#I thought the angst train was over in rebels

[fandomrantsandtwittertakes]

[steveslevis]

i love you, it’s ruining my life

azriel x cassian’s sister!reader - part 3 of 3

summary: you finally start to recover from the attack at Windhaven, but struggle with the ghost of your suppressed mating bond.

warnings: mentions of injury and assault self-deprecation, use of painkillers, two idiots in love, lots of angst <3

word count: 9.6k (sowwy <333)

Three weeks, four days and thirteen hours. 

That’s how long Azriel stayed away from the House of Wind, from Velaris, to give you space and time to heal. 

He would’ve stayed away longer if it hadn’t been for Rhys’ incessant questioning ringing through his mind while he wasted the days training with the soldiers in Windhaven. The soldiers that were left after he and Cassian had banished–or taken care of–the ones who had planned to rebel with Cormac and Balvard. 

He would’ve stayed forever in Windhaven, as a punishment to himself for everything he’s put you through by pretending you didn’t even exist for the last four fucking centuries. 

But he couldn’t. 

Rhys demanded his presence at dinner tonight, telling him that he would have to face this–face you–eventually. Azriel knew that, that he would have to face you. He could handle seeing you again to make sure you were safe once more, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to handle seeing the fake glare you’d put on at dinner when you looked his way. 

Truly, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to be in the same room as you right now, because he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop himself from telling you to wipe that fake hatred right off your face, from grabbing you by the neck and kissing you in front of everyone, just like he’d wanted to for the last four fucking centuries. 

Still, he swallows his feelings and keeps the shadowy wall up around his heart as he heads to the Townhouse, mentally preparing himself to pretend as if he doesn’t know that you, of all people, are his mate. 

——————————————————————

Three light knocks on your bedroom door signaled that your brother was on the other side, causing you to hum in response, to which he took as an invitation into the room. 

You looked up from your spot on the bed, your thumb wedging between the pages of the book you were immersed in seconds before while you searched for your bookmark that was lost somewhere between your comforter and the fluffy white throw you had laid over your legs. 

“You’re disrupting my reading time,” you say to your brother with a glare, finally finding the bookmark you’d been searching for to shove it into your book, “I was just getting to the good part.” 

“Well, too bad, your disgusting romance novel can wait.” Cassian says with a grimace, pushing the door open to lean against the frame while glaring back at you, “it’s time for dinner. At the Townhouse.”

A groan falls from your lips at his words, making you shake your head as you toss the book onto the bedside table next to the other books Nesta had lent to you in the last few weeks to keep you from driving yourself insane while bedridden. 

“Do I have to?” you say with a frown, forcing your legs over the side of the bed to stand, since you already know the answer to your own question.

Cassian is at your side in an instant as you stand from the bed, making you shoot him another glare when he grabs your forearm to help you up.

“I can stand on my own, y’know.” you snap, shrugging out of his grip as you walk across the room to put on your shoes, “It’s been three, almost four, weeks now for God's sake.”

“Okay, okay fine.” your brother says, throwing his hands up in defeat as you walk across the room with ease. “Just hurry up, we’ll be late if we don’t leave soon.” 

You bite your tongue to hold back from throwing another snide remark his way, quickly sliding into the shoes you’d toed off earlier in the day. Dread filled your chest as you turned back to Cassian, slowly realizing that you’d be–well, Cassian would be–flying to the Townhouse for dinner. 

The thought of being unable to fly yourself to the home across town makes you feel so empty and detached, like you’re no longer deserving of your spot in the Night court or the Inner Circle. You weren’t sure you could even use your daemati powers anymore to be honest, you’d been so drained mentally and physically that you hadn’t even tried. 

You felt so useless and alone and sad and so fucking worthless–

“Hey,” Cassian’s voice interrupted your thoughts, his elbow nudging your forearm lightly as he peers down at you, a smile–one that you can tell is forced–on his face, “you ready?”

You knew he wanted to say more, to tell you to get out of your own head, but held back for the risk of starting an argument. So you only smile up at him and nod, shoving your feelings down as you walk towards the balcony of your room, letting your brother take the lead as he takes to the sky. 

The wind against your skin is such a freeing feeling that you nearly forget that your wings aren’t the ones carrying your own body, but Cassians’. The crisp evening air nips at your cheeks as you fly over Velaris, as if the city is welcoming you home after so long stuffed in the House of Wind. A genuine smile crosses your face for a moment during the short flight, heart fluttering as you let the wind welcome you. 

The trip is over just as quickly as it started, and you’re being set down on the steps of the Townhouse before you even realize it. 

There’s a lone tear trailing down your cheek as Cassian sets you down, causing him to frown at you when he notices. 

“Soon, Y/N.” is all he says, smoothing your wind-blown hair down before turning to push the front door open.

Once again you’re forced to push your emotions down, to put on a weak smile as the two of you walk into the Townhouse. You’re greeted in the entryway by Feyre, who hugged you as if she hadn’t seen you in weeks, though she had seen you mere hours ago to drop off your favorite pastries to the House of Wind during breakfast, before pulling you towards the kitchen almost immediately, insisting you come to taste the new wine she’d bought to celebrate with before dinner. 

Before you could protest, you find yourself in the kitchen with Mor, Amren, and all three of the Archeron sisters. Mor is the first to wrap you in a hug, a grin spreads across her perfectly red lips as she pulls you in for a gentle hug. Elain follows closely behind Mor, quietly asking how you were feeling as she holds out a plate of fruit for you to choose from as she speaks. 

Nesta and Amren sit on the stools on the other side of the kitchen island, both giving you sidelong, but somewhat kind glances as they were deep in conversation. You didn’t take the cold welcome personally, as you and Nesta had become close over the last few weeks in the House of Wind, and Amren was…well, Amren. 

Feyre comes up beside you as you chat with Elain, a small and sympathetic smile on her lips as she extends a glass filled with what you can only assume to be faerie wine towards you. Your heart drops as she does, mind immediately thrown back to that moment when you were shoulder-to-shoulder with Cormac, the last time you’d drank wine. You didn’t know if you’d ever be able to stomach drinking it again in all honesty. Before you can shake your head in protest, Feyre opens her mouth to speak instead.

“My special faerie wine, just for you.” Feyre says quietly enough for only you to hear, giving you an understanding look as she still extends the glass, “I didn’t think you’d feel up to drinking just yet, but I know how annoyingly incessant the males can be about celebratory drinks, so here,” you take the glass from her hesitantly, giving her a weak smile, “just some sparkling juice, I promise. There’s a whole bottle in there that I already told everyone was just for you.”

You smile at the High Lady, a sparkle of relief lighting your eyes as she reassures you. You had divulged the whole truth to her a week after the incident, letting her see into your mind to understand the extent of the damage that had been done that night in Windhaven, and even divulged a little too much about Azriel in the heat of the moment, too. She had known you felt more comfortable with her than with any man, and in that moment you were grateful Rhys had found an equally skilled mate who could help you when he couldn’t.

“Thank you, Feyre, really, this means a lot to me.” you say genuinely, pulling her back in for another hug, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill at the sentiment. 

You cursed yourself for being so emotional lately, but knew there was no stopping the inner turmoil you were dealing with unless you went straight to the source, to Azriel to finally spill your guts, which you knew wasn’t in the cards any time soon. 

You spent the next thirty minutes sharing laughs and talking about nothing in particular with Mor and Feyre, only stopping to give Elain input on the new tart she was trying to make for dessert. The empty feeling in your chest from the last three weeks in near solitude was quickly replaced by one of warmth and happiness, finally feeling at home once again in the room full of your favorite females. 

It was foolish of you to think the sentiment would last, though. You should’ve known that this wouldn’t be a normal and happy night, that you’d be faced with the one person you didn’t want to see. 

You nearly dropped the glass of sparkling juice when you pushed through the kitchen doors and into the dining room, faced with not two, but three Illyrian males at the table. They’re lost in conversation when you and Mor enter, but Azriel’s attention quickly snaps in your direction, eyes widening for such a short moment that you’re unsure if you imagine it or if they actually do. You collect yourself before turning your attention to your brother and Rhys, who both stopped talking to look over at you and the rest of the females walking through the kitchen door. 

“Finally done gossiping so we can start dinner?” Rhys suggests as you all begin to take your typical seats at the table, yours being between Cassian and Mor.

Habitual conversations begin as soon as everyone sits down, food soon appearing in front of everyone thanks to Rhys. Things feel relatively normal as you pile the food passed to you onto your own plate, unsure of how much you’ll actually eat of it as your mind wanders back into thoughts of the hazel-eyed, mysterious asshole sitting across the grand table from you. 

Every once in a while, you feel his eyes on yours as you pick at your food, as if he’s checking on you. And with every look in your direction, you feel yourself sinking into the chair beneath you, wishing for nothing more than the ability to winnow in that moment.

You felt like you’d fully regressed back to that person you were when you’d just found out Azriel was your mate, the shell of a female that it had made you was once more. You cursed the Gods for making this male have such a strong effect on you, for making you want nothing more than to be with him, to grab him by the neck and kiss him in front of everyone, just like you’d wanted to for your entire life.

But you knew better than that, knew that you had to keep up the act like you hated him as much as he hated you, knew that you would have to wait until that Gods damned bond snapped for him, however long that would take.

So you did what you did best, shooting a glare in his direction the next time you saw him looking your way, in hopes it would keep him from looking your way and make you fall even further into that shell than you already had. 

You’d already fallen so deep into that hole during your time at dinner that you barely heard when Nesta said your name, voice sounding like it was coming from miles away. 

“Sorry, Nes.” you reply, giving her a sheepish smile, “what’d you say?”

“I asked if you were ready for tomorrow?” she repeated, eyes sharp yet understanding as she looked your way.

“Oh–Yeah!” you say, a laugh falling from your lips, nodding quickly, “Of course, I’m excited to get back out there.”

“Back out where?” Cassian interjected, concern lacing his words as he turned towards you, never stopping his shoveling of the potatoes from his plate into his mouth as he spoke.

“You’re such a pig, finish eating before you talk.” you retort, shoving his shoulder with a disgusted look, “but if you must know, I’m coming to training with the Valkyries tomorrow morning.”

“Training?” your brother says with wide eyes as he drops his fork with a loud clunk onto the plate. “Like hell you are.”

“I am perfectly capable of training again, Cassian.” you snap, narrowing your eyes at him. 

He opens his mouth to make another snark, yet protective comment at your words when the world seems to stop for a moment, a humorless laugh coming from the other side of the table, coming from the male who’d been staring at you all night long. 

A laugh. He actually fucking laughed at the thought of you training.

Wide eyes from everyone at the table focus on the shadowsinger, the air seems to go still as everyone waits anxiously for the next words.

“Do you have something to say about my training, spymaster?” you nearly snarl at the male who seemed to share an equally annoyed expression with you.

“Like hell you’re perfectly capable.” he says lowly, eyes flickering to your still-healing wings at your back. “You can barely hold your own weight right now, let alone the wings at your back pulling you down and leaving you fucking limping from your back and hip pain. You wouldn’t be able to hold your own training for more than five minutes out there. You’re—You haven’t fucking healed at all. You haven’t been cleared to fly, let alone train in any capacity. It would be so damn foolish to even let you step foot out there.” Nobody dares to interrupt the male as he continues his rant, “I’m sure you’re back on those damn pain killers too, considering you can’t even feel—”

“Azriel—“ Rhys’ voice comes out in a quiet warning as he shoots his brother a glare, knowing exactly where he was going with his next sentence.

Everyone else at the table continues to stare at Azriel, seeing through the facade to see a love-sick and extremely worried male. You, on the other hand can only feel anger radiating off the male, can only feel spiteful words being spewed your way.

“No, Rhys.” you say with a bitter smile, blinking back the tears that are threatening to fall from your shimmering eyes, “let him continue, he obviously knows what’s best for me.”

The table is silent at your watery retort, even the previously fuming Azriel grounded by the tears in your eyes.

It hits him like a wall of bricks then, all the regret he had for the foolish rampage he had begun to slip into. His chest nearly caves in as he takes in the scene in front of him, how broken you looked as stared back at him, he could feel the anger and embarrassment radiating off you.

He opens his mouth to backtrack, to apologize, to take back the venom that just spewed from his lips and toward you, toward his fucking mate. But words fail him now, unsure of how he can make it any better at this moment.

“Tell me, Azriel.” you muse bitterly, “do you think it would just be better for me to follow the true Illyrian customs then? Should I have let Cormac and Balvard clip my wings? Should I have let Ci–”

Now Rhys cuts you off with a warning growl, knowing you were about to expose your tragic past in ways you’d regret as soon as they’d fall from your lips. 

“No, no.” Azriel shakes his head rapidly at your words, blinking quickly, “you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Like hell I did,” you scoff, pushing your chair from the table loudly, tossing your napkin onto the tabletop before excusing yourself.

Azriel knew better than to follow you, knew it wouldn’t end well if he tried to.

You sat on the couch near the fireplace only one room over from everyone, listening to their low conversations. Listening as Cassian scolded Azriel, telling him how stupid he was for trying to push you too soon, and how he needed to give you time and space. The wording of your brother’s scolding confused you slightly, but you didn’t care. You only cared about the hollowness that crept back into your chest, the empty feeling from where you couldn’t feel that unrequited bond anymore, likely from the painkillers that dulled any magic within you. So you let your silent tears flow, let yourself cry over the man who you had convinced yourself could never love you, let yourself drift into a sad sleep on the couch, the warmth of the fireplace inviting you into a dreamless state.

Unsure of how much time had passed, you awoke to the feeling of weight on the other side of the loveseat you sat on and a dark breeze passing over your neck, the caress of a shadow over your skin. 

Your eyes flutter open and Azriel’s heart almost breaks at the state of you. Your wings are tucked behind you tightly as if you were ashamed of them, eyes glossy from the remnants of sleep and tears, lips full and red from trying to bite back the sobs that threatened to escape before you let sleep take you in. The look you give him is one of confusion at first, but quickly turns to one of frustration then anger at the sight of the male in front of you.

He tries with everything in himself to reach out to you, to your soul, to tell you he’s there, but he can’t get through that haze in between the two of you put up by those painkiller tonics Madja gave you. She’d explained to him that you wouldn’t know that the bond had snapped for him until you were completely off the tonics, your magic was restored to its full power and he willingly uncovered his side of the bond to you. So he would wait, would try his hardest to befriend you and make you realize that he never hated you until that moment actually comes when you feel the snap. 

“Before you try to kill me–and rightfully so–” he starts, pushing his hand out in front of you, holding a plate of the tart Elain had made for dessert out to you, “I come with a peace offering, your favorite.”

You narrow your eyes at him, hesitant to take the plate from him at first. But there’s a pleading and truly apologetic look in his eyes, one that makes you give in almost immediately. You take the plate from him finally, gaining a small smile from the shadowsinger that makes your heart skip a beat, though you don’t let it show. 

Azriel watches as you take the first bite wordlessly, watching your features soften as you let out a soft groan, mumbling about how good it is.

“How would you know berries are my favorite?” you question finally, setting the fork back on the plate after another bite.

“You and Cass, you’d always give him your melons and he’d give you his berries at breakfast in Windhaven–” Azriel says, cutting himself off when he sees you wince at the mention of the camp, frowning as he speaks, “s–sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, shaking your head.

“No–no. I’m sorry, for everything.” he replies, sitting up straighter on the couch to sit face-to-face with you. “For being an ass when you said you work alone, for doubting your abilities, for–for acting like you don’t exist for the last four and a half centuries.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you say with a sad smile, sinking back into the shell of self-doubt you’d grown accustomed to, “I get it, you don’t want anything to do with me.”

“I–That’s anything but true.” Azriel says, shaking his head quickly, the corners of his lips pulling into a frown. “I know I acted like that but–I want to know you. I want to get to know you and be your friend. I just–just never knew how to approach you.” 

Truthfully, he wants to say that he never knew how to approach you without giving in to his desires and without telling you how much he needs you in every way, shape and form. 

You look up to him, weary eyes meeting his hazel ones in a curious gaze. You’re unsure if you truly believe him or not, but the look in his eyes seems sincere so you stay silent for now, willing him to continue. 

“I wanna make it all up to you,” he suggests, gauging your reaction as you continue to eat the tart. “I wanna train you, wanna help you get back to being the warrior that you were before everything happened. I can work with Madja too, to make sure that you’re healing properly and not over-exerting your wings. I can help you–”

“Why would you wanna help me now?” you interject quietly, still not believing that he actually wants to help you after essentially calling you incapable less than an hour ago, “did–did Rhys put you up to this? Did Cassian–”

“No, nobody put me up to this.” Azriel starts, shaking his head quickly, “I shouldn’t have said all those things back there, I was just worried. I don’t want you to get hurt anymore than you already are.”

You stare at the male for a long moment, searching through those amber eyes for any notes of deception but find none. Your heart tugs for his, trying to feel him through the obsidian smoke and gray haze between your souls, but there’s nothing, no tug in return, for now. The logical, and traumatized, part of your brain is screaming at you to run from the Illyrian male in front of you and never look back. But the romantic, and bonded, part of your heart is screaming at you to take anything he’ll give you, to trust him endlessly.

You were never one to listen to logic, anyways. 

“Fine.” you say finally, narrowing your eyes at him. “We start tomorrow. If you don’t think it’s good for me to train with the Valkyries yet then I’ll come after they leave in the morning.”

“You’ve got a deal.” Azriel says, smiling wider than you think you’ve ever seen him smile, making your heart flutter as you can’t help but give an equally wide smile in return. “I’ll see you at ten.”

——————————————————————

The late morning sun beat down on you as soon as you stepped foot on the roof of the House of Wind the next morning, dressed in your fighting leathers.

You spot Cassian, Nesta and Azriel across the roof, so deep in conversation that they didn’t notice your arrival.

“Are you ready to get your ass handed to you, Shadowsinger?”

The three turn to you when you speak, the ghost of a smile on Azriel’s lips when he takes you in, taking in your raw beauty as you stand in front of him in your leathers with your beloved sword sheathed at your side, your wings hanging higher than usual as you grin excitedly over at them. Azriel swears his heart skips a beat when he takes it all in, the hope glimmering in your eyes makes him extremely grateful that he decided to shove his feelings aside to help you train. 

“Oh, you’re not doing any kind of combat today.” Cassian scoffs at you, as if he’s offended that you’d even think you were going to spar with the Shadowsinger during your training.

Your smile falls as your brother talks down to you, and almost instantly turns into a scowl directed at him.

“You aren’t training me today, so you have no say in what I do and don’t do during this session, asshole.” you snap back as you take one last step to stand in front of Cassian, shoving your finger against his chest pointedly. 

There’s an expression you can’t quite read on your brother’s face when you look up at him, but he only ignores your combative response, looking to Azriel instead. He sighs and slaps Azriel’s shoulder before mumbling ‘good luck, brother’ under his breath as he begins to walk away. Before you can question the odd interaction, he and Nesta are already making their way back into the House of Wind. You turn to Azriel then, brows furrowing as you stare at the Shadowsinger. He gives you a sympathetic look then, his eyes softening as he notes the confusion in yours.

“Don’t shoot the messenger here, but I did speak to Madja in order to see what she’s okay with you doing during these training sessions.” he starts, brows knitting together as he tries to think of how to explain the situation. “Long story short, she doesn’t think you’ll be ready for combat or flight for another month or so.”

Your heart sinks to your stomach at his words, disappointment settling in your core as you feel your throat start to constrict and tears prick your eyes. You only shake your head in disbelief, though you know deep down that you’re in no shape to even think about sparring right now, considering your body is running off three and a half hours of sleep and an extreme amount of pain tonics. You’d been telling yourself that you were healing perfectly for the last three weeks, but it truly has been anything but perfect. 

Azriel reaches for your elbow with one hand as you take a step back in shock, concern filling his hazel eyes as he watches your internal panic.

“I know that’s not what you wanna hear today, but I promise that it’s for the best. Madja won’t clear you because she knows you have a lot of healing to do before fighting again.” Azriel interjects gently, careful with his words so he doesn’t set you off. 

“W–Well, what did she say I could do?” you say quietly as your voice strains, using all your strength to hold back from breaking down in front of him. You don’t have the energy to argue with him about it, to tell him that you’re fine. You want to scream and cry and fight him, but you know it’s no use. 

“She suggested that we try some of the exercises that we use during initial flight lessons in the camps, as physical therapy in a way.” he says, and you can tell he doesn’t like the thought of doing that based on the tone of his voice.

“Like–doing the exercises we teach the children when they’re learning how to fly?” you retort, brow furrowed as you mull over the suggestion. “That–That’s ridiculous. I’m five centuries old for fucks sake, I will not be treated like a damn child–”

Your eyes are squeezed shut in frustration as you speak, so you don’t see Azriel’s hands reach up to cup your cheeks, only feel it as you start your angry spiel, but it’s jarring enough to stop you in your tracks. Your eyes fly open at the featherlight touch, looking up to see the Shadowsinger staring at you with an intensity you’ve never seen before. 

“I can’t let you get hurt, I–I can’t let you do something you’ll regret for the rest of your life.” he says once he’s got your attention, “You can’t fly right now, you’re still healing. I know Madja has you on bone-mending medications and is giving you tendon repair salve every damn day and I know you should not strain your wings with anything other than light physical therapy right now. I know how much flying means to you and I know you don’t want to be treated like a child but please.” he continues, his voice barely above a whisper as he stares down at you, “Please, just let me help you heal, let me show you that I want to help you and that I’ve never hated you. A–And once you’re healed, once Madja clears you for flight and combat, we will do anything you want.”

There’s a sense of urgency in Azriel’s voice as he pleads his case, his hands firm against your cheeks as he stares down at you with an intensity that you’ve never seen from him before. He looks desperate, broken even. Little do you know, he’s tugging with all his might on his side of the clouded bond, silently hoping that you’ll feel him if he pulls hard enough, though it doesn’t work. You search his eyes for any signs of dishonesty, for any ill intent, but find none, so you sigh.

“Fine,” you finally say, forcing yourself to stay composed in front of the male as you step back and out of his grasp, though the feeling of his touch lingers on your cheeks as though he’s still grazing them. “Let’s get started, then.” 

Azriel’s shoulders sag in relief, surprised that you give in without much of a fight. Truthfully, you’re too mentally exhausted to even think about protesting, too tired of being kicked down every time you get your hopes up. So in the moment you choose to lower your expectations and tell yourself that you don’t deserve to fly anymore after being too damn stupid to see the attack coming, that you have to earn your wings back, that you might never earn your wings back if things go poorly. 

“Right,” he says with a nod as he stands up a little straighter, trying to stay serious as you look at him expectantly, “we can start with some simple things, like wing-lifts and getting your back and shoulders back into shape with a few different workouts.”

——————————————————————

Your training sessions with Azriel carry on for weeks, spending every single morning together after the Valkyries leave their training sessions. Sometimes you’ll see Gwyn or Emerie with Nesta when you make it up there a little early. There’s always an ache in your chest when you see the females, desperate to get better so you can just fucking train with them finally.

But you push your feelings aside and train with Azriel, pushing yourself past the point that you knew you should, but you couldn’t help it. Azriel always asked if you were okay to train, he genuinely could never tell, since you’d become almost completely unreadable after the incident.

Your body ached after every session, joints sore and wings aching, but you didn’t care. You needed to get better, you needed to get strong again and never let anything or anyone get to you in any way ever again. 

Though you were with the shadowsinger every single day, he felt as though he wasn’t making any progress with getting to know you or making you open up to him. His heart ached with longing after every training session, when you’d simply mumble a ‘thanks’ to him and make your way back to your bedroom at the House of Wind. He would try to joke with you, try to make conversation with you, hell, he’d even try to tug on that damn bond as hard as he could, but he could never seem to get through to you. So, he gave you space, gave you time, gave you what he thought you wanted from him instead of what he wanted. 

His desires could wait until you were off the pain tonics and could finally feel him reaching out to you.

Since you couldn’t be sent on any missions until you were off the pain tonics that suppressed your daemati skills, you had all the free time in the world. Any time not spent training your body, you spent training your mind. Though you didn’t have the ability to use your powers, you could still waste the days away with your nose buried in books about how to hone your skills and how to strengthen your mental shields. 

Everyone in the Inner Circle notices you reverting back to the shell of a person that you were when you initially found out that you were mated to Azriel, but this time was different. You were even quieter, kept to yourself even more, and they could all tell that you beat yourself up over every little thing you’d do wrong. Cassian tried to call you out on it one time when you were in the living room with him, Rhys and Feyre, but soon swore to never mention your new behavior again after you threatened to destroy him with your mind once you were able to use your powers again when he inquired. 

The only one who you ever confided in about your self-loathing and hatred was Feyre, she was the only one you felt you could trust enough to talk about everything with, about the mating bond, about the wing-clipping, about it all. She made it a point to check on you almost daily after that, insisting that you spend time with her a few times a week, whether it’s only to sit in silence and read your books together at the River House or to run errands around Velaris. You’re eternally grateful for her being there for you, for her forcing you to leave your bedroom and spend time thinking about anything other than the self-deprecating thoughts you had about yourself. 

It’s almost three whole months before Madja clears you to come off your pain tonics, but warns that the first full day off of them will not be completely pain-free. 

You heed her warning and tell the Shadowsinger that you won’t be attending training the next morning, in case you’re in excruciating pain. You swear you see a flicker of disappointment in his eyes when you tell him, but the expression is gone before you can question it, and so is he, as he turns on his heels to avoid facing you as his chest aches and his stomach churns at the thought of you possibly not wanting to train with him anymore. 

——————————————————————

Azriel is woken from a dead sleep in a cold sweat, shadows skittering nervously around his head as he sits up, an unfamiliar gnawing feeling eating away at his chest.

He looks around, glancing out the window to realize it’s still the middle of the night. He feels it again, that tug in his chest. It’s a feeling of agony and panic, a feeling coming from deep in his soul. It was something he’d never felt before, something so curious that he wasn’t sure how to deal with it, until the shadows came closer to his ears, whispering mate, mate, mate, in his ear.  

His heart flutters at the words, hands shaky as he pushes himself up in the bed. It’s the first time since you’d been on those painkillers that he’d been able to actually feel you through, actually reach out for you. 

He could tell you weren’t doing well by the tension on the thread between your souls, but he wasn’t sure what to do to help.

In that moment he thanked the Cauldron for fae hearing, because he heard a muffled cry of agony coming from down the hall that once again made his chest ache. Immediately he stands from bed, hastily shoving a sheathed Truth Teller into his sleep pants pocket before making his way out of the bedroom.

It nearly feels like an out-of-body experience as he rushes toward your room, mindlessly opening the door. All he can think about is helping you, making you feel better. He doesn’t even know what’s on the other side of that door, doesn’t know if you actually need help or not, but he’s ready to face whatever it is no questions asked, to help his mate. 

You’re laying on your side in the middle of your large bed when he steps in, only the moonlight flooding in from the window lighting your figure underneath the sheets. Your wings flare weakly as you squirm, small cries escaping your lips as your eyes squeeze shut. Azriel can tell you’re sleeping, and likely having an awfully realistic nightmare considering how strongly he could feel you when he woke. 

He rushes to the bed, sitting on the edge while reaching for your face. His large hands stroke your cheeks as he tugs for you through the bond, silently attempting to soothe you, willing you to wake from the nightmare.

It takes nearly a minute for you to stop thrashing in his grip, for you to finally come back to consciousness. 

You’re clammy when you wake, sweat and tears glistening over your face as your eyes flutter open. Your brow furrows when you look to see who helped you come down from the Gods awful nightmare, and it’s none other than your mate. 

Azriel gives you a gentle smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, which are shining with concern as he grasps your cheeks gently.

“There you are,” he says softly, hands finally falling from your face, “I—I wanted to make sure you were okay, heard you from across the hall.”

You stare up at the male before you for a long moment, taking in everything you can about your current situation. Azriel has one hand on your arm and the other next to your side, your faces mere inches from each other from when you sat up slightly in the bed. It’s the closest the two of you had ever been, and it took everything in you to not reach out and touch him to bring him even closer, to kiss him and never let go. 

It takes a few moments for you to fully register what’s happening. When you finally do, you sit up and push out of Azriel’s grip, embarrassment flushing through your chest as you stare at him. He stands from the bed as you sit up, something deep within him taking over and telling him you need space, and a glass of water. He knows the bond is directing his every move now, which makes his heart throb against his chest as he turns to your bedside table. There’s a carafe next to your pile of novels, which he takes in his unsteady hands to pour into the accompanying glass. 

He’s back to sitting on the edge of the bed in an instant, far enough away to give you space as you catch your breath. You take the glass of water when he offers, taking a long sip before looking back to him. When your gaze slips back to his, you become painfully aware of the very shirtless male in front of you. Your cheeks flush as your mind slips to places it shouldn’t for a millisecond, but you compose yourself quickly when his brow furrows. 

“Did you have a nightmare?” he presses, a frown on his lips as he watches you carefully.

“Y–Yeah, I did.” you breathe out, hands shaky as you raise one to run your fingers through your hair. “I guess those tonics were repressing more than just physical pain.”

“You stopped taking the painkillers?” Azriel asks, trying not to sound too excited. “Did you get cleared from Madja? Did she say it was okay?”

You nod once, wondering why he’s so invested in your consumption of pain tonics all of a sudden.

It all makes sense to Azriel then, why he could feel you so intensely after not feeling you through the bond for so long.

A rush of relief mixed with a twinge of terror flows through Azriel when you nod, realizing he has less time to mentally prepare for the truth that the two of you would have to face very soon. But it also means he’ll finally get to breathe around you, finally admit that he knows that you’re his mate, his fated lover. 

Deep down, you know it too, but are too scared to admit it at the moment.

So the two of you stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, neither sure of what to say to the other. Two cowards in love, two cowards afraid to fess up, two cowards staring the mating bond in the face but choosing to ignore it for the sake of saving their hearts. 

The silence between you is too much for Azriel, so he stands from the bed. You look up to him, eyes shining with a look that he can only describe as fearful enough to make him stop in his tracks.

You truly are disappointed when he stands, secretly wishing he’d attempt to coddle you and offer to take care of you. You curse yourself silently for letting yourself feel so much towards him in this vulnerable moment, especially after working so hard to become an emotionless wall of obsidian for the last three months. 

“I–I’m sorry for barging in, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” he stammers, watching as his shadows insist on swirling around you in a protective manner insteading of coming back to him. “If you’re really okay, I’ll just go–”

“S–Stay.” you nearly beg, eyes shimmering with tears you didn’t know were there as you stare up at him. His face flares with shock at your words, taken aback by your desperation. “I–I mean, if you don’t mind. I just–just would really appreciate the company.” you continue, feeling pathetic as you try to reel yourself back in mentally before you start sobbing in front of him.

“If you want me to, I can, I’ll keep guard for you if it makes you feel safe.” he says simply, smiling weakly at you. 

Azriel is quiet as he walks towards the desk on the other side of your room, pulling the chair to face towards the bed before sitting down. He turns to you to see your brow furrow as he sits, lips pulled into a frown. His gaze softens as you stare at him and you know you look pitiful, but can’t help the way your heart aches for him, the way your body craves his next to yours right now. 

“Are you alright?” he questions, frowning back at you as his shadows skitter around your face in an attempt to soothe you. 

“Would you–fuck.” you murmur, blinking back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Would you want to stay in the bed with me?”

He’s up in an instant, his heart working faster than his mind as he nods at you. Your own heart skips a beat as he glides over to the bed, climbing into the spot that you leave for him. He slips under the covers but sits with his back propped against the pillows, halfway sitting up as one of his wings hovers over you in a protective manner. 

You can’t help but give him a watery smile as you inch closer to where he’s sitting, looking up at him as if you’re waiting for permission to approach him. He gives you an inviting smile back, adjusting his arms so you can get as close to him as you want. You’re hesitant at first, but push past your doubts as you lay next to him, your body flush against his side as you lean your head against his warm chest. 

You try to go back to sleep, but your body is still tense against his, on edge as the nightmare you just woke up from replays in your head every time you close your eyes. Azriel’s arm relaxes at your back, his hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder gently.

“I’m here,” he says, voice barely above a whisper as he reaches down to wipe a rogue tear that slipped down your cheek. “You can sleep, you’re safe with me.”

That’s all you need to hear for your body to fully relax finally, drifting to sleep as you try not to think about the conversation you’ll have to have with the shadowsinger in the morning.

——————————————————————

Sunlight streams through the large window in your bedroom when you wake, groaning softly as you grab a pillow to cover your eyes and curse yourself internally for forgetting to shut the blinds last night. 

It takes a moment for you to realize that your bed is emptier than it was when you fell back asleep last night, the space where the shadowsinger once sat now empty next to you. You sit up in bed when you realize you’re alone, a sinking feeling in your chest as you do. 

The sinking feeling is quickly replaced by one of joy when you look to the empty side of the bed and see what he left in his place. There’s a silver tray on the bedside table next to where Azriel slept, and on top of it is a plate with an almond croissant from your favorite bakery and a cup of berries next to a glass of water and the rest of the pills and salves that Madja had you on. 

A note sits by the food that reads ‘Gone to train. Didn’t want to wake you, you looked too peaceful. Enjoy.’ 

You truly don’t stop smiling the entire time you eat, unable to fight the giddiness that you feel from the tiny act of kindness. You read over the note at least ten times, memorizing every swirl and scribble of his writing before starting to get ready for the day. 

Though there’s an ache in your wings as you stretch them when getting dressed, just like Madja had warned you about, you realize that you haven’t felt this good in months. Your chest feels lighter, mind clearer, and eyes brighter as you think about your mate. 

Mate…Mate…fuck.

Your excited mood sours when you think about the conversation that has yet to be had with Azriel. You’re almost entirely sure that he knows now, considering you’re 99.99% certain you could feel his concern for you striking down the bond last night when you woke from your nightmare. 

It takes you longer than it should to get into your leathers, but you’ve decided that you want to train, want to face Azriel this morning, want to see which of you will be the first to break. 

The sun feels more intense than normal as you make it to the roof of the House of Wind, just in time to see Azriel, Cassian, and–surprisingly–Rhys stowing their weapons away after wrapping up their own training. It’s well past the time that the Valkyries finish their daily session, so the three of them must’ve wanted to take advantage of you asking for the day off, using the hour to spar with each other instead. They’re all shirtless, likely due to the heat, so your eyes obviously drift directly to your mate as soon as you step foot onto the roof. 

He’s facing away from you, so you can see the swirls of his dark tattoos over the expanse of his back and shoulders. There’s sweat beading down his neck and you can see that his hair is slightly damp as he runs his fingers through it. Your mind wanders as you stare at him, wondering what it would be like to dig your fingers into the skin of his back while you’re under–

Your thoughts are interrupted by a lone shadow snaking around your hand as Azriel whips around, looking in your direction likely due to his other shadows alerting him to your presence. He raises a brow when he sees you in your leathers, mouth open as if he’s about to speak as you approach the trio, but he says nothing. 

“We thought you were taking the day off today,” Cassian says, stepping in for Azriel as he’s obviously at a loss for words. 

“I was supposed to be,” you start, looking down to your side to adjust the sword there as it wobbles in its sheath, “but Madja’s prediction about my pain levels after coming off of the pain tonic were wrong, I’m feeling great this morning. So, I decided to come up and train, with or without a trainer.”

Azriel doesn’t miss the way your eyes glimmer with confidence and hope as you speak to your brother, knowing that he’s not likely to try to argue with you now that you’re cleared to spar and use your powers again. It’s the happiest he’s seen you in months, and it makes his heart swell, accidentally projecting his adoration in your direction. Your smile falters as you feel a tug at your own chest, eyes flicking towards him as your heart lurches. 

As the two of you stare at each other with wide eyes, you feel a talon rake down your obsidian mental walls that you’re finally able to put up again. 

Are you alright? Rhys questions wordlessly, making you finally break your staring contest with Azriel.

Quite alright. Just ready to spar and have a very serious conversation with a specific shadowsinger, if you don’t mind giving us some privacy. You snap mentally, glaring at Rhys as he smirks at you. 

Is it finally happening? He retorts teasingly.

Not if you don’t get out of my head and off this damn roof. You bite back before slamming your mental shields back up, blocking the High Lord from teasing you anymore. 

“Well, I don’t have any urgent tasks this morning, so we can continue with training as usual if you’d like.” Azriel suggests, the faintest smile on his lips as he stares at you. 

Cassian looks between the two of you for a moment, eyes wide before taking a step back with Rhys, who leads him away before he can ruin the moment for you. He’s probably silently telling your brother what’s about to happen as they walk away, considering you hear Cassian say ‘fucking finally’ as they reach the door.

“That sounds great,” you say finally, smiling at him meekly.

The morning proceeds as usual, but you’re a little more distant than usual, and it definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that he’s standing in front of you shirtless as he instructs you how to kick and punch defensively, or the fact that you just felt him tug on the bond. Yeah, it definitely has nothing to do with either of those things. 

“You’re distracted.” Azriel says matter-of-factly when you throw a half-assed punch that he easily blocks with his forearm. 

“Oh, am I?” you say sarcastically, sweat beading down your forehead as you throw another kick towards the male, though he easily pushes your leg back down. 

“Wanna talk about it? Or do you just want to punch it out?” he suggests, raising a brow as you huff in annoyance. 

“Just wanna punch it out, can’t–can’t talk about it.” you retort, shaking your head.

You’re terrified to admit what you felt earlier, terrified that he’s going to laugh in your face and tell you that he’d never want you and that you’ve been pining over him to no avail. 

“I think you can talk about it. I think you’re just scared,” he taunts, confidence rising in him as he feels your frustration and longing subconsciously projected down the bond.

“You’ll laugh at me,” you pant out, pushing down your feelings as you throw another punch. “You’ll hate me and never talk to me again if I talk about it.”

That’s when Azriel’s face drops, his hand coming up to grasp your wrist when you try to throw one last punch. He feels like he’s just been punched in the gut, like he’s the biggest asshole in the world. You truly think he hates you and that he would never want anything to do with you other than training you and being acquaintances. His heart lurches at the thought, but he keeps his composure as he looks down to you.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he insists, frowning at you. 

Your breath hitches as he maintains his light hold on your wrist, tugging you closer so you’re shielded by his wings from the sun beating down on you. 

“You–You don’t get it.” you say, voice barely audible as you fear for the worst.

You tell yourself that he’s going to want nothing to do with you after you finally say what you’ve both been feeling for the last day, that he’s going to reject the bond and never speak to you again. That’s what you’ve told yourself since the day the bond snapped for you all those years ago, so why would it be any different now?

“What don’t I get?” he implores.

He wants you to be the one to admit it, to confirm what he’s been feeling, to confirm that he isn’t delusional. He needs to hear you say it, he feels like he’s going to die if you don’t say it in the next thirty seconds to be honest.

“You can say it, tell me what I don’t get.” he coaxes, eyes glued on yours as you stare at his hand wrapped around your wrist. “I won’t laugh at you.”

You finally look up at him with that, seeing that there’s nothing but serious adoration shining in his eyes as he waits impatiently for you to speak. He’s about to explode if you don’t just fucking admit it.

“I know that you know, Azriel.” you say bluntly, frowning up at him, “I–I know that you know that I’m your Gods-damned mate, and I know that you’ve been ignoring it because you don’t want it to be true. I know you wish that anyone else in this world was your mate–”

Before you can continue your breakdown, you feel two warm hands on your cheeks, pulling you towards the male in front of you. Something wonderful blooms in your chest as he leans down, pressing his lips against yours in a searing kiss. There’s five hundred fucking years of intensity behind that kiss and it almost knocks you off your feet, but Azriel is there to wrap a strong arm around your waist to pull your body flush to his instead.

He doesn’t pull away for a while, savoring the way your lips feel against his as if it’s the last time he’ll ever be able to touch you in his life. It feels so right to be kissing you, like your bodies are made to be flush against each other, like your lips were made to mold to each other’s. 

Once he does pull away, there’s a wild look in his eyes that you’ve never seen before, one you can only assume is filled with love and satisfaction. 

“I don’t know what made you think that I would hate the idea of being your mate, but I’ve been waiting five fucking centuries for this moment right here.” he says against your lips, both of your souls humming with excitement as he pulls you back in for another quick kiss. “It’s a true honor to be your mate, and I promise to make up for every moment of lost time that we had over the last five decades in any way that I can. I promise to keep you safe and never let you feel alone ever again. You’re not getting rid of me for a very long time.”

Relief washes over you at his words, though you’re unable to completely comprehend the fact that he actually wants you back. It’ll come to you eventually, so for now you push the doubt you have away in order to enjoy the moment the two of you are sharing.

“You promise?” you say, eyes shimmering with more tears, thankfully these ones are happy tears for once.

“I promise,” he retorts with a smile, “I promise to give you everything you deserve and more, okay?”

“That sounds perfect to me,” you giggle, reaching up to cup his cheeks gently as he leans into your touch. 

He grins and pulls you in for another kiss, this one just as passionate as the last, if not more. You never want him to pull away, never want to forget the feeling of his lips against yours. It feels as though time stops for a moment while the two of you stand there, soaking up all of the love shimmering through the bond between your souls.

“Hey! Finish up your love fest and get your asses inside.” you hear your brother call out from the door to the roof, wondering if he was eavesdropping this entire time, “It’s time to celebrate you two idiots finally admitting what we’ve all been waiting to happen for years.” 

Azriel chuckles against your lips one more time before pulling away, placing a kiss on your forehead before reaching for your hand. 

“You ready?” he asks gently as you intertwine your fingers with his. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” you retort, following him inside to begin the rest of your eternal lives, finally together. 

tag list: @minaethrym @5onedirection5 @bubybubsters @brieflyclassymortal @fxckmiup @ubigaia @mariahoedt @buttermilktea11 @annaaaaa88 @lilac5ix @mybestfriendmademe @landofpetrichor @lilah-asteria @darlingbravebelle @wingardiumweasley @coolepowersthings @cherry-cin @mendes-bae @thatacotargirl @esposadomd @saltedcoffeescotch @scatteredstardustt @ccacotartoglover @nickishadow139 @hayley-jadee @i-am-infinite @whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @acourtofdreamsandshadows @username199945 @b0xerdancer-writes @anuttellaa @azzydaddy @aunicornmademedoit @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @darkbloodsly @anainkandpaper @craigorynotgregory @acourtofmoonlightandstars @sourapplex @thatgirlangelb @405rry @prrius-tylersapphire @rogersbarnesxx @aelincaddel @marina468 @lwyourx @kennedy-brooke @mp-littlebit @sstanbarnes @happypeanutstrawberry @whyshouldihaveanam3 @larissa01-blog2 @superspideyparker @touchstarvedandinlove @cheneyq @pvrkacciosan @savannah-0000 @acourtofbatboydreams @melmo567 @everyonesluvah @theintimatewriter @xtreme-shipper @sunnyspycat @romantasyreader28 @miadialila @anxious-study @justyouraveragekleemain @tee-hee135 @i-have-a-thing-for-the-dark @tenshis-cake @rubberducky-jrr @curse-bearing-hips @calisnewworld @freyagallileaevans @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @havenhavoc @actuallyverysoft @fanficscuziranout @bookishbishhh @angelbunny222 @dreamloud4610

[ikkyfics]

The Return

Alexei Vronsky x f!reader

Summary: "Darling, I’m sure Anna doesn’t want to monopolize our evening. Perhaps we should..." "Don’t worry," you cut in, your voice as sweet as it was sharp. "I’m just catching up. Three months is, after all, quite a long time to be away."

Warnings: angst, hurt, reconciliation, sensitive topics, mention of betrayal (not consummated), rebuilding trust, intense and emotional dialogues

A/N: anon, I hope I do justice to your request - I hope you enjoy reading <333

Masterlist

The train moved through the vast whiteness, cutting through the snow like a pioneer in unknown lands. The rhythmic sound of the wheels against the tracks filled the silence of the cabin as you gazed at the landscape through the window. Snowflakes gathered on the glass, creating ephemeral patterns that quickly disappeared with the warmth of the cabin. The winter was always harsh, but there was something poetically beautiful in the monotony of the icy horizon.

You pressed the small bundle of letters against your chest, feeling the rough paper in your hands. Alexei's words echoed in your mind, the familiar phrases you'd read and reread countless times over the past three months. "I hope the snow is gentle with you," he had written in the last letter. "Natasha misses you, and so do I. Come back to us soon."

Alexei's handwriting had always been precise, almost meticulous, but it seemed to have lost something. Perhaps a fluidity, or the warmth with which he used to end each message with affectionate declarations. Not that he had been cold; far from it. But there was a restraint in the words, as if he were trying to hide something. You shook your head, pushing the thoughts away. There was no room for doubt. Alexei was your husband, and your nearly three years together had been surprisingly harmonious for an arranged marriage. You had built something real, something that seemed unshakable.

The longing tightened like a knot in your chest. It was almost impossible to be away from Natasha, your daughter, who was under two years old and already the light of your days. You could imagine her now, perhaps playing with the blonde curls she had inherited from Alexei or dragging some toy across the floor of the hall. Alexei would surely be close by, attentive, although not the type to show excessive affection. He had a magnetic calm, a charisma that drew looks and trust from everyone around him.

You closed your eyes for a moment, remembering his face. The sharp features, the hair he always kept immaculate, but which seemed to rebel against control in the most intimate moments. His eyes, as clear as ice melting under the sun, held a depth that disarmed anyone who looked at them long enough. And yet, there was gentleness there, a softness he reserved only for you and Natasha.

The train made a turn, shaking lightly. You held your purse at your side and glanced at the clock. Only a few hours remained until you reached the station, and the thought quickened your heartbeat. What would the reunion be like? You felt your hands anxious, the words you might say to him forming and dissipating in your mind.

You opened the last letter again, your eyes following the familiar words. "The house is emptier without you. Natasha calls for you every night. I’ve been distracting myself with... events, but it’s not enough. Please come back to us soon." Something in the sentence felt hesitant, as though there was more he hadn’t said. But before you could reflect further, the train gave a final jolt, announcing the approach of the destination.

You took a deep breath, putting the letter away and straightening your posture. Soon, very soon, you would be home.

The station was alive with the sound of carriage wheels on the pavement, hurried footsteps, and voices muffled by the steam of the trains coming and going. The air was heavy with the smell of burning coal and the biting cold of winter. You gripped your suitcase tightly, your heart pounding in your chest as you stepped off the train. It had been almost three months away from home, away from him, away from Natasha.

Your gaze swept over the crowd, searching for a familiar figure. Men in top hats and heavy coats hurried past, women wrapped in shawls shielded their faces from the cold, but it wasn’t any of them you were looking for. Then, you saw him.

Alexei stood near a cast-iron column, his imposing stature setting him apart from the chaos around him. He wore a dark gray overcoat that accentuated his broad shoulders, and a black hat partially shaded his face. But it was impossible not to recognize those eyes—clear as ice in the sun, watching you with intensity, as though the world had stopped.

You paused for a moment, unable to breathe, unable to believe that you were finally here. He took a step forward, removing his hat with an elegant gesture, revealing his perfectly styled blonde hair, though a stubborn lock fell over his forehead. Time seemed to freeze around him, the bustling station blurring into an indistinct haze. All that remained was him.

"Alexei," you whispered, your voice choked with the emotion rising to the surface.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he walked toward you with long, determined strides, his face controlled, but his eyes betraying a storm of feelings. When he stopped just inches from you, the silence between the two of you seemed to speak louder than any words.

"You’re back," he finally said, his deep voice heavy with something you couldn’t name. He seemed so calm, so restrained, but the way his eyes traced every line of your face, as if making sure you were real, betrayed how much he had missed you.

You let the suitcase fall to the ground and took a step toward him, unable to hold back. The distance between you vanished when you threw yourself into his arms, your fingers gripping the heavy fabric of his overcoat as you buried your face in his chest. He seemed stiff at first, as though the moment had caught him by surprise, but in seconds, his arms closed around you, strong, protective, as if he never wanted to let go.

"Alexei," you murmured again, the sound muffled against him. The words failed, but it didn’t matter. The way he held you, with an almost desperate firmness, said everything he couldn’t express.

He tilted his head, his face buried in your hair. You felt the warmth of his breath on the top of your head, the subtle touch of his lips against your strands. "I was counting the days," he murmured, his voice so low you almost didn’t hear it. "Every damn day."

You pulled away just enough to look at him, your eyes full of the tears you’d tried to hold back. "Me too. I counted them too, Alexei."

He raised one of his hands, his broad, strong fingers sliding along the side of your face, wiping away a lone tear that had escaped. "You’ve lost weight," he observed, concern evident in the softness of his voice. "But still beautiful." The corner of his lips curved into a brief smile, a shadow of the charisma you knew so well, but still devastating.

You laughed, even though the emotion still tightened your throat. "And you look... more tired. Is everything okay? And Natasha? Is she okay?"

"She misses you. We both do," he replied, the smile fading as seriousness returned to his face. "She’s at home, waiting for you. She kept looking at the door every day, asking when you’d come back."

Your heart squeezed at the words, at the image of your daughter so small and eager for your presence. "I need to see her," you said, the urgency growing.

"Let’s go home," Alexei said, effortlessly taking your suitcase and holding your hand with the other. "We’ve waited long enough."

As he guided you through the station, his hand firm on your back, you felt that despite the chaos around you, there was something solid in being next to him again. The connection between you both seemed to have withstood time and distance, but deep down in your heart, you still felt a shadow, something you couldn’t name. Something hiding in the corners of your thoughts and in the glances that Alexei, as loving as they were, couldn’t completely mask.

The carriage jolted gently as it moved through the icy streets of St. Petersburg. Outside, the sky was painted a dark gray, and the snow covered everything like a white blanket. Inside, warm and cozy, you couldn’t stop looking at Alexei. He was sitting beside you, one hand holding yours, his gaze fixed on the window as if he were lost in thought. The silence between you was only filled by the sound of the horses’ hooves on the road.

"So," you began, your voice breaking the silence, "what happened while I was gone? How is Natasha? Is she eating well? Is she sleeping properly? And you? Alexei, is everything okay?"

He turned his face slowly, his clear eyes landing on you with an intensity that almost made you shrink. "Natasha is fine," he replied, his voice low and controlled. "She missed you, but she’s strong. I... I’m fine. Don’t worry about me."

"Of course I worry," you retorted, narrowing your eyes. "Three months, Alexei. Almost three months without seeing her. Without seeing you. Don’t tell me not to worry."

He sighed, his free hand rising to loosen his tie. "It was... a busy time," he admitted, looking away. "But now you’re here. That’s what matters."

Busy. The word hung in the air, heavy and vague. You studied him in silence, noticing small details that hadn’t been there before. The stiffness in his shoulders, the subtle dark circles under his eyes that the soft light of the carriage couldn’t quite hide, and something in his eyes – a shadow, a weight that seemed to have settled in during your absence.

"Busy how?" you insisted, feeling an increasing need to understand.

"Society matters," he said, evasive. "Ball after ball, endless appointments... nothing worth mentioning now. We’re almost home. Natasha’s waiting for you."

His words were like a barrier, a calculated response to end the subject. You wanted to insist, wanted to ask what exactly had been consuming him, but something in his tone – and maybe something in you – made you pull back. It wasn’t the time, not yet.

When the carriage finally stopped in front of your house, your heart raced. Alexei stepped down first, extending his hand to help you down, the gesture so natural and courteous it seemed like an extension of who he was. You accepted, stepping down carefully and looking at the familiar facade of the residence. Everything was the same, yet at the same time, something felt different.

Inside the house, the warmth of the fire in the hearth and the scent of burning wood wrapped around you in a feeling of comfort. Your eyes scanned the space, searching for her – your daughter, your Natasha. And then you saw her.

She was in the arms of a nanny, sitting near the fireplace. Her blonde hair shimmered in the warm light of the fire, and her rosy cheeks were rounder than you remembered. She turned her head when she heard your steps and blinked, as if trying to confirm that it was really you.

"Natasha," you called, your voice thick.

The little girl blinked again before a wide smile lit up her face. "Mommy!" she cried, squirming in the nanny’s arms until she was placed on the floor.

You couldn’t wait. You knelt on the rug and opened your arms, barely believing you’d finally have her in your arms again. Natasha ran towards you with hurried, awkward steps, stumbling slightly but not stopping until she threw herself into you.

"My girl," you murmured, holding her against your chest and burying your face in her soft hair. She smelled of soap and something sweet, something you could only describe as her.

Natasha began to speak excitedly, her words tumbling over each other as she told you about things that, to her, were grand adventures – the new toys, the walks in the garden, the stories her father had told her before bed. You laughed and cried at the same time, absorbing every detail, every word, as if you needed to make up for all the lost time.

"You're so big now," you said, holding her face in your hands. "My big girl. I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, Mommy," she replied, her words coming out a little jumbled, but still clear enough to warm your heart.

For a moment, you forgot everything – the station, the unanswered questions, the subtle changes in Alexei. All that mattered was the comforting weight of your daughter in your arms and the feeling of finally being where you were meant to be.

You lifted your eyes to Alexei, who was leaning against the doorframe, watching the scene with an expression that was impossible to decipher. "We're together again," you said, your voice soft and full of emotion. "Finally together."

Something passed through his eyes, something that made him look away for a brief moment before he replied. "Yes," he said, but the word seemed to carry more weight than it should have. He took a step forward, kneeling beside you.

"Natasha," he called gently, and the little girl turned to him with a radiant smile. "Are you happy now? Mommy is home."

"Happy," Natasha replied, laughing and grabbing one of his hands while still holding yours.

The moment was perfect, almost. But the way Alexei looked at you – as if there was something he wanted to say, but couldn’t – left a small shadow lingering over your heart. You pushed the thought aside, determined to enjoy the reunion. After all, you were home. With them.

Dinner went by in a mix of light conversations and moments of pure joy. Natasha, always chatty, monopolized much of the attention with her stories and childish laughter, and you could hardly contain your smile seeing her so excited. Sitting at the table with your family again felt like a balm for your heart, something you had longed for through endless weeks. Alexei, in turn, remained a bit quieter than usual, but still participated with occasional comments, always attentive, always directed to you or your daughter.

After dinner, you took on the task of putting Natasha to bed, refusing any help. It was a moment you wanted for yourself, a ritual you had missed so much during your absence. In the little one’s room, you dressed her in a soft cotton pajama, decorated with tiny flower designs, and sat by her bed while she snuggled under the covers.

"Sing to me, Mommy," Natasha asked, her sleepy eyes already blinking slowly.

"Of course, my little flower," you replied, stroking her hair before you began to sing a soft lullaby, one that your own mother used to sing to you.

When Natasha finally fell asleep, breathing softly against her pillow, you stayed for a few more minutes in the room, just watching her. Her chest rose and fell in a peaceful rhythm, and her little face, lit by the dim light of the lamp, seemed like the perfect picture of peace. Your heart filled with an almost overwhelming love, so intense that it was hard to put into words.

As you left the room, you made your way to the master bedroom. The house was quiet, and the hallways seemed bathed in a cozy dimness. When you opened the door, you found Alexei sitting in an armchair near the fireplace, a glass of wine balanced in his hand. He had changed out of his formal dinner clothes into a white linen shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, and lighter pants. His golden hair was a bit messy, as if he had run his fingers through it several times. The fire cast soft shadows on his face, highlighting his strong jawline and marked cheekbones.

You paused for a moment in the doorway, watching him without saying anything. He seemed lost in thought, his clear eyes fixed on the fire. There was something about him that always made him seem a bit younger and yet filled with a maturity that made him irresistible – a mix of vulnerability and strength that seemed uniquely his.

"You’re very thoughtful," you said, finally breaking the silence as you closed the door behind you.

Alexei lifted his eyes, and his expression softened when he saw you. "Just thinking about how much I missed you," he replied, his voice low and filled with sincerity.

You walked over to him, feeling the warmth of the fire as you drew closer. "Three months," you murmured, stopping beside the armchair. "It felt like an eternity."

He set his wine glass aside and reached out his hand, pulling you gently into his lap. You let yourself be guided, snuggling against him as his strong arms closed around you. His scent – a mix of wood and something subtly citrusy – was so familiar that it made your eyes close for a moment.

"You’ve lost weight," you said, a touch of concern in your voice as you traced your fingers along his collar. "Haven’t been eating well?"

"Do you think food tastes the same when you're not here?" Alexei replied, a slight smile curving his lips. He tilted his head, his clear eyes searching yours. "You’re the heart of this house. Nothing feels right without you."

His words, so simple and direct, made your heart race. You lifted one hand to touch his face, your fingers brushing the line of his jaw. "You have a way of saying things that completely unravels me, Alexei," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

He smiled, the kind of smile that seemed to carry so much affection it almost hurt. "Just being honest," he replied, leaning in to brush his lips against yours. The kiss was soft at first, almost hesitant, but it quickly deepened, becoming more intense, filled with longing and need.

When his lips finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his warmth surrounding you completely. "Promise me you’ll never stay away for so long again," he asked, his tone more vulnerable than you were used to.

"I promise," you replied, feeling a lump form in your throat. "But you have to promise me something too."

Alexei tilted his head, his clear eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart race. "Anything," he said, his voice low and deep, filled with sincerity.

"If something is wrong, if something is weighing on you, I want you to tell me," you continued, holding his gaze. "We’re a team, Alexei. We always have been."

For a moment, he didn’t respond, just watched you as if trying to memorize every detail of your expression. Then he slid one of his hands to your face, holding it with a gentleness that contrasted with the evident strength in his fingers.

"I promise," he murmured, but the way he said the words – slow and measured – suggested something deeper, something he wasn’t ready to share yet.

Before you could respond, Alexei leaned in to kiss you again, and this time, there was no hesitation. The kiss was a fusion of longing and need, filled with everything that had gone unsaid during the three months you had been apart. You felt his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer, as if he needed to prove to himself that you were there, real and present.

"You have no idea how much I missed you," he said against your lips, his voice rough and broken.

You closed your eyes, absorbing the warmth of his confession as your fingers slid into his hair, messing up the golden strands even more. "I know," you whispered, your heart tight with the weight of lost time. "I missed you too... everything about you."

Alexei didn’t respond with words. Instead, he rose from the armchair with you still in his arms and walked toward the bed. The movement was so natural, so full of intention, that you found yourself unable to look away from him.

"Three months," he murmured as he gently laid you down on the sheets, his eyes roaming over your face as if he were trying to memorize every detail. "It was the longest three months of my life."

You reached up to touch his face, tracing the line of his strong jaw and the contour of his lips, now curved into an almost imperceptible smile. "Then let’s not waste another moment," you replied, your voice soft but filled with conviction.

He didn’t need any more encouragement. Alexei leaned down, his lips finding yours again, but this time with a passion that was both raw and controlled. His hands explored every familiar curve, as if he needed to remember every part of you.

The night unfolded in a mix of whispers, touches, and moments of pure connection. He was gentle, as always, but there was a new intensity, something that spoke of lost time and how much he had longed for you. Every gesture, every word whispered in your ear seemed to carry the weight of everything you both hadn’t been able to express during the months of separation.

In the end, you found yourself nestled against his chest, your heart still racing while his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back. His breath was deep and steady, and you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to relax completely for the first time in months.

"Promise me you won’t leave again," he whispered, breaking the silence.

"I promise," you replied, your voice thick with exhaustion and the overwhelming love you felt for him.

And while the world outside continued with its concerns and challenges, there, in Alexei’s arms, you finally found the peace you had longed for.

The following days brought a routine that you embraced with more joy than you expected. After three months apart, every detail of life at home seemed more significant. The familiar scent of the freshly tended garden, the soft laughter of your daughter echoing through the halls, the sound of Alexei talking with the servants — all of it formed a comforting mosaic, bringing back the feeling of belonging.

Still, there was something different.

Alexei remained attentive and engaged, but you noticed moments when he seemed lost in thought. His eyes, so expressive, carried a restlessness that he masked well. It wasn’t anything glaring, but you noticed. A lingering stare into nothing, slightly delayed responses, a subtle change in tone by the end of the day. It was subtle, but you could feel the difference, as only someone who knew him so deeply could. Still, you decided not to press him. The reunion was still recent; maybe time would erase any shadow that was troubling him.

It was in this context that the first big event since your return took place: a ball.

The night arrived with a light chill, which seemed to accentuate the elegance of the event. The mansion hosting the ball gleamed like a jewel under the starry sky, with torches lighting the path flanked by snow-covered trees. Carriages arrived one after another, unloading elegantly dressed guests, while servants hurried to collect coats and organize the entrance.

Inside the hall, the atmosphere was even more breathtaking. Crystal chandeliers reflected the candlelight in a sparkling display, casting golden and silver patterns on the ornate walls. A string quintet played softly, filling the air with elegant music, while the scent of fresh flowers and wine lingered in the atmosphere. Guests in luxurious dresses and impeccable suits moved gracefully through the space, their voices in animated murmurs, interspersed with restrained laughter.

You entered the ballroom alongside Alexei, his arm firmly resting on yours, a gesture that seemed natural and yet carefully displayed for society. He looked impeccable in his formal uniform, with golden details accentuating his broad shoulders and proud posture. His hair, always carefully styled, reflected the light as if it were made of golden strands, and his light eyes scanned the room with a gaze that was both warm and vigilant.

You had also prepared carefully for the occasion. Your deep blue dress contrasted with the lighter tones around you, the silver embroidery seeming to capture the light with every movement. The elegant neckline and long sleeves accentuated your silhouette, and you felt the gazes following you as you walked past him.

"Everyone’s watching you," Alexei murmured in your ear, his tone both protective and proud.

You smiled, not looking directly at him. "Maybe they’re watching you."

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering your response, but the playful gleam in his eyes revealed that he liked the idea.

However, as the evening went on, something changed.

As you conversed with some acquaintances, you noticed diverted glances, muffled whispers, and a growing discomfort began to settle in. It wasn’t paranoia; people were definitely talking about something. Their polished smiles and courteous greetings barely masked the tension on the faces of those you knew well.

It was during a pause in the music that you saw it.

Alexei was on the other side of the room, speaking to someone you immediately recognized: Anna.

She looked stunning in a red dress, her dark hair perfectly arranged, and a smile that seemed to enchant everyone around her. Alexei was slightly leaned toward her, which in itself wasn’t unusual—he had always been attentive in conversations. But there was something in the way he looked at her, an intensity you had never seen before.

Your heart tightened, and you felt the world around you slow down for a moment.

You quickly averted your gaze, pretending to be interested in a glass of champagne that a servant offered. Your face betrayed nothing; you knew how to control your emotions in public. But inside, questions began to form, each one more difficult than the last.

Alexander approached with a cordial smile, his imposing figure standing out in the already rich environment of ornaments and luxurious dresses. His suit was impeccable, a deep gray that contrasted with his brown eyes, so different from Alexei’s. Despite the physical and personality distinctions, there was something about him that inspired the same aura of confidence and power as his brother.

"Allow me to steal you for a walk, my dear sister-in-law," he said, his voice low and polite, but still carrying the warmth that always made you feel welcomed.

You accepted without hesitation, offering him a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. "It would be a pleasure."

Alexander extended his arm, and you took it, allowing him to guide you away from the conversation circle you were in. The murmurs and laughter from the ballroom seemed to grow in the background as you moved at a slow pace, wandering between the marble columns and the glow of the chandeliers.

"How has your return been so far?" he asked, the conversation casual, but his observant eyes betrayed something deeper.

"Tiring," you replied, with a practiced lightness. "But I’m relieved to finally be back."

Alexander let out a soft, almost imperceptible laugh. "I imagine it wasn’t easy to leave everything behind for so long."

"It wasn’t," you admitted, turning your face to watch the guests dancing in the center of the ballroom. "But some things can’t be ignored, as you well know."

He nodded, but didn’t say anything for a moment. Then you felt it: the looks he gave you, longer than they should’ve been, almost condescending. There was no judgment in them, but a kind of compassion that made you feel an increasing discomfort.

"Does something about my appearance seem off?" you asked, trying to hide your unease with a light joke.

"Not at all," he replied quickly. "You look stunning tonight."

You knew he wasn’t just being polite, but the weight behind his words was hard to ignore. Alexander wasn’t one to speak too much, but his ability to convey the unspoken was almost unbearable.

"Did Alexei mention anything about my absence?" you asked, finally gathering the courage to address the matter that had been on your mind since you entered the ballroom.

"Alexei..." Alexander began, but then stopped, his eyes fixed on something—or someone.

You followed his gaze. There was Alexei, still by Anna Karenina’s side. She was laughing at something Alexei had said, her head slightly tilted toward him. And Alexei… He had that look in his eyes. Something soft, something captivating. Something you rarely saw when he looked at anyone else.

The world around you seemed to slow down, every sound muffled, as if the entire ballroom had fallen silent. You felt Alexander’s arm move slightly beneath your hand, bringing your attention back to him.

"Anna is a remarkable lady," Alexander said, his voice low and controlled.

"I know who she is," you replied, almost not realizing you had spoken out loud.

"Of course you do," he murmured, but there was something in his tone that suggested more than mere confirmation.

You continued walking, but your attention kept drifting back to the sight of Alexei and Anna. The way he leaned slightly toward her, his smile—not forced, but genuine.

"Alexander," you began, your voice sounding more hesitant than you would’ve liked. "Is there something I should know?"

He hesitated, just enough for the tension in the air to rise. "You know Alexei has a restless heart. He’s like a bird who sees an open window and can’t resist the curiosity."

"That doesn’t answer my question," you retorted, your hand tightening slightly on his arm.

"Because some questions don’t need to be answered," he said, giving you a look that was both understanding and protective.

There was a latent pain in his words, as if he understood perfectly what you were feeling, but knew that no explanation could ease the weight in your chest.

You glanced at Alexei again, and this time, you met his gaze. He saw you, and for a moment, something in his expression changed. It was as if the magic of that moment with Anna had been broken, as if he were a boy caught in a forbidden act.

You adjusted your dress with an automatic gesture, while the muffled sound of the orchestra seemed like a distant soundtrack to the turmoil inside you. Alexander stepped away after a brief farewell. Each step he took toward Alexei and Anna was a decision that reverberated in your chest like the echo of a heavy bell. The distance between you seemed like an abyss, but still, you kept going. There was no turning back now.

Alexei straightened up, adjusting his suit as if that could somehow protect him from the intensity of your gaze. Beside him, Anna turned, offering a calculated smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

"Darling," Alexei began, his voice sounding controlled, but without the familiarity you so longed for. "We were just talking about—"

"Don’t worry," you interrupted softly, your tone impeccable but with a hint of ice. "I don’t want to interrupt."

Anna tilted her head, as if analyzing every word you said. "It’s always nice to meet such a courteous soul," she said, the smile remaining but with something sharp hidden in her expression. "I was just commenting to Alexei how charming this ballroom is. It’s no wonder so many important events happen here."

"Ah, yes," you replied, keeping your tone polite but feeling the lump in your throat grow. "This is the kind of place where people meet, isn’t it? But I must say, I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting your husband, Anna. Isn’t he joining you?"

Her smile faltered for a moment, but quickly recovered. "Unfortunately, he couldn’t come today. Business, you understand."

"Certainly," you murmured, letting the word hang in the air, laden with meanings that no one dared mention. "I imagine it’s difficult to keep up with all the engagements when one is so busy. I’ve felt the same since I returned. It seems there’s so much I’ve missed."

Alexei cleared his throat, his unease evident. He shot you a quick, almost pleading look, but you ignored it, keeping your eyes fixed on Anna. "But it’s good to know that Alexei has been in good company while I’ve been away," you added, a soft, almost imperceptible smile touching your lips.

Anna responded with a polite laugh, but you noticed the slight tension in her shoulders. "Ah, of course, Alexei is a gentleman. He was just telling me about some… society matters."

"He’s truly very helpful," you said, tilting your head, as if reflecting. "Always so thoughtful."

Alexei intervened, his voice low but firm. "Darling, I’m sure Anna doesn’t want to monopolize our evening. Perhaps we should..."

"Don’t worry," you cut in, your voice as sweet as it was sharp. "I’m just catching up. Three months is, after all, quite a long time to be away."

The words fell like stones on a glass surface. The ballroom around you seemed to grow quieter, or perhaps it was just your perception, distorted by the growing pain inside you. Your fingers trembled slightly, but you hid them between the folds of your dress, struggling to maintain the flawless appearance.

Anna smiled, but this time the gesture seemed more like a mask than anything else. "Well, I won’t steal any more of your time. It was a pleasure, as always."

"Certainly," you replied, nodding your head in farewell, but the look you cast at Alexei was not one of farewell. It was something deeper, something you knew he would understand.

As she walked away, the silence between you was deafening. Alexei reached out to touch your arm, but you took a step back, keeping your gaze fixed on him.

"Not here," you murmured, your voice low and controlled, though the tremor in your hands betrayed the chaos inside you.

He hesitated, as if wanting to argue, but the weariness in his eyes seemed to silence him. You turned on your heel, head held high, and began to walk away, but the weight in your chest was overwhelming.

As you moved through the ballroom, the noise around you slowly returned, but it felt distant, as if it came from a world you no longer belonged to. With each step, you felt the pieces of the puzzle falling into place, and each one pierced your soul like a sharp blade.

As you walked between the guests, your dress impeccably adjusted and your smile carefully positioned, the emptiness in your chest seemed to expand with each passing moment. The conversation with Alexei and Anna had revealed more than words could express; it was as if a veil had been torn, exposing something you had suspected, but refused to accept.

The glances that always seemed to last a second longer than necessary, the muffled whispers when you passed... now it all clicked. It wasn’t just your imagination, it wasn’t just the insecurities of a wife who had been away too long. It was something tangible, something that everyone there knew and that you were just beginning to understand.

You moved between the groups, smiling and waving mechanically, refusing to stop long enough for anyone to notice the crack growing in your mask. Alexei, for his part, kept his distance, respecting the space you clearly required, but still, you felt his gaze on you, heavy and silent, as if each time your eyes met, he was trying to say something.

The dinner table was a lavish sight, filled with delicacies that would have been irresistible on any other occasion. But now, just looking at the dishes made you feel nauseous. The last thing you could bear was pretending to have an appetite. You grabbed a glass of wine, more out of a need for something to hold than a desire to drink.

You tried to engage in the conversations, but the words of the others reached you like indistinct echoes. It was as if everyone in the room spoke a language you no longer understood. When someone mentioned Alexei, even casually, you felt the weight of the words, as if they were stones thrown at you.

The night seemed to drag on endlessly, each minute a silent torture. You deliberately avoided Alexei, moving from group to group.

When the moment to leave finally arrived, relief mixed with anguish, as if leaving the ballroom could ease the pain, even if only for a moment. Alexei waited for you by the entrance, as he always did, but this time there was something different about him. He didn’t try to touch your hand, didn’t make any casual remarks to break the silence. He simply opened the carriage door, and you stepped in without looking at him.

The ride back home was enveloped in an almost unbearable silence. The carriage swayed gently along the road, but every movement seemed to intensify the tension in the air. You kept your eyes fixed on the window, watching the passing lights and trying, in vain, to find some sense of normalcy in what had once been so familiar.

Alexei tried to speak once. "I..." he started, but his voice died the moment you turned to him, your gaze firm yet silent, saying everything that needed to be said. He sighed, leaning back in his seat, and didn’t try anything further.

The ride home was a blur, and when the door to the bedroom clicked shut behind you, echoing in the heavy silence of the house, it felt like an inevitable trigger. What had once been carefully controlled—the expressionless face, the calculated steps, the impeccable posture—crumbled as soon as you found yourself alone.

The first tear slipped silently down your cheek, warm and heavy, followed by another, then another. You tried desperately to stifle the sound rising in your throat, but the sob came, breaking the silence like a desperate wail.

Your legs gave way, and you leaned against the edge of the bed, your hands trembling as they gripped the fabric of your dress. All the weight of what you felt seemed to collapse at once—the pain of betrayal, the humiliation of the glances in the ballroom, the emptiness growing inside you.

Then, without warning, you heard footsteps behind you. Alexei. He must have heard the muffled sound of your crying or simply knew he couldn't leave you alone in that moment. He entered the room, and upon seeing you like this, his eyes filled with something impossible to describe — regret, pain, perhaps even desperation.

"No," you managed to say, your voice choked, your teary eyes meeting his. "Don't come closer."

But he didn’t stop. He ignored the warning in your voice, the protests in your expression. His large, firm hands gently landed on yours, which were still trembling, trying to push him away, but he didn’t give in.

"Don’t do this, Alexei," you whispered, your voice breaking. "No... I can’t..."

He didn’t respond with words. He simply pulled you close, wrapping you in his arms, the firmness of his touch contrasting with the gentleness with which he held you, as though you were something precious and fragile he feared breaking even more.

"Why?" you asked, your voice desperate, almost a muffled scream against his chest. "Why wasn’t I enough? Why, Alexei? I tried... I always tried..."

Your hands pushed against him, or at least tried to, but he remained still, his own hands holding you tighter, as if fearing you would escape. You struggled, but it was futile. He was stronger, and you didn’t have the energy to fight against his grip or the storm of emotions consuming you.

"I loved you," you continued, the words coming out in broken sobs. "I still love... And that wasn’t enough, was it? I gave up everything for you, and you... you..."

But the words were lost in the crying. Your voice disappeared, but the tears kept coming, hot and relentless, soaking the fabric of his shirt as you collapsed. Alexei still hadn’t said anything. He didn’t try to explain, didn’t try to justify. He just held you, pressing your face against the top of your head, his lips touching your forehead in a gesture that seemed desperate.

"Why don’t you say anything?" you murmured, your voice weak and hesitant, mixed with the sobs. "Say something, Alexei... Please..."

But he couldn’t. His hands held you as if he could keep you whole with just his touch. His breathing was irregular, almost as frantic as yours. He seemed as lost as you, as incapable of dealing with what was happening as you were.

Eventually, his strength gave out. The crying subsided, the sobs becoming more spaced out until exhaustion overtook you. You stopped trying to pull away, stopped fighting against his grip. Your body went limp in his arms, exhausted, defeated.

Alexei remained there, holding you as if he could rebuild everything with the strength of his embrace, as if he could erase the pain with his closeness. But the space between you, invisible and overwhelming, seemed to grow with each passing second. Your breath, once broken by crying, was now just a tired whisper against his chest.

He finally loosened his grip, just enough to look at you. His eyes, so familiar, were now filled with a weight you had never seen before — something almost unbearable to face. He raised one hand, hesitantly, to touch your face, but you turned away slightly, pulling back in a way almost imperceptible. It was enough for him to freeze.

"Please," you whispered, your voice hoarse and broken, barely more than a thread of sound. "Please, Alexei, go away."

His eyes widened slightly, as if your words had hit him hard. He opened his mouth, perhaps to say something, to protest, but the silence in the room seemed to swallow any attempt.

"I can't..." He stopped, his voice faltering. "I can't leave you like this."

You turned your gaze away, unable to bear the way he looked so desperate, so lost. "I can't sleep with you here tonight. Not like this," you admitted, feeling each word tear at you like glass as it left your mouth. "Please, Alexei. Just... just go."

He took a step back, as if the words had physically pushed him away. The pain on his face was evident, as if you had taken something essential from him. He looked at you with a mix of disbelief and anguish, before slowly shaking his head.

"You can't push me away like this," he murmured, his eyes shining with torment he couldn’t hide. "We never... we never sleep apart."

You closed your eyes tightly, trying to ignore the tremor in his voice, the weight of the memories those words brought. "I know," you replied, your voice barely audible. "But tonight... I need it. I need space, Alexei."

For a moment, he seemed about to argue, to take another step toward you. But then he saw something in your eyes — something that made him stop. The pain you were feeling was there, raw and open, impossible to ignore. And seeing it, something inside him seemed to break.

He stepped closer one last time, hesitantly, as if each movement was a battle. "I..." His voice faltered, and he swallowed hard. "I never meant to hurt you. Never."

You didn’t respond. Not because you had nothing to say, but because you were too broken to find the words.

When he raised his hand, this time to touch your cheek, you instinctively pulled back. It was subtle, but enough for him to notice. The pain in his eyes turned into something deeper — pure despair, as if that small gesture had taken away any ground he still had left.

"I will," he finally said, his voice low and rough, each word weighed down with something that felt like a ton. "But that doesn’t mean I’m not here. I... I’m not going anywhere, understood?"

You just nodded, not meeting his eyes, your body still tense with the weight of everything that had happened that night.

Alexei stood still for another moment, as if trying to memorize the moment, or perhaps gathering the courage to leave. When he finally turned, the sound of the door opening and closing behind him was both a relief and a final blow.

You stayed there, alone in the room, the silence once again filled only by the sound of your irregular breathing. And for the first time in a long time, the bed felt immense, cold, and empty.

The night was an endless torment. The silence of the room felt larger than any physical space, filled only by the echo of what had happened. You stayed sitting at the edge of the bed, staring into the emptiness, unable to lie down on the surface that still held his warmth. The feeling of Alexei’s absence was suffocating, but the thought of sharing the same space with him again so soon was even more unbearable.

The minutes dragged on until they became hours. Every sound in the house seemed amplified: the distant creaking of wood, the rustling of the wind against the windows, the occasional footsteps of someone downstairs.

When morning finally began to break the sky, painting the room with a gray, hesitant light, you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps in the hallway. Slowly, almost hesitantly, they approached the door. The knock was soft, almost restrained, but still it echoed like thunder in your chest.

"I'm leaving," his voice came through the wood, low and hoarse, carrying a weight that seemed to suffocate every word. "Please... take care of yourself."

You remained silent. Every part of you screamed to respond, to open the door, but the pain weighed heavier. Silence became your only answer. On the other side, you heard a nearly imperceptible sigh, and then the footsteps receded. When the front door closed, the sound reverberated through the house like a final warning, leaving everything even emptier.

When you finally found the strength to leave the room, the sun was higher, casting a soft glow over the halls of the house, but you didn’t feel any warmth. The cold seemed to have settled inside you, a constant weight that made each movement feel like a Herculean task.

Little Natasha was in the living room, playing with a set of dolls, her face illuminated by the innocence you knew you should protect at all costs. But at that moment, even before she looked up at you, something changed in her expression.

"Good morning, Mommy," she said, her sweet, hesitant little voice.

You forced a smile, but it felt as if every muscle in your face was being pulled against your will. "Good morning, my love."

She put down the dolls and ran to you, her small arms wrapping around your legs. It was such a simple, genuine gesture that it made something inside you break again. You bent down and held her, squeezing her to your chest as if she were your anchor.

"Are you sad?" Natasha asked, her voice muffled against your shoulder.

"No, my angel," you replied, but the hoarseness in your voice was deceitful. "Mommy is just a little tired."

Natasha pulled away slightly, her blue eyes — so incredibly similar to Alexei’s — locking onto yours. They were curious, deep in a way that seemed impossible for someone so small.

"You look sad," she insisted, her little fingers reaching up to touch your face, as if she could wipe away a tear that hadn’t even fallen yet.

You held her tiny hand, squeezing it gently. "Mommy is fine, I promise," you said, but the lie was so fragile that it felt like it could shatter at any moment.

She didn’t respond, only nestling back into your arms. You closed your eyes, inhaling the soft scent of her hair, and allowed yourself to simply feel the moment. But even in that tenderness, there was a throbbing pain.

Natasha was a living reminder of Alexei. Every feature of hers — the eyes, the soft hair, the curious expression — was a painful reflection of the man you loved, but who now seemed so distant. With each glance at her, you were reminded of what was at risk, of what seemed to be crumbling beneath your feet.

You held your daughter a little tighter, trying to find comfort in that closeness. But the pain was there, persistent and unbearable, like a shadow you couldn’t shake off.

The attraction to Anna had been as unexpected as it was unsettling. It wasn’t something Alexei had sought or even desired, but there was something about her that seemed to challenge every fiber of his sensibility. She was enigmatic in a way that eluded him, a vibrant presence amid the salons and social gatherings that otherwise seemed so monotonous. Her beauty was undeniable, but that wasn’t what fascinated him. It was the way she seemed to exist in her own world, as if she were always one step ahead of the expectations society imposed on them.

In the early casual encounters, he had thought it was just a passing curiosity, an innocuous distraction. But as the months dragged on and the absence of his wife was felt more acutely, Anna became a beacon of something undefinable, something he couldn’t ignore. They never crossed any lines. Not a touch, not a kiss. But the long conversations, the glances that lasted a second longer than allowed, were enough to create a chasm of doubt within him.

Now, looking back, Alexei hated himself for letting it happen. It was a betrayal not only to his wife but to everything they had built together. He couldn’t deny that the distance between them during her absence had fed something dark. With her gone, the days had become unbearably empty. Her absence was a constant echo that resonated in every corner of the house, and he, in his weakness, had sought comfort in a presence that should have meant nothing.

But Anna wasn’t his wife. She wasn’t the woman who had shared his fears, his dreams, his life. She wasn’t the mother of his daughter, the companion he had sworn to protect above all. And now, in the present, the price of that weakness was almost unbearable.

The days since the ball had been torture. She avoided him with an almost supernatural skill, and he couldn’t blame her for that. All he knew about her came from the servants, who neutrally mentioned the places she was or the hours she spent with Natasha. He didn’t see her, and it was killing him.

That morning, while holding his daughter in his arms, Alexei felt an almost suffocating despair. Natasha, with her silky hair and eyes so incredibly like his, was a reminder of everything he could lose. She nestled against his chest with unwavering trust, her small fingers clutching his collar as she murmured something about playing in the garden. He ran his fingers through her hair, trying to find some peace in that moment, but the guilt was overwhelming.

“How could I do this?” he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. His wife’s face came to mind, not the hardened look from the ball, but the way she used to smile at him when she thought no one was watching. The memory was so painful it almost made him lose his balance.

His mother had warned him countless times, her words as sharp as they were precise. He still remembered her stern tone during a recent argument, one of the few moments when she had truly lost her patience with him.

“Anna is not for you, Alexei,” she had said, her eyes flashing with something bordering on disdain. “Your wife deserves more. Your daughter deserves more. And you... you should be ashamed.”

He had stormed out of that conversation furious, but now he understood the weight of her words. He was ashamed. Deeply. And the worst part was knowing that, no matter how hard he tried, there was no way to go back in time and undo the damage he had caused.

Natasha, sensing the tension in his body, lifted her face to look at him, and her innocent gaze completely disarmed him. She was so small, so confident that her father was the best man in the world. He felt a sharp pang of desperation as he realized that, if he continued like this, he might lose that too.

Alexei couldn’t take it anymore. The silence that once was an almost invisible wall between you two now felt like an impenetrable barrier. He saw the servants walking through the halls, casting furtive glances of pity and caution, bringing scarce news about you. “She’s still in the room, sir,” they would say. “She hasn’t eaten anything again today.” Every word was a stab, and that morning was no different. When the maid returned with the untouched tray, Alexei felt something inside him break.

Without a word, he took the tray from her hands and climbed the stairs, his heavy footsteps echoing through the house. The door to the room you used to share was closed, and for a moment, he hesitated. Since that night, he hadn’t crossed that threshold. He hadn’t dared. But now, he had no choice.

Pushing the door open, he found you sitting in front of the vanity, impeccable as always, but so different. The dress perfectly aligned, your hair styled with perfection. Not a strand out of place. But what hit him the most was the absence. The absence of color in your face. The absence of the sparkle in your eyes. And the absence of any trace of the love he used to feel, even without you needing to say it.

“You need to eat.” His voice came out harsher than he intended. He placed the tray on the small table next to the bed, watching you through the reflection in the mirror. “If you keep going like this, you’ll end up sick.”

You didn’t respond, your fingers busy with a small brooch pinning your collar. The silence that followed was suffocating, until your voice cut through the air like a blade: “Alexei, I want a divorce.”

“Please,” he said, his voice hoarse, almost inaudible at first. Then, stronger, more desperate. “Please, don’t do this. Don’t say that. No…”

You remained firm, your eyes fixed on him, but the trembling line of your lips betrayed the colossal effort you were making to keep your composure.

“Alexei…” your voice was low, almost a whisper, but the weight of what you said was like a direct blow. “I can’t anymore… I just can’t.”

“But you love me.” He said it like a prayer, as if repeating those words could undo everything that was happening. He stepped forward, his eyes pleading, shining with a desperation he could barely contain. “You said you loved me. You still love me.”

“I love you.” Your confession came quickly, but as harsh as a blade. “And you know that. But it wasn’t enough, Alexei. It was never enough.”

He fell to his knees in front of you, his chin trembling, his hands outstretched toward you as if begging for his very life. “Then what do I do?” He asked, his voice breaking. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix this. I’ll do anything, anything you ask. But don’t ask me to let you go. Please, I can’t…”

You turned your gaze away, but he saw the tears threatening to spill, even as you held them back with all your might. “I don’t know if there’s anything to fix.” Your voice faltered, but you quickly regained composure, lifting your chin. “I don’t know who we are anymore, Alexei.”

“We are us.” He almost shouted, desperation taking over him. “We are us! No matter what happens, we are us. I can’t... I can’t imagine my life without you. Without Natasha. I can’t bear that.”

“And I can’t bear being with someone who destroyed me like this.” Your tone was firm, but the pain you felt was as evident as his. You saw him close his eyes tightly, as if trying to push away the weight of your words, but they had already lodged themselves in him like splinters.

"Please." He reached out again, this time gently holding your arm, his touch trembling, almost reverent. "Please, don't do this. Tell me what I need to do to fix this. Tell me... anything."

You finally looked at him, and his eyes were so full of desperation that for a moment, something inside you wavered. "I need time." Your voice broke, and you hated how much saying that hurt. "I need time, Alexei. I can't even think straight with you like this. With us like this."

He slowly shook his head, as if he didn’t want to accept it. "Time?" He asked, the word coming out like a sentence. "I can give you time, but... what if you decide you don’t want to come back to me? What if you decide that... it's over?"

You took a deep breath, the tears you were trying to hold back finally streaming silently down your face. "I don’t know, Alexei. I don’t know."

The room fell into unbearable silence, broken only by the uneven sound of his breathing and your stifled sobs. Finally, he stood up, his hands trembling, his eyes red. "I’ll wait." His declaration was low, but carried a firmness that seemed impossible given his state. "I’ll wait as long as it takes. But don’t give up on us."

You didn’t answer, unable to find the words. And as he left the room, the door closing softly behind him, you collapsed to the floor, feeling as if every part of you was falling apart.

In the days that followed, Alexei’s absence in the room was like a constant shadow, a gap you didn’t know how to fill. He had respected your decision for space, yes, but he wasn’t truly absent. It was impossible to ignore the small gestures that betrayed him: a tray of tea and biscuits appearing on your table, accompanied by a short but warm note. “At least this,” the latest one said, with slanted handwriting and a palpable care.

The servants didn’t comment, but you knew. You knew he asked about your meals, about your health, about anything that could ease the guilt he carried. He was present in a discreet way, almost invisible, but so tangible that you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was always near, still caring, still watching.

Alexei’s mother’s visit came without warning, on a gray morning, when the heavy clouds outside mirrored the weight you carried in your chest. The maid announced her presence, and you felt your stomach churn. Though there was respect between you two, Mrs. Vronskaya had always been an imposing figure, surrounded by a natural authority that seemed to demand reverence.

You hesitated before going downstairs to meet her, but you didn’t have the strength to refuse. Deep down, you knew this conversation was inevitable.

When you entered the room, Alexei’s mother was already there, sitting impeccably in one of the armchairs, her heavy coat carefully folded beside her. She raised her gaze as soon as you entered, and for a moment, something in her eyes seemed to soften.

“You’re so thin,” was the first thing she said, instead of a greeting, her tone direct but filled with concern.

“I’m fine,” you replied, your voice soft but firm.

“No, you’re not.” Her response was immediate, with no room for debate. She gestured for you to sit, and when you did, the silence that followed was as thick as the cold morning air.

Mrs. Vronskaya wasn’t a woman who minced words, and you knew she was there for a reason. Still, it was you who broke the silence. “Why are you here?”

“For you,” she said simply, her eyes fixed on yours. “And for Alexei.”

You clenched your hands in your lap, trying to maintain composure. “If you came to defend him, know that you don’t have to. He’s already done that on his own.”

His mother slightly tilted her head, as if weighing her words before responding. “I didn’t come to defend him. I came to listen to you. Do you think I don’t know what’s going on in this house? That I don’t see the pain in both of your eyes?”

The mention of pain stung like a sharp needle. You looked away, staring at the floor, but her voice continued, firm and soft. “I never supported Alexei’s involvement with Anna. I made that clear from the start. Not because she’s married, but because I knew something like this wouldn’t end well. My son has always had this weakness... this tendency to be captivated by the new, the different. It’s part of who he is. But I also know he’s a man who loves deeply. When he loves, he gives himself completely.”

You raised your eyes to her, and there was something there, a mixture of hope and desperation that you couldn’t hide. “And what guarantees me that this love will be enough?”

“I can’t guarantee,” she admitted, her words direct but without cruelty. “But I can say that, since you entered his life, Alexei has changed. He found balance in you. I saw it with my own eyes. And I know that, even with the mistakes he’s made, the love he feels for you is real. I know that you still love him.”

Your heart tightened, and for a moment, you almost wanted to deny it. But what would be the point? “Loving doesn’t seem like enough,” you murmured, more to yourself than to her.

“Maybe it’s not,” Alexei’s mother replied, leaning slightly forward, her hands resting on her knees. “But sometimes, love is what gives you the strength to find a way, even if it’s painful. I’m not here to ask you to forgive my son. I’m here to tell you that, whatever your decision is, you won’t be alone.”

The sincerity in her words hit you like an unexpected blow, and you felt your eyes burn. But no tear fell. “I don’t know if I can get over this. Sometimes, it feels like the distance between us is insurmountable.”

“The distance is great,” she agreed. “But you’re speaking as if he’s on the other side of an abyss. He’s not. Alexei is trying to reach you, even if awkwardly. Don’t you see that?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to control the emotions threatening to overflow. “I see. But every gesture of his just reminds me of everything that’s been lost.”

Alexei’s mother nodded, her gaze softer than you’d ever seen. “That’s natural. But I also want you to know that you’re important to me. Not just as my son’s wife, but as the woman who made his life better. If you decide that you can’t continue, I’ll understand. And even then, you’ll still be part of my family. Always.”

Those words broke something inside you, but they also brought a small relief. You stood up, and she did the same, holding your hand firmly for a moment before letting it go.

“Thank you,” was all you could say.

“Take care of yourself,” she replied, her voice carrying an unexpected gentleness.

Later, as you walked down the hallway, you heard Natasha’s laughter echoing through the house. Peeking through the slightly open door, you saw Alexei sitting on the floor, holding the little one in his arms, her golden hair shining in the light coming through the window. Your chest tightened painfully. It was impossible to deny how much Natasha looked like her father — in her features, her smile, even in the way she seemed to light up the room.

You stayed there for a few seconds, watching. Alexei could hardly believe it when he lifted his eyes and saw you standing there, at the door, your gaze fixed on him and little Natasha. For a moment, he froze, as if any movement could shatter that fragile moment. The weight in your eyes hit him like a punch, and for a second, he wondered if he should call you, ask you to join them.

But before he could even open his mouth, you looked away and disappeared, leaving the door slightly ajar. The absence was an immediate emptiness, a cold that spread through him even with Natasha still nestled in his arms.

“Daddy?” The sweet, small voice of his daughter broke the silence. Natasha tilted her head to look at him, her golden curls falling over her forehead. “Who was there? Was it Mommy?”

Alexei swallowed hard, trying to hide the tightness in his chest. He adjusted Natasha in his arms, snuggling her close. “It was, my little one. But... Mommy had to go.”

“Doesn’t she want to play with us?” Natasha asked, her big, bright eyes searching for an explanation.

Alexei closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his strength. How could he explain something that he himself didn’t fully understand? How could he justify the choices that had led them to this point?

“It’s not that, sweetheart. Mommy is... tired. And sometimes, when we’re tired, we need some time to rest alone.”

Natasha furrowed her brow, clearly thinking about the answer. “But Mommy told me she loves us. She still loves you, doesn’t she?”

Those words, so simple and direct, pierced Alexei. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of it all on his shoulders. “Yes,” he finally replied, his voice low and hoarse. “Mommy loves you very much. And I’m sure she still loves Daddy too.”

“Then why don’t you stay together? Grandma said that love makes everything better.”

He felt his stomach twist when he heard the mention of his mother. Her visit was still fresh in his mind, a reminder of how much he had failed — not just with you, but with himself. She hadn’t spared any words, and the silent disapproval in her gaze still burned in his memory.

“Because Daddy made a mistake,” Alexei finally said, choosing his words carefully. “And sometimes, even when you love someone, you need to show that you can get better before things get better.”

“Will you get better, Daddy?” Natasha asked, her little fingers touching his face as if she wanted to make sure he was paying attention.

“I will,” Alexei replied, his tone now firm. “I promise you, Natasha, that I will fix things. I’ll do everything I can to bring Mommy back to us.”

“Can I help?” Natasha smiled, as if the simple thought of being helpful could solve any problem.

Alexei chuckled softly, kissing her forehead. “Your help already means everything to me, little one. Just having you here with me gives me strength.”

He hugged her tighter, letting that moment between father and daughter carve itself into his memory. Meanwhile, behind the affection he shared with Natasha, Alexei felt the weight of a decision solidifying. He knew he couldn’t allow himself to fail again. He couldn’t disappoint you, or himself, or that little creature who looked at him with so much love and trust.

When Natasha finally got distracted with one of her toys, Alexei stayed there, silently watching her. His conversation with his mother echoed in his mind, every word heavy with meaning. He felt ashamed, crushed by the realization that he had ignored advice and gut feelings that could have prevented all this pain.

But the shame wasn’t enough to paralyze him. It was a flame, something he would use to fuel his determination. Alexei knew the road to you would be difficult, painful. But looking at Natasha, so much like you and so full of life, he found a new resolution.

He didn’t just want to fix things — he needed to. And he would do it, no matter how much time or effort it took.

The change didn’t happen all at once, but it was like spring after a long winter. Alexei didn’t let a single day pass without trying, without showing how much he was willing to repair the mistakes that had brought so much pain.

He started with simple gestures. A fresh rose picked from the garden, carefully placed in your room. He would stop in front of closed doors, hesitating, but not knocking, respecting the space you had asked for, yet unable to stop leaving something, no matter how small, to let you know he was there.

Over time, he began to include Natasha in his attempts, inviting both of you to join him for a walk in the garden or for a special snack. And although you still didn’t join him, he noticed that the coldness from before was fading, replaced by something more neutral. More human.

The maids would mention that you were starting to eat normally again, that the pallor that marked your face had begun to give way to its natural color. Alexei saw this too, in brief glimpses — a soft curve at the corner of your lips when Natasha said something funny, a distant look, but less painful, when you thought no one was watching.

And then, that night, fate brought the opportunity he had been waiting for.

The storm had started earlier, with thunder echoing in the distance and gusts of wind blowing through the windows. Alexei was in the living room when he heard the door open, and before he even turned around, he knew it was you.

You entered the hall, your hair drenched and stuck to your face, the dress weighed down with water. He immediately got up, his heart racing at the sight of you like that.

"My God, you're completely soaked." His voice was low but full of urgency as he approached. You hesitated for a moment, as if considering pulling back, but eventually allowed him to come closer.

Alexei grabbed a wool shawl from a nearby chair and gently wrapped it around your shoulders. "Come. Let’s get these clothes off before you get sick."

His tone was practical, almost automatic, but there was something in his movements — the way his fingers trembled slightly as he adjusted the fabric over you, the care he took to avoid looking directly into your eyes — that betrayed the depth of his feelings.

You followed him to the bedroom, your steps light and almost silent on the carpet. The tension was palpable, an almost visible thread between you both. He gestured for you to sit in the chair near the fireplace. You did, your eyes fixed on the flames as he moved around the room, grabbing clean towels.

Without saying a word, he knelt before you, gently removing the pins that held your hair with firm, yet tender fingers. Each pin made a soft metallic sound as it fell onto the towel he had spread across his lap. You didn’t pull away.

Alexei then stood up, hesitating for a moment before reaching for the ties on your dress. He paused, looking at you for permission. You nodded slightly, enough for him to continue.

The knots loosened slowly, and the sound of the wet fabric coming undone seemed to fill the room. He helped you stand and wrapped a dry robe around your shoulders before stepping back, giving you space to sit again.

When he finally spoke, his voice was almost a whisper. "I’m so sorry."

You lifted your eyes to him, something shining there that he couldn’t decipher. “What about her?”

Alexei froze. For a moment, it seemed as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. “Anna?”

You nodded, your expression still unshaken, but the tension in your shoulders betrayed the effort you were making to stay strong.

“It was nothing,” he said finally, his eyes searching yours as if he wanted to beg you to believe him. “Nothing that justified... nothing that was worth this.”

“And why?” Your voice was soft, but cutting, like a blade piercing straight through his heart. “Why her? What did she have that I didn’t?”

Alexei ran a hand through his hair, clearly distressed. “I don’t know. She was... different. Something new, something I had never known. But it wasn’t love, it wasn’t... you.” He knelt in front of you again, his hands gripping yours tightly, but without hurting you. “Nothing ever came close to you. I was a fool for letting this come so close.”

You looked at him, your face still unreadable, but your eyes starting to shine. “What if I had stayed away longer? What if it were someone else, Alexei? How can I trust that this won’t happen again?”

Alexei remained kneeling in front of you, his eyes glowing with a desperation that seemed to suck the air out of the room. He didn’t move, neither closer nor farther, as if even the slightest shift could break the fragile connection that still existed between you.

“You are everything to me,” he repeated, his voice heavy with raw vulnerability. “But I know that just saying that isn’t enough. I know I can’t erase what I did, the pain I caused.”

You didn’t answer immediately. Your mind was in turmoil, each of his words crashing against the walls of your own pain, echoing. Finally, almost in a whisper, you asked, “Did you... did you two ever...”

Your voice faltered before you could finish the sentence, but the meaning was clear. Alexei’s eyes widened, as if the question had cut deeper than anything else. He shook his head quickly, almost frantic.

“No,” he said firmly, his voice a little louder, but still choked. “Never. I never did that. I never even kissed her.” He swallowed hard, lowering his gaze for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “I was a fool, a complete idiot for letting her occupy so much space in my head, but it wasn’t... physical. It wasn’t love. It was... it was a weakness of mine, a fascination with something I didn’t even know I was seeking. And I hate myself for it. I hate myself for hurting you this way.”

You felt the weight of every word, the warmth of his sincerity reaching something deep within you, but the pain was still there, alive and pulsing.

Alexei leaned in slightly, his hands still holding yours, but loosely, as if preparing for the inevitable moment when you would pull away. “I’d give anything to go back in time, to make the right choices from the start. To never have allowed anything to come between us. But all I can do now is this. Ask, beg for a chance to be better for you.”

His eyes shone, tears threatening to fall, but he didn’t look away, as if he couldn’t allow himself to hide anything from you. When he finally moved, it was to wrap his arms around your waist, a hesitant, almost fearful gesture.

“Please,” he whispered against the fabric of the robe you were wearing. “Please, tell me there’s still something in your heart that will let me fix this.”

You stood still, your body rigid as if you were trying to decide what to do. He didn’t dare move any further, his face hidden against you, breathing deeply as if it were the last time he could do so.

And then, almost imperceptibly, you raised your hand, your fingers hesitantly touching his hair. It was a small gesture, but to Alexei, it felt as though the whole world had stopped. He lifted his face, surprised, but didn’t say anything.

Your fingers threaded through his blonde hair, the touch soft, but steady, and something in him gave way. He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against your stomach as he let out a sigh that sounded almost like a sob.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, your voice low but filled with emotion. “I don’t know how to get past this, Alexei. But... I can’t stop loving you.”

He lifted his gaze to you, his eyes misty, but with a spark of hope. “I don’t need you to know right now,” he said, his voice trembling. “I just need you to let me try. Let me prove that I will never disappoint you again.”

The silence that followed was thick, but not empty. It was full of all the unspoken things, all the emotions that still needed room to exist between you.

Finally, you nodded slightly, the gesture almost imperceptible, but enough for him to understand. He didn’t smile, as if he knew there was still no room for joy, but the tension in his shoulders eased, and he held you more firmly in his arms without hurting you.

“Thank you,” he murmured, so softly that you almost didn’t hear it, but the weight of that word hung in the air between you, carrying all the love, regret, and promise he had to offer.

The night was calm, wrapped in a stillness broken only by the soft sound of rain against the windows. You were in Natasha’s room, the little one’s hair illuminated by the warm light of the lamp. She was lying on the bed, hugging the battered teddy bear she insisted on carrying everywhere.

“Now close your eyes, my love,” you said, your voice low and gentle as you adjusted the blanket around her small body. “It’s time to sleep.”

“Will you sing for me?” she asked, her eyes, identical to Alexei’s, shining with expectation.

You smiled, a small but genuine smile, as you began to hum a melody your mother used to sing to you. Her little hand held yours, as if that gesture were essential to the moment.

The door creaked softly as it opened, and Alexei stopped in the doorway, his tall figure illuminated by the hallway light. He hesitated when he saw her there, his eyes resting on the scene with an expression of tenderness so raw that it seemed to contradict the strength of his presence.

For a moment, he considered turning back, letting that moment belong only to the two of you. But then Natasha turned her head, her sleep-messy hair spreading across the pillow.

“Daddy,” she called, a sleepy smile lighting up her face. “Are you going to put me to sleep too?”

Her request was an unexpected bridge between the two of you. Alexei looked at you, a silent question in his clear eyes, the same ones Natasha had inherited. There was something so vulnerable in his gaze that the air seemed to grow a little heavier.

You nodded almost imperceptibly, making space beside the bed. He stepped into the room, each movement carrying a rare hesitation from him. When he approached, Natasha reached out her arms, and he leaned in to kiss her forehead before sitting beside the bed, opposite you.

“Now we’re all here,” she said, content, holding both of your hands.

“Does that mean you’re going to sleep for real now?” Alexei asked, his tone soft but tinged with amusement.

She shook her head, a mischievous smile appearing. “But I like when you’re both here with me. Daddy, mommy...”

The sound of that word hit him like a sweet blow. Mommy. It was simple, but hearing it from his daughter’s lips, in the context of that intimate scene, felt like a reminder of everything he was trying to protect.

Natasha shifted between you, her eyes slowly closing as she mumbled random words about the day. “I want a brother,” she murmured suddenly, her eyes blinking lazily before closing again.

Alexei let out a soft laugh, surprised, and looked at you. “A brother, huh?”

“Yes,” Natasha answered with a yawn, her eyes already closed. “To play with me.”

You and Alexei exchanged a glance, his expression softening in a way that rarely happened. When she finally fell asleep, her breath light and steady, he carefully adjusted her in the bed, leaving a kiss on the top of her head before standing up.

He moved closer to you, extending his hand to help you rise. You accepted, and he didn’t immediately release your hand, holding it between his as if afraid that the moment might slip away.

“She’s just like you,” you commented, your voice low as you looked at Natasha.

“No,” he replied, his eyes fixed on the small, sleeping face. “She’s the best of both of us.”

There was a comfortable silence between you, the usual tension replaced by something softer, more hopeful. He looked at you, his clear eyes carrying a tenderness that seemed almost shy.

“About what she said…” he started, hesitating for a moment.

“Alexei,” you interrupted, your tone almost exasperated but with a small smile.

“I know, I know,” he said, raising his hands in surrender, but his smile was back, something rare and so genuine that it made your heart ache.

The door to Natasha’s room closed softly, muffling the sound of her calm breathing. You and Alexei stayed in the hallway for a moment, as if the moment required silence, a reverence for the scene you had just shared. He seemed to hesitate, his hands sliding into the pockets of his suit jacket, a nervous gesture you knew well.

“She’s always known how to disarm us,” you commented, breaking the silence, your voice low but full of tenderness.

He looked at you, the corners of his lips curving into a nearly shy smile. “It’s an innate talent. I don’t think she got that from me.”

“Maybe from me, then,” you replied, your tone playful, something he hadn’t heard in a long time.

His smile widened, but there was something deeper in his eyes, something that kept him quiet for too long. You were about to ask what he was thinking when he turned slightly, his body leaning as though about to leave.

“Alexei.”

He stopped immediately, turning to face you again. You took a deep breath, gathering the words you wanted to say.

“You don’t have to go back to the other room,” you said, your voice soft but carrying something more. “If you want... you can come back to our room.”

The words came out before you could reconsider, and for a moment, the silence in the hallway seemed absolute. Alexei blinked, disbelief written on his face, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly.

“Is that what you want?” he asked, his voice so low it was barely a whisper.

You looked at him for a moment, your eyes searching his, which seemed to scan every nuance of your expression. “It’s a step, Alexei,” you replied, sincere. “I think we’re ready to take a step.”

He let out a breath that seemed to have been held for a long time, his shoulders relaxing a bit. “I...” He stopped, shaking his head as if the words were too difficult.

“And besides,” you continued, your voice light but carrying something almost mischievous, “if we really want to give Natasha a sibling, I think it makes more sense for us to be in the same room, don’t you think?”

His eyes widened, surprised, and for a moment, he stood completely still, as if the words had been a shock he hadn’t expected.

“You...” He started but didn’t finish, his gaze fixed on your face as if trying to process the subtle, but significant change.

You raised an eyebrow, the playful look returning to your expression, something he immediately recognized. “It’s just a practical matter,” you finished, your voice slightly provocative.

He stepped forward, the hesitation giving way to something more determined, his gaze intense and fixed on yours. “Practical,” he repeated, as if testing the word.

The air around you seemed to carry a familiar tension, something that had always been there but now felt more tangible, more urgent. You saw the shadow of a smile play at the corners of his lips, and you couldn’t resist.

“You’re taking this very seriously, Alexei,” you teased, your voice lower now, only to be interrupted.

He leaned in, his lips meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart race. The kiss was both tender and desperate, as if he were pouring everything he couldn’t say into words. Your hands went to his shoulders, a gesture to steady yourself, but instead of pushing him away, you pulled him closer, allowing yourself to finally give in to the moment.

When you pulled apart, your breaths were shallow, and Alexei kept his forehead pressed to yours. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, full of emotion.

The night seemed silent, the kind of silence that embraced the house like a heavy blanket, protecting the sounds that belonged only to that space. The room you once shared was almost exactly as before, but something felt different now. It was the same space, but it carried the weight of everything you had lived through—and survived.

Alexei was sitting at the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, watching you as you took off your robe and prepared to lie down. His gaze was intense, but not unsettling. It was a gaze of reverence, as if he couldn’t believe he was here again.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” you asked, breaking the silence, your voice soft but full of emotion.

He looked up at you, a small smile appearing on his lips. “Strange... and familiar at the same time.”

You moved closer slowly, feeling the warmth radiating from him even before you sat down beside him. For a moment, you stayed there, side by side, your hands almost touching. The small space between you seemed heavy, but also filled with something new—hope.

“I thought about this so much,” he murmured, turning slightly to face you. “About what it would be like... having you here again. Being with you like this.”

“And how is it?” you asked, your playful tone trying to mask the vulnerability behind the question.

He chuckled softly, but there was a gleam in his eyes, something deeply sincere. “It’s better than I allowed myself to imagine.”

You felt your heart tighten, but it was a different kind of tightness now, something less painful and closer to healing. You reached out to him, your fingers touching his gently. He intertwined his fingers with yours, the gesture so familiar it brought tears to your eyes.

“Alexei...” you started, but he interrupted you, his eyes fixed on yours.

“I know,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I know it will take time. That this is just the beginning. But please, tell me there’s a beginning.”

You nodded, feeling your throat tighten with emotion. “There’s a beginning,” you replied, your voice almost a whisper.

He leaned forward, his forehead touching yours, and the world seemed to shrink to that moment, to that touch. “I won’t fail you again,” he promised, his voice heavy with something so deep that it made your eyes well up with tears.

“I know,” you said, the sincerity of your voice making him close his eyes for a moment, as if he were absorbing it.

You both moved together to lie down, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. When Alexei pulled the covers over you, he did it with the same care as always, as if every small gesture had meaning. You curled up next to him, his body fitting to yours as if it had never stopped being like that.

He ran his fingers through your hair, untangling the strands that had come loose throughout the day, the movements slow and almost reverent. “I feel like I’m holding a piece of the future in my hands,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“And what do you see in that future, Alexei?” you asked, lifting your gaze to meet his.

He smiled, the kind of smile that made your heart tighten with both longing and hope at the same time. “I see us. Natasha... maybe a little brother for her, if you still want,” he added, his tone lightly teasing, but his eyes shining with tenderness.

You laughed, a light and almost new sound. “Maybe,” you replied, teasing. “But one step at a time, right?”

He leaned in, his lips brushing your forehead in a gesture that seemed to carry all the promises in the world. “Right,” he agreed, his voice soft and full of emotion.

Silence fell again, but it was a different silence now. It was a silence of peace, of new beginnings. And as you curled even closer, your hearts beating in a slow, synchronized rhythm, you knew you were finally finding your way back to each other.

[deathbxnny]

Hello! Can i request some Mavuika, Raiden Ei and Makoto (if you can't do makoto then I'll like to exchange with Yae Miko) (seperately) x Gn! Reader , who is an immortal elemental being (The reader can transform into a phoenix), who is extremely smart and powerful gifted in fire magic and has a absolute mastery of pyro element.

Genshin women with an Immortal!Elemental being!GN!Reader | Mavuika, Raiden Ei, Yae Miko

Hello anon! I decided to go with Yae, mainly because I had a hard time understanding how to write Mikoto due to us not having much on her. But thank you for your request and I hope you'll like this!!<3

Content: Immortal reader, some angst?, fluff, established romantic relationship, sfw

Reader is gender neutral!

((Not proofread))

》MAVUIKA

From the day she met you, Mavuika saw you as a symbol of freedom for Natlan. She met you as a Phoenix 500 years ago, which set her heart ablaze with determination, especially when you showcased your intelligence and strength in many ways that left her in awe. Every decision, every word you spoke, aided her plan to save her nation. She felt relief when you agreed to be her lover, a loneliness deep inside her finally filling at your presence.

Many centuries later, she still finds herself seeking out your wisdom for any decision she makes. She respects you as a powerful elemental being that has served her nation for years at her side and therefore made your word more important than her own. Your mastery over the Pyro elemental that rivals her own leaves her in awe every time, too.

And as she watched you fly over her home country as a Phoenix like you did so long ago, she felt at ease to know that her nation could too rise from the ashes of its defeats alongside you.

》RAIDEN EI

Ei, at the height of her obsession with eternity, saw you as someone who perfectly conformed, yet at the same time rebelled against her ideals. A Phoenix flew too close to the sun and got reborn from the ashes its old self left behind, but that meant that you were changed and the same alike. Your wisdom and intelligence are what made her often rethink her thoughts and ideals whilst she meditated in her abode. You often join her there for some tea and sweets, claiming that she wasn't alone anymore and shouldn't act like it either.

Your absolute mastery over the pryo element is something she definitely admired. She likes to train with you every now and then to strengthen herself, as she saw you as a better equal. This also means that she greatly respects your opinions and thoughts, despite her own ideals usually having a priority.

She sees you as the voice of reason that guides her through tougher situations she can't handle.

》YAE MIKO

Yae enjoys spending her own immortal life at your side in the shrine. Your life together is never bland, especially not with her teasing and playful nature. Your intelligence and wisdom meshes well with her own mischief and cunning version of it, which makes you both a very powerful couple unbeknownst to many. She likes taking the backseat, though, and let's you take over most things when she's feeling especially lazy that day. It just proves how much she trusts and values you and your knowledge.

With that said, she's not shy in expressing her love for how strong you are. She'll stay around to watch you train or use your abilities for even the mundanest things with an admiring glint in her eye. She compliments you for it at all times without a fail, practically making it her goal to fluster you as much as she can. She just adores you so much.

Expect her to make jokes about you essentially being a bird and her a fox... they tend to be at times concerningly grim.

[sapphe-ire]

Too Long~

i've been on a zoro hyperfixation train for many days [maybe months but i won't admit it] and i just HAD to write this...i might make a sort of part 2 for this if someone asks

Warning: cunnilingus, public [not in front of anyone], riskyyyy, slight angst, 'pussy' and 'clit' used

[1K]

O X O X O X O X O X O X O X O X O X O X O X O X O X O X

You look upon the bright, bubbly island, the sun shining onto your face as you find your way to the bar in the most discrete path you can follow. You show up to the door, nerves plaguing you as it did even days before this moment. taking in the deepest breath you can muster, you open the door and step in, eyes taking a second to adjust to the weak lighting.

As soon as your eyes familiarise themselves with the sudden lack of blinding sunlight, you notice a familiar green, mossy head of hair inside. drinking at the bar, Shakky and Rayleigh nowhere in sight, you see the one person you’ve been anxious to see for the past two years aside from your captain. your heart and soul do somersaults, backflips and cartwheels once you really take in his appearance.

the slight change in hair length, his large shoulders that are somehow broader, all of it as dazzling to you as when you first truly observed him. Once he turned around, there was even more of a surprise when the first thing that catches your eye is his large pecs on display as well as his chest scar and the scar over his left eye. You were immediately concerned, but you couldn't bring yourself to move.

All the detrimental thoughts that were present those couple of years ago reared its grim head once more, the fleet of thoughts shackling your feet to the floor. ‘Does he still hate me?’ ‘Is he still mad?’ ‘how will he react?’ ‘what if i have to leave the crew?’

Finally….they stopped. As much as you loved the silence within your own mind, the static was accompanied by the ‘fight or flight’ mechanism that took root as he stood up and stalked over to you, intimidating form getting closer and closer until he’s right in front of you. He looks down at you stoically and you can't tell if he’s angry or just observing you.

As much as your body screamed to stomp on the wooden floor so hard that you fall into hell, you smile up at him a little. “H-hey, zo.” your voice trembles and you hoped maybe the devil would come for you himself. “You changed” his deep voice rumbled, bouncing off the walls and back to you 20 times more powerful.

“I mean…i got some muscle but-” you’re caught completely off guard by the heavy kiss planted on your lips. For a second you thought ‘who just kisses someone out of the blue after not seeing them for two years?!’ but when you realise that it really had been two years, two years of no form of communication after what happened between you two, you didn't care.

You melt into the kiss with no further questioning, kissing back just as messily as he was kissing you. He pushes you against the now closed door and lifts his hand to your waist, squeezing hard enough to elicit a whimper from you. Suddenly he pulls back and takes your arm, pulling you out of the bar before your brain can even catch up to the sudden change in pace.

“Wh-...where are we going?” you ask and he responds almost instantly, “away. need to taste you.”

Zoro was always blunt and impatient, never leaving room for argument, so you stay quiet and follow, not like you wanted to rebel regardless.

you trot behind him as he pulls you into the tall numbered forest, making sure to keep track of where you were going since you know he'd be of no help once you have to get out. He stops at tree number 23 and once more, pushes you against it, attacking your neck with harsh and hot kisses and bites. It immediately evokes a soft moan from you and you lace your fingers in his short green hair.

“You taste like sea breeze and sweat…” he all but growled, already pushing his big hands past your waistband. You can only let out sounds of pleasure as his lips move to your hips, nipping at the skin while he makes work of pulling down your skirt. You take his hands in yours, calming your breathing to ask him what he was doing. Responding without hesitation he says, “didn’t i say i needed to taste you? I see you still haven't learned to listen” he goes back nibbling on your skin, this time on your sensitive thighs, causing you to whimper slightly.

You decided to just let him do his thing and hope you two don’t get caught. He kisses and bites at your thighs, pulling your skirt down and spreading your legs. As much as you tried to be quiet, not even god could stop the slutty whimper and moan that he worms out of you when he leans in to smell and lick your arousal through your underwear, growling afterward and tearing your underwear off to attack your clit with a harsh and impatient suck.

You throw your head back and grab the hair at the top of his head, “oh shit, zoro~” you moan, his tongue making good work of eating you out. But even through your pleasure, you needed a bit of closure. “So….y-you’re not mad~?” 

After you ask, he delivers a particularly harsh suck of your clit, grabbing your ass hard and speaking into your pussy, “‘course i am…but i missed this…” he licks a long stripe down to your slit, “i missed you” he eats you out fervently, tongue reaching deep inside you. “But-” you start, but immediately get cut off, “stop talking and just moan f’me…let me hear those pretty sounds”

You opt it would be better to obey and just revel in the pleasure his skilled mouth offers. You grip his hair tighter and throw your head back once more, closing your eyes so you can only feel his mouth and his large hands on you without sparing a thought to anything else.

The pressure in your core builds up and one specific insert of his tongue has you curling against the tree, orgasm pulled out of you and right onto his awaiting tongue. He laps up your orgasm, his own hard on pushing against the confines of his pants, begging for the same. 

“So….forgive me for sleeping with sanji?” you smile a bit, breathing a bit heavy and beginning to pull up your clothes so you can get on your knees and help his raging hard-on. He grumbles and rolls his eyes…well…eye, “not yet, you have a lot of making up to do. No-” before he could continue you both here “OOOIIIIII!” from the distance. When you both peek around the tree, luffy and most of the crew are running from a large group of marines.

You chuckle at the sight and turn back to zoro, “we can continue this on the sunny, right?” you smirk. He scoffs and already begins going off in the opposite direction of where the sunny was left last. Pulling him back, you two join the rest of the crew in running, though all that occupied your mind was the anticipated events that are soon to come

O X O X O X O X O X O X O X O X O X O X O X O X O X O X

[saintmurd0ck]

lakeside dreamin'

masterlist

pairing: jedi general anakin skywalker x f!reader

summary: anakin reminisces about your lives together while he's away fighting in the clone wars

warnings: heavy angst, mentions of canon events in TCW, canon typical mentions of warfare, some smut/spice, mentions of sex, minors DNI 18+ only

a/n: to the one anon who requested this maybe a year ago? i saw clone wars anakin and it was over for my brain 🫠 anyway love you guys and leave a comment or reblog if you liked this! 🥺

song pairing: love on the brain (rihanna)

The war was taking its toll.

Day after day, planet after planet, all Anakin knew now was his place on the battlefield. And his role in leading the victory for the Jedi and the Republic, even though their dogma preached peace, not violence. Every skirmish brought a new kind of horror to his once uncomplicated life, whether it was watching Separatist droids and clone troopers alike, cut down as easily as marsh reeds, or the simple fact that his relationship with the Force was dwindling towards something impure. Something he couldn’t make sense of, and would surely raise more questions than answers if he were to confide in his Masters. It wasn’t that he contemplated reaching towards the Dark side, or thought of the kind of evil only the Sith could endure; it was more like an isolating numbness that spread from within, and before long, Anakin felt the cloud settle over his mind.

He was tired of seeing smoke — the kind that billowed in every direction, stinking of despair and lost hope on his front, despite the war turning to the Republic’s favour. It was the sound of unending blaster fire and the repetitive ignition of his lightsaber that haunted his nightmares, and with only the company of his clone legion, his Padawan Ahsoka and the occasional appearance from Obi-Wan, he felt himself starting to slip.

He was overwhelmed, and encumbered with burden. 

Never before had he experienced such guilt, anger and suffering — towards his army, towards the civilians caught in the crossfire, and towards his relationship with you. 

The secret life the two of you led, away from the Order, felt like something out of another galaxy, another lifetime. It was as if eons had passed since he’d last seen you, and yet the world was constantly evolving — not towards freedom, but into a more destructive version of its past. Even for a Jedi General (and, one could argue, because he was a Jedi General), Anakin had little comfort, and much less sway in which systems he visited and what he took part in. Seeing you was absolutely out of the question, but it wasn’t like he bothered to even ask, out of fear of inviting a lecture from Obi-Wan, or Maker-forbid, an audience with Master Yoda. 

At least things like facilitating training for the Onderon rebels allowed him to feel more of himself, and to an extent, a sort of unity with the Council, but all of that was quickly replaced by the more sinister side of the Separatist Alliance, such as the trainwreck on Zygerria. Liberation didn’t exist there. Not until Anakin showed up.

It was these events that really compelled him to look inwards, to not just seek the Force’s guidance, but to use it in tandem with a coping mechanism that would get him through the war. 

And so the vignettes began. Slowly, at first. 

It started off as little glimpses of your life together, slices of euphoric nostalgia that weaved their way into Anakin’s being. He didn’t realise just how much he yearned for you; not simply the way your skin felt on his, but the pureness of your energy, the reminder that good truly did exist in this world. As much as these images were a solace to his sanity, they brought about a sense of malaise. Contrition, actually, if he sought the Force for the purpose of clarity. Even though it all existed in his head, allowing himself these indulgences felt like once again, he was breaking Code. 

But could it really have been that bad, if it honed his focus? If it drew him back to the bigger picture, of the why? Reminding himself of who it was he fought for didn’t erase the atrocities, but it gave him that flicker of hope, knowing that the sum of his actions equalled a better world for you. 

And some selfish, miniscule part of him figured that if he could lead the victory, he’d be pardoned when the Order inevitably found out about the life the two of you shared. It isn’t as if no-one already knew. He was sure Ahsoka was aware. Rex, too. He doubted when it came to Obi-Wan, but then again very little got past his Master. 

While the memories of you lay fresh before his eyes, they seemed to sharpen at specific points throughout the day; often in the thick of battle, or when he woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in a cold sweat, nothing but thin shafts of moonlight illuminating his body. It’s like they were stitched perfectly amongst the real action, scattered at perfect intervals that jerked his body into manoeuvre.

The sweetest images had always featured the lake. 

Armed with nothing more but his wits, his back pressed against the cold, wet stone in a cave on Vanqor, he reminisced about that first night with you by the lakeside. The sweet smell of wildflowers carried in the breeze, heightened by his affinity for the Force. He recalled the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore, and how the two moons cast their milky glow upon the shimmering surface of the water. And you — radiant, almost ethereal in the soft light, and the way your lips brushed against his neck, filling him with the kind of heat that flooded all at once. Not even the screech of the pursuing gundark could have interrupted this moment in time. He felt his breathing go ragged, because he remembered what happened next. He gritted his teeth, thinking about the way he moved inside you, and how you tangled your fingers in his hair, pressing chaste kisses to his mouth, his chest, whispering his name in sinful bliss. The gundark didn’t stand a chance. Not when Anakin’s motivation for getting out alive laid in sweet promise, embedded in these visions.

His name felt the most natural rolling off your tongue, nevermind that that was truly the last real thing he possessed, unmarred by time and the influence of the Jedi. In that moment, when you’d taken him over the edge with you, crying his name so loud he swore someone had heard, he knew he’d give it over to you if you’d asked.

He thought of the lake again when he was in Felucia, crouched low amongst the sillum. His lightsaber grew heavy in his hand, the ridges suddenly awkward in his palm, but the grip he’d started to lose on his lifeline gave rise to something he couldn’t ignore. 

It was another temperate day and the sun had created the most brilliant reflections on the surface of the lake. With the grasses and trees swaying in the wind, Anakin closed his eyes, reaching out with the Force. He didn’t prod or poke, but rather he cast a wide net, a delicate caress, to connect with the life that teemed. It sang to him in a multi-layered harmony, acting as a prominent reminder that the Force flowed in all living things. And when his eyes fluttered open, he watched you carefully as you walked towards the water, your feet crunching on the smooth pebbles that made up the beach. You turned around to give him a dazzling smile, moving with deliberation to slip off your clothes. Your laughter echoed in the crisp air as you dived into the lake, disappearing under a swathe of emerald green, only to resurface in the middle with a large grin plastered to your face. He didn’t hesitate to jump in, to shed his clothing on the spot. A shudder ran down his spine at the thought of what happened shortly after. 

Sometimes it was hard to return to the present, to remember that he’d sleep alone that night while you were only just waking up, systems away, most likely after another fitful slumber.  There were times where he thought these visions would serve no other purpose than to derail him, when the temptation of your touch shadowed his desire for victory. These moments guided him to channel the Force within, so as to remind himself of why he was doing this in the first place. Because it was more than just a coping mechanism. It was an anchor. A thrumming pulse point. A gentle acknowledgement of the life he wanted to come back to.

It’s then that he wondered when enough would be enough, when the war would come to a stalemate, as it so often did in their history. The tide was turning, and he knew it.

And there it was again, that kernel of hope, that ember of light that shone in the depths of his soul. Even reduced to a ghost in his memory, you were tangible, so tangible now. He wouldn’t let the Separatists win. He couldn’t, because there was too much at stake. And so if thinking of you, in these ways, helped him remember that, he wasn’t going to stop. 

Not for anyone. 

[justwinginglife]

hi!! may I request something again?^^

may I request soshiro found out that you can turn into a Kaiju or see you transforming into your Kaiju form. a little Angst but with happy ending please:›

You may always request something again! Also story note- for this fic, Imma just ignore that Kikoru Shinomiya exists, sorry yall, you're taking her spot now.

Half Human

Your whole life was one big irony in that your life's mission was to kill kaiju and yet you owed the very breath in your lungs to them. Your father, the Director General, Isao Shinomiya, had already lost his wife and he'd be damned if he was going to lose you too. He secretly brought a kaiju back to base alive and had several talented doctors and scientists exchange its core in place of your failing heart. The doctors weren't even sure it could be done, but when the abomination that was you was finally finished, they were all sworn to secrecy. You were to be the first and the only kaiju transplant survivor.

After all, if word got out that it was possible to enhance the human body directly with kaiju organs, without use of a suit, there would be chaos. For one, the suit industry would take an immense hit and the black market would reign supreme. Not to mention how much ungodly human experimentation could come about from failed attempts to successfully recreate the transplant. It might even make the Defense Force's job more difficult- trying to take Kaiju in alive was significantly more dangerous and strenuous than just killing them.

With all these things in mind, your father kept the tightest lid on the situation. No one but you, your father, and the team that had worked on you knew this secret. But today, one more would find out.

Your father always carefully monitored your vitals in case you ever rejected the organ, and you were always reminded to keep your emotions in check so as to not set off the kaiju side of you. You thought that you'd learned to keep most of your emotions at bay, but apparently that control you had did not apply to anything even remotely related to the Vice Captain.

One time you'd heard someone shit talking him and you accidentally stabbed through your own tongue because your anger had called your fangs to emerge. And it didn't help that the Vice Captain glimpsed the blood dripping from your lips and tried to help you. You always wondered if you'd be able to feel human emotions anymore since you no longer had a human heart, but he quickly put that fear to rest because every time he reached for you, touched you, cared for you, you felt like you could feel your nonexistent heart beating rapidly. It felt like he was the only thing grounding you in your humanity.

Your father must have caught onto this at some point because he'd frequently make excuses to call you to headquarters when he felt like you might be getting too close to Hoshina. Today was one of those days.

You had gotten the summon early this morning and you were annoyed but you knew you that as much as you wanted to rebel against your father as his daughter, as a soldier in his Defense Force you couldn't very well disobey a direct order from the Director General. Especially when no one knew the reason you were called to headquarters so regularly. So you went to him.

By the time you finally concluded your business with your father it was late (you refused to stay the night in his division and let him have anymore hold over your life as it was) and you were waiting for the next train back to the Third Division when you felt your comms buzzing in your pocket. You thought it was strange as everyone should be either asleep or going to sleep soon, but you popped the comms in anyway, eager to hear what was going on so late at night. The base was under attack. It was a Daikaiju. The Vice Captain was fighting him. And losing.

You start to get dizzy. Sweat trickles down your forehead. The world seemed to be blinking in and out. You shake your head trying to get ahold of yourself but you know it's no use. You still haven't learned to get your kaiju side under control and on the rare occasion when you slipped and went berserk only your father could bring you back from that place of darkness. You clench your fists, straining, and gripping onto what was left of your humanity but your lower half had already started to turn.

"No- don't. He needs me. I can't be rampaging in another division right now." You beg the beast inside you.

It doesn't listen.

You feel the transformation reach your neck, a growl already starting to rise up your throat.

"I said stop! Damnit, st-"

Your voice is no longer your own. All that's left of you is one half of your face now, and the beast is slowly closing in on it. It's hungry. It hasn't been let out in awhile.

You look up at the moon, blinking back tears, thinking it might be awhile before you see it again, before you're yourself again. You wonder how long it will take your dad to find you and you wonder if he will even be able to change you back this time. He was getting older, getting weaker. What if you killed him this time?

And what if when you woke up, if you ever woke up again, the Vice Captain was dead? What would you do with your life if you weren't listening for his footsteps in the hallways or listening for his laugh in the air? If he wasn't telling you a joke or complimenting your stance, would you make it through the day? If you went through life not ever having told him how you felt, would it still feel like you were living?

You start to spiral in your own dark thoughts as the transformation spreads across your face, but right before it hits your ear you here the comms crackling.

"Vice Captain! Come in, Vice Captain! Sir, please respond!" Okonogi. She's yelling for the Vice Captain. Something must've happened.

Your vision starts to go red. You punch the lamppost beside you, but you're surprised to find that it's your fist that hits the metal. Not the beast's. You look down. Only your legs are still transformed.

You actually laugh out loud. "That's more like it. Time to go." You jump once, and it propels you into the sky. You use the momentum to launch yourself towards the Third Division. Somehow your legs are faster than a moving train, bringing you bounding towards the training grounds in what seems like no time at all.

Before you can even think about the consequences of being half transformed on base where the officers are literally trained to kill kaiju like you, before you can even think about how your father will probably kill you himself for revealing the secret he's worked so hard to protect, you're already jumping in front of Hoshina as you transform your arms and block a blow that could've been deadly.

He doesn't even have time to be stunned, you're injured.

He jumps to his feet, concern on his face, as you spit blood. You've not fought anything in your kaiju form before (the most you've done is scare the shit out of some pigeons before your father found you and changed you back) and it takes some getting used to.

"Well fuck. That actually hurt, damnit!" You yell at the kaiju. It laughs at you. You raise an eyebrow. It seems to understand you. You're astounded but you don't care to think too much about it before you launch a punch at its abdomen.

It groans but then it chuckles. "Is that the best you've got?"

"Ah so you do talk. That's fucking creepy, not gonna lie." You punch its chest this time.

It staggers backwards and Hoshina takes advantage of the opening, slashing at its legs. It lands on its back.

You hurl yourself high into the air and then crash down hard on its head with a deafening blow that splits its skull. But it starts to slowly regenerate and it shakes you off of it. You land at the ground by Hoshina.

"So are we ever going to talk about the whole 'you being a half kaiju hybrid' thing?" He asks you, eyes still trained on the shuddering beast in front of him.

"Really? Now? We're a little busy Hoshina."

He laughs- he actually fucking laughs. "Oh really, because here I thought we were having a nice little tea party."

You roll your eyes but you can't help but smile at his poor comedic timing. "I'll treat you to some tea if you tell me where the damn core is."

He points to its back. "Lil fucker is hiding it in there."

You nod. "Got it."

The kaiju rises to its feet, ready for another round.

"Do me a favor and be bait, yeah?" You tell Hoshina and then before he can protest, you charge its back.

The kaiju swings at you but you duck.

"Oh I'm the fucking bait? Real classy." Hoshina grumbles but he complies, charging at its front, slashing at it and keeping it busy while you circle behind it.

You run up the stairs of a nearby building and when you reach the top, you launch yourself from the roof.

"This one is for making Hoshina bleed." You mutter under your breath before sending its organs flying as you rip through its flesh and pummel its core to bits. The aftershock sends you flying and you don't have time to land properly. You smack the floor on your side, tumbling in circles until you finally slow.

Your ribs feel like they're caving in but at least the kaiju is down for good. You lie in the dirt, coughing painfully and looking up at the night sky. You're fully human again, like the beast inside you curled up and went to bed, letting you feel the full force of the pain alone.

Hoshina rushes over to you. "Oh my god, are you okay?!"

You cough again. "Not sure if I'm up for that tea party anymore. Might've fucked up a lung or two."

He rolls his eyes. "You would make a joke at a time like this."

"And who was the one asking me stupid questions mid fucking fight?" You tease.

He laughs.

"So... are we going to talk about it now?" You swallow, wondering how he'll react to this new side of you.

He thinks for a moment. "Talk about what? As far as I know, a human saved me from the kaiju. And it looks like," He chucks a rock at the nearby drone, "The rubble badly damaged any footage that might've been captured."

You sigh, relieved, and relax against the ground.

"But... if there's anything you want to tell me later... when you're ready, I'll listen."

There were so many things you wanted to tell him and you being half kaiju was the least important of them. But you'd save that for another day, maybe when less of your limbs hurt.

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

"By the way, did you really brutally murder the kaiju just because it made me bleed? Your comms were on."

"Shut up, Hoshina."

[lupinsversion]

𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐳𝐨𝐯𝐚 - 𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤

• summary: when aleksander has to leave urgent for a mission, saying goodbye to reader.

• contains: alexander morozova x fem reader, talks of an attack and violence, possessiveness, protective, a bit on angst

• word count: 1.7k

masterlist || requests

Aleksander’s mind had been a storm of thoughts and emotions lately. His mind constantly ran to his partner. He was currently in a long and tedious meeting with the king, his mind half focused on the conversation while the other half thought about her, when one of the king’s advisors suggested something that immediately caught his attention. “Your majesty, we have received word that there is a group of grisha rebels operating near the Fjerda border, and they are planning a significant attack on both the Grand Palace and the Little Palace.”

Aleksander’s mind immediately snapped back to the present, his eyes sharpening with interest. “How do we know that they are planning an attack?” He questioned sharply.

The advisor replied, “We have received intel from our spies in that region that this group of rebels had been gathering supplies and weapons in preparation for an assault. They have also been training extensively.”

The king’s expression grew grave as he listened to the news. “That is most concerning.” He spoke. “We cannot allow these rebels to carry out an attack on our borders. General Kirigan, I want you to lead a force to go and handle this threat immediately.”

“Yes, your majesty.” Aleksander said without hesitation. He felt a mixture of emotions swirling within him — concern over the rebels, determination to protect his people, and a fierce possessiveness to protect his woman, who was currently within the walls of the Little Palace.

The king spoke up again. “I also request that you take a selection of Heartrenders with you for this, along with Healers and Squallers to provide support and healing where needed.”

Aleksander nodded, already planning in his head which of the grisha to take with him. “I will gather a team of all necessary and depart immediately.”

The meeting continued with the king giving further instructions and details about the mission, but Aleksander’s thoughts were once again consumed by her. He couldn’t shake the feeling of protectiveness and need to make sure she remained safe.

Finally, the meeting concluded, and Aleksander rose from his seat, already itching to leave. He bowed to the king and nodded at the other council members before leaving the room in the Grand Palace, his heart hammering in his chest with a mixture of anticipation and worry.

He made his way back to the Little Palace, determined to find his partner and ensure her safety. With quick strides and a determined expression, he searched for her, his eyes scanning the halls and rooms for any sign of her presence.

Unknown to all the dangers flowing through the air, she walked through the halls of the Little Palace as she usually would. A book rested in her palm as her eyes trailed along the lines of words.

He caught sight of her walking calmly down the hall, a book in one hand and a gentle smile on her face. Seeing her like this, so unaware and vulnerable, made his surge of protectiveness and possessiveness flare up within him.

He quickened his pace to catch up to her, his footsteps echoing in the hallway. “Little star.” He called out, his voice urgent but soft, as to not alarm her.

Her head lifted from its slightly bent position and looked towards the sound of his voice. Her expression was soft as she smiled in greeting. “Is everything alright?”

He slowed to a stop only a few steps away from her, studying her face, drinking in her sweet smile. The sight of her, so blissfully ignorant of the impending danger, both eased and fueled his need to protect her.

He walked a bit closer, his tone low and serious. “Everything is fine.” He spoke softly. “However, I need to speak to you in private. It’s… important.”

She looked around them for a private place for a conversation before nodding off in the east direction, signaling silently to follow her before she started walking.

He followed her lead, his eyes never leaving her figure as they moved through the halls. He could sense her curiosity and slight confusion, but he also knew that she trusted him, which made his heart ache at the weight of the situation they were about to discuss.

She led him to a secluded room down the hall from where they first spoke, a small study area usually reserved for the Healers during their study periods. She closed the door behind them and turned to face him, her beautiful face filled with curiosity.

He stood for a moment, taking in her presence, the softness of her smile, the way her eyes lit up when she looked straight at him, the way her body seemed to warm his heart. He took deep breaths before gathering himself, his expression darkening with the gravity of the situation.

“I have news.” He started, his tone solemn as he met her gaze, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and seriousness. “There are reports of a group of grisha rebels planning an attack on the border. A strike force is being assembled to go and deal with the threat.”

“I’m assuming that you’re going as well.” She spoke calmly, despite the small rush of fear she felt creeping in.

He studied her face, observing her calm exterior and subtle hint of fear that flickered in her eyes. He nodded solemnly, his gaze never wavering. “Yes, I’ll be leading.” He confirmed.

“Let me come.” She said a bit too suddenly.

His eyes widened in surprise, his head snapping slightly at the sound. “What?!” He exclaimed. “No. Absolutely not. It’s far too dangerous. I won’t allow it.”

“You know I want to help, not sit here and feel like some fearful cat.” She protested softly.

He sighed, his expression growing conflicted as he considered her words. He knew her feisty spirit and her eagerness to protect, but the thought of her getting hurt filled him with a primal fear.

“You’re too stubborn for your own good, little star.” He muttered, his voice a mix of affection and exasperation. “And as much as part of me likes that… there is no way I’m letting you put yourself in danger. I won’t risk it.”

“Oh, come on.” She continued to speak softly. “You’re walking into this. You knew how I would react.”

He sighed again, his resolve faltering slightly as he met her gaze again. “I knew you’d want to come, yes. But I didn’t think you’d be foolish enough to actually try and convince me.” He muttered.

“Foolish?” Her brows knitted together.

He gave her an exasperated look. “It’s dangerous, and you know it. The rebels could be ruthless and unpredictable. I won’t risk your life, no matter how talented you may be.”

“This is so unfair.”

He stepped closer, his hands gently reaching out to caress her cheek. “I know it may seem unfair to you, but you have to understand, little star. I can’t even bear the thought of something happening to you… please, just this once, don’t be stubborn and just listen to me. Stay here, and let me handle the threat.”

She sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “When do you leave?”

His hand moved to her other cheek, his thumb lightly caressing her skin. “In the morning.” He murmured, his voice laced with an emotion that was both soft and filled with worry. “I’ll be gone most of the day, but I should return by sundown or by the next dawn. I promise. I’ll come back to you, little star.”

“You better, because I will not bury you, Aleksander.” She whispered, moving to place her hands on his neck.

The feel of her hands on his neck brought a mixture of comfort and longing. He rested his forehead against hers, looking deeply into her eyes. “I don’t plan on dying.” He muttered, his voice filled with both conviction and tenderness.

“Be safe, for me.” She whispered.

Her words sent his heart racing, and a mix of emotions tightened in his chest. He held her gaze gently, his voice soft. “I promise, little star. I’ll come back to you, I swear it.” His voice carried a fierce devotion, both to her and his duty.

She nodded slowly, accepting his answer.

He gently pressed his lips against her forehead, his hands holding her waist tightly as if wanting to memorize her. Even though his expression remained composed, she could see the vulnerability in his eyes as he spoke. “I have to prepare now. Stay safe, and I will return to you as soon as I can.”

She moved to stand on her toes, bringing their faces closer together.

He unconsciously leaned down slightly as she came towards him, their foreheads grazing, his gaze locked on hers. There was an undeniable longing in his eyes, a subtle expression that betrayed a part of himself that was both hardened by years of command and softened by the presence of the woman before him.

His fingers gently traced her side, tracing a soft, almost subconscious path along her waist. It was a moment of intimacy, filled with more tenderness and an unspoken yearning. “I’ll come back to you.” He murmured softly, his voice a mix of determination and vulnerability, his eyes never leaving her face.

“You better.” She whispered before she leaned in to kiss him softly.

His breath caught in his chest, and his eyes closed as her soft lips pressed against his. The touch of her soft lips were like a soothing balm, calming the storm of thoughts and worries in his mind. He leaned into the gentle kiss, the warmth of her body and the softness of her lips a grounding anchor amidst the chaos of his impending departure.

The weight of his responsibility, his mission, and the thought of leaving her behind made his heart ache. He clung to her, his lips moving gently against hers, as if seeking solace and reassurance in her embrace.

Finally, he pulled away, his thumb brushing against her cheek softly as he looked down at her. “I have to go, but I’ll be back as promised.”

He pressed one last, gentle kiss on her forehead before reluctantly taking a step back, his fingers lingering on her waist for a fleeting moment.

“Be safe, little star.” He said softly, his gaze filled with a mix of emotions — concern, longing, and a hint of vulnerability. He lingered for a moment longer, memorizing the lines of her face, as if trying to capture the essence of the woman before him. Then, with a hint of reluctance, he turned and walked away, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.

And as always, Aleksander kept to his promise.

© lupinsversion 2024

[babiedemon]

THE GREAT WAR . . . katniss everdeen / reader

genre . . . angst, hurt/comfort, mockingjay era, movie-based

tw . . . major character deaths, pstd, slight gore

district thirteen was boring, to say the least. you’d been there for weeks following the destruction of your district. a bunker underground was your last choice for comfort, but it was a lot better than the ashen shambles of the home you’d escaped from.

the only bonus you counted was the presence of katniss everdeen, the mockingjay for all intents and purposes. she was complicated, to say the least, and especially as a roommate.

there wasn’t a single night where you weren’t woken by her tortured screams, by her delirious sleepwalking through the compound. and there wasn’t a single night where you weren’t clambering up to her bunk, sinking in beside her, following her through corridors.

“i’m sorry you got stuck with me,” she’d rasped one night, both your heads submerged in a private world beneath a blanket. you’d chuckled, brushed a few dark hairs from her eyes.

“it’s not stuck if i signed up for it,” you’d whispered back. she’d smiled then, a half smile that hardly reached her eyes.

“i signed up for a lot of things i wished i hadn’t.” the words had hurt your heart, the large portion dedicated specifically for her.

“if i hadn’t, i would’ve spent the rest of my time here wishing i had.” she’d sighed, fought the smile on her lips, avoided eye contact.

it was that night that you first entertained the idea that, perhaps in an ideal world, you could care for katniss. that you could love her in ways other than camaraderie.

katniss looked good in grey. you acknowledged this from the other side of the atrium, your gaze crossing dancing bodies and gleeful faces to observe her steely expression. you could see the contemplation on her placid visage, the slight crease of her eyebrows, the frown tugging just barely at the corner of her lips.

she was planning, brainstorming, setting her sights on a new goal. you could tell from the sea of thoughts swarming in her grey seam eyes. you could see the hint of pain on her face, either from her recent exposure to the shambles of peeta mellark or the bruised ribs occupying her chest.

johanna approached her, the shadowed cheekbones and shaved head only adding to her dismaying persona. she and katniss spoke for a few long moments, johanna’s free facial expressions a stark contrast to the guarded feelings of katniss. it left a bad taste in your mouth, a dread in your stomach. you didn’t like it, especially as katniss seemed to let relief wash over her for the first time in weeks.

something was happening, and it was bound to be a train wreck.

you were right, as your gut typically was. you gave yourself no time to triumph your infallible intuition, the plane jolting as it touched down in rebel headquarters, as it touched down within a half mile of katniss’s whereabouts. you were the first to leave as the doors opened, a bulletproof vest hanging off your shoulders and a rifle weighing on your fingertips. finnick lingered meters behind you, and after him were boggs, pollux, castor, messalla, and cressida.

you couldn’t stop the smile from breaking on your face upon spotting katniss’s dreary face hidden amongst her squad members. you were struck with tunnel vision, briskly walking to your brunette comrade, ignoring the burn in your calves in favor of reaching her.

“y/n?” she inquired, face confused and eyes lit up, already bounding towards you. you opened your arms for her, slowing your pace and letting her fall into you. you could feel the relief settling into her bones, her muscles relaxing into your chest, a troubled sigh heaving from her bruised lung. “what are you doing here?”

“i think the better question is what are you doing here? you’re supposed to be back in thirteen,” you chastised, voice stern despite the aching dread fleeing your stomach. she chuckled breathily, muscles tensing back up, your words chasing every drop of sudden joy from her thin frame.

“i had to kill him. i had to kill snow,” she whispered, loud enough for only your ears.

there was another suspicion of yours confirmed. she’d signed herself up for certain death under the smallest inkling of a chance to murder her worst enemy. so much for being selfish, you mused. there wasn’t a selfish bone in her entire brittle body.

the pods were a nightmare. you decided this as you watched a stream of flame erupt and a peacekeeper vehicle explode, shrapnels of molten metal flying in every direction. they were deadly, unpredictable, unable to be entirely safe from.

somehow, you found peeta mellark’s arrival to be more of a nightmare. he was muttering to himself, trampling over the marble ruins of the capitol, clearly out of his mind as he made his best effort to join your unit. you’d been given the grand responsibility of cuffing him, the battered look on his haunted face sending wave after wave of sorrow wracking through your body.

he was once kind, a sweet baker’s boy with a talent for paint. he’d hugged you once as a child, after helping you up from your uncoordinated trip over uneven pavement. he hadn’t known you then, and he didn’t know you now, the recognition absent from his hollow eyes. that was what pained you the most. he was an empty shell of the kind soul he once was. you could see the pain on katniss’s face, too.

nightfall had arrived, and your watch had finally ended, leaving you exhausted in the wake of your eventful day. katniss sat upright behind your head, her thigh just barely brushing the ends of your hair, her fidgeting sending shockwaves through the cement and into your body. you let your eyes crack open, squinting up at her in the dark ruins of what was once a home.

her eyes were far away, reflecting some distant feeling of chaos and dread. you had a feeling it wasn’t so distant from her, not with the source of all her stresses slumbering a few feet to her left. her hand had begun absentmindedly twirling your hair, her face showing no signs of awareness. it was enough to lull you to a restless sleep amidst all the chaos.

you awoke to her body clambering from the floor and her boots snapping with each quick step from you. you arose drowsily, sweeping your gun into your hand, and followed her outside. she was brittle, as was shown by the tortured contortion of her freckled face. she barely cast a glance your way in all of her inner turmoil.

the most you could do was rub her shoulder and hope for the best.

boggs was in less than top working condition, his legs having been blown off mere moments before. your hands shook as you struggled to secure a tourniquet around what was left of his left leg. he wasn’t going to make it, and you knew this in your core, but you couldn’t live knowing you hadn’t at least tried to save him.

the blood rushed out in copious amounts, staining your hands and the marble ground of his final resting place. wails and cries of one of the leeg sisters, leeg two of you weren’t mistaken, were merely background noise, your hearing taken by the rush of your heart in your chest and your own desperate, whimpering sobs. you were only pulled from your frenzied haze by castor’s hand grasping your shoulder, a somber look on his face as he shook his head.

the grief was short lived, leeg one setting off a pod in her attempt to tend to her sister. you were the first on your feet upon seeing the courtyard closing in, your feet carrying you to the nearest building. katniss lay at the back of your mind, your adrenaline kicking in and your survival instinct prioritizing your own self-preservation.

it was your gun that shattered the glass door, and your footsteps that echoed first in the empty shell of a townhouse, and your mangled cry that carried down the stairs upon finding the stairs dismantled. you made your best attempt at finding a way up them, somehow tugging yourself up onto the crumbling stone by exposed metal braces.

you waited for only a few moments before katniss appeared in view, face red and eyes darting, searching the small crowd of her unit. you noted the absence of holmes alongside boggs, and your heart sunk. you’d lost not one, but two.

“where’s y/n?” you heard, her voice frenzied and dripping with her anxiety. the black goo had infiltrated the building, gushing in at such high velocities you were scared you’d all drown in it. it kissed the edge of the stairs, climbed up them slowly, slowing to a complete stop just as it touched the top of the staircase.

“shit,” gale muttered, his face crestfallen as he mourningly gazed out to the sea of black flooding the courtyard. it was then you remembered you had a voice, your throat having been closed the entire duration of the short lived conversation. you peaked around the corner from where you’d climbed up to the next landing, now sobered from your adrenaline rush and realizing just how far of a jump it would be to get yourself down. how had you gotten up here?

“up here, kat,” you called, voice breaking mid sentence, breathy and terrified. relief leaked into her not because of the lethal goo draining from the building, but from the realization that you had in fact made it out.

“how in the hell did you get up there, sunshine?” cressida breathily chuckled, her nose scrunched as a crooked smile took her face and her head tilted. you shrugged, eyes darting as you attempted to plan your descent.

“i haven’t the slightest clue. can someone help me down?” you asked timidly, slowly inching to the edge of the decimated staircase. gale and pollux made their move, both being the largest men, with finnick ready to support if need be.

you got down, but not without a few bruises and a hefty amount of brute force. you’d jumped to save time, gale barely catching you and ending up slamming into the plaster behind him. it was katniss who settled you on your feet and it was katniss who pushed you behind her.

“give me the pod, everdeen,” jackson demanded, her face somehow harder than usual. katniss was defiant, refusing the give up the pod, a lie tumbling from her lips faster than the rate at which all weapons were lifted. you were just as steely as jackson, rifle lifted to your chest, aimed for her head, eyes narrowed and fierce.

“it’s true,” cressida interjected, stepping in the direct line of fire. you admired her bravery, the gall she’d never hesitated to make use of, remained unfazed by the barrel of a weapon aimed at her head. “coin wants it televised.”

you all knew it was a lie, every last one of you. the mission from the start was to film propos until the rebels took president snow into custody. it was common knowledge amongst both the soldiers and district thirteen’s film crew. katniss was a terrible liar, but with more against her than supporting her, jackson had no choice but to back down. it was an outnumbered match and there were peacekeepers minutes away. your unit had to move, and quick.

seeing your face paired with a canon was the last thing you’d expected to see broadcast in a capitol home. you and gale had made quick work of devouring handfuls of snacks left by the homeowners, a frown on your face as your mind struggled to wrap around the events transpiring moments ago.

the leeg sisters were dead, blown to bits by peacekeepers nearly an hour before. boggs was dead, holmes was dead, and there was no way out except down. you knew this, and you knew it well. your numbers were dwindling, and if your unit had any chance at survival, the best way to proceed would be through the sewers and underground railways.

katniss was in a worse state than you, her entire body down to her eyes dissheveled and frantic. she hadn’t stopped shaking since you’d arrived in the townhouse across the courtyard, a distracted gleam in her grey eyes. you hoped she could make it through this alive.

sewer water was surprisingly cold, chilling you to your core. you lingered just behind katniss, the light of the holo guiding your way, your hand braced against the hem of her vest. the water reached your shoulders, smelling rancid and leaving a grimy feeling against your skin.

“i don’t like this,” you whispered to katniss, your voice echoing in the flooded pipes. she let out a shaky sigh and nodded, a smile hardly lifting the corner of her mouth.

you reached a resting point at last and you were hot on her heels, just behind her in clambering up the ladder. you were panting as you collapsed on the lifted platform, chilled as the dirty water dried to your skin and protective clothing.

“get some rest,” katniss heaved, eyes darting to meet yours, knuckles brushing yours. a jolt of electricity jumped through your arm. you could feel the heat of your face in your eyes. she smiled, a small gesture that barely stretched past the small curl of her lips and the slight crinkle of her eyes, but it was enough for you — enough to show she cared.

“i don’t think i could if i wanted to,” you whispered, punctuating your statement with a chuckle. you looked down at yourself, at the other rebels hidden away with you. your gaze lingered on peeta, the exhaustion clear on his dozing face. “besides, our watch starts soon. we’ve still got peeta to look after.”

“still, get some rest ‘til then.” you nodded hesitantly, letting your head lean back against the concrete railing. she sighed, a soft sound that echoed in the crowded space. her forearm slid behind your head, hand curling to cup your cheek, and guided your temple to her shoulder. the scratchy gear was uncomfortable against your skin.

you hadn’t realized you’d fallen asleep until your watch started. katniss jolted, waking you with such suddenness that a violent gasp escaped your lips and your hands automatically came to grip your rifle. your eyes darted around, finally piecing together the situation, and you let yourself heaven a soft sigh of relief.

peeta and katniss exchanged a few words as you sat, words you couldn’t bring yourself to eavesdrop on. your eyes, instead, scoped the dark enveloping your unit. there wasn’t much to see, wasn’t much to hear beyond the drip of water and the faint light rippling in the sewer water.

it was a long while until there was something to hear, screams of avoxes echoing distantly in the sewer system. katniss was quick to descend the steel ladder into the murky abyss below. you followed diligently, rifle up and aimed at the dark tunnel she shone a light down. your own light was on, shining a bit further than the holo’s, casting a white glow on the walls and water a hundred meters away.

“what is it?” you whispered as quietly as possible. katniss was equally as confused, eyebrows furrowed and eyes large. it wasn’t until peeta jolted awake that you realized there was something truly to fear lingering in the tunnels.

“we gotta go,” he gasped, horrified, eyes as wide as saucers and face paler than you’d ever seen it. he practically jumped down from the platform, using only one rung to guide himself down. “they released mutts!”

all was well, until it wasn’t. you’d been the second person to climb through the small concrete window, joining pollux on the other side. gale crept across next, then katniss, and peeta, and finnick, until jackson remained. she swept over her surroundings with a piercing light, turned to face you, and froze. you didn’t need any other sign, taking hold of pollux’s hand and dragging him along with you. your warning bells were going mad, adrenaline flooding your muscles and sending you into overdrive.

an explosion lit the passageway behind you, and gale’s fiery shots illuminated your way through the winding sewers. the mutts were gaining, castor’s agonized screams echoing hauntingly loud in your ears. you pushed down your tears, your sorrow, and ran. you ran until you reached an opening, until you reached a ladder, and swung around with your rifle in hand.

“go! go!” you shrieked, shooting down every grotesque capitol creation you could aim for. katniss disappeared into the water, dragged off the metal platform by a mutt. you felt like you couldn’t breathe, shooting anything that moved, even after katniss had ascended, until you and finnick were the only soldiers remaining in the convergence. finnick shoved you, breaking your spell, a mutt only barely missing your jugular. its teeth sunk into your shoulder, ripped apart by finnick’s small dagger. your scream echoed, tearing through your throat.

“christ, y/n, go!” he bellowed. it took nothing more for you to spin on your heel and begin your ascent to your unit, to katniss. her eyes jumped between you and finnick, her arm outstretched to help you up. the pain radiated into your spine, your rib cage, your elbow. it was blinding and it was everywhere. you finally grasped katniss’s shaking hand, letting her and gale rip you away from the opening quicker than the mutt had ripped into you.

“oh my god, y/n. oh my god,” gale gasped, fingers applying pressure to the gaping, bloody wound stretching into your nervous system. you smacked his hand away, a hiccuping sob shrieking from your chest. you dragged yourself onto your feet, scooping up your weapon, tugging pollux’s hand with teary eyes.

“please. pollux, please, we need out,” you wailed, eyes blindly darting for an exit. you pushed through once you’d found it, rifle up and aiming the second you passed through. you were running, the footsteps of your comrades sounding behind you. you saw the peacekeepers before they saw you, a gut feeling guiding your aim. you’d shot down as many as you could see, bullets whizzing past.

circular panels in the ceilings began lighting, dread sinking into your stomach. upon a glance over your shoulder, you realized messalla hadn’t noticed in time. an unidentifiable mass of smoking cubes made up what was once a dear friend, another piece of your heart breaking as the capitol stole yet another life from your grasp. you turned your attention back forward, pushing against the wheezing in your lungs and the ache in your shoulder and the burn in your legs. you reached the stairs before the others, pausing to let them catch up.

peeta lay crumpled on the floor, rotating saws having broken the tile floor where you’d all ran mere moments ago. you struggled to catch your breath, the adrenaline proving to be the best natural stimulant. if it weren’t for the pure terror coursing through your veins, you were sure you wouldn’t have made it out of the sewer. you were certain finnick would’ve had to leave you.

where was finnick?

you gave yourself no time to dwell, cressida’s body pushing past you, darting up the stairs and leaving nothing but a gust of wind in her wake. you followed closely behind the others, holding up the rear, your rifle aiming in every direction.

“open the door!” cressida was shouting, slamming her hand repeatedly against the glass door. “open the door! let us in!”

the shouting didn’t stop until you filed in, slamming the door shut with your injured shoulder. it sent a violent wave of agony through your body. you collapsed with a hand cradling your bleeding wound, tilting your head to the ceiling.

“come on,” katniss breathed, thumb stroking your cheekbone. you shook your head, sob after sob wracking through your body. you’d never felt such a horrible pain in your life, stretching to your very core, leaving all your organs aching in its wake.

“i can’t, i can’t,” you wheezed, struggling to find your airway again. katniss was grounding, her fingers stroking yours, her hand settling on your chest above your vest. you found your breathing that way, with her palm reminding you where your lungs were.

“one more ladder. i promise,” she spoke, voice calm despite the alarm you spotted in her eyes. you crawled to the edge of the trap door. your hands found the railing. you managed to drag yourself down, to plant yourself on the concrete ground. katniss landed seconds after you, her arm wrapping around your middle. she helped you to the nearest unoccupied wall, the two of you collapsing together.

“i’m so sorry,” she wailed. “there was no plan. coin didn’t send me to kill snow. i killed them. i killed them all — finnick — oh god, i’m so sorry, pollux.”

“we knew,” you gritted out, vision growing black around the edges. “we all knew you were lying. we made the decision to come with you.”

you blacked out seconds later, the blood loss finally getting to you as your adrenaline dissipated.

you awoke late the next day to a quiet shuffling about. your shoulder was still painful, but it was a bit less excruciating now, and your head was absolutely killing you. you sat yourself up slowly, letting the blood flow slowly move through you as you situated yourself. you found that you were the only person remaining in the hidden bunker, soft chatter carrying through the open hatch.

“hello?” you called, voice croaky and hoarse. all movement on the higher floor stopped, heavy shoes trekking over top of you until cressida’s mop of blonde hair sunk over the edge. she looked relieved to see you awake, in all your undressed glory.

your top half had been undressed to your undergarments, a thick layer of gauze holding pressure to your wound, your skin prickling as cold air wafted over it.

“morning, sunshine,” she breathed, a bit more relief in her tone than you were comfortable with. gunfire sounded in the distance, hardly loud enough to touch the underground bunker, but loud enough to alarm cressida. “shit.”

“katniss is out there, isn’t she?” you asked meekly, an unsettling dread weighing on your stomach like a boulder. the blonde gave a nod, worrying her lip between her teeth. her head disappeared and her feet appeared, scaling down the ladder to join you in your underground prison.

“she and gale went together, disguised themselves as refugees. they were hoping to infiltrate the manor, but it sounds like the rebels got there first.”

you sighed as you settled back onto your makeshift cot, wincing as the uncomfortable floor brushed your shoulder the wrong way. cressida shook her head with a faint smile, touching her fingers to the white bandaging.

“you’re lucky you’re even alive, sunshine. we almost lost you. the blood loss got to you before i had a chance to let you decide how much of your clothes i cut off,” she mused, her eyes alight with pain.

“i’m sorry about messalla,” you croaked. “i know you guys were close. castor too.”

“don’t worry about them. it wasn’t your fault. we knew what we were getting into. we were all willing to die for this cause. we made this choice.”

you let out a sigh, eyelids growing heavy. “i’m falling asleep again,” you muttered. you were out before you’d had a chance to hear her response.

district twelve was quaint as ever. the seam was in shambles, the merchant square in scarcely better shape. you’d finally been given permission to return home following correspondence with katniss and haymitch, gifted a spare room in katniss’s home. you knew she needed the company. lord knows how suffocating it must be in that vacant manor, without her mother, without prim.

“i missed you, kat,” you sighed as she finally wrapped you in the embrace you’d missed painfully. she let out a chuckle, the first authentic laugh you’d heard from her since the seventy-fourth games.

“missed you too, sunshine. let’s get inside,” she breathed, cupping your face as she released you from her gentle grasp. she smiled at you, and it was different this time. there was something different shining in her eyes — something different from the way gale looked at her, from the way haymitch looked at effie, from the way finnick looked at annie. there was something different, but something so similar.

“let’s go home.”

the great war was over.

the great war was over, and with the end had come peace. you still held the scars as a reminder, as most of panem did. you held them in your heart, in your mind, in the skin of your shoulder. katniss held them too, in the occasional wheezing, the tormenting nightmares, the fragments of her heart.

“your scars are healing nicely,” she murmured, standing in the doorway to the bathroom, a soft smile lingering on her full lips. you gave a weak smile, tracing the raised, grotesque bite marks spotting your bare shoulder.

she was right. they were healing nicely. but they were a reminder, of finnick, of castor, of messalla, the leegs, primrose, boggs, holmes, jackson. they were a reminder of all those you’d lost, all the lives taken in the great rebellion. they were a reminder of johanna, finnick, annie. a reminder of cruelty and unnecessary bloodshed.

“i wish the inside ones would heal too,” you hummed, tugging a loose shirt over your head. katniss heaved a great sigh, past memories reflected in her granite eyes.

“i do too, sunshine.”

her hand found yours, and your faces found the sun, and your bodies finally found the relaxation they’d craved for generations.

all was at peace.

the peace lingered until the dreams came. they were suffocating, torturous, unbearable. katniss had them worse than you ever would, but she’d never vocalize that. she’d never belittle your suffering because hers was greater.

instead, she’d crawl into your bed, wrap her thin arms around your waist, cradle you until the crying stopped. she usually hadn’t gotten to sleep yet anyways.

your bed had become hers. she spent more time curled around you than settled in her own sheets. it was reminiscent of your days in district thirteen, of the bunk beds and the grey clothing. it was different now, though.

the hesitation in her movements had gone, along with the hefty wall she’d used to guard her inner workings. it was all gone, and she was revealed to you, unraveled before your eyes like some sacred scroll only you had access to.

“remind me why i let you sleep in my bed, again,” you mused late one night, your fingers stroking her cheekbone, your eyes unable to leave the sun kissed skin of her round face. she chuckled, rolled her eyes, tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“because you love me.” a pause. “and i love you.”

you captured her lips in a chaste kiss, rested your forehead against hers, took a deep breath.

“i love it when you say that.”

“then i’ll keep saying it, every single day until you grow tired of it. and then i’ll keep saying it, every single day until i can no longer speak.” her nose brushed yours, her breath fanning over your face, her lips just barely brushing yours as she spoke.

“that sounds like a long time.” she kissed you, firmer, longer, until she couldn’t breathe and you couldn’t think, until you could no longer distinguish where your skin ended and her skin started.

“i’m hoping for forever.”

[agustdiv1ne]

❆.*.•°◞8:02 p.m. — huening kai

genre: jack frost!kai, fantasy, fluff, a sprinkle of angst (brief description of frostbite/hypothermia)

wc: 1.4k

the tips of your fingers are turning a deep, inky blue.

the sight should concern you, and yet you cannot find it in yourself to care. your muscles refuse to function, as if having a mind of their own, rendering you unable to lift yourself from the snow surrounding your body, to find your way out of this damned forest. bones frozen over, you exhale, watching with glazed over eyes as your breath creates a fog in the air. much akin to the rest of your body, you are unable to feel your lips.

you are tired, so very tired. stars twinkle above you — glittering, joyful, taunting. get up, get up, get up. chase after us.

perhaps a small nap would be of help, then you can find your way out, following the stars all the while — you simply must regain some energy first. close your eyes and rest, and when you wake, everything will be okay.

“close your eyes,” a sharp, icy voice whispers within your mind. “give in to me.”

finding no reason to rebel, your eyes flutter to a close. everthing will be fine. you will soon wake and trace your steps back to the edge of the forest. tendrils of sleep curl around your mind, pulling tighter and tighter as you begin to slip into unconscious. you tiptoe on the edge of dreams when the rapid crunch of snow underneath boots catapults you back into reality. the sounds grows louder before it stops next to your ear. your eyes open a crack, blurry vision taking in the stranger. you catch a streak of fair blonde hair, a worried voice floating through your ears, before your eyes close once more. at last, darkness whisks you away.

you are unsure how long you remain unconscious, but when you do finally wake, death no longer sinks its talons into your chest. your entire form is bathed in a delicious warmth, and when your eyes blink open, you find a fireplace crackling with orange flames before your eyes. a blanket has been wrapped around your body, a small pillow cushioning your head from the hard floor. unfurling your limbs from their curled up state, you sit up. you look around with a frown pulling at your brows, noting the onyx sky outside through a nearby window. it is still nighttime — you mustn't have been asleep for too long.

the front door clicks open, a blast of cold mixing with the warmth of the room. a man who seems to be near your age quickly shuts the door before his gaze meets yours. physically, he is slightly intimidating — long-legged and a bit broad, the thinness of his striped sweater unable to hide his wide shoulders. you should be concerned about being alone with a man in his cabin seemingly in the middle of the woods, but the relieved expression his features melt into when he realizes you have awoken soothes your apprehension.

“you’re awake! i am glad,” he says as his lips curl into a gentle smile. in that moment, you find yourself thinking that he’s pretty, with strong yet kind features that further relax the tension in your muscles. “you had me worried.”

“i—” you start before hesitating for a moment. “thank you. for helping me.”

he hums, giving you a wide berth as he makes his way over to a dark wooden table, sitting down in a rickety chair that squeaks as he adjusts his long limbs. he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. his thin sweater and slacks concern you; how could he have gone outside in such thin clothing and remain so unfazed?

“why were you in the forest? at night, nonetheless.”

you pause for a moment before you respond, heat spreading across your cheeks. “i...got lost.”

his brows furrow at that, but he doesn't press any further, shifting so that he leans against the back of the chair, chestnut-hued eyes still trained on you, studying you. his icy blonde hair brings out the natural flush of his cheeks. you shake the thought away. he is beautiful, yes, but he is a stranger to you. untrustworthy.

“how are your hands?” he questions, playing with his own in his lap, fidgeting in his seat.

your hands! the cold had all but taken them when he had found you, but as they emerge from under the blanket, the frostbitten tips of your fingers have somehow returned to their normal state. your jaw drops, mouth parted. this isn't possible. this should not be possible. no, no, no.

“h-how?” you panic, rubbing at the skin. “how did you—”

“my powers- i mean, i created a salve that can reverse the effects of frostbite,” he says, but the first part of his sentence is not lost on you. you have heard many stories of this forest, of the creatures that lurk within the shadows. he couldn’t be...

“your powers?” you squeak, backing yourself against the wall next to the fireplace. “y-you—”

he remains on the chair. a beat of silence. two, three.

“my name is kai,” he begins, and though he does not receive anything but a fearful stare in return, he continues. “i have resided in this forest for my entire life. most humans refer to me as ‘jack frost,’ though i am simply a myth to them.”

he allows you to simmer with that information, fixing you with a neutral expression. it makes some semblance of sense now; there's something different about him, in his aura. you are unsure how you have not noticed before, but his ears come to a point, unlike any human.

“i wish not to hurt you,” he finally says when he senses your body relax slightly. “however, the forest is dangerous at night, so it would be best if you remained here until morning. i will guide you out.”

you inhale deeply, weighing your options. you could stay, sleep in warmth with a seemingly benevolent mythical being protecting you — or you could take your chances in the pitch black, ice-cold woods, unaware of what could be watching, waiting to pounce on a vulnerable little human like yourself.

easily, you choose the former.

“i see. thank you again for your kindness,” you say with a lethargic smile. sleep seems to weigh your eyelids down now that your safety is essentially guaranteed. his presence screams sincerity, comfort, and, ironically, warmth. something inside of you tells you to trust him, and against your better judgment, your name tumbles from your lips.

“well, it is nice to become acquainted with such a respectful human,” he says, and you wonder what that could mean. you ponder what other humans had done to him to elicit such a response. “i do have a spare bedroom, but you may sleep out here if you would like.”

“a bed would be wonderful.” you nod, attempting to get up, but your limbs betray you. you collapse back to the ground. the man — kai — winces, but does not act to help you. you see him eye the fire next to you as you finally stand.

“heat...makes me weak. i apologize,” he says as you move towards him. his hand wraps around your wrist, fingers cold, guiding you down a hallway until you reach the door towards the end of the hall. you say nothing.

“i will leave you alone,” he says, the hand around your wrist dropping to his side as he opens the door for you. “if you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask me. i will be next door.”

you are unsure what comes over you as you lean up to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. you pull back with a grateful smile, cheeks hot as you realize what you have done. “thank you, kai. i shall see you in the morning.”

a ruby red blush stains his cheeks, and he stutters out a brief good night before he's slipping into his room and slamming the door shut. you giggle a little — how odd; you, of all people, causing an immortal being's face to flush. quietly, you close your own door, dropping onto the bed to snuggle into the soft sheets. sleep arrives without delay, your eyelids drooping more and more as snow falls outside of the window next to the bed. you watch in wonder as frost begins to cover the expanse of the glass pane, your eyes blinking open a final time to find the entire window coated in ice.

among the fern-like patterns that riddle the window, a heart is tucked into the center.

masterlist

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

[worldsmessiestwriter]

I'm sorry daddy.

tony stark x daughter! reader

tw - drug use, alcohol use, mature subjects, swearing and extreme angst :)

—————————————————————————

Y/N Stark was practically a clone of her father from a young age—same wit, same taste in music, same stubbornness, same genius brain, and now the same rebellious reputation.

Tony sighed, looking down at the newspaper in his hands.

Y/N Stark :

following their father’s promiscuous legacy?!

That title was followed by photos of you drunkenly kissing a guy in a bar in downtown Queens. Tony hates knowing you were rebelling just as he did. He had seen this coming miles away when your report cards started showing B’s instead of your usual straight A’s. He wanted to kick himself for not addressing it sooner. God knows how long this has been going on. You had told him last night that you were crashing at Peter's for a study session, and he hadn’t thought anything of it.

“FRIDAY, call Peter Parker,” Tony said in a stern voice, a million thoughts racing through his head. Was Parker in on this little “outing” with you? God, he was going to kill him if—

“Mr. Stark...? Am I in trouble or something? Did Happy tell you about the film? Because I swear that was an accident!”

Peter’s rambling interrupted Tony’s stream of protective dad thoughts.

“What? No... Did Y/N stay over last night, kid?”

Peter stopped for a second before letting out a concerned, “No, I was with Ned watching Empire Strikes Back last night, Mr. Stark.”

Tony sighed, puzzled about how his daughter could have lied to him.

“Okay, kid, thanks... Wait, what did you say about Happy and the mov—”

“MR. STARK, I SHOULD REALLY GO!” Peter squeaked before hanging up on him. Tony would focus on whatever that was later; right now, his main focus was you and your safety.

You casually sauntered down the streets back to your dad's house, blissfully unaware of the shitstorm you were about to walk into. You had spent the night dancing in a bar, kissing random dudes, and getting ridiculously high, popping pills in the bathrooms of said bar with your friend Karlie. You had told your dad that you were “spending the night at Peter's.” Peter was your dad's weird intern who was always at your house; you felt like you had practically been replaced. You just pretended to like him for the sake of pleasing your dad and keeping the peace.

Your train of thought stopped when you arrived at the doors of the Stark household. You opened the door, loudly announcing your arrival while scrolling through photos Karlie had sent you from the night before. Smiling, you walked into the kitchen and noticed your dad staring you down ominously, sitting behind the counter.

“So... how was the study session, Y/N?” Tony questioned.

“Good. Peter just helped with my algebra homework,” you said, looking your dad in the eye. You did feel bad lying, but it had become an escape that you needed in your life. You felt so much pressure to be like your dad and just as smart as he was, and it broke you down after a certain point. That high made you feel like someone else for a bit—someone you needed to be.

“You know, that's funny because I was just on the phone with Parker.”

Your heart dropped as those words left your father's lips. That asshole better have covered for you.

“Oh, yeah...?”

Your dad walked toward you, hands behind his back.

“Actually, he said you were never over at his house at all yesterday, and of course, after seeing this—”

He held up a newspaper featuring a photo of you making out with a random man who looked about seven years older than you.

“I'm inclined to believe the kid.”

“Dad, it’s not what it looks like..” you stammered, desperately searching for the right words. You could see the disappointment etched on his face, and it twisted your stomach into knots.

“..I was just having fun. I was just celebrating !”

“Celebrating?” Tony raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with scepticism.

“Is that how you celebrate now?”

you didn’t know how to explain it. The pressure of school, the expectations of living up to your dad’s legacy, and the constant fear of failure had pushed you to seek an escape. And that small sense of self and rebellion had felt liberating in a way that was hard to articulate.

Tony sighed at the lack of reply from you as you walked towards your room. Your eyes widened, knowing what you had stashed away in there. You started charging after him.

“Dad, stop! Please just talk to me! Don’t go in there!”

He didn’t reply to your pleas; instead, he began searching for hidden drugs, alcohol, or anything you could be hiding from him—things he knew he had hidden as a teenager as an act of rebellion. You stood there watching him root through your belongings.

“Dad! Please just stop this isn't what you think..”

Tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

Tony paused, turning to face you. His expression was a mix of frustration and worry. “Then tell me what I’m supposed to think Y/N. You’re shutting me out, and I can’t just stand by and watch you make dangerous choices.”

The tension in the room was palpable, and you could feel the weight of his disappointment pressing down on you. You took a deep breath, struggling to not break down. “I was just trying to escape for a little while, to feel normal. I didn’t mean for it to get this far!”

“Escape? You think hiding drugs and alcohol is how you escape?” he shot back, his voice rising. “You’re my daughter! I want to help you, but I can’t do that if you keep pushing me away.”

Tears starting to spill from your eyes, and you fought to keep your composure. “I know, Dad. I know you care. But it feels like you don’t trust me. I just wanted to have fun with my friends without feeling like I was under a microscope.”

Tony’s expression softened slightly as he took a step closer to you. “I do trust you, but trust is a two-way street kid. You need to be honest with me. If you’re in trouble, I can help you, but you have to let me in.”

With a shaky breath, you walked over to the closet and opened the door. You reached in, pulling out a small box full of substances and lighters. Your hands trembled as you held it out to him, the weight of your regret crashing down on you.

“I didn’t think it would go this far,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “I just wanted to feel like I could be free, even if it was just for a little bit.”

Tony took the box from your hand, his expression a mix of disappointment and empathy. “I understand wanting to feel free, but this isn’t the way to do it. There are healthier ways to cope with everything you’re feeling. You don’t have to hide from me, I'm here for you kiddo”

“I'm sorry daddy..”

He pulled you in kissing your hair.

“It's going to be okay.”

—————————————————————————

oof that one hurt i hope you enjoy and remember kiddos DONT DO DRUGS AND STAY IN SCHOOL!!

[the-halloween-jack]

One Little Difference ➳ Draco Malfoy x Gryffindor!Pureblood!Reader

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader x Harry Potter  

Synopsis: Draco and Y/N had been friends as children; their families were of high status, and it looked like they would spend the rest of their lives together. But all of this changed when Y/N was sorted into Gryffindor and became estranged. Worst of all, she fraternised with the enemy. 

WARNINGS: There aren't any unless you consider silent pining bad. And angst, of course.

Words:  1,475

Masterlist

Draco knew he could never have her; his family would never allow it. Y/N was a blood traitor with her mud-blood friends and a lack of respect for her pure ancestry.

He yearned to return to the days of chasing each other through the old ornate manor, their laughter echoing through the tall chambers. They had always been close, attached at the hip. But as they grew and their parents bestowed their prejudice and hate upon them, Y/N rebelled whilst Draco conformed. 

This difference acted as the catalyst for the decay of their friendship.

She had never seen the world like they did; she gazed upon muggles and their innovations in wonder and awe. Draco tried pleading with her to understand the importance of her status but to no avail. Y/N was an embarrassment to her family’s name and a stain on their bloodline. It came as no surprise to anyone when she was sorted into Gryffindor. 

‘It’s better this way, Draco.' His father, Lucius, had said over an issue of The Daily Prophet one morning of his summer holidays, 

‘Her family, your mother and I had been discussing an arranged marriage once you were older. It is good Y/N's true colours were revealed before we could have made that mistake.’

Draco’s heart had sunk at his father’s words. Her true colours did not matter to him; he wanted her anyway.

As Draco sat alone in a compartment of the Hogwarts Express, he thought of how his life would be different if that wretched sorting hat had placed Y/N in Slytherin. He would not have to hide his reddening cheeks when she spoke and avert his eyes as she looked his way. He would be free to love and be with her, have children and grow old with her. 

It had been the longest Draco had gone without seeing her. In the last few years, domestic life had not been easy on Y/N; her parents finally kicked her out early in the summer. From what he had heard, she had stayed at the Weasley’s. He bet she had hated imposing herself on them. 

That was the worst part about her being in Gryffindor; in their first year, she very quickly became friends with people Draco considered his enemies: Harry, Ron and Hermione. There were many reasons why Draco did not like these three, though he was too proud to admit that the main reason was that he was bitter; they got to be her friend, to know and love her without pressure from their families. 

When he gazed out the window of the immobile train, he saw something that made his stomach contort in pain as though an unseen force was twisting his insides.

Her hands were intertwined with someone he hated more than anybody.

Harry Potter.

When had this happened? He thought they were only friends. Though the longer he watched them, the more the opposite seemed true. 

They were together; Harry and Y/N were in a relationship. 

As the aftershock of the pain he felt echoed hollowly in his stomach, he drew the blinds of the compartment shut; he could not bear to watch them any longer. But shutting them out had not been as easy as Draco had foreseen. Everywhere he looked, he saw her with him. In every corner of the castle, they stood, smiling at each other, holding hands and leaving small kisses on each other's cheeks. Draco saw them sit together in his classes, staring into each other's eyes in the great hall over meals. And though Draco tried not to let it bother him, he could not help but imagine himself in Harry’s place; she was supposed to be his.

It had been years since Draco could call Y/N his friend, and although he pined for her from a distance, he accepted that they were estranged. But the reality of her loving someone else rattled him to his core, and just like a spoiled child whose toy was being played with by another, he wanted her back, to snatch her from Harry’s arms and never return her. 

He needed to speak with her, beg her to see reason. Surely, all those days of laughter and fun as children would amount to something; surely, she would remember the person he used to be. 

He decided to speak with her after charms class; he noticed she was usually alone then, her friends heading to different lessons.

As Professor Flitwick called the end of their class, Draco watched as Y/N quickly collected her things and exited the classroom; he had to rush to put his belongings together and follow her. 

But by the time he left the room, she was halfway down the grand hallway. 

‘Y/N! Wait up!’ Draco could not remember the last time he spoke her name out loud; it felt strange on his tongue, as though it shocked him on its way out. She turned, skin creased between her brows, her face donning a bewildered expression. She, too, seemed shocked that he had called out for her,

‘Y/N, I need to speak with you; it’s important’ he pleaded,

With surprise still evident on her face, she opened her mouth to speak,

‘Draco, I don’t have the time, my next class is in ten…’ He grabbed her elbow and began pulling her to an empty classroom; despite her protest,

‘Draco… What are you…’ she trailed off, instead staring at him, eyebrows furrowed once more. Draco stood back and nervously scratched the nape of his neck, realising for the first time that he had no idea what he was going to say,

‘What is this about? I thought you didn’t talk to me anymore.’ 

Draco cringed, remembering how he had given her the cold shoulder in their first year. She had still wanted to be his friend, and he had pushed her away.

‘Look, I’ve noticed you’ve been a lot closer with Harry this year…’ Y/N's eyes sharpened, daring him to say more, 

‘And?…’ she spoke carefully, with a warning; she already knew where this was headed,

‘I just think that… that,’ his words cut short; he knew he was out of line and had no right to have an opinion on the matter. He took a different route.

‘I just can’t believe you chose to be friends with him, let alone partners; you could have picked anyone in this school, and you chose him.’ His words made Y/N gasp in shock, but he continued nonetheless, 

‘Did our friendship mean nothing to you? Did the fact I loved you mean nothing?’ 

Although Y/N looked angry, her eyes softened slightly,

‘Draco, did you ever stop for one moment and consider that this has nothing to do with you? You and I are not friends, Draco. You saw to that… I loved you once too, no, I loved a kind, sweet boy by the same name… but he died a long time ago, quelled by his very own father.’ Y/N's voice rose and trembled; Draco could see that talking about this upset her; once again, he felt the twisting pain in his chest. 

‘None of this would have happened, though, if you were sorted into Slytherin…’

He continued, but Y/N interrupted, 

‘But I wasn’t, was I? Don’t you see that our houses have nothing to do with this? You’re hiding behind them; you’re too scared to admit that we grew apart because you were a bad person.’ She took a deep breath,

‘Good people don’t bully and belittle first years and think people are lesser because of who their parents are. Good people don’t bully anyone; they’re kind and compassionate. And they’re selfless; not everything that they do is for themselves. And that is not who you are anymore.’

Draco could no longer see Y/N before him; she became shrouded by his tears, the truth of her words leaving him feeling winded, like blows to the stomach. Everything she had said was true. Of course it was; she had just unknowingly described herself. 

Kind, compassionate, selfless.

Y/N was a good person; she was the best person in his life. 

And he pushed her away because of one little difference.

As Draco stood in silence, unwilling to respond, Y/N’s frustration grew, 

‘You know what? Forget I said anything; you won’t change.’ She muttered, ‘I need to get to class.’

She pushed past him to get through the door, looking back as though she were going to speak again, but decided against it. She shook her head and left.

Draco did not try to speak with her again; he knew nothing he could say would change her mind because she was right. He was a bad person, and she deserved better than him. 

That is what she had with Harry Potter.

And as much as it killed him to watch, he could admit that.

[andydrysdalerogers]

Yours Submissively - Yours (Finale)

Steve Rogers X OFC Isabella Davis

Summary: Five Years after the events of Civil War, Steve Rogers has moved on from avenging and has started his own business, Grant Inc. He has a secret that would turn his world upside down. And he's good at keep that secret. Until he meets the woman with violet eyes that could bring him to his knees. Now his mission is to make her, his. But she is the key that could bring the world into balance... or chaos.

And she has no idea.

Series Warnings: slow burn at the beginning, smut, angst, sexual themes of BDSM, dom/sub dynamics, kidnapping, loss of virginity, (and a bunch of others that will come up)

A/N:

When I orginally started this story in November 2022, I never thought I would get here, 101,100 words, 45 chapters and a story that has been a joy to write.  To those who have been with me from the beginning, thank you so much for your support. To those who climbed on board my crazy train, thank you for not jumping off.  

I now present to you the final chapter of “Yours, Submissively.” 

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Banners by me!

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Previous: Dreams

Series Masterlist ~ Main Masterlist

Three Years Later… 

“James! Lucy! Get back here!” 

Belle chased after her children as they ran around the bridal suite. The giggles and shouts filled the room as the ring bearer and flower girl chased each other in their own game of tag.  Morgan itched to join but her mother was trying to fix her hair piece that had fallen out.  

“Whoa! What is going on here?” Steve stood in the doorway as his children froze.  

“Only took you five minutes after my text,” Belle complained with her hands on her hips.  

“Sorry, sweet pea, we were having a toast to Bucky.  How’s the bride?” 

“She needs a drink herself,” Ava piped in. Steve sucked in a breath.   

“Ava, you look beautiful. Bucky is a lucky man.” 

“Thanks Steve.” She blushed at her former boss’s compliment.   

Belle elbowed Steve and he grunted.  “You look gorgeous as always, sweet pea.”  He grinned, looking like a young man again.  

Belle giggled. Her children started up again, but Steve swooped and picked them up. “Jamie, Lucy, are you supposed to be running in your nice clothes?”  

“We want to get married already Papa!” Lucy wiggled in his arms.  

“And who do you think you are marrying Princess?” 

“Jamie, duh.”  Her three-year-old attitude shining through as Steve laughed. “Uncle Bucky gets to marry Auntie Ava. Morgan said that she gets to marry Uncle Peter when she’s bigger but I always want to be with Jamie, so I’ll marry him.”  

The beauty of logic for three-year-olds.  Steve sighed, put his children down and kneeled in front of his daughter.  “Princess, you don’t have to marry Jamie for him to be with you forever.  He’s your brother, he’ll always be there for you.”  

“Just like you Papa?” 

“Just like me.  Now, no more running around until after church, ok? If your Mama has to call me, there will be timeout and no cake.”  

She nodded with big eyes. Lucy was truly daddy’s princess, and she would always obey her father.  Her older brother, however, was his rebel and only really listened to his idol, Uncle Bucky. “Young man, Uncle Bucky told me to tell you that you better behave or no launch pad.” Steve was curious what the hell "launch pad" was but it was something that his son looked horrified to lose so he didn’t question it.  

‘No! Daddy, tell him I’m good.’ 

“Ok, you have to listen to Mama or else, James.”  His son grimaces but nods, understanding that losing his favorite game is worse.  Steve stand and finally takes in his wife, in a dusty rose ball gown, the tiny swell of her belly holding their third child showing. He walked over and grasped her face, tilting it towards him. “You do look amazing today, my love.”  He placed a gentle kiss on her lips.  

Belle could hear her son gagging over his father’s affection for his mother, a learned trait from his uncle no doubt.  “You look just as handsome amore.”  

Steve’s hand drifted down. “How’s my boy?” 

“Sleeping, I think. Still only flutters.”  She smiled.  They had just found out that they were having another boy, much to Lucy’s delight.  She wanted to be the only princess.  

“Good.  Ready to walk down the aisle again Mrs. Rogers?”  

“Only with you.”  

Watching his best friend marry his perfect girl was wonderful.  Belle continuously wiped at her eyes during the ceremony as matron of honor.  Steve watched his girl, knowing that her hormones definitely amplified her reaction, but it wasn’t out of character.  Once the minister declared Bucky and Ava husband and wife, he clapped hard, happy that his best friend found a home just like he did. As the newly married couple exited, Steve extended his arm to his wife.  “Mrs. Rogers.”  

“Mr. Rogers,” Belle smiled up at her husband as she took his arm.  They had a hand on each of their children and headed out for photos. Steve couldn’t take his eyes off of his wife.  Belle moved effortlessly while five months pregnant.  Of course, only carrying one was easier than the twins.  

“Stop staring, punk.  It’s my wedding day.”  Bucky stands next to Steve as he watches the girls take photos.  

“Like you don’t stare at Ava, jerk.”  

“That’s fair.  Who would have thought, 100 years later, that we would be here, married to the loves of our lives?”  

“After everything we have seen, we are just a couple of lucky bastards.” Steve slaps Bucky’s back.  “I’m proud of you Buck.”  

“Thanks pal. Never saw myself a married man but Ava, she’s my Angel.”  

“Just like Belle was mine.”  

The reception is beautiful, very light and sparkly, just like Ava.  Steve stood up to make his speech about Bucky.  

“As most of you know, I grew up with this jerk all those years ago.  He was bigger than me, always getting me out of scraps. He tried to save my ass during the war, telling me not to do anything stupid until he came back. Of course, I had to follow up because he took all of the stupid with him.” 

The crowd laughed and Steve cleared his throat. “Ava, I want you to know that I think you are completely nuts marrying this jerk.  But I also think you couldn’t find anyone who is more loyal, loving, amazing and just generally a good guy.  He has loved my family since before I knew I loved my wife and I know he will make you very happy.  With that said, Bucky, you break this amazing woman’s heart, and they will never find you.”  A roar of laughter and Steve raised his glass.  “To James and Ava, may your new life be as happy as mine.  To the bride and groom.”  

After Ava’s father spoke, Belle got up to the piano and sat, smiling at the couple.  “Bucky and Ava are so special to me and my family.  And when they asked me to sing for them, only one song came to mind. I love you guys.”  She started to play as Bucky and Ava stood up for their first dance.  

Heart beats fast  Colors and promises  How to be brave?  How can I love when I'm afraid to fall?  But watching you stand alone  All of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow 

One step closer 

I have died every day waiting for you  Darling, don't be afraid  I have loved you for a thousand years  I'll love you for a thousand more 

Time stands still  Beauty in all she is  I will be brave  I will not let anything take away  What's standing in front of me  Every breath, every hour has come to this 

One step closer 

I have died every day waiting for you  Darling, don't be afraid  I have loved you for a thousand years  I'll love you for a thousand more 

And all along I believed I would find you  Time has brought your heart to me  I have loved you for a thousand years  I'll love you for a thousand more 

One step closer 

One step closer 

I have died every day waiting for you  Darling, don't be afraid  I have loved you for a thousand years  I'll love you for a thousand more 

And all along I believed I would find you  Time has brought your heart to me  I have loved you for a thousand years  I'll love you for a thousand more 

  Bucky and Ava finished their dance with a kiss and the crowd applauded as Steve helped Belle down to hug her brother and sister-in-law. “Love you guys.”  

As the wedding came to a close, Tony and Pepper walked over to take the twins with them to their cabin for the weekend.  Belle became teary for the idea of her babies leaving but Steve looped his arms around her.  “They will be ok.  Uncle Tony and Auntie Pep have it.”  

“I know. I’m sorry.” She wiped her eyes as the twins came over to give her a hug.  “Promise you will behave for your Uncle and Aunt.”  

“Yes mama,” Jamie answered.  

Steve kneeled in front of his son.  “You take care of your sister. ok?” 

Jamie nodded.  “Yes daddy.”  

“Good.”  He kissed his head and then hugged his princess. They watched them leave and Steve took his wife’s hand.  “All to myself, sweet pea.”  

“Yes sir.” Belle smirked as she watched Steve’s eyes darken slightly.  He pulled her to the elevator to get back to their room in the hotel.  As soon as the doors closed, Steve lifted Belle to his hips with a squeak, wrapping her legs around him, her back pressed against the wall.  

“You are a vixen, my love.”  He placed gentle kisses around her neck and collarbone.  Belle whines when he gently nipped at her skin.  “Hush, baby.”  

“Stevie,” she whispered.  

“I love it when you call me that.” The elevator pinged and the doors opened to their floor.  Steve carries his pregnant wife to their suite. He never lost stride, never lost his grip on his precious cargo. He opened their door and moved to their king sized bed.  He laid her down and began kissing every part of her body he could reach, eventually reaching up and pulling the zipper of her dress. He yanked the fabric away and moaned at the sight of his girl in just panties. “Jesus doll.”  

“Something you like Captain?” she purred and at that point Steve went feral. He tore his suit away, literally and was down to his boxers when he began to kiss Belle’s legs starting at her ankle. His kisses were feather light and driving Belle wild.  “Steve, please.”  

“You know what you have to say, princess.” Steve got closer to where she needed him, her hormones now in overdrive.  

“Wreck me sir. Take me to heaven.”  

In an instant, Steve ripped her panties away and drove his tongue into her warm heat.  She arched her back and cried out, his ministrations sending her head spinning.  He worked her body like he had known for the last five years. He could feel her building but holding back.  “Let go princess.  Let me drink you in.”  

She shook her head, wanting it to last.  Steve chuckled at her stubbornness.  “Ok then.”  He slipped his large digit in and hit her spot inside. Belle moaned and then screamed at Steve latched onto her clit, gently nibbling it.  She couldn’t stop the rush as she climaxed all over him, losing sight of her surroundings as the blood pumped behind her eyes.  

Steve slowed to let her come down before he pulled away to remove his boxers and he laid next to her, pulling her on top.  This was his favorite, where he could watch Belle lose herself on him. He placed her right over his rock-hard cock and guided himself in. They both moaned at the fullness, and Belle began to move her hips, her small bump sliding across Steve’s abs.  

“Oh, princess. So good, sweet pea, so fucking good.”  

“Stevie, I can’t,” as she began to slow.  

“Yes, you can because you’re my good girl, my baby mama.” He put his hands on her hips to help her. He could feel her being to grip him. “Always so warm and ready for me. Fuck Belle.”  

“Steve,” she moaned, “fuck Captain, please.”  She felt him grow harder and she knew he was almost there.  

“C’mon baby, one more time, let go for me. Cum all over me Isabella, make me yours.”  

“Mine, all mine!” He was thrusting his hips to hit her spot over and over and she was lost again as she clamped down on him.  

“Mine,” Steve grunted as he let go in her, filling her up again. Belle slumped forward and he caught her before she crushed her stomach and turned them, so she was on her side and he was still inside her. “So beautiful my Isabella.”  

“I love you,” she mumbled as exhaustion took over.  

“I love you more, my beautiful, sweet pea.”  

The next morning, Belle woke with Steve still sleeping next to her.  Five years later and she never got tired of seeing him asleep, looking younger and more at peace.  She quietly got up and went to the ensuite coffee maker, checking her phone.  She saw an email from her publicist.  She opened it and squealed loudly.  

Steve ran in a moment later in just his boxers.  “Baby, you ok?” 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry baby, but the New York Times has reviewed the restaurant!”  

A year after the twins were born, Belle wanted to pursue her dream of opening a restaurant. Steve and Tony wanted to invest and helped find the perfect spot for her.  But what was a hidden blessing was Ava wanting to be her partner.  Ava has restaurant management experience and was invested in Belle’s concept.  American fusion.  She took the recipes she knew and elevated.  After extensive testing (with Bucky being her taste tester, of course,) they had the final menu set and opened “Home Kitchen” just six months ago.  

“What did they say, sweet pea?” 

“Three stars, Stevie, he gave me three stars. Oh my god!” Steve picked her up and swung her around.  

“I knew it baby.  I knew you would be great!” 

“I can’t believe it.” She read the review, raving about the simplicity of her menu but the sophistication of it made it other-worldly. He labeled it the “must eat” restaurant in Manhattan. “Steve, he’s raving about it. I gotta tell Ava.”  

“Ava is probably a bit busy at the moment love.” He sat them on the couch, with his girl on his lap and caressed her bump. “How’s my son?” 

“He’s moving around. Excited for his momma.  He’s...” she went still.  

“Belle?” She grabbed his hand and moved it to one side.  And he felt it, a movement against his hand.  He smiled. “Hello son.” He tracked his movements until he calmed.  

She watched the wonder on his face. “Do you regret it?” 

“Regret what love?” 

“Giving up the shield. Just being Steve Rogers and not Captain America?” 

After Belle’s near death from the birth of the twins, she had told him about her dream with her father.  And while Steve didn’t believe in ghosts, he did believe that family would visit when they needed to tell their loved ones a message.  He had seen his Ma a couple of times, so he had no doubt Phil had visited her. Phil’s instructions were clear; Steve needed to be with his family but holding onto the shield would stop him from that.  

Sam was surprised when Steve handed the shield to him.  He assumed that Bucky would be the next, but Steve knew, his best friend was done with the fight, especially when he had proposed to Ava.  Sam and Nat were still ok with going on missions when needed.  Sam was the obvious choice.  And Steve felt at peace, knowing the world was in safe hands.  

“My only regret is not kissing you more often and I would regret not watching our family grow.  You and the kids are my whole world.” He kissed her softly. “I am devoted to you Isabella Maria Rogers.”  

“And I am submissively yours Steven Grant Rogers.”  

He looked into her beautiful violet eyes.  

“Mine.”  

She looked back into his ocean blues. 

“Yours.”  

Taglist:

@patzammit

@texmexdarling

@slutforchrisjamalevans

@firephotogrl74

@tinkerbelle67

@before-we-get-started

@bunnyforhim

@alexakeyloveloki

@sunnyhummingbee

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@peaceinourtime82

@kmc1989

@lokislady82

@saucy-sassy-sparkly

[dee-writes-angst]

BURNING HOUSE

FEATURING Steve Harrington x fem!reader

CONTENT WARNING mentions of possible character death, actual shit writing (like its really bad), loads of angst, sadness

SUMMARY Even a burning house couldn't touch your love.

AUTHORS NOTE I hate this so much, like it is so bad, but I wanted to post something for you all because it has been WAY too long.

TAGLIST @livsters

You jolted awake, the acrid scent of smoke assaulting your senses. It wasn't the familiar aroma of your laid-back indulgence; no, it was the ominous scent of something much more sinister—a house engulfed in flames. Disbelief washed over you as you lay there, momentarily frozen in a haze of confusion and shock, unable to comprehend the gravity of the situation unfolding around you.

Steve was due to arrive in just an hour, an evening planned to be a pivotal moment when you finally confessed your feelings for him—those three words, so heavy yet so long overdue: "I love you." The anticipation had infused every action as you meticulously prepared a lavish dinner of two succulent steaks paired with creamy mashed potatoes and tender asparagus spears.

Yet, exhaustion from a day spent tirelessly working with the children had taken its toll. Unbeknownst to you, fatigue had lured you into an unintended slumber while the food simmered on the stove. Now, the reality of your situation hit you like a freight train as you sat perched on a barstool, head heavy against the countertop, witnessing the inferno that had consumed your kitchen. Flames danced greedily from the pan, hungrily devouring your countertops like a ravenous beast unleashed upon a feast.

The acrid smoke filled your lungs, searing with each breath, while the scorching heat of the flames licked at your skin. Panic surged as you realized the dire truth—you were trapped in a rapidly escalating inferno, the feeble extinguisher in the coat closet down the hall a futile defense against the voracious blaze.

In a moment of stark clarity, the gravity of your predicament spurred you into action. With a surge of adrenaline, you propelled yourself from the chair, the urgency to survive propelling you forward into the chaos that now threatened to consume everything you held dear.

Coughs wracked your body, each one a painful reminder of the toxic haze that enveloped you. Progress down the hallway to your bedroom, where a window offered a slim chance of escape, was agonizingly slow. Every step felt like wading through thick molasses, your lungs struggling against the suffocating smoke that blurred your vision and stung your eyes.

With each labored breath, the world around you seemed to shrink, collapsing into a tunnel of darkness edged with fiery tendrils. The simple act of putting one foot in front of the other became an insurmountable task, your once steady gait reduced to a feeble shuffle.

As the noxious fumes tightened their grip, your body rebelled, betraying you as muscles weakened and limbs trembled. A wave of dizziness swept over you, sending you crashing to the floor just beyond the threshold of your bedroom, a heap of limbs entangled in desperation.

You didn't want to surrender to the engulfing darkness, to succumb to the relentless assault on your senses, but the overwhelming exhaustion and the crushing weight of the smoke rendered you immobile. Each breath became a Herculean effort, a battle you were losing with every passing moment. In the suffocating grip of the inferno, the line between survival and surrender blurred, leaving you teetering on the precipice of oblivion.

With Steve's image haunting your thoughts, the anguish of imagining his devastation at your untimely demise propelled you to summon the last vestiges of your dwindling strength. Dragging yourself across the threshold of your bedroom, you managed to seal the door behind you, hoping to stall the relentless advance of the flames, if only for a fleeting moment.

But deep down, in the recesses of your consciousness, you knew the bitter truth—you were trapped, a prisoner within your own infernal tomb. The window, a beacon of salvation mere feet away, might as well have been miles distant, for in your weakened state, the prospect of reaching it was as futile as grasping at shadows.

Resigned to your fate, you surrendered to the inevitability of your demise, seeking solace in the feeble comfort of knowing you had tried, however futilely, to defy the merciless grip of fate.

As you lay upon your bed, eyes closed against the encroaching flames, a sense of grim acceptance settled over you. The searing heat, once a torment, now enveloped you in a macabre embrace, consuming you in a maelstrom of agony. Each lick of flame was a cruel reminder of your mortality, each scorching caress a testament to the merciless whims of destiny.

And then, in a cruel twist of fate, the pain ceased, leaving behind a deafening silence that reverberated through the void of your consciousness. In that final moment of clarity, as the flames claimed you as their own, the weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air—an eternal lament for the love never declared, for the life never lived to its fullest potential.

Steve's frantic steps echoed through the sterile halls of the hospital as he raced towards the receptionist's desk, his heart pounding a frenetic rhythm of panic. Tears blurred his vision, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he approached the woman behind the desk, his voice trembling with desperation.

His cry of your name reverberated off the walls, laced with a raw intensity that spoke of his deep-seated fear. He reached out as if to grasp onto something solid in the tumult of his emotions. "Where is she?!"

The receptionist, a bastion of composure amidst the chaos, rose from her seat with practiced grace, her movements slow and deliberate. With gentle hands, she attempted to steady Steve, her touch a fleeting anchor in the storm of his anguish.

"Sir, please, try to calm down," she implored, her voice a soothing melody amidst the cacophony of distress. She met his gaze with unwavering empathy, understanding the depth of his anguish.

But Steve was beyond consolation, his anguish too potent to be assuaged by mere words. "No! You don't understand!" His voice cracked with emotion as he pushed away from her gentle touch, his desperation palpable. "I need to know she's okay. Where is she?!"

The receptionist's expression softened, a silent acknowledgment of his pain. "She's in surgery," she replied, her tone gentle yet resolute. "The doctors are doing everything they can."

Though her words offered a glimmer of hope, Steve's heart still clenched with fear. He hung onto her every word, his breaths shallow and uneven as he waited for reassurance.

"But for now," she continued, her voice a soothing lullaby in the midst of his turmoil, "she needs you to take a deep breath and stay calm."

As Nancy stood on Steve's doorstep, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, her words seemed to echo in slow motion, each syllable weighted with a gravity that threatened to crush him. He listened in stunned silence, the world around him blurring into a haze of uncertainty and dread as he hastily grabbed his keys, his mind a whirlwind of fear and hope.

Driving to the hospital felt like navigating through a thick fog, his thoughts consumed by one singular prayer echoing in the recesses of his mind: "She needs to live." The words tumbled from his lips in a broken sob, a desperate mantra repeated over and over again like a lifeline in the darkness.

The hospital waiting room became his temporary sanctuary, a silent witness to the agony etched upon his features as he sat vigil, each passing moment stretching into an eternity of unbearable suspense. Visitors came and went, their concerned faces a blur as he mechanically recited the same refrain: "I don't know."

Hours stretched into an endless expanse of time, the rhythmic ticking of the clock a cruel reminder of the minutes slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. Exhaustion threatened to claim him, pulling at his eyelids like weighted anchors, but still, he remained, unwilling to abandon his post until he knew her fate.

And then, just as weariness threatened to engulf him, a voice pierced the silence, jolting him from the edge of sleep and back into the harsh reality of his uncertainty.

It was a nurse who had called your name out into the waiting room, waiting patiently by the door with a clipboard in hand.

Steve's heart leaped at the sound of those words, a surge of relief flooding through him as he declared himself her husband, a title that felt both surreal and achingly real all at once. The weight of those two words—her husband—pressed against his chest, filling him with a sense of purpose and belonging that he had never known before.

As the doctor delivered the news of her condition, Steve's mind struggled to comprehend the gravity of her injuries, each word landing like a heavy blow against his fragile hope. Severe third-degree burns, a long and painful rehabilitation process—the reality of her suffering threatened to overwhelm him. But amid the flood of information, one fact remained steadfast: she was alive.

Clutching onto that lifeline with all his might, Steve's trembling voice cut through the haze of his thoughts, a desperate plea to be near her, to see with his own eyes that she had indeed survived the ordeal.

"Can you take me to her?" His voice wavered, betraying the tumult of emotions raging within him.

"Of course, right this way," the doctor responded, his tone a beacon of reassurance amidst the chaos. With a nod of gratitude, Steve followed the doctor, his steps heavy with anticipation and trepidation.

As he approached her room in the ICU, anxiety gripped Steve like a vice, his heart hammering in his chest as he prepared to face the sight of her injuries. But in that moment, as he stood on the threshold of her room, the enormity of their love washed over him, a beacon of strength in the face of adversity. For even in the wake of tragedy, their bond remained unbreakable, a testament to the enduring power of love. And as Steve stepped into her room, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, he knew with unwavering certainty that together, they could overcome anything.

[starl3ng]

Duplicitous Desertion

9—Power

Bitterness comes to a head during a meeting on Hux’s Star Destroyer. Kylo Ren drags Angel to the training room to… let off some steam.

Ao3 | Tip Jar | Next

Content: Kylo Ren/Fem!OC, MDNI, sexual content, NSFW, self-indulgent, slow burn, canon-typical violence, mentions/descriptions of injury and death, general angst, sex pollen, aphrodisiacs, improper use of The Force and Force connection, occasional illustrations inside

6.7k words

Angel was quite groggy when they finally landed on the Star Destroyer late the next day. She was surprised she hadn’t vomited again, with the hangover she had, but she supposed they weren’t doing the kind of tricks they’d had to do when fighting the rebels, so she’d kept her eyes closed in the back. 

Angel vowed to never drink again. She couldn’t even remember what had happened after she’d left the cafeteria. Vaguely, she remembered seeing Ren, but could only hope it was simply a drunken dream. 

The lurch of the TIE Silencer landing has her blinking her eyes open and pushing herself to stand. Ren was already sliding down the ladder like he had been as of late. Angel wondered why she ever thought he might be a gentleman. She grunts, trying to keep her wooziness at bay as she steps down after him to greet their gracious host. 

“Kylo Ren,” a slippery voice echoed across the docking bay of the ship. The entire ship's crew came into view when Angel finally stepped out on the familiar, black, reflective floor. There were lines of troopers in orderly clusters, officers and officials lines by rank, and in the center of it all; a fiery redhead. General Hux.

“How happy we all are to see that you survived the Rebel bombing of the Empire's old Star Destroyer.” He was smiling smugly as Ren walked from where he had landed the Silencer to greet his fellow First Order General. “The Supreme Leader has asked that we share this ship. Your crew will be joining mine since I see so little of them survived.” Behind Kylo, the remainder of his troopers and officials had lined up similarly to Hux’s, leaving Angel unsure where to go and who to follow. “And in return…” The redhead’s eye twitched slightly in annoyance as his smile faded. “...You will have command over my men, however; you will not have command over any orders I may have previously issued, as this still is my ship.”

Angel picked through the silent crowd, muttering ‘excuse me,’ and ‘sorry,’ until she stood at Kylo Ren’s side. She kept her posture straight and her hands folded behind her back even despite her hungover and exhausted state. She also tried to keep her nose from winking at the sight of General Hux, who looked like, in all forms of the words; a slime ball. 

“And this is?” General Hux asked as he looked down at Angel and then back to Ren, whose eye twitched slightly. 

“She is nobody,” Ren replied quickly.

“Nobody?” Hux scowled. “Ren, this ship does not have room for a nobody. Everyone on my ship performs a part. What is hers?” The general raised a lip in disgust. “Unless it’s—“

Ren quickly interrupted. “I picked her up off of Hays Minor in a hostage situation. I have been using her to build weapons for the First Order and to check our trades that take place on planets lacking our typical monitoring.” 

Hux nodded. “I see. Well, I expect her to be… productive in her time aboard the Finalizer.” 

Ren pointed a finger at the General. “Are you threatening her?”

The slimy man smirked, raising a brow. “What is it to you, Ren? I would watch yourself if I were you.” The General turned. One by one his men fell in behind him as formalities broke and workers returned to their stations.

So that was General Hux. Angel watched him leave with a slightly squinted eye, lip verging on a snarl. 

She sucked in a breath but paused. She’d almost just asked Ren where her room was—something neither of them would’ve blinked an eye at two months ago when on the original Star Destroyer. But now… a little bitterness filled her. She could ignore him too. 

“Take me to my room, please,” Angel says as she turns to a trooper. “I’ll need my things set up before tonight.”  

The trooper nervously eyed Ren before he waved a dismissive hand. “Do as she says,” he commanded the trooper without so much as looking in their direction. He walked away, some other matter of business taking hold of his mind. 

The trooper nods and looks at Angel. “This way.”

Ren walked down the halls, mask back over his face and in a fresh change of black clothes. His cape was gone, now only wearing that thick vest with black sleeves under it and a high neckline. His black pants and boots were the same as always and tapped on the freshly cleaned floor. 

It was night on the ship, and as he made his way back to his quarters, the lights were on a dimmer setting. His mask had taken longer than he had hoped to build, and even then, it was nothing like the Knight of Ren who had originally made it for him. It was made of a lighter material, and while it looked the same, it felt cheaper in his hands; more like a toy than an icon of destruction.

The door to his quarters hissed open, and he stepped inside. The mask hissed as he removed it, setting it on his bedside table as he began to get undressed.

He couldn’t help the way that his mind wandered back to the previous night with Angel. “How could she have seen something like that,” he mumbled to himself as he stripped down to just his plain black long-sleeve and a pair of thin black thermal pants. 

He sat on the edge of his bed, one ungloved hand streaming through his hair, pulling aggressively as he fought back the urge to cry. “How could she have seen someone she had never known?” As panic began to settle in, he decided he should lay down at least and try to sleep, though he was almost always restless and sleep had a way of eluding him.

Eyes shut, his mind continued to play out the scene, only this time he was watching Angel. His heart missed a beat as he thought of the way her slender hands slid up her plush thighs, fingertips pulling the hem of that black dress up to reveal herself to him.

His thoughts were now only focused on her, the way she moved, the way she touched him, the way she looked up at him.

Fuck, he thought to himself as he slid a hand down to his crotch.

This is wrong. Everything about this is wrong.

He thought of her hands sliding along her chest, his eyebrows twitching as they furrowed together. His body was screaming for her, for release.

Angel. He thought out.

Angel… fuck!

In a room down the hall, Angel lifts her tired eyes from her work. A voice that was not her own had called out to her in her mind. Curious, she paused everything, slowly settling down her pencil on the blueprint paper she’d been making notes on, and strained herself to hear it again.

Again it came; low, lustful, and painfully familiar. She saw herself for the briefest moment like a picture in her mind, dark, silken nightgown lifted past her underthings. Heat burns across Angel’s cheeks as she leans back in her chair in shock. This wasn’t her doing… no, Angel grips the arm of her chair. These were Ren’s thoughts, broadcasted to her like a perverted radio. 

Ren was whimpering, shaking now as he thought about the feeling of how Angel’s breasts had felt on Akiva, imagining what they would have felt like that night.

Eyes closed, he alters the memory in his head, his fingertips swiping down the thin silk straps that had held Angel’s pert breasts. Then, they were his to behold. His hand tightened around his shaft as his other hand gripped tightly into the sheets.

Please, he cried out, please touch me.

Angel swallows hard, heart snagging in her throat at such sweet desperation. Her hand plays with the clasp of her uniform’s pants. She knew she should be trying to tune these out—these private thoughts she was absolutely sure she was not supposed to be listening in on—but she couldn’t help it, knowing he was thinking about her… like this. 

With the clasp undone and her zipper down, Angel sneaks a hand under the waistband of her pants. Fingertips play over her underwear, tracing over her sensitive clit. She closes her eyes, flushed and sweaty, watching him watch her. She wanted to touch him—wanted it badly. 

Like magic, that dream version of her does her bidding and slides her hand down his front to cup the bulge in his pants. Angel feels it like it’s her own hand and notices her common sense drift off as her fingers dip past the band of her underwear. Again, she wills her dream self to undo his pants and carefully free him, palming him in her hand, and rubbing her thumb just below the glistening tip. 

Ren was coming unglued in his bed, sheet thrown halfway off himself as he sweated, panting as he continued to work himself up.

He could not believe what he was seeing, his brain taking hold of his skewed memory of the other night and skewing it further. He was shocked that his mind was taking it so far.

He watched from inside his mind as he looked down at Angel’s hand. The sight of her finger swiping over his tip had him shivering in delight. He leaned forward in the fantasy, slumping over as his large hands clutched her breasts, index pinching her nipple between his thumb. He felt them get hard under his thumbs.

 In the reality of his room, his hand around his cock sped up, amazed at how real all of this felt. Your breasts—I want them in my mouth. His mind moved back to the fantasy, focusing again on how they looked, how her hand moving along his length felt.

You—are driving me insane. Angel, you are so hot, you make me so hot.

As if on reflex, Angel bites her bottom lip to stifle a moan and her dream self mimics it. Alone at her desk with her legs splayed and her fingers swirling around her slick clit, she lets out a ragged breath. 

The daydream shifts slightly and Angel’s dream self settles the both of them on the edge of her bed, guiding him—with one gentle hand to the back of his neck—to her breast. Her other hand works him faster, and distantly, the Angel who’s alone in her room admires the copious amount of precum he produces. 

Cute. The word rings out in the shared dream space, muttered, and lust-filled.

Kylo Ren could not tell if the Angel of his dream’s mouth moved as she spoke out in his head, though he supposed it did not matter. This was all just some perverse fantasy of his anyway. 

Ren’s tongue swirled around Angel’s perked-up nipple in the dreamscape, suckling around it moments later. Sweating on the surface of his bed his hand continued to speed up as his body curled in on itself.

Close… I am so close. He took a panting breath, screwing his eyes even tighter together as he continued to accidentally project his thoughts.

Angel, I want you.

Down the hall, Angel’s teeth dig into her lip enough to draw a little blood. She gasped softly, eyes watering as a bead of sweat dripped down her cheek. She was reaching her peak just as he was, fingers working passionate circles against herself. The words she’d been trying to keep from slipping from her mind and into the dreamscape tumble freely now, her dream self holding him to her breast. 

I want you. I’d give you anything… if you asked. So, call me that again, please, say my name. 

She matched him in desperation—and in her shivering end, had exposed herself. Had exposed that, at some point, she’d taken hold of his desires and played along.

Kylo Ren shivered as he came into his hand, the visual dream he had played out going black in his mind as his eyes fluttered open and he stifled a moan between gritted teeth. He’s panting—eyes wide as he pulls his hand away, absentmindedly standing and walking into the bathroom. 

He turned on the sink’s faucet and began to clean himself, pale sweating face looking himself in the eye as he stared forward into the mirror.

The last line echoed in his head.

“I want you. I’d give you anything… if you asked. So, call me that again, please, say my name.”

That was not something he came up with himself, in fact; at what point had he let the Angel of his mind move freely in the dream? When had he lost control? “Angel.” He hissed out loud, trying to make sense of how the two of them had managed to connect their minds. 

—

A week had passed before Angel saw Kylo Ren again, though not entirely of his own want and will.

Hux had asked him a day prior how the new weapons were coming along, of course using a tone that Ren knew was a threat. Angel had to have something by now, Ren had given her an entire week of silence and space to work, so surely she had something to show for it.

The door to her room slid open. Somehow he had never learned the lesson of knocking, or maybe it had something to do with silently telling her that she had no privacy. A reminder she was not here on a vacation.

Ren stepped into the room, mask hissing as he spoke. “The weapons. What is their current progress?” His hands were folded behind his back as he stepped into the doorway and let it seal shut behind him.

Angel barely had time to slide her lenses from her eyes before he barged in. She frowns at him momentarily, unused to the mask, and stands. “All three originals are finished.” Angel gestures at all three of them laid out on her large desk. “And tested just this morning by two of your troopers.” She leans down to pick up the smallest weapon—a knife—and brings it over. Angel holds it out to Ren to inspect, her fingers pinching the blade and the handle facing him. 

It was a vicious-looking thing with a thinly serrated blade and what looked to be shafts in the metal. 

He glanced down, then back up at her, not even taking the weapon into his hand to inspect it closer. It was as if whatever respect for her he held had vanished altogether. 

“Good, Hux will be satisfied. You will prepare a speech for a meeting with this ship's officers, the General, and myself included in three hours. Bring each of your weapons there for a demonstration.” His voice had never sounded colder than it did as it made its way through the mask and to Angel’s ears. He had, however, learned his lesson by surprising her with meetings—somewhat at least.

Hux will be satisfied? A little flame of anger burned in Angel’s stomach. What happened to him being satisfied—her employer? Angel bit back a retort; I’m not doing this for that stupid little general. “Yes, sir.” Angel lets her hand fall to her side, tapping the hilt of the knife against her thigh. “I’ll see you there.” 

Ren nods, the watch at her wrist buzzing as he quickly sends over the information on its meeting place and time. Then, he silently walked out, boots tapping off into the distance as he walked down the hall before disappearing entirely from the view of Angel’s doorway. He had a way of leaving one feeling entirely disappointed.

At the scheduled meeting time, Angel entered the long room with three stormtroopers in tow, each holding her finalized models. The white-haired woman took up the front, freshly showered, pleasantly perfumed, uniform ironed, and as perfect as she could make herself. 

Presentation was important. If there was one thing she learned from working for a weapons dealer on Hays Minor; it was that. Perfect presentation, even oneself. “Good evening.” She allows her eyes to settle across everyone at the long table. In the back of her mind, she tells herself that they’re all just sacks of boring flour. She wouldn't be far off, though she promptly averts her eyes from Ren, who was more like freshly baked bread in her opinion; ready to be buttered. 

Slowly, she paced in front of the three troopers, who stood perfectly in line in front of the large window at the head of the meeting room. “I’m in front of you today to propose a production line of melee weapons. From personal observation and experience from a scuffle on Varkana, I concluded that the First Order’s troops do well in ranged attacks but fall short when targets get close.” Angel pauses in front of the furthest trooper and holds back her hand. They place in it the knife that she’d shown Ren earlier in the day. She lets the silence of the room sink in, sliding her fingers along the smooth end of the blade. The motion guided the eye along it, drawing attention to the craftsmanship and highlighting her next words; “To begin again is to be reborn stronger.” 

In the end, the three dummies that had been wheeled in not long after her little opening speech were either severed in half, shredded from the inside, or burnt to a crisp. Angel stands, straight-backed, unemotive, and rather relaxed at the front of the room, flicking a white curl from her eyes as the troopers behind her resume position with a clack of armor. 

“I’m curious to hear your opinions.” She smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. 

One of the officials, a woman with a high rank, raised her hand and spoke shortly after, “Do you propose that these weapons become standardized for all troops or if select units will be trained to use them?”

A few other heads nod in agreement, sharing that they too had shared a similar question.

Angel’s eyes slot to hers. “The knife in particular would become standard for all troops, while the sword and lance would require special training reserved for select units.” 

An older gentleman in the same uniform as Angel, yet more decorated with ranks and awards, raised his hand and shouted another question, “You said you had been working on these since the trade with Varkana. That was nearly a month ago now. Why has it taken you so long to come up with these models?” A few more skeptical faces at the table nodded, sending a series of murmurs throughout the room.

A twitch of irritation reaches Angel’s eye. “They were finished but unfortunately my originals were blown to smithereens with the Star Destroyer I had been stationed on.” Her smile feels a little more pinched. 

The next question came without a beat; “What makes you certified to manufacture these weapons for the First Order? We have plenty of engineers already employed who have designed worthy weapons already for our troopers.” 

That twitch of irritation begins to bubble and then boil. She didnt want to be here. She didn't want to be working for lousy First Order scum! Nothing about this god-forsaken place was appealing other than the pay and the man in the back who had, at one point, shown her beauty where she doubted it would ever grow! In her hatred, she turns their eyes away from her. “Why don’t you ask my boss, who has yet to inform me about anything of that nature.”

All heads turn to follow the point of Angel’s finger and dozens of eyes hit Ren all at once. Bickering erupts until Hux speaks out, “Yes, Ren, why don’t you tell us all a little more about why you decided to employ her?”

Ren’s fists curled on the table, leather rubbing together as the gloves tightened around the seams. “She was the main engineer for a supplier we used on Hays Minor, I took her as a threat to ensure their cooperation. They, of course, failed without their best engineer, confirming my assumption that she held the operation together. This was when the Supreme Leader decided to replace that company with a more trusted, allied company of our own.” He took a breath, the black sockets of his helmet turning to gaze at Angel coldly. “Instead of letting her talent go to waste, I sought to use her to benefit my personal troops, as I lack a Special Operations unit for world-invading missions. I figured having specialized weapons would guarantee my troops' success.” 

Hux leaned back in his chair upon hearing this. “Well, unfortunately for you, if these weapons become standardized at all, they will be for all troops, not just your own,” Hux smirked a little at the last line. He took pride in seeing Ren fumble over his words like that. 

The room shifted uncomfortably, some even looking to Angel to see if she would give any further input.

“That is—if everyone in the room agrees with these weapons becoming standardized.” Angel felt the air crackling uncomfortably and realized that she’d spoken far, far out of turn when she put her superior on the spot. Now, she sought to soften the blow—if such a thing was even possible. “I’m sure my commander will have these weapons built whether or not they're being produced for the entire First Order, so he’ll be getting them either way.” 

Hux hissed, not at Angel, no he was still looking at Ren when he spoke. “Unfortunately your commander does not get everything he wants. A change such as this has to go through a system of approval. Don’t forget that, Ren.” Hux let a moment of silence pass before turning to Angel. “Needless to say, it is vital the First Order keeps making technological advances that the Rebel Alliance is unprepared for. As far as the Supreme Leader is concerned, he will do anything to ensure our reign is secured over the entire galaxy.” Hux stood and spoke to the officials at the table now. “I suggest we standardize all troops with the daggers and instruct them in brief hand-to-hand combat training, while the other two weapons remain restricted for Special Operation troopers and require explicit training.”

All heads nodded in agreement except for Ren’s, whose eyes were fixed on the shiny black table in front of him. His opinion did not seem to matter anyway.

“Good. This meeting is over, get back to work,” Hux declared as he stood and was the first to exit the room with a passing glare to Angel. 

Angel ignored the general’s glare as she sunk back toward the three troopers and quietly instructed them to return the weapons to her quarters. She had the vaguest inclination that she had thoroughly messed up. Such suspicions were confirmed when she watched Ren slowly rise from his seat once everyone in the room had filtered out. 

Angel tried to avoid it, walking close behind the three troopers while steering clear of looking at him. She, however, could not avoid the iron grip that landed on her shoulder, harsh and unfriendly, similar to the one she had received on Varkana that had made her backhand the worker’s face. 

Angel only tenses and stops in her tracks. She watches the troopers leave her behind, wishing she were one of them. 

Putting Ren on the spot had felt like payback for that time she’d been forced to give a similar, less high-stakes meeting on the old Star Destroyer. But had such revenge been worth it? She’s not sure. But she is sure of one thing; “That hurts.” Angel tries to tug herself away, wrenching her shoulder from his grip. 

Ren’s vise-like grip only seemed to tighten with her movement. It was sure to leave a bruise. “You are coming with me to the training room,” he hissed down at her as he released her from his grip and pushed her stumbling forward as he began to walk behind her, hand on her back, guiding her to where it was located.

Angel’s heart began to pound. “What? The training room? Why?” She stumbled into pace in front of him, pushed forward by his hand. They were walking fast. Not moments later, the door to the training room was in front of her. 

Ren didn't give her a reason as he shoved her through the door and quickly turned around, typing in a code that sealed it shut behind them. “Grab a weapon,” he hissed. “Your blaster, a blade, I don't care,” he said as he gestured to the wall of training weapons. Ren walked out to the center of the room and stood there. The air around him was vibrating. “I want to fight. You get to give me one rule, a limitation, whatever you want.” He began to pant as he watched her carefully, waiting in anticipation. 

Angel glanced at the wall, her heart beating faster as her forehead began to dampen. “I- I’m not fighting you. I don’t fight. That’s not what I do. I’m- I’m just supposed to stay in the background.” She steps back, flattening herself against the door. 

Ren flipped on his saber, its inconsistent buzz filling the room. “FIGHT!!” he shouted at her as he continued to pace, breath quickening. He pointed to the door with his saber. “The only way out—through those doors—is to win or lose.”

He was terrifying. Angel watched with wide, scared eyes. Fighting Ren would be like fighting a Snow Bear. Her gaze darts to the weapon’s wall once more. 

Using any of the weapons there simply wouldn't work. Angel wasn’t small by any means, but she knew his strength far outdid her own. Fighting with a sword would be like losing immediately. But so would fighting with a blaster in this closed room. 

Angel hurries over to take into her trembling hands a practice saber. It was smaller, quieter, and far, far less threatening than his purring blade. Fearfully, her eyes dart to him as if waiting for him to come hurtling towards her. 

“Your mask,” she raises her voice a little over the sound of both their blades. She wanted to see his eyes and the raw emotion that bled from them. She wanted to know exactly how he felt at this very moment. “Take it off.” Those were her shakily spoken terms. 

Ren let his saber remain in one hand. The wild energy around him intensified at her request. He took a moment, then obliged. His open hand reached up and pressed one side of his helmet, air hissing and whining as the helmet's mouthpiece clicked out and lifted away as he slid it off his face.

He tossed the metal onto the ground and let it roll away. His bottom lip was puffed out in a glaring pout, nostrils flaring with every exhale as he continued to get more worked up. He was sweating—nerves probably.

A strained expression unfolds on Angel’s face as she moves to put more distance between him and her. Momentarily, she glances down at his discarded mask. “I beat you or you beat me, r-right?” She looks back at him, nose wrinkling in displeasure. “Am I allowed to surrender?”

“Yes but only if I allow it,” he hissed as he began to take steps closer. He was not underestimating her. He approached with caution even though he was sure he would have to be the first to strike.

With an irritated grunt, Angel flicks her blade. “So, I surrender!” She continues a step back for every step forward from him. 

Ren took a breath and let his diaphragm project his voice across the room. “Denied!” He lowered his saber, dragging it in a line behind him, sparks flying up as it melted the metal floor.

Angel’s face twitches with anger. In a flash, it erupts from her, not so dissimilar to the day he tossed her into a meeting room on the old Star Destroyer. “You’re so stupid! Picking a fight with me because you got a little embarrassed! That’s what this is about, right?!” One of her hands is gripped into a tight fist at her side, the other holding the practice saber. 

Ren continued to slowly approach, lips pinching together as he thought of an answer. He took a shaky breath and spat out at her, “Just fight me, damn it!” His hair was sticking to his face as it always did when he got heated like this. He had a way of getting himself so worked up—this seemed to be his only outlet for release. “If you beat me, I will forgive you for how you humiliated me.” So there was her answer; it was about that, but probably about so much more.

Angel’s eyes burn with anger but she doesn’t move. “I don’t want to fight you! You brought me here. You brought me to the meeting. You offered me a place here in the First Order! So don’t-“ Her lips draw up into a smile that comes from a place of rage. “Do. Not. Act like it’s my job to join you in… in whatever this is!” She gestures at all of him. “I prefer to settle my matters a little more diplomatically, thank you very much!” 

Ren growled as he held out his hand and dragged her from where she stood with The Force. “I do not care,” he said as he looked down at her. This was not him. His eyes held nothing but pure rage and pain as they bore into Angel. Ren lunged forward suddenly, blade striking hers as a warning. He was going to fight, and she better be ready to block.

Angel’s trembling hands work hard to steady her blade, wincing at the sparks that fly when Ren’s saber meets her own. He never used The Force on her. Never. Angel had seen plenty of other staff get tossed about, but never her. 

She says nothing as she drops to slide directly between his legs, twisting onto her back behind him only to jam the heel of her boot into the back of his leg with all the strength she could muster. She doesn’t stay to watch the aftermath, scrambling to her feet and running to the other side of the training room, practice saber whirring in hand. “I’ll make you care!” She shouts. “I’ll make you care so much it shreds you apart from the inside! I have to care! I have to care about you! About my job! About your job! About the opinion of that stupid little general! And about myself on top of it all!” 

Ren hissed as he stumbled two steps forward to catch himself, whipping around quickly to see where she had crept off to. He pursues, rushing towards her with his blade extended. He was only aiming for her saber, but it did not mean that accidents could not still happen. 

Angel isn’t fast enough to dodge his attack, opting for meeting his blade and holding out as long as she could; which wasn’t long at all. Her hands were unsteady and she lacked the strength to hold against his weight. To the best of her ability, Angel redirects his saber with her own, sliding it off and towards the ground, giving her enough room to dart to the side. “No… if you didn’t care,” she pants. “You wouldn’t be doing this.” Angel gives an unpracticed swing towards him, the practice saber whizzing through the air. 

Ren jumps back, moving his stomach and chest inwards to himself to avoid the blow. He lets out a puff of air, eyes meeting Angel’s as he made his counter attack, giving her no time to rest. He swung again for her blade using one hand to allow the other to stabilize himself should she make another strike to try and knock him off balance. He was not listening to Angel speak—he did not think he needed to. This was his way of processing—talking out loud must have been hers. 

Angel’s blade gets knocked out of balance in her hands when she tries to meet his blow again. Her muscles screamed, having never done this kind of thing before. Ren fought like a monster. He loomed over her, threatened to overpower her, and was stronger, and much faster than she was. But Angel was positive that her rage matched his in strength, so she'd find a way to use it. 

Angel lets her saber fall into her left hand, Ren’s blade hissing as it slides down the length of it. She only has a moment to think before she feels the heat of his saber, time slowing when it burns the edge of her tightly clenched fist. And in that moment, she swings with her right to deliver a nasty punch to his cheekbone. 

She’s certain she’s broken a bone somewhere, pain erupting from both hands—a burn and, at best, a fucked up wrist—and she screams. Actually, it’s more of a roar; the pain only adding fuel to the fire. 

Ren stumbles back, unused to anyone he fought playing this dirty. Not that he minded. No, anything was fair game to him right now. “You,” he breathed, ragged and low. “You truly do not disappoint,” he said as a chilling smile crept across his face. He would definitely have a bruise across his jaw tomorrow. Ren straightened up and slowly swung his blade as he took a few steps back from Angel, cautious. This was only the beginning for him, no, it had only just begun.

“Oh,” Angel’s voice climbs high. “I’m so glad this is entertaining for you!” She smiles in return, expression full of spite. The practice saber whips in the air at her side. She wasn’t doing it to show off; no, it seemed like she was doing it because she couldn’t contain the burning fire in her nerves any other way.  

Her fingers itched. Playing with guns and blades wasn’t how she fought. She fought nasty. She fought with her fingers and her teeth and her legs and arms. She longed to kick, to punch, to tear. Anger turned her mind to primal fury. Angel comes at him again, ignoring the pain in both her hands to swing her saber again. It connects with Ren’s easily, slotting down to meet the blazing hilt as it’s redirected to the side. She steps away. “Tell me how to fucking win and I’ll win,” she spits at him. “You want me to beat you into a pulp? Huh? Knock you to the floor? Disarm you?” Angel taunts as she paces away, back and forth, eyeing him like dinner. 

A shiver ran through Kylo Ren’s body, his expression changing for a moment before hardening again. It was enough to tell Angel the answer to all those questions. 

He wanted to lose.

Ren brought his blade back up and slammed it against Angel’s, taking a step forward in an attempt to close the distance between her. A closer target for her blows.

Angel’s face scrunches, her tongue licking over her front teeth as she holds her blade against his shivering one.

 She takes a step back. 

It’s for momentum. 

Momentum for her swinging leg that comes a second later, her shin slamming up right between his spread legs. 

Ren let out a shout of pain through gritted teeth as he slid down to his knees, panting. He still held his blade tight in one hand and had it ready in a defensive position as he gathered himself. He was trembling as he caught his breath and willed the pain away.

A shiver ran up Angel’s spine as she breathed raggedly above him. A feeling she’d never felt before; a strange satisfaction that curled somewhere below her navel. “Bested by a girl who doesn’t even know how to fight,” she taunts, whacking his saber with her own. She pushes forward, listening to their blades hiss. “Go on; get on your back. You know you lost.”  

Ren gazed up at her, eyes flashing six different emotions all at once. At first, he began to push back against her blade, then, he slowly leaned back, boots remaining on the floor as his knees bent up towards the ceiling. His blade was still on and he brought it to rest above his head in one hand against the floor. He was panting, catching his breath as he watched Angel.

She steps over him. “I get it now.” She sighs, catching her breath. The heavy weight of her comes down on his stomach, where she straddles him, one hand still holding her humming saber while the other grips his cheeks. “Everyone’s afraid of you. No one ever dares to boss you around or beat you up. But you trust me, don’t you? You listened when I told you, that night on Akiva, that I could handle you.” She forces him to look up at her, jostling him in her firm grip.  “Don’t even say anything,” she whispers. “I know just by the look on your face.” 

Ren was melting underneath her, panting as he listened and watched her, not fighting her touch. He was going crazy, crazy for her, for anything she would give him, pain included. He shifts slightly underneath her, eyes leaving hers to wander along her plush thighs which straddled him.

Angel’s breathing changed, and suddenly she wasn’t looking at him with anger. Her brows pinch, strained, and the saber shuts off and clatters away somewhere. She leans over him, her figure blocking out the light. “I love that face you make,” she whispers unintentionally, turning his face this way and that in her grip. Power hummed in her veins now, more than she’d ever held in her life. Licking her lips, her hands trail down to his throat, lightly wrapping them around it. 

Ren leaned his head back, eyes fluttered closed as he gave himself to her, body surrendering to her will. His saber hisses as it shuts off and slips from his fingers. “I—“ he said, voice strained from Angel’s grasp, “—had no intention to kill you.” 

“Shh,” she hushes him, swallowing hard and breathing heavily for a different reason than their sparring match entirely. “I know,” Angel says it in a whisper, her hands tightening around the sides of his throat, slowing the blood that pumped to his brain. Angel watched his reaction closely, willing her hips not to grind back on him, though she knew he could feel the warm, dampening spot being made on his lower stomach where she sat. She let out a shuddering sigh, enraptured with his beauty as he lay, splayed on the floor beneath her.  

Angel knew how this felt; a tight hand around one’s throat. Within a few moments, a serene silence would set in. Any screams, any demons, any monsters that taunted the mind would disappear—just for that moment—and leave the recipient in the blissful hands of whoever sat above them. She watched it set in now… on the face of one of the most powerful men in the galaxy. 

The expression that spread across Ren’s face could only be summed up in one word; bliss. He allowed his eyes to flutter shut, the muscles in his brow and forehead releasing all tension as his body relaxed underneath her. 

Angel knew then to draw her hands away. Only a moment of bliss like that was allowed before things got dangerous. She also knew to slide off of him when the crisp clarity of blood flow returned, grasping the discarded practice saber as she stood. In her wake, she leaves a warm, damp spot on his lower belly.  

“Well,” she breathed, stepping away to put the weapon back where she’d found it. “I … I think this makes us even now, yeah?”

Ren gets up slowly, hand reaching for where hers had rested on his neck, fingertips dragging over the area as he nodded. “Yeah, for now,” he said as he summoned the saber back into his hand and clipped it onto his belt.

Angel almost laughs but stifles it with a nip of her bottom lip. For now? She’s sure she’ll be requested for more sparring matches now and was curious if she’d be winning every time with her hands around his neck. She wasn’t sure she minded all that much. Surprisingly, despite the pain in both hands, most of her building stress was gone. Now all that remained were damp panties. She’s not sure she minds that either. 

Next

[spacemagicandlaserswords]

The Clone Wars: Return of the Thoughts

I’m over half way through my first watch through of The Clone Wars (I’m part way through the Onderon rebels arc at the moment) and it has been An Experience. I have really enjoyed watching it, even though so much of the story is just pain and despair. If it isn’t already completely obvious from my reaction posts, I have completely fallen for the clones. New hyperfixation unlocked. I love and adore all of them. This brings about its own problems because for a show called The Clone Wars, there isn’t exactly a great focus on the clones. They’ve basically been sidelined in their own show (Hmmm, I wonder where we’ve seen that done to a clone before?). When we do finally get some decent clone-centric episodes, they are all just pain, misery, angst and despair. Which explains why I’ve been dreading watching so many of the various arcs in TCW.

I’ve found that my anticipation of episodes falls into either 'outright dreading', 'generally looking forward to', 'somewhat interested in', or 'fairly ambivalent about'. Out of the three seasons I have left to watch, the only arc I’m actually looking forward to is the opening arc of season 7, because:

a) Baby Bad Batch b) ECHO c) More clones! More clone interactions and personality and character development and depth and emotions and all the things! d) Jesse and his ARC tits running around being an absolute unit e) Kix! *weeps for his beautiful hair* f) Rex being a BAMF as usual but also being all soft and concerned when he gets one of his Domino Twins back after he thought he’d lost them both. g) We even get a bit of Cody too, before he gets squished by a larty and Wrecker has to lift it off him. h) Non-chip controlled Crosshair! He smiles! He laughs! He’s snarky and sarcastic! We finally get to see the toothpick with a soul before it’s ripped out and trampled into the ground by the Empire. i) I think the season 7 premiere is where Obi-Wan cuts an actual missile in half to save Cody, and if that isn’t the most hyper competent way of conveying your love for your space husband, then I don’t know what is.

On the other side of things, there are a number of arcs that I am dreading and almost don’t want to watch. 

I’m not overly looking forward to the Mandalore arc in season 5, mainly because we have to watch Obi-Wan watch Satine get brutally murdered in front of him by Maul. Along with being utterly cruel and completely devastating, it’s also another wholly unnecessary fridging of a female character. There’s already enough man pain in this series as it is, we don’t need to add to it by killing off one of the few female characters with depth. 

Straight after this is the Jedi temple bombing arc, which I almost don’t want to watch. The way Ahsoka was treated was utterly horrendous and appalling. No wonder she left! What they did to Barriss was just as awful. 

Then it’s straight into the chip conspiracy arc, which is just more pain, misery, suffering and death for the clones. First Tup, then Fives, in what seems to be generally regarded as one of the most devastating deaths of the entire Clone Wars series. I’m pretty sure there’s going to be a lot of sobbing at the end of it. I also cannot wrap my head around the fact that Fox is the one to shoot Fives. I cannot believe that a clone would ever shoot another clone. That a vod would kill another vod. It’s just inconceivable. From what I’ve read, the generally received headcanon seems to be that Palps was controlling Fox via the chip or the Darkside. This makes complete sense, is a believable in-universe reason, and is definitely the headcanon that I’ve accepted. Blasters have a stun setting! Fox is the Commander of the Coruscant Guard. He’s a command class clone and he has a kama so presumably he’s got ARC training as well. There’s no way he’d be that sloppy as to not have his blaster set to stun. I know this is leading up to my inevitable internal conflict between fandom Fox and canon Fox (which is already brewing), but that’s another rant for another day. Either way, I'm absolutely dreading watching this arc.

I’m not really looking forward to watching the Rush Clovis arc in season 6. I touched on this in 2.04 ‘Senate Spy’ and I should imagine that this arc involves more of Anakin being abusive and controlling of Padmé, which both @0bianidalas and @coraex basically confirmed in the comments. For a multitude of personal reasons, I am really not comfortable with watching something like this. That said, I should imagine it will be a clear example of Anakin’s further descent to the Dark side and give a greater understanding to how it happened, which I gather was a key reason for the existence of The Clone Wars series in the first place.

Finally, there’s the Siege of Mandalore arc, which is just pain, misery, death and despair for everyone involved. We have to watch another perspective of the genocide that is Order 66, and by all accounts this one seems to be one of the most heart-wrenching and devastating. All of the clones are forced against their will to turn into brainwashed, controlled, mindless monsters. Jesse is turned into the very opposite of everything that he is, stood for, and believed in. Ahsoka is hunted by the very men she thought were her friends. Rex has to shoot his brothers out of self defense and to protect Ahsoka. All of the 322nd die. Rex cries. The only saving grace to all of this is that Rex is finally free, but at what cost. At what cost.

(Editor Me: My heart is already aching just going through the various gifs from these arcs. I'm going to be an absolute wreck I watch the actual episodes.)

After all of this, I somehow have to power through 4 seasons of Rebels before Ahsoka premiers on August 23. I’m probably going to have to binge watch Rebels and come back to it later for the reaction posts but we’ll see. While I have spoiled myself on Rebels in the same way I did for TCW, I haven’t been looking up what happens in Rebels quite as much as TCW. I’ve forgotten a fair amount of what happens so I think I’m going to try and keep myself as spoiler free as possible for Rebels. Hopefully that way I’ll be able to avoid this ‘dreading watching particular arcs’ problem that I’m encountering with TCW.  

It’s not all doom and gloom though. There are moments in particular episodes that I’m looking forward to.

Hondo turns up again in the younglings arc and I am all for more Hondo. My interest in this arc falls somewhere between ‘somewhat interested’ and ‘fairly ambivalent’ but Hondo is an absolute riot and I love his particular brand of chaos. He was hilarious in the season 5 premiere and stole every scene he was in so I’m very glad to see him appear again.

We finally get to meet Gregor! He seems like a fan favourite and I’ve been looking forward to meeting him. If the droids mission is anything like R2-D2 and the reprogrammed B1 droids in the Citadel arc then this should be fairly amusing too so I’m generally looking forward to this.

In a way, I am looking forward to parts of the Mandalore arc in season 5. Obi-Wan in Mandalorian armour! More sass and snark from Obi-Wan is always enjoyable and at least we get to see him rescue Satine before it all goes horribly wrong. I know I’ve made this point before but I also love it when we get to see just how damn good a Jedi Obi-Wan is. There’s a little bit of this in the season 4 finale when Obi-Wan teams up with Ventress to fight Maul and Savage (after he’s thrown about like a rag doll and we get even more Obi-Wan whump. TCW has been a surprisingly excellent source of Obi-Wan whump.) But you really get to see it in the season 5 premiere. At one stage Obi-Wan is dual wielding lightsabers like an absolute madman while fighting both Maul and Savage at the same time. Sir, your lightsaber form is Soresu, what are you doing?

I’m looking forward to ‘The Lost One’ because we get to see a bit more of Wolffe, Plo and the Wolf Pack and I am always happy when we get to see more of them. Even if it's only for a tiny bit at the start of the episode.

As painful as the Siege of Mandalore arc is going to be, there are also some good moments that I’m looking forward to. Rex and Ahsoka reunite after she left the Order. I’ve really been enjoying watching the gradual evolution of their relationship, from Captain and Commander, to colleagues that respect each other, to friends, and then brother and sister. Or ori’vod and vod’ika, if we’re going with the headcanon of clones knowing Mando’a and creating their own culture out of what they can glean from their Mandalorian origins. Rex is definitely ori’vod. 

Rex is finally promoted to commander so we get a little bit of Commander Rex for a while, and isn’t that just a delicious thought thot. 

Ahsoka essentially gets her own company in the form of the 332nd and they all paint their helmets in a pattern inspired by the markings on her montrals, which is just so damn sweet and adorable.   

Rex and Ahsoka fighting side by side, even if some of it is against chip controlled clones.

From what I can gather, this entire arc is mainly about Rex and Ahsoka, with a showdown with Maul thrown in. They both go through the wringer and there’s going to be everything from hilarious one liners, to heartfelt moments, to the absolute emotional devastation that is Order 66 and all that it wrought upon them.  

Out of the arcs that are left, they’re a mix of ‘somewhat interested’, ‘fairly ambivalent’ and ‘really not sure what to expect’. I’m fairly ambivalent about the rest of the Onderon rebels arc, which ends in another unnecessary fridging of a female character. At least Steela was more sensible and had more nuance. I could see her evolving into a great leader, in a similar vein to Leia. Saw is just another boring arrogant male who turns into a ‘for the greater good’ monster. The consequences of his actions have disastrous effects for the Empire and the rebels, or anyone who even slightly opposes the Empire. He’s not a good person and definitely falls into the ‘an enemy of my enemy is my friend/temporary ally’ camp.  

I’m ‘fairly ambivalent’ to almost disinterested in ‘The Disappeared’ arc. Anything involving Jar Jar Binks is always deeply painful and uncomfortable to watch, a point I’ve made before, so I’m not going to blither on about it again.

The final arc of season 6 just sounds weird and all very ~mystical~ Jedi. Or more Jedi osik as the more cynical of the clones would probably say. 

The Ahsoka arc in the middle of season 7 is one I’m really not sure what to expect from. I’m looking forward to meeting Trace and Rafa and I’m all for more women of colour in Star Wars. It’ll also give more context to the episode ‘Decommissioned’ from The Bad Batch and help understand exactly who they are and why they’re coincidentally looking for the same Separatist tactical droid as the Batch. It’ll also be interesting to see what happens to Ahsoka after she leaves the order and get a sense for what she’s been up to and how she’s managed to survive and cope since. I’m not sure if this arc is in chronological order with the rest of the season. Though the last episode does appear to link into the Siege of Mandalore arc, so maybe it is. The official chronological order lists this arc as happening before the Bad Batch arc and after the season 6 finale arc, so I guess that solves that then.

Aside from The Bad Batch arc, there’s no whole episode or arc that I’m actually looking forward to watching. This seems to be the main structure to TCW, hilarious comedic moments and heartfelt scenes interspersed between a whole lot of emotional devastation and heart wrenching endings. I’m still glad I’m finally watching The Clone Wars but the emotional ride from certain episodes and arcs has been something else. I’m so glad fix-it fics exist, because I’m going to need to read so many after all of this is said and done. 

I know this might seem like I’m complaining but I’m not. I’m simply being open and honest about my experiences watching The Clone Wars. I am enjoying watching it all, even if ‘enjoying’ doesn’t quite feel like the right word with all of the pain and despair and misery that happens. 

I’ve got a lot left to watch and not much time to watch it in but I’m also going to make sure I enjoy it as well. I’ll be sad when it’s finished but I am very happy and glad that I finally started watching The Clone Wars.