#I feel like Mor comes off almost too badly in this

[sunshinebingo]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @vikingmagic33 🥳 you know what can make birthdays even more special? Smut! This is inspired by some fics written by this amazing writer and even more amazing lady... We Don't Slut-Shame Males In The Night Court... In The Name of Science... and When Do I Get To Be Ready?

Synopsis: Some dirty texts exchanged at the dinner table followed by smut, smut and more smut.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warning: NSFW. This fic is just edging and smut

Read on Ao3

Bzz. Gwyn excused herself from the conversation to look down at her phone.

Him: Did you think of me when you chose to wear that?

She smiled. Of course she had. Who else would she wear such a plunging neckline for? She brushed a hand on her cleavage and down on the silky fabric of her little black dress and typed a response with her free hand.

Her: Maybe 😏 Do you like it? - Sent.

A few seconds passed. Bzz.

Him: I do

She chuckled both at what Nesta was saying and at his response.

Her: Come on 🙄 I think you can do better than that - Sent.

Gwyn got involved in the conversation before her again. But her mind was still across the table with him. She clutched her phone hard in her hand, waiting for a new message to come. The bzz took longer this time. She kept talking for a few more minutes, intent on making him wait like she had to.

Him: You look so beautiful and hot in this that I got hard from the second I saw you

Thankfully her phone was hidden beneath the table and no one could see her screen. Before she could send a reply, another message popped up.

Him: Is that good enough for you sweetheart?

And another one after that.

Him: Or would you rather I tell you how badly I want to fuck you right now?

She raised her head, eyes immediately finding Azriel’s hazel ones across the table already looking at her. No one but Gwyn noticed in that moment that all his attention was on her and not on the conversation he was supposedly having with Cassian and Mor. It was a miracle that no one in their family had noticed that their exchanges, starting with the glances they stole, had changed lately. No one had discovered yet that their relationship had morphed from that of best friends to something more over the past month. With how hard it was getting for them to pretend in the presence of the others, perhaps it would not take long before their secret was out.

The harder they fell, the harder it was to stay apart. And right now, they both wanted to remove every inch that was separating them. A smirk spread on Gwyn’s lips and she looked down at her phone again.

Her: Leave nothing out 😉 - Sent.

Then she went back to eating and chatting with everyone around the table. The wine she was having somehow felt stronger. Or maybe it was anticipation and arousal that was turning her mind foggy. Her feet bounced slightly beneath the table as she waited.

It had all started with a kiss when Gwyn got home from a terrible date one night. She had confessed to Azriel then that the only reason she went on dates was to forget that she was pining after the one she really wanted but could not have. She had not meant to admit her feelings for Azriel that night. Gwyn had been scared that asking for more would ruin what they already had.

But he knew her too much. He knew that there was no one that she could love without him knowing who it was. And he knew how to coax the truth from her lips. Almost an hour of double meaning conversation later and he was kissing her, confessing that he too had been harbouring feelings for her for a while. This had been the most life altering kiss she ever had.

Bzz. She took a deep breath but did not look at her phone yet. Bzz. She was really tempted but it would have been rude to look down when Emerie was looking directly at her while talking. Bzz. Every vibration teased her more. Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.

Azriel coughed, making everyone turn to look at him but he just waved it off. But Gwyn noticed the few seconds that his eyes lingered on her. Taking advantage of the fact that Elain had joined their conversation and that now Emerie was turned to her, Gwyn unlocked her phone.

Him: I want to fuck you babe

Him: …so bad

Him: Sorry. That is inappropriate... 

Him: I must eat you out first of course

Him: Make sure your pussy is dripping and ready for me

Him: Then I want to fuck you until you are dripping with my cum too

Breathe, she thought. Just breathe. No one had to know how horny she was right now. Except for one person.

Her: What if I want to make you come first? - Sent.

Three dots immediately appeared on her screen…

Him: If only you could feel how hard I am for you right now sweetheart

She took a big gulp of wine, emptying her glass before handing it out to Mor who was refilling her own. After another smaller sip from the full glass, her hand reached beneath the table again to type another message.

Her: I would love to. But tell me… - Sent.

She raised her head to laugh at a joke Cassian had made. Through his own chuckle and casual demeanour, Gwyn noticed the strong grip that Azriel had on his glass and the way he was biting hard on his bottom lip. His eyes were filled with the same glow that it usually contained before he pounced on her.

There was an immense satisfaction in knowing that she could make a man like him react like this. Azriel was beautiful beyond reason and he could probably bring anyone he wanted to their knees with a snap of his fingers. Yet Gwyn held his own pleasure at her fingertips. She could make him so hard with only words that he would beg for her touch.

Wanting to tease him a little, Gwyn brought her spoon to her mouth and licked the back of it, making sure that he was seeing how the white sauce spread on her tongue. She licked the remnants of it from her lips then grabbed her phone again.

Her: Would you rather I make you come in my mouth first? - Sent.

Her: Or maybe on my tits?? - Sent.

Her: Or maybe you would like to skip all that and just fill me up with your cum??? 🤔🤔 She read the last text again and… - Sent.

Gwyn tucked her phone between her thighs and tried as best as she could to focus on the conversations around the table. She let out a few ‘’Mhmm’’ and said a few ‘’Really? Wow,’’ to Nesta, not knowing exactly what nor who she was talking about.

Fortunately, Cassian and Mor were also in that conversation which spared both Azriel and Gwyn from the need to be fully invested in the discussion. When no response came from him, Gwyn took her phone and typed again. Perhaps he was having a hard time choosing between the options she had given him.

Her: You know what love?? I’m really craving your cock in my mouth 😣 - Sent.

When she looked at him, he was looking down at his lap and his teeth were biting harder on his lip. He was taking deeper breaths than he was before and the grip he had on his glass was so strong that Gwyn feared it would shatter in his hand. Oh how she loved playing with her man.

......................

‘’How should we start, Az?’’ Gwyn asked in her most sultry voice.

She would never have imagined a month ago where her chaotic date would have led her to; a kiss that had resulted in more time spent together with Azriel, exploring each other’s body and fantasies, until he ended up with a white ribbon holding his wrists together on her bed.

Everyone believed that he had headed straight to his own apartment after dropping her off. He had even taken his hands off her for the two seconds it had taken him to reply to Rhysand’s text and inform him that they had both made it to their respective places safely after leaving their family.

The black dress that had turned him on earlier had raised higher and higher up her legs during the drive to Gwyn’s place. Then it had been thrown across her living room with the rest of their clothes joining soon after.

Gwyn teased him by dragging a perfectly manicured finger down his tattooed and muscled chest. His body trembled and he tugged on his ties when that finger reached beneath his navel. Gwyn stopped and bent down to rest her hands on either side of his head.

‘’You thought it was funny to make me so wet with everyone around?’’ she whispered to him before tugging on his ear lobe with her teeth.

“And you thought it was funny to make me so hard I almost came in pants with everyone around?” His voice was filled with so much want that she felt the reaction it caused between her legs. Gwyn lowered herself on his hard cock and moved just enough for him to feel exactly how wet she was for him. She chuckled when he tugged harder on the ribbon. If he kept doing that, either the ribbon or her bedpost would probably break. Not that it had not happened before.

‘’Fuck. Do whatever you want with me baby. But please – ‘’ he let out a whimper when Gwyn started dragging her tongue up his neck.

‘’Please what love?’’ she asked with a sweet voice against his skin. She left his neck to trail wet kisses down his chest.

Gwyn loved having him at her mercy. Azriel was the only one she had trusted to explore her sexuality so thoroughly. He was patient, understanding and as open-minded as she was. But most importantly, Azriel trusted and loved her. And she loved him. More than she had ever loved any man before. She always felt his absence when they were still best friends. Not a day went by without them at least texting or calling.

But now, nothing was ever enough. She had to see him and feel his presence. And when they were alone, she had to feel his hands on her in some way or another. Except for now. Right now, she needed his hands away from her. Only because it would torture him a little more.

‘’Please,’’ Azriel begged beneath her. ‘’Please make me come.’’

Gwyn smirked and looked up at him. Her mouth had reached right where he needed her to be. ‘’Good boy,’’ she purred and wrapped her lips around his cock. Azriel groaned at the warmth of her mouth. His gasp turned into a deep groan when she started moving her head up and down his length. She brought a hand to his balls and squeezed him gently as she took him as deep as she could into her mouth.

Gwyn pushed her loose hair aside with a hand so he could watch how well she could take him. The moans interrupted by her name coming out of his lips and the wet sounds she was making by sucking him encouraged her to go faster.

Pleasuring Azriel was as much for him as it was for her. Her pussy was aching for him so much but she needed him to come first. She needed to feel that she could have that control over him. She needed to feel that she could give him as much as she could take.

And when Azriel gave himself to her, she took every single drop of it, swallowing his cum as he emptied himself down her throat. Then she heard the distinct snap of the ribbon tearing apart. When she finally released his cock and looked at him again, Gwyn found him with his eyes still close and his breathing ragged.

She crawled back up on him with a wide satisfied smile. Azriel grabbed her face and pulled her down on him, crashing their lips together and kissing her like she was the air he desperately needed. The taste of his release still on her tongue mixed with that of his mouth made her body go weak. She needed more of him.

Gwyn moaned when he lowered a hand and pinched her nipple so hard it hurt. “Az I want your mouth on me,” she said, though it came out more as a pleading cry. A second later, Azriel flipped her so she was the one beneath him. Then he was moving down on her, stopping to suck and bite her breasts before going lower.

Azriel kept his hands on her breasts, squeezing them hard. His lust filled eyes fixed on hers when he reached between her legs. “Please baby,” she said as she threaded her fingers through his hair. “I need you to eat my pussy.”

And gods he did. Azriel pushed two fingers inside her while his mouth sucked and licked her. Gwyn pulled hard on his hair, causing him to groan. Azriel removed his fingers to replace them with his tongue. One of his hands kept playing with her breasts while the other teased her clit. Gwyn was a moaning mess. Everything was lost to her except for the pleasure he was giving her. She rubbed her pussy against his face, seeking more and more and more. Until it became too much and she shattered.

Azriel did not stop though. He kept licking and sucking on her pussy until she came down from her orgasm and another wave of heat rised again. Only he was able to draw such pleasure from her. Azriel was able to set her body on fire in ways she knew no one else could. But if she was to be set aflame, then she would make sure that he would burn along with her.

Gwyn tugged hard on his hair, urging him to come back to her, and moved to sit up against the headboard. Their lips joined again when he stopped beside her and the kissed deepened as she moved to straddle him.

“Are you hard again for me Az?” she asked between kisses.

Azriel chuckled. “I’ve been hard again since I got my mouth on you sweetheart.”

He grabbed her by the ass and pulled her closer and she felt his hard cock pressing against her. Desperate to feel him inside her, Gwyn stroked his cock a few times, pressing her forehead against Azriel’s, before lifting herself up and slowly lowering down on him. She held her breath until she was fully seated on him.

He felt so good this deep inside her that she could have come again by just sitting there. But she needed more. So Gwyn moved, going up and down on him while he nipped at her neck.

“Az,” she said in between moans. He only answered with a grunt and a hard bite on her shoulder.

“Fuck me harder please,” she begged him. Gwyn needed to have more of him. And she would give him every bit of herself in return. She took his face between her hands and brought their lips together. “I want you to come inside me.”

He kissed her hard and started to fuck her harder. His hands dug into her ass and he pushed himself up inside her fast and hard. She moved at the same time, meeting him thrust for thrust.

“Are you going to come again for me baby?”

“Yes,” she cried out. Their movement became frantic. The room filled with their moans and the wet sound of their bodies connecting as his cock moved in and out of her. “Az, I need to come with you.”

“Fuck Gwyn,” was the last thing he said before he buried his face in her shoulder and spilled himself inside her. That was all she needed for her own orgasm to follow. Her body trembled and she held onto him as tightly as she could.

They stayed like this, face resting on the others shoulder, with Azriel rubbing circles on her bare back while she played with the strands of his hair she had roughly pulled on before. None of them were willing to open their eyes to reality just yet. After a while, Azriel lifted her up and carried her to the bathtub. The moments they shared after sex were always an extension of the act itself. They put as much patience and love in caring for each other as they did with bringing pleasure.

As she sat with her back against his front in the hot water, Gwyn closed her eyes and indulged in the peace and joy she felt in that moment. Although they were both ready to shout out to the world that they belonged together, they were the most content like this, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, and trusting the other with their bodies and hearts.

[chunkypossum]

By Solstice End

Azriel x Eris

4937 words This section || 16,588 total words

Part Three of Three || or… Read on AO3

Parts: 1 2 3

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

After Mor’s concession, Eris felt slightly revived in his fight to find Azriel, though he still wanted very badly to punish him for the run around all evening. Unfortunately for him, entering the next room had consequences he could have never seen coming. Eris was left breathless and as the air left his lungs so did all the fight in him he had. 

It would be easy to blame it on fatigue but Eris knew better, he just wasn’t willing to be honest with himself about why his eyes had become irritated. The doors clicked quietly shut behind him and Eris stepped into the room with awe shining in his silver rimmed eyes. The well of tears he was trying to blink back reflected the light from a thousand different points above him where little nodes of fae light hung suspended, seemingly by nothing, at different levels from the ceiling. Eris was staring up into the night sky. 

Below the lights, in the center of the room, there was a bed piled high with so many plush pillows and blankets it could only have been made up with one, very spoiled, person in mind, him. The colors were muted by the dim lighting, dark hues that felt comforting, like if he were to lay down he would melt into the stars above him, adrift into an endless sea.

He moved, almost unconsciously into the room, as if pulled by some magic, toward the bed. Each step was more unsteady than the last and he could feel shadows begin to writhe up his legs and arms, offering support. They caressed the soft spots of his face knowing exactly where he needed that cooling touch. The flush of his cheeks, the plumpness of his lips, the velvet of his eye lashes. His eyes closed and Eris leaned into the feel of them, humming softly to himself. Finally content for the first time that evening and he hadn’t even seen … 

Warm, strong arms wrapped around his middle from behind and the perfect softness of Azriel’s face found its favorite spot in the curve of Eris’ neck. He pressed a light kiss to the spot, slowly trailing up, up , up until he readed the supple skin just behind Eris’ ear. 

“I was wondering when you might finally show. I have been waiting ages.” Azriel’s voice was rough with want and Eris shivered under the sound of it. He could feel Azriel smirk in response. The bat was always so thrilled when he managed to tilt Eris off his axis, even slightly. It happened infrequently enough that Eris didn’t bother to hide it from him, letting Azriel have his wins where he could. 

“And whose fault is that, bat?” Eris said with a hint of annoyance. “You only have yourself to blame.” He may have been trying to make a point but it was nearly mute by the fact that he leaned into every touch offered to him. His back was flush with Azriel’s chest and the movement of it as he breathed lulled Eris into the safety of the moment. The heat of each of those breaths coasted up the side of Eris’ neck as Azriel greedily took in all of Eris’ scent. 

“Are you mad at me?” Azriel asked, sounding more amused than worried. The fire in Eris veins wanted to rise up against the unseriousness of Azriel’s tone but it was quickly banked as the male pressed kisses to his temples. Eris leaned back into his embrace. 

“I tried to be… but no Azriel.” Eris breathed. Awe still tight in his chest as he cracked his eyes open only to be met with a room full of stars, all for him. “Of course not. I just….”

The Autumn male pressed back even further against his lover, relishing in the way those arms tightened around him, held him together. He was unable to turn around and face Azriel, unsure how to look him in the eye. There were too many emotions written on Eris’ face that he hadn’t been able to process and his lack of control on that vulnerability scared him. It would be unfair for Azriel to see him so unsure when he had gone to such lengths to prepare something this intricate and beautiful for Eris. Aside from that, there was a shred of Eris’ inner fire that wasn’t willing to offer any of that up to Azriel until he had an explanation for why he had been given the runaround all evening. 

Noting the way Eris silenced himself, Azriel tugged his arms around him tighter. 

“What?” He asked quietly, pressing his lips to Eris’ soft skin over and over. It almost felt like an apology and Eris wondered what the male could be trying to apologize for exactly. He worked his way up Eris’ throat while the heir gathered his thoughts. 

In the end, he simply said. “I’ve missed you.” His own arms tightened over Azriels where they were anchored across his abdomen. 

“I missed you too.” The gruff voice scratched along Eris’ ear, inviting him in. 

Resisting that pull he asked, “Then why hide from me all night?” 

“I had my reasons.” There was that amusement again. Eris growled.

“Because you were putting all this together? Forgive me Azriel, everything is wonderful but I hardly think it took you all evening.” Irritation surged in him again but he had been so thoroughly worn out that it was entirely too easy for Azriel to take control. Every touch offered to Eris melted him into submission over and over again.

“Well.” Azriel started, nibbling at the point in Eris’ ear. “I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out yet but … This isn’t really the gift.” 

“I’m too tired to play games, Shadowsinger. Your family has exhausted me this evening.” Eris peeled himself away from Azriel enough to give him easier access to more parts of him as Azriel worshiped his skin with teeth and tongue. 

“Don’t call me that, brat.” Azriel complained, letting his teeth sink a little further into Eris’ shoulder. “ I’m trying to be sweet here.” 

Eris laughed. “Is that what this is?” 

Azriel’s teeth sunk into him, threatening to break skin and Eris couldn’t control the moan that quietly slipped from between his lips. The rumble in his chest warmed something in Eris.

“Well. I’m here now.” Eris continued, letting the brat in his tone shine through as he held out his open palm near Azriel’s face. “I’d like my gift. And don’t say my gift is you. You were supposed to be a given this evening. The only given, I might add, and the only thing I have yet to receive besides this elusive gift you speak of.” He chastised, preening at the trickle of laughter it had coaxed out of Azriel.

“Eris.” Azriel growled, nipping the sensitive skin at his nape. “I’ve already given it to you.”

With his interest peaked, Eris squirmed against Azriels hold until he was able to turn around completely and face the male. Narrowing his eyes, he searched Azriel’s smug face for answers but found none. 

“I don't understand.” He said carefully, watching for minute changes to Azriel’s expression. “All I’ve been doing all night is getting tossed around by your family.” 

Giving his best dramatic performance, Eris let his arms slink around Azriel’s shoulders and collapsed into his chest. A small, so very slight, pout perched on his lips. Azriel moved to bite them but Eris adjusted just out of reach of those beautiful canines. 

“I’m sorry.” Azriel brought a hand up to cup the back of Eris’ head, cradling it softly before using the leverage to bring their foreheads together. “I know they make you anxious.” 

“It’s not…” Eris sighed. “I don't get anxious you silly creature…” He pressed his forehead harder into Azriel’s squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt not to smirk. They both knew Eris was full of it. “It’s not that I don’t enjoy them. At least, I enjoy them as much as one can enjoy a group of pests. They don’t hide it very well that I am not like them, that I don’t entirely belong.  The only thing they hide worse than that is that they consider whatever it is you and I have, to be temporary. ” 

“Do you feel like we’re temporary?” Azriel asked, taking a step closer. Their bodies slot together so easily that it was hard for Eris not to groan at the contact, feeling the press of Azriel’s muscles against his own. Ultimately, he lost the fight and a small sound escaped, egging Azriel on. He thrust gently up against Eris, letting their half hard erections slide against one another. The friction was too light, nearly torture. 

“No.” Eris admitted, impossibly quiet. Delicately, a gasp accompanied the word. It should have been just as whisper quiet but the sound was a blast of raw power in his ears. Azriel seemed to agree, replying with his own low groan of pleasure. 

“Well, neither do I.” Azriel curled his fingers in Eris’ silken locks and tugged lightly until they could look into one another’s eyes. Even in the low light, the hazel in his stare glimmered like gold and Eris could almost see the fire in his own eyes reflected in them. Unable to stand it any longer, Eris surged forward. The kiss was sweet but hungry and Eris closed his eyes as he leaned into it. They stayed that way for untold minutes, basking in the glow of just being able to be together when there was no urgency to stay alert for fear of being caught. The magical high of sneaking around only lasted so long. Both of them were too old now to properly enjoy it as they used to and there was a bone deep weariness to having to stay hidden.  

That was the beauty in this time together but there was still pain too. No matter how long they held one another, it never felt long enough. As it was, Azriel pulled away too soon.

“Did they make you feel that way tonight?” Eris smirked at the protectiveness in Azriel’s tone. There once was a time where the bat would defend his family with his dying breath. That had been a major crux at the beginning of their relationship and subsequently, a major turning point for them as whatever was growing between them started to feel more real. With each passing year, those feelings intensified as did Azriel’s willingness to protect Eris over anyone at the Night Court. 

“I- well no.” Eris pulled away to wrap his arms around himself as he thought back on his evening. 

“Are you sure? Azriel took a step forward, tugging childishly on Eris’ sleeves until he unfolded his arms from around his own waist. “If I need to kill someone I can. I’d do it for you.” Azriel let his nose graze the length of Eris’ neck. Going pliant under the touch, Eris exposed as much of it to Azriel’s touch as he could. 

A gentle hum of laughter vibrated in Eris’ chest as he brought their bodies flush once more. “I’ll take a raincheck. As it turns out, tonight they were as pleasant as I think they know how to be. The castle must be spelled.” Azriel kissed him again, making desperate attempts to crawl as close to Eris as he could. Slowly, Azriel walked them back to the bed until Eris' ankles collided with the low frame and they fell back onto it. Eris' back hit the mattress and he sank into the delicious mountain of textiles. When Azriel’s body landed expertly on top of him, his wings flared out wide to help him balance and Eris gasped in awe. It was always a sight to see but something about the way the purple fae lights tried to pierce through the ruddy membranes was especially ethereal that night and Eris felt like he was wrapped in a dream.

“So, was that your present then? Did you ask them to play nicely tonight?” Eris teased as Azriel made quick work of removing both Eris’ coat and shirt. Letting his perfectly shaped nails scratch along the planes of Azriel’s muscles, Eris ran his fingers up the male’s abdomen under his own shirt. 

“In a way. I suppose.” Sitting up, Azriel peeled off his top, taking a moment to stare down hungrily at Eris. His heart was beating wildly and Eris found it hard to swallow. With a lion’s purr rumbling deep in his chest, Azriel bent his body low again until they were touching in every possible place they could touch.  “Eris?” He breathed against the flutter of Eris' pulse.  

With both hands curled in Azriel’s scalp, Eris only hummed back his answering curiosity. 

“Mate me.” The words were nearly inaudible and the nails softly scratching in Azriel’s hair stilled as Eris tried to comprehend what Azriel had asked. Not only had whispered them but the slight tremor in his tone suggested a level of vulnerability Eris isn’t sure he has ever seen from the male before.

“What are you talking about?” He asked carefully, wrapping his arms around Azriel’s back and urging his face closer. 

Azriel complied with Eris’ silent request and rose to meet his liquid amber eyes. “I want to bind myself to you in that way.” He finally said after a long time. The tremor in his words was still there but lessened slightly. 

Eris sucked in a breath through his teeth, unsure of what exactly Azriel was asking of him. Suddenly the room felt too small, Azriel’s weight felt too heavy on top of him and the world felt entirely too frightening. “But…” He stumbled, “ We’re not…” Confusion soaring, Eris wondered briefly if Azriel knew something he didn’t. Those thoughts emptied from his head quickly, no, he would know if they were… 

Bracketing Eris’ head in between his forearms where he rested them on the mattress Azriel filled Eris’ line of sight. His glorious wings, nothing but a glowing shadow above them. Making sure he was the only thing in Eris’ line of sight, Azriel slowly leaned forward until his lips were barely grazing his lover’s. Logically, Eris knew there was no reason for his panic, now so palatable in the air, but if these were the results he could expect, Azriel trying to overwhelm all his senses, he would panic over and over again. 

So that they were eye to eye once more, Azriel propped himself up a little higher. The softness from the lights above cradled his frame like starlight carving out the silhouette of a mountain. It strained through the membranes of his wings as he spread them out wide on either side of him. The effect was nothing short of divine. For a moment, Eris felt insignificant, a worshiper kneeling at the foot of an altar. 

Ruining the moment, Eris snorted, laughing at himself. It caused Azriel to startle. The bringer of death above him groaned and collapsed on top of Eris before rolling, only slightly, off to the side, holding the male, his male, tightly between his arms and legs where they wrapped around him. 

“You don’t want me, not in that way.” His lips pressed into Azriel’s hair at the top of his head, Eris spoke softly. “To be tied to me means to be tied to the Vanserra-” 

Azriel huffed into the crook of Eris’ neck, squeezing him just a little tighter. “Stop.”

“Listen to me.” Groaning halfheartedly, Eris tried to push away from him. “What we’re doing here Azriel it’s-” 

“Do not finish that sentence.” Azriel growled. Loosening his grip on the male in his arms just enough to grip at his jaw and force their eyes to meet. The hazel was piercing normally but the way Azriel was looking at him now made Eris feel as though his very bones were melting. 

“I was going to say,” Eris pushed Azriel off of him again, more successfully this time, and sat in his lap. Now with his thighs squeezing Azriels hips, Eris rolled slowly, grinding down into Azriel as he spoke. Azriel’s wings came up around them both, the talons scraping gently along Eris’ shoulders and back. He shivered. “Was that what we have is precious to me. I have already bound myself to you in the ways that matter. But if you… if you end up regretting-”

“Shhh.” Azriel wrapped his arms around Eris’ waist and sat up, his wings wrapping around them both tighter leaving only a small window above them for the lights above to shine through, winking at them. “I could never regret what we have made together. I will never regret that.” He snarled those last words, gnashing his sharp teeth together, desperate to make sure Eris understood him. 

“You can’t say that, not when…” Eris swallowed the urge to push off of him and cross the room. It was instinct to pull away during these moments and start a fight just so he could feel better about leaving. “Not when you’ve always yearned for a mate.”  

Sensing Eris’ urge to run, Azriel held him tighter. His lips grazed Eris’ chest so lightly it was almost painful. Soft and warm, Azriel made his way up to the pulse point fluttering heavily in Eris’ neck. His breath hitching with each impossibly light caress, Eris leaned into it. 

“Listen to me” Azriel breathed, command sitting heavy in his tone. “I don’t need the Mother to tell me who I belong with…” He kissed his way back down Eris’ neck, sucking small hurts before speaking the next words onto his skin as if he were branding them there right over his heart. “It’s you Eris. I belong with you.”

Thich and burning, Eris' blood began to heat up, moving sluggishly through him like molten lava. Steadier than he thought possible, Eris raised his hands to cradle the back of Azriel’s neck and head, holding the bat tightly to his chest as he let those words settle something in him. 

“Az…” He bit out, unable to say anything else. 

The lips on his overheated skin turned almost punishing as Azriel worked his way down Eris’ chest. He wrote praises with his tongue in only a language they knew as Eris slowly rolled his hips. Each movement, a wave cresting, bringing them closer and closer together. 

Without warning, Azriel pulled away. The loss of him had Eris gasping and he looked down into those deep, unforgiving eyes. 

“Let’s have a mating ceremony, Eris. Can’t we forge our own bond?” The hope brimming in that hazel hurt to look at but Eris couldn’t turn away. 

The answer on the tip of Eris’ tongue was immediately and genuine but something held him back from that simple word. There wasn’t a lot Eris wanted from the world. He had grown up learning how to play a dangerous game, one he was so good at that he sometimes wondered if he was his father’s pet after all. Safety was a dream he had once wanted for himself but had to let go of early on. Now he found himself wanting it again, with this male, for this male. Safety and joy. 

“And Beron?” Eris asked unsure if he wanted to hear Azriel’s answer. 

“It’s ok.” Azriel lifted a hand to cup Eris’ cheek. He fell into the embrace on instinct, closing his eyes and willing all other emotion from his expression to dissipate. Eris had been thrust into confusing situations all night, leaving him raw and open for this disastrous conversation. Which, in retrospect, had probably been Azriel’s disgusting plan all along. He knew Eris’ defenses were lax, his masks fragile, after having to hold to them so tightly for an entire evening. Just the fact that he knew Eris so well to understand that part of him sent something frantic but exciting galloping away in Eris’ chest. 

“What’s ok? If he finds out-” 

“He won’t.” Azriel's other hand came up to cup the other side of Eris’ face and he brought their faces close together again to whisper the promise directly into Eris. Eris’ mouth parted, letting the words in as their lips brushed. A promise he couldn’t run away from. “We can do this together, the same way we’ve always done it for as long as it takes to be rid of him. We’re meant for the light, you and I and one day I’ll prove that to you. It’s ok if it takes a while.” 

As he spoke, Azriel’s fingers trailed into Eris’ hair, gently undoing the small, intricate braids Eris had woven in at the start of the evening. As they came undone, those long, scarred fingers scratched gently against Eris’ scalp. 

“Completely unfair.” Eris whined in a whisper, continuing his slow, methodical rocking in Azriel’s lap. 

Having finished undoing Eris’ hair and letting the silken red curtain fall around them as their foreheads came together, Azirel rocked up into him and they both gasped at the sweet friction. Azriel’s arms found their way back around Eris’ waist and he held him tightly, chest to chest as their motions became more desperate. 

“Eris…” Azriel breathed. He said the male’s name with so much reverence Eris wondered if he was talking to him or praying to the Mother. They ground into one another, breathing heaving, words spoken almost unconsciously as frantic need took over. “Eris, accept me. Will you accept me… mate?” 

Gasping, Eris took shaking hands and held Azriel’s face, guiding their eyes to meet. His brows furrowed at the emotion there. Where Eris had expected to find foolish passion he found vulnerable fear instead. It was the same thing written across his heart but underneath was the unfiltered love trying to shine through. It overwhelmed Eris and tore down the rest of his defenses. 

“Always,” He spoke, staring into the depths of all Azriel was offering him. “Always, mate. I accept everything you have ever been, everything you are or will be. You are mine.” The ferocity of that truth slammed into Eris and even though the words were spoken with quiet veneration, the shape of them was searing, like a heated blade carving the vow onto his very bones. 

“Mine.” Azriel echoed, the same gentleness in his tone backed by the same ferocity of the vow.

They crashed together into a kiss that would have ended them if Eris hadn’t pulled away in shock. The third finger on his left hand blazed with magic as a newly created bargain tattoo pickled onto his skin. 

The color drained from Eris’ face as he stared at it, completely at a loss for words, his fear permeated the space between them. Azriel only laughed and Eris cut a sharp glare at him. 

Choked with emotion, Eris started to protest. “If my fath-” 

“It’s ok. Only the ones who bore a piece of the bargain can see it. Beron won’t ever know it’s there.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Come here. Let me see it.” Azriel let his wings unfurl so Eris could adjust. He turned away to sit properly in Azriel’s lap, letting his back sit flush with the male’s chest as Azriel tucked in protectively around him. He took Eris’ hand in his own, letting his chin drop to the space between Eris’ neck and shoulder and inspected the new tattoo. 

It was a crown of stars, wrapped around his finger like a ring. Connected by black whorls and swirls that looked almost like flame or shadow, maybe both, the stars seemed to glow with an inner fire. There was one for… Eris started doing the math in his head, looking back on his evening with a new sense of clarity. One for each member of the Night Court he realized. 

“Azriel.” He gasped. “What did you do?” Eris felt himself stiffen as he remembered each of the encounters, and the words spoken to him by all the people he had hoped to one day be accepted by, even Lucien. Where he had seen contempt and reluctance all night, there had been secret acceptance all along. 

“I don’t know what those monsters all promised you and you don’t have to share them with me unless I needed to threaten one of them for you…” A canine scraped his neck as Azriel smiled, teasing him. 

“No.” Eris replied. His voice was small, stifled with the reluctance to accept all that was being given to him. He didn’t deserve any of it, especially after being so suspicious about their intentions all evening. Though, they could hardly blame him for all they had put one another through over the years. 

Azriel turned Eris' hand around, inspecting the stars now written onto his lover's skin. Symbols of the Night Court, of his family, one that Eris now officially belonged to. 

“Nyx made a promise?” Azriel asked, pointing to the tiny star hovering between two of the larger ones. Pride and amusement lit up his voice. 

“Don’t get too excited.” Eris laughed. “I think we might have to find a way for him to be let out of this one, or amend his promise.” 

“He promised to always take your side, didn't he?” Azriel laughed, the robust sound of it vibrating through Eris’ chest, warming him. 

“Something like that.” Eris frowned, shaking off Azriel’s touch on his hand and turning his hand back around. “It’s not connected.” He said quietly looking at the blank spot in the middle of the band. Azriel’s spot. 

“That’s because I’m not done yet. I don’t know where the future will take us or what is going to happen in your court. What we have now, while something hidden and precious, isn’t meant to stay that way. I know one day we will be able to live in the light like the rest of the ones we love and care for and I am happy to wait until that day.” Azriel said, gently turning Eris until they were face to face again. 

“Azriel I-” Azriel brushed Eris’ lips with the pad of his thumb, silencing whatever Eris was about to say. 

He continued his speech, a smile lighting up the gold in his eyes. “I promise you… Eris Vanserra, that no matter how or when that day arrives, that until we can walk in the light together… “ He swallowed, a note of vulnerability lacing the confidence in how he spoke. “I promise you that I am wholly yours, in every way.”

Another sting of magic brushed Eris’ finger. This time he could taste it on the back of his tongue, like it was being etched into his very being. When he looked down he saw a new star cresting the top of the band, closing the gap and finishing out his new bargain tattoo. Azriel took his hand in his own and searched Eris’ face for any sign that this was too much. Eris hated that Azriel’s instinct was to watch for him to pull away. 

Historically, Eris was the one that reset their relationship time and time again. Whether it was for fear of Beron or fear of feeling too much knowing he wasn’t worthy of it, it didn’t matter. Especially when the look on Azriel’s face haunted Eris. He had seen it too many times, and had been the cause of it too many times. 

When he finally peeled his eyes away from his hand and met Azriel’s stare, he offered him a small smile, a sign of peace in hopes that it would help Azriel relax until Eris could form the proper words for the moment. He didn’t want to fuck this up. 

Before he had a chance, Azriel spoke up instead. “It’s not a traditional bargain tattoo, it can be amended or … or erased if you-” Fear surged through Eris at the thought that Azriel assumed by his silence that he didn’t want this, all of this and by extension, all of him. He moved without thinking and brought their lips together. It was soft and sincere while Eris tried to pour all of the words he couldn’t say just yet into it. 

Fingers tightening where they clasped hands, breaths and heartbeats syncing, Eris pulled away and whispered his own promises back to Azriel. 

“You idiot.” He began, earning a laugh from the male across from him. “I know I’ve not been the most careful with this fragile bit of peace we have miraculously been able to create together but for you to think that I wouldn’t want this, want us… you… completely… I.” Eris took a breath and tried again. He was quickly losing control and wanted nothing more than to convey the love he was feeling correctly. “I love you, Azriel. Those words are the single most terrifying things I could imagine saying out loud. So much so that everytime I do imagine them I get sick with worry at all the ways this could go wrong. However, they are also the truest parts of my soul and you need to hear them because you need to know that you are also the truth of my soul. I love you Azriel and I promise myself to you, every piece of me.”

They both gasped slightly as magic coursed between them again. Tears streaming down his stoic face, Azriel brought up his hand to see a tattoo on the third finger of his left hand. The mate to Eris’. 

“You and I,” He started his words catching in his throat.  “I think we're going to be ok.” 

If you want on or off the tag train just holla at ya boi ... @iftheshoef1tz @born-to-riot @pathfinderofnight @fieldofdaisiies @fell-in-luvs @aktrain @honeysuckle-daydreams13

@acourtofladydeath @pippsmcgee (FIXED IT YOU TWO)

[lamortwrites]

please i must hear about horny unethical scientific experimentation

if I was a betting man, I would've put money on you asking for this one, lmao. bloodborne au again :)

(cw for needles/injections, mild body horror)

"You're feverish," comes a voice that they recognise, but it sounds far off, distant, like they are hearing it from a room away. "Perhaps this was too much. If we flush your system through with saline--"

"No," they snap, voice breaking. They will not fail. They will not fail. They will not fail. "The third vial. Give it to me."

He releases them and steps away and they cannot bring themselves to turn their head far enough to follow him. "That is unwise. If you cannot handle two vials, the third--"

"I can handle it," they snarl, wrenching at the restraints as if they hadn't checked and double checked, the both of them, that they were strong enough to hold them down. "If you cannot handle seeing me in a little discomfort, then perhaps I need a better partner. Perhaps Ketheric--"

The needle burns as it stabs through their skin. He has not waited long enough for the metal to cool and they worry, for a split second, that the heat will have denatured the blood -- but the ice that spreads through their veins amplifies the song echoing in the back of their mind and their mouth falls open on a moan even as his hand finds their face, resting possessively over their skin, fingers catching briefly on a tusk before pushing between their lips.

Mor had lasted three vials. They had complained of the cold, had shivered more with each injection until their body had turned brittle and rigid, skin hard enough that the needle of the fourth syringe had snapped off when Labrys had tried to administer it. The skin of their temple had cracked open, dark brown splitting apart to reveal the bleached white of their skull beneath, but they had not bled. Their blood had still been frozen solid in their veins an hour later, after Labrys had blunted three scalpels trying to cut them open.

They are cold now, but at least they can feel their blood still liquid enough to pump sluggishly around their body. They cannot stop shivering: their sweat still has not dried, and the air down here is too cold to ever truly be comfortable, even if they did not have ice water running through their veins in place of blood. Enver's fingers in their mouth are so hot they almost burn -- they should bite down until the rich taste of his blood floods their mouth, until he cries out in pain. But when they set their teeth to his skin their jaw feels too weak and they cannot bite hard enough to break the skin.

He pulls his fingers free with too much ease, trails saliva across to their jaw and down their neck until his hand rests heavy and burning across their throat. They bear their teeth at him and growl, low and bestial, a warning ripped out from their throat as he leans down closer to them. Stupid. Stupid. Doesn't he know how badly they want to hurt him? Doesn't he know just how fragile he is, how the blood running through the veins so close to the surface of his skin calls to them, desperate to be released?

[emeriethevalkyriegirl]

Nesta Archeron (Harry Potter AU)- Chapter 29 (Unicorn Blood)

Summary: Nesta makes her first encounter with the woman who murdered her parents. Amarantha.

Eris, Gabe (Eris’s dog), and the girls traveled through the Forbidden Forest. It was dark and cold and everything around them was dead. It was like walking into a used coffin while still smelling the scent of the dead body.

Gwyn and Catrin were holding each other's hands, neither of them daring to let go of the other. Emerie was behind them, tucking her wings in out of fright. Nesta was holding onto Emerie’s shoulders from behind. And Morrigan was trying to not look so afraid even though deep down, she was shaking in her cloak.

Eris, leading the way, stopped suddenly, causing the girls to bump into each other one by one. Eris bent down and dipped two of his fingers into a puddle of clear water. The water was sticky like cheese but without the pizza.

“Um, Eris, what exactly is that?” Nesta asked. Eris glared at the substance on his fingers. “What we’re here for. Unicorn blood.” Nesta can practically feel Emerie shuddering in front of her. “I found one dead a few weeks ago. But this one...was hurt badly. I don’t know how though.”

A howling sound came from the forest, causing everyone except Eris to jump in fright. Turning back to the frightened girls, Eris continued. “So, it’s our job to find them. Emerie, twins, you’re coming with me.”

“O-Okay.” Gwyn spoke as Catrin, and Emerie nodded.

“Nesta, you go with Morrigan.” Nesta and Mor glared at each other but didn’t say anything to one another. “Fine. But I’m getting Gabe.” she proclaimed as Gabe sot his head up at the mention of his name. Eris shrugged. “Fine by me. He’s a bloody coward.” Gabe only whined.

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

“Wait until my father hears about this.” Mor complained as she, Nesta, and Gabe traveled through the forest to serve their detention. “This is a servant’s work.” Mor continued making Nesta snort a bit. Mor glared. “What’s so funny Archeron?”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were scared.” Nesta smirked.

Morrigan growled. “I’m not scared.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

Yes, you are.”

“Are not!”

“Are too!”

Another howling sound broke apart the sissy argument. This time, a little aggressively.

It was silent for a moment until Nesta spoke. “Let’s keep looking.”

“For once, I agree.” Morrigan replied as they continued their journey through the forest, Gabe following them close behind.

After a while, Gabe looked off into the distance and began to growl. “What is it Gabe?”

“Look.” Mor pointed making Nesta look in the same direction

There before her was a dead unicorn. Its body was limp, but they couldn’t see its blood. But that was not the reason she was so terrified. There was a black hooded figure crouching down near the unicorn. It looked like it was....no, it couldn’t be.

The figure looked up and snarled at the girls, the unicorn’s blood dripping from its mouth.

Morrigan screamed and fled along with Gabe, leaving Nesta with the mysterious figure. The figure moved closer to her swiftly. Almost like it was floating off the ground. Nesta had begun to back away, but she tripped and fell on a branch.

Before the figure could do anything, a galloping sound was heard, causing the figure to retreat further into the forest. Upon its retreat, Nesta had noticed that the galloping noise came from a horse. Well, more like a man mixed with a horse. At least the man part was at the front and not the back.

“Nesta Archeron. You should not be here. You are known to many creatures here. The forest is not safe at this time. Especially for you.” The man (or horse) warned. Nesta pressed on for answers. “But what exactly did you just save me from?”

“A monstrous creature.” The man replied taking a step forward as Nesta stood up on her feet. “It’s a terrible crime to slay a unicorn. Drinking its blood will keep you alive even when you’re at the urge of death. But...at a terrible cost.”

Nesta was afraid to ask. “What...kind of cost?” The man gulped, frightened that he’d scare her, but Nesta was persistent. “Please tell me,” she said. The man sighed. “Once the blood touches your lips, you will live a half-life. A cursed life.” Now, it was Nesta’s turn to gulp. “But, who would choose such a life?”

“Can you really think of no one?” The man asked, allowing the young Slytherin to think. She thought back on how she first learned about Amarantha. How she was a cruel woman and not even a High Lord would dare speak her name. But...could she really be alive all this time?

“Are you saying...that the thing that tried to attack me before just now...was...Amarantha?” Nesta theorized. The man leaned his head closer to her. “Do you know what is hidden in this school at this very moment, Ms. Archeron?” Nesta knew the answer to that question. “The Sorcerer’s Stone.”

“Nesta!” Nesta turned her head to find her friends Emerie and the Bedara twins. They were accompanied by Morrigan, Eris, and Gabe.

Eris looked at the man with recognition. “Hello there Balthazar. I see you’ve met our young Ms. Archeron. You alright kid?” Eris called out earning a nod from Nesta. “Nesta,” The man known as Balthazar begin as Nesta turned back to him. “This is where I leave you. You’re safe now. Good luck.” Balthazar replied before riding deeper into the forest, leaving Nesta and the others to see the fallen unicorn.

[flowerflamestars]

i remember that you once said something about privateer nesta could you elaborate? please? *shrek cat eyes*

WHO TOLD YOU I AM COMPLETELY VULNERABLE TO THE CAT EYES??

okay, so admittedly I don't remember the context in which I said this?? But I still SUPER super love the idea

and it matches with what we'll call the Dream ACOTAR Extended Universe Plot, almost canon.

We begin with the final battle against Hybern. Tamlin dies, closing the loop of his tragic, misspent life. Amren stays dead, a magical being on to the next adventure.

Rhysand stays dead.

He functionally (magically) threw himself on a bomb, and took the whole blast. He's not the Cauldron- and no one man could repair what it once was, but he could contain the fatal, drastic implosion of an object that was meant to endure forever, fractured into more and more peices.

Why is this important?

Because it leaves a world where Feyre Archeron- twenty-ish, romantic hero, prop, prisoner- becomes High Lady in her own, true right.

(I don't think she's necessarily good at this job, because why would she be? It's not even her fault- Feyre has no idea about how faery politics work, no real tangible knowledge of her own inherited kingdom.)

But both the men who stole her and defined her and loved her and hurt her are dead.

And it not only sets her on a journey to become, on her own, an actual character in her own life, but it galvanizes the Archeron sisters.

Feyre's basically fucking comatose after the battle. Elain has been a mess this entire time, but after that last fight with Grayson, walking into the war and stabbing a king in the throat- she is as vital and herself as Nesta has seen her in years.

Nesta just watched her father die and felt nothing- and she hates herself for it. She and Elain had taken the head of the man who stole everything from them- and she doesn't have a single regret.

Feyre screamed until she could no longer- there's so much magic seething out her it hurts to look at-

There's a dark well inside herself that could rise. But why should Nesta let it? So what, if she doesn't mourn her father? He'd never cared about her and Elain- not when they were young, too busy and important to even speak to his own children. Not when they lost everything, and he'd tried one last time to sell them both into marriages to recoup the family loss. Not after, in the starving cold, no matter what she'd tried to force him into action.

Nesta had been mourning all along a human girls human life- what is an absent, neglectful, shitty in the most ordinary of ways human parent if not a part of that lost future?

Their sister owns a fucking country- their sister is, at this minute so hemmed in by her followers no one can see her, much less comfort her- there's a war camp falling apart around them- there's Nesta, Elain, and Azriel, unhurt, upright, alive.

(she does not let herself think that an hour before she'd been ready to die and thought it right, the ending the meant to be conclusion of her story. she does not think about how she'd wished Cassian healed beneath her hands and that he had healed, that she'd wept to learn she could do more than destroy.

that she'd still been weeping, her mouth bright with his blood, when he'd pulled away, dragged himself to Morrigan's waiting arms)

Nesta Archeron is alive. Her sisters are alive. They're free, and she'll be fucking damned if this all falls apart before Feyre can heal.

Nesta turns to Azriel and asks if he can take control of the legions.

She has no time for his blank, angry eyes- she knows he's hurt, he's mourning, he's lost- but she needs him. Cassian's...down. Rhys is dead. Feyre and Morrigan are not coming out of that tent.

And he just listens. Thoughtfully. Asks what Nesta intends to do.

And Nesta looks at Elain- soft, kind, gentle Elain who'd never once wavered now when life was on the line. Who hadn't cried a tear for their father, or for the man who'd kidnapped and then married their baby sister.

The danger wasn't over- and neither had the steel faded from Elain's spine.

Nesta tells Azriel she's going to find Keir.

Nesta isn't blind- she's walked the Hewn City, spoken to the eldest darkness. She was also at the joke of a Summit- Autumn wants new territory, Keir wants to rule Night. And here Night is, weakened, a lamb to slaughter.

Nesta's not going to lose again- she's not going to give these ancient, cruel lords another chance.

Elain grabbed her hand and squeezed- the one person, always, who Nesta never need explain herself to.

Aren't the High Fae technically Morrigan's Elain asked, a bare whisper as they walked through the camp.

It went without saying yes, but Nesta had never seen any indication they respected her enough to listen to her. She made a face, and Elain made one right back, rueful. She had eyes too, after all.

They're not going to listen to us in these clothes, Elain also told her.

She was right, of course. They were High Fae, and that mattered to those vile pricks, but they'd been outfitted for flight. She would do almost anything, actually, to be free of leather pants.

Which Elain, a gleam in her eye that Nesta was learning meant magic, dreamy and happy- led her precisely to a gold topped tent, stepped inside, bowed, and asked without a trace of hesitation if Helion Spellcleaver, Lord of Day, would perhaps do them the favor of loaning them some garments.

Solid gold eyes gleaming against blood and smoke tinged dark skin, beautiful, glorious Helion, smiled.

Day-white against Night- but also, Nesta knew, taking care with her crown of a braid, the splatter of blood left on her throat, her mouth, her cheeks like fine paint- white was the color of death.

Elain covered herself completely- shawl wrapped over her hair, tucked around her neck, breathing easier now, in human modesty- but hung from a golden belt that Helion, with the clear air of someone who knew something about seers, had found, metal hammered with stars and flames, was Truthteller, the long blade without a sheathe, black metal swallowing up light.

Keir was easy to find, and in fine form, surrounded by Darkbringers, who looped back behind the sisters the second they were close.

Nesta was not afraid- she'd thrown power into the sky and it had hurt. Not in depth, but because she was still holding on- it wanted out-it wanted to devour-

Elain dipped a flagrantly rude, swallow bob of a curtsey. Nesta didn't even bother- just let Keir hail them, royal family that they were. He liked the sound of his own voice, but he was also clever- they'd come here of their own volition and now they were trapped.

She could smell the reinforcements, the utter Autumn reek.

Nesta interrupted, and asked Keir to come and swear fealty to her sister.

It was never going to get the right answer, but it had to be said. It had to be heard.

She'd been right- they'd been right- Keir enjoyed the cruelty of getting close to Nesta, denying straight to her Archeron face that no, Rhysand's bloodline was ended. It was time, it was right, for the House of Truth to once more hold their throne.

He spoke his treason aloud, looming over Nesta- close enough to touch.

So Nesta did.

She'd willed Cassian alive and whole. It was so, so much easier to remember fire, death, drowning, to push and want the revolting man's destruction.

And when he fell, silvered fire that had filled his lungs spilling from his throat, Nesta did not flinch. She looked to the next lieutenant, a frankly indistinguishable golden haired pale-eyed blandly handsome man in black armor, and asked, if he, as the new commander of the Darkbringers, would like to give a different answer.

He did.

Azriel met them halfway back to Feyre, grim mouth flickering for a second at the sight of Elain, before looking, stone-faced, at Nesta beside her, leading a crowd of the highest ranked Night Court faeries she could find.

Keir? He asked.

Dead, Elain answered, and that was that.

The Shadowsinger fell in step with the Seer, a threatening shadow to two pale beacons.

It was Azriel who actually went inside the tent. Who said what needed to said, what made Morrigan splutter loudly enough to be heard outside, before she burst out the tent in a whorl of hair, before blanching.

Nesta had just enough control not to roll her eyes. They come to swear fealty.

And Morrigan, chewing her lip with all the dignity of a child- Elain and Nesta had been trained out of such gestures at eight, what did she think was happening here? - shook her head. She's not well, it can wait.

No, Azriel said, from behind her, it can't.

He was supporting what looked like the entirety of Feyre's weight. Dead-white, blue eyes a blaze, Feyre looked blearily out at all of them like she recognized no one.

Elain, treasure that she was, came forward to take her sister's other hand, whispering both condolence and explanation.

And so the High Houses of Night knelt in battlefield mud, and swore eternal loyalty to the youngest Archeron.

It was only after they were gone that Nesta hugged her sister- hard enough Feyre protested, a fresh batch of tears soaking Nesta's shoulder even before Elain joined them.

It's Azriel, voice a little less like a phantom, who tells Feyre they're handling things. That if she wants to rest more, that's fine.

She was so clearly shattered- Nesta half wondered how much of that Azriel can literally feel/hear with his shadow...things.

Feyre protests that there's things to do- Feyre makes it halfway through a sentence about plans before she says Rhysand's name like he's still alive and collapses in on herself like a wave crashing.

Nesta and Elain tuck Feyre back into the blanket pile. Nesta manages to kiss her forehead before Morrigan is there, hugging Feyre putting herself bodily between the sisters.

They leave, and outside, Azriel is waiting.

To hand Nesta a gaudy, enormous platinum ring. The seal of the Night Court- Nesta recognizes it from shipping manifests, but she'd never actually seen it as an adult. Here, as a faery.

Her thoughts on Azriel's powers hold true, as he answers the dismay: Rhys only used it when he had to. It had passed between the whole Court of Dreams hands, there had not been a vizier, a lord of stars, since the time of Rhysand's father.

Nesta puts on the hideous ring, barely flinching at the brush of magic, it resizing to her hand.

Elain grasps her other, squeezing, and asks Azriel who is next.

They work ceaselessly, pausing only to sleep. Azriel, Nesta is quite sure, isn't sleeping at all- until she goes looking for him with a question and finds him finally, finally out cold, face tucked in Lucien Vanserra's neck.

In silence and gestures, they come to something of an agreement- and when the Night Court comes to the table to talk peace, it's with Lucien. Jurian, who Nesta immediately liked.

By the time they return to the North, there is not a Lord one who does not know the names and nightmarish qualities of all three Archeron sisters.

Feyre mourns, and learns to govern slow. Cassian goes back to Illyria and does not return for a long, long time. Morrigan becomes Feyre's second- Nesta laughs, not altogether kind, when Lucien tells her this. No one has been able to answer her as to why, if Morrigan is so powerful, why did she not fight? what does she actually do?

What answers to her questions she does find are appalling. Why does Winter block our every turn? oh, Rhysand killed more than a dozen children. Why is Summer refusing our trade? Well, Rhysand stole their ancestral pride. Why is the Hewn City so wrathful at even the slightest form of intervention? Because Rhysand had left Keir to rule alone.

Nesta doesn't want to rule the fucking court. She thinks she could leave all of these politicians to rot- but she won't let Feyre misstep her way to death, shouldering a burden of her dead mate.

There's nothing they can give Winter but apology and so that's what Nesta does. On her knees, in a gilded palace of ice, stars caught in her hair and the seal on her. Kallias, bright and young, seems to know something about inherited problems- he does not ever forget, but he forgives, at least, the Archerons.

Summer is more complicated- but Nesta does what she can. Gives them every melted, ruined piece of the Book. Offers reparations for the next millennia. Ends up paying for what she is appalled and embarrassed to learn is a two hundred year old debt for a building the head of the Night Court's armed forces- Cassian, fucking Cassian the ghost haunting Nesta- had destroyed. During a brawl. At a solstice party.

She deals only with Cressieda, and they come to understand each other very well.

Nesta was not raised for politics and bullshit- her mother wanted her to marry a crown, but Nesta wanted the family empire. Trade. The Archeron legacy, denied to a girl. She likes Summer more than any place in Prythian, and she doesn't hide that. She relearns old lessons of tide and routes in secret, before Cressieda reveals that of course, she knows who the Archerons were.

It goes well, until Morrigan finds out what she's been doing, and tells Feyre.

The youngest Archeron had been doing better. Morrigan has been right by her side, through everything. Cassian is in Illyria, and Feyre understands why, writing him letters. She writes letters to Rhys too, if only to have a way to direct the words.

Azriel, spectral and busy she sees the least of, but Feyre never doubts his presence, keeping her safe. Elain comes, drags her out into sunlight, brings Lucien and it makes Feyre happy to see them together. Nesta comes too, with them both and alone, with papers from Feyre to sign, with affection sharp-edged but true.

Feyre knows she owes them all more than can be said- she's not stupid, she knows they're keeping Night together. That slowly those responsibilities will fall to her, when she's ready.

She does not think about how much of those responsibilities is cleaning up the tangled mess of betrayal Rhysand left behind. In her head, there is only Rhys- beloved and shadowed, kind and tortured.

Until Morrigan tells her that it's been acknowledged, in public, by Night, that Rhysand was a thief, and a murder of children.

Feyre loses her shit.

Rhysand had done what he had to. Who was Nesta, to say such things? She'd always hated Rhys. Rhys had always hated her, maybe he was right- the children. Rhys had mourned them in screaming nightmares, but he hadn't hurt them-

(Feyre does not stop to think it strange, that Rhys could have nightmares of memories not his own. That he might have fractured just a bit, under Amarantha. That the Red Lady had no daemati- that was why she'd kept Rhys all along.)

The fight is as ugly as can be imagined. And what proceeds is of course, worse. Feyre says terrible things she will ultimately regret and apologize for, but what becomes clear is that Morrigan thinks that Nesta means to hold power forever.

That she's taken advantage.

And Cassian, called home by rage, believes her.

That is, more than her ungrateful sister, more than the ongoing weight of cleaning up after a man she despised for good reason, the end of Nesta Archeron's Night Court career.

She'd thought she loved him- she'd been willing to die with him- but they'd lived. This was the life, the next life, and what did he think of her? That Nesta was a power hungry snob. That she was paying too much heed to politics.

That Nesta belonged quietly at home. That she should have learned to fight somewhere along that way- a point so convoluted it made Lucien laugh- that she hadn't learned anything that mattered.

That she had no right to kill Keir, because it had hurt Morrigan.

Had he ever, Nesta would wonder later, even liked her? Enjoyed anything about her but for that magical tether, telling him he was blessed with something special?

Nesta was something special, and she knew it.

And so she returned the ring to Azriel, packed up her possessions, and left.

First to Day, where Elain had bought a house. Fury and tears both met the explanation of what happened- fury and tears that turned to getting inadvisably drunk in sunlight, when Lucien and Azriel snuck away to join them.

For the first time in Nesta's adult life, she had no obligations. Magic, money, freedom- the whole world was out there.

She stopped wearing black. Learned pants where actually lovely, when they fit correctly and weren't made of leather. Learned Azriel could laugh, and Lucien was as clever as she'd always thought.

She read books, she ate fruit, she took Helion up on several of his more lascivious offers.

She thought of Cassian, and it ached, but not enough to go backward.

Elain's house was by the sea, right on the water. The scent of salt reminded Nesta of Summer- but also of her oldest, most secret dreams. The warehouses of goods, like mysteries to solve. The account books she stole, learning by candlelight the trade in her blood.

Ten years after the war, Nesta bought a ship.

She set out to be a merchant, use what she knew, but what happened was this: Nesta Archeron did not care anymore for rules. And so when she came upon Hybernian remnants-for they were an island kingdom, even more one with the water than Prythian- pillaging a Summer town, she destroyed them.

She stole their treasure, gave much of it back to the people.

Found, unexpected, that she had much more of a taste for marauding than she would have expected. There was still trade of course- proft made and shared- but Summer needed someone willing to do some destroying out on the sea.

Twelve years after the war, Nesta Archeron became a privateer under the Summer flag, pearls in her hair and a true smile on her lips.

Things grew, as all things do. Feyre wrestled herself the reins of government, stymied by the councils Nesta and Azriel set up as much as she often was by Azriel himself out of truly petulant action. Morrigan remained second, golden blades bright as her gowns within reach. Cassian became a sort of seneschal, reigning over Illyria in Feyre's name cold and alone as the wind through the mountains.

(Feyre thought he might never get over the war, but Azriel knew the truth.)

Elain took herself wherever the future led, a sort of mediator and councilor, walking in all Courts- but always back to home, that isolated green, green cove, where Nesta would land.

When war came again, there was no great Lordly alliance, no cut-throat summit. There was a fleet of ships whose sails where edged in purple, whose announcement across the water was silver fire, whose accompaniment were monsters of old.

Violence did not touch Prythians human shore, because Nesta Archeron did not let it.

She was death on the tide, and she remembered what shores had borne her.

She had a home in Summer, a place in Day, her family across the continent- she had her ships, full of faeries from every walk of life, who wanted as she did the freedom as much as the profit, the endless, endless blue, where sea meets sky.

It was eternity, and the Archeron sisters, free, had made it their own.

[julemmaes]

ahem... cassian taking nesta to that bookstore (fluff, don’t try making shit sad aight?)

Our First Non-Date

SURPRISE I GUESS!!

Nessian Archeron x Cassian

You can find the first part here.

A/N: this month has been really nice on me. I finally feel better, not crying every day for literally nothing and I wanna dedicate this to my fren Sim (@perseusannabeth) cause homegirl just finished the offcampus series and she's grieving. I know she is. So yep. Take some Nessian fluff

And Nina, I had to add some angsty parts, but they're not Irene Angst Level, okay?

Word count: 6,833

When Cassian had called her back the night after their outing with Amren and Varian, she'd stared at the phone for a full minute until it had stopped ringing and she could go back to reading the article on poisonous plants that Elain had sent her.

It hadn't even been five minutes before the words had been obscured from the call screen again and the name "Cassian Navarro" appeared.

When she had ignored the call for the second time as well, he had decided to change tactics.

Hi Nes, I was thinking about when you'd be free to go to the library. I need a couple of manuals because I'm building a little gazebo in Rhys and Feyre's garden and your sister is putting a lot of pressure on me, so I was wondering if you had the day off tomorrow.

Nesta was stunned at the amount of useless information he had given her, but managed to reply with a simple, Working tomorrow, day off on Wednesday. Sending you the address later.

She certainly hadn't anticipated how hard it would be to get up that day, her will to live must have been hiding somewhere under her bed and Nesta didn't know if it was directly related to their going out or just her stupid brain not being able to connect to real life.

The only other worst thing she'd been able to think of at that moment was having to explain to Cassian what was going on, so, pulled out of bed by the future embarrassment they'd feel in such a situation, she'd managed to dress, wash and style her hair so that she had a braid crowning her head.

She hadn't put too much effort into deciding what to wear, after all, it wasn't a date and Cassian had seen her many times before in far more outrageous and scruffy clothes than the comfortable black jeans and grey jumper she was wearing right now.

The silence had made her uncomfortable at first, only because Cassian seemed to be really stressed - about what, she certainly wouldn't ask - but after about ten minutes, he'd turned on the radio and popped a CD into the player and the melody of a Verve song had filled the cabin.

She'd started humming under her breath and he'd looked at her with a faint smile on his lips and his eyes sparkling. She hadn't mulled over that look too much, but she'd started eyeing him more closely and noticed the way he narrowed his eyes at every street sign and how he ran a hand over his face every time a strand of hair landed in front of his eyes.

When Cassian had to blow the hair out of his face for the millionth time, Nesta pulled a rubber band off her wrist and handed it to him abruptly.

Cassian looked surprised, but took it almost immediately, brushing her fingers. Nesta immediately withdrew her hand, feeling how warm and calloused his were.

"Thanks, my hair is killing me today," he finally spoke.

Nesta continued to look ahead, noticing that they were about to enter the highway. "Well, it wasn't very wise of you not to tie it up before you got in the car. I never drive with my hair down."

He nodded slowly, still with the band clutched between his fingers. And then, suddenly he let go of the steering wheel, "Hold that for me for a second." and Nesta's eyes went wide, launching herself at him to grab it and keep the car in their lane.

"Are you nuts?" she almost shrieked, keeping her gaze fixed on the road and feeling every nerve ending vibrate with anger.

"Relax." he said in a calm tone, shifting her hands and gently pushing her back into her seat one more time. "It wasn't even five seconds."

Nesta huffed out a laugh that lacked amusement, "You do something like that again without warning me first and I'm getting out of the car."

Cassian looked at her with a raised eyebrow, "A bit dramatic, but alright."

She sighed, shaking her head slightly and resting it on her hand propped against the window.

That awkward silence fell again and Nesta couldn't figure out what the problem was. She hadn't felt any kind of unease three days before, but after all, they'd been with friends and busy walking, not stuck in a car for two hours with no chance of walking away or splitting up.

And in that moment, the reality of their situation overwhelmed her.

She forced herself to steady her breathing, opening the window slightly so that more air could get in. She forced herself to think about all the things she would see today at the library and how beautiful and spectacular it had looked from mere pictures. She wasn't going to let her twisted mind stop her from having fun with someone who was desperately trying to be her friend.

She took a deep breath and a surprising calm enveloped her. She looked to her left to see if Cassian had noticed that temporal change in her behaviour, but it seemed to her that he was just as fidgety.

She was about to ask him if he was okay, because the knee that kept bouncing and the fingers opening and closing on the steering wheel were obvious nervous tics, when he did the eye thing again, this time leaning forward over the dashboard as well, and the sharp turn he took to the right caused her to shift in her seat so much that she bumped her shoulder against his.

Cassian grimaced, "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"What's wrong?" she asked, readjusting in her seat.

"Sorry?"

"What's the matter? With your eyes, I mean."

"Oh." he seemed surprised by the question, almost as if he hadn't realised she'd been observing him for the last twenty minutes. He cast her a curious glance immediately returning to the road. "I wear glasses when I drive, but I couldn't find them this morning and these contacts are the wrong shade and I can't see very well."

Nesta nodded thoughtfully, "Where do you normally keep them?"

"In the glove box. But I already checked," he replied, rolling his shoulders. Another nervous tic.

Nesta had to suppress a smile. There was no way he could be so worked up just because they were talking. She looked down at the phone in her hand to check the time, and a flash of light momentarily dazzled her. She blinked a couple of times and then scoffed, "Found them."

She reached a hand towards the hatch compartment and pulled out a pair of very plain black glasses, handing them to him. Cassian seemed to finally relax since she'd gotten into the car.

"Thank fuck." then he pulled into a lay-by and without turning off the car, slipped two fingers in his eye, removing one contact and then the other, leaving Nesta stunned. He put the glasses on his nose and flashed her a smile that went from ear to ear. And Nesta was stunned for other reasons.

She couldn't deny that Cassian was an attractive man. She wasn't stupid or blind, but the man next to her should have come with a warning sign or a bell.

Attention, hot stuff coming your way.

Nesta forgot the comment she had wanted to make about how antigenic and risky it had been to remove his contacts without first cleaning his hands and in such a dirty environment.

His hair tied back in a messy bun, with the hint of a beard he was letting grow, and now his glasses on, Cassian looked like a model on the cover of a newspaper about sexy carpenters. The short-sleeved black shirt he wore that pulled on his huge biceps every time he moved in the slightest was just one more point to add to the list of things that made him appealing.

"So," he began, getting back on the road, "what's your favourite colour?"

Nesta snorted, "Are you serious?"

Cassian seemed to blanch, "What?"

"Have you ever been out with a girl?" she asked him sarcastically, knowing full well what the answer would be.

He clenched his jaw so hard that a muscle popped out on his face, "Only on dates."

"And this isn't a date." pointed out Nesta, holding back a laugh at how tortured he sounded.

"It's not."

Nesta touched the tip of her nose, thoughtful, "Shouldn't this be easier for you then?"

Cassian released a breath through his nose, "I'm under a lot of pressure right now."

"Yeah?" she asked, looking away and smiling.

"Yeah, and stop looking like you're enjoying it." he retorted.

She feigned innocence, "Enjoying what?"

"My pain." he sheeted.

Nesta laughed, unable to contain herself any longer and when he glared at her, she covered her mouth with one hand, laughing harder. Only when he snapped his fingers against the steering wheel did she stop, laying a hand on his arm, just for a few seconds, "I'm so sorry." she wheezed, "I just don't understand. When you're hanging out with my sisters or Amren, or Mor, I don't know, you don't seem to be in this much discomfort."

Cassian sighed again and Nesta chuckled one last time, stopping when he smiled slightly. "I'm just trying not to make you uncomfortable. You accepted I take you on this non-date, and I'm doing my best not to flirt badly with you every chance I get." he confessed, nodding slowly, as if to convince himself that he was doing the right thing and not wasting their time.

Nesta was genuinely surprised at his answer and decided to offer him an olive branch.

"My favourite colour is blue."

"Nice." he smiled, showing a hint of a dimple, "Mine is red."

"It's too bright of a colour," she said lightheartedly.

Cassian chuckled, "I'm pretty sure it reflects my peppy personality."

Nesta nodded, "I read an article once about how a person's favourite colour says a lot about the person themselves," she said annoyed, "It sounded like one of those quizzes you find in gossip magazines, like it was written by a third grader. I hate those things, like horoscopes."

He grunted, "God, Mor's obsessed with horoscopes..."

The conversation continued without any more awkward silences for the remainder of the ride, and when Cassian turned onto a bumpy road, Nesta knew they were close. Of course, even if she hadn't looked at the directions from her house to the place, the myriad cars parked along the road would have been an indication.

They parked in the first vacant spot they could find and as soon as Nesta was out of the car, an icy gust of wind hit her face, making her shiver with cold. She looked over the bonnet at Cassian and found him staring at her with a half smile on his face. He'd left his glasses in the car and had let his hair down again, her hair band on his wrist, and he looked even prettier than before.

"Do you want my jacket?" he asked her, with a conflicted look on his face, as if he didn't want to. Nesta narrowed her brows and he hurried to add, "There's no hidden agenda to my offer, just a friend lending a jacket to another friend."

Nesta watched him for a moment, trying to really understand his intentions, but then remembered reading in one of the reviews that the library was heated inside and shook her head.

Cassian gave a small nod of assent and then pointed down the street, "Shall we?"

From where they had parked to the library it would have been about a ten minute walk and Nesta couldn't help but notice the way Cassian kept his distance between them as if he was afraid she would get scared and run away.

He was back to fidgeting nervously with his fingers and when he realised she was looking at him, he put them in his pockets, smiling tensely at her. He took a deep breath and then said, "So, what do you know about this library?"

Nesta looked ahead, hoping to catch a glimpse of the building, but the foliage of the trees was still too thick and they were still too far away for it to see anything. She brought her hands to her stomach, crossing her fingers, "I actually did a bit of research before I came. Did you know that the Peace Treaty between Prythian and Hybern of 1864 was signed here?" she asked in an excited voice.

Cassian smiled at her so naturally that she felt herself blush. He had an expression she couldn't decipher, but Nesta had never been good at cracking people in general, so she didn't venture to continue until he said, "Tell me more."

And Nesta launched into a detailed description of the events that had taken place inside the building, which only a hundred years before had become a bookstore. Only one wing of the building had been furnished in such a way as to become a real shop, the rest had been set up to be visited as a museum, one of the oldest libraries. She talked about the architecture and how it was obvious that the palace had been built long before it became an important meeting place for scholars and researchers.

"And in 1932 a fire destroyed the science wing, burning more than a hundred textbooks." Nesta sighed, thinking how devastating that loss had been. She lit up with happiness when she remembered what happened next. "But luckily, one of the most important literary clubs in the city got together and they managed to recover a small portion of the books. It took them years to rewrite every manual, but they got help from one of the local researchers, a certain Mr. Hawthorn, I can't remember the name or details of the research, only that he's mentioned often in the article I read."

When she paused to catch her breath, Nesta realised with immense horror what had just happened. Cassian had not spoken a word after asking her if she knew anything about the place and she had monopolised the conversation without even acknowledging him once. She felt herself flare up and knew in that moment that any hope they had of becoming real friends was gone.

Sometimes she would get lost in thought and ramble on about the things she was passionate about. Quite often people had stopped her, letting her know they weren't interested in the subject, but Cassian had never interrupted her and she was afraid to look at him, convinced she would only find boredom and disgust on his face.

That was why, when he spoke, she was struck dumb.

"I'm impressed." he breathed, chuckling immediately afterwards.

Nesta pushed herself to look at him and he stood admiring her with his mouth slightly open, as if he couldn't find the words. She felt her heart clench in her chest so tightly that she didn't know if she could survive the pain. Who knows how many times he'd tried to stop her and she'd gone on and on about windows and arches and treaties of peace.

But when she got a better look at him, stopping in front of him, Cassian looked... happy.

He let out a laugh, running a hand through his hair, and Nesta was distracted for a moment by the sway of his arms before she was brought violently back down to earth when he said, "You surprise me more and more every time, Nesta."

And the way he said her name - Ne-sta - made her toes curl.

"Why?" she managed to throw out in a weak voice.

Cassian laughed again, raising his eyebrows so high they ended under the hair on his forehead, locking his eyes to hers. "I have a degree in history and my final thesis happened to be on this very library." Nesta felt the ground open up beneath her feet and hoped it swallowed her alive. "I came out of university with top marks and various accolades for finishing my studies on time and you, dreadful creature that you are, have just taught me at least three new things about this place."

His gaze was so intense that Nesta had to lower her head to hide the satisfied and surprised smirk that popped up on her lips.

"You're amazing." huffed Cassian, "Perfect in every way."

She shrugged.

"Although," he clicked his tongue against his palate, "You made a mistake."

Nesta looked up at him, frowning, "Oh, yeah?"

Cassian nodded, smirking fiercely, "Why don't you turn around and admire the palace, and once we're inside, I'll explain what it is?"

She must have been so lost in her chatter that she hadn't noticed that they had arrived in the large entrance forecourt, because when she turned, her back to Cassian, the building stood among the forest trees, as imposing and splendid as ever. The photos had not done it justice in the slightest and Nesta was left speechless.

Living in a country with a history going back millennia, it wasn't hard to stumble upon historic streets with old buildings and monuments, but this was completely different.

She was still admiring the way the stone around the windows had been carved to look like trees trying to get into the building when she felt something settle on the small of her back. A hand.

Nesta stiffened slightly, before closing her eyes and relaxing.

Cassian must have noticed her discomfort because a moment later his hand was no longer touching her.

They entered the museum part of the building in silence and Nesta paid the entrance fees, reminding him of the tea he'd offered her last Sunday and Cassian hadn't been able to argue with that.

They had just passed the doors to the first room, the smallest in the entire palace, when he leaned towards her, to the point of touching her ear with his lips.

The fact that he was whispering as if they had been in a sacred place did things to her little icy heart, "Mr. Hawthorn was not a man."

Shocked by that information, Nesta's head snapped in his direction and she realised too late that she had miscalculated the space.

Her lips brushed against his cheek, the corner of his lips, before Cassian reacted so quickly he startled her, but avoiding them both an involuntary first kiss. His sudden movement caused him to lose his balance and he reached out his hands towards her, straightening as he held on to her shoulders.

Both of them were holding their breath.

Cassian cleared his throat, shifting his gaze to the wall of books, but returning to look at her soon after, "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, you just surprised me," she said when she had recovered. "I must have read the article wrong."

He was still watching her and shook his head, "Oh no, I don't think it's that. They only found out a few months ago that it was Georgina and not George Hawthorn. They found letters in the house of what was thought to be Hawthorn's wife. Some people think they were just friends, but anyone who has read the letters they exchanged knows full well that they were lovers. Anyone who says otherwise is either homophobic or stupid."

Nesta realised that she could have listened to this for hours on end. And so it was.

The visit continued relatively quietly, Cassian explaining every detail to her, expanding on things she already knew and when he forgot something, she would step in and have her say, commenting on every little aspect.

She'd noticed how Cassian hadn't tried to touch her anymore and how whenever someone was about to bump into her, he'd vocally warn her instead of wrapping an arm around her shoulders to move her out of their way like he had on Sunday.

The visit to the museum lasted less than expected unfortunately, because Nesta hadn't had this much fun in too long. It was becoming easier to smile at him or tease him when he said dumb things and even he seemed to finally be more at ease when he had to make jokes that smacked of him.

When they finally got to the shop, Nesta couldn't stand on her feet anymore, she just wanted to buy all the books she saw and go home and arrange them on her shelves.

"Which section do you want to see first?" she asked him, even though she had started hopping impatiently about the place.

Cassian gave her a smug look, "Why don't you go wherever you want and I'll look for the manuals for the gazebo in the meantime? That way you don't waste time keeping up with me. I'll be right there."

Nesta let out an excited squeal and ran off, hearing only the echo of laughter that shook Cassian from head to toe.

***

As Cassian flipped through the various books to find a picture of a gazebo that looked similar to the one Feyre had requested, he kept casting glances at Nesta.

Her eyes sparkled as she grabbed book after book without even reading the synopses. She was in the romance novels section, from what he could see from where he stood, but soon ended up in the classics, where she grabbed just as many books. She moved to the mystery books section, this time stopping to read the plots and putting most of them back on the shelves.

Then, surprising Cassian, she walked over to where the historical novels were and turned to face him. He bent his head to the side, raising an eyebrow to ask her what she was doing there. Nesta seemed at a loss, trying to move all the books from one arm to the other to point him to join her, but Cassian was already halfway there and when she looked back up at him and found him standing in front of her, she gave him a bright smile.

"Hello." she exclaimed.

Cassian's breath caught for a second before he too sighed a greeting.

"I was thinking," Nesta began, running her eyes over the titles in front of them, "that you could recommend something about..." she wiggled her fingers as much as she could, trying to point to the shelf, and Cassian leaned forward, cursing himself for not thinking of it sooner.

"Here," he removed the first stack of books from her arms and she sagged a little, giving him a thankful look. "I can go get a bag so you can put them all in there and you don't have to carry them like this," he said taking all the books and having her help him arrange them so they wouldn't fall out.

He smiled at her over all the books, looking down at her and she smiled back just as happily.

Hell, if she looked at him like that every time he took her to a bookstore he should do it more often.

He had just turned to go towards the entrance, where he had seen special bags for carrying books, but Nesta stopped him by putting a hand on his arm.

"Wait!" she exclaimed almost impishly.

Cassian turned his head, genuinely worried that something had happened to her in the mere seconds he had been shot. He must have moved too fast, because one of the smaller classics flew off the top of the stack and landed right in her face.

Nesta groaned at the impact and brought her hands to her face, rubbing her forehead where it hurt.

"Oh my God, are you okay?!" he asked with wide eyes. And then Nesta laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she stared at him and he visibly relaxed. "Christ, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to throw a book at you."

She waved a hand in mid-air, to let him know it was nothing, and bent down to pick up what he realised was A Vindication of the Rights of Woman. Of course Nesta was reading feminist classics.

She turned back to the books as if nothing had happened and Cassian had the urge to look for a list of all the bookstores in the world to take her to if it meant having her in such a good mood by his side, it didn't matter if she would never agree to go on a real date with him, he realised. As long as he could see her smile like that, he didn't need anything else.

"So, I was saying, before you battered me with a book-" she cast an amused glance over one shoulder at him.

He frowned, muttering, "I said sorry."

Nesta ignored him, "What do you recommend?"

Cassian blinked.

"You said you read historical novels right?" she asked, looking for confirmation, "You could recommend your favourites. But not the English or Russian classics. Or French ones. Chances are I've already read those."

Cassian was stunned. Nesta wanted advice on books. From him.

They were silent for too long as she turned around impatiently, "You lied?"

He looked surprised, "When?"

"When you said you were reading. Were you just doing it to impress me or were you serious?" she asked and maybe Cassian imagined it, but she looked disappointed.

He was quick to reply, "The Black Coat, by Neamat Imam. It's pretty recent, but set in the 1970s in Bangladesh. It's about a man who needs help and seeks it from a journalist he asks for work and one of the main themes is the famine that hit the country after it became independent. It's not my absolute favourite, but it certainly gives you something to think about."

Nesta nodded, searching through the titles and finding it almost immediately, "Anything else?"

Cassian felt his neck heat up and coughed a little before resuming speaking. "The Long Ships by Frans G. Bengtsson. Set in the tenth century, it's about a Viking who is called Red because of his hair and focuses on the European political outlook in the late Viking Age. Again, it's not as good as the historical classics, but it's nice and shows a way of life that we're definitely not used to. It's different."

After looking for a few minutes, Nesta gave up reading and turned to him, crossing her arms. She tilted her head to the side, watching him closely, "What's your favourite book?"

Cassian shrugged, settling the books against his chest, "I think at the moment it's The King Must Die by Mary Renault. But I change my mind every month when I find something more interesting or captivating."

She nodded thoughtfully, "I'll take that one then."

And Cassian wished he could change the title immediately because... what if she didn't like it? Or if she thought it was a stupid book? What would she think of him then?

But Nesta had already found a copy a few shelves down and there was no turning back.

He could counterattack, though, "What about yours? You're not going to give me any advice on feminist classics or blatantly trashy romance novels?"

Nesta opened her mouth wide, looking outraged as she placed the latest addition on the pile, settling the book under her chin, "How can you say they're trashy if you don't even know what they're about?"

Cassian chuckled, "On the cover of You Came," he said as he gave her a sly look, "there's something called a 'spicymeter'. How am I supposed to take you seriously?"

Nesta blushed, "I read erotic novels, so what? I have to keep myself busy in my spare time somehow."

And then he challenged her, "Get me the hottest book you've ever read," he said in a joking tone, "I'll go get the bag in the meantime."

She had already left for the section when he had an idea that would surely doom him depending on how Nesta would react.

He walked up to the cashier's desk, making sure she didn't notice, and begging the clerk behind the counter to be quick, paid for all her books, gently placing them back in the bags.

When he reached her again, she seemed not to have noticed anything.

"'So, what did you get me? Ride Me? Fucked You Good? Last Night I Gave You A Thousand Orgasms?" he teased her with an annoyed grin on his lips.

Nesta gave him a fiery glance before noticing the bags, quite different from those you put the things you wanna buy in, and closed her mouth tightly. She frowned and looked at them for so long before speaking that Cassian began to feel self-conscious.

"You paid for my books?" she whispered, looking at him.

He nodded.

"It's not a date, Cassian," she reminded him for the umpteenth time.

"I know, but-"

"So why would you pay for things that are mine?"

He couldn't read her. She wasn't hinting at anything.

She didn't look angry but she didn't look impressed or grateful either.

Cassian placed the bags on the ground between them and Nesta followed his every movement with her eyes.

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing, "My adoptive family is filthy rich. I have a trust fund that I never get to spend on things I really want to do, the only way I get to use it is by giving gifts to my friends, so just accept these as my first gift - friend to friend - and call it a day."

Nesta continued to be impassive as she kept her eyes fixed on the books.

Perhaps he had gone too far. After all, she had taken more than a hundred and fifty euros worth of stuff, but he really didn't mind.

He was about to apologise, tell her she could give the money back if it made her feel better. Cassian would find a way to spend it back on her at other times anyway.

Then she raised her head, handing him two books with hilarious covers to say the least, "These two have storylines full of plot twists. You won't be able to put them down, but don't expect big epic battles or Viking warriors. It's just two college kids trying to survive in the modern world while finding solace in each other."

He didn't even have time to thank her that she was already across the room and waiting in line so she could pay them.

He scoffed, shaking his head.

"I guess you'll be paying for these two," he said as he caught up with her.

Nesta didn't even look at him, pulling out her wallet, "A gift from a friend to a friend."

As they walked back to the car, Cassian offered to carry the bags, but she didn't want to hear one more word so they had managed to compromise and had split the load equally.

They'd been on the road for about thirty minutes now and Nesta had gone through every book he'd bought her, talking about all the previous works by the authors she was holding in her hand at the moment.

Cassian could have died like that. Happy, relaxed, listening to the plots of those dirty books with no moral lessons to teach the reader, just pure entertainment.

He wondered at that moment if he would make it through the first few chapters of the books she had offered him and let out a heavy breath through his nose as he turned right towards the coast.

Nesta looked at him wide-eyed, stopping her rant about the headmaster's son getting the occasional model student to fall in love with him. She brought a hand to her mouth, "Oh dear, sorry, I'm boring you. I'm sorry."

He gave her a confused look ready to tell her she didn't have to apologise, but she continued.

"Sometimes I do and I don't even realize it. And I realize they're not challenging plots where you have to apply some hidden lobe of the brain to understand them, but they distract me from everyday problems, you know? It's fun to be able to unplug a few hours after I get home from work and-"

"Jesus, Nesta, stop!" he laughed, placing a hand on her thigh. She sighed. "You don't have to apologise. Not when you're so excited about something." he looked at her slyly, offering her a reassuring smile, "In fact, I'm glad you're talking so much today. Normally I have to pull the words out of your mouth."

She blushed slightly and then grew sullen soon after, sitting up straighter, "This isn't the way to Velaris, where are we going?"

Cassian didn't answer.

"You're taking me into the woods aren't you?"

"We literally just came out of a forest."

She ignored him.

"I knew it. You're a serial killer."

"Nes-"

"You're a little dense though. Why would you spend so much on someone if you're going to murder them?"

He decided to ignore her, chuckling, "I'm taking you to the beach."

"Why?" she asked, somewhat unconvinced.

Cassian shrugged, "I wanted to see the sunset."

"You didn't ask."

He sighed, gripping the steering wheel, "Okay," he whispered, then louder, "You want to go to the beach and watch the sunset?"

She nodded in assent and then continued to read the plots aloud.

And Cassian could have sworn he was in heaven.

***

Nesta gathered more sand, making a small ball out of it and placing it on the top of one of the towers she had made so far.

"Where did you learn to make such good sandcastles?" asked Cassian suddenly from behind her, startling her.

She jumped in the air, turning to face him and noticing the satisfied smile on his face for having taken her by surprise.

Nesta didn't answer him immediately, but allowed herself to admire him a bit.

Since they had arrived at the beach, they had taken off their shoes and were now both barefoot and then Cassian had bent down and started to roll his trousers around his ankles, offering to do it to her jeans as well, but Nesta had refused. She had sat down, looking at the sea for a while, while he walked along the shore and collected stones and shells.

When he had come back to her and shown them to her, asking her to make a sandcastle, she had laughed at first, but faced with his serious expression, she had been unable to do anything but get up and roll up her sleeves, moving to where the sand was a little more workable.

She looked away from that heavenly vision and made another ball, placing it next to the one she had just made. "When I was little my mum never let me do these, she said I'd get too much sun and forced me and Elain to stay under the umbrella all day," she replied truthfully, remembering the cruel bite of jealousy watching the children on the shore.

"And Feyre?"

Cassian had joined her, kneeling beside her and had begun to place the shells so that they served as windows to the towers.

Nesta sighed, "Feyre was still too little when Mini Me wanted to build sandcastles, but as soon as I became 'too old to play like a kid'," she gave him a knowing look, mimicking her mother's voice, "and Feyre started to figure out she was an actual being, Mama let her do whatever she wanted. Even stand in the sun for hours on end." she shrugged. "Whether it was out of indifference or love, I never understood."

Cassian had been silent the whole time and now he watched her, hands on his thighs as he waited for her to give him more. For her to tell him another little piece of her soul.

So she offered him a forced smile, "So to answer your question, it's all pent-up creativity."

"Well, you're very good at it," he granted her. "I can imagine what you could have done if your mother hadn't been so strict."

Well, yeah.

"What about you?" she asked him.

"What about me?"

"Did you go to the beach a lot?"

Cassian smiled weakly, getting up and heading towards the water to collect more shells. He nodded a couple of times and then said, "My mum and I loved coming to the beach and she loved making castles. And she always put so many 'windows' on the towers-"

Nesta turned to look at their work, realising how many shells he had placed on the piles of sand. She smiled softly, covering her eyes from the sun and watching him walk towards her.

"We always came when she was free from work."

A charged silence settled between them until Cassian chuckled, drawing her attention, "What?"

"You said this wasn't a date. And that we're just friends. Right?"

Shifting her gaze to him, she noticed how he kept his hands hidden behind his back and the mischievous glint in his eyes didn't reassure her at all. Slowly she stood up, nodding.

"So, I must treat you as I would treat my friends. Correct?"

"Cassian, I swear to god that-"

She didn't have time to finish her sentence that something wet and sticky landed in her face with a resounding splash, making her jump back.

She took a deep breath and immediately regretted it when a strong smell of stale water and seaweed flooded her nostrils.

When she opened her eyes again, wiping the seaweed from her face, Cassian was doubled over in laughter.

She didn't even give him time to get up when she started to run towards him - to do what, she had no idea - but he started to run away too and soon they were chasing each other all around the beach, not noticing the sweet looks they were getting from the people around them.

At that moment, Nesta was running so fast that she could feel the wind in her hair and the smell and sound of the sea, together with the laughter of the man who was chasing her, mixed with her own and the continuous tapping of her feet on the sand, made her feel alive.

She felt Cassian come closer every few metres until two strong arms wrapped around her waist and she was pulled up and spun around in the air.

A surprised yelp escaped her as Cassian laughed in her ear, "Gotcha!"

It wasn't until he stopped spinning with her in his arms that they realised the position they were in and immediately broke away, laughing embarrassed.

Nesta turned to face him, her face red from running and her breathing laboured. He was in no better condition. His hair was pointing in all directions and his sculpted chest was rising and falling with haste under the black fabric of his shirt.

He looked away first, scratching the back of his neck and fixing his eyes on the sunset, and offered her his arm as they returned to where they had left theirs things unattended.

Nesta shook her head, laughing one last time and started to run, " Last to reach the castle is stupid!"

Cassian burst out laughing, but he caught up to her in the blink of an eye and they both knew that she had doomed herself to lose. That's why, when he fell tripping over his feet, Nesta knew he had done it on purpose.

She helped him up and they sat back as in silence they watched the sun go down, disappearing past the horizon and the blending lights of the sky created a breathtaking spectacle.

Nesta couldn't have noticed, too busy admiring the clouds, but Cassian had been watching her the whole time, trying to understand how something as sombre and secretive as her could look so bright just by being.

The journey back was silent, but this time the silence was not awkward. They both welcomed it with open arms, a new awareness that there was no need for it to be filled with chatter and that gave Nesta the opportunity to close her eyes for a moment and doze off.

When the car stopped outside her flat, Nesta was surprised to find that she didn't want to get out.

She turned to Cassian after she had gathered her things and nodded, "I had fun today."

He gave her a genuine smile, looking surprised, "Me too."

And then she permanently shocked him, adding, "I'm not working on Saturday, we could do it again. Changing location."

He blinked once. Twice. Then he nodded, "Sure."

He didn't seem to want to say anything more, so Nesta waved goodbye to him and then got out, not waiting for an answer from him.

Cassian stood motionless in the car park of her flat for another half hour, trying to figure out what had just happened, and when the reality of things finally dawned on him, he smiled, "Fuck yeah."

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[renchinworld]

THE BLIZZARD IN JILIN

Renjun x fem reader 

fluff & angst // word count: 3.2k

This is the story of Renjun’s childhood friend who he left in Jilin when he followed his dreams of becoming an idol.

Now six years have passed, dozens of awards, hundreds of thousands of fans, and a triple million selling album later... he comes back home to see her engaged to another man. 

A blizzard is coming to Jilin and it’s the strongest one China has ever seen. 

___ ___ ___ 

 “I passed the auditions!” Renjun hugged you tightly, shaking you from side to side in joy. “I’m going to Korea!”

“Congratulations.” You smile, tears forming at the sides of your eyes.

Renjun’s dream has always been to be an idol, but your dream was always him. To be with him. 

For him to spill out the words that his eyes never fail to say everytime you catch him staring at you. 

For him to realize that maybe he didn’t give you his coat on cold winter mornings when yours did not make you feel warm enough just because he thought of you as a friend.

For him to tell you that what he truly wants is to just be an ordinary man in Jilin, grow old with you, chill with each other in the warm fireplace as you look back on your lives in old age.  

To leave it all behind and choose you.

But that would be selfish. That would leave Renjun always wondering with what ifs. He would be with you but his heart would be stuck with a dream he never got to achieve. Like an empty vessel of a person you once loved. You can’t bring yourself to do that to him just to make him stay. 

You love him so much to cut off his wings when he wants so badly to fly. 

“Shouldn’t you go home and pack?” You ask with a forced smile. You’re on the verge of crying in front of him. He needs to go before he sees your tears.

“Right!” He jumps. “By the way, you’re the first one I told. I’m gonna prank my family and tell them I didn’t get accepted first hehe. Serves them right for trying to stop me from going.” 

“You meanie.” You chuckled and he smiled. 

“Come on. You know I love them and it’s just for light fun,” Renjun ruffles your hair and you almost tell him not to leave you then. You bite your lower lip to stop yourself and his eyes land on your lips before he clears his throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You’re always the first one he told everything to. That was your place in his life. But now, seeing him walking away from you, you realize he no longer belongs only to you and you to him. 

He will be loved by a thousand screaming fans and he will perform for them in return.  He will end your calls at night earlier than usual because he has to meet other girls and boys in the morning for a fansign event. He will eventually stop messaging you as he becomes busy and you’ll wonder if he forgot about you completely.

Renjun will get his wish while you can only dream of yours. 

He will be shining as always. Under the bright, blinding spotlights and the glowing eyes of his many supporters. While you will be at your hometown, staring out at the snowy mountains, reminiscing the days when he looked at you the same way his fans look at him now.

Then you will wake up one day and realize that maybe this is bearable enough. 

Maybe it’s okay to continue on, knowing that in this short life you met the one you’d choose in a hundred lifetimes, but he couldn’t choose you in this one. 

Maybe you’ll finally agree to that arranged marriage your parents have been trying to set you up to. 

And maybe you will change your dream to an actual goal instead of a person who will end up leaving you. Maybe, just maybe… you will forget about Renjun too.

And that’s exactly what you did. Or so you thought.

___

5 YEARS LATER

“Honey, remind your fiancé that we’re having his family over for dinner,” your mom says, poking her head out of the kitchen. “Call him, okay?”

You nodded and proceeded to just text Hendery. This arranged marriage isn’t out of love and you both know it. He’s in love with someone else and you’re not willing to give your heart to him. There’s no reason to call each other over things you can just text.

“He says they’re coming.” You said, walking towards the kitchen and making yourself green tea by settling it over ice and waiting for it to melt. Someone you once loved told you this is the best way to make them.

“You didn’t call him?” Your mother asks, concerned. You shrugged. “He’s a nice boy, sweetheart. You’ve been engaged for years and yet you still--”

“Mom, please,” your smile never reached your eyes. “We’ll be fine.”

“Is it because of Renjun?”

You gulped. The mention of his name felt like the cold air that hits you when you step out of the house. It felt like beautiful smiles fading into the background. Like a thousand dreams that were thrown into the fire but the ashes keep on coming back, smothering you and making it difficult to breathe.

“No.” You said almost immediately. 

“I heard he’s back home, taking a short vacation.” She presses on, concern plastered on her face as she studies your expression. “Have you talked to him yet?”

“He’s probably forgotten about me.” Your heart was clawing at you from the inside. “Let’s stop talking about him, mom. Do you need help?”

“No, honey. I’m almost finished. You should just get ready.” She pats your back and goes back to cooking dinner. 

___

Finished with making yourself look presentable, you went down stairs. 

You stopped halfway when the doorbell rang.

No one rings your house doorbell. Hendery texts you whenever he’s in front of your house. Your father just goes in when he comes home from work every month. 

Only delivery men use that contraption. But it’s night time right now. What delivery company would be on duty at 8 in the evening?

“Sweetheart, open the door for me, okay? I’m setting up the table.” Your mom called out from the dining area. 

Something feels off. What if it’s a murderer? Nah, you’ve been watching too many true crime documentaries.

You looked at the peephole just to be sure. 

You wished it was a murderer instead. 

That would’ve been better for your health than Huang Renjun carrying a bouquet of flowers in front of your doorstep.

“What happened?” Your mom walks towards you. You look back at her, the color in your face gone. “Why aren’t you opening the door?”

She grabs the doorknob but you stop her, shaking your head. You hissed. “Don’t!”

Your mother’s eyebrows furrowed. She peeks in the peephole and sighs before she uses her strength on you and forces the door open despite your struggling.

“Oh look, it’s Jilin’s superstar! Welcome back!” She smiles, genuinely happy to see the boy who made your entire province proud. Asian parents amirite. “Come in, come in. Just in time for dinner.”

“Thank you for your hospitality.” Renjun says as he steps in and pays his respects. His voice was deeper than you last remembered. He was taller, more regal looking and even more handsome. How is that even possible?

Your eyes meet and a million memories flood through your mind. Him hugging you, telling you that he’ll be back soon. Not soon enough. You crying every night until one day you just stopped because you became numb. Not numb enough. Him saying goodbye on the phone one last time before he ghosts you. You cursing him on the top of your lungs and crying in the middle of a storm, wanting to just sink into the snow and freeze outside for years to come.

“Hi,” he says and hands you the flowers. Your eyes flutter, your hands are shaking as you receive it. You don’t know if you should be angry or what. “How are you?”

How are you? You chuckled bitterly. “Great, thanks for asking.”

“Hang his coat, honey. I’ll be in the dining area if you need me.” Your mom says quickly to mask the contempt in your voice and leaves the both of you. If your mother noticed anything, she pretended not to notice. The tension was so thick, it probably suffocated her.

“Won’t you ask me how I’ve been?” He smiles and your throat constricts. You don’t say anything so he sucks a deep breath, continuing. “We’re triple million seller idols now.”

“C-congrats.” You say, forcing yourself to not say more because if you do, you might say things you'll regret. You place the flowers down and he hands you his coat for you to hang. A whiff of his perfume passes. He smells like how a cozy and warm morning would be if it was a scent.

“I’ve missed you. I’m sorry for not reaching out--” You didn’t have enough time to process what he said because your phone suddenly rang in your pocket. He nods, eyes never leaving yours. “Go ahead. Must be an emergency.”

It was Hendery. You picked up. He only calls when it’s really important.

“Yes, Hendery?” Renjun's expression darkens at the mention of Hendery’s name. “A blizzard? Okay, I understand.”

You walk past Renjun and went to the dining area where your mother is. “They can’t come, mom. Can’t drive because the blizzard suddenly worsened.” 

“Oh no,” she pouts, then her expression changes when he sees the man standing behind you. “No worries, we have a guest to help us finish the meal. Don’t we, Renjun?”

“Of course, it’s an honor.” His honey voice from behind surprised you. You didn’t know he followed you. “Careful.”

He caught you in his arms when you almost tripped. You were quick to stand up and remove his hold on you. Your mother just stared amused. You were always too composed and collected, but Renjun brings out a clumsy side to you she’s never seen before.

“It’s a shame her fiancé couldn’t meet her childhood friend.” Your mother sighed when all three of you were seated. You and Renjun sat across from each other while your mom was beside you. “The blizzard really did it this time.”

“Fiancé?” His brows knitted, mouth hanging open, waiting for your mom to say he heard it wrong. 

“Hendery.” You said, not looking at him while taking a bite of the steak. “We’ve been engaged since 2018.” Since you stopped talking to me.

“Ah, of course,” he takes a bite out of his food but his eyes are still glued on you. “Congratulations.”

“They’re to be married next month. So exciting!” Your mom exclaims beside you and brings more food to your plates. “Eat up, babies. You both grew up so fast. You’ll probably have babies of your own soon!”

You cleared your throat, feeling the heat on your face. You probably looked so red right now.

“But…  next month?” He asks again, this time not bothering to cover his distaste of the marriage topic. “Isn’t that too soon?”

You said nothing. Why does he care anyways?

Your mom explains for you that Hendery’s parents have been trying to get you both married since last year but you keep on saying you’re still too young. 

“Right!” Renjun extends a hand to prove his point. “What if she changes her mind?”

He looks at you, trying so hard to steal your glance from the food. You give in and look at him. You almost gasp. This is the first time you’ve ever seen Renjun look this desperate. Not when his parents told him not to go to that audition. Not when he talks about becoming an idol. This was much more intense. Like he was about to do unspeakable things to you if you don’t answer him right now.

“I-I don’t think I’ll change my mind.” You finally say, feeling the heaviness in your chest spread through your body, tingling at the end of your fingers. 

“Of course you won’t.” Renjun leans, shoulders rolling back as he adjusts his posture. He says nothing to you throughout the whole meal. He smiles and humors your mother when she shares more stories but he has never looked at you again.

___

“It’s dangerous for you to leave now,” your mom says, worried. Renjun insisted on going home because their house was within walking distance, but the air was blowing outside at terrifying speeds. “Just stay the night like you always do when you were kids, hmm?”

But we’re not kids anymore. Now, we’re young adults who are totally frustrated with each other. That’s not a good idea. But going outside is evidently much worse.

“You can use her brother’s room.” Your mom laughs from the living room where they both are. Your brother Lucas has rarely visited since he married. “You’ve always been like a son to us anyways, even her brother gets jealous of you sometimes.”

Renjun laughs with her, remembering the good ol’ days. You roll your eyes. 

“Thank you so much. I’ll behave, I promise.”

Your mom turns to look at you. You’re washing the dishes in the kitchen. “She’s always insisting to hand wash instead of using the dishwasher. I taught her well.”

“I’ll help her. Please get some rest.” He smiles warmly at her and walks towards you. You both hear your mother go up the stairs, leaving you and Renjun alone again.

“Next month, really?” He asks, grabbing the plate from your hand.

“We’ve already talked about this over dinner.” You sigh. “Just drop it.”

“Are you even sure you want to marry him? Don’t you like someone else?” His tone carried a meaning behind it. Like he knew. 

What does he even know?!

"I'm marrying him and that's final." You say sternly, your patience drying up. “That would make me happy.”

“Since when did you start lying to yourself?”

The ticking bomb within you explodes. Years of sadness turned into rage and it filled your heaving chest. Your eyes started to water. Renjun settled the plate down when he saw your expression and faced you, apologizing immediately.

“Please don’t marry him.” He suddenly pleads as he kneels down, touching your hands and looking up at you. “Come back to me. Please.”

“What? Why are you so--” you stop to breathe out loudly. Tears began spilling and your heart felt like jumping out. You wanted to shout in his face. Why do you care?! Why are you begging?! What are we?!

But only a fountain of tears followed. Years of practicing what you would say if something like this happened just blurred in your mind. No amount of practice will suffice once your first love comes back and tells you something like this. None.

“I’m so sorry,” Renjun stood up and wiped your tears away. His eyes also started to become teary. “I know I’m not in the position to tell you that but I still did. I also know I’m way too late, but I just want to tell you that I love you. I really, really love you. I tried to forget my feelings because I know it would be difficult for you to end up with someone like me, but I just can’t get you out of my head.

“Every time my group members asked me if I liked someone, I would say no but in the back of my mind all I see is you. Whenever someone sings your favorite song, I would remember how beautiful you looked when we sang it together. Every moment I go up on stage, I always wondered if you’re watching me from somewhere in the crowd. Every winter when it snowed in Seoul, I would think of how the snowflakes fell softly on your hair here in Jilin. I may have left, but my heart stayed with you.

“I’m sorry I stopped talking to you. I knew you liked me back so I thought it would be selfish of me to let you wait for so long because of the path I chose. You didn’t stop me from following my dreams back then despite that. So I thought to myself, ‘she sacrificed for me, but I can’t do the same for her?’ and I decided that I needed to let you go. You deserved to be happy, too.

"I stopped reaching out so you could forget me and finally be happy in someone else’s arms. I was ready to let you go. But when I heard you were getting married next month, I couldn’t bear it. I can’t imagine it. I’d rather die. I’d rather give up on everything than see you walk down the aisle for another man--”

His voice cracks. Head drooping down into yours as he hugs you tightly. As if he let you go now, he would lose you completely. As if he doesn’t squeeze you like this, you will end up continuing with the marriage. 

You looked up at the ceiling, tears flowing and mouth hanging open from his words. Isn’t life funny? For years you were scrambling for answers and in just a mere minute, everything has started coming together.

“Renjun...” You say, your voice low and shaky. “I can’t breathe.”

He loosens his hold on you and looks you in the eyes. His hands cupped your face. “Did you hear me? I said I love you. I said I really, really, really love you.”

“I heard, dumbass.” You cough up a small laugh, the tears won’t stop falling. “I love you too.”

He sighs, relief washing over his face. “Marry me instead?”

“Dude, don’t you think you’re going too fast?” You say, your hands planted on his chest. Eyes puffy. Renjun only found it cute. 

“The last time I stalled, I almost lost you. So I’m going all-in now.” 

“You’re a kpop idol. What am I supposed to do if you're on tour and I need to give birth, hmm?”

"Don't you think you're moving faster than me? I'm just at the marriage part and you're already at pregnancy." He chuckles. "Then again, maybe we can rearrange the order of things…" 

You smacked him on the chest lightly. Who knew he could make dirty jokes like this now?

"You told my mom you would behave."

"Your mom likes me and wants grandchildren. I don't think she'd mind." 

"Shut up." You say with a smile and he kisses you. You didn’t expect him to come in stronger than a blizzard and break down all your defenses. His kiss. His truth. His love for you. Him.

There’s still a lot to be done before you two can be free to love each other without worries. But it doesn’t matter. No matter how challenging it is from here on out, you two will have each other and that's all you need. It would be like this. Always. 

Renjun's kiss deepens and he smiles victoriously as you melt into his arms. A dozen awards and a ton of trophies he received, but none of those comes close to winning your heart.

___

From upstairs, your mom smiles to herself. She heard everything when she went to ask what's taking so long but backed away quietly when she heard you both crying.

"I knew these kids just needed a little push. Oh, oof. We have to cancel that engagement…."

___ ___ ___

a/n: Dude I loved writing this so much I actually didn’t want it to end lmao

[mmvalentine]

hi!! how are you? I’m the one who sent you that dream prompt lol

I was thinking of this (way less weird) prompt: where feyre and Rhys knew each other since kids and were together, there’s a part of the books that Rhys says he and mor used to be sent to the cabin when they got into trouble (I think?) and here it is: Rhys has got himself in a fight with his dad and is sent there alone, but feyre finds a way to go to him without anyone knowing and they have the cabin all to themselves *insert smut here*

Hello little dreamer! Alright I've done so much prompt work these last couple of days and was trying to work through them chronologically because that's what seems fair but now I am tired and I just want to do one more and then take a break and this one is hands down my FAVOURITE of the ones left in my inbox right now. So you're getting bumped up!! Bit of a long one, fair warning.

A Chink in the Wall

Rhys has been alive for eighteen years, has known Feyre for seventeen, and has loved her for what feels like a thousand. He does not remember a time without Feyre, he has known she is his mate since before he knew what the word meant, and their progression from childhood best friends to lovers was something he does not remembering happening at one particular time, but gradually, the same way his legs had grown longer.

What he does remember is the first time they'd slept together, and how he'd spent so long thinking about it beforehand that he'd thought he'd go mad, only to discover the real madness was once they'd started and then couldn't stop. He'd thought he was hyper-aware of Feyre before- now the scent of her hit him like a brick any time she walked in the room, and once he'd caught her scent he needed to be touching her. Would start to shake and fall apart at the seams until he could pull her into his lap.

Over the years, Rhys's mother always told him that he was too rough with Feyre. Did it when they were kids and did it now, when Feyre would be around their house and he constantly had his hands under her hair or squeezing on her her hip or scratching at her belly.

"You can put her down for one second, for Cauldron's sake," she'd say over dinner.

And Rhys knew why. Had always known that as the High Lord's only son, he had power roiling off him in waves. He figured it was part of the reason why he was always moving, more and more as he got older. Whether it was sparring with the Illyrians or crawling thought the bedroom of Feyre's bedroom window, it felt like he leapt between extremes these days. Felt like he was always thirsty and needing to swallow down violence and pleasure and feeling like water. His father called it the "age of fighting and fucking;" his mother said this is why they couldn't have nice things.

But his mother doesn't know Feyre like he does. Feyre isn't some fragile little girl, she is the strongest person he knows. She is the only one who, when he is throwing all he has at her, can not only contain the energy flooding out of him in uncontrollable torrents, but still loves him all the same for it.

So these days, he does not like to be without her. Does not like to be too far from her, and although they both have curfews, Rhys does not often sleep alone.

Today is a exception.

Today, Rhys is fighting with his father because he stole a fine bottle of brandy from his father's shelf and snuck it between the bars of the cell where Azriel has been locked away. Again.

Rhys yells that what they are doing to Azriel is cruel and if they let it go on they are just as bad. His father yells back that it is not their place to meddle in another family's business and what does this have to do with Rhys being a sneak and a thief? Rhys says it is typical of his father to care more about alcohol than the life of a fae, and his father says and what exactly are you trying to say boy? And then he tells Rhys that he was not so old that Rhys's power is greater than his just yet, and then the fight breaks out.

Rhys does not like to reflect on what happens next too much because he wants to win so badly, wants to best his father just once, but he is eighteen and his father is nine hundred and twenty and the High Lord of the largest court in Prythian.

Suffice to say, the fight is over when Rhys has a black eye and bruised ribs, his father is holding him off the floor by his shirt front, and his mother is pleading with him to put him down.

He drops Rhys with a thud, and Rhys glowers at him.

"The cabin," his father snarls.

"Surely he's had punishment enough," his mother says, but his father does not look at her.

"You come swinging your fists at me?" he says to Rhys. His voice is quiet now, but glitters with rage. "You steal from me, you defy me, and then you come at me with your pathetic little claws out? Well. You can spend three days in isolation."

Rhys looks toward his mother, but there's nothing she can do. He opens his mouth to sling a final insult at his father, but space is already folding around him and he's being sent where no one else can winnow in or out without his father's explicit say so.

Rhys spends the next twenty minutes angrily pacing the cabin. He flings shadows aimlessly at the cabinets, curses his father eight times to sunday, and punches a hole in the wall. It is the latter that gets Feyre's attention.

Ouch, she says through the bond. I felt that one.

Rhys drops onto a couch heavily, the anger washing out of him at the sound of Feyre's voice in his mind.

I'm sorry, he says. I know you hate it when I break things.

Things. Your own knuckles. Yeah it's not my favourite.

Rhys sighs. I'm in the cabin, he tells her.

I know, she says. What did you do this time?

Got into a fight with my dad.

Well did you at least land a couple good ones?

Rhys grins, in spite of himself. I did manage to get a kick into his stomach, this time.

Good, Feyre says. Unlike his mother, she never tells him to try to get along with his father.

I miss you, Rhys says.

You saw me this morning, Feyre points out.

Yes, replied Rhys, but you had way too many clothes on. It didn't count. He can almost feel Feyre shifting in his mind.

You always think I'm wearing too many clothes, she says.

I do, Rhys agrees. Not naked is not good enough.

He slouches back on the couch and closes his eyes. Although he is not yet powerful enough to take down his father, his power is growing. Day by day it stretches and expands uncomfortably, like growing pains, and when he's not in Feyre's bed, sometimes the shadows hound him at night. They claw at him now, rake at his chest like a cat that thinks it's giving affection but leaves you in tatters.

He turns his thoughts back to more pleasant things.

Take it off, he growls at Feyre. Take it all off. I hate it when I can't see your skin.

And what makes you think I've been wearing clothes this whole time? Feyre asks. Rhys freezes, and is rock hard in an instant.

Show me, he shoots down the bond.

Ask nicely, Feyre answers.

Please, Rhys says. Runs his talons down the shields of her mind from top to bottom. Please. Sends her a memory of him kissing her every inch of skin. Please.

Feyre's shudder reaches him like a whisper, and then he's seeing through her eyes.

The interior of her bedroom. Where he spends more time than in his own. Clothes strewn on the floor- boots kicked off in the corner. Illyrian leathers dumped in a pile. Under garments hanging off the end of the bed.

Feyre's bare ankles crossed in front of her on her bed, on top of the covers.

Rhys shivers. He watches Feyre's gaze travel excruciatingly slowly upward, up her shins, past her knees, onto her lovely thighs.

More, Rhys breathes, but Feyre pauses. Her knees bend and the view shifts, as if she has been sitting up and is now laying back down. I need you like I need air, Rhys whimpers, and his hand grabs at the insistent ache in the front of his pants.

Mmm, sighs Feyre. Sometimes I need you. Sometimes I think I could just do it myself. Her gaze finally shifts and watches her own hand slide between her legs.

Oh you cruel thing! Rhys says. He is now practically panting the sight of her starting without him. He loves it. He hates it. It's nowhere near enough.

You know it's not as good by yourself, Rhys tells her.

I don't know, Feyre muses. I'm pretty sure it's faster. Rhys growls.

Who needs faster, he says, when I can be so, so slow. He shows her the image of him settling between her knees. Pressing kisses that start at her knee and travel down her inner thigh. Laying the flat of his tongue on her and licking a lazy stripe up her pussy that ends in a suckling kiss over her clit.

Feyre moans straight down the bond, and it cleaves through Rhys like a arrow shot true. Get over here, he tells her, and Feyre laughs breathlessly.

I can't, lover, she says. Your father has that place warded like a prison, remember? Rhys swears out loud and hurls more shadows uselessly against the walls of magic.

Alright, alright, Feyre says to him. You know just throwing things at it isn't going to work.

Fuck this, Rhys says savagely. You're my mate, he can't keep us apart.

Well, we just need to outsmart him, then, Feyre reasons. He might be stronger, but I've always thought you were smarter. Well, she amends. At least you were when you bothered to use your brain and before you were all... testosterone-y.

Rhys finds himself smiling. Testosterone-y?

Yeah, you know, Feyre says. The old upstairs brain. Remember that guy?

Rhys laughs. He is always in awe of how quickly Feyre calms him down. I thought you liked my downstairs brain, he says in his midnight voice.

Use your upstairs brain to get me through the wards, and I'll show you how much I like your downstairs brain.

And that is more than motivation enough.

Rhys gets up off the couch, and paces around the room again. My dad has always been lazy with spells, he says. He relies on his brute strength, and on everyone being afraid of him more than anything else.

Okay, Feyre says, picking up his train of thought. So... what if there's a weakness in his wards?

A chink in the wall, Rhys agrees.

Yes.

Rhys stands still, and reaches out his mind. Probes against the wards surrounding the cabin, and is aware of Feyre doing the same on the other side. They work their way right around the cabin, when finally, Feyre breathes, here.

And then Rhys gathers every bit of power he has in him, and pushes it all against that one spot. Reaches through it, throws everything he's got until his hand is breaking through, Feyre's grabbing a hold of him, they're folding space and he pulls.

There's a shudder that runs through the cabin, and then an extremely naked Feyre falls right into Rhys's chest and they collapse on the thick carpet together.

For a second, they just blink at each other in surprise.

"It worked," says Feyre. And then Rhys realises holy shit it worked, and smoothly rolls so that Feyre is on her back and he is all over her.

"Great work," is all he says, and then he blinks and his clothes vanish too so they are both naked and the heat of her against his bare cock is absolutely unbearable. He groans, slides his hand under one of her thighs, squeezing gently, and hooks it over his elbow before pushing straight into her, unable to stand not being inside her for one more second.

Feyre moans and lifts her hips to him, barely less eager. Rhys wonders idly if the age of fighting and fucking applies to females, and then as Feyre's nails scratch angry red lines over his shoulders he thinks it might just. He wonders how long this age will go on for, and if his desperate need for Feyre will ever abate. He hopes it doesn't.

"I thought you were going to be slow," Feyre says, breathless but with the most gorgeous light dancing in her eyes. Rhys's body screeches at him but he manages to get control of his movements. To move in and out of her languidly, lazily, tortuously slow. Feyre seems to enjoy it at first, keeps her eyes on his until they're rolling back in her head.

But the longer it goes on the more sensitive she becomes, until she is writhing in his arms seeking more friction, and every time he hits his base she jolts like she's being electrified. The fact that he is tormenting himself, too, seems absolutely worth it for the knowledge that he alone can wring this kind of pleasure from her.

"Still rather play by yourself?" he teases. "Does it feel like this when it's just your own fingers?"

Feyre snaps her eyes open at this, and between jagged breaths, teases him right back.

"Sometimes," she says. "When I'm touching myself and picturing you." A shiver runs through Rhys. "When I've got one hand between my legs and the other squeezing my breast." She demonstrates the last, and Rhys watches with hunger as her hand goes over her own chest.

"Fuck," he bites out, and picks up the pace a little.

"When I've got you curled around my mind and showing me that you're touching yourself too."

Rhys speeds up again.

"But mostly, no," she says, barely able to speak now. "No, nothing feels as good as when you're fucking me senseless."

And Rhys can't argue with that. He forgets his self-control completely and loses himself in her, in her body, in the intoxication of the sounds that she makes when he's inside her. The irony of his sentence to a remote location is that for once, they are able to make as much noise as they want and every time Feyre moans Rhys thinks he gets a little high.

By the time Rhys is close, they have started to breathe in tandem, and he locks his eyes on hers so that seconds later they are coming together. Rhys is breathless with the beauty of her, has always loved the look on her face when she climaxes, and suddenly the prospect of being locked up alone for three days seems mighty appealing.

Feyre sighs, eyes closed and chest moving deeply as she gets her breath back. Rhys draws out of her and then immediately misses her. He kisses her cheeks, her nipples, her stomach, and then without really thinking about it, closes his mouth around her clit and strokes it back and forth with his tongue.

Feyre sighs his name, and the sound of it is so sweet that he redoubles his efforts, until Feyre is rocking her hips to him and before he knows it, they're starting again.

Rhys thinks its going to be a very good three days indeed.

**** Little babies. Sigh I do love them so. Thank you my sweet anon for this lovely prompt.

Bonus: click here to see what Rhys's dark powers look like when they're still growing and trying to figure their shit out.

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @asteria-of-mars

[aelingalathyniusrailme]

Broken, battered, and beautiful-chapter 2

if you haven’t go check out chapter 1

 “Oh hi.” even in the privacy of her own home elain was clothed in a fine dress made of satin, the color of sunflowers with a high neckline. Gwyn tried to muster up embarrassment for her own plain outfit that most definitely could have been mistaken for sleep wear, but she couldn’t find the energy to care.  

“Hello, um I wanted to come by to say thank you for the other day.” Gwyn felt awkward and uncomfortable, this female had done nothing to wrong her and yet it was difficult to let the protective and territorial instincts go. Azriel was not hers, it was a mantra she replayed in her mind over and over. The words a double edge sword encouraging her to move on with a torturous truth. 

“It’s no worry, I never would have left you on the ground at night” elain smiled warmly, “and besides nesta would have my head if something had happened to you.” gwyn gave her a tight smile, the most she could force herself to manage. 

They stood in an unpleasant silence, the only sound being the soft anxious tapping of gwyns hand on her thigh, a nervous tick she had yet to break. thankfully after a couple dreadfully long seconds elain spoke, “would you like to come in?” 

Gwyn let out a sigh of relief and gave a slight nod of her head. She then followed Elain into her home. As Gwyn's eyes roamed the place she felt as if she had stepped into the spring court, or what it used to look like, she supposed from what Feyre had told her about its current state. 

Elain must have noticed her curious glance at the windows stretching from ceiling to floor with the sun blazing through them, “when I was looking for an apartment I wanted as much sunlight as possible,” she paused to reposition one of her many many plants. “For me” she paused once again, taking in the almost overwhelming amount of blossoms. “And the flowers. In case you haven’t noticed, I have a slight obsession with greenery.” 

“Slight is a modest term.” gwyn noted. She laughed. The sound was sweet and full and covered the room in a joy that could not be masked. Gwyn wished she could say she couldn’t remember the last time she laughed like that, but she had. Darkness coated the once joyous memorie, infecting it with anger and malice. Pain was soon to follow but Gwyn shoved it down, pressing a lid on her emotions, better to feel nothing at all then the heartbreak of what she had lost.

Elain quickly picked up a few scattered papers on her table and pulled out a seat for gwyn. “Would you like some tea? Emerie gave me a few samples but I haven’t had the chance to try them yet.” 

“I would recommend the strawberry green tea, personally I think it’s her best, though most of them are… editable.” 

She raised an eyebrow “most?”

“Well for Emerie's sake I’ll let you form your own opinions but between you and me, I’d keep a safe distance from the lemon ginger.” 

Elain looked amused. “I will keep that in mind.” 

gwyn watched as elain made the tea quietly humming to herself. She set down the cup in front of her, “one strawberry green tea.” Gwyn gave a nod of gratitude before quickly realizing that that was a poor response. God had she lost her manners along with her dignity. 

“Thank you.” 

Once again silence fell over them, the conversation they had both known gwyn had come for hung in the air, hovering, waiting for a moment to strike. But Gwyn had made a promise to Catrin, a promise to her found sisters, and a promise to herself that she would be brave. 

“What happened between you and azriel?” she blurted. Elain took a deep breath before answering, everything about her expression and posture, unsurprised by the question. 

“In order to really understand, I would have to start from the beginning. Are you positive you want to hear the truth?”

No. yes. No.  She did not want to hear, she desperately did not want to hear but she had to know. “Yes.” 

Elain nodded, “It’s been about four years since I became fae and the subject still isn’t my-favorite, but four years ago I was engaged to a man named grayson. Looking back he was truly dreadful and a little bit of a tool. But I was in love, or.” Elain’s cheeks flushed slightly. “what I thought was love. He truly hated the fae and when I became the one thing he hated more than he loved me, his love quickly became fear and his fear fueled his hatred. I was dependent on others, in more ways than one. And with my world being literally and figuratively turned upside down, the one person who was supposed to love and support me through it all, abandoned me without hesitation. Although the argument could be made that I was coddled my entire life and this was a much needed wake up call.” Elain paused, letting out a shaky breath. 

“If this is too difficult for you we can stop.” As much as Gwyn needed to hear this story she would not force Elain to relive her trauma. 

“I owe it to you and to my sister to avoid bad blood between us and if telling you this story is what it takes, then that is the least I can do.” She took a sip of her tea. “Now I knew I had just lost who I thought was the love of my life and then I was forced into the hands of another.” 

Her stepbrother, she thought. “Lucien.” 

“Yes,” elain smiled fondly. “He was my breaking point. All I wanted was to collapse into myself, to pretend that I was still human. But with him I couldn't. He was a walking reminder of everything I hated about myself. The only thing that haunted me more than him was my own reflection. I thought that if I avoided him I could ignore the magnetic pull that drew me to him.” She looked down and bit her lip. “Denial was a personal favorite of mine.” 

Gwyn raised her eyebrows. “I can tell.” she watched as color flooded her cheeks and Gwyn's lips twitched. 

“But it was proving to be a little more difficult than I had expected. And then there was this dark, attractive male who seemed to be intrigued by me. He was kind and he was there so I forced myself to believe I had genuine feelings for him, that I desperately wanted him.” Gwyn's stomach lurched but she forced it down. “He was a perfect distraction, there were these small moments where our fingers would brush or I would find him looking at me as if he desired me. I needed so badly to believe that this was what I wanted and yet I felt nothing. I thought that becoming fae had broken me. I made up my mind that if I kissed him, the feeling I craved would come. So at solstice, when I knew there was no way for him to avoid me, I gave myself an opening and waited until after dinner to give him his gift. He gave me a necklace and kissed my neck. We were moments away from, well you know, when he left very suddenly. I was confused and a little bit hurt and I still felt nothing. So I followed him, and well” elain let out a bitter laugh. “Let's just say Azriel said some rude things.” 

Gwyn’s face was one of constant shock as elain told her the shadowsinger’s conversation with the high lord of the night court. “The only thing he could say about you was Three Brothers, Three Sisters?!?”. 

“Yep.” 

“He thought he was entitled to you because his brothers were mated to your sisters?!? Even though you had a mate??” 

“Exactly” 

“And you guys were so not on the same page, you guys weren’t even in the same gods damn book.” 

She laughed. “I guess that’s what happens when you don’t communicate.” Gwyn's thoughts were a cage of her own making, one she couldn’t escape. She was outraged on behalf of elain, how dare azriel make some sort of claim on her, she was not a toy to be passed around. But she couldn’t help but think first Mor than Elain, what the hell was she to him? Had it all been a game of pretty words and sweet lies? Was she just one of many? 

“Anyway, I decided that the distraction wasn’t worth putting myself through whatever was going on with him so I gave him back the necklace. I assume that he saw you sometime that night or in the next few days because I saw you with the necklace a couple weeks later. I know that I did not have the right to be upset considering I gave it back but, for me, it confirmed that my decision was the right one.” 

Azriel had, in fact, come to her that night Gwyn thought back to solstice 2 years ago. It was the first time she had been alone with him, It was the first time she'd been alone with any male since.

 “Azriel and I barely spoke or interacted since solstice when a couple weeks ago, when I was shopping in town I saw him so drunk he could barely walk. I’d seen him with you a couple times and it seemed like he had changed so I went to go help him and he tried to kiss me. I slapped him and walked away. The next day he came by my apartment and begged me not to tell you. I told him I owe him nothing and closed the door in his face.”. She didn’t owe Gwyn anything either and yet she still defended her. “I then told Nesta what had happened and asked her to tell you.” elain took another sip of tea. “I thought it would have been better if it came from her.” 

Gwyn watched elain, even doing something as mundane as drinking her tea, in this house, she looked more peaceful and in her element as she had ever seen her. Gwyn was also positive this was the most she had ever heard her talk and despite a part of her still wanting to rip her head off, she was grateful for the female and she was sympathetic for what she had gone through, and she was embarrassed for not seeing this side of azriel. 

“I’m sorry.” 

A puzzled look graced elain’s face. “What for?”

“For what you went through, for whatever part I played in your pain.” she chuckled at that. 

“You did nothing wrong, besides if anyone should be apologizing it should be me.” 

Gwyn snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”

“How about it should be azriel apologizing to the both of us.”

“Deal”

elain looked out the window. “Oh speaking of solstice, I have to do my gift shopping.” she glanced at Gwyn, something in her gaze she couldn’t detect, maybe pity, maybe spite from an old grudge, maybe it was genuine, maybe a mix. Whatever it was made her ask, “would you like to come with me?”

And even if it was pity or spite, even if all elain saw was a broken toy in need of saving, she said “yes.”

tagging: @stars-and-scripts  @valkygwyn @em---r @whereisvaughan @purplecherrypie @lattristantketchup @bookish-isha @meher-sumedha @jennysofoldstone @ratabrasileira 

[cinaja]

Before the Wall part 60

Masterlist

----

Queen Andromache of Angolere is no stranger to anger. Like most humans, she has never been short of reasons to be angry, and the last seven years of war, for all that they have improved the general situation, have done little to ease that. The general unfairness of life, arrogant allies, hypocritical assholes, people who hate her for being mortal – she’s had to deal with it all.

In all those years, she has never been this angry, though. Never felt this close to combusting. It’s like she swallowed a lump of magma and it’s not lying in her stomach, burning her up from the inside. Even two days after the fact, her anger shows no sign of lessening. Instead, it only seems to grow worse, perhaps because she has not yet found an opportunity to let it out.

When the news arrived two days ago, she didn’t believe it. Outright refused to even consider it. More than five hundred thousand people dead in the blink of an eye – the numbers were too big to consider possible. The idea that Miryam, Drakon, and Mor, Mor especially, were all dead from one day to the next was too horrifying to consider. The notion of something as terrible as this happening after the war had already ended downright impossible. And there were no bodies, no way to be sure.

Andromache spent that entire day curled up in her rooms, first trying to convince herself that this had been some terrible mistake, then struggling to come to terms with the fact that it wasn’t. This was real.

The second set of news arrived that evening, chasing her out of her hiding place. The messages from four separate sources – three spies and the person in charge of Telique’s wards – arriving at roughly the same time, all brought the same news: What happened had been no terrible accident, no tragedy with no one to blame. It had been planned and brought about by their own allies. Shey. The Autumn Court. Others as well, many of them unnamed.

Again, Andromache refused to believe it. In general, it is her firm belief that one can never have too low an opinion of the Fae, but this… this still went too far. She could not wrap her mind around it, could not understand how anyone could do this.

Like most people in the Alliance, Andromache was well aware that Shey saw Miryam as a threat. But what she could not imagine no matter how hard she tried was what might have caused the level of hatred that would have been necessary to do something like this. Miryam had, as far as Andromache knew, never done anything that might have given her allies cause to hate her. Dislike, perhaps, but not hate. She certainly gave Shey and cause to hate so fiercely that her death wasn’t enough to satisfy him, that he had to have her killed in the cruellest way possible, killing most of the people she cared about, thousands of innocents, in the process and destroying what she spent most of her life working for.

“I don’t think it was hatred,” Nakia said when Andromache voiced her thoughts to her. “I think he just didn’t care. He wanted Miryam dead – everyone else was just collateral damage. Expendable.”

That was when the anger started.

Now, thirty-one hours later, Andromache feels ready to combust with the force of it. Still, her hands are surprisingly steady as she closes the straps of her armour. There will be an Alliance meeting in half an hour, the first one since Miryam and Drakon (and Mor, although no one but Andromache seems to care much about that crucial detail) died, and Andromache intends to use the opportunity to make the Fae regret it.

Her and the other humans met yesterday to agree on a plan. What they came up with isn’t ideal in Andromache’s mind – it doesn’t involve Shey dying painfully, which is truly a shame. It’s the best they could do in their situation, though, and Andromache sincerely hopes their demands will make the Fae regret their actions.

With one last look into the mirror, Andromache straightens and stalks out of the room. Her steps are firm as she walks through the palace’s halls towards the meeting chamber. A lucky side effect of the anger, she supposes. It doesn’t leave space for any other emotions. Otherwise, she would probably be dissolved in tears, unable to move or function. But even so, she can barely bear to think of Miryam and Drakon, and cannot think of Mor at all without feeling like someone punched her in the chest.

By the time she reaches the meeting chamber, it is already filled halfway. Usually, councilmembers would be chatting with each other before the meeting, the room buzzing with activity, but today, silence reins in the chamber. The tense atmosphere can almost be felt physically, like the air is thick as water and pressing anyone inside the room down with its weight.

Quietly, Andromache takes her seat. The silence is only broken by the ticking of the clock that has been places on the opposite wall. She watches the hand creep forward as more and more people arrive. The time when the meeting was set to begin is reached and passed without anyone stirring. Andromache realizes that everyone at the table is waiting for someone to open the meeting, but Miryam isn’t there and Andromache isn’t inclined to step in for her as she usually does.

Eventually, it is Shey who opens the meeting. When he starts spouting nonsense about what a “terrible tragedy” Miryam’s and Drakon’s death was (he doesn’t mention any of the other people who died) or how “devastated” he was by the news, Andromache immediately regrets not opening the meeting herself. When he starts talking about how much Miryam did for the Alliance and the war effort in general, Andromache briefly contemplates getting up and punching him in the face. It might help take the edge off her anger, but their plan is a different one and Andromache is forced to stick to it.

Finally, Shey seems to be done with his monologue of faked mourning and changes the subject. “Sad as we all are,” he says, “I think Miryam and Drakon, more than anyone else, would want us to focus on the future instead of dwelling on the past.”

Never mind. Andromache is actually going to punch him. “I think they mostly wouldn’t want to be dead along with thousands of their people, you fucking asshole,” she mutters, balling her hands into fists.

Shey’s eyes jump to her, narrowing slightly, but he seems to decide that she isn’t worthy of a reply. “I believe the treaty detailing what should happen now that the war is over is all but ready. All that’s left to do is to sign it.”

“If you think any of us are going to sign that contract after what happened, you’ve lost your mind,” Andromache snaps, louder this time. “Why would we want to work with any of you after this?”

Shey is far too well-trained to show any reaction, but Andromache hopes the bastard is shocked. He probably didn’t expect the stupid little mortals to figure out what he did.

“I don’t – “ he begins, but Andromache is already on her feet. The other human councilmembers rise with her.

“This Alliance is over,” she says, voice biting. “As far as I’m concerned, you can all go drown in an ocean.”

With that, she turns towards the door. As one, the human members of the Alliance walk out of the room. No one makes a move to stop them, no one even says a word. The Fae just remain sitting where they are, looking around the table like they are waiting for someone to find the words to fix the crack that is running through their alliance.

Had Miryam been here, she would have been the one to speak out now. She would have found the right words, maybe even managed to convince them all to keep working together. For the sake of the treaty she wanted so badly, she would probably have been willing to excuse even her own murder.

It’s really too bad for the Fae that they had Miryam killed. Because without her, there is no one there to stop the Alliance from shattering into a million pieces.

Without looking back, Andromache stalks out of the meeting chamber. When she returns to her rooms, she finds Mor sitting on her bed.

----

Mor never planned to simply vanish without a word to anyone, certainly not for an entire week. When first left the Black Land and winnowed straight to the Night Court, she only wanted to stay for a few hours, maybe spend the night in the cabin in the mountains to calm herself before returning to Telique.

But then, almost against her own will, she had found herself staying longer and longer. The cabin was so peaceful, and with each day she stayed, the thought of going back became more daunting. Going back would mean facing what Miryam had done, facing their argument. Probably facing Miryam herself. For all that she knew hiding would only make things worse in the long run, she simply hadn’t found it in herself to return.

So instead, she stayed. She visited Rhys a few times. Sat on the couch by the fire and read. Emptied bottle after bottle of wine and did her best not to think about water turning to blood, ice raining from the sky and the look on Miryam’s face before she left her standing alone in the sand. She didn’t want to return at all, but after a week, there was no way to put it off any further, not if she didn’t want to risk worrying her friends in Telique.

It might already have been too long, Mor thinks as she watches Andromache freeze in the doorway, staring at her like she is a ghost. Maybe she should have sent a letter. But surely Miryam told Andromache about what happened, and knowing that, it should have been clear to anyone that she was safe.

She opens her mouth to say something, but before she gets the chance, Andromache snaps out of her paralysis. Letting out a sound that sounds a bit like that of a wounded animal, she rushes towards Mor and sweeps her up in a hug. Her body is shaking, and Mor can feel her damp cheek against her neck. Awkwardly, she begins patting Andromache’s back.

“I’m alright,” she whispers, not entirely understanding why Andromache is this distraught. She wasn’t in any danger, Andromache must have known that. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Andromache lets go of her and holds her at arm’s length so that she can study her. She is still clinging on to Mor’s arms, though, like she is scared to let go.

“How did you get out?” She asks.

Mor frowns. She doesn’t entirely understand the question. “I winnowed,” she says, then quickly adds, “I’m sorry for not writing. I just… I just needed space.”

Now, it is Andromache who seems confused. “What do you mean?” She asks.

Mor can’t help the sinking feeling that they are not entirely on the same page. Could it be that Miryam didn’t tell her about the argument? She wouldn’t have had any reason to keep that information back, though.

“We argued,” she says hesitantly. “I just…” She shrugs. “With what Miryam did… I couldn’t stand it, and she wouldn’t stop. We got into a fight over it. And then I left.”

Andromache stands and stares at her, completely unblinking. Then, slowly, she lets her arms drop to her sides. “What Miryam did?” She repeats, voice dangerously soft. “What Miryam did?”

“Yes, what Miryam did!” Mor replies forcefully. She can’t believe that Andromache seems to be taking Miryam’s side on this. “She burned down an entire country, Andromache! Thousands of people died. She – “

“You’re acting like she did it for fun!” Andromache cuts her off. “There were reasons.”

“What reasons are good enough to murder thousands?” Mor asks, throwing her hands up into the air in desperation. “You weren’t there, Andromache. You don’t know what it was like. This was the most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen, and Miryam happily allowed it to happen.”

“Well, then you’ll be relieved to know that Miryam is dead,” Andromache snaps.

The words hit Mor like a punch to the stomach. She actually stumbles back a step, gasping. “What?” She whispers.

“Yes,” Andromache says, her voice cutting as a blade. “Her, Drakon and everyone else.”

No. No. It isn’t possible. None of them were in danger when she left. Miryam was just in the process of single-handedly taking down the entire country, with an army of thousands with her to protect her. She was days away from winning – and actually did win, from the last news Mor heard from an enraged Rhys who complained endlessly about the war ending before he had a chance to kill Amarantha.

They couldn’t have died. They couldn’t have.

Oh Cauldron. Her last conversation with Miryam and Drakon was an argument that ended with Mor storming off. She doesn’t remember what she said to them, only that she was furious and desperate, and that they were both yelling at each other and then Mor left. She left them alone and then they died and she…

Mor presses a hand to her stomach, trying to reign in a sob. “I…” She whispers, but doesn’t manage to finish the sentence. She promised to protect Miryam. And then she left. And Miryam died.

“Get out,” Andromache says, voice still deadly soft.

Mor starts shaking her head. “No, I…”

“What Miryam did?” Andromache throws her words back at her with enough anger that Mor actually flinches. “You’re no better than the others.” With that, she pulls open the door. “And now get out.”

Words are escaping Mor. She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Tears are burning in her eyes, blurring her vision. Andromache is still staring at her, gaze hard, and so Mor ducks her head and rushes out of the room.

----

Andromache is shaking with fury. Pain and sorrow will come later, she knows, once she has calmed down enough for the reality of what just happened to sink through, but for the moment, she is just angry. Angry with the entire fucking world, but mostly with Mor, because from her, Andromache expected better.

How could she be so stupidly narrow-minded? What Miryam did. She sounded just like all these other Fae who called Miryam’s actions horrifying and then turned around and had her and five hundred thousand innocents murdered. What Miryam did. What about what the Fae did, now and for centuries prior?

She needs some way to let the anger out, or she might actually explode. With swift steps, she stalks through the room and to the cupboard that holds cups and plates. She is still aware enough of herself to avoid the expensive, gilded ones meant for formal occasions and sticks to the simpler pottery for private dinners.

One by one, she pulls them out of the cupboard and hurls them against a nearby wall, watching them shatter into a million pieces with grim satisfaction, hating the fact that this pointless act of rage is all she can do.

How she wishes she had Miryam’s abilities. If only she was able to turn blood into water, make the sky rein ice and fire and command the sun to stay away as she sees fit. Oh, how she would make them all pay for what they did. She’d show them horrifying.

A knock sounds at the door, interrupting Andromache’s fantasies of setting Shey’s palace on fire. She spins around, dropping the plate she had just pulled out of the shelf, and stalks over to the door. This better not be Mor…

It isn’t. When Andromache pulls open the door so hard it bangs against the wall, she instead comes face to face with Nakia.

“Oh,” she says, awkwardly running a hand through her hair. “Nakia.”

“Were you expecting someone else?” Nakia asks drily. She glances over her shoulder into the room and raises her eyes at the mess. “Someone to help you clean up, perhaps?”

Andromache can feel her cheeks heating. “I will clean that myself,” she says. She won’t make any of the maids clean up a mess she created on purpose.

“Do that. It will have to wait, though. For the moment, you are needed for a meeting. The Fae asked for a meeting; their representative is already there.”

Andromache groans.

--

Andromache would have liked nothing better than to refuse the meeting outright and tell the Fae exactly where they can shove their offers, but unfortunately, that is not an option. There are matters to be discussed, and there is no getting around that necessity.

It was agreed well in advance that Andromache would represent the humans for the meeting, as Angolere is the country whose leader is usually in charge of foreign politics. Andromache only finds out who the Fae sent when she steps into the meeting chamber, though: It is Zeku.

Some part of Andromache realizes that this is likely meant as a peace offering. Ever since the founding of the Alliance, Zeku was one of the Fae who worked together with the humans most closely. He was Miryam’s most prominent Fae ally, her, him and Andromache spent more hours than she can count sitting together over proposals and strategies. The Fae likely assumed his presence would appease Andromache, and under different circumstances, it might have. As it is, though, his presence is just another slap to the face.

“Your Majesty,” Zeku greets her, bowing deeply.

“Zeku.”

Greeting him by name instead of title is a capital insult, but Andromache stopped caring about the Faes’ rules for politeness the moment these rules didn’t stop them from murdering more than five hundred thousand people. All these rules ever did was bar anyone who didn’t have a Fae noble’s education from being taken seriously in their political meetings. Andromache played by their rules for far too long.

Zeku ignores the insult and takes the seat opposite her. He opens his mouth to speak, but Andromache cuts in before he gets the chance. Every moment she has to spend in the presence of someone like him is one too much.

“To make this clear right at the beginning,” she says, “I’m not here to play games. There are some issues that need to be settled, and I have no interest in spending more time than absolutely necessary in your presence, so I’d appreciate if we could deal with this as quickly as possible.”

Zeku sighs. “Alright, then,” he says, “But before we begin, just allow me to say how terribly sorry I am about what happened.”

Yeah, sure. She believes that right away. Once that conversation is over, though, he might actually be sorry.

“Well, I believe it ought to be clear to anyone that the continuation of the Alliance is no longer possible. The treaty we worked on is a thing of the past, as are any agreements we came to. We can no longer trust you, and so working together is no longer an option.”

Zeku, at the very least, does her the favour of not pretending he doesn’t know what she is talking about. “I know what happened was unforgivable,” he says, “but Miryam wouldn’t want – “

“Don’t,” Andromache cuts him off, voice sharp as a whip. “Don’t you dare talk to me about what Miryam would have wanted.”

Zeku lifts his hands as if warding off a physical attack. “Alright,” he says. “Forgive me. But the point remains that we need to work together. The situation is far from ideal, but together, you and I could still turn it around.”

Andromache lets out a sharp laugh. “You and I? Together?” She shakes her head, laughing again. “No, thank you. With what happened to the last human who worked together with you, I have little interest. Maybe if you wanted this alliance, you should have made sure she stayed alive.”

“I had no involvement – “ Zeku begins, but Andromache cuts him off.

“Oh, spare me,” she snaps. “Miryam might been willing to listen to your explanation. She might have played along with your game, pretended she believed and trusted you and maybe even agreed to work together with you again in spite of everything. For peace. She really wanted that, you know? A world where humans and Fae could live together in peace and equality. For that, she might even have been willing to look past what your friends did. But I am not Miryam.”

“I am aware,” Zeku says quietly.

“Maybe, but you don’t seem to understand what it means.” None of the Fae ever understood, and they never bothered to try, either. “You and your Fae friends always thought that Miryam was the only one of us worthy of being taken seriously, didn’t you? That the rest of us were meek and harmless and unimportant, and that without Miryam, we would be lost. Because she was the only one who could play by these stupid rules for politics you had designed to keep anyone who isn’t Fae nobility from being taken seriously in politics. She could smile and talk and behave just right, and she had magic, and so you took her seriously and dismissed the rest of us.”

“I never dismissed you,” Zeku says. “And you were always quite willing to take a backseat while Miryam dealt with everything, so you have little grounds to complain about any conclusions people draw from that.”

Andromache presses her lips together. How dare he bring this up, act like what happened was somehow their fault for making Miryam get involved? As if the human leadership at the beginning of the war willingly decided that an eighteen-year-old was the perfect fit for emissary. The entire reason they had to give Miryam that position was that there had been no one else. Learning Fae politics was a matter of years, and the humans lacked diplomats skilled in the rules the Fae so valued. That they found someone who was able to fill the position at all was a minor miracle in itself.

She doesn’t say that they only let Miryam take the lead because she was the only one able to navigate the Fae political landscape that had been so skilfully designed to keep anyone but them out, though, because that would only be one part of the truth. The unimportant part, for this specific conversation.

“None of us ever wanted to work with the Fae, did you know that?” She gives him a sharp smile. “We didn’t trust you. It was Miryam who convinced us to give it a try. She said we needed allies, and that there would be Fae territories that would be willing to help us.”

“And she was right,” Shey says. “We helped you win this war.”

“Yes,” Andromache says softly. “Miryam was right – she managed to secure us the alliance she had promised, she managed to make things work, and so we went along with her plans. We ignored the countless offences your side committed against us because Miryam had her strategy and it was working. And then, when she insisted that the only way to get peace to work after the war was to find a way to work together, to build bridges between our people, we went along with that as well. Because we trusted her, because you seemed to respect her.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “Do you understand now?” She asks. “We weren’t scared and meek without Miryam. She was the one who convinced us to work with you in the first place. But then, you killed her and you made it entirely clear that our lives are worthless to you, that no matter how much we try to work with you, you will never see us as equal.”

Zeku nods slowly. His face is grave. Now, he finally seems to understand. “So what now?” He asks.

Andromache leans back in her chair. “Miryam wanted to build bridges,” she says. “We were willing to go along with that, willing to give it a try, but then you killed her. So now what you are getting is a wall.”

----

Shey is waiting in one of the private meeting chambers. He is lounging on one of the chairs, idly flipping through the pages of a book that he snaps shut when Zeku enters.

“Your Highness,” he says with a slight smile, sitting up straighter. “How did the meeting with Their Majesties go?”

In answer, Zeku takes a slip of paper out of the pocket of his coat and throws it onto the table in front of Shey. “A list of discrete assassins and ways to contact them, since you don’t seem to know about the possibility of discrete assassinations yet,” he says. “You might want to look into it to save us any further scandals.”

Shey very deliberately places his book on the table. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” he says.

“Kindly do me the favour and explain that to Andromache and the other human queens. That might be amusing.” He shakes his head. “They know. And they are none too pleased, if you will allow the understatement.”

Shey, at the very least, does him the favour of not denying his actions a second time. After the meeting he just had, he doesn’t think he would be able to stand Shey’s games. He just shrugs. “Forgive me if I’m not shaking with fear at the prospect.”

The longer this conversation lasts, the more does Zeku understand Andromache’s feelings towards Fae nobility and their politics. To think that there was a time when he enjoyed these games… Now, all he can feel is disgust.

“You went too far,” he says, shaking his head. “This time, you really went too far, Shey.”

Shey waves him off. “It was a neat solution,” he says. “Everyone who had any cause for interest in Miryam died with her.”

“There are literally millions of humans who have a cause for interest in Miryam.”

Shey snorts. “Oh, not these mortals and their exaggerated sense of solidarity or whatever they call it, acting like any harm done to one of them is somehow a direct attack on all of them. If you ask me, they are just using it as an excuse to make themselves into the victims and give themselves the moral high ground in any given situation. Or do you see any Fae complaining about Drakon and his soldiers getting killed?”

That he thinks this is a negative reflection on the humans, not the Fae, probably says everything that needs to be said about what kind of person he is. Zeku doesn’t want to imagine what it will do to the Alliance – the entire Continent – if he gets put in charge. Had Miryam only been a little bit smarter, a bit more willing to play to win… She had everything necessary to leave her in charge of the Continent after the war ended. But she didn’t have the nerve to go through with it, and how did it end? Her dead, everything she was working for in shambles and the Continent in Shey’s hands.

Zeku could scream at how stupidly unnecessary all of it is.

Instead, he merely offers the barest shrug at Shey’s comment. “Regardless of their motives, our human allies seem out for your head over this.”

“So what if they do?” Shey asks. “Miryam is dead. Without her, there is little they can do.”

“They seem to disagree,” Zeku says. In spite of the seriousness of the situation, he can’t help but feel a little smug. “Andromache says they have proof. And that she will happily make it public should you not meet their demands.” He smiles slightly. “Not only will you and your friends be revealed as honourless in front of the entire Continent for betraying your own allies, I also imagine that some people will be rather cross with you for murdering hundreds of thousands of innocent humans after we justified that entire war with wanting to save the humans.”

Shey doesn’t reply. Maybe he just considers for the first time that justifying a war with wanting the protect the humans and then turning around to casually murder five hundred thousand of them was not a particularly smart move. Not to mention that over the past years, Miryam became the face of the entire war effort, which not only brought her a whole lot of popularity, but also made her into a symbol. And turning against the symbol for the war they just won is political suicide.

For a brief moment, Shey’s calm demeanour cracks as he seems to realize that he just made a catastrophic mistake. Then, he catches himself, summoning a calm expression again.

“What is their price?” He asks, voice entirely business-like.

Zeku wonders what he is hoping for. What price would, in his mind, be able to make up for a betrayal like this, the loss of thousands of lives? Knowing Shey, he probably doesn’t imagine it will be too much. A bit of money, maybe, or land. Trading rights and favourable treaties. A small price, as is appropriate for lives that were entirely worthless to him.

“Half of our world,” Zeku counters calmly. And yes, he does enjoy the look on Shey’s face at the reply. “They are withdrawing their consent to the treaty I worked out with Andromache, Miryam and Drakon.” Well, mostly Drakon. “They no longer trust us to live side by side with them, so they have come up with their own solution: They want to divide the Continent in two. One half to the them, the other to us, and a wall in the middle. They’ll take the south.”

For a few heartbeats, Shey says nothing at all. Then, he asks very slowly, “Have these mortal fools completely lost their minds?”

Zeku shrugs again. “They don’t trust us anymore, not after what happened, and I honestly cannot blame them.”

“And they truly think they will get away with that?” Shey lets out a laugh and jumps to his feet. “I’ll have them assassinated before I meet these ridiculous demands.”

“I am sure they have plans for that scenario,” Zeku says. “And should this be made public, I imagine they would have quite a few supporters. Miryam was very popular, as you know, and you might find many Fae care more than you anticipated. Especially since there were also so many Fae amongst those you had killed.”

Shey wrinkles his nose in disdain. “Lesser faeries,” he says.

And what am I? Zeku thinks, fighting the sudden surge of anger. Anger at Shey. At himself. After all, he always knew what kind of person Shey was, and still, he chose the way he did. Withdrew support for Miryam and hoped… yes, what did he hope for? That Shey’s disregard for human and faerie lives wouldn’t carry on into his style of ruling? That he would follow through with the promises Miryam had made after replacing her?

Maybe he should have risked sticking up for Miryam. Should have made it clearer to her what was at stake, helped her work out a way to come out of this on top. Instead, he took the safe route and withdrew support, marked his wager in working with her down as failed and cut his losses.

A mistake. All of it was a mistake.

You’re a coward, Miryam’s voice says in his head. He can still see her so clearly, standing in that hallway with tears in her eyes and fury on her face. I hope this haunts you.

A bitter smile twists Zeku’s mouth. It will, he thinks. Don’t you worry, Miryam. It will.

“You would do better to do as they say,” Zeku says. “Because if you don’t – or if you get the brilliant idea to make them disappear the way you did with Miryam – I can assure you that you will have a problem. Should it come to war, I will be the first one to side with them against you, but I will not be the last.”

Shey stares at him in disbelief. He opens his mouth as if to reply, then closes it again. Of course. He isn’t used to getting push-back.

“You went too far,” Zeku repeats. “And it will always be my greatest shame that I didn’t stop you sooner. But if you think I will let you take this any further, you are dead-wrong.”

If him and Andromache were still allies, he might have begged her to allow him and his people to join them on their side of the wall that is soon to be built. But he lost that alliance the moment he decided to cut ties with Miryam and he knows perfectly well that there is no getting it back.

He played. And he lost. And now, he will have to pay.

----

Without corpses, there is no real need to hold a funeral. Unless, of course, you are Fae and want to make a grand gesture about how terribly sorry you are about the death of the people you had killed, and so the Fae seem to have made it their mission to hold the most dramatic funeral possible for Miryam, Drakon and the others, perhaps in a vain attempt to cover up their guilt.

Had the idea come from anyone else, Andromache might even have been willing to admit that she thinks holding some kind of ceremony is the right thing to do. As things are, though, it only feels like a cheap publicity stunt. Hundreds of thousands of pyres erected, one for every single person who died during that battle, all of them lit at the same time – this isn’t a show of respect, it’s a political spectacle and Andromache hates everything about it.

The worst part is that she wasn’t even able to argue against the idea, not without making it seem like she doesn’t want to honour Miryam and the other dead. So instead, she has decided to use the entire situation to her advantage. Shey wants to use this funeral to improve his image? Fine, then Andromache will ruin that plan as thoroughly as she can.

The good thing about ceremonies like that is that everything, down to the choice of clothes, sends a message. Shey has apparently decided to show to the entire world how much he mourns Miryam’s death and respected her. He is wearing black with blue details, showing his mourning and pretending to the entire world that he respected Miryam, looked up to her.

Andromache and the other human councilmembers appear entirely in red.

Their choice of clothes draws stares as they arrive at the ceremony together. Miryam wore red details on her dress for Jurian’s funeral, but that was a different matter – then, at least everyone knew who she wanted to get revenge at. Now, with the war over and Ravenia, who is officially responsible for every death that occurred, dead, no one understands why the entire human fraction of the Alliance is publicly declaring that they want revenge.

Shey steps in Andromache’s way before she reaches her place at the front of the assembled crowd. His face is almost as red as Andromache’s dress. “What do you think you are doing?” He snaps.

“Whatever are you talking about?” Andromache asks, then glances down at her dress like she is only now realizing what his problem might be. “Oh, that. Well, I thought the choice of colour in a dress should reflect our feelings regarding the death.” She frowns at Shey. “Although you don’t seem to have taken that all too seriously yourself. What colour says ‘I had the deceased assassinated’ again?”

“Will you be quiet?” Shey hisses, looking around frantically to see if anyone heard. “I agreed to your demands, and in return, you were meant to keep your silence. If you aren’t able to do that, our agreement is over.”

“You are the one who made this funeral into a farce!” Andromache snaps back. “This isn’t an opportunity for you to improve your image and if you had any sense of decency whatsoever, you would never have tried.”

With that, she shoulders past him and goes to take her place with the other humans.

“Remarkable show of restraint,” Nakia says by way of greeting. “I thought you’d break his nose.”

Andromache shrugs. “Might still, depending on his bad his speech is.”

The first speech isn’t Shey’s, though. It is hers.

Andromache struggled against the suggestion that she should hold the opening speech. To her, it felt like she would be assuming a position she never held. She was a close friend with both Miryam and Drakon, yes, but she was never closest to either of them, and she didn’t know most of the others who died at all. It was only when she realized that anyone who was closer to them than her had died in that battle that she agreed to hold the speech.

Slowly, she steps forward, red dress shifting around her feet. She will not have to light any of the pyres as would be human tradition; they will be magically lit at the end of her speech with her only needing to give a signal. It feels wrong, somehow. Pyres are meant to be lit by hand, the person who was closest to them doing them that final service and bidding them goodbye in doing so. Magic takes away all of the intimacy of the moment.

Everything about this funeral-that-isn’t-one feels wrong. It is unworthy. Miryam and Drakon and all these countless others would have deserved better.

They would also have deserved a better speech than the one Andromache ends up giving. She did her best to find the proper words, she truly did. What point is there in talking about all the things that were wonderful about them, as if putting into words all that she lost will somehow make it better. Why would she tell the world about all the things Miryam and Drakon and the others would have wanted and deserved from the future, as if the one thing they would have wanted and deserved wasn’t to be alive. How can she call this a tragedy when she knows that in truth, it was a crime?

The only words Andromache wants to say are ones made from anger, condemning the ones responsible for these deaths, but those, she cannot speak, and there are no other words that might mean anything in the face of such a terrible, senseless crime. She still tries, and she fails, and she knows she does even as she holds her speech.

She is relieved when she is finally done and gets to return to her place. The pyres are lit by magic and Andromache tries to comfort herself with the fact that there are no bodies, anyways, that Miryam and Drakon and all the others are dead and will never know about the farce that is their funeral. It is no comfort at all, though.

The rest of the ceremony passes far too slowly. Andromache stands in her place, stares at the flickering flames and ignores the speeches the others hold. She only notices it is finally over when people start moving around her. She leaves her place as well, wandering around aimlessly for a bit. She doesn’t want to talk. She doesn’t want to eat, or drink. She cannot stand this.

Andromache turns away from the ceremony and stalks off into the darkness. Away from the crowds and the noise and the fire. Away from the empty pyres and the Fae pretending they care about the deaths that occurred.

For the first few steps, her posture remains stiff, her steps fast and firm with anger. But as she walks through the night, her anger seems to dissolve like smoke in the wind. It leaves her feeling cold and alone. Empty. Soon, her vision is blurry with tears and she is stumbling more than walking.

How could everything have gone wrong so quickly? Mere days ago, she was giddy with happiness, drinking to victory and a bright future with the others, but now… Now, Miryam and Drakon and so many others are dead, and she cannot imagine ever speaking to Mor again, much less spending the future together as they planned. Everything she had wanted for her future, blown apart in one terrible day.

She lets herself drop to the ground, not caring if the damp grass stains her dress, rests her head on her knees and cries.

There is a soft rustling in front of her. Andromache is on her feet within moments, hand going for the dagger she has hidden under her dress. She is suddenly acutely aware that she is all alone out here, no guards in sight, and almost unarmed.

“Who’s there?” She calls, slowly drawing her dagger.

No one answers, but there is another rustle. This time, Andromache can place where the noise is coming from. She looks down and finds a falcon sitting on a small rock a few feet away from her, staring at her from amber eyes. Andromache stares back.

Birds usually avoid people. They do not land mere feet away from them, or remain sitting this still. Andromache points her dagger at the bird, trying to shoo it away, but it merely cocks its head to the side and hops a step closer to her. There is something fastened around its neck.

Rationally, Andromache knows that there are several people who could be responsible for this. Miryam wasn’t the only witch in the world, and even discounting people who are able to control animals, there’s always the chance of some Fae or another being able to shapeshift into one to use its form to trick her. Rationally, Andromache knows perfectly well that it is a terrible idea to approach a weird animal with some item fastened around its neck. Unfortunately, that knowledge is overridden completely by the fact that the only person she ever met who had a particular affinity for animals was Miryam, and Miryam favoured falcons. And they didn’t find a body.

Slowly, Andromache steps towards the falcon. It doesn’t make a move to flee, merely looks up at her. Andromache crouches down and reaches for it. If I get ambushed now, that will be entirely on me, she things as she carefully unties the thin bit of rope fastened around its neck.

A small amulet falls into her waiting palm. It appears to be bronze, with a blue stone in the middle. Andromache frowns down at it, then at the falcon who is still watching her.

“And what am I supposed to do now?” She asks.

The bird clicks its beak and hops from one foot to the other. If there is any message hidden in that reaction, Andromache fails to understand it. She turns her attention back on the amulet, turns it around in her fingers. Nothing happens, but she notices that the stone seems slightly loose.

“What are the odds of me getting cursed from this?” She asks softly.

The bird offers no reply, and so Andromache reaches for the stone and turns it around once. There is a flash of light. When it recedes, Andromache is no longer standing on the soft forest floor, but on hard earth. She stumbles forward and might have fallen had there not been a hand ready to steady her.

Slowly, she looks up. Miryam and Drakon are standing in front of her, both very much alive.

----

An hour after the official part of the ceremony has ended, Mor is already drunk. She has foregone the food entirely and instead gone to the drinks directly after the last speech ended, and then proceeded to methodically empty one wine bottle after another.

By now, she is three-quarters through the third bottle and a merciful numbness in beginning to set in. Everything still sucks, but it no longer feels like someone is twisting a knife in her chest. She even manages to look over at Andromache, who looks particularly beautiful and just as furious in her red dress and ignores Mor entirely, without feeling like she is dying. Maybe with a few more bottles, it will stop hurting altogether.

She drains the rest of her bottle and makes for the table with the wine again, slightly unsteady on her feet. Once, she stumbles over her own feet and crashes into one of the other guests. With a mumbled “sorry” she continues on, finally reaching the safe haven of the table. She clings on to it with one hand as she carefully places the empty bottle on the table and reaches for a new one. Bounty in hand, she retreats back into the crowd.

The fires are still burning, and the light stings her eyes. So many fires… So many dead people… Miryam’s face flashes in her mind, the coldness in her eyes as they last spoke. Drakon telling her she went too far. Andromache, who isn’t dead but seems to wish Mor was, telling her she is no better than the rest.

She opens the bottle and goes back to drinking. Halfway through that bottle, the pain dulls to a soft throb and she begins to feel better about herself. Yes, everything is all horrible, but she sort of feels like she is floating, and the fires are very pretty. Like little glittering jewels.

Maybe she should talk to Andromache now. The prospect no longer feels as daunting as it did an hour ago. She will talk to her and tell her… well, she will think of something to tell her.

Mor drains the last of her bottle, letting it drop to the ground, and tries to stand up on her toes to scan the crowd for Andromache. Her sense of balance isn’t entirely up to the task anymore, though, because she begins to sway dangerously and stumbles. She would have fallen had there not been a pair of hands taking her by the shoulders and pushing her upright again.

“Oops,” Mor mutters.

The hands let go of her shoulders but remain nearby, as if waiting to catch her should she fall again. Mor looks around for the owner of the hands, finding a dark-skinned Fae standing in front of her. It takes her a few moments to work through the haze in her mind and place his face, then she smiles slowly.

“Helion. Want some wine?” She wants to offer him her bottle, but then realizes it’s not in her hands anymore. She looks around for it until she remembers that she dropped it earlier. “I’ll get us a new one.” Cauldron, forming words is difficult. Her tongue isn’t cooperating the way it should and the ground seems to have started swaying under her feet. She stumbles and Helion grips her by the shoulder again.

“No, thank you,” he says. “And you should probably switch to water for the rest of the evening, too.”

Mor shakes her head. “Spoilsport,” she mutters but doesn’t resist as Helion starts leading her towards the food.

“’m looking for An…” She stumbles over the name. Frowning with concentration, she tries again. “Andromache.” It comes out almost correctly. “She was very mean to me,” she adds. “Not nice at all. Not fair. Wasn’ my fault.”

Helion raises one eyebrow. “I think she left already,” he says, handing her a plate.

Mor looks down at the steaming food – and bursts out crying. It’s all so terribly sad. The entire world is sad and bad and hopeless, and Andromache hates her, and Miryam and Drakon are dead and it’s all because of her.

“’s my fault,” she mutters, words coming out even more unclearly now. “I was supposed to… to keep them safe and…”

Helion wraps an arm around her shoulders. His arm is very warm and very nice, and it makes more cry even harder.

“It isn’t your fault,” he says. “You couldn’t have known what would happen when you left – no one could have anticipated this.”

Mor buries her face in his jacked, sniffing. “But I said…” she begins. She would have continued the sentence, would have told him about all the horrible things she said as well as she remembers, but her mouth stops cooperating.

“Alright,” Helion says, and Mor feels herself lifted off her feet and picked up. “I’m bringing you to your rooms now, and tomorrow…” Helion hesitates. “Well, I’m sure things will look better tomorrow.”

There is a hint of bitterness in his voice, like he doesn’t believe what he is saying himself, but in her state, Mor doesn’t notice. She only vaguely registers that she is being carried up some stares and gently tucked into bed before she slips off into merciful oblivion.

----

For a few heartbeats, Andromache merely stands frozen in place and stares. A part of her wants to scream at them, shout her fury because how dare they scare her like that? Another part just wants to hug them, somehow convince herself that they are real.

“Andromache,” Miryam whispers and takes a step forward.

That breaks the spell. Andromache darts forward as well and wraps her arm around her neck. Hot tears sting on her cheeks.

“It’s alright,” Miryam whispers. “We’re alright.”

Andromache lets go of her and turns to hug Drakon. The first minutes after that are so hectic that Andromache only barely manages to keep track, the initial happiness giving way to fresh worry quickly. All three of them seem to be talking at once, questions and answers and more questions buzzing through the air. It would have gone far more quickly had they talked it through calmly, but they are all far from calm. Andromache can barely believe what she is hearing – the ocean parted, a battle on the ocean floor. It is a miracle that they all survived.

“Maybe we should go away from the camp for a bit,” Drakon suggests, nodding to the onlookers that have gathered.

“Good idea,” Andromache says, and Miryam, who has been unusually quiet after the initial excitement died down, nods as well.

They find a quiet place a bit away from the camp where the forest meets the ocean, only just within the bounds of the wards. Miryam leans against a tree, staring out at the ocean. Drakon sits down on the trunk of an upturned tree. Andromache remains standing.

“If you want, we can declare war that very day,” she says.

It’s an idea that has been passed back and forth between Nakia and Andromache ever since the news about what Shey did arrived. So far, they’ve always had to decide against it. They lack the military force to be able to successfully fight the Fae, and with so many of theirs newly freed from slavery, they cannot spare the resources. But with Miryam, who has shown herself capable of taking down entire countries by herself and who might be able to gather them support amongst the Fae… They would actually stand a chance.

Miryam doesn’t react at all, though. From the way she keeps staring at the ocean, unmoving, unblinking, Andromache almost thinks she didn’t hear her at all.

Drakon reacts, though. He spins around to her like she slapped him. “What?” He asks, managing to put all the disbelief in the world into the word.

“Declare war,” Andromache repeats. “That is the common reaction to a betrayal like this, isn’t it? Any Fae country on the Continent would do the same thing, so why shouldn’t we?”

“Because the only thing it would accomplish is get thousands of people killed and potentially undo years of work!” Drakon answers with more force than is usual for him. “What could you hope to accomplish?”

“What else could I do?” Andromache shoots back. “We need to react in some way, we can’t just allow them to walk all over us like that. They were willing to kill thousands of us. I wouldn’t expect you to understand – “

“Stop,” Miryam cuts her off, turning in a quick, precise motion away from the ocean. “They were willing to kill Drakon and his soldiers right alongside us – most of the people who actually did die were faeries.”

Andromache deflates slightly. She sighs and turns to Drakon. “Sorry,” she says. “I just…” She shrugs.

“You’re currently in the mood to strangle any Fae you come across?” Drakon suggests. “Understandable. No offence taken.”

Still, Miryam has a point. Maybe Andromache was wrong to draw the lines in this conflict simply as humans against Fae. In reality, the High Fae don’t have much more respect for faeries than for humans. There’s a total of two faerie rulers on the entire Continent, and for all that Shey just proved he didn’t care about killing thousands of humans to get what he wanted, he did the same to the faeries who were involved. Drakon’s status and the protection it should have offered stopped him as little as Miryam’s.

It’s an interesting thought. Isolated, it might be difficult for the humans to fight back, but if they were to work together with the faeries, if they realized that the differences between humans and faeries are far smaller than the ones between faeries and High Fae… An interesting thought indeed.

Unfortunately, Drakon’s thoughts don’t seem to go into that direction.

“War won’t make anything better, though,” he says. “This isn’t like this war where we had a clear, manageable goal: Ending slavery. That was simple. But how do you plan to win a war against the fact that they don’t see humans as equal?” He shakes his head. “Short of killing every one of them, what way is there to resolve this issue through war?”

He looks at Andromache like he expects her to say something. She remains silent. She hadn’t thought this far yet. Of course she doesn’t want to kill all Fae, not in the slightest. She doesn’t even hate them all, she just… How can Shey and the others get away with what they did?

“All a war would accomplish is kill millions of innocents,” Drakon says. “And we’ve already…” He shakes his head and starts over. “This war has already taken things so far. What lines are left that haven’t been crossed yet? And if we take this any further, if we now start a war with our former allies… it will tear this entire continent apart. And it will hardly even matter who wins, because either way, millions of innocent people will die and reconciliation or peace will be made impossible for generations to come.”

Andromache wrinkles her nose, but she is still unable to argue. That was also one of the reasons why Nakia especially argued against the idea of a military solution: To start a war now would mean to risk everything they have won.

“Drakon is right,” Miryam says. “War is not the solution. Too many innocents have already been dragged into this – I won’t allow for any more people to be made into collateral damage by jumping onto Shey’s game of trying to murder each other in the most catastrophic way possible.”

Andromache refrains from saying that this goes far beyond a political powerplay. She doesn’t want to argue with Miryam over something like that.

“The treaty is the best chance for peace we have,” Miryam says. “I won’t let Shey’s actions ruin that. I know circumstances are far from ideal, but we can still make it work.”

Andromache stares at her, not quite believing what she is hearing. After all that happened, how can Miryam still talk of her treaty? How does she not realize that this treaty died the second Shey betrayed them. Andromache wants to take her by the shoulders and shake her until she starts seeing sense. She has to forcefully remind herself that Miryam is likely still in shock from what happened and is desperately clinging to a solution that is no longer possible as a way to cope.

“That’s not happening,” she says as calmly as she can manage. “That treaty relied on mutual trust, and after what happened, I cannot see that coming about anytime soon.”

Miryam and Drakon both look like she slapped them. It actually makes Andromache feel bad for them. Her own stakes in that treaty were always low, she really mostly went along with it because Miryam and Drakon were so very convinced that it was the only way, but for them… She doesn’t want to imagine what it must feel like to watch a thing you believed in and spent years working for fall apart before your eyes.

“And what will you do instead?” Drakon asks.

“We have decided to split up the world. One half to the Fae, the other to the humans and a wall in the middle to keep us safe.”

Drakon frowns. “What kind of wall would that be?” He asks, but Miryam is staring at Andromache, wide-eyed.

“No,” she whispers. “No, Andromache. You cannot do that. Please. It isn’t necessary, there is still another way.”

The desperation on her face stings. Andromache wants nothing more than to give in, if only to wipe that look off her face, but she cannot. Not on this.

“I’m sorry,” she says, more softly this time. “But this is the way it is going to happen. You don’t want war, so I will not start one in your name. But after what happened, there cannot be peace either.”

Miryam shakes her head. Straightens. “Just give me one more chance,” she says. It’s the same tone she always has when she tries to convince people that she can handle a situation she cannot handle. “Let me talk to the Fae. I can still fix this.”

Andromache slowly shakes her head. “Are you out of your mind?” She asks. It is a struggle to keep her voice controlled. “They tried to kill you, Miryam. All of you. What do you think will happen if you go back?”

“This treaty needs to go through!” Miryam retorts. “This is important. It’s more important than… If we are to ever have peace, we need to find a way to live together. You – “

“Miryam stop,” Andromache snaps. Now, she actually does take her by the shoulders and shakes her slightly. “Do you truly want to die over this? Because this is what’s going to happen if you go back. They are going to kill you.”

“They already did,” Miryam mutters.

That throws Andromache off, but only for a moment. Chances are Miryam is just being dramatic, and if she wasn’t… well, then she will have to deal with that later.

“If you go back, you will die, and your death will be completely pointlessly,” she says, “You will not reach your goals, only get yourself killed. Is that truly what you want your life to be? Sixteen years as a slave, two years on the run and seven years of war. Killed at twenty-five in some pointless political struggle.”

Miryam starts to cry. Drakon makes to rise, but Andromache is faster, wrapping her arms around her.

“It doesn’t need to end like this,” she whispers. “You can still live, Miryam. You have won. Don’t just throw your life away like that.”

Miryam steps away from Andromache, already wiping her tears away again. She still looks completely miserable, though, as she lets herself drop onto the trunk next to Drakon.

“But what options do we have?” Drakon asks. He looks no less miserable than Miryam. “If we cannot go back, if we will never be safe after what happened, then what about the people in our camp? They are witnesses as much as we are. Some of these people have homes. Families. We have a home. We can’t just leave that, even if we had a way to vanish hundreds of thousands of people.”

Andromache bites her lip. She didn’t think of that yet. For the humans, she supposes she might be able to hide them amongst the other newly-freed slaves, since Fae never pay much attention to humans, but even then, there would be the problem of word of what Shey did getting around. And there is no hiding the Seraphim at all, not amongst the humans and not anywhere else. Miryam and Drakon alone might hope to hide somewhere, but what would the point be if their people were still left in danger?

She briefly contemplates saying that if they were to go to war, none of that would be a problem. But that would be a very cruel way to push Miryam and Drakon to take her side. Give up your home or agree to a war you know to be wrong is not a particularly fair choice, and certainly not one she should ask of her friends.

“We can’t just vanish,” Drakon continues. “And Andromache, you can’t just split the Continent in two and build a wall in the middle. How would that even work? Do you expect millions of people to get up and leave their countries to march to the other end of the Continent and settle down there? That’s a terrible idea, not to mention that the kind of wall you seem to be thinking of won’t be easy to get.”

Miryam seems distinctly uncomfortable in her skin. Apparently, she never told Drakon about the wall spell. Understandable, Andromache supposes. Until now, none of them ever thought that spell would become relevant.

“Let’s just assume that the wall is happening,” Andromache says. Let Miryam talk that one through with Drakon on her own. “The issue is what we do with you two.”

“No, that’s not the issue!” Miryam replies. “The issue is that this wall is a downright terrible idea and – “

“And not your choice to be made,” Andromache finishes. “The decision was unanimous, Miryam. I’m sorry, but even you cannot change that.”

Neither Miryam nor Drakon argue any further after this. Miryam merely reaches for Drakon’s hand, and then, they are sitting side by side in complete silence.

Andromache feels terrible about herself. The last thing she ever wanted was to hurt them with the solution she came up with, but there seems to be no way around it. She firmly believes that the wall is the only was to guarantee the humans’ safety in the long run, and for that to work out, Miryam, Drakon and their people need to disappear. It means that they will not get the future they wanted, and that Drakon and his people will have to give up their homes, and it is far from fair but Andromache doesn’t see a way around it so she simply stands around and stares down at her feet in shame.

Finally, it is Miryam who breaks the silence. “I think I know somewhere we could go,” she says softly. “Somewhere they would never find us. Where we would be safe.”

----

Tags: @femtopulsed @croissantcitysucks @aileywrites

[desertofsnowflakes]

Incorrect Order Chapter 5 (Nessian AU)

A/N: Do inform me if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist! If you happen to find my storyline similar to another fic or one of yours, I'm extremely sorry, I might've just not known. All characters belong to the author Sarah J. Mass. Enjoy!

Summary: Don't first impressions always affect the way you see someone? Well, what more with the Nesta Archeron? Nesta meets Cassian at few unexpected places and to say it didn't go well was a major understatement. Certain circumstances make them become enemies to tolerable company to friends to lovers.

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, an angry Nesta and a heart-broken Cassian

2094 words | Incorrect Order Masterlist | Read on AO3

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Nesta had never been one for small talk but in his presence she spoke as if she was excellent in small talk. They spoke of all unimportant things and ended up forgetting the important stuff; their names. Again.

Feyre sent an invitation for her first anniversary party as she did for every other occasion. The only thing different was that Nesta never bothered to pay heed to her invitations before. After the day in the alley, however, she decided she was going to turn over a new leaf. This was her first step.

She checked her reflection on the side-mirror. She tried to keep her outfit and make-up as simple as possible. She only wore a white ruffled-sleeved blouse with a black pencil skirt. Her hair was braided into a coronet. She looked good, but not as good as she’ll look if she took her own time to do a detailed make-over. She let out a breath and braced herself for the inevitable little chat with her sisters.

“Nesta?” a bewildered voice breathed. She whirled around to face her younger sister, Elain, looking up at her, a small smile playing about her lips. “You’re here,” she said and flung her arms around Nesta. Nesta automatically wrapped her arms around Elain’s smaller frame. Eventually, Elain pulled back.

“No offense, but I really thought you wouldn’t be coming,” Elain said.

Nesta felt as if the smile on her face couldn't be wiped out for the next few hours. “Honestly, I didn't think I'd come either. But here I am.”

She nodded and pulled Nesta to the garden the party was held at.

“I did this,” Elain said. “This garden, I planted and groomed all this.”

“No wonder why it looks so beautiful,” Nesta replied.

She flushed and said contemplatively, “You're so different now, Nesta.”

“I hope in a good way. Where's Feyre?”

“Let's go meet everyone first.”

Nesta shook her head. “I— I need to talk to both of you before I meet everyone else. ”

Elain hesitated then said, “Can you wait in that room? I'll fetch Feyre and come.”

Nesta nodded and headed to the door at the end of the garden Elain pointed at. The room was classy, much like the exterior of the house. She was struck by the simple yet grand theme of Feyre's house. She knew he and his brothers were rich but she just didn't understand the extent of their wealth. Till now.

“What are you thinking?” Feyre wasn't the type to blindly trust people. It took more than coming for her anniversary to persuade her that Nesta's intentions were good.

Nesta faced Feyre, her youngest sister, who stood before her, gorgeous yet fierce in a simple but elegant blue gown. She shrugged, “Just thinking that I'm glad my sisters were well-provided when I couldn't take care of them.”

Feyre’s face didn’t change, she just gestured towards the couches. “Have a seat,” she said.

Nesta sat down, “You both look splendid,” she said. Feyre said that the gown was a gift, Elain thanked Nesta and offered the same.

Nesta cleared her throat. “I need to tell the both of you something. Many things, actually.”

Elain nodded encouragingly. Feyre said, “Go on.”

So Nesta spoke. She apologised. For how she wasn't there to fulfill the role of an elder sister. For how she failed to attend Feyre's marriage and many other occasions. For all the rude words she spoke to them. For shunning them. She apologised for being self consumed. For everything else.

She also promised. To try harder. To become better. To be a good sister and sister-in-law. To be with them at all times, especially when they needed her. And they listened.

“I know these words aren't enough, but I'll try to make it so,” she finished, her hands clasped with both her sisters on her sides.

“You said you'll try, Nesta. We will too,” Feyre said.

“I see a very bright future ahead of us,” Elain said.

Nesta couldn't help the tears anymore. She folded her arms around her sisters and tucked them close. Her sisters. Her beloved sisters she now knew she'd do anything to protect.

“I see a very bright future too,” Nesta said.

Nesta pulled back after what felt like an hour and looked at her sisters' tear-streaked faces.

“I love you,” the three of them said simultaneously. Nesta giggled. Elain laughed. Feyre stared.

Nesta gently brushed the tears from both of their cheeks. “I don't want to see any of you crying.”

She hugged them again, willing the hug to convey everything she didn't say out loud.

“Now, now, enough snuggling. We've got a party to attend and people to meet, remember?” Feyre said.

***

Cassian was anxious. He had always hoped Nesta, his sister-in-law, would come for the gatherings they had; be it family dinners, or birthday parties, or the random meetings they had when they just got tipsy and played games. He hadn't seen her face-to-face before. All he knows about Nesta are from the descriptions from Feyre and Elain. That, too, was minimal. One of them would quickly change the topic to something pleasant the moment traces of an emotional breakdown were visible. Every time he hoped, he was let down. She never came. He vowed he would stop hoping and instead just go about and act as if she didn't exist. But that never happened. Every time his family met, his treacherous heart would start hoping only to have a chunk of it fall off when she failed to attend. Today was no different.

Then there’s the woman who he’d been talking to the whole afternoon. He was a tangled up mess of emotions and doubt and confusion. He had been sort-of pining after Nesta. She was exactly the person he’d like. Apparently she was drop-dead gorgeous, witty and… feral. Feyre said that. Feral. She’d be someone worth seeing. She was totally a worthy opponent. It’d be fun. But the other woman? Mother above, she was ethereal. More than ethereal, in fact. Words can't contain what he had to say about her.

He was damn near killing Az for calling him right when they were about to exchange names. He really can't believe he was a hairsbreadth away from knowing her before it was all ripped away. Now they were back to square one. He didn't know anything about her.

Azriel clapped him on his back so hard that he almost stumbled and fell. Or probably that was because he was too distracted. “All good Somm?”

“Mmm-hmm,” he replied noncommittally. He busied his hands with re-rinsing the champagne flutes and wiping them clean again. He did this two times already. Still.

“Mood is sour today, Cass?” Az teased, mock-frowning.

“Nah,” Cassian said wryly, “it's as sweet as honeydew. Especially today, when my chat got interrupted.” He glared at Azriel.

“Now, now, that is a story for another day. For now though, I think I've got something that can cheer up your brooding self.”

“What is it?” he mumbled.

Az grinned. “Nesta is here.”

***

Feyre and Elain took Nesta on a quick tour around the house. Feyre’s paintings were hung on the walls throughout the whole house. Nesta grimly noticed that there wasn't a single picture of her. There were even paintings of their father whose heart had long stopped beating. But none of hers. If only she didn’t push herself away, Nesta would’ve been a happy part of her sisters’ lives.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Feyre took her hand in hers. Elain tucked herself to Nesta’s side, wrapping her arms over her slender shoulders.

Nesta already met Mor, a stunning blonde woman, and Amren, a slightly intimidating and short person. Now she only had to meet her brother-in-laws.

“Let’s go meet the boys!” Elain said brightly.

We walked back to the garden. Feyre seemed to get more and more elated the closer we got to the garden. Huh. Probably falling in love would do that to someone. Anyway, as long as her sisters were happy.

They stepped through the doorway. The garden was decorated with more banners and streamers hung on the back of chairs and on the low branches. Again, it looked opulent in a simple way.

There were three men in the centre of the garden, gathered around a table. They all were slightly similar, broad shouldered, tapered waists, muscular limbs. Three of them wore formal shirts and pants clinging to their frames. The one in the middle was Rhysand, she supposed. She smirked internally. Of course Feyre ended up with this guy. She's got a good taste. Must've gotten it from the oldest sister.

The one on the right, though. His figure felt familiar. Very, very familiar. She couldn't quite put a finger on it yet.

“The one on the left is Azriel, the one on the right is Cassian,” Feyre said, and Nesta nodded.

The boys must be really engrossed with their conversation. They hadn't noticed the three of them yet.

The guy she thought was familiar threw his head back and laughed. She gasped. That laugh. She'd know the laugh anywhere. Indeed, when he angled his face so that she could get a glimpse, she knew she was done for. She swallowed with much difficulty.

“I need to go,” she said quickly.

“Go? But— but we haven't cut the cake yet. It's still early. We've got lots more fun stuff,” Elain said.

“You said you'll try, Nesta. Only, this doesn't feel like 'trying',” Feyre said.

They sounded… hurt.

Mother above, I'm doing this wrong.

“Nesta?” Elain asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Yeah,” Feyre added, “you look pale.”

“Y-yeah it's f-fine. Kinda. My head hurts,” she said, accidentally clutching her stomach. “I-I mean, yeah my head hurts. Very badly. I gotta go.” She looked helplessly at both of them. “I'm so sorry. I really am. It's just— I think I need rest. I'll recompense. Probably dinner in three days?” They both shared a look and agreed.

Nesta was already walking away. “Love you both,” she threw over her shoulder.

***

“Feyre!” Rhys called. He beckoned Feyre and Elain to the table. He didn't see Nesta.

Cassian lightly kissed Feyre on her cheek once they made their way to the table and said, “Gorgeous as always. Happy anniversary!”

Feyre grinned, but it showed traces of disappointment.

He frowned. “Hey, what's wrong?”

She just shook her head and mumbled, “Nesta.” Rhys's face hardened. His brother was never fond of Nesta. He said that she was why Feyre was always worried.

“Where's Nesta?” Az asked, craning his neck to see behind farther.

“She… left,” Elain pointed, revealing a figure disappearing behind the gates. A figure he knew all too well. Shitshitshitshit.

His head snapped back to his brothers. “That is Nesta?” he damn near shouted.

Rhys scowled, “Yeah.”

No wonder why she's so beautiful, he thought dumbly before running after her with a quick “I'll be back.”

***

Nesta was wrong. In all her happiness of being reunited with her sisters, she completely forgot how even a small thing can break one's smile. She felt like she couldn't breathe. She kept her calm demeanour, but inside, she was a raging storm of emotions.

One step in front of the other, she kept reminding herself.

She kept walking. Even when she heard footsteps. Even when the steps got louder. Even as he got close enough to cease running.

But not when he called her name. She halted. Locked up her emotions. She knew she shouldn't but she turned around anyway.

“What do you want?” she snapped.

“Nesta,” he breathed. She tried to hold back her shudder. It was from the night air, she told herself.

“If you have nothing to say, do let me know. I'm not going to wait forever,” she said. Harsher than she intended to. But she didn't care, at least, that's what she told herself.

Cassian winked, “I'm honored you came, sweetheart. I'll pass the credit to my influence on you. ”

She ground her teeth against the truth threatening to fall off her lips. Yes, I came here because you made me happy. And I thought that if I tried, as I did with you, I can rebuild my relationship with my sisters.

***

Cassian did something stupid. He grabbed her hand. Her eyes snapped to his, burning with anger. Like the day they first met.

He gave her a crooked grin that he knew would drive her mad. Well, more than she already was. He tilted his head to the garden, “The party is that way, love.”

She snatched back her hand at continued walking. Like a fool, he followed. “I spoke to my sisters. Told them I won't be staying tonight. And that we'll have dinner in three day's time. Does that satisfy you? Now, can you stop following me?”

“Something's wrong. What's wrong, Nes?”

“One,” she ground out, “don't call me that. Two, I'm a grown-ass woman; I know how to take care of myself. I don't need a babysitter.”

“You did. That day,” he said quietly.

She whirled on him, “Is this you taking back favours? Because I'm not interested. You want money? Take it. Tell me your price and fucking take it! Don't tread on my heels because you helped me, okay? I've got way better things to do.” She paused, “And don't follow me, Cassian.”

She turned and stalked away.

You want money? Take it. 'Take it.' As if he were a beggar, asking for alms. As if they weren't laughing at each other's jokes not more than an hour ago. As if he didn't spend a week taking care of her as if she were a part of his soul. Maybe she was.

But that was before, Cassian thought as his heart cleaved into two perfect halves. No— it smashed to a million tiny pieces.

He waited till Nesta was out of his line of sight. He turned and walked back to the garden, leaving his heart behind.

taglist: @shadowsinger07 @im-someone-i-guess @saltyfortunes @cressjacquine @julian-blackthorn-supremacy @champanheandluxxury @zemiraa @ladygabrielli1997 @nehemikkele @heartless--aromantic @sv0430 @ddsworldofbooks @irenethaleia @sjm-things @dontgetsalmonella

[adiabolikpastel]

Title: Lunar Eclipse Masquerade

Kanato pt. 2

Rating: NSFW | PG-17 (language & sexual content)

Word Count: 2,370

Pairing: Kanato x Yuuki (m/f)

ღ Yuuki marvels at the beauty of Eden Castle and it's guest, however, Kanato's agitation threatens to ruin things. Perhaps some alone time would do them both some good. ღ

Mun Yu: We made it to the second wave of LEM. I hope you all enjoyed the set up, and are ready for the main event. Our Lunar Eclipse is in full swing as the masquerade beings. These chapters will be longer.

Additionally: I would love to thank @dialovers-translations for translating the Kanato and Subaru versus CD which show cased them during the Lunar Eclipse. It helped me greatly to write his personality.

☆+ ﾟ .+ .ﾟ.ﾟ｡ ﾟ ｡. +ﾟ ｡ﾟ.ﾟ｡☆*｡｡ . ｡ o .｡ﾟ｡.o｡* ｡ .｡

Despite what most people think, demonic beings are very social creatures. The elites hold countless balls and parties, celebrating their immortality together, and entertaining one another with stories. Typically, they are done in celebration for something – though this is not always the case. All types of beings from across the Demon Realm will come if the host is of high enough prestige.

There would be no such host if it was not for Karlheinz. Seated as the head of the Bat Clan (vampires), Karl’s reach spans far. Being the widow for the former Demon King’s daughter, and having children of the first blood, an invitation from the Vampire King is not one to refuse. Though why would you? In his immaculate castle within the Demon Realm, Eden Castle, it is always quite the spectacle. While the celebrations held in his Human World mansion are nice, nothing compares to a true night of pleasure within the true home of the King.

On this night, there was to be a Masquerade in honor of the first Lunar Eclipsed Moon in over two years. While this night may serve each species differently, the idea to celebrate its return was simply too tempting. For this reason, Karlheinz took it upon himself – or rather – his house, to host the event. This extended to his offspring as well, regardless of their personal agenda. Members of every social elite race accepted the offer, and gathered for a truly unforgettable evening.

Yuuki marveled at the magnitude of Karlheinz’s castle. Kanato had told her it was called the Eden Castle, and that his father was always cooked up in it. It was the first actual castle Yuuki had ever seen in person. Kanato was less excited. He kept going on about how he was annoyed to be back in this house, and that he’d wished Teddy were with him.

Yuuki knew how much it meant to Kanato having to leave Teddy behind. So she offered him her hand as a stand in. At first the small vampire looked angry. She would even suggest such a thing, but once Yuuki’s hand was laced with his, he didn’t seem to mind. Yuuki declared that she wouldn’t let go all night, if it meant he would feel better.

The guests of the masquerade were all wearing such beautiful gowns and masks, Yuuki couldn’t help but notice. She asked Kanato if it was really all right for her to be here. He had only laughed and commented on how the demons may try to eat her if she wanders off. Yuuki couldn’t tell if it was a joke or he was just trying to make sure she didn’t leave him.

There were beautiful decorations, and the castle seemed to brighten even more as the music began to fill the halls. Everyone was welcome to explore, though most chose to stay in the ballroom. Kanato had wanted to spend time getting food, so that was where Yuuki and he went first. It was an eye opening experience to see the high society of the Makai interacting with one another.

While Yuuki had no actual concept of what everyone was, she could tell that there were no humans apart from herself and Yuko – who had tagged along with Ayato. That idea was rather frightening. Did other races not date humans? Surely there were other vampires at the party. What made the Sakamaki family so different? Perhaps one day Yuuki might learn the answer, but for tonight she was simply happy to be present with Kanato.

For the bulk of the evening, Kanto had the two of them sitting at a table. He had gotten a large amount of sweet treats, and was content simply staying away from the crowded areas. Yuuki however, was itching to go dance. “Your face is so honest.” Kanato finally spoke to her with a glare. “If you want to go that badly, simply leave me here.”

Yuuki pouts slightly at his words, “If I were going to dance, I’d only want to do it with you Kanato-san.” She assures him. “Are we going to? We came all the way here, and got all dressed up. You have all these foods at home, surely we could-"

“Please stop talking.” Kanato said softly, yet his voice was firm. Yuuki was about to protest when she saw that he was looking past her. Curious, she turned to find what on earth he could be looking at.

Not too far away from them, but far enough that it was a challenge for Yuuki to be sure, was a man dressed also in white. His hair was long, matching the color of his clothes, tied with a crimson ribbon, and draped over his shoulder. His mask simply covered his eyes and was a goldish color with what looked to be pearls. This man seemed to stand out, even in the crowd. As if the entire room was aware of his presence, and made it a point to keep a distance.

Next to him stood a gorgeous woman. Yuuki actually felt herself blush a little. She was also without an equal. Dressed in a single strapped long dress that started in black, then faded into a deep crimson. Her hair is decorated with matching colored flowers. Her mask matched the dress, being mostly black in color with some red jewels to decorate the center.

The two stood next to another man who held a similar aura to the first. Though without as much, overwhelming presence. By comparison, he seemed to be the opposite of the man in white. Dressed in darker clothing, and hair also dark, though long and tied in a ribbon as well. The three of them really stood out, though Yuuki couldn’t honestly say why.

“Wow… she’s beautiful.” Yuuki comments, thinking that Kanato was admiring the guest as well.

“Beautiful!?” Kanato’s voice was full of rage as his shout caught the attention of those around them. “Ha! That thing he has draped on his arm?! What a joke! Truly there is no lower standard that man will not fall to!” Kanato rants, and grabs a hold of the table.

Yuuki looks around nervously as the surrounding guests start to whisper. “Ua… K-Kanato-san why don’t we-" Before she could finish, the purple monster of a vampire flips the entire table over. All of the cakes, pastries, candies and ice cream spill onto the floor. Yuuki shot up out of her seat, ensuring no food could get on her dress. “Kanato-san!”

Kanato’s eyes were still locked onto the man at a distance. His rage bubbling inside. Yuuki moves around the mess to walk over to him, taking his arm. “Kanato-san, come with me, let’s go get you cleaned, okay?” The vampire did not fight her, but his eyes also never left their locked on location. Yuuki looked over her shoulder as she managed to get Kanato out of the ballroom. That man didn’t seem to notice their presence at all.

Yuuki held onto Kanato as she searched for a bathroom – though this castle was much larger than the mansion. In fact the more they walked, the more intense it seemed. The halls seemed to grow darker, and it felt like every turn only led to a dead end. However, Yuuki wasn’t going to give up. Kanato needed her to be strong in this moment, no matter how scary the castle seemed.

After walking for what felt like forever, Kanato finally stopped dead in the hallway. Yuuki also almost fell backwards at his abruptness, but she steadied herself. “Kanato-san? Are you okay? Did you get hurt?” She asks, looking him over.

Kanato stood with his head downward, “That man- … how dare he show off that-… when that person always…” He mumbled to himself, as the frustration from before finally began to manifest itself into tears. “All my sweets are ruined as well…” He began to openly sob, wiping his eyes with his free hand.

Yuuki couldn’t bear seeing Kanato like this- she never could. It never mattered how selfish, or fake the tears were – Kanato crying always reduced her to a puddle. “Kanato-san…” Yuuki didn’t know how to help. This time it really seemed like he was frustrated and upset. Feeling at a loss herself, Yuuki looked down to their joined hands. Kanato had not let go, in fact, he was holding on so tightly. Just like with Teddy.

Without warning, Yuuki moved in front of Kanato and pushed her head onto his. The Vampire was surprised and looked into Yuuki’s eyes as she looked into his. “Kanato-san… I’m here… you don’t have to cry all by yourself. You know that, don’t you…?” She says softly, bringing her other hand up for him to lace with his.

Kanato was taken back for a moment, but slowly took her other hand in his. “You can be frustrated all you want with me, I don’t mind.” Yuuki smiles, squeezing his hands. “I want to help you… that’s why I’m here.”

Kanato sniffles a little before meekly asking, “You want to help me…?” Yuuki nods in response, and he begins to drag her down the hall. With no instruction Yuuki is simply left wondering where her keeper was taking her. She had been wandering the halls with no way of navigating them, yet Kanato seemed to know exactly where to go.

It does not take long for him to locate a room, and in a hurry he pulls Yuuki into it. A rather small bathroom, but this had been where Yuuki was trying to go. Kanato moved to lock the door as Yuuki wandered over to find a towel. “Here let me clean you up Kanato-sa-" Yuuki begins to offer, but Kanato embraces her from behind. “Ah! Kanato-san our clothes they’ll- … Ah~!” Yuuki began to protest, but was cut off as Kanato licked the side of her neck.

Kanato ran his tongue along her veins softly, “Fufu… you told me you wished to help… I have no concerns about these clothes.” He states firmly. “You too… instead of worrying about them… console me more.” Kanato murmurs against her skin as his fangs begin to descend.

Yuuki blushed at Kanato’s demands, and was about to speak when she noticed there was a mirror in the restroom. It captured their likeness perfectly. The embarrassment leaped from inside her, and she rushed to cover her face, “K-Kanato-san not here that’s too…” She groans a bit.

Kanato looks up, noticing the mirror himself. With a sigh he moves so that Yuuki would be pinned against the mirror. “You say that you will help me, but refuse when I ask!” He yells, his saddened cries echoing in the small room. “Why do you always toy with me like this!?”

Yuuki tries to push herself off of the glass, but the combined friction causes it to break. The shattering glass cuts into her hands and wrist, as they fall into the sink and onto the floor. She winces in pain, “Ah! Kanato-san wait… the glass…”

“You think that will stop me? I get to decide when your blood is taken!” Kanato says moving to a crouching position and lifting her dress, folding it up onto her hips. “We still have an appearance to make… So I’ll have to punish you down here. All though I wouldn’t mind marking you up for all to see~ Fufu.” Kanato speaks as he caresses Yuuki’s thighs.

Yuuki knew when things got to this level, it was because Kanato was feeling insecure. He needed some affirmation of her loyalty and affections, no matter how embarrassing it was. “I’m sorry Kanato-san… I was embarrassed before…” She says softly, looking over her shoulder to see him.

Kanato pouts a little and squeezes her thigh. “There is no taking it back now… I’ll spoil you a little I suppose. My fangs will feel good for you after all.” With that he bites into the fat of her thighs. Yuuki let out a small gasp, though it wasn’t so much in pain. “Haa… it’s flowing out… and mixing inside me…” Kanato’s voice was muffled as he drank deeply. “I was so frustrated before… mmmh but now…”

Yuuki’s face was beet red as Kanato drank from her. This situation was embarrassing enough, what if someone came by this room!? However, those thoughts alone were not enough to make her protest. In fact, she felt the moment a bit more. “Ahh… Kanato-san….!” Her voice echoed slightly as she tried to keep quiet.

“Nn… No good… let your voice out more…” Kanato whined as he moved over to her other thigh. “Haah… the sweetest melody you ever make...Fufu… Is when you moan from my fangs!”

Yuuki could feel Kanato bite deeper into her, causing a rather loud moan to escape her. As he drank, she couldn’t hold back. The echoing sounds filling the small space. “Ahha! Kanato-san…!” At this point in their relationship, Yuuki couldn’t help but feel… aroused whenever Kanato drank from her. It used to be embarrassing, but now… she just couldn’t help it.

Kanato pulls away with a loud sigh, licking the blood that dripped down Yuuki’s leg. “Haha… what will people think if this blood of yours stains the floor? Fufu...” He stands up, and looks at Yuuki through the mirror. “Aah~ Look at your face now! Your expression… it always excites me.”

Yuuki looks up into the mirror as well. Her expression was one of pure ecstasy. Cheeks flushed. Short of breath. Outfit a mess. “Fufu… you are beautiful, My Doll.” Kanato says, pulling Yuuki up from her bent position. He wraps one arm around her waist, the other up to the top of her dress. “Hey… comfort me more… you’ll do it properly right?” Kanato asks, tugging at her dress.

Yuuki smiles, leaning her head back against Kanato’s shoulder. “Of course…” She says catching her breath. Yuuki could never say ‘no’ to him. Not even as he holds her very life in his hands. There had been countless nights where his squeezed at her throat or drank from her until she passed out. Still, she would always consent to his torture.

Kanato sunk his fangs deep into Yuuki’s shoulder, while his hand grab onto her chest. She let out a gasp, moving her hips back against him. “Kanato-san…” His name floated in the air, filling the small space. Again and again. It was all she could manage to say when things got like this.

“Fufu… such a naughty doll you are… Hmm” Kanato moved his other hand up the bottom of her dress. “You are trembling, Fufu~ Say my name more… so that everyone knows who you belong to.”

After those words, any restraint left the both of them. The desire to feel one another. To be lost in their own world. “Haah… Kanato-san… I love you…” Yuuki voice was soft, despite how rough things had gotten. No longer in front of the mirror, the two had moved to sitting on the toilet. Yuuki on top of Kanato, her dress pulled down, his face buried into her chest.

The vampire had his fangs buried into her plump flesh when she spoke. He released her with a small pop, blood falling down over her skin. With a pure smile, he looked up at her, resting his face still on her accented breast. “Me too… fufu~” He moves to capture her lips.

It’s a sweet, yet tender kiss. Assuring her of his affection. When he pulls away, Kanato moves his head to rest once more on her breast. “My perfect Doll…” he mumbles diving his fangs into her as he thrust into her once more.

☆+ ﾟ .+ .ﾟ.ﾟ｡ ﾟ ｡. +ﾟ ｡ﾟ.ﾟ｡ TO BE CONTINUED ☆*｡｡ . ｡ o .｡ﾟ｡.o｡* ｡ .｡

[imagine-darksiders]

I’m in the mood for angst so how bout a scenario where Karn takes Deaths human charge (Death has feelings for but hasn’t confessed) to explore since Reader used to hike and something happens to make Reader get hurt badly and get knocked out cold, Karn breaks down and picks them up and runs back to the forge and cries and yells for someone to help. Death sees his hurt and unconscious charge and completely looses it on Karn and when Reader wakes up, they tell Karn it’s not his fault?

Thundering footfalls resound off the walls of Tristone, each embellished by a wet splash as a young maker staggers through steadily pouring rain, his breath escaping in short, ragged gasps that send clouds of condensation billowing from his parted lips like smoke. 

There’s an unmistakable urgency to his gait and a wild-eyed look about him that bears a close resemblance to one beset by hysteria, or mania. 

Such a volatile state doesn’t come without reason however, as the Horseman - Death - soon discovers upon emerging from the makers’ forge. The old Reaper’s mood perfectly reflects the gloomy skies overhead, his dourness due in no small part to the absence of one, irrepressible human.

It isn’t your absence itself that has him irked, rather, it’s the fact that you’ve once again disappeared from TriStone without a word or a trace as has been a habit, of late. One that you seemed to have adopted after meeting your newfound friend, Karn.

Grumbling, Death shakes his head and allows the door of the forge to slam shut at his back, wondering where in the nine realms you and the maker could have scurried off to this time.

The Horseman is so preoccupied with his own thoughts, he barely takes notice of the rain that begins cascading down his spine, only glancing up when something utterly enormous barrels down the stone steps towards him and in the blink of an eye, he finds himself nearly run over by a panic-stricken youngling.

“Pup,” the Horseman drawls, a raised brow the only indication of surprise at the sight of the giant careening to a halt just in front of him, with arms cradled against a broad chest as though there’s something immeasurably delicate that he’s trying to hide behind his hefty biceps, “I don’t suppose you’ve seen that blasted human, have you?”

The youngling doesn’t respond at first, merely stares down at the Horseman with the same, fraught stare that’s so uncharacteristic of Karn, Death is instantly suspicious. 

“Pup…”He drops his voice to something low and dangerous, eyeing the flash of hair that pokes out above the maker’s arm. “Where is Y/n.”

At last, Karn’s eyes stop darting and settle properly on the Horseman, his pale pupils slowly coming into focus.“It… it was an accident,” he stammers miserable, bending down onto one knee and, with more care than the Horseman has ever seen him exert, unfurls his arms.

What he reveals ignites an icy rage in Death’s chest, born from an uncomfortable pang of alarm that he’d rather not acknowledge.

In the maker’s arms lays the very human Death had once pulled from the ruined Earth, the same human who has been his unorthodox companion over the last few weeks and who has been so, unwaveringly determined to make a friend out of him, the Horseman begrudgingly let his guard down and allowed a friendship to be cultivated, against his better judgement.

“Y/n?” he breathes, reaching a hand over Karn’s forearm and hovering the appendage warily above your head, from which rivulets of glistening blood trickle down into the creases around your eyes, each screwed tightly shut. The youngling’s broad chest is keeping you shielded from the rain, butDeath almost wishes it would fall on you just to wash away the crimson liquid running down from your hairline.

The Horseman almost succumbs to the immediate, knee-jerk reaction to find out how this happened, yet he reminds himself that standing in the rain and grilling a rattled maker for answers won’t get you the help you so clearly need.

So, swallowing down the urge to tear Karn’s head from his shoulders for allowing you to get hurt, Death grits histeeth and growls, “Eideard. Now.”

Then, as less of an afterthought and more of an instinct, he leans over Karn’s arm and slides his cold, raw-boned hands underneath your fragile, little body scooping you gently out of the maker’s hold and never once taking his eyes off your face.

Although Karn bridles a little at having you taken from him, he doesn’t argue, instead staggering to his feet and once more uttering, “It was an accident…”

Death, at least for the time being, ignores him to spin on a heel and march back towards the forge, his grip on you growing firmer as you roll your head floppily into his chest.

————————

A concussion, Eideard had eventually deduced after a brief minute of chaos ensued once Valus and Alya caught sight of you laying unresponsive and bleeding in Death’s arms.

The village elder had ushered the twins out fairly promptly with much protest and reluctance on their part, and then he’d had Death place you on the anvil where he set about trying to determine the cause of your injury. In the meantime, Karn had remained as close as he could get to the anvil, wringing his hands over one another and chewing a deep welt into his bottom lip.

With steady hands and softly murmured words, Eideard wove together a few healing spells, watered down to their most basic level of power to accommodate for your delicate, human frame. Every now and again, you would try to crack your eyes open and speak, but your words made no sense and blended together into an incomprehensible noise that Eideard would gently shush, reminding you to keep your eyes closed, lest the light cause you any more pain.

Finally, after far too long, in Death’s opinion, the wound on top of your head stops oozing blood as ancient magics stitch your skin back together and Eideard raises his eyes to give the Horseman a reassuring nod, his own relief palpable in the sagging of his titanic shoulders.

It’s only then that Death feels the immediate danger has passed.

Slowly, with the threatening glare of a predator, he turns his gaze to the youngling.

Death barely hears Eideard’s sharp warning not to take his frustrations out on Karn, he’s too sunken into his own fury and desperation. 

It’s with a primal kind of ferocity that he rounds on the young maker, his Reaper form rippling underneath the surface of his pale skin like a brewing storm, just moments away from exploding outwards into a full-blown tempest.

Karn feels a raw pulse of sickening energy hit him square in the chest and he’s forced back a step, tearing his gaze off you with a dull sort of resignation painted across his features as he turns to face the bristling Horseman.

“What. Did. You. DO!?” Death roars, each word pervaded with tremulous power and preceded by a rattling hiss, every neuron in him firing off impulses that tell him to protect the human on the anvil behind him. Yet without an immediate threat present, his rage redirects its attention to the next best thing; the one who’d let this happen to you.

Karn however, even in the face of what could well be a dangerous situation, doesn’t even flinch. He merely stands there as the Horseman bears down on him, his ears drooped and arms dangling limply at his sides.

The decidedly non combative stance doesn’t deterDeath though, who continues to stalk right up to the youngling’s boot and once again shouts, “WHAT DID YOU DO!?”

If Karn hadn’t been feeling so guilty about yourinjury, he might have noted how unusual it is for the Nephilim toexpress this level of concern for another.

Dropping his gaze ashamedly to the stoneunderfoot, the maker heaves an unsteady sigh. “We were only inBaneswood,” he murmurs, more to himself than the room, as though hestill hasn’t quite come to terms with the events, “I was on thelookout for demons, not the damn trees!” Peeling his lipsback with a despairing whine, he scrapes a hand over his sparsedusting of hair.

“What?” Death hisses when he doesn’t elaborate, momentarily thrown bythe notion that now, apparently, even the trees can pose a risk toyour safety.

Karn’s eyes drift down to the ground and theHorseman can’t help but notice that they’ve clouded over, stuckbehind a memory of whatever had occurred in those dreadful woods.

Death doesn’t have to wait for long however beforethe maker reveals what he’s seeing with his mind’s eye.

“Was a branch that did it,” he mutters,“must’ve already been barely hangin’ on, what with the wind andrain. When we passed under it, it – it just…. fell..”Shuddering back into himself, he blinks and glances sorrowfully overtowards you, quietly adding, “By the time I heard it snap, Y/nwas… was….” Karn’s unsteady voice peters out and hesubconsciously rubs at the spot on his own head that mirrors theplace where your wound is.

Unfortunately for him, his explanation does littleto soothe the ire roiling in the Horseman’s chest.

“Why did you take a human out of Tri Stone inthe first place!?” Death barks, “You know it isn’t safe!”

Karn’s throat bobs as he swallows thickly, wettinghis lips. “I… I thought I could keep ‘er safe…” he utterssoftly, ducking his head when Death brusquely snaps, “Well, youthought wrong. Y/n was hurt on your watch. The lasthuman in the Universe could have died, all because of you!”

Chest heaving with barely restrained contempt, theNephilim ignores a disapproving hum that warbles out of Eideard’sthroat and lowers his voice to a much darker, somehow far morefrightening pitch, holding Karn prisoner beneath his poisonous glare.The youngling looks as though Death might as well have torn his heartasunder right then and there. “Might I make a suggestion, Pup, thatso long as you value your life, you’ll keep Y/n out of it.”

He isn’t sure what he expected the youngling tooffer in response. Perhaps a meagre protest, perhaps a flat outrefusal to stay away from you, as Death had just not so subtlysuggested. However, what he certainly doesn’t expect is for Karn tooffer up nothing more than a resigned nod of his head before turningabout and trailing slowly towards the doors at the far end of theforge, dragging his feet with each, heavy step.

Death waits until the stone entrance slides shutin the youngling’s wake, then, heaving a weary sigh, he twists aboutand focuses his attention on the anvil, or more importantly, thehuman laying quiet and still at its centre.

“That,” Eideard grumbles, furrowing his bushybrows until they almost form an uninterrupted line across hisforehead, “was an unjustly cruel thing to say…”

“I notice you didn’t interject.”

The Old One’s chest rises and falls around anindignant puff of breath. “Mark me, I would have, had Ithought you posed any real threat.”

Death can only give a humourless huff, feigning disinterest and wondering when he’d grown so soft that the maker wouldn’t see him as a constant source of danger.

Apparently, Eideard has him all worked out.

——-

The dark blanket of night gradually begins torecede with encroaching rays of sunlight that emit their faint,orange glow from behind the far-off mountain peaks, chasing the starsback into darker corners of the sky.

Almost immediately after leaving the forge, Alyahad accosted Karn and bullied a confession from his lips, after whichshe’d subjected him to an admonishing that had been strikinglysimilar to Death’s, although hers was accompanied by a swift cliparound the ear, doubtless the very least she wanted to do tohim.

After that, she’d left him to sulk, alone in thedead of night where he could torture himself by imagining all theways he should have protected you from that falling branch.

Now, he sits slumped upon the east-facing wallthat looks out over the distant peaks, his mind far from the goingson of the world around him. Rain still falls from the fat, blackclouds overhead and serves to dampen both the ground and Karn’salready dreary mood.

How had everything gone so wrong so quickly? Yes,he knows the dangers of the Forge Lands, perhaps better than most.It’s a wild and unpredictable place. But… he’s Karn.

If anyone was going to be able to protect you, itwould be him….

… Wouldn’t it?  

Raindrops cling to the youngling’s eyelashes, buthe can’t even bring himself to blink them away.

Sagging further into himself, Karn drops his chinonto his knuckles with a grunt, expelling all the air in his lungsand focusing on the burning sensation it brings rather than the stingbehind his eyelids.

He’d been so sure he was doing the right thing.

You were sad. You’d been sad ever since you firstarrived in Tri Stone. Then, one evening spent sat amongst the giantsin Muria’s garden, you had made a comment, something throwaway andforgettable to the others, but not to him. Karn had vowed never toforget a word you said from the day he met you.

You told him how much you loved exploring.

“I used to go and hike the local trails all thetime back home,” you’d murmured as a wistful smile tugged atyour lips, “Just me, my music and the open road. It was so muchfun, even if I was doing it on my own...”

Hearing this, Karn had leapt at the opportunity tocheer you up, inviting you to explore Baneswood with him in the hopesthat it would take your mind off the fate of your home world. And ithad…

…At least for a little while.

Groaning, Karn buries his face in a pair of gloved hands, pressing harshly against his eyelids until specks of colourbegin to invade the darkness.

Even with the best of intentions, he still managedto mess it all up. Death was right, after all. You very well couldhave died back there. The first, real friend Karn had ever had, andhe almost got you killed.

The youngling’s ear twitches at the sudden soundof approaching footsteps, almost imperceptible among the drumming ofrain on hard, grey stone. Too light to be a fellow maker, too heavyto be the Horseman’s….

The maker’s heart lurches and he keeps his facecovered stubbornly when a small voice calls his name.

“Karn? There you are!”

Ashamed as he is to admit it, his first impulse isto leap off the wall and put a safe amount of distance betweenhimself and you.

What are you doing out here? Not that he isn’tdelighted to see you conscious again, but surely neither Death norEideard would have allowed you to be up and about so soon after thatkind of injury.

The footsteps trail to a stop at the wall besidehim where a brief pause ensues before he hears a grunt and the soundof hands and feet scrabbling for purchase on the slippery stone.Seconds later, a tiny, shivering body presses up against his leg andstartles a sigh out of the maker. You’ve climbed up to sit next tohim, evidently.

“Karn?” Your voice is so soft and mellow, asthough speaking too loudly causes you pain. “You okay?”

He doesn’t reply, but the rain cascading down fromabove coupled with the tremors he feels through the thick leather ofhis trousers is enough to make him pull a hand away from his face andlower it slowly towards you, cupping his colossal palm around yourfragile frame as closely as he dare. Karn’s spare hand slides downhis stubble until it drops heavily into his lap whilst he stares outinto the distance with a glum expression ageing his otherwiseyouthful features.

It must have perturbed you that Karn – of allmakers – isn’t trying to fill the silence, because you promptlytake it upon yourself to answer at least one of his unspokenquestions. “Death doesn’t like that I’m out here talking to you,”you mutter gently, noticing how the maker tenses against your side,“I don’t think Eideard likes it either, but he wasn’tactively trying to stop me.”

Chewing pensively on your lip, you lean furtherinto the maker’s palm, feeling the minutest twitch of his thumb as heresists the urge to brush it over your head. After a few seconds oflistening to the rain patter off his shoulder pauldrons, you openyour mouth and carefully say, “When I woke up, Death wouldn’t tellme where you were, but… I wanted to make sure you’re all right….

Something about that tugs at the maker’sheartstrings and his eyes dart down to you before snapping away againonce they spy the faint traces of blood still clinging to your scalp.

Dimly, you watch his fingers curl towards you inchby painfully gradual inch. “Eideard said I could go and find you,provided you were still in the village, and under thecondition that I rested for a couple of hours first, which I did.”You throw a smile up at the side of his downturned head, hoping thathe’ll catch your attempt to lighten the mood. “So, you know, theykind of had to let me go. That’s not to say Death didn’t throwa temper-tantrum about it beforehand though, the drama queen…”

It is both disquieting and frustrating to see themaker’s ear flick down at the mention of the Horseman’s name, yet, toyour surprise, he finally, finally opens his mouth to speak. “Youcould have died,” he utters, sounding far older than hisyears suggest, “He’s not bein’ dramatic.”

“I’m afraid he is,” you retort, “Andfrankly, you sitting out here by yourself in the rain is prettydramatic as well, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Karn scowls at that and for the first time, aspark of ire ignites in his chest and turns its burning gaze ontoyou, frustration growing like mould around his ribcage. You seem fartoo nonchalant about the situation, in direct contrast to his own,tumultuous flurry of emotions. “I – I thought I damn well killedyou!” he chokes out, at last twisting his head around to glare atyou, rain pouring down his cheeks in much the same manner as tearsmight, “So… So I do mind you sayin’ that, thanks.”With a huff, he tears his eyes off you and fixes them straight aheadonce more.

With a demeanour that’s so typically laid-back andfriendly, his clear burst of agitation doesn’t seem to suit the youngmaker in the slightest. Even more worrying though, is that he seemsto be under the impression that somehow, in some way, your injury washis fault.  

Reeling back a little until your spine knocksagainst the heel of his palm, you spare him an incredulous huff oflaughter and blurt out, “Karn, you… you understand that it wasn’tyour fault, right? Why would you say you nearly killed me? Youdidn’t do anything!”

“Exactly!” he snaps, “I didn’t doanything to stop that branch fallin’ on your head! If I’d 'ave beenfaster, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt!”

“If you’d’ve been - Karn! That is themost ridiculous thing you’ve said yet! Of all the dangers in thisrealm, who could predict a branch would be the thing to watchout for? Nobody! Because it was just a freak accident!” As if inwarning, your head suddenly gives a painful throb and you let out agroan, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment and breathing deeplyuntil it passes. Getting worked up is helping no one, least of allyou. So, inhaling through your nose and releasing it slowly, you leanforwards to try and catch Karn’s eye again, finding that hestubbornly twists his head away, hand balling into a fist in his lap.“Karn. Will you look at me, please?”

Perhaps it’s the unexpected gentleness that’scrept into your tone, or the fact that he would do almost anythingyou asked of him, but reluctantly, the youngling moves his gaze downtowards you again, where it lingers briefly on the slight welt lefton top of your skull. With the rain weighing down your hair, he cansee far more of the wound than he’d like to, although you’re quick todivert his attention by ducking until his eyes lock with yours andthere, you hold him, a stern frown on your face when you firmlystate, “It was notyour fault.”

For a few seconds, you manage to hold hisbewildered stare before his face suddenly falls and he shakes hishead, a retort on its way out of his mouth. But before it can reachthe open air, you put a halt to it. “I mean it, Karn. Stop blamingyourself for what happened. It could have happened if I was out withDeath, or Eideard or Alya – anyone! It was just…. bad luck.”

The heat radiating off Karn’s palm keeps most ofthe rain’s chill at bay, yet for the sake of a friendship, you dareto venture outside of the meagre cover and stand up on the wall,curling your fingers around the top of his belt to hold yourselfsteady. All the while, he carefully watches your every move lest youslip and take a tumble off the side. In fact, he’s so preoccupiedwith making sure your feet are firmly on solid stone that he nearlymisses the moment when you press yourself against his side, your armsspread as wide as they’ll go to encompass even just a fraction of theyoungling’s girth.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself for things youcan’t help,” you mumble, your voice nearly lost against the fabricof his tunic, “And besides, I’m still here, aren’t I?”

At long last, the maker’s lips give the smallesttwitch, indicative of a smile. “Huh… Aye,” he breathes, liftinghis hand until it lands against your back, pinning you against himwith the barest amount of pressure and you have to roll your eyes,realising that he’s still filled with trepidation at the prospect ofaccidentally injuring you further. 

So lost in the ethereal peace that the rainfallbrings to Tri Stone, neither you nor the maker notice a figurestanding at the Forge’s entrance, cloaked in shadow and indifferentto the icy water making tracks down pale skin pulled taut aroundsinew and muscle and bone.

An old, long-buried part of the Horseman is urginghim to lose his temper, to march over to you and rip you away fromKarn, who likely has no idea how fervidly Death has longed tohave your arms wrapped around him in the same way you havethem slung around the maker’s bulky torso.

But… what would separating you possibly achieve?He had already tried that once, and now it appears that you and theyoungling are closer than ever…

Casting his luminous eyes to the glistening stoneunderfoot, the Nephilim shoves his childish fantasy down and grindsit viciously into dust, hoping that it’ll never raise its ugly headagain. For a bitter-sweet moment, it had been… rather nice topretend that he might be given the chance to feel the warmth of asmall, compassionate human pressed against his side.

Wrenching himself away from the scene, Deathbegrudgingly pushes open the door to the maker forge and, aftercasting a last, lingering glance over his shoulder at you, he slinksinside once more, resigned to a night spent reevaluating everything he thought he knew about humanity.

[backalley-requests]

The Proposal | Chapter Four

The Proposal Masterlist

Summary: The Proposal™ au, where Ivar gets swept away in a lie about a fake engagement to stay in the country and needs to convince everyone (including his family) that he’s genuinely engaged to a woman he works with

Warnings: use of the word cripple, almost swearing

Word Count: 2,515

You didn’t truly conceptualize how far away Denmark was from New York until you were flying there. It felt like an eternity. You and Ivar hadn’t spoken since your last exchange. Things felt tense and your stomach felt sick. “Get the luggage,” Ivar spoke his first words when you got off the plane.

Even though you would’ve appreciated a “please” you didn’t argue, waiting by the conveyor belt. “Are you going ahead?” You turned to talk to him as he was already going. It seemed as if he was incredibly successful at pushing you from his mind.

It took several minutes before you found the last of your bags. As if on cue, you heard a woman shout in danish. “You left her?” Followed by the harsh thud of a smack. “You can’t just leave your girlfriend, Ivar.” Your grasp on the language was tentative at best. You used duo lingo daily but hearing it in practice was a different beast entirely.

“She’s fine, mor.”

“If she’s dating Ivar seriously enough to visit us in another continent then she’s probably used to this by now,” a man laughed.

You could hear the annoyance grow in Iver's voice as he bickered back. You caught some of the language but less than you’d have liked. You grabbed the luggage and started to head over.

“This must be Y/N,” Aslaug walked over and you immediately recognized her, a smile on your face as you waved.

“Hey! Um— nice to meet you,” you offered your hand to shake and instead she pulled you in for a hug. Her arms wrapped around your body and you could’ve died with no regrets. Why was it so warm?

“Oh, I’d rather you not butcher the language, dear. But the attempt was lovely,” Aslaug smiled sweetly and placed her hand on your upper arm sympathetically. Her English was a lot better than your Danish. It was the nicest way you’ve ever been told to stop trying because you sucked so badly.

Your face flushed in embarrassment and you laughed. “Sorry— I’m still learning.” Maybe you should just stop if it was that bad. It sounded fine to you. You glanced over to see Ivar as he rolled his eyes at you.

His brother walked over, to introduce himself. “I’m Hvitserk, Ivar’s cooler brother. And the only one willing to tolerate him,” he flashed a grin and shook your hand.

“Then you must have great perseverance.” The words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them. It was easy to forget that this was the part where you were supposed to convince people you were in love with the man.

“Is father not coming?” Ivar was quick to change the subject. He wasn’t happy with the situation— but when was he ever happy? Even the fleeting moments between the two of you managed to turn sour by the end.

“No— he had a prior engagement, but Ubbe is waiting in the car!” Aslaug tried to save the conversation, the disappointment was evident from Ivar’s face. “I’m sure you two much be tired, jet lag is killer.” She was swift to move into the next conversation, ushering them away.

You grabbed the luggage and began to roll both bags when Hvitserk stopped you. “Let me help with that. If my brother wants to let you do all the work the least I can do is offer to share the load,” he teased. “Trust me, he used to make me do his chores too.”

Hvitserk was immediately more welcoming than his brother. It made you question how the two could’ve been related at all. Ivar spared a glance, scowling at you. You took the natural course of action and scowled back. “Thanks,” you laughed and immediately eased up. “Tell me then, which one of you two is adopted. Because I highly doubt you’re related.”

How could the same family raise such opposing figures. Even if Hvitserk turned out to be some evil bottom dwelling menace, he made an effort to appear nice. You wasn’t sure you ever saw Ivar bother to do the same, at least not to a stranger.

“You wouldn’t be the first person to ask that. Ivar’s different,” Hivserk went along with it. And soon the two of you managed to easily slide into conversation. You found out a bit more about the family.

The father, Ragnar had two family trees. One with his first wife, Lagertha, with whom he had a son, Bjorn. The second was with Aslaug, and they had four children: Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd, and Ivar. Their father wasn’t married but often far from single. Bjorn is married to Gunnhild. Ubbe is married to Torvi who used to be married to Bjorn. Sigurd and Ivar didn’t get along. Some of this you knew already and the rest of the facts started to blend together.

By the time you got to the car you forgot much else that Hvitserk tried to prepare you for. Ubbe was leaning against their car. “Long time no see, my baby brother.”

Ivar rolled his eyes and tried to just enter the car but was stopped by his brother. Ubbe hugged Ivar who failed to reciprocate the hug, nearly dropping his cane from the intensity of the squeeze. The older brother didn’t seem to mind it and instead easily moved on to hug you. “At least one of you two is more affectionate, you could learn a thing or two from her, Ivar.”

—

“Don’t get too close to them,” Ivar whispered to you when you got to his family’s home. The car ride back had been filled with childhood stories of the boys, mostly Ivar. You understood why he was so agitated, they seemed to mess with him a lot. Not that you agreed with the irritation, but clearly Ivar didn’t handle it well. He was the youngest, it made sense to you. “None of this is real.”

Yet, the warning annoyed you. You wanted to get closer just to spite him. He was right, you two weren’t in a real relationship and they wouldn’t be a real family. It still wasn’t nice to say. His words distracted you from the mansion his family seemed to own.

“He didn’t tell you that we’re made of money, did he?” Hvitserk asked you with a lazy grin, he placed his arms around your shoulders. “If you’re going to become my sister then you’ll just have to get used to it.” You didn’t know his family that well but they didn’t deserve this. They were already making an effort and it was for a lie.

“Let me show you guys to your room,” Aslaug smiled. The inside of the house was just as beautiful as the outside. You never even saw something so big. It felt unreal. She showed the two of you one room. “I’m not going to bother pretending to be dumb. I know you two sleep together.”

You tried to stammer your way into a guest bedroom but she didn’t seem to be listening to you. “Dinner is at 7 if the two of you want it.” The room was on the ground floor, just outside was a view of the backyard and a river. It was huge. The only issue is that there was only one bed.

“You can stay on the floor,” Ivar answered before you could ask. The moment his mother was gone he didn’t hesitate to remind you where you were going to be sleeping. “I need the bed.”

It made sense. He had needs you didn’t. “Fine.” For some reason you expected to enter a fanfiction where there was only one bed and you were forced to share— it was evident the thought didn’t cross Ivar’s mind. “Can I at least have some pillows and blankets. I get cold.” You were more a tropical kind of person, and spent most of your life feeling cold.

“They’re in the closet.”

You watched as Ivar laid in the bed. He sighed heavily and sunk deep into it, as if finally resting. It looked like the euphoria you got from laying down after a run or a workout. Maybe he was more tired than he let on. “Is it soft?”

Ivar opened his eyes and stared at you, “what?”

“The bed, you just look really comfortable.”

He patted the side next to him. “It’s expensive. It ought to be.” You weren’t sure what he was doing at first until he did it again. “Try it.”

Tentatively, you walked over and sat down. Yours went wide as you immediately sunk into it and you were just sitting. Why is this so good? You couldn’t help but relax your body into it and lay down for a moment, just a manny. Any soreness was being sapped out. “Wow.”

“I know right.” The two of you laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling.

Maybe you ought to try and get some money from the divorce, get yourself a mattress like this. You closed your eyes softly, your eyelids never felt so heavy.

“Now get out of my bed.” The words made your eyes shoot open. He decided it was time for you to go.

“What?”

“You’re about to fall asleep on my bed,” Ivar reminded you. “Which means you probably s shouldn’t be in it.”

You immediately got up and nearly fell on your way out. “You could’ve been nicer about it,” you glared. Being there for a moment was going to make it all the more difficult to lay on the floor. It was so hard compared to it— then again your own mattress was hard compared to his. “Did you do that just so I’d feel worse when I had to sleep on the floor? Knowing a bed like this existed just outside of my reach?”

Ivar laughed. “No. But that would’ve been a good idea. I like the way you think.”

“Are you two ready for dinner?” Aslaug knocked and entered the room.

“We’re not hungry,” Ivar answered for the both of you. You personally couldn’t agree with his statement but it was clear he wanted to be left alone from them and didn’t trust you to be alone with them.

“Get up. You have to go.” She entered the room further and before she could grab Ivar he was already up, as if repulsed by the idea of her touching him. You were quick to follow behind

Ivar grabbed his cane and started going. “Is there any reason?” Aslaug didn’t answer and instead bit her bottom lip before she left.

“What was that about,” you asked as you walked to the door. Ivar stared down where his mother left, deep in thought.

“I have a bad feeling about this. Mor is up to something.”

The two of you walked together out towards the common areas of the home when a number of people eagerly shouted, “welcome home!” It was a lot of people, and it became evident this is what Aslaug had been wanting them out of the room for.

A number of people came by to greet Ivar, he seemed ambivalent to the conversation at best and annoyed at worst. You were greeted as a secondary and remained far more polite. You knew nothing much at all and the best you do was follow, that didn’t seem to make things less annoying for Ivar. “Will you stop following me?”

“Where else would I—“

“Ivar!” An older man appeared and wrapped his arms around Ivar, a grin on his face. This was the first person Ivar didn’t instantly pull back from, and the laugh he made was genuine in response.

“Floki, you old bastard. I’m glad you could make it,” Ivar seemed to genuinely mean that. It made the whole thing even stranger to you.

Floki eyed you and then Ivar and then laughed, “how did an ugly poor cripple end up with a beautiful woman like this?” He immediately hugged you and pulled back. “Maybe it’s best not to question it. We wouldn’t want her to realize,” he winked at Ivar.

The two seemed to get along better than most and Ivar left with the man. You tried to follow but got cut off by the people who stood around talking to each other.

—

“He left you alone?”

It had been who knows how long since he had left and you hadn’t seen Ivar since. Where he was, it wasn’t here. And it was clear to you he didn’t care where ou were. Hivtserk appeared beside you and attempted to make you feel included.

“I’m used to it,” you shrugged.

Hvitserk furrowed his eyebrows, “the two of you make for an odd couple.”

Panic began to fill you. “I— no. Not really. We’re very real.” The words were dumb and you hated yourself for having made the sentence at all. “Normal, I mean, normal.” None of that made it better.

“Then you love him?” If Hvitserk didn’t believe you then he didn’t show it. The truth was harder to believe. That you were pretending to marry your boss so he could stay in the US and give you some big promotion.

“What? N—“ you couldn’t say no, “not yet. Or maybe.” You admired the man. But this was all fake. Still, he never appeared more human than in these past few days. It just sucked that he was never willing to keep doing that. Whenever he relaxed he was so quick to correct himself.

Hvitserk laughed at you, “then you probably do. He’s a difficult man to love but I’ve managed it.” How Ivar find it in himself to not talk to his family more, or show them more care? “I can tell from the way you look at him sometimes.”

Your face got flushed. You had to keep reminding yourself this whole thing was fake. Hvitserk was expecting these sorts of things and said them. Just like your coworkers. None of this was real. Yet, it felt easy to want to get swept away. “Well— I’m not sure if we’re quite there. He certainly isn’t.”

His brother shrugged, “maybe. But I’ve ever seen him let anyone tease him without getting hit with his cane for as long as you have. And he doesn’t bring women around to the family. That has to mean something.”

You knew why you were meeting his family. It was the same reason he seemed to tolerate this but— it was different. You wanted to be different. It would feel nicer that way, and you couldn’t quite understand why. Every soft moment lingered in your memory for too long and you desperately wanted to hold onto them. “Maybe,” your eyes caught Ivar.

It was the first time he was so casual and seemed relaxed. He was gorgeous. You allowed yourself more time to just stare at him, knowing he was none the wiser. “You’re good for him.”

“I certainly like to think I am.”

“Good,” Hvitserk responsed. “So where are you from?”

He started to ask question upon question about your origins and your life story. He seeemd more interested than anyone else here. You admitted you weren’t from money and that you were trying to make a name for yourself in New York.

“So how’d you meet Ivar?”

“I actually work for him,” you admitted. “He might act like a dick most the time but it’s gotten some amazing results. I admire what he can do, I just wished he went about it more... humanely,” you laughed.

Hivtserk watched you carefully, “fair enough. He was never very personable. And that doesn’t bother you?”

It did. A lot. “No.”

“Then maybe you two are suited for each other.”

The two of you weren’t. “I like to think to.”

—

Taglist** @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927

[crystalsexarch]

Twenty-three: Soul - E

“Too early to talk, hm?”

"Not too early to get you up, though.”

“I understand you do not mean to suggest I get out of bed.”

-

Ambiguous WoL/G'raha. Post 5.3 on a lazy morning, the Warrior of Light [REDACTED]s G'raha's [REDACTED].

Also on AO3.

Part of the 2021 FFXIV Writing Challenge

Not all sex has to feel like the end of the world. Sometimes it feels like tuning a harp or drawing a flower in the sand. It can feel simple like setting a table, natural as skipping a rock, standing barefoot by the creek—easy little things you might or might not do every day. The beauty is there’s no pressure, and it really doesn’t matter whether you do it or not. Life goes on. Love gets made today or tomorrow in any way at all.

You are old enough to know now that an orgasm shouldn’t change the course of history. You’ve had your share of that. Now in G’raha, you have found a present worth settling down in.

G’raha teaches you so much about patience, patience and hands. Until the last moment his are always light on your body, and that lightness weighs heavy. You’ve come to believe in less is more. He bruises on special occasions, bites once in a blue moon. It feels better to want when you know you won’t want all for nothing. His presence is a promise fulfilled, a wish realized, a dream dragged into reality. He’s here on the Source, outside the Tower, flesh and blood and bone, before your very eyes, against your very lips. G’raha Tia! Raha! Sometimes, you could shout it to all of Mor Dhona.

Or you could whisper it. And you do. At his neck with a hand down his smalls. Middle of a lazy morning, end of a wet dream. He’s hard. He’s smiling. He’s calling out to you, kissing like he doesn’t see how well you want to eat him alive, how keen you are on sucking until you taste the sweetness of his soul at the head of his cock.

“Well, good morning,” he says, stretching his legs. Already an arm finds its way around your shoulders. Another thing like so many that fall into place when he’s around. “Sleep well?”

You grunt and tug him from the base, rubbing an indignant expression upon his bare chest. He smells sunny and delicious, like browned butter just pulled from the stovetop.

“Too early to talk, hm?” he says.

You snicker. “Not too early to get you up, though.”

“I understand you do not mean to suggest I get out of bed.”

“If you do, I’ll come with you.” You work your way up into a straddle bit by bit, lumbering left and right like the pull of sleep is struggling to tug you back into the covers. Ultimately, you prevail and set your hands on G’raha’s belly. On his chest, right at his sternum is a pink half-scar. You both agree it almost resembles a bullet wound, though this body has never known such an injury. Either way, that’s the spot you kiss before slinking down his legs and taking the covers with you. When you settle at his knees, he’s fully exposed to the elements—or he would be, if he’d pull down his smalls. The shape of his stiff cock beneath the fabric warms you from the inside out. You want it so badly that you laugh.

He laughs, too. “Hm? What.” His dick tenses, bobs. Surely his doing. “Is something funny?” Another twitch, perfectly timed. It’d be hilarious if you weren’t so horny.

“I’m going to put it in my mouth.”

“In your mouth! My…” He lifts his head to look, as though he isn’t sure what exactly you’ve roused between his legs. “That doesn’t sound so bad, actually. I’ll allow it.”

“Good.” In days past, you might’ve sassed him. But you’re just happy, so fucking happy. You’ll take it however he gives it to you. He’ll give it a thousand ways before you get bored.

Moments later, your lips close around his clothed cock with a low moan. In the haze of your early lust, you want him leaking through the fabric before you set him free. You greet his tip with your tongue, and he curls his fingers in your hair—doesn’t even touch your head proper—just hovers his hand close, fraying a single strand between his thumb and index.

“Pretty,” he says. “Your eyelashes.”

You flutter them closed. His smalls are soon slick with your spit. You can feel him tensing his thighs every time you lap down the whole length. You know he wants more, but he also likes wanting. What’s the rush?

“Have you been up long?” He lets go of your hair, goes for your neck instead. Feather-touch, nearly a tickle. He keeps his nails short.

You slowly shake your head, your mouth locked upon his cock. Those lips of yours have made many lovers lose their patience.

G’raha’s breaths are loud and long, getting shorter by the moment. “I suppose there’s not much to do today...something with the…” He clears his throat. “Rowena was asking…”

“Mm.” You turn your head sideways and run your lips along his length that way, adjusting the pressure with your jaw. He shudders beneath your ministrations, and it isn’t long before he hitches a thumb in the band of his smalls. A subtle hint, but a certain one.

Who are you to deny him? You suck a little more then let off to tug down the fabric to his knees. He pulls one leg up and out entirely, giving him opportunity to spread a bit more.

The thing that springs free is wet and warm, full and swollen. “Pretty,” you say, staring directly at the bulb of precum on his slit. “Your eyelashes, I mean.”

“Ah-hah…” He blushes and swallows. “Thank you, Warrior.”

“Of course.” You return a smile, this time looking him in the eye. A quick shimmy and you’re once again taking him to the root. The bare taste of his skin makes you want to go faster, taste harder. All of your senses are intoxicated by his raw body, the musk, the moans, the shape of his dick, the way it fits against the roof of your mouth, the way he rubs behind your ear. You could suck his cock all day and have a good time, even if he kept all of his cum to himself.

But he won’t. You know him well enough to recognize the sound of pressure building. That he’s gone quiet is a sure enough sign. He starts holding his breath, shifting his thigh, gripping the mattress. With one free hand, you form a ring at the base of his cock and rub what you can’t always fit in your mouth. Faster, faster, faster, your ears train on the slickness. Your mouth leaks moans of its own.

You really love this man.

You love his dick, too. He’s near coming after you start thumbing at his balls, carefully rubbing down the middle and pressuring his taint with the rest of your fingers. He hikes one leg up and twists you half-sideways, so he can slot himself in and out of your mouth at his own pace. That’s where his touch grows harder, right at the precipice, right at rapture, when he hopes to give you every onze of seed he can offer. You picture each burst at the back of your throat, a mess of sticky white coating your tongue.

He calls your name then gives you something bitter to drink.

Your heart flutters. You swallow.

And swallow again.

He rolls back to his back and wipes his forehead. You move with him, mouth holding his tender cock until he stops adjusting. Before you lean away, you kiss his tip, which twitches. He flinches and laughs. You laugh, too.

“What a treat,” he says.

“I should say the same.”

“Hm…” A happy, thoughtful sound. He grazes your thigh with his fingers, grazes then squeezes. You can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips. He can feel your affection at the bridge of his nose, where you’ve set your gaze. “An auspicious start to the day.”

“It always is.” You put your hand over his. “Do you feel like nodding off again, now?”

He fakes a yawn. “I wouldn’t mind resting for a moment more, now that I’ve exerted myself.”

You remove yourself from his legs and crawl back into the covers. Things fall into place, arms, legs, expressions. The pace of his heartbeat. His capacity for patience. Maybe even yours. You trace him from bellybutton to collarbone. “I’ll allow it.”

[quillvine]

Yacht

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

A/N: This is based off an ask I left @agenthotchner about the BAU on a yacht. Honestly I thought I would have this out two weeks ago but apparently I cannot proof read to save my life.

You didn’t think you had that many clothes in your closet. After looking through your clothes for what feels like hours, they’re all starting to blur into one big blob of color and you still have no idea what to wear.

You sigh as you paw through your closet, “What even counts as preppy clothes?” you ask Aaron.

“I don’t know honey, just wear whatever, you look good in anything,” he tells you.

Rossi had invited the team out for a trip on his new yacht for a day off. As soon as everyone heard the word ‘yacht’ (and ‘day off’) they were immediately on board. Especially Penelope who took the word yacht and ran with it, demanding that everyone wear preppy clothes, because “it’s a yacht you guys, preppy clothes are mandatory.”

It sounded like a fun idea at the time, but what the hell do preppy clothes look like?

“Baby, what do you think?” Aaron asks as he holds up two shirts, “Navy or red?”

“Uhh the Navy one, it goes nicely with those khakis I like.” You tell him as you go through your clothes.

“Oh, these khakis?” He says pulling out the pair from the dresser.

You look up to meet his eyes. The amusement in them matches the shit-eating smile on his face and your wolfish grin. He knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“Yeah those, they highlight your assets nicely.” You say nonchalantly as you pull some pieces out of your closet, “what do you think, complement or match?”

“Nuh-uh, we are not done here,” Aaron says as he walks towards you.

You slowly back up, falling onto the mattress when the back of your knees hit the bed frame. He leans over you pushing your hands over your head. Slowly his lips move to meet yours, he kisses you leisurely and gently. But the way Aaron’s hand grips your wrist tells you that he’s hungry.

You gently push against his hold, he lets you go, instead choosing to frame your face with his forearms. He lovingly goes to pepper kisses down the column of your neck making you giggle. You turn your head and bring your shoulders up to your ears in an effort to get Aaron to stop. 

“Come on we’re going to be late.” You say pushing him away, “Dave said that they’d leave without us if we’re late”

“Don’t worry about that. Dave wouldn’t dare.” He tells you as he tries to go in for a kiss on the lips.

You hold a finger against his lips to stop him from coming closer. He stops his attack on your lips to kiss, instead choosing to press a kiss to your index finger. His antics make you roll your eyes but with the way he gazes at you with complete adoration in his eyes, you can’t stay mad at him for long. 

You give him a silly grin before saying, “But he would make a joke about how a quickie is supposed to be quick and you know Emily and Mor- oh!”

Aaron cuts you off by burying his face into your shoulder and laughing. The vibrations tickle your sensitive skin effectively silencing you. His lips forge a path up your neck to your neck, his nose bumping against the sweet spot behind your ear. Your fingers find their way to his hair, curling around his dark locks.

At this point, you don’t even care if you guys are going to be late because the way Aaron is nibbling on your neck trumps any worry about jokes from the rest of the team. You knew from the moment he pulled out that navy shirt you would have a hard time keeping your hands to yourself, but you didn’t think that it would happen so soon.

Throughout all of this Aaron has managed to push you up the bed so you’re leaning against the headboard. His hands are on your hips and he sits on top of you straddling your waist. His warm hands make their way up to your waist, his thumbs brushing against your rib cage.

Suddenly he pulls away from you and you groan in frustration. He better have not gotten you all worked up just to deny you.

Instead, he trails a finger up from your stomach, over your chest, and to your now marked up neck. He hums thoughtfully biting his lower lip as he admires your form on the bed.

“I think match, it’ll highlight your bruises.”

&

As it turns out Rossi did in fact almost leave you behind. The smirks the team gave you when you came running down the dock were only rivaled by the ones they gave you when they saw the badly covered up marks on your neck. Not that you minded, you’ve always liked to show off.

You’re sitting with Penelope under the awning of the yacht, it seems that you two are the only ones who care about not getting skin cancer. The rest of the crew is out enjoying some vitamin D. Aaron and Rossi are sharing a drink, while Morgan, Emily, JJ, and Reid are playing a rowdy game of poker.

Damn you wish you were rich. Then maybe all of your weekends would be like this. Jack would certainly enjoy yacht time. Not to mention that you could see Aaron on nice fitting slacks and preppy country club outfits all the time. What a sight would that be, even if it’s not his normal style Aaron looks good in basically everything.

You lean back in your lounge chair as you chat with Penelope, or rather as you listen to Penelope talk. You love her to bits but she has the tendency to steamroll over a conversation.

You’re not really listening though, you’re too busy looking at Aaron’s ass in those slacks. Man, you really should try to get him to wear them to work more often. Or at least try and get him to forgo the blazer in the office.

He catches you staring and gives you a small smirk. Busted. Unfortunately, Dave sees Aaron’s little smile and turns around to give you a smirk of his own. Double busted.

It’s not really your fault though, how can you not keep your eyes off of your very very sexy husband? He has his sleeves are rolled up showing off his forearms and you can see his muscles flex as he crosses his arms.

Aaron catches your gaze again, this time giving you a look that makes you squirm in your seat and wonder if it would be entirely appropriate to drag him into one of the guest rooms and take him right then and there. 

Surely Dave wouldn’t mind, he’s been eyeing the poker game for a while now and Penny can totally join too, she'd definitely have fun. It’s not like you have anything to lose, sure you’ll probably get teased by the team later but it’s not even that big of a deal if you get to see Aaron out of those khakis.

You’re pulled from your thoughts by a smack on your arm. You glance over to see Penelope gaping in disbelief, “You are so not listening to me! I’m trying to tell you a story so good it’ll blow your mind and you’re making bedroom eyes with Hotch.”

“Pen, I’m sorry, but can you blame me?” You ask her.

“No I can’t you know how I feel about my Chocolate Adonis,” she says, “But I am telling you the story of how I managed to get Reid to wear that magnificent nautical-themed striped sweater, so you better listen up.”

You sneak one last look at Aaron, before turning your attention back to Penelope. She’s talking animatedly, waving her hands around to emphasize her point. You smile and nod along at all the right points but your mind is still on Aaron and how delicious he looks today.

Later. You tell yourself. You’ll get into his pants later. After all, what’s the point if there’s no chase?

&

It seems that the later it gets the more out of control the team gets. The sun is just setting and drinks have been flowing ever since you guys got on the yacht so you know you’re in for a wild night.

All of you have joined the poker game now and are losing handily to Reid and his Vegas/MIT magic. Sometimes you can’t tell if he’s really that good or just stacking the deck. The team hates it, Morgan especially he always loses big.

“Royal flush,” Spencer says smugly as he lays his cards on the table.

“No, no,” Derek says, “Nuh-uh you cheated.”

“I did not!” Spencer argues, “poker is inherently mathematical, I can easily calculate the among of hand combination at any given time you simply have to-”

“Nuh-uh, if it would get you banned in Vegas it's cheating,” Derek tells him.

“I’ll have you know that I have done this multiple times and have not been banned, so tell me Derek Morgan are you calling me a cheater?”

Spencer is practically fuming, he curls his fingers into a fist accidentally bending the cards in his hands. His jaw is set and he stares down Morgan definitely with a raised eyebrow.

“Ya know what? Yeah, yeah I am, Spencer Reid you are a cheater.” Derek says as he slams his hand on the table.

You all hold your breath as you watch the scene unfold in front of you. Neither of them is actually going to full-on fight each other but that doesn’t stop the team from trying to provoke them.

“Fight, fight, fight” Emily cries, jumping to her feet.

You follow suit, clapping your hands together, “yeah come on Reid don’t just sit there and take it.”

You feel Aaron’s warm arms grab you around the wait and bring back to sitting. He plants you down firmly back on your chair giving you a squeeze. It’s tight enough for you to know that a play fight between Reid and Morgan is the last thing that he wants, but not tight enough to actually hurt.

You turn around to give him a guilty smile but the damage is already done. Morgan has already started taking wide swings at Reid with Emily and JJ are both goading them on.

Spencer steps back to avoid Morgan’s hands, his feet dangerously close to the edge.

“Derek if you step any closer you’re gonna push Reid into the water,” Hotch warns.

Neither of them listens to Aaron’s warning. Instead, Morgan makes another playful jab at Reid who just barely manages to dodge it.

You guys cheer as Reid begins to fight back, making small jabs of his own. He’s terribly uncoordinated though, nearly tripping over himself as he lunges towards Morgan.

Derek shakes his head in amusement “You're gonna have to do better than that Pretty Boy.”

He shifts on his feet reading himself to take another swing at Spencer. Reid copies Morgan’s stance pressing his feet against the deck of the yacht. The two of them standoff, circling each other. They’ve managed to move away from the edge of the yacht, you notice. Hopefully, no one will fall ov-

Splash.

It seems you spoke too soon.

Somehow Morgan had misjudged the distance between him and Spencer and his forward momentum from when lunged at Spence carried him overboard.

You all peer over the edge of the yacht wondering you should get the life preserver ring out. But Morgan surfaces, sitting water out from his mouth.

“Hotch did you see that?” Morgan yells clinging to the side of the boat, “he totally pushed me.”

Aaron sighs and rests his head against your shoulder in dismay.

“I did not! You fell over on your own.” Spencer exclaims as he throws his hands up in frustration.

“No, you totally pushed him,” Emily argues.

Reid throws his hands up in frustration “JJ, back me up here,” he says gesturing to her.

JJ backs away shaking her head, “Don’t bring me into this.”

“Don’t bring you into this?” Morgan says indignantly, as he hauls himself out of the water, “as if you weren’t just goading us on a moment ago. Plus the only side you are going to be taking is mine ‘cause Pretty Boy definitely pushed me in.”

The four of them break into a full-on argument while the rest of you watch on in amusement. Or well, while you, Dave, and Penelope watch on in asumsent. If the anxious tapping of your Aaron’s fingers on your waist is any indication, he is not too pleased with the arguing. 

As the argument crescendos, you feel Aaron’s arm leave your waist as he stands up from his chair abruptly.

“All of you, grounded.” He says 

Rossi gets up and heads into the interior of the yacht, “And I think that our cue to turn the boat around.”

The rest of the team follows Dave inside but Aaron still lingers on the outside deck. 

The sun has fully set and the stars are shining overhead. The rising moon is giving Aaron’s hair a soft silver glow as he gazes out towards the water. The lights of the yacht reflect off the sea smoothing his features out and making him look younger.

He really does look good today and you can’t help to wonder now is the perfect time to drag him off to one of the yacht’s bedrooms.

Sneaking up behind him you wrap your arms around him, pinning his arms to his body. You rest your chin against his body and squeeze as he turns to give you a soft smile.

“What’s on your mind handsome?” You ask as you give his bicep a small kiss.

“Nothing.” He tells you, giving you a gentle kiss.

It’s only gentle in the fact that his lips are soft as they move against yours. You know that the pleasure and desire that flows through your veins is matched in his. 

He breaks free from your grasp and moves his hands to cup your face. With his slow but deliberate movements, it's like he’s trying to brand you in the most time-consuming way possible.

Breathless you break away and move to bump your nose against his “Are you sure Hotchner?” you mumble as you cradle his face in your hands.

“Well you know I hate it when the team gets like this.” He murmurs as he leans in for another kiss.

You hum in disbelief, “Nuh-uh I don’t buy it, they couldn’t have gotten you that worked up.”

You move to wrap your arms around his waist. Aaron brings his hands to rest on your hips laughing as you tuck your hands in the back pockets of his slacks.

“Can’t get anything past you can I?” He asks, his voice rife with mirth, “I saw you eyeing me up earlier, got me a little worked up.”

You bite your lip and give him a teasing smile as you lean up to brush your lips against the shell of his ear.

“Well, we’ve got a little bit until we get back to shore…” you say as you bring your hips flush to his, “why don’t we make good uses of one of the guest rooms?”

The hungry look in his eyes tells you all you need to know.

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