and feeling the water rush past. She delved deep into that darkness, feeling her own magic rupture and scatter into stars, washing her soul against the shore of his, their very essence seeping through the cracks of the other, becoming a tapestry of magic threaded so tightly she could feel it pulling in her chest.

Feyre let go of the rope.

She didn't know she still had enough control over her body to do so, not until she was already moving, threading her arms behind his neck to crash her mouth to his. It wasn't gentle. He didn't deserve gentle.

Bed, she demanded.

Rhys obeyed without question, not breaking their kiss as darkness folded and unspooled around them, depositing Rhys on his back atop his bed. Feyre straddled him, clawing at his clothes with shaking, rope-burned hands.

Until Rhys caught both wrists, bringing them to his lips one at a time to kiss away the raw flesh.

There's no rush, he soothed, running his thumb across her newly healed palms. We'll have an extra six hours together, after all.

For that comment alone, Feyre tore straight through his jacket and undershirt, coming away with strips of cloth. The High Lord didn't seem to mourn his clothes in the least. She would have taken more time to admire him, to admire the tattoos that she discovered on his chest and shoulders, so strikingly similar to her own.

Except, he was staring up at her, raw delight on his face. So feral—

Shut up.

I'll need to subtract that from your—

I said. Feyre crawled up his body, tearing off her soaked underthings. Shut. Up.

Unfortunately, sitting on a male's face was only an effective silencing technique when that male wasn't a daemati.

What a pretty view, Rhys purred, craning his neck before she'd even finished lowering herself down. The second she was steady, her hands balanced on the headboard, he hooked his arms around her thighs to bring her closer. Here I thought you planned to punish me.

Congratulations, you've proved you can run your mouth. Do you actually know how to use it?

Rhys arched a brow. Even Feyre couldn't believe her own boldness. One of these days, she was going to overstep and find herself on the receiving end of that boundless power, and it wouldn't be teasing and caressing her the way it was doing now.

Don't be so certain. I like that you're not afraid of me.

The purr in his voice heated her blood, nearly as much as that first, filthy kiss he pressed against her cunt. He went slow, using the broad flat of his tongue to part her folds in a long path ending at her clit. That was where he focused his attention, sucking and lashing while he kept her hostage in his grip.

But if you're going to mouth off, he continued without faltering in his expert torture. Be prepared for the consequences.

This, Feyre gasped, doesn't feel like a consequence.

Yet, he said smugly. I have all night with you. And I intend to 'put my mouth to use' until I've had my fill.

She knew he was bluffing. Feyre could count on her hand the number of males who had put their heads between her thighs, and all of them disengaged after a few minutes into the act.

With a growl, Rhys redoubled his efforts. A word to the wise when fucking a daemati: try not to think of other males unless you want them dead.

Jealous?

Insufferably. He nuzzled his face lower, dragging his tongue to her entrance. Do you still remember their names?

No. Even if she did, she wouldn't have told him. On the chance that he wasn't joking when he said they'd end up dead.

Good.

His tongue slid inside her, and the headboard creaked from how tightly Feyre clutched to it, convinced she would topple over when his fingers slid between her legs to supplement his tongue, rubbing tight, delicious circles. Her hips bucked, her climax shattering through her at incredible speed, causing light to dot her vision.

Rhys didn't slow his movements, continuing to lick and stroke her as he crooned, There's only one name you need to remember.

They were still mind-to-mind, completely entangled. Paired with her mind-numbing pleasure, it made the task of searching through her memory rather tedious. It was like trying to navigate a familiar place in the dark, she knew the information was somewhere around here…

Cassian? She said, recalling the name she'd heard from the rumor mill with a great deal of effort.

Rhys growled. Very funny.

Her thighs, clamped tightly around his head, were beginning to twitch as he worked her towards another rapidly approaching edge. Feyre didn't think she could survive this all night.

Wh-what was it you said? If I can say this many words, then you must not be doing a very good—

Those hands at her thighs grabbed her roughly, pushing her off his face and flipping her onto her back in a single, fluid movement. Feyre yelped as one of those hands grabbed her throat, pinning her to the mattress.

You can't help yourself, can you, Feyre?

Not any more than you!

An exasperated laugh rasped out of him, making her think she had just proved his point.

What happened to having your mouth on me all night? She challenged.

I'm thinking I need to tire you out first. Get you a little more… subdued.

He withdrew his hand, then his body entirely. Feyre's mouth went dry as she watched him unbutton his trousers, finally freeing his erection. He had no right to be as big as he was. To be as beautiful and powerful and arrogant as he was and to still have a cock like that…

Feyre hated him a little bit for it. Hated how difficult it would be to walk away from him by the end of this.

Rhys sauntered forward, expression as satisfied as it ought to be with a cock like that swinging between his legs and unfiltered access to each of the filthy thoughts she was having about it.

There'll be time for more play later, he said, pressing a knee into the bed.

He crawled over to her, and she watched his eyes fall over her naked body, parted in invitation for his. The hunger on his face curbed into something softer, something she didn't know what to do with.

You're beautiful, he murmured, seconds before his mouth found hers in a deep, open kiss. He tasted of honey wine and her own arousal, an unexpectedly pleasant combination. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It struck me the moment I first saw you.

His bare skin was so warm against her own, each contact point jolting her with a feeling of rightness. They slotted so perfectly together, his cock nudging at her entrance as she wrapped her legs around his waist, their tongues moving together and their fingers locking so that there wasn't a single part of their bodies and souls that wasn't entwined as Rhys pushed himself in.

Then paused.

Feyre fought a snarl.

Tell me you want this, he said. Forget about the bargain. Tell me this is about more than the money.

I want this. Feyre pulled at him, clashing their noses together from how fiercely she clutched at his face. She pushed her heels into his muscular backside, trying to urge his hips deeper. I want you, Rhys.

He groaned, pushing his hips forward.

The stretch of him was exquisite. Feyre had never felt anything quite like it—the decadent pleasure made sharper by the slight burn as he pushed in further, slowly, ensuring she felt every inch, every delicious place they were joined.

But that was just one layer of the overlapping sensations. There was also the cradle of his body, surrounding her in warmth. The soft lips against her neck, panting sweet, reverent breaths of, Feyre—oh, Feyre.

And then their minds. One seamless, blended entity of magic, of starlight. She could feel him everywhere, no piece of her soul untouched, but she could see all of him, too. Like gazing upon the very fabric of his life, woven from the moment he was born—maybe even before then.

If she plucked at one of the threads, she wondered what she'd find. A memory? A vital fragment of his being?

She wouldn't dare, not when she could feel him staring back so… openly. Like he wouldn't stop her if she tried. It was vulnerable in a way she didn't know how to honor. In a way that made her wary.

You are… Feyre trailed off, failing to find a word that articulated what she saw, what she felt.

Perfect.

That snapped Feyre out of her awe. She blinked, refocusing on her physical body, where he was shaking as he held himself still, letting her adjust and…

And just staring at her. His lips parted open, mouthing a word she couldn't make out as his wild eyes darted over her, studying every detail.

Adequate, Feyre said, narrowing her eyes at him. I was going to go with 'adequate'.

For a moment, Rhys said nothing, his brows pinching together in confusion. And then he seemed to snap out of it, barking a laugh that echoed through the starry cavern of their minds.

I was talking about you, smartass. He leaned down, licking a stripe up her throat that sent ripples of pleasure down her spine. But allow me to demonstrate just how 'adequate' I can be.

He withdrew his hips, just slightly, then plunged them forward, grinding deep as Feyre clawed at his back, panting.

Rhys let out a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through his chest. In their minds, it became a clap of thunder, his magic roiling, surrounding her in zapping, crackling power. Her hair stood on end, her pulse quickening from the thrill, like standing at sea during a storm.

She dug her nails harder, certain she was peeling back skin, and he snarled in encouragement, withdrawing and snapping his hips. Again.

I've thought about this, he rasped, punctuating his words with another hard thrust. Every damn day since our last bargain, Feyre.

He drove into her harder, relentless. Grunting, I haven't been able to get your scent out of my nose.

I haven't been able to get you out of my gods damned mind.

Those words rippled through the space between their minds, echoing his confession. Feyre rolled her hips up, begging him to go harder, faster. Trying to say, in her own way, that she couldn't stop thinking about him, either.

I thought—

His teeth grazed over her pulse, making it jump. Her breath hitched.

Go on, he said, voice molten velvet.

I thought I was supposed to be the one practicing my shields. But it's your mind that can't keep me out.

His laugh was rich, warming her bones. If you think I'm the one with all the power here, Feyre, you are mistaken.

Then, as if to disprove that very statement, he let go. Every restraint, every glamour, every attempt he made to act the average fae—it all disappeared in that moment.

Great, membranous wings unfurled behind his back, blanketing them in the scent of citrus and sea salt. With a splintering crack, his magic untethered, spilling darkness into the room.

Without her sight, it became impossible to differentiate between the mental and physical worlds. As if they existed in a liminal space between, where slapping skin became the thunderous collision of souls, crashing and merging together.

Feyre was certain she was screaming. She thought, distantly, he might have been too. Somewhere, her mortal body clenched around him, hot and fever-bright.

She heard her name, over and over, Feyre, Feyre, Feyre—

And then he shattered, too, shooting every star out of orbit, his magic flooding over her in wave upon wave. She should have been frightened, surrounded by so much unyielding power, but it felt oddly peaceful. Like diving into the sea from her dreams.

She floated through that presence, Rhys buried inside her, both of them panting.

When he withdrew, so did the magic.

It was too bright. Feyre cringed, burying her face into his heaving chest, not caring the least that he was covered in sweat and shaking. They both were.

When she finally pulled away, blinking into the light, she found a pair of stunned violet eyes blinking back. For the first time since meeting him, he looked dumbstruck, mouth opening and closing like he was floundering for words. Like maybe all daemati sex didn't feel that… world ending.

For a long moment, they only stared, catching their breath.

Feyre took the time to reconstruct her mental walls, finding it oddly empty inside her mind without his presence.

Meanwhile, Rhys rubbed a hand down his face, then his chest, feeling absently at his ribs. She wondered if she'd accidentally hit him there when everything went dark.

She felt a bit battered herself. Sticky and sweaty and sore in far too many places. Tomorrow he'd probably take pleasure in laying her out to count each of his bite marks.

"Was that adequate enough for you?" Rhys asked, finally breaking the silence.

Smug bastard.

Feyre shrugged. "You're the High Lord who's supposedly so difficult to please. You tell me."

He smirked. "Lay back, Feyre."

Her mouth popped open. Surely he wasn't serious.

"Already?"

Rhys crawled toward her, wedging his massive body between her thighs. "I told you I wouldn't stop until I've had my fill." He flashed her a wicked smile as he lowered his mouth to her cunt, licking at their shared spend like it was a delicacy.

And I'm not nearly close to finished with you.

-

At some point, they did stop fucking long enough to eat and bathe—just barely.

Rhysand was ravenous. And Feyre didn't know what had gotten into her, but she was, too. They couldn't stop. Even long after they were exhausted, they kept touching and kissing until they collapsed completely tangled in each other.

Feyre had gotten maybe an hour of sleep, if that, when she woke up to pee.

She took her time on the way back to bed, marveling first at the sleeping form of the most powerful High Lord. He didn't look nearly so intimidating when he was naked and snoring, the blankets strewn haphazardly over his muscular legs.

If she had the time, she would have liked to draw him like this. No one else in the world got to see this version of him.

Except the other females he bedded.

That… was a sobering thought. The reminder that this wasn't some sacred, meaningful tryst. He was paying to fuck her, no different from any other whore in the upscale pleasure house she heard he frequented often.

With burning cheeks, Feyre turned away from his sleeping form, refocusing on why she was here to begin with.

His personal bedroom was larger than the one she'd stayed in last time, though only slightly. He had a worktable, scattered with paperwork and curious trinkets. Star charts and models of planets and books upon books of topics she couldn't discern.

That was another scalding reminder of how far apart their worlds were.

She was really only good at one thing.

Feyre tiptoed to his bedside table, silently pulling the drawer open to inspect its contents. More books, a pair of reading glasses, a velvet box, and a dark crown that she assumed had wound up in here after a late night at some formal gathering.

She imagined Rhys winnowing directly to his bedroom, flinging the crown into the bedside drawer, and collapsing atop the mattress.

It couldn't be easy, this life.

Feyre lifted the crown, measuring its weight in her hands, before she indulged the childlike impulse to place it on her head.

It couldn't be hard, either. Better than starving. Better than whoring yourself to survive.

She rose from his bedside table, searching for a mirror to admire how she looked in a crown, but a hand at her wrist stopped her.

Rhys was reclined across his bed, wings splayed beneath him, a lazy smile stretched across his lips.

"Find something you like?"

Panic seized her chest, squeezing like a fist as she scrambled to think of an excuse. "I—"

His eyes darkened. "Come back to bed."

"Rhys, I'm—"

"Keep the crown on," he said, tugging at her wrist with urgency.

She followed his pull, uncharacteristically pliant as he positioned her thighs over his face, groaning, "Gods, look at you," as he dived his mouth between her legs.

-

The final six hours of their bargain passed much the same.

There wasn't any noticeable shift to the way Rhys touched her, still slow and indolent, like he had all the time in the world.

It was nearly dusk and they were still in bed, still kissing though too exhausted to do much else. Even so, his kiss was gentle and thorough and maddening.

Feyre missed it when he pulled away.

"Your bargain's fulfilled," he said, breathing heavy. "I can take you home now."

It was a bad sign that it was dread coursing through her instead of relief.

Rather than untangle her alarming mix of feelings, Feyre fisted her hands in his hair, urging his mouth back to hers. Just one more kiss. To remember him by.

Rhys made a low, pleased sound in the back of his throat. He returned the kiss open-mouthed, cradling the back of her head to bring her closer. When she felt him harden against her thigh, they both groaned.

Rhys withdrew again, something achingly hopeful in his expression. "There's nothing preventing you from staying," he added. "If you want to."

That was what scared her—that fact that she wanted to.

Feyre kissed him again. Kissing him was easier than answering. Only, Rhys seemed to take kissing as an answer. He shifted closer, wrapping his wing around them so that she was cocooned in his heat, his scent, his touch.

And as the kissing grew more fervid, she didn't stop him from flipping her onto her stomach. He used his knees to wedge her thighs apart, spreading her open as those strong hands found her hips, urging them up, up, up.

She buried her face in the mattress, already clutching tightly to the sheets in anticipation of that first, perfect thrust.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Rhysand." The voice was female—crisp and edged, entirely undaunted by the High Lord's responding snarl. "You're late."

"Leave us."

It was a direct, uncompromising order, and yet the knocking came again. Louder.

"We are not rescheduling this meeting again. I'm sure your playmate can survive without your cock for an hour."

Feyre was still pressed into the mattress, gaping at him over her shoulder at the way the female was speaking to him. At the way Rhysand was letting her speak to him.

And more so that he listened, turning to Feyre with an apologetic wince. "I need to go. But you can stay here." He paused, hesitating for a moment before adding, "I'd like for you to stay. I'll be back within the hour."

A cough on the other side caused him to blow out a long breath.

"Maybe two hours."

Feyre nodded, slumping into the mattress. Rhys pressed an apologetic kiss into a notch at the top of her spine, then the next. The next. He nearly made it to her ass before the door rattled with an irritated thump.

With a long-suffering sigh, Rhys lifted himself from Feyre's body. It was no easier than trying to lift a boat from the sea; they both felt heavier once they were separated.

"Rest," Rhysand said. "You'll need it when I'm back."

After less than an hour of sleep, the stack of pillows at the headboard was practically calling her name. Feyre made a show of nuzzling into them, wrapping the blankets around her as a surrogate for Rhysand's warmth.

She felt him staring at her. Heard the soft little hmph he made in the back of his throat. A pleased sound, like he enjoyed the sight of her nestled in his bed.

Then, with a wave of his hands, he was dressed, closing the door behind him. She heard him speak to the female on the other side, their voices too muffled to discern, but she could tell he was grumbling about something.

Feyre listened intently as those voices faded down the hall. She waited until she was certain they were gone.

Quietly, she crawled to the edge of the mattress and opened the bedside drawer. The crown had been tossed to the floor some time in the night, but the rest of the objects were still there.

Including that velvet box.

Feyre reached for it, parting it open with her fingers to confirm its contents.

From there, it took all of five minutes to slip on her clothes and bolt out of the town house without looking back.

[tokoyamisstuff]

gn! Reader I no warnings I not proofread | can be read platonic and romantic

Alucard

The two of you go way back, with him being the one who turned you in the first place. Maybe that's the reason it felt like a personal insult to him that you're wasting your powers on literal prey.

For ages he's repeatedly both scolded and taunted you about this contradiction - especially since he had to save you countless times when the humans you initially helped would turn on you.

Eventually you decided to become a traveler, aiding people in need wherever fate brings you. Humans tend to find out you're not one of them if you remain stationary for too long, so there wasn't really another option.

Since the invisible bond with your master preserves, you were always connected even when far apart. Truth be told, it was entertaining to watch your pathetic little attempt at keeping some sort of humanity from a distance - but he still constantly whined about you visiting him too rarely these days.

It's not until he got wind of a powerful vampire slayer making his way towards a small village you resided in, that your paths would cross again. But instead of having to step in he witnessed all of the townsfolk defending you against the attacker, even though they were aware of your demonic origins.

That experience changed his opinions on mankind drastically. In a way you made him realize that all vampires inevitably tied to mortals and in order to survive, you need to coexist one way or the other. Only because of you he started respecting them enough that his first encounter with the Hellsing organization turned out like it did.

Nowadays he's still working up the courage to ask you to join their ranks as well, but we all know he's too proud to admit his misjudgement so easily. Will come around eventually, though.

Anderson

Usually his mantra is 'kill first, ask later', but when he first met you, it was impossible to fight since you were surrounded by so many children.

He's seen horrible things over the years that made him dread what you were planning to do to those innocent kids, determined to save them from your fangs. But when he secretly followed to your lair far on the outskirts of the town, he interrupted a perfectly wholesome moment of you tending to the orphans you were fostering.

The children vehemently refused to get away from you, clinging to and pleading for your life. After doing some digging amongst the townsfolk he learned that over the years you've spent here, not a single child in your care went missing. Quite the opposite, they are all flourishing. Much to his surprise the whole town even seems to be aware of what you are, but still considered you one of them.

Of course his deeply ingrained hate doesn't suddenly disappear, but this is such a huge clash of his two worlds that he can't bring himself to kill you in front of the children that love you so dearly.

So he waited, wary for you to slip up, find a moment of carelessnes to reveal your true nature to him. But that moment never came, your kind actions going against everything he thought to know about your filthy kind. And the longer he's among you, the more his aversion gets replaced by mutual admiration.

At some point he'll insist you and the children live with him at the orphanage incognito, under the pretense of surveilance or research purposes - but we all know what this truly is about

[bitchfitch]

His house was haunted by the ghost of his childhood imaginary friend. Evan knew it as well as he knew that describing Evi as his "Childhood" imaginary friend was... deceptive at best.

The cabinets opened on their own, Evi's favorite sorts of items would vanish from their place around the home and reappear under Evan's bed, he would wake up in the middle of the night to the feeling of someone crawling into his bed and laying beside him. An ice cold hand on his chest, a smooth mask of a face would tuck itself against his side as Evi wormed his way under his arm. Evi's voice, sweet and cracking like poorly annealed glass, would seep into the spaces between his drowsy thoughts as he fell back asleep. The words as saccharine as they are vicious.

Evi used to be his muse, the beautiful world they'd made together had been the inspiration for the music that launched Evan into stardom. Evi gave Evan everything that was good in his life. How could Evan leave him? Why was he left to be forgotten all those years ago?

How dare Evan call him back from the obscurity of memory now that his life was over.

In the morning there would be burns where Evi's golden claws dragged against his skin.

His house was haunted by the ghost of his imaginary friend and it's presence was as much a balm as it were a thorn. Like the injectables that used to make Evi feel as real in the waking world as he did in their dreams.

Evi broke things when he got bored. Framed pictures. Gifts from people more real than Evi but who's friendship with Evan had been just as imaginary. Anything from the period Evan spent in rehab after he followed Evi out of a third story window at a party.

Evan would find those ruined fragments of his life when it was at its peak, his mind would tell him he should mourn the broken flower pot that was painted by the first girlfriend he'd had who cared enough to discourage his smoking habit. That he should be furious with Evi for breaking it even though it had been Evan alone that ruined that relationship. He wasn't. He was numb as he picked up the pieces and set them back on the shelf Evi had knocked them off of. The small memories it had held, the beads from broken bracelets and guitar picks with concert dates written on them were left on the tile for the maid service to deal with next time he cared enough to call them.

His pill bottles kept going missing too, when he found them their contents would be gone. What Evi did with the antidepressants and pain killers was a mystery, but Evan had caught him dropping the sleeping pills into his drinks. He wondered where Evi learned that trick every time he poured them out and what it said about the man Evan used to be or the company he used to keep that the childish figment of his imagination knew about the concept of date rape drugs.

Ambien had too strong of a taste to really work the way Evi was hoping it would.

The ghost of his childhood imaginary friend was haunting his home and he had no desire to do anything about it. The mess of jealous destruction, the quiet humming from just over his shoulder, the nights spent frozen by sleep paralysis while Evi straddled his hips and traced his claw along the strap holding Evan's breathing tube in place. It never felt like a threat. He Knew Evi too well for that.

The dark gave the illusion that Evi was really there. His weight and the chill of his glass skin, the soft clink of his body brushing against itself. It was so easy to drift off with the impression that Evi's invisibility was merely the fault of his human eyes.

It was a comfort after the months of isolation. Of doctors appointments and lawyers and every relationship in his life dissolving like the pills Evi kept dropping in his drinks.

Unlike every friend he'd made into a household name, unlike every industry contact he'd made richer than God, Evi didn't care that he chose life over his career. If Evan let him speak again, if he took the plunge back into the same maladaptive fantasies that made Evi so real, he would be pissed with Evan as he was probably right to be, and then so sweet as he wrapped them both back up in their dreamed world.

All Evi ever wanted from him was his companionship, and he had abandoned him in favor of people who wanted him to sing for their pocketbooks until he suffocated on tumors.

The ghost of his imaginary friend haunted his home. Everyday Evan let himself become more certain of it the less ghost like Evi got. His words cut further into the waking world, his humming turned to singing the songs Evan wrote about him. Not the ones that made the most money, but the ones Evi liked the best. The ones no one but Evi had ever heard.

Evan would see him out of the corner of his eye. A flash of bright pink hair or wine bottle green legs crossed neatly beside his as they watched the movies and shows they used to talk about together for hours.

He wanted so badly to reach out to him.

He'd spent years breaking himself of the habit of doing so. He'd spent years killing Evi the only way a thought could be killed, by thinking about anything else. Evi had almost killed him. Betraying him like that had been necessary for survival. It still was.

Evi was a drug more potent and addictive than anything you could buy. The imaginary and the dreamt engulfed the real world around him, battling it like a wall holding back a tidal wave. The only way to chase him had always been to force himself deeper and further from that protection and into the storm. Every step Evan took towards him and away from shore would have Evi drifting another mile deeper.

He still wanted... He wanted what it had been when it was at its best. Evi hanging off his arm at party after party. His laugh and words so real everyone who'd partaken in whatever was on offer that night could hear him too. His muse, beautiful and adoring, would bring him water for the hangover next morning, pain killers and sleeping aids so he could drift back to their castle in the clouds where pain existed only to further the story and pleasure wasn't limited by flesh.

The first step into that sea was buying, framing, and hanging another copy of the poster he'd sold years ago. It was from an old movie that had either been lost to time or never made at all. Evan's father had been the one to hang the original up in their home when he was still just a boy.

A man stood at the front, his sword held high as a woman in a tattered white dress clung to his nearly naked, sweaty body. Beneath them, under the man's foot, was an alien with glassy skin and bright pink hair. Her face was turned away, the valley between her breasts shattered by the warriors blade as a battle raged in the background.

As a young boy Evan had fantasized about saving her. Maybe the movie gave reason for why she deserved to die, but he would never see it. He would battle the so called hero and bring the broken woman to her people who could heal her shattered heart. She'd call him her knight and kiss him like he were the sort of man who starred in these sorts of movies.

She became Evi so gradually that Evan couldn't remember when each little change came. He did know it was the other boys at school making fun of him for having a girl imaginary friend that made her into a him though, even if Evan still thought of Evi as a woman in the secrecy of his mind.

If Evi cared he'd never said anything. He called himself Evan's king just as often as he called himself queen. A creature as fluid as the thoughts that made him.

His house was haunted by the ghost of his imaginary friend. Evan could hear him clearly now when he stood in his in home recording studio where the poster hung between panels of sound dampening foam.

"I miss you, my Knight."

"You've been asleep for so long but still I guard you here in our castle. Our bed is warm with you, your body hasn't aged a day, your strength remains. Please wake up. Please come home so I'm not alone anymore. You promised to save me. You promised."

"What did I do to anger you? Please I'll kneel at your feet and apologize until you believe me. I'm so so sorry. Please wake up. Please my Knight."

It's been weeks since another living person spoke to him.

He was right to kill Evi. He was. He was. He tells himself that in his home that's too large for one man.

Evi took the real world away. Made life boring. Made him walk out a window thinking he'd fly. Evi would kill him without ever meaning too.

The life he'd killed Evi to lead dissolved the second he refused to let himself die. He was right to go through with the surgery. He was right to set himself onto this path of isolation. He'll live a long life. A long life with too much money and too much empty space around him.

He knew Evi better than he knew himself. He'd made him after all. There was no one around to encourage his bad habits anymore. No one pushing heroine and designer MDMA into his hands. He'd even quit smoking.

Before Evan lived that rock-star life, Evi and his maddening influence was as benign as the water lapping at the shores of a still lake. He made reality glow instead of disappear.

It wouldn't hurt to indulge in one addiction now that the others were gone. He's been handling Evi for nearly 30 years, he can hold him close and be fine. He can.

Evan didn't need sleep aids to find his way to their dream, but with how often Evi tried to slip them into his drink, it felt right to take a half dose stood there before the poster. He couldn't speak to tell Evi he was on his way so the gesture would have to do.

Evi's voice snapped out of existence the instant he turned from the poster, but he felt Evi's hands on him, heard his feet clacking on the floor as he pranced in excitement, felt him grab his hand to drag him to his bedroom like they were eager lovers.

He woke up in a bed surrounded by crystalline flowers. The ceiling above was hidden from view by a fog of starry clouds. When he breathed, he felt the air rush through his sinuses and down a throat cancer had never touched.

Evi was on him in an instant, his hands dove into Evan's hair as he kissed him like he was attempting to make up for the time they spent apart. Evan returned the enthusiasm, licking into the sugar of Evi's mouth as he grabbed his hips to keep him close while Evan fought to sit up in their bed.

He hadn't realized how ruined his waking body was until he felt no pain for the first time in years. His back didn't smart at him, his hip didn't try to lock up, his shoulders were strong enough to support his and Evi's weight when he braces on one hand. There was no low thrum of sickness in his blood, no exhaustion. Just life as it was meant to be.

When he and Evi parted, his words froze in his throat. How did he forget how gorgeous Evi was? The fan of his turquoise eyes, the needle fangs behind his split upper lip, the earnest bright joy he bore like it was his gift to the world.

He cupped Evi's jaw, his fingers pressing into the dripping waves of his molten glass hair. Evi waited for him to speak first, those eyes tracing along the features of Evan's dreamt face like it was the first time he was seeing him.

Evan hasn't spoken since he left his speech therapist in a fit of disgust at the sound of his new voice. Maybe if he hadn't built his worth around the sound of his voice. Maybe if he had forced himself to keep practicing. Maybe if he had been a different man, he wouldn't have returned.

He holds Evi, one hand still on his hip the other petting his thumb along a new sea-foam green scar on the edge of Evi's jaw. And he speaks.

"I've made a horrible mistake-"

"It's all ok now. You're home, you won't leave me again, my Knight" Evi cocks his head his darlingness takes on a razor's edge of warning "Isn't that right?"

[elifinchsart]

Uhhh post game cap in regular clothes?

(Prolly reluctantly trying to separate himself from the uniform a bit since….. *gestures at game* all of that happend, but also not quite knowing where to go from here since *gestures at game* all of this makes me feel like trying to move on from the BBs is probably gonna be hard for him and I feel like the uniform may or may not be a comfort to him in some weird sense… Wish I could explain my reasoning better but then again I don’t even think he could .)

Oh Yeah I absolutely understand what you're getting at here. The uniform IS him in many ways- it represented his place in things both as a follower and a leader. As long as he was wearing it he knew who he was (or what his role was) and so did others. That uniform also represented all his hard work to become Inspekta’s right hand man, so it absolutely was a source of pride as well as comfort. Having the BB's disbanded and losing that position and uniform is going to be very, very hard. For the first time in a very long time he's going to have to think about who he is a person removed from a power structure that gave him purpose. He's been completely unmoored in a way. And that's going be incredibly rough- things are going to feel worse and perhaps get worse for him before he can get better. Even though he's out of a toxic situation and in a far healthier place I think it's going to be something he misses for a while. We know from Yugo's drawings that what he wore before joining the Bizzyboys and wears off the clock are more for function and comfort and that he doesn't take great care of himself or them. And why should he? He only needs to be presentable so that he's representing Inspekta well. If he’s not on the job there’s no point in dressing up. In my opinion, the contrast between how he treats his own clothes vs his uniform is really interesting and important. He wants respect but doesn't respect himself and that reflects in his clothing choices. It's also why he panics so much when his uniform gets colored in paint- suddenly he doesn't fit in and his image doesn't command power. I've drawn him in his tank top/shorts and flannel but let’s talk about what else could be in his wardrobe. After rotting for a bit I think Vibiano and the others will help/push him to get a new wardrobe. I have designed some clothes I can see him picking out. Similar shapes to his uniform, nothing too out there pattern or color-wise that would made him stand out (maybe one day he'll feel bolder)- stuff that looks nice and snappy and classy. Stuff that makes him look like a guy you'd respect- yknow? Something he can wear with pride again.

Anyway those are my thoughts/interpretations! They may be different from yours (general not just you anon) but I definitely think his clothing is important to his character! I have a stupid joke follow up to this too but I'm going to post it separately.

[magebastard]

a rarer height

wc: 1019

ship: loua ‘rook’ mercar x lucanis dellamorte

rating: t

notes: datv spoilers! plotless mush! this ran away from me and i want it OUT of my head! prob takes place after the romance lock-in point or a time shortly after.

—

It’s foolish.

She should leave their cozy kitchen in their cozy nook of their deceptively cozy dining hall.

Instead, Loua brings a scalding cup of bitter, black coffee to her lips and leans incorrigibly against the counter. She watches his hands while he works. He hums as he cooks for them all. She wonders if it’s truly an idle habit or if he’s keeping himself awake.

Before this mess began, she remembers her blood racing and heart warming to the sight of deadly competence. Her fellow Shadows exuding the strength of righteous purpose. Combat prowess, stratagem, kindness and authority. She had a type, damn it.

The hearth fire casts the chamber in a golden glow. No one else is in this hall and Lucanis is quietly humming and murmuring measurements to himself.

“If I wanted to poison you, I assure you I’d already have done so,” he’d teased with one of those angular, jabbing smiles on his face. And, well, he could have. It wouldn’t even be difficult. She’d drink poison from the cups of his rough, quick hands if he kept his eyes on hers. He wouldn’t even have to try. What a dissatisfying kill for an adept assassin.

It’s confusing more than it is anything else. Lucanis is competent, authoritative and kind. And her heart did respond to those things. A torchlight in her chest, bright and undeniable.

Though it’s negligible beside the inferno made of him when they are at rest.

The trouble is (and the thrill is) that he’s shy. Not traditionally—no stammering, no fumbling. It’s sweeter. Reserved. When Loua freely pours her affection out for him, he stares for just a moment. At first, she worried she’d made him uncomfortable. And wouldn’t that be an awkward card, in the already nightmarish hand of circumstance?

They’d been walking, leisurely strolling through the canal district. Meeting Illario for coffee in Treviso, before it all went sour. Killing time had become novel enough to delight and Loua felt drunk with it. A violet hue from the city’s mage lights colored the night and the cut of his cheeks handsomely.

“It’s a beautiful city.” she’d said.

“It is.” he’d replied so fondly.

“It certainly suits you.”

Loua remembers the breath where she thought she’d fucked up immeasurably. Lucanis had stared straight ahead for a long beat. She would have bet that he’d kindly rebuff her for her boldness. His jaw worked over and over as if he were chewing on his words. She almost backpedaled to free him from having to say anything at all.

But the seismic upward quirk of his lips and the mirth in his tired, dark eyes stilled something in her, in turn. It wasn’t fair. She had to be clever and charming to disarm him and all he had to do was look. All the odds in the Thedas were stacked against her. The blighted, hateful non-gods must be cackling to themselves at the weakness of the fool sent to slay them.

Things had only gotten more pathetic from there.

But Lucanis began relenting in inches, showing his own attachment to her in turn.

Zara was dead and Illario would face retribution, soon. Loua had her own ideas but there was no chance she’d voice them to him, now. Especially not now.

Loua watches him with a dry throat and starving eyes. It all goes beyond the stir of attraction or even that benign affection. How could a killers’ hands be the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen? How could she be so entirely arrested by a look? How could her heart crack open in her chest now, when it needs to be firmer—sharper than it has ever been?

She‘s never been in love. Is it supposed to ache like this?

“You must know I can sense you staring. You’re confusing Spite.”

It’s the most carefree thing he’s said since their prison break from the Ossuary in his mind. And void, isn’t that a relief? She had a needling worry that they’d have to start over, now that he had a more comfortable respite from Spite’s intervention.

To see him loose and light with rolled up sleeves and a serene look on his face stayed her fears. Quite a few of them, actually.

“You’re such a sap,” Neve had said, in his minds eye. Perhaps she should feel chided. But with the world ending and when moments like this are so fleeting and fractured, balancing on a knifes’ edge? If holding on with both hands makes her a sap, then that is a fine thing to be.

Loua tilts her head and knows she’s not imagining the way his eyes follow hers with an assassins’ focus. Nor that confounding quirk of a smile.

“The way you cook reminds me of my momae.” Oh, she hadn’t meant to say that. That wasn’t very romantic at all. Why did she say that?

But the quirk stretches to a full, attentive beam and the particulars of her fumbling didn’t matter then. “Go on,” he says. She could melt.

“She loved it—having a real kitchen. My mothers grew up largely traveling and settling in the woods. My momae loved to cook. I don’t think she ever got over the joy of having a full kitchen. You just seem—well, I don’t know. Content, maybe? It’s nice.” Loua shrugs, reaching for a casual gesture to release the anxious, cloying weight in her chest. “Seeing you this way, I mean. It’s always nice.” It’s remarkable. I’ve watched you sail with spectral wings across battlegrounds, landing precise and graceful strikes through our enemies hearts with the fervor and care of an artist—but nothing, nothing has ever stolen breath from me the way that watching you methodically chop vegetables with a smile has.

Lucanis sets down the knife. Rests his hands on the countertop as if he were bracing himself. His head tilts now and she follows the movement carefully with her eyes. They stand there, like fools, grinning at each other in the hearth light.

“I would not say content, just yet. We have quite a to-do list, yes? But there is—“ his jaw works as he searches for the words she hangs on. “There is no small relief in feeling at home somewhere. With someone, perhaps.”

The weight; the anxious, vibrating stone in her chest opens like a yawning primrose. Something tender and raw and bruise-violet hangs between them. It’s not tension, it’s reaching. Loua burns for him and she cannot remember a time she wanted so deeply, something to keep.

The world is burning. Now is not the time for this. She sips the coffee he’s made for her. It’s warm in her hands.

“Yes,” she says. Too quiet, too soft. “I know exactly what you mean.”

[lanawinterscigarettes]

Love Quinn + an overgrown garden from the prompt list please

ofc!! thanks for the request for love btw <3

original prompt list can be found here for those who are curious

Grown With Love (Love Quinn x gn reader)

Warnings: very brief mention of murder but fluff other than that <3

The romance between you and Love, your newly-wed wife, seemed to happen in a whirlwind. It wasn't even six months after you'd met that you'd proposed to her, and naturally she'd agreed to it right away. You bought a house together not long after, one on the cheaper side that you could do some renovations on. She had very specific ideas for how she wanted the layout to be, which you of course gave her complete control over.

Where you lived didn't matter much as long as you got to be there with her, and besides, happy wife, happy life. You'd do anything to make her happy, that much was certain.

Plus, it wasn't as if you had to pay for it. She had her parents money to do that, so she could redesign the house however she envisioned it the be. If she wanted to gut the entirety of the kitchen and rework it to be on the other side of the first floor, who were you to stop her? The world was her oyster when it came to your new place, and that carried into the land it sat on, which included the backyard.

She told you she was planning on having a garden where she could grow all of her own fruits and vegetables, not wanting to rely on overly-priced produce from factories that pumped them full of chemicals from the grocery stores in the neighborhood. There were always local markets, but she wanted to try growing food herself for a change. You were never one for gardening, but if that's what she wanted then you were certainly more than happy to help.

(While it was true that she did want a garden, she also needed a fresh patch of land that wouldn't look suspicious for her to be digging up in case a body had to be buried somewhere. Not that she'd ever tell you about her little hobby, as it was her opinion that you didn't need to know.)

"Honey, can you come bring the wheelbarrow over here to me?" Love asked while pointing with a glove-clad hand in the direction of where the wheelbarrow sat on the other side of the yard. She was on her hands and knees trying to get rid of all the weeds and other plants that she was certain would try to choke out the life of her vegetable garden before it even got started.

"Sure thing, sweetheart." You didn't have much of a set job when it came to redoing the house and backyard. It seemed as though you were there for moral support more than anything else, but that didn't mean you weren't happy and eager to help out your wife whenever you could.

She beamed with pride when she saw you bring it over to her, immediately beginning to dump the weeds that were already dug up into it so they could be disposed of later. "Thanks, honey."

You beamed in response before speaking again. "I'm gonna go grab the lemonade you made earlier and bring it outside for you."

The smile on her face seemed to grow wider at that. You always knew exactly what she needed, and when. "You do that, sweetheart. I'll be out here."

While she continued messing with the garden, you went inside the house, making sure to watch out for the several building supplies the workers had left behind as you grabbed the pitcher of lemonade from the kitchen along with two glasses. You quickly returned outside and filled them up before carrying one of the glasses over to your wife. "Here you go, honey."

She removed her gloves and took the full glass from you as she thought about you looked adorable doing things for her. You were always so eager to please. "Thank you, baby. Why don't you come sit with me? I was just about to take a break anyway."

You immediately nodded your head at the suggestion, rushing to grab your own glass before returning back over to sit down beside her. The garden still needed a lot of work done on it, but it wasn't looking too bad so far.

"What do you want to plant?" Love asked you after a moment or so, watching as you gulped away at her fresh, homemade lemonade while she spoke. "I was thinking some tomatoes, maybe some corn and watermelons if we have the space for it."

"Whatever you want to plant is fine by me. I'll be happy regardless," you replied brightly before leaning over and pressing a kiss to her face. "They'll be grown with love no matter what they are."

"Oh, my God, you and your stupid puns," she said with feigned exasperation, rolling her eyes playfully at your words. "You're right, though. They'll be grown with love, indeed. The love between the two of us," she added in a playful manner.

You giggled at her addition before nudging her side with your elbow. "You're such a sap."

"Mm, only for you." She moved in closer and gave you a passionate and loving kiss, the lemonade soon left forgotten as you got swept up in the feelings you shared for each other, your wedding bands glistening in the sunlight. Everything would be done with love as long as you and her were together.

End notes: Love's so sweet when she's not murdering people

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