#I wanted sharp sight to be united with him and be forever in love | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

quonah4dead · 6 months ago

Text

Whiskey Shakes: Prologue

Word Count: ~3.5k

Rating: Teen+ for language

Pairing: Nellis

Characters: Ellis, Keith, Paul

Summary: A continuation of this thing (Closets May Feel Safe...), inspired by this thing (Primum non Nocere by ladyred-ms). The two boys get back to the Nelson bros' apartment and have dinner after Ellis' confession in Keith's car. The combination of this and the next part was getting kinda long, so it's a prologue now.

==============

The car was directed into the parking space indelicately, crooked between the lines. Tension had begun to rise again in Ellis’ chest during the last few minutes of their return trip. The cry he had earlier may have helped to purge gallons of accumulated misery, sure, and Keith had taken the revelation with minimal comment, which was… Probably good…

Gone was the fear of imminent and violent rejection, and that was nice. It was. But in its place rose something else, growing to be equally uncomfortable if not as viscerally terrifying. Ellis couldn’t quite put his finger on it, fatigued as he was, and he didn’t much care to, either. He really just didn’t feel like thinking about it at all, wanted to shove it down and stomp dirt onto it until it was out of sight, and thus out of mind.

He looked up at the cheap plastic siding that covered every face of the Nelson brothers’ apartment building. The pastel blue greeted him with a kind of exhausted, worn cheer, and the buildings flanking it, colored an equally dusty pastel yellow, felt like they were trying too hard to be happy past their weathering. Despite the structure’s familiarity and its association with people he loved, it currently felt like he was eyeing a penitentiary. The uncomfortable feeling in his chest churned again.

Keith roughly jostled his keys out of the ignition and let his hand flop to his lap. His head then pointedly swiveled to face Ellis, and the shorter man felt the pressure of the look despite keeping his eyes averted. A long, pensive sigh wheezed out of Ellis’ throat and slouched him forward under the weight of Keith’s gaze, and he was sure he looked a little bit like a scolded puppy when he managed to rasp out, “Can’t I just stay in the car forever…?”

Keith didn’t smile fully, but he did sound in very good humor when he barked out, “Nope!” with a sharp jerk upward of his brows.

Ellis let out a low, rattling groan of dread and began to turn to unbuckle his seatbelt and reach for the car door. When he loosened his grip to release Keith’s hand, the blond man casually took it back into his own space, popping the trunk and hopping out of the car easily. “You get the bike, I’ll get the door,” the driver declared, taking the walk to the Nelson brothers’ ground-floor unit half-backwards in long strides, nearly tripping over the curb in the process despite being situated right next to a slope of wheelchair-accessible sidewalk.

Compliance was assumed, though not without merit. He rocked himself out of the passenger’s seat and onto the pale, cracked and patched asphalt. The sun was entering a low hang in the sky, now, and the sound of spring peepers and crickets had already risen to take its place. Soon, the temperature would drop, enabled by a mostly-clear sky, and tiny dewdrops would begin to gather on window screens. In a month, the noise from the frogs would be a proper uproar. In three, cicadas and katydids would be deafening in their cacophony.

The threatened humidity and damp ambiance soothed him, just slightly, as he made his way to the trunk to extract the dirt bike from where it was laid over the trunk bed and folded-down back seats. His hand had settled on the base of the trunk hatch, ready to close it, when he heard Keith’s voice faintly announce, “Ellis is stayin’ here tonight!” from inside.

Paul was home.

Obviously he was. Ellis knew he would be. His custom-modified car was parked right there in his self-assigned handicapped spot. Of course he was home. It’s part of why Ellis was hesitant to get a move on, after all, but being reminded of it halted his progress all the same. If more was said, he didn’t hear it. He did hear the door open and close, and the shuffling of Keith’s sneakers, gentle clicking sounding out from one shoelace dragging on the ground.

“‘Ey, slug-ass!” came the bark from around the car, followed quickly by Keith craning an impatient look around the lifted trunk door. “Hurry it up. ‘M hungry,” he said pointedly before disappearing again. The taller man was acting… Normal.

It prodded Ellis into motion, though his hand still moved loosely as it dragged the trunk closed with a heavy thunk. He hauled the bike in, door held open for him by Keith, and immediately turned to march his way past the combined living and dining area, straight toward Keith’s room on the left. Paul wheeled out of the master bedroom, just a bit farther down the hall than Keith’s.

“Hey, Ellis.”

Ellis just barely got himself to make eye contact. And even then, it was only for a moment, with a weak flash of teeth where a smile should have gone.

“Hey, Paul.”

Paul was acting normal. Why wouldn’t he be? It’s not like Ellis told him, too. Though he did briefly think he saw Paul giving him a critical look, out of the corner of his eye.

Ellis wished he, himself, were acting normal.

Keith had already taken up the task of spreading frozen chicken nuggets on a cookie tray when Paul made it into the small, but workable kitchen. The slimmer brother tossed the plastic away before going back to the freezer to grab a bag of premade french fries.

“Nugs‘n’fries,” he declared plainly.

“Oh, hell, no,” the older man asserted, pointing to a cabinet that held a different plastic bag. “You’re gonna fry up the rest of them potatoes. They’re startin’ to look at me funny.”

When Keith turned to scrunch up his face in a childish protest, his brother immediately fixed him with a suspicious and inquisitive look, jerking a thumb over his shoulder with a quirked brow. It shouldn’t have surprised Keith that his brother, perceptive as he was, had managed to pick up on something being different with Ellis, but the speed at which it happened surprised him all the same. While he did his best to school his expression into something innocently neutral and shrug nonchalantly, it was almost certain that some discomfort leaked onto his face. With a turn that was perhaps a bit too hasty, Keith made to pull out a cutting board before heading to the vegetable cabinet. He didn’t know how to communicate to Paul any of the Ellis developments through gestures alone, so he opted to look as normal as possible instead.

When he turned around with the bag in one hand and a knife in the other, to see Paul still scrutinizing him, he was unsurprised. His brother lifted a meaty fist and raised his thumb upward. Then he flicked his wrist, quickly fixing his thumb downward for a moment, then to the side. It was a simple question, and one he could actually answer without talking about the subject within earshot.

Keith shifted on his feet a moment, trying to figure out how to answer. He settled on angling his remaining full thumb halfway between up and sideways, wiggling it there, and grimacing theatrically to indicate a kind of uncertain, tentative quality to his assessment. Paul’s mouth turned down slightly below his moustache, but the way his brows raised looked vaguely contented, or pleased, maybe. Satisfied, perhaps. After holding that expression for a moment, processing the little news he’d received, he sharply nodded, and turned to look out the kitchen archway and through Keith’s bedroom door directly across the hall.

“Ellis, get out here’n make sure this dumbass doesn’t cut another finger off.”

Neither brother could hear Ellis’ quiet sigh over the sound of potatoes being washed. Socked feet shuffled along the floor as he muttered, “I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” making his way around Paul into the kitchen to scoop up the knife and start cubing the potatoes that Keith had scrubbed.

Preparing the meal was quiet and quick, Ellis long having mastered knifework and seasoning under the guidance of his mother, and navigating around Keith under the guidance of bruised shins and bonked foreheads. Dodging walls and furniture in his perpetual impatience with two plates in hand, Keith led the way to the kitchen table, where Paul was already situated. The TV was on some dumb history thing, volume turned low, and the meal only began when Ellis himself sat down, his own plate in one hand and ketchup and mustard bottles pinched between the fingers of the other.

Chatter at the table was sparse. Ellis had little desire to talk, and the three men spent so much time together that there was little to talk about aside from idle daily updates and questions about plans for the rest of the week. It was comfortable. Familiar. Nice. It had been… a while since Ellis had felt like the company of his friends was anything more than tolerable. When he had been dating Nick, he still loved being with his family, but he was often afraid the conversation would turn toward him in the worst of ways, even though everyone danced around the issue with some degree of grace.

After the breakup, being around other people just felt like chewing on pine needles. The pressure to feign happiness, normalcy, combined with his gross inability to do so, was suffocating. Constant fantasies of escaping would plague him as he tried to pay enough attention to the conversation to reply when it was appropriate.

Currently, he still wanted to crawl under a rock and curl up in moss like a roly-poly, but… Being in the company of the two brothers wasn’t the worst thing he could imagine.

Keith, to his credit, was still acting normal enough whenever he got words out around his latest shoveled mouthful of chicken and potato. When he got up for a fiber shake to slake his bottomless appetite further, leaving Paul alone with Ellis, the older man acted normal enough, too. Minding his business, finishing up his meal in silence.

Ellis still couldn’t help feeling like they were stepping strategically around him.

Plates cleared and delivered to the sink, the three gathered around the TV, Paul lounging comfortably in a recliner while the two younger men sprawled over each other on the couch. The cheap beers they were nursing loosened their tongues. By the time the sun had fully set, the whole lot found themselves laughing at each other for drooling over big guns on the screen, despite the fact that it was obviously just a program to flex the military’s ego.

Like always, Paul interjected with little bits of trivia he knew about relevant programs, followed by some snide comment like “More money than god fer fancy targeting systems, but we had to buy glue traps ourselves for the damn roaches,” or “I know I said it before, but it’d be nice if they’d’uh spent a dime on fixin’ the heater back when I was at Bragg. Swear we was shittin’ icicles half the time.”

Their chatter and the alcohol produced a warmth that was unbroken by the trying-too-hard narrator and his tasteless guitar accompaniment, and when Ellis found himself yawning and blinking away sleep, he realized he felt halfway okay. Of course, this realization was only made after Keith turned a look toward him, more scrutinizing than he’d been in over the past couple hours, and told Ellis to leave with a dismissive wave of his hand toward the hallway.

“Go to bed, grampaw.”

The order took a moment to process through Ellis’ fatigue, and he still wasn’t quite sure if Keith had been talking to him. “Huh?” He managed through slowly-blinking eyes.

“Go on ‘n’ git, yer fallin’ asleep. Take my bed. I’mma stay up a bit later, anyhow. Ain’t tired yet.” The mouth of a nearly-empty bottle was rolling around on his slack lips, like couldn’t be bothered to put it down or continue drinking.

Ellis quirked a brow. “... You for real?”

Keith let his head loll to the side, giving Ellis a low-lidded look with raised brows before returning his gaze to the television just as slowly. “Don’t blame me if yer late for work.” The brunet felt an additional side-eye from Paul.

It was not a harsh command, no more harsh than how Keith usually gave directions, anyway. But being told to take himself to a room reminded him of his previous deeply avoidant behavior, constantly wanting to run off to sequestered safety. The sweet, fuzzy haze of camaraderie faded in the face of being told to go. In its place, his desire to rebel against his friend was only superseded by his desire to resume hiding. The friction between the bottle’s neck and his strangling grip produced a small squeak.

Keith watched in his peripheral vision as Ellis petulantly oozed his legs onto the floor. The shorter man was halfway to standing when Keith asked, “Did’juh tell Ma you’re stayin’ the night?” and his reward for being considerate was watching his friend collapse onto his stomach and groan loudly into the carpet.

Both the Nelson brothers snorted.

Once Ellis had retreated to Keith’s room, the accident-prone man muttered to himself around the mouth of his bottle. “Good Lord, that guy…”

Paul grunted, and took the opening. “Seriously. He does seem better, though, just a lil’. Or at least less dead. Somethin’ happen?” The question’s tone was casual, noncommittal. Tactically so.

Keith exhaled through pursed lips and puffed-out cheeks, shaking his head, struggling with what he should say. What he could say. “I… I think we’re finally gettin’ somewhere.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

Paul glanced at his youngest brother.

“So what happened?”

It was unusual for Keith to need to be prompted.

“Uh… Well, we had a chat, um…” A grimace flitted across his face. “Euuhhh, I, um… I know why he’s been so cagey about shit now, I guess. Which is good… But I didn’t get much more’n that.” Clicking taps reverberated in his mouth as he clinked the bottle against his teeth. The depth of his discontented thought was written into his brow, and his ponderous silence lasted too long for Paul to drop the subject.

“So what was it?”

His mouth turned down abruptly. A struggle played out in his eyes, and eventually the only thing he could think to say was, “I can’t say,” as if he didn’t know. While it was a double entendre, and he directed his tone toward deceit, he trusted that Paul was insightful enough to take the correct meaning. A dark blond brow quirked in his direction.

“Oh yeah?”

Thoughts were trying to rise to the surface in response to the prodding, making his open jaw grind on the air. “Eeeeeyuuuuuup.”

“Izzat right?” The question was delivered flatly, and perhaps it was the disinterested tone that left room for Keith’s temper to rise into the empty space.

“God, Paul, it’s so stupid,” he blurted, hands flying out to either corner of the room. “I mean– maybe it’s not? I dunno? But it just– and he just seems so, like–” his hands shifted around like was trying to grasp at the air in front of his belly.

“He’s got himself convinced it’s this whole thing… And maybe it’s a big deal? But I don’t really think– man, I just don’t get why–” He made an ugly noise in his throat. “I mean, maybe I do? Maybe it’s a big deal…?” He tried for another moment, fruitlessly, to figure out how to communicate anything at all without communicating anything at all. In his failure, he opted to let out a feral snarl and writhe around, flopping onto his belly to face Paul while extending his hands as if to strangle the air between him and his brother. The beer bottle thunked onto the floor. “Stupid fuckin’ motherfuckin’ piece’a shit lookin’ piss smellin’ motherfucker,” he cursed into the couch arm, before biting the worn fabric as hard as he could and jerking his neck around violently.

Amusement and a twinge of concern flared Paul’s nostrils. “Well alright, then,” he drawled slowly, shifting himself back into his wheelchair. He knew when to bother pushing an issue, and Keith was struggling so severely with his inability to ‘say’ that the older man knew to drop it. Maybe he could break his brother’s reticence by playing on his temperament. He was pretty sure he could, in fact, and it would only take one question, if answered honestly, to reach his own conclusions about the topic. But it would have felt wrong to push the issue, and Ellis’ trust in Keith was probably the only thing that could help their family friend heal even a little. He wouldn’t take that from them. “As long as you think things’re lookin’ up, I ain’t gonna complain.”

He began the short journey to the end of the hall, aiming for his door beyond the two rooms of his brothers. Before he got out of earshot, he muttered deep and low, “Got tired’a watchin’ him mope.”

The words alone may have sounded harsh and uncaring, but Keith knew what Paul really meant by them.

I’m tired of seeing him suffer.

Keith was, too.

Unfortunately, Paul’s prompting had brought back uncertainties in Keith’s mind, and his departure left room for them to fester.

So Ellis was datin’ a guy, he deliberately thought to himself. It was the first time he’d really thought about it since the revelation, and it felt just as weird as processing it the first time.

Guess that means he likes dudes?

It’d explain why he managed to have so many girl friends without having any girlfriends.

Sliding forward over the arm of the couch, his neck and torso crumpled inward, shoulder blades on the floor, legs hanging onto the edge of the furniture. Blood flooded into his head. One of his arms was bent awkwardly against the ground, shoulder and wrist sending stabs of protest that he ignored.

Do I care?

His other hand idly pinched at the loose, puckered skin around his tummy. There used to be more of it, his reward for the “concerningly fast” weight loss he achieved in the wake of his attempt to mass produce dry-aged squirrel steaks. The weight loss which was, coincidentally, also medically necessary to avoid a whole list of things that Dr. S read off to him very gravely after some blood work results came in. Hardly any remained, now, nearly all of it being consumed to patchwork-graft away the worst of the marring he’d inflicted upon his face. And some other parts.

I don’t think I care. Not like that, at least. Not the way he’s thinkin’.

He didn’t really get it, of course. Ladies were hot as fuck. How could a guy not want to bang ‘em? But there were a lot of things in the world he didn’t get. Not getting things never stopped him from being a badass, or doing whatever the fuck he wanted.

And right now, what he wanted was to be let back into his friend’s life. Hell, be let into his life for the first time, apparently. How long had Ellis been keeping this from him? How had Keith not noticed something was off?

As he vaguely recalled commenting on a hot chick in a movie, with Ellis agreeing in a way that now seemed less respectfully measured and more straight-up dodgy, the answer was obvious.

He simply hadn’t been looking for it.

It’s not like he felt guilty about it, of course. It wasn’t his job to monitor the guy constantly. Wasn’t his job to push and pry at every little thing, and doing so would’ve made both of them miserable. He wasn’t Ellis’ mom, and he didn’t want to be, and Ellis was keeping her out of the loop anyway, too.

Ain’t like I tell him ‘bout every hole I stick my dick in.

But he knew Ellis. He knew that his friend could be a real softie under the gung-ho attitude. He cared deeply for people, felt his emotions just as strongly as Keith did, and if Keith had picked up on anything from earlier today, it’s that Ellis had been deathly, paralyzingly afraid of letting anyone into what was apparently a very important part of his life. Important enough to kill him when it ended.

Must have been really, really fuckin’ lonely.

Kinda made Keith pissed.

Painful pounding thrummed through his face and skull, driving him to kick his legs up and over, flopping fully onto his back. He scowled at the ceiling, stewing in the anger while his blood sloshed back to a more reasonable distribution.

He marched off to brush his teeth and retie his hair into its stubby ponytail, and when he sprawled back over the couch to begin dozing, there was only one thing on his mind, fiery and uncompromising.

I’mma get ‘im tuh fuckin’ talk.

#left 4 dead 2 #l4d2 #ellis l4d2 #nellis #keith l4d2 #paul #my shit #long post #fanfiction #fanfic #primum non nocere

14 notes · View notes

vicious-vixxxen · 4 years ago

Note

Hi, first of all ur work is amazing and awesome, especially the Kiri fics they make me feel so warm inside :)) ANYWAYS I have a drabble idea: Katsuki with a flirty male reader from 1-B that likes to tease him and make him flustered and fired up as much as possible (kinda like Monoma but not as aggressive) and finally Katsuki decides that it’s reader’s turn to get all flustered and blushing and all that hehe :)

AH I absolutely LOVE this idea! Sorry it took me so long to get to it babes, but I hope you enjoy it :3 <3 Bakugou Katsuki X Flirty Male!Reader

“You think /you’re/ tired? I heard class A had to go through ten times the beasts we did yesterday, /and/ they didn’t get to camp until five.” TetsuTetsu huffed, rolling his eyes as he continued to rub at his sore biceps- falling behind as the class walked to their first official day of training. “They’re probably still struggling to work as an actual unit, how disappointing,” Monoma drawled, flinching as Kendo raised a hand at him in warning- her gaze cutting back to you with an apologetic smile, but you shrugged her off. “I’m just saying, if they were half as good as everyone assumes they are, then we wouldn’t have had to make dinner for everyone /alone/ yesterday. A bunch of unimpressive slackers, the fame is definitely getting to them.” “Oh give it a rest, Monoma! I swear if I have to keep listening to your incessant whining i’m going to roundhouse you so hard you slip into an alternate dimension,” You teased, though the sharpness of your tone, and the look you fixed the other boy with managed to reduce him to nothing more than some bitter grumbling, as you jogged ahead to follow directly behind Vlad-Sensei.

“Young Y/N is right! No use in comparing yourself to a separately tiered class, what you all should be doing is preparing yourselves for a day full of grueling training!” Vlad called out to the class behind him, as they came to their final stop. Looking out across the vast fields of the camp, where class 1A was already deep in training. All of them spread out to various areas of the site, some farther out than others, you assumed due to the volatile nature of their quirks. Some out of site all together, given the specificity needed to train their quirks. “The Wild Wild Pussycats have strict regimens for you all to follow, and I as well have critiques for you all regarding your fighting style, and quirk application. Check in with them across the field first, and regroup back to me so we can begin!” “Yes Sensei!” You all chanted back, before hurrying off across the field to do as you were told. Though once you caught sight of- and really, it was more his blood curdling death screams that you noticed first, music to your ears honestly- unruly blonde spikes off in the distance, you reasoned you had at least a few minutes to spare. Giving your classmates time to get their schedules and regimes before you could swoop in for yours last minute. The heat from Bakugou’s blasts was intense- your hair blowing back each time the other boy extended his palms to the sky, screamed, and released an explosion. The air felt thick, the scent of sweaty flesh, and deep, rich caramel wafting against your face, heady, and thick, with each blast. It was intoxicating. The closer you got, the more your cheeks flushed- though it had nothing to do with the heat anymore. Up close, or as close as you could get without being blown back entirely, that is- the more handsome Bakugou became. Pinched, angry expression and all. His front fringe of hair hanging low on his forehead, dripping sweat down onto his cheeks, and then onto the exposed upper half of his chest, bared due to his low rising tank top. When was Bakugou not absolutely breathtaking, you wondered idly, as you reached into your backpack for a bottle of water, and whistled loudly between blasts to catch the blonde's attention. Though the glare he fixed you with as your eyes met almost, almost deterred you from closing the distance between you both, it didn’t quite reach the innermost parts of your brain, meant for rational thought. “What the hell do you want!? Can’t you see i’m busy? Take your ass back to your class, extra!” Bakugou shouted, gaze falling to the bottle of water in your hand, before he focused back in on his task, baring his teeth in pain as the boiling water engulfed his hands. But you were too close now, it was too risky, and before you could think to back away on your own, Bakugou was crowding up against you. Spinning around on his heels and blasting in the opposite direction, back to you now. Shoving you backwards so hard with his own body you fell to the ground. Hissing as you landed on a particularly sharp rock. “See what you did?! I could’ve accidentally taken someone else out because of you! Fucking...gimme that,” Bakugou growled, shaking his hands of the smoke from his blast, before bending down to snatch the chilled bottle of water from your hand with one of his- his other reaching down to take hold of the front of your shirt, and tug you back up to stand next to him. “Always in my way!” Bakugou hissed, before throwing his head back and chugging down the entire bottle in a matter of seconds. Wiping at his mouth roughly, he turned to you slightly, noting the mischievous smile on your face, and the dirt on your shorts. “Tch...what?” He asked, knowing he was walking himself right into a trap. “Just admiring the view,” You sing-songed, skirting around his sudden extended fist easily, and dancing around the boy to get a good look at his training clothes. “It’s not everyday I get to see UA’s own Bakugou Katsuki in the midst of an intense training session. All sweaty, and bulking- muscles just….grr,” You laughed, holding your hands up in front of your face as you growled and made pawing motions at the other boy- bursting into a fit of laughter ass he reeled back, blush high on his cheeks, fingers twitching with the urge to blas your fucking face off. “You’re an insufferable piece of!-” “What I can’t seem to wrap my head around, is how you have such a big chest, such defined shoulders, and such a teeny, tiny waist,” You sighed, cutting Bakugou off with your hands on your hips, tilting your head to the side curiously as you scanned him up and down. “Your tits are bigger than most of the girls in your class, ya know,” You added, as if an afterthought, waving a hand passively at the thought, though you couldn’t help but grin as Bakugou charged you- dragging you up by the front of your shirt again, and pinning you to the barrel of boiling water. One hand holding your head down near the bubbling surface, and one right next to your ear, sparking with unlit nitroglycerin. “I. Don’t. Have. Tits. You. Shitty. Extra.” Each word was laced with venom, husky and full of rage right next to your ear, and god. Was it fucked up you were kind of turned on? Probably. About as fucked up as it was to be genuinely attracted to Bakugou in the first place, you supposed. Oh well. Not much to be done about it now. “Say that to the mounds pressing up against my back right now, babe,” You teased, turning your head to face Bakugou, your noses barely brushing as you leaned in as best you could, given the hand in your hair- mouth curling into a knowing smirk as Bakugou’s face twisted back and forth- confusion, rage, annoyance, misunderstanding...want. “I’m sure your teacher would be thrilled to see you over here keeping one of my students from his training, instead of focusing on your own abilities,” Someone sighed from your right, and both you and Bakugou’s head whipped up to see Aizawa leaning against a tree, staring at the both of you with the most bored expression you could imagine someone having. “Tried to get the loser away from me, but he’s as persistent as the rest of his annoying class,” Bakugou huffed, letting you go, but not before pushing you in the direction of his teacher roughly- crackling his knuckles out in front of himself, and shaking his hands out. Prepared to continue his training. Though thoughts of your stupid face, so close to his- scent of your shampoo, and minty breath still searing his nose made him a trillion times more annoyed then he’d already been. The color of your eyes stuck with him the most though. So clear. So shiny. Full of authority, of mirth, and something so...gut wrenchingly /cute/, he couldn’t stand it. “Sorry, EraserHead. Didn’t mean to disturb your student. Was just being friendly is all,” You assured the older Hero, hands up in surrender as you walked alongside side him, and back to regroup with your class- smiling smugly to yourself when you noticed the barest hint of a smirk on Eraserheads face, just before he turned away and skulked off to whatever dark, cozy corner he had been observing his students from.

Training felt like it had lasted forever, and then some. The following days were no easier. Your bodies were pushed to their limits, and then thrown off the metaphorical cliff afterwards. Every day, class A and B were sore, tired, irritable. But even then, once lunch, and dinner came around, it offered you all a chance to get to know one another more intimately. You talked, and mingled with class 1A- flirting with Todoroki for fun, and picking Midoriya’s brain about his hero notebook- unaware of the red eyes following your every move amongst the classmates. Your flirting with Bakugou was at an all time high- given you could usually spare a handful of minutes each day teasing the young man, whether it be with words during training, lingering touches, or brushes of hands, and legs during dinner, or with outright winks, and kisses blown to the blonde as you all departed to your cabins for the night. It infuriated Bakugou to no end. Your presence. The way he acted out against you...his mother would suggest he needed an attitude adjustment, and that he should allow the fun part of camp to take precedent over his ultimate number one hero goal. As if he’d ever. But still, her frustrated words of encouragement never ceased to ease up as the days went by, and you became bolder with your flirting. Bakugou felt on edge constantly, like someone was going to crack a whip at him at any moment. Say something about it, say something about /him/, but no one ever did. Probably because they were scared. His only saving grace, he supposed. Being intimidating. Though he didn’t intimidate /you/, which was the part he hated the most. ...He’d just have to switch up his tactics, then. His mother would be proud. God, he hated that. After a particularly grueling day of training, everyone was running on fumes, more or less, as they shuffled around the outdoor kitchen, prepping dinner lazily. Monoma picking stupid fights with whoever he came across first, as though he were too tired to even do that. You’d been chatting quietly to Mina and Jirou about some of your favorite albums, when a whistle from across the counters had all three of you lifting your heads. Curiosity piqued to the fullest extent, as your gaze landed on Bakugou- pointing at you with a hard expression, before gesturing to the spot next to him at the cutting board station. His eyes downcast again before you could even register what was going on, before hurrying to head over before whatever demon that had possessed Bakugou, decided to get the fuck out of such a toxic human host. Beaming, you came to stand at Bakugou’s side, arms brushing against each other as you glanced down at the finely minced veggies the boy was working on. “You rang?” Brows raised in question, you ducked your head to try and catch the boy’s eyes again- stopping dead in your tracks as he grabbed a hold of your wrist tightly, and slid a knife between your fingers. Tugging you impossibly closer to his side, and reaching an arm around you to grab a stray carrot. Boxing you into the bench, and maneuvering your fingers carefully as he began to force you to chop the carrot below. His front was flush with your back, and suddenly you couldn’t breath. Breath hitched in your throat, flush high on your cheeks, as Bakugou bent down, face right next to yours, as he forced you to chop, knife always skirting a little /too/ close to your fingertips, but fuck it all if you weren’t willing to lose them for this encounter to continue. “All this time and you haven’t even learned to chop properly. Make yourself more useful, you shitty extra,” He grunted, right into your ear. A sharp shock of arousal shooting down your spine as he spoke, looking away suddenly as Bakugou turned to try and meet your gaze. “Eh? What’s the problem, extra? Cat got your fucking tongue?’ He teased, harshly, though his grasp on your hands lessened, and fuck you were gonna pass out if you didn’t start breathing soon. “Oh,” He huffed suddenly, snickering under his breath, as he crowded you in up against the bench entirely, completely flush with your back, before his lips ghosted the shelf of your ear, and he whispered “-probably because of my big tits, huh? Tch.” And then he was gone. Gone from your back, gone from the shell of your ear, gone from giving you a religious fucking experience, and thankfully gone from nearly making you jizz your jeans in front of the entireety of class A and B. Your hands shook where they now held the knife solo, and you glanced over your shoulder- watching Bakugou stuff his hands in his pockets, arch his shoulders, and stalk off to the cabins. Though not before you also caught the sharp, devilish smirk that twisted up on his face. What a fucking DICK. But a dick who was handsome as fuck, and knew exactly what he was doing. “Alright, Bakugou, you wanna play, big boy?” You whispered to yourself, voice shaky as you continued chopping vegetables. “I’ll bite. Show you how it’s done...right after I pass out, Jesus fucking Chri-”

507 notes · View notes

jellykyunnie · 4 years ago

Note

Hello hello can I request first date and first kiss with xiao and diluc? both of them need sum love, especially xiao his angst potential is too much QwQ anyway thank you have a great day!!

A/N: Hi Hi Chirumiii!! Tysm for the request </3!! And I really agree with u that these bbs need more love hnnn!! I hope u enjoy this hc:D Have a great day too hnnn!!

𝕏𝕚𝕒𝕠, 𝔻𝕚𝕝𝕦𝕔 x 𝙶𝙽! ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣: Fɪʀsᴛ Dᴀᴛᴇ ᴀɴᴅ Kɪss

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕏𝕚𝕒𝕠˚◦○˚ �� .˚ₓ

﹢　˖ 　✦ ¸ .　﹢　 ° 　¸. ° ˖ ･ ·̩　　｡　☆. 　﹢　˖ 　✦ ¸ .

I tell you, Xiao was very serious when it comes to this. Well, of course he is, this is for you after all. He doesn’t want your first date with him to be very...Disheartening.

The adeptus did his research thoroughly, he even went so far as to ask Verr Goldett for help.

She was very pleased seeing him like this, for once- He wasn’t thinking about his dark memories or his job. He was thinking of someone very dear to him, seeing him like this made her hear sigh in relief.

When she gave her suggestions, Xiao managed to come up with a good plan.

Xiao was very stiff in your date, appearing at some point nervous. His mind constantly trailed with thoughts like ‘Am I doing this right?’ ‘Are They Enjoying this?’ ‘Is this how mortals do it?’ ‘Am I missing on something?’

Give your boy a comforting pat in the back, it’ll really help him feel a little more assured.

When you’re both walking, Xiao matches your pace. He’s not a beat slow or fast. He is with you and Xiao wants you to know that.

Don’t expect him to be too into skinship, it seems...Too awkward for him and he’s afraid of exerting the wrong strength and might end up with you being hurt because of his carelessness.

However, if your eyes are very sharp- You’ll see him trying to reach for your hand but ends up retracting it and clenches his fist.

He wants to hold you, as close as you can possibly be- But the fear of just hurting you haunts him ceaselessly.

But it’s alright, it doesn’t mean he wont hold you. He’ll eventually build up the confidence and he’ll softly take yours with his. Xiao’s grip was firm, it’s obvious in his hold that he is someone who has fought numerous battles and wields his spear alone. Maybe his touch will feel a little sad no matter how loving and careful it is.

He wasn’t used to this, walking peacefully with someone beside him. It felt unreal.

Years of never-ending bloodbath, years of always being on high guard- It changed him drastically to the anguish he now suffers alone with.

Xiao was used to being able to not call someone his own, the walls around built up to the point he is trapped in the tight space of darkness of his own grief. Entangled by the karmic binds, forever cursed in the ways of always on the hunt- Xiao walks alone in a path he paved himself, nothing but suffering awaits him.

But when you came into his life? He felt like he wanted to lay down everything of him and just offer it all to you. His heart swore a silent oath to protect and love you in discreet ways.

Xiao takes you to Qingyun Peak and brings you further up the the floating island. He softly pushes your shoulders down to have you sit and he follows beside you.

“Wait a bit” He says, his amber eyes trailing off to the scenery ahead.

You look ahead to see the sky painted in amber and gold, the traces of the blue sky slowly disappearing as the sun takes it’s rest. Your eyes glistened, gsping at how stunning it was.

But Xiao’s eyes weren’t looking at where your gaze wanders, his orbs only looked towards you.

To him, this sunset doesn’t compare to the beauty that is sitting beside right now. With you, the Golden Winged King didn’t feel like he lived in eons of slaughter.

It was as if you broke down the walls around him and removed the binds that tortured him, you presence felt like it was the sun itself to him. Your ascension in his life gave him a new light.

You were his flame, without you, Xiao won’t have his light. Where you are, is his guide to peace.

“Xiao this is-” He cuts you off, immediately locking his lips with yours.

His eyes carefully shut as he brings you in closer, softly circling around your waist and maybe pulling you to his lap.

His lips were warm, it was soft and it nibbled on yours lovingly.

When he realized what he had done, Xiao immediately pulled out- his face burning to the point even his ears were pinkish.

“I-I” He fumbled in his words, not knowing what to say. “I-I! I!”

Xiao tripped, humiliation flooding him and now he wanted to bang his head somehwere. HE EVEN PULLED YOU TO HIS LAP, HOW DID HE JUST LOSE CONTROL NOW?!

“Xiao?”

“I-I...”

No doubt Xiao won’t be able to look at you straight in the eyes after his -ahem- fail in restraining himself

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝔻𝕚𝕝𝕦𝕔 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

﹢　˖ 　✦ ¸ .　﹢　 ° 　¸. ° ˖ ･ ·̩　　｡　☆. 　﹢　˖ 　✦ ¸ .

Who would have thought that the Head Of The Ragnivndr, who tirelessly rejected the proposals of many wealthy nobles who offered their beautiful daughters- Would eventually fall for someone and ask them out on a date.

A date with Diluc will no doubt be very luxurious (Well duh, this man is a walking wallet). This man might even dress nice, probably in a suit.

Diluc isn’t used to something like this so expect him to be a little awkward at some point. But he’ll make ways to make this outing for the both of you entertaining. No one wants a date that is just bland, right?

He’ll take you to the wonderful sight in Monstadt. But expect him to avoid going inside as much as he can, Diluc doesnt want to deal with his annoying step-brother after all. He wants to save himself from the Cryo user who will probably wont let him hear the end of it.

He want’s this date to be perfect, he made a lot of efforts for this after all. When was the last time he fully devoted himself to something that isn’t about work or his nightly Darknight Hero agendas?

Who knows, but he doesn’t care. All that matters now is that he will please you, the person who he is willing to give his all to.

He was always blinded by work, he never batted an eye towards anything else. He wasn’t interested a tad bit in romance, he believed he didn’t need it. He just needs to do what he needs to do. No need for that.

But when you came? Boy did he want to open his own head and check how much water had gone in. Maybe he wanted to smack himself and say ‘So, love is insignificant?’

When he fell for you, his heart burned with to desire to be wanted. He wanted to get your attention.

The peaceful walk with you felt unreal since he was too used to being in front of piled papers or a blade in hand to slice down. Something serene like this.... Just felt like omething that he’ll only experience inside a dream.

His crimson orbs will always wander to you. Looking at you makes him feel cozy and his heart roared out bbecause he just wants to protect you.

If he’s confident enough, he’ll softly interlace his fingers with you. He’ll even rub his thumb at the back of yours to have you know that he’s there and he wont be leaving you anytime soon.

Well, in fact... Diluc doesn’t even want to leave you alone ever. He wants to keep you by his side if you also want to.

Moments like this, precious time spent like this, he’ll cherish it closely in his heart.

After all, this might be the last time he’ll get to experience something as soothing as this.

“Close your eyes” He softly says and you obey him, Diluc then takes your hand and leads you softly.

His touch, full of adoration. He steps were slow and steady, he even has his hand at your back to catch you incase you trip.

“You can open them now”

The moment your eyes opened, the night sky painted with stars took your breath away. The wind softly blew, brushing against your hair and your strands now softly flew against the breeze.

Diluc smiled at how you bright your face was now, seeing you this radiant made him feel as if he had been granted a wish of a lifetime.

This is all he wants. He knows this moment will eventually fade into a distant memory that he will no longer be able to ever reach, but it doesn’t matter. He’ll hold this as close as it can. It will now become a piece of his heart.

“Did you enjoy?” He broke the silence between you both.

“Yeah!” You cheered, turning your face that glistened it delight towards him. “This is too stunning, I want to see this every night!”

“That won’t be too hard to grant, I’ll bring you here anyti-”

His words were cut off when you suddenly pounced on him, bringing your lips together.

Diluc frozen in his spot, his orbs blinking in utter disbelief on the sudden move you made. He gulped, unable to function but he eventually returned the affection you were giving him, his arms snaked around your waist, pulling it closer to his figure.

His heart raced at the contact your lips made, he locked it in for a second before lovingly kissing you even deeper.

Under the moonlight, two souls have united. The wind blew a soft breeze, as if announcing the fuse of two who were made for eachother.

A/N: Aiyaaa, I’m beat. I’m sleepy and tired, I still have homeworks to do tomorrow so I’m taking a rest now jasjsksg. Have a great day/night everyone! Hope you enjoy this headcanon! **IMMEDIATELY PASSES OUT AND SLEEPS**

#genshin impact #genshin comfort #genshin fluff #genshin headcanons #genshin scenarios #genshin x reader #genshin diluc #diluc x y/n #diluc x reader #diluc headcanons #diluc imagines #diluc scenarios #genshin xiao #genshin impact xiao #genshin xiao x reader #adeptus xiao #genshin x gender neutral reader

638 notes · View notes

simpingforsoftboys · 5 years ago

Text

Not Everyone Gets A Happily Ever After

ft. Iwaoi, Atsumu Miya

!Gender Neutral Reader!

Pt 2 to this

*Male readers just pretend that you and Tsumu have a mix of female and male friends each who can be both groomsmen and bridesmaids

Anon thank you for requesting- I live for angst and this was super fun to write- even if I cried while doing so. IwaOi is my comfort ship but they’re not perfect. People make mistakes- in life, love, and everything and anything in between. Sometimes they repeat those mistakes, other times they learn from them, either way everything happens for a reason and sometimes it’s for the better. Unfortunately, not everyone winds up happy with the results- and that’s okay.

Also I kind of made it into a song fic (listen to Sign of the Times by Harry Styles while you read)!

Just stop your crying

Hajime and Toru were sitting in the second row on your side of the aisle, pretending that they couldn’t feel the sharp gazes from your family and friends. They had some nerve showing up to your wedding, despite being invited, especially after spending five or so years treating you like an outsider in your own relationship. The reception itself hadn’t yet started, Atsumu had just stepped onto stage- his twin right beside him as the best man.

It's a sign of the times

Atsumu was looking incredibly dapper in his midnight blue suit, his blonde hair combed perfectly to the side. He looked incredibly anxious, whispering to his brother if he looked alright. Hajime thought it was a stupid question- obviously he looked great- but then again he supposed he would have done the same, had he been in Atsumu’s shoes.

Welcome to the final show

Toru’s gaze flitted to the front row where your parents and close friends were sitting. Some were commenting on his and Hajime’s choice to attend the wedding still, but it was your mother’s words that surprised him.

“I’m glad it’s Atsumu (s)he’s marrying, he’ll treat them right.” That woman had been like his aunty since childhood, hearing her say that caused another crack in his heart.

Hope you're wearing your best clothes

His suit’s collar felt like it was strangling him, Hajime reached up to loosen it slightly. Despite doing so, he still found that he had trouble breathing.

You can't bribe the door on your way to the sky

The trainer wondered if he and Toru would go to hell for breaking your heart- only to mend it again with false promises, for telling you that they loved you when it had been lust the whole time.

You look pretty good down here

Maybe they were already damned to an eternity in hell.

But you ain't really good

They were good liars- him and Toru- maybe that’s why they were able to lie to you, to themselves, and to each other. Lied about their true feelings, convinced themselves it was lust and not love.

If we never learned, we been here before

It felt familiar, Toru thought, being here, like when he got invited to weddings in the past and he’d only bring Hajime as his plus one.

“You wouldn’t enjoy it Y/n- so I’ll just bring Haji okay? We’ll be back in no time- I promise!” The brunette had told you mournfully, as if they weren’t going to be staying in the Bahama’s for a week in order to attend a wedding. Now that he thinks about it, all the fees were covered- they totally could have brought you if they wanted.

Why are we always stuck and running from

He pretended he didn’t hear the hitch of your breath once his back was turned to you, not wanting to deal with your water works.

‘It’s fine,’ he had told himself, ‘(s)he’s just being dramatic.’ It’s not like it was the first time they’ve gone without Y/n after all.

The bullets

We never learned, we’ve been here before

Yes, it was a familiar sight. Sitting together side by side in a wedding venue, awaiting the arrival of the bride/groom. Yet, there was a stark difference this time. This wedding wasn’t for just some coworker or old friend, this was your wedding.

Why are we always stuck and running from

The bullets

Just stop your crying

Someone squeezed his hand- it was Hajime- his normally piercing olive green eyes were cloudy with unshed tears. They hadn’t even laid eyes on you yet and the two of them were already ready to start sobbing. Semi Eita- who had been one of your close friends in high school- gave them a judgmental look.

It's a sign of the times

‘Why are you two crying? You had plenty of chances before now. Get over it.’ His fiery gaze told them, it was then directed elsewhere- since the music had started and the groomsmen and bridesmaids began streaming down the aisle. It was a little later than usual, apparently there had been an issue with the flower girl- so they had the wedding party wait a moment.

We gotta get away from here

Just stop your crying

Others were tearing up all around them, but Hajime and Toru remained ignorant to them. The ring bearer- a little boy- they recognized him as your siblings youngest son, since they had accompanied you to see him be born. The kid was about six or seven now, and he was every bit as charming as you were.

It will be alright

He strode down the aisle proudly, chin raised in a way that reminded them of you. When you were feeling particularly stubborn or prideful, you would raise your chin just like that.

They told me that the end is near

Next up was the flower girl- or flower girls. Hajime didn’t recognize them whatsoever, they must have been around your nephews age. It was likely that they were from Atsumu’s side of the family. The girls scattered white rose petals down the aisle, it was a magical sight- watching them flutter to the ground.

We gotta get away from here

They had been expecting this moment, ever since they agreed to attend the wedding.

Just stop crying

To his right, he heard Toru stifle a sob.

Have the time of your life

It was you. Hajime couldn’t remember when he last saw that smile on your face. You were donned in white, smiling from ear to ear- hair done perfectly, eyes tearing up- but for a different reason from them. You were happy. Excited. Today was the day, not sparing them a glance, the only person who mattered to you was at the end of the aisle, waiting for you to join him.

Breaking through the atmosphere

Taking a step onto the raised platform, facing Atsumu, you let the tears fall. Unbeknownst to you, Toru and Hajime cried alongside you.

Things are pretty good from here

“Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses, to join Miya Atsumu and L/n Y/n in matrimony commended to be honorable among all; and therefore is not to be entered into lightly but reverently, passionately, lovingly and solemnly. Into this - these two persons present now come to be joined. If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together - let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”

Remember everything will be alright

Toru’s entire body tensed up. Hajime placed a firm hand on the setter’s thigh, preventing him from even considering objecting. Semi cast the two of them a evil look, promising violence should they dare to object.

We can meet again somewhere

"Miya Atsumu and L/n Y/n, if it is your desire to take the vows which will legally unite you at this time, please respond, 'It is,’.”

Somewhere far away from here

Atsumu and you continue staring lovingly at one another, not even hesitating a second before saying “It is.”

If we never learned, we been here before

“Do you, Miya Atsumu, take L/n Y/n to be your lawfully wedded wife/husband? From this day forward, to have and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?”

The entire audience held their breath in anticipation- as if there were any reason to doubt his love for Y/n. Even Toru and Hajime couldn’t find it within them to wish he declined. Y/n deserved a loving husband- even if it was just one person- so long as he would dedicate himself to her/him entirely.

Why are we always stuck and running from

“Course I do.”

The bullets

Everyone’s gazes fell upon you.

The bullets

“Do you, L/n Y/n , take Atsumu Miya, to be your lawfully wedded husband? From this day forward, to have and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?”

We never learned, we been here before

You’re wiping your tears away, that wide smile- Hajime realizes that in all his years of knowing you he has never seen you this happy- never slipping from your face.

Why are we always stuck and running from

“I do.”

The bullets

The ring bearer comes up, shining rings placed a top the red, velvet pillow.

The bullets

Toru’s never hated red as much as he does now. Not even when he was playing desperately against Japan during the Olympics.

Just stop your crying

“Atsumu, please take the ring you have selected for Y/n. As you place it on her/his finger, repeat after me: 'With this ring, I thee wed.’”

It’s a sign of the times

Your groom picks up your shining gold and diamond wedding ring/band and delicately slips it on your ring finger.

We gotta get away from here

“Y/n, I’ve been enraptured by yer beauty since the first time I saw ya. Even before I fell for ya I’ve always admired how kind hearted and understandin’ ya were. There’s not enough words t’ capture or explain my love for ya. So I want to spend the rest of my life tryin. Yer it for me Y/n... so I can say without a second thought. With this ring, I thee wed.” He murmurs, salty tears spill from his eyes. He’s finally going to get the s/o of his dreams, he realizes.

We gotta get away from here

Hajime and Toru hold onto each other with vice like grips. They realize it too. There’s no do overs.

Just stop your crying

“Y/n, please take the ring you have selected for Atsumu. As you place it on his finger, repeat after me: 'With this ring, I thee wed.’”

It will be alright

Your hand reaches for the single wedding band still resting on the pillow. It shines brilliantly between your fingers.

They told me that the end is near

“Atsumu, you’ve been there for me time and time again. You lifted me off the ground when I was broken, kissed my tears away from my eyes, and helped me learn how to love again. You’ve seen me at my best and my worst and loved me through it all. And it’s with complete faith and love that I say this. With this ring, I thee wed.” Atsumu’s wedding band matches yours, and slides on his finger perfectly.

We gotta get away from here

If we never learned, we been here before

The vows had been short but sweet. Toru would have been able to recite a whole paper- had he stood in Atsumu’s shoes.

Why are we always stuck and running from

“Seeing as the two of you have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, by authority vested in me by the state, I now pronounce you husband and wife/husband. You may kiss your bride/groom!”

The bullets

But he’s not in Atsumu’s shoes.

The bullets

You yank Atsumu down and press a passionate kiss to his lips, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him closer. He reciprocates immediately- all tongue and open mouthed. Neither of you pay any mind to the fact that everyone is watching you make out. All you see is each other.

We never learned, we’ve been here before

Neither is Hajime.

Why are we always stuck and running from

The bullets

There’s no second chances.

We don't talk enough

No talking it over.

We should open up

You weren’t L/n Y/n any longer.

Before it's all too much

You’re now Miya Y/n.

Will we ever learn?

Devoted to and utterly in love with Miya Atsumu.

We've been here before

Is this what it had been like for you?

It's just what we know

Watching the two of them be so in love- eyes locked on each other- with no care in the world about who was watching.

Stop your crying baby

About who they were hurting.

It's a sign of the times

They didn’t even get the chance to ask why you did it- why you stuck around for so long and loved them, despite them not feeling the same.

Now they never would get that chance again.

We gotta get away

We got to get away

We got to, we got to

#iwaizumi x reader #oikawa x reader x iwaizumi #oikawa toru x reader #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #oikawa x reader #oikawa angst #semi eita is a good friend

405 notes · View notes

sinner-as-saint · 5 years ago

Text

You Were Made To Be Mine - 1.

Pirate!Bucky x Mermaid!Reader

Part 1 of this series.

Run-through: Bucky is one of the greatest pirates ever known. Living peacefully in his vast and flourishing archipelago; filthy rich and respected by all those around him. He is the leader of his people and his massive fleet, and is viewed as no less than a king by his crew and the people on his lands. He, however, has a secret that he keeps from everyone. The infamous and brawny pirate has lost his heart to one of the most beautiful creations he’s ever seen – you. Ever since the moment he saw you, he knew that you were meant to be his. But he belonged to the earth, you to the ocean. Could love and resilience somehow find a way to unite two worlds?

Themes: mermaid!reader, mythological elements, pirate!bucky, fluff, slight angst

Bucky looked around in triumph and pride as he raised his goblet of ale to join the others for the toast they were making.

Today had been an exceptionally fruitful. Good loot, good day. So they got together for a feast, to celebrate like they always did. They were quite a large mass of people, but the main hall of Bucky’s very grand fortress accommodated them all comfortably. Bucky’s home, more like his own personal castle, was situated on the main, and largest island in the middle of the archipelago he owned and ruled peacefully alongside his people.

The world called Bucky and his people thieves and looters, but really they were just doing what they had to do to support themselves and their families. Sure, along with that came a lot more money than they could ever need but that was secondary. Bucky made sure that his people knew that family and friends came first in life.

At the current feast, people cheered; some already more drunk than others. Torches lit the room beautifully, food pilled on the tables, happy faces around him, gold from his recent loot were being passed around in abundance and everyone chanted his name and told him how great he was – life couldn’t have been better. Although, as Bucky looked at the empty seat beside him, he felt a pang of heartache in his chest.

He had everything; loyalty and trust of the people he led, a massive fleet of ships ready for whenever, money, chests and chests of treasure – almost everything a man like him could ever want and need. All he lacked was you, physically, by his side. Sure, you were there in his mind like always. You were there in his heart, always.

But he craved nothing more than to just be able to hold your hand as you sat beside him, partaking in the celebration of his newest victory. He wanted to have you in his arms at all times, and show you off and shower you with love and affection. But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t because while he walked the earth, you roamed the deep waters of the ocean. And you were a secret of his, one which he intended on safeguarding for a while longer. Most people around him didn’t believe that your kind existed. Even he thought the same, until the day he met you.

Bucky caught himself smiling at the thought of the day you two first met…

-flashback-

It was a September evening, and Bucky and his men were near their harbor, exploring the new ship they had just gotten made. Another addition to their ever growing fleet. And as a way to make the new ship truly ‘their own’ and following a makeshift tradition of theirs, the men decided to have a friendly swords fight. The rules were simple, first to disarm their opponent wins.

So the men began. And the shouts and the cheer and the applause and all the clanging of the metal caught your attention as you were swimming by there. Cautiously, you surfaced to find a ship filled with people. You swam closer, and hid behind a rock and peeped at them. You recognized them and their ship, they were the pirates who lived nearby. You saw two men fighting on the deck of the anchored ship. One with slightly blond hair, and the other with luscious dark brown hair. The kind that blew with the wind majestically. The kind that made you swim just a little closer. The man turned, and you got a good look at his face and something inside you fluttered instantly. And there was this pressing need to swim closer and get a good look at the handsome, muscular human.

The night was getting dark so you knew none of the men would see you anyways. The sounds of the cheer got louder and louder until it broke into a loud roar. And given you had sensitive hearing, it made you wince just a little. You assumed that one of the men must’ve won, judging by the applause and the noise.

But then you also heard something drop into the water. You quickly got beneath the surface to check, and indeed saw that a metal sword was making it’s descend in the deep water. You swam to the surface just in time to see who it belonged to.

“…what you did, you punk! Now my new sword’s gone!” the one with dark brown hair complained to his friend and smacked him on the shoulder.

The one with blond hair clutched his chest and laughed out loud, joined by the other men. You read the situation quickly and concluded that the blond must’ve disarmed his dark haired friend and the latter was upset over his new sword being lost forever in the deep waters.

Hmm, surely there was something you could do…

“Come on, stop sulking over a sword. You have around a hundred of those in that fortress you call a home.” Steve threw his arm around Bucky’s shoulder and walked him towards the deck again. “Tonight, we feast in celebration of the new addition to our fleet!” Steve’s words earned a round of cheers and applause and roars.

Bucky eventually joined in. He congratulated his men and promised them many more ships in exchange for their fidelity. The men celebrated in the ship that night; getting drunk as usual. And Bucky had some ale but he made sure he didn’t get too drunk because his men’s safety was his responsibility and he figured he should at least stay sober and make sure everyone is alive and well till the next morning. Everyone eventually passed out in an ale coma. And Bucky was left alone. So he reached the top deck and leaned over the side of the ship and admired the shimmery water, illuminated by moonlight. It was peaceful. And beautiful. The sea had been Bucky’s first true love. He loved everything about it. The calm waves, the rough seas, the world unexplored world underneath--

“Psst!”

He heard a voice. And his flow of thoughts stopped immediately. Bucky looked around, all of his men and Steve included, were all passed out on the deck. Someone was even somehow in the empty barrel of ale. Surely no one on the ship ‘psst’ at him.

But then he heard it again.

“Psst!” followed by a loud splash of water and something shiny moving right below the ship. Bucky looked down to find a moving figure. A large fish? He was confused.

“What the hell?” he whispered to himself and went to grab a nearby burning torch, hoping it would provide at least some help, aiding him to see what was going on.

You heard his sharp intake of breath as soon as the golden light illuminated the part of the water where you were swimming. Not knowing what to say, you let him look down at you, hoping he’s see that you were harmless.

“Sir, I mean no harm.” You said after noticing that his eyes were getting wider and wider. And he leaned on the side of the ship so much you feared he might just fall. “Your sword, it fell earlier. I’ve come to return it.”

He gasped again when he heard your voice. Then he left the side of the ship and disappeared.

Oh well, you sighed. You waited for a few seconds but you didn’t see him. So you began swimming away, his sword still in your hand. You made up your mind that you’d keep it as a souvenir of having witnessed the existence of such a fine specimen of the human male specie. You hoped he hadn’t gone mad after seeing a mermaid, because most tend to-

Your thoughts were interrupted just about when you reached the large rock. You heard the sound of something in the water and out of instinct, you went and hid behind to rock. You clutched the handsome man’s sword to your chest and waited.

“Hello?” you heard a voice. A velvety, smooth and deep voice. You figured it must be the owner of the sword, but you were shy so you stayed hidden behind the rock, lowering gradually into the water; hiding.

Bucky had placed the burning torch at the front of the rowing boat, another sword by his side just in case, as he rowed closer and closer to the large groups of rock not far from his ship. He could feel someone’s presence and the voice in his head screamed what it was but he refused to believe it until he saw it for himself.

The closer he got, the louder he heard the sound of your nervous breaths. You were just as scared of him as he was of you. Yet, he was fascinated. And he sure as hell wouldn’t leave until he talked to you.

“I… I mean no harm either.” He spoke as he stopped right at the rock behind which you hid. He heard the splash of water again and then his breath hitched in his throat as you slowly emerged from behind the rock.

It felt to him like the most beautiful secret of the universe was unravelling right in front of his eyes. The moonlight and the golden light from the torch made you look ethereal, angelic almost like a goddess. You were easily the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. And he was speechless once face to face with you. And so far he had only seen half of you.

He was glad your hair covered your chest because he wouldn’t want to come off as inappropriate by staring at your chest. Which would be hard even if you didn’t have long hair which covered your breasts because even now he was having trouble moving his eyes away from your face.

Something inside him fluttered as you cautiously swam closer to his boat. He couldn’t believe it. He wondered, is this what love at first sight feels like?

“I… uh, you… you’re beautiful.” He managed to whisper, which earned him a little smile from you. You felt your face heat up. Then you remembered why you were here face to face with a human in the first place.

Oh he was beautiful as well. Long hair, rough stubble, strong built and pretty eyes.

You swam closer to the rowing boat and carefully slid his shiny sword beside him inside the boat and you moved back a couple inches. You wouldn’t lie, his gaze was making you a little nervous. But Bucky was nervous too, being so close to something so beautiful and rare was making him lose his mind.

It got a little too quiet so you began moving away more and more, and Bucky noticed. “No wait!” he called out, stopping you from swimming away.

You stopped. “Yes?”

“I… uh,” he stammered. “Can you stay for a little while?”

And that’s how it all began that night. After he asked you to stay for a while, you smiled and nodded. Truth is, you wanted to be in his company for a while longer as well. Bucky sat in the boat and you swam beside the boat, and the two of you talked for hours. He had countless questions, to which you had answers and vice versa.

He was a little awkward, which was understandable because he had met a mermaid for the first time. At some point, you noticed he was hesitating to ask you something.

“What is it?” you asked gently, tilting your head to the side a little. He chuckled nervously.

“I hope this doesn’t sound too weird. I’m sorry if it does but… can I see your tail?” he had to ask, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. He hoped he hadn’t offended you but judging by the smile on your face, he confirmed that he hadn’t.

“Oh, of course!” you beamed at him and excitedly took a dive, making sure your tail shows above the surface. You liked showing it off, it was your favorite thing about yourself.

Bucky watched in awe how you showed off your tail. It was breathtakingly beautiful; the scales were as shiny as the jewels he often found in his treasure chests. Your tail was a mixture of royal blue, azure and lilac – almost like it were the vibrant work of art of a god. The moonlight and the light from the burning torch made it glow and your fins were large and looked shiny and silky and almost luminescent.

Your upper body surfaced again, with a smile on your face. “How’d you like it?” you asked playfully.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” he stated with excitement like a kid. And you two shared a laugh over how he was amazed by how pretty your tail was.

He was funny, he made you laugh a lot that night. And each time you would give him a piece of information about your world, he’d listen attentively. That night was magical, it was pure bliss for both of you. Then the sky began getting brighter and both of you realized that you had in fact spent the entire night talking.

He asked you about where you lived, and you told him that there were underwater caves under the little isles; not far from the larger islands he lived on, and that was your home. He was blown away by how you lived quite close by but he had never seen you. Or any of your kind.

“Merpeople are good at hiding.” You replied. He smiled down at you softly.

“Well, I hope you won’t hide from me anymore.”

You talked for a while longer, then the sun began to rise on the horizon. “I should go.” You said, really not wanting to.

Bucky wanted to spend more time with you. “We will meet again, won’t we?” he asked, voice laced with hope and chagrin already because you were leaving.

“Sure. We will.”

“How will I find you again?” he asked, worried that this might be the first and last time you met. And he knew he had to see you again because he won’t be able to stay away for too long.

You answered before you swam away. “Come by the isles at nightfall whenever you want. And call out my name, I’ll be there.”

Bucky smiled as he watched you swim away, knowing that he was already whipped and catching feelings.

Heeding your words, two days later Bucky found himself rowing to the isles, where you said you’d show up if he called out your name. He did, and a few seconds later, he heard the splashing of water and within the next second or two; you swam towards him.

“Hi! I didn’t think you’d come back again.” you smiled as you approached his boat again. He smiled brightly as soon as he saw you.

“I had to. I needed to see you again.”

You two ended up sitting on the rock, by the shore of one of the smaller isles and you talked again; after Bucky managed to take his eyes off you. You found his amazement rather adorable.

“I heard humans say that staring was rude.” You teased softly.

He chuckled and looked down at his feet dipped in water, right beside your beautiful fins. “Sorry, you’re too pretty.”

Something inside you fluttered again. And it did so each time he rowed towards the isles to come and meet you.

And as time went by, he came by more and more frequently. And you found yourself rejoicing each moment spent with him.

He did the same. Making his way to the isles and meeting you became his favorite thing to do. And each time, you would share more and more about your life with him, and he did the same. Your conversations would get deep and intimate and personal often. Over the first few weeks, he learnt more about your family. How you didn’t have parents, and most of your siblings and friends had migrated elsewhere. And you learnt about how he grew up with his best friend Steve’s family, and he had never met his own parents.

You laid your head on his shoulder the night he told you all about his childhood and how he missed his parents. Bucky circled an arm around you and pressed his cheek to the top of your damp hair. You grabbed his hand and held it in between yours.

“It’s okay,” you said softly. “You’re not alone anymore.”

Your words meant so much to him. It made him feel warm and complete. He had never felt this way before, definitely never felt this way for anyone else.

The night he first kissed you was just as emotional and raw.

“Must be so beautiful down there.” He said in awe, referring to your life underwater. You smiled.

“It is. Very beautiful, but it’s also lonely.” You replied.

“Why so?”

You then explained to him how it all worked down there. Merpeople was slightly different than humans when it came to choosing a partner and settling down. Most merpeople found their partners at an early age and over time their bond grows stronger and stronger until they’re grown adults and are able to migrate wherever they wish to go and have families of their own.

You continued, “Almost everyone I know have found their mate, and it won’t be long until they all leave to live their lives and have families. And I’ll be left here alone because I haven’t found my one.” you sounded so upset that Bucky felt as though someone had pierced a dagger through his heart.

He reached out and held your chin and turned your head towards his. He admired your face, and your features. “Perhaps you’ve been looking in the wrong places.” He whispered, enchanted by the look in your glossy eyes.

Your heart skipped a beat at the proximity. “Perhaps I have.” You whispered back and before you could think of anything else, his lips were on yours.

He poured everything he felt into that first kiss. His adoration, his warmth and his feelings – you could feel it all. His soft lips brushed against your own as he gently cupped your face and deepened the kiss. His tongue slipping into your mouth and stroking the top of your mouth gently. He bit your lip and made you smile through the kiss. He pulled away to allow you sometime to breathe, he rested his forehead against yours and kept his eyes closed as he relished the feeling of you being in his arms.

“I am hopelessly falling in love with you.” he whispered after he recovered from the kiss. It was true because he had never felt this way with anyone before. Being with you brought him comfort and warmth and he never knew he could love someone this much.

You smiled and pulled away to look into his shiny, ocean blue eyes. “I think I am falling for you as well.”

From then on, your love only grow more and more and it solidified as it went.

-end of flashback-

“Buck! Where are you going? You can’t leave yet, we’ve barely begun!” a tipsy Steve called out after Bucky as he tried to get away from the feast as sneakily as possible because he was already late for his rendezvous with you.

“I…uh, there’s something I need to take care of. Be right back!” he shouted at his friend over the noise of the celebration. He lied, Bucky knew he would be with you on the rocks by the shore of the isle at least until sunrise.

He got to the harbor and took a rowing boat and hurried over to you. He knew you’d be waiting, as always.

Bucky smiled as he got closer and closer to the isle. And despite having done this almost each night for the past many months, he could still never get used to the sight of you sat there waiting for him. On the highest rock by the shore, you smiled as you saw his boat approaching. Bucky could never get over how pretty you looked, with your long, damp hair down and your shiny tail. You looked no less than a goddess when the moonlight shone down on you.

Bucky always found it adorable how your fins would flutter quicker and quicker against the rock in excitement as he got closer and closer to you. He left the boat on the shore then hurried his way over to you on top of the rock, engulfing you in his strong arms immediately.

You wrapped your arms around him at once, embracing his warmth as he embraced the cold droplets of water on your skin. He kissed your forehead and you looked up and he whispered, “Hello, my love.” and he bent down to kiss your lips.

You kissed him back and pulled away to look at him. Just the sight of his face filled your heart with warmth. “I’ve missed you.” you said as he made himself comfortable beside you and scooted closer to you.

He smiled and reached up to stroke your cheek with his warm hand. “I know,” he cooed and lazily caressed your damp skin, “I was at the feast and they wouldn’t let me leave early.” He explained and you seemed all excited at the sound of the feast.

“Tell me all about it!” you placed your head on his shoulder as he told you all about how they were celebrating yet another victory of theirs. You could listen to his voice forever; it was calming almost like a lullaby.

When he finished giving you all the details, you sighed and mumbled, “I wish I could be there.”

He sensed the sadness in your voice. “I wish so too, sweetheart.” He tightened his grip around you, letting you know that no matter what barrier there was, he was here with you.

You pulled away from him and stared into his eyes. “I went looking again today. But…” you sighed again, closing your eyes briefly. “I won’t give up, Buck.”

Bucky knew what you were talking about. “Sweetheart, it could be a myth. I don’t want you to risk your safety and all that you have while looking for something that may not exist at all.” He reasoned.

You shook your head, a little stubborn as always. “No, you’re all I have. I want to be with you in the long run. And I’m not giving up on it.”

What you were talking about was a story that you had heard since you were a kid. Amongst merpeople, there was a legend that stated that in the depths of the ocean, somewhere in a deep cave lied a magical potion which could give merpeople the ability to walk the lands. The story goes that long, long ago, some of the first merpeople created said potion using ancient magic as a means to protect their kind from extinction. Should the oceans get too dangerous and inhabitable one day, merpeople could then move on land and continue existing in human form.

You had heard the story countless times, and no one ever really believed it just like most beings don’t believe in myths. But now, now that you had met Bucky and fallen in love with him, you wished with all your heart that the legend was indeed true and that you could find the potion one day, and hopefully share your life properly with Bucky. And for a while now, you’ve been obsessively looking for it.

When Bucky first heard you talking about it, he was thrilled. Then, he began thinking; was he being selfish by helping you nourish this hope? What if it was indeed a myth, and didn’t exist? Was he being selfish by encouraging this desire of yours to walk on land, when you belonged to the ocean?

“You’re awfully quiet today.” You pointed out when you noticed that he seemed deep in thought.

He voiced out his concerns regarding you finding that potion. “I mean, I can’t help but feel as though I’m asking for too much. You were born here, and I’ll be asking you to leave it all behind. For me. It makes me feel selfish.”

You sighed and laced your fingers with his. “What if the situation was reversed? And you somehow find out that there’s a way for you to come and live with me in my world. Would you do the same for me?” you asked.

He was quick to reply. “In a heartbeat.” He lifted your intertwined hands and placed a kiss on the back of your hand. “You know I would do anything for you.”

You smiled at him. “It’s the same for me. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Just trust me on this, it’s only a matter of time before I find it. And then we can be together, actually together. And you can show me around your home.”

Bucky wanted that as well. He would give up anything and everything just to have you beside him all the time, to bring you home and share his life with you. But he was worried. The ocean, as beautiful as it was, it was also unpredictable and dangerous. And the thought of losing you because you went after this potion was scary, and he was sure that if something ever happened to you while you went looking for this potion, the guilt would kill him in no time.

He wasn’t too much of a fan of your obsession with finding that potion. If it truly existed, if, then it was said that the path which led to it was dark and dangerous. Deep waters where supposedly monsters lurked around, protecting the potion from getting in the hands of wrong merpeople. The thought of you getting hurt down there where he couldn’t reach nor help you made Bucky tremble in fear.

“Just be careful, alright. I can’t lose you sweetheart, I just can’t. Okay?” he made sure you understood how serious he was regarding your safety.

You nodded smiling, and leaned in for a kiss.

Bucky got back on his boat to leave just before the crack of dawn. And as usual you swam alongside his boat till you could, seeing him off as he went away for the day. Then you would always part with a sweet kiss.

Bucky held your chin gently as he leaned down for a kiss. You remained by the side of his boat for a while longer. And then he saw your eyes getting glossy again. He reached out to stroke your cheek, “You always get teary when we get here.” He pointed to the shallow water.

You sniffled. “I just wish that one day, I can go further than this. With you.”

Bucky sighed as your reply. He didn’t like how you often blamed yourself for the barrier that was there, naturally, between the two of you. “Hey,” he tilted your head up slightly. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

He smiled and kissed your forehead again. “Now go and get some sleep. And don’t go wandering off too far.” He always told you that, fearing that one day you might swim too far and won’t be able to find your way back to him.

That fear of his formed on the day you told him that once when you were a kid, you wandered off too far from home and got lost and couldn’t find your way back until one of your older siblings came to find you. The mere thought of you lost and alone in unknown waters and the idea of never seeing you again sent unpleasant chills down his spine.

You giggled at his warning and swam away. He watched you as you went, heard the splashes of water as you swam further away. Then it all stopped, meaning you were in deeper water, on your way home.

Bucky cared a lot about you and he didn’t want you to be heartbroken over not being able to find that potion. Yet at the same time he wanted you to find it so you two could be together forever. But then he was always filled with the guilt of being selfish for even thinking so.

He didn’t want you to change, despite how much you wanted to do so, just to be with him. Yet, the thought of letting you go was next to impossible. Bucky was conflicted, and so were you sometimes. But the one thing you were dead sure about was one another and both of you were willing to do whatever it takes to preserve your love. Bucky just hoped that it doesn’t get to a point where the only option would be letting you go for your own well-being.

Then again, no love story came without challenges and tragedies…

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #marvel au #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #pirate!bucky #mermaid!reader

1K notes · View notes

babybatscreationsv2 · 4 years ago

Note

if you’re taking prompts;

so; tony is the devil. Or hades? Although hades isn’t technically “evil” so idk. And peter’s very literally made a deal with the devil. Only he couldn’t keep up with his end of the deal and now his soul he belongs to tony. aND THEN, tony kinda likes pities him and it turns into a beauty and the beast sorta thing where tony has his undead servants make feasts n all that sorta stuff so peter feels comfortable. And then they fall in love. And then they screw 😌

Thank you for this because I've been looking for an excuse to write a Hades and Persephone story. This ended up so tender and romantic that you can't call it smut. These beeches be making love. Also this ended up full fic sized so here's the details.

Eat the Fruit

Summary: When Peter's lover dies in an accident, he offers his soul to the God of the Underworld to save him, but when he is unable to fulfill his end of the deal he finds himself in the Underworld. Now Peter is left tending to the pomegranate grove where the only balm for his loneliness is Hades (aka Tony), a god with a prickly edge.

Rating: Explicit

"Oh, thank you, my lord!" The soul sobbed with gratitude. They bowed low again and again. One of Tony's soldiers came to lead her away so the line could continue.

You must love him to offer your soul to me this way.

Please, you are lord of the dead. If anyone has this power, it's you.

I am not cruel, Peter. I will restore your lover's soul. In return, you must stay with him in life until he dies a natural death.

I promise.

So be it.

----------

The agony of heartbreak still echoed in his mind. His mind replayed the moment as Harry told him goodbye and turned away, closing the door as he went. He wished he could try again. Despite how he had pleaded with Harry not to leave, had promised him whatever he wished, he felt that maybe there was something he could have done. Harry did not love him anymore. He left him.

And so Peter fainted... and he awoke in a vast orchard.

He sat up in the grass and looked around at the low trees each baring heavy red fruit. Pomegranates. They looked beautiful, delicious. Peter stood and brushed himself off. He looked around feeling unsure how he had gotten here. Then he remembered and a sob escaped him. Not only had he lost the love of his life, he had broken his deal with Hades. This beautiful grove must have been a part of the Underworld.

"So soon," said a voice. Peter turned to catch sight of a man. He was handsome, a bit older than Peter, with wrinkles around his eyes, yet those eyes shined with livelihood. When he last saw Hades it had been a shadow of his true form, something massive and hulking and terrible. He seemed almost kind now. He had been kind enough to him then.

"Please, Lord Hades, send me back. Let me try again."

The god plucked a fruit from a tree and examined it. "Sorry, kid. That was a one time offer. No take backs." He looked Peter over, then he placed the pomegranate in his hands. He walked past him and Peter followed along, afraid to be left alone in such a place.

"Please. I'll give you anything. Lord Hades-"

The god huffed and turned on the spot. He held up a finger. "First of all, there's no need to call me that. Hades is more of a title and I'm over it. Call me Tony."

"Tony?"

"Yeah, Tony. Now, listen up because I've got a short temper." Tony looked him in the eye. His hand held Peter's chin. "You will never leave the Underworld. Do you understand? Your soul belongs to me. You belong to me. This is where you will stay. Forever."

"Forever," Peter repeated. Not a question, but a realization. He had given everything for Harry. Everything.

The god took hold of his arm and turned him to look across the orchard. "Do you see the river there? You are never to attempt to cross it. If you try, its current will drag you under and you will drown in its waters until I see fit to retrieve you. The river Styx will not allow a soul to leave so easily."

Tony patted his shoulder. "Got it?"

Peter nodded. "I get it. Don't cross the river." It sure didn't sound fun to drown in a river until this oddly blase god decided to have mercy on him. "What happens now?"

Tony shrugged. "Tend the orchard or something. What do I care?"

Peter looked at him like he had grown a second head, which maybe he did have two heads, this probably wasn't his true form. "You let me sell my soul to you so I could just hang out?"

Tony's face shifted and Peter shrank back. His sudden anger was sharp and cold like a dagger made of ice. He encroached on Peter's space and with a clenched jaw he tried not to back away further. "Listen up, kid. You made the deal you wanted to make. You wanted to sacrifice yourself for what your heart desired and I gave you the opportunity. Life isn't the fairy tale you thought it was. Now, tend the trees and keep out of my hair."

Peter watched him go. He stared off in the direction that he went a while longer. Then cold began to seep into his bones. He sat down under a pomegranate tree. He wrapped his arms around his legs. Then he cried, wet tears staining the clothes he had died in. It could have been a lifetime that he cried, but when he finally got up he was numb.

Harry was gone and his life was over, but there was no going back. Peter turned in a circle, looking at the orchard. It was beautiful. If he had to spend the rest of eternity here it certainly wasn't the worst place to be. Sometimes when a breeze kicked up, he thought he heard screaming off in the direction he had decided to call south. There were certainly worse places to be even in the Underworld.

Peter walked to the edge of the pomegranate grove. Several feet from the edge, the ground began to slope down until it reached the edge of the Styx. A boat floated along the water. A man with a scraggly goatee and messy, curly, hair rowed along while a woman with red rimmed eyes sat in the seat. When she looked up, she looked right through him as if he were glass. A chill went through him. Once the feeling passed, he tried to wave at her, but she didn't respond. Was she in shock? Did she know yet that she was dead? Where was she being taken, he wondered. He hoped it was somewhere nice like his pomegranate grove and not the place where the screaming came from.

He kept walking, following the tree line, never passing the trees on the very edge. The orchard was vast, but not endless. On one side was the river Styx. On the next, the river Lethe. Or he assumed it was as the mist that came off of it made his head feel hazy. When he reached the third side is when the screaming grew louder. He walked faster until it grew distant again.

The fourth edge of the orchard stretched on into a garden. Peter stopped himself at the edge of the trees. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to leave the orchard or not. He hadn't been explicitly told not to. So he did.

He followed along low hedges and passed through clusters of hydrangea. Then the ground began to change from grass and plant life to cold gray stone. Peter looked back at the garden and the orchard beyond it. Was this allowed? He couldn't tend the trees without any tools. He'd need baskets if he were to collect the fruit and if they got sick he'd need medicines. He wasn't sure what else one could possibly do for trees. Perhaps Tony could tell him.

He found the god in question sitting a top a throne of slate. He looked far larger than he had before, but he still took the same form. He seemed bored, or perhaps indifferent was the word, as souls lined up at his feet. One soul grovelled on his knees.

"Please, my lord. I am meant for Elysium. I was a good man in life. An excellent one. I always gave to charity, I swear!"

Hades, for that's what he was a top this throne, waved his hand. "That does not make you special nor important by any means. You are not exceptional by any measure. To the fields with you." He snapped his fingers and two souls, each with hollow, black eyes and wrists wrapped in cuffs of slate, came forward and dragged the pleading soul away.

Another stepped forward and their plea was the same. They wished for Elysium and Hades waved them off.

"Won't you even listen to their stories?" Peter asked.

The god looked down at him. "Shouldn't you be working?"

"I wasn't sure exactly what I was meant to do."

"The trees will tell you when they need," he said, but Peter noticed that he did not wave him away as he did the pleading soul so he assumed he was allowed to stay.

The next soul pleaded not for Elysium, but for their lover. They begged to be reunited with them in Asphodel.

"It is not my job to see that lovers unite. If you are soul mates you will find one another," Tony said with a terribly bored voice.

"Please, my lord. I has been a hundred years-"

"Be grateful I do not drop you in the River Lethe before you are returned!" he snapped. "Be gone with you."

"You are too harsh," Peter said as the soul was dragged away

Tony glared down at him. "You don't have to listen to the same nonsense for eternity."

"You are a god. You should be grateful for that."

"You should be grateful I don't sick my hound on you," Tony growled. "Now go."

Peter hesitated, not wishing to be alone again, but the look on Tony's face was far from kind. With a deep frown, Peter turned and walked back to the orchard.

The trees weren't much for company. Peter walked through the boughs, lonely and with too much time to reflect. He thought about the life he had lost and all of the things he had given up. He thought about Harry. Did he regret leaving him now that he was dead? Did he miss him? He wondered if Harry would go to his funeral and if he would ever bring flowers. After a long while of wandering, he couldn't take it any longer. He made his way back to the place where the grass died and became stone.

There were no souls there now, only a massive dog which sat at the foot of the throne. It opened one big eye as Peter came near. When he didn't stop it raised its head only for Peter to realize that it had not one, but three. A growl rumbled in its throat.

"Sorry to bother you, big guy. I was just looking for the other big guy." Peter reached out a hand inviting the dog to smell it. It lowered its heads suspiciously. Then it sniffed.

"It's okay. I'm not up to any mischief, I promise. I was just lonely. You look like you might be lonely, too."

Peter smiled as the dog allowed him to pet his hairy nose. It watched him curiously as he came closer so he could scratch behind his ears.

"You're sweet aren't you?" Peter cooed. "Sweet boy."

"Peter?" Tony's voice called. He turned his head to see him coming up the path. "I wouldn't bother him if I were you."

"He seems to like me," Peter shrugged. "I was just looking for some company."

Tony stopped and looked at them both. He tucked his hands behind his back, watching silently while Peter pet the happy dog. His giant tail wagged into the gray dirt.

"You were lonely?" Tony finally asked.

"Trees aren't the best company as it turns out. I'm not used to be alone. Harry and I..." Peter took a breath. Just mentioning his name made his chest burn. "Well, we were always together."

"I see..." Tony stared off toward the orchard. "Come and see me tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yes. It doesn't always get dark here, but night will fall in a few hours. Come back here then, but not before."

Peter looked at the man, but he didn't seem likely to divulge what he was up to. "Alright... I will see you then."

He gave the dog, Cerberus, one last pet. Then he turned away and walked back to the orchard.

As promised the sky above began to darken. Peter watched it with fascination for a moment. There were no stars in the Underworld. The sky was a deep navy, almost black. Yet, Peter could see perfectly fine. He walked back through the trees to where the ground became stone and there he found a grand table set with candles and silver platters.

"Peter, glad you could join me," Tony greeted. The look on his face was almost a smile.

"What is all this?"

"You said you were lonely so I thought we could share a meal together. If you'd like."

Peter smiled. "Of course! That sounds great."

Tony looked relived. He pulled out a chair for him. "I don't know what you like, but I had nearly everything I could think of prepared."

Peter sat down, offering his thanks as Tony pushed his seat up. He sat down on Peter's right. He flinched as Tony's dead soldiers melted from the shadows and began to serve him from the many plates and platters. When his plate and cup were full, they took a step back waiting to serve him again.

"This all looks amazing. I thought you couldn't eat the food in the Underworld."

Tony picked up his glass, the only thing in front of him. "If it is grown here, then it is true. Eating food grown in the Underworld can have undesired effects." He stared into his wine. Then he looked up and gave Peter a smile. "Eat," he said.

Every bite was divine. Sitting together with Tony helped chase the loneliness away. They talked about Peter's happy memories in life, his time in college, holidays with his Aunt May, being Uncle Peter to Gwen's twins. Harry wasn't there for most of the good parts. Peter couldn't help but find that strange. Harry had felt like such a big part of his life, but had he? Maybe the Underworld was making him forgetful.

After dinner, they stood together and watched the light return. Tony's odd little soldiers cleared everything away.

"Thank you, Peter," Tony said. He gave him a smile. Peter admired the way it made his eyes shine.

"No, thank you. That was a lovely dinner. I'm feeling a lot better, too."

"I'm glad." He paused for a moment and they stood simply looking at each other as the sky changed above them. "You're welcome to return here whenever you please."

Peter's smile widened. "Are you saying you enjoyed my company as well?"

Tony shrugged. "It's wasn't the worst dinner I've been to."

Peter rolled his eyes as he walked away. He returned to the orchard where the boughs were heavy with fruit. He spent hours, maybe days, picking the fruit and collecting it into baskets that he couldn't recalling seeing before. There was a pail and some tools as well.

He stuck to picking fruit for now. That is until his arms grew tired from reaching and legs grew tried from carrying him. He left the orchard to return to the throne. There was Hades, sat atop, looking terribly bored as he dealt with the unending line of souls.

"Please, Lord Hades-"

"Shoo," the god wave the soul away and they were dragged off. Peter went and took a seat, cross legged on the ground beside him. Tony spared him a glance.

"Come to watch the show?"

"I like being with you."

Tony stiffened, but said nothing in answer. Another soul stepped forward. A sort of gray tone clouded not only their skin, but their clothes as well. Peter wondered why he wasn't the same way. Was it because he Tony's soul, belonging to the orchard, while this soul belonged somewhere else? The souls from the Fields were all a bit gray.

"Please, Lord Hades, it has been one hundred and fifty years since my death. I wish to be united with my daughter. I walk the Fields endlessly and never find her," the soul pleaded.

Tony sighed. "Fine," he said. Peter blinked, sitting more upright. "When you return to the Fields, your daughter will await you at the gate."

"Oh, thank you, my lord!" The soul sobbed wjth gratitude. They bowed low again and again. One of Tony's soldiers came to lead her away so the line could continue.

"That was kind of you," Peter said.

Tony huffed in response, but he continued this way. Whenever a soul made, what seemed to Peter, a reasonable request Tony honored it. Souls were united with family, friends, and lovers so long as they walked the fields together. And when it was done, Tony walked with Peter back to the orchard.

They walked beneath the trees, the smell of pomegranate in the air.

"What changed your mind about the souls?"

Tony stood and examined one of the trees. He ignored Peter's question. "They seem happy with you here," he said.

"You were right. They do tell me what they need."

Tony smiled. "Of course I was." He turned and took Peter's hand. His heart fluttered. They kept walking until the Styx came into view. They watched the river pass by in silence. Then after a long while Tony said, "I have to go." Then he disappeared.

Peter turned in a circle, but the god was truly gone. He smiled to himself and turned back to watch the river pass. Tony left him feeling warm. He missed his company already, but he was glad to have had it in the first place.

He went back to his trees, tending them with a smile. Time as usual, without measure other than a weariness in his legs from standing. Then the trees began to ask for water.

It made sense. It never seemed to rain in the Underworld. Certainly trees would need water. He had a pail he could collect it in, but where would he get it from? The only water source nearby was the Styx. He looked around for Tony, but the god was not nearby. So he took it upon himself to get the water.

Peter carried his pail down to the riverside. He placed his feet carefully to keep from slipping into the water. Then he leaned out and scooped some water up with the pail. He set the full pail up on the bank, but its weight unbalanced him. His feet slid in the rocks and he was pulled under the water's surface.

While the Styx looked steady and calm, there was a current beneath its surface. It claimed him easy, dragging him under and pulling him far far away from the orchard. Peter tried to swim up, sometimes his hands breached the surface, but never his head. His lungs burned with lack of air, then with water. Then he was drowning. Drowning without dying.

There was never any telling how much time passed in the Underworld. But finally, finally... he was pulled from the river.

He vomited what felt like gallons of water, coughing the rest from his lungs. The pain faded quickly. Peter laid on his back and blinked wet eyes at the man standing over him. He was a shadow, blocking out the light above.

"Tony?" he rasped. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall in. The trees needed water and I slipped."

Tony knelt beside him. "I know. I saw the water pail by the river." He scooped Peter up and pulled him to his chest. Instantly, he was dry. "You're safe now."

"Thank you." Peter's body shook in fear and relief. "That was horrible."

Tony pet his hair and held him close. "Come and get me next time the trees need water. I will call the rain to water them."

Tony helped him stand. With slow steps they walked back together to the orchard. Tony seemed far more quiet than usual. Peter couldn't place just what was wrong. He'd been warned not to try to cross the river. Was he not allowed to go near it at all? Or did Tony think he had tried to leave. Why would it bother him so much if he did?

They passed under the first branches of the orchard. Without thinking, Peter plucked the first pomegranate he saw. He stopped and admired the round, red, fruit in his hands. Tony stopped and turned, looking back at him.

"I've never tasted one of these." Peter laughed softly. "All this time picking them and caring for them, but I never eat them."

"If you eat the fruit in the Underworld, you can never leave," Tony reminded him.

"You wouldn't let me leave anyway."

"Maybe I would." There was a vulnerable honesty there in his eyes. He was right, wasn't he? This time he was right. Harry had never loved him. He had been young and foolish and naive. Tony didn't just show him desire and adoration in the way that Harry had, no. From Tony he received respect, admiration, trust. Because Tony loved him, truly.

"You thought, even if it was only for a moment, that I had tried to cross the river. Were you relieved when you realized it was an accident?" Peter looked at his face. He said nothing, gave nothing away with his expression.

Peter looked at the fruit in his hand. He dug his thumbs into the skin and pulled it apart. It bled pink onto his skin. Tony watched him in silence, seeming to hold his breath. Peter examined his face searching for one last reassure that he was truly wanted. Then he brought the fruit to his lips and bit into its seeds.

It was perfectly sweet. The taste of it coated his tongue. Juice dripped down his chin. When he swallowed, it was heavy in his stomach. He dropped the fruit and looked at the god.

His gaze was adoring, worshipful.

"Allow me a taste," Tony said. He reached for him, pulling him in. Their lips met and Peter moaned at a taste that was far sweeter than the fruit.

His hands held Tony's face, staining his cheeks pink. Strong hands held his back, guiding him to press in closer until they were flush. Peter moaned as a tongue slipped over his own, exploring and claiming his mouth. He felt high on him, willing and receptive to any of Tony's desires.

They stopped, only for a moment, and gazed at each other's faces. Then Tony took him and laid him back in the soft grass beneath the trees.

Tony stripped away his clothes. Each article was removed with gentle care and hot kisses pressed to his newly exposed skin. Every inch of him felt sensitive to the softness of his lips and the scratch of his beard. When he was naked, Tony returned above him to kiss his lips again. Peter let his hands roam over his chest and found that his clothes were gone, revealing a muscular and scarred chest. Tony caught his hand, holding it above his heart.

"Do you mind?" he said. His eyes shined.

Peter shook his head. "You're beautiful, Tony," he said. Tony caught his mouth in a kiss that was ripe with need.

Peter spread his legs apart and Tony settled between them. His kiss were soft and tender as he pushed slowly inside him. His mouth captured the high pitch whined that escaped Peter's lips. Slowly he was filled until Tony was fully inside him. His hands clung to Tony's shoulders and he stared up into gleaming brown eyes.

He dragged his fingers over his skin to cup his face in both hands. "I love you," Peter whispered.

Tony's smile was joyous. "I love you, Peter."

Peter gasped, head falling back into the grass as Tony moved inside him. The friction felt so intense that he could form words but that didn't stop him from whining and babbling. Tony kissed his lips, his bared neck, his chest. His lips sucked his nipples, tongue flicking and teasing over them. Peter's nails dug into Tony's shoulders. All he could do was hold on as his cock dragged over his prostate and Tony fucked him fast and deep. Frantic, like he was starving. When his mouth returned to Peter's, he held him tight, kissing his lips as if they dripped ambrosia. He refused to let, kissing him deeply and desperately until he could hold on no longer. His nails cut scratches into Tony's back as his body ached and shivered beneath him. His cum splattered, sticky and warm on his skin.

He panted hard, looking up at Tony again with nothing but adoration and love. He held Tony's beautiful face.

"Cum in me, please," Peter begged.

"Anything you want is yours," Tony pledged.

He moved him again, cock deep inside, body screaming with sensitivity. A tear rolled down Peter's cheek and he whimpered painfully, but he was euphoric. Tony kissed away his tears. Peter tasted the salt on his lips. Then Tony moaned, holding him tight. Peter covered his face in kisses. He felt him cum, making him sticky and wet inside.

Tony's cheeks were red and his smile was bright. Peter couldn't help but smile, too, and pulled him down into a deep unending kiss.

#marvel #starker #prompt fill #hades and persephone #fluff #romance #nff

82 notes · View notes

thirsty-flygirl · 4 years ago

Text

Falling for You

Formerly Idiots

Part III: That’s My Girl

Poe Dameron x f!Reader

AN: Here is my first and favorite series, back with a new title and a few adjustments to make it more reader-friendly.

Warnings: Language for now. 18+ Only. This chapter does include Reader being carried by Poe - I apologize that it’s not entirely inclusive, but our Poe is a strong man with a low center of gravity and I needed to get an unconscious Reader from Point A to Point B. Also, some references to blood and injury, but nothing too graphic.

Tag Requests: @capbrie @jitterbugs927 @1950schick

Words: 1400

Part I II

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“So it’s broken, right?”

You peered into the T-70’s cockpit at the instrument panel. Poe pointed at what remained of the imaging system’s screen, now a shattered mess.

“You’re asking if that,” you gestured to the screen, “is broken?”

Poe, sitting in the pilot’s seat, shrugged nonchalantly. “You’re the technician, Sweetheart, I’m just a lowly pilot.” His trademark grin forced an answering smile to your lips. Poe Dameron was making you soft and you weren’t entirely sure you didn’t like it a little bit.

“Well, Commander, in my professional opinion, I’d have to say that yes, the screen is, in fact, broken.”

Poe reached up and gently chucked you under your chin. “That’s my girl. I knew you could help.”

You drew in a sharp breath at his touch, his words making your heart twist. “My girl.” A few weeks ago you would have rolled your eyes and shoved him away. Now, though . . .

You were definitely feeling differently.

Every time he walked in a room you became hyper-aware of every laugh, every movement. One of his smiles could make your day, your week, because knowing he was in your life meant everything to you.

He meant everything to you.

You realized you were still hovering above Poe, your faces only separated by a few inches, and you could just lean down and –

“Anyone left in there, we’re headed out for a drink!”

Jessika’s voice echoing from the open hangar door snapped you from your thoughts like a bucket of ice water over your head. Realizing how close you were to Poe you jerked back, not thinking about the edge of the canopy right above you. Sharp, blinding pain bloomed behind your eyes the moment your skull made impact with the unforgiving metal and your vision went black. You swayed on the ladder, sure you were going to pass out.

“Shit!” Poe cried, his hand shooting out to grab your arm before you could fall. He swung out of the cockpit and, holding your weight against him, somehow got you both on the ground. Once your feet hit the concrete, Poe scooped you up in his arms and held you close.

“Sweetheart, you okay?” His voice, tinged with panic, washed over you, but you couldn’t manage a response. You went limp in Poe’s arms, completely knocked out.

“Fuck,” he swore, moving as quickly as he could with your dead weight. Halfway to the medbay he felt dampness on his skin and looked down, heart plummeting at the sight of dark red blooming from the spot where your head lay against his shirt.

He ducked his head to kiss you gently on the forehead. “Hang on, baby, we’re almost there.”

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally reached the entrance to the medical unit, catching the attention of the doctor on night duty.

“She hit her head on my canopy,” he explained breathlessly, setting you on the nearest gurney and cradling your bleeding head in his hands. “She’s unconscious and her head won’t stop bleeding.” He looked helplessly down at your face, which grew paler by the minute.

The medic moved him aside to take your vitals, urging your head up to peer at the steadily-bleeding cut near your crown. Seemingly satisfied that you weren’t at death’s door she turned to Poe standing at the foot of your bed, one hand gently resting on your ankle as though afraid you’d disappear.

“She’s going to be fine, Poe. A nasty gash on the head and surely one hell of a concussion, but nothing life-threatening.” Poe blinked at her for a moment before giving her a small smile.

“Thanks, I . . .,” he swallowed, “ . . . I was just worried. It looked bad.”

The doctor smiled and patted his arm before moving away to gather the supplies necessary to clean and dress your wound, leaving Poe to drop to the stool next to your bed. He watched wordlessly as the doctor cleaned and bandaged your head and gave you a shot of painkiller. Nodding his thanks as she walked away, he gently took your hand and brought it to his lips, hoping that the sensation might wake you up.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured against your skin, “this is all my fault. I had to make up an excuse to see you, so I told you there was something wrong with my fighter . . .” He laughed softly and shook his head. “Truth is, I broke the damn screen myself. Ziff made a comment about your ass over the comms and I got so pissed I punched the instrument panel.”

Poe sighed deeply. “I go crazy whenever I see you with anyone else. I act stupid and jealous and . . .and you aren’t even mine. I honestly don’t think you even like me most days, but I just can’t stop thinking about you.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life, and I think I could die a happy man if you just . . . I don’t even know . . .just throw that smile of yours my way every once in a while.”

He brushed another soft kiss across your knuckles and leaned forward to rest his head on the bed next to you.

“Mmmph.”

Poe’s head shot up at the sound of you waking. He returned your hand to your side and gently cupped your face, rubbing his thumb against your temple and taking care not to disturb the gauze covering your injury.

You slowly opened your eyes, blinking against the harsh light of the medbay. As your vision focused you saw Poe standing beside you, a look of concern written across his face.

“S’goin’ on?” you mumbled. You felt buzzed, tingly, like you were high on something. A dull ache pulsed in your head, but not enough to register any pain. You offered Poe a bleary grin and reached up to gently smooth the furrow between his brows.

“Soooooo ssssserious, Dammmmmeron.”

Poe smiled at your touch and closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the sensation of your fingers on his skin. He grasped the hand you held up and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of your wrist, his eyes slowly opening to gaze back down at you.

The way he looked down at you made warmth spread across your body that felt entirely separate from the rest of whatever was making you feel so loopy.

Maker, had he always been this gorgeous?

“You’re pretty,” you sighed.

Poe laughed and kissed your hand again.

“And you’re high, Sweetheart.”

Your brows knit together. “I am?”

“Don’t you remember what happened? Damn, that’s some good stuff the doctor gave you.” He took a seat on the stool again, still holding your hand. “You cracked your head on my canopy and knocked yourself out. Bled all over me, too,” he said good-naturedly.

You dropped your gaze to the dark stain on his shirt and then back to his twinkling eyes. The memory of Jess’s voice and that moment of panic when you realized how badly you wanted to kiss Poe came rushing back to you. You felt a dull sense of embarrassment but were too relaxed by the painkiller to filter the words that came out of your mouth.

“I ‘member.” You removed your hand from Poe’s grip and pressed a finger to his lips. “I wan’d to kissshew ‘n’ got scared.”

You sighed dreamily and dropped your hand back on the bed.

“Think ‘m fallin’ ‘n’ love with you, Poe.”

You gave him a dopey smile, your eyelids drooping from the effects of the medicine. Poe watched you drift back to sleep with a stunned expression, not sure if he had heard you correctly.

You were falling for him?

A huge grin split his face as he watched you sleep, feeling lighter than he had in years. You were his future, he knew it with every fiber of his being, and he wanted to grab you and kiss you, tell you how crazy he was about you and make you his forever.

But he could wait. He’d been waiting since the moment he first laid eyes on you, when Leia had introduced you to the crew and your eyes met his for the briefest of moments. That small, shy smile you’d given him, before your attention was diverted to something else, was all it took for him to realize that he had been born to love you.

Maybe it had taken you a little longer to realize it too, but that was okay.

Poe was used to being first.

#poe dameron imagine #poe dameron x reader #poe x reader #poe fanfiction #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #my fics

142 notes · View notes

sondepoch · 5 years ago

Note

“You have no idea how far I went — to save you.” with Barbatos

Who says MC only died in one timeline. How many times has Barbatos turned back the clock? How many demons has he had to erase?

...What would happen to him if Diavolo or anyone else ever found out?

Sonde’s Sunday Snippets I-II

You never would have gone with him if he hadn’t looked so panicked.

It’s the first time you’ve ever seen proper emotion on the butler’s face—and the amount of emotion he’s presently showing is enough to last a lifetime, the demon’s eyes lit up with anxiety, desperation, and distress.

And there’s something else, too.

You study his face as he continues to tug you along in a sprint, his fingers latched around your wrist with just enough firmness to keep your body at his pace as he leads you down a path you’ve never seen before.

Oh.

Your eyes soften when you understand what it is that’s tensing his jaw so resolutely as he quietly urges you to run faster.

Terror.

“Barbatos, I can’t—“ The breath catches in your throat, your legs stumbling. It feels like he’s been forcing you to run with him for hours at this point, and while you trust him with your life, you’re not sure your body can physically take much more of this exertion.

The butler seems to understand your predicament before the words have even left your lips, tugging you closer to him and lifting your body up in his arms with the swiftness that only a demon can have.

Now that he no longer needs to worry about you keeping pace with him, he only seems to run faster.

“You have to—“ You watch as he swallows hard, his usual facade of apathy completely broken. “You have to go,” He whispers, taking a sharp corner that knocks the wind from your body even though you’re no longer running. “Solomon will take you. He’ll protect you. You need to do what he says, and you cannot come back, not until the world has forgotten about you.”

“Wha—” Your eyes widen when you realize the implication behind Barbatos’s words. “I—I can’t! The brothers will be waiting for me, and my family in the human world will—“

“You are going to die,” Barbatos whispers, rounding a corner and glancing behind him before setting you down. “Unless you do as I say.”

“But why?” You gasp out. It feels surreal. There’s too much happening and it’s all so abrupt—the same shock that settled over your body when you were first whisked to the Devildom is enveloping you whole, the only thing grounding you being Barbatos’s firm hands as they hold your shoulders.

“I made a mistake.”

He refuses to look you in the eye.

“And now, we must both pay for it.”

“Wha—that doesn’t make sense! You have to tell me where I’m going, or—or at least why!”

Barbatos’s eyes soften at your stubbornness, the same headstrong obstinacy that made him first fall for you.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” He whispers, resting his forehead against yours. “All the timelines wanted you dead.”

The confusion on your face is apparent, another what are you talking about? already rolling off your lips before footsteps behind you draw both your attention away.

“Barbatos. Diavolo is going to be here in one minute.” The usual playfulness in Solomon’s expression is painfully absent as he tenses his jaw.

“You have no idea how far I went to save you,” Barbatos mumbles, removing his gloves deftly to hold your face in his hands for the first time. “But every second of it was worth it.”

“Wait!” You gasp as Solomon begins tugging your body away, pulling you away from Barbatos as you struggle against his grip. “What did you do? Tell me! Let me thank you!”

But the butler remains painfully quiet as Solomon tugs you forward, turning his body away as his demon form manifests. You struggle the whole time as Solomon brings you to a casting circle, desperately reaching your arm out to grab Barbatos even though he’s too far away.

“Stop!” You screech when Solomon begins muttering words in a language you don’t know, the casting circle beginning to glow brightly. “Stop it! Solomon, let me speak with Barbatos!”

But at this point, neither man is paying any attention to you, and the last sight you see in the Devildom is Barbatos’s back angled away from you, his body poised to fight as the outline of a terrifying shadow draws closer and closer—its silhouette looking painfully similar to Diavolo’s but the wrathful bloodlust rolling off the entity’s body being too murderous for you to ever believe that it’s truly the crown prince.

If only you knew.

You scream in frustration as the sight vanishes, your body abruptly transported to a place you’ve never seen, a place you don’t know.

Your mouth is already open in protest as you prepare to demand Solomon to bring you back, to let you see Barbatos, to return you so you can have a proper conversation with the demon who supposedly saved your life.

But before you can utter a single word, he speaks.

“You won’t understand.”

And then he leaves you, numb and confused in this unfamiliar land that is untouched by time.

The truth is that Solomon the Wise was wrong.

You will understand, one day.

You will understand that you were born to be a martyr, an instigator of the eventual uniting of the three realms. You will understand that Barbatos broke his pact of loyalty to protect you, sabotaging all of Diavolo’s plans in a single effort to save your life, to save your happiness. And you will understand that Barbatos did all this out of love for you, the kind of love that only an immortal can harbor after spending infinity watching someone else, dancing between timelines to learn every aspect of your being. And in the end, you will finally understand that Barbatos sent you here with Solomon to protect you; because he knew that Diavolo would beat him down and he would be ordered to manipulate time such that the world could hoist your head on a spear and name you the champion for its cause, the only fate Barbatos wished to save you from.

But by then, the Barbatos you know will be gone. The love that drove him to such lengths to protect you will be beaten out of his body. His heart will be gone, replaced with an iron curse of loyalty to the crown that only grows stronger with every heartbeat.

And the love that once drove him to commit every sin a demon knows? The love that drove him to do the unspeakable, to dirty his name and ruin his reputation? The love that was so powerful even Barbatos was weak next to it, bowing his head to devote himself to its will?

Gone. Not even a memory, buried forever in the sea of time.

#Word count: 1.1k #sorry it got a little long #but #fuck yeah THIS is what im talking about #loved this prompt so much #i actually have a wip with this exact concept but its not angst so :3 #obey me! shall we date?#om!swd #obey me barbatos #obey me barbatos x reader #angst #obey me solomon #obey me diavolo #gender neutral reader #does this count as an au??#sonde's sunday snippets

514 notes · View notes

yminie · 5 years ago

Text

nine one one | tres | fin | pjm (m)

pairing: Jimin x reader genre/warnings: angst, fluff, oldflame!pairing, detective!jimin, firstresponder!reader, mentions of death, mentions of murder, mentions of mental health problems, mentions of weapons, explicit language, implied stalking, physical assault, fight scenes, mentions of blood, implied attempt at sexual assault, smut, brief oral sex (female recieving), unprotected penetrative sex. words: 15.3k summary: Your living nightmare has found its way into your home, and you’re all alone.

a/n: it only took me a year (sobs), but it’s finally here!! Thank you so much for all your support over the past two years with this storyline, and I hope you’ve all loved detective Jimin as much as I have! I love you guys so much, and I hope you enjoy it! Lemme know what your think <3

**********

Prev. on Nine-One-One;

Warmth grows in your chest at Jimin’s return, and you stretch out your legs from where they’d been tucked up close to your body as you await the call of your name or perhaps the familiar clicking of his shoes as he crosses your entryway to return to where he’d left you.

But like the night shadows drown the sun’s light, the warmth quickly freezes over into chilling terror as a dark silhouette moves across the room silently, not a sound following his gentle footsteps as he passes between you and the only light in the room. The blue glow of the charger dock sitting on the table against the far wall casting an eerie glow over his form, and just as terrifyingly outlining the fact that his height is a good head taller, and his shoulders are a decent few inches wider than they should be.

And as he makes his way far too confidently towards the hallway leading to your room, and that eerie blue light glints off a large silver shape in his hand, you come to the tearful conclusion that you’re right.

Jimin did not just enter your apartment.

And you have no idea who did.

**********

Fear has you stuck in place, lungs burning as you hold your breath, and only the hushed sound of his feet brushing across the carpet is to be heard. The shape of him gets fuzzier by the second until he’s too far down the hallway to clearly make out his silhouette, and finally your instincts kick in as you carefully slip from the couch and down onto your hands and knees on the floor, heart racing as you crawl as fast as you can behind the couch.

Back flat against the surface, you hear him again as he returns from what you assume to be looking in your room, but his footsteps this time are more stilted, each brush just a few milliseconds off to the last to seem like a normal pace, and it has your panic levels rising even further. You already know for a fact that your phone is up on the breakfast bar just a few metres in front of you, but you can’t bring yourself to move at the risk of him spotting you.

When he comes to a stop across the room, you can’t help but to risk a lean over to the right side of the couch and carefully peer past the corner. Your heart batters harder against the base of your throat at the dark shape of his body stood directly in front of the charging dock, the light bright in the absence of the city’s glow, and you can clearly see the shape of a rounded nose and sharp jaw. Eyes keen on soaking up every detail, you watch with a sense of disturbance as he gently plucks a photo from the stand before him and tilts it towards the light in an effort to see better.

He doesn’t grab your belongings with the aura of someone touching a stranger's things, but with the attitude of a person in their own apartment, merely giving a moment's attention to something they own, and the sight has bile creeping up the back of your tongue.

It feels like forever, the time that passes as you merely sit in eerie silence and watch with burning eyes as he slowly makes his way around the room, stopping at every shelf and surface to touch and hold even the smallest of trinkets that decorate your living room. Filling you with such discomfort and sadness that, you know already, you’ll never be able to look at any of the mementos and photo frames the same way after he’s gone.

You flinch when he turns suddenly, his left side to you now, and the dread swirling in your abdomen even seems to freeze as his features are once more sent into shadows, and he walks confidently to the curtains lining the majority of your apartment, hiding you both away from the world.

It’s barely possible to hold in the cry of shock that chokes its way up your throat when he reaches up and, with two hands, rips the curtains away from the wall with a loud crash.

Back hitting the couch again with a thud, you press a closed fist to your lips to hold all of the panic inside as your eyes squeeze shut against the sudden onslaught of light, and the beginning of the weekend nightlife is bustling away beneath the two of you, oblivious to the happenings right above their heads.

It’s sickening to imagine how many times you’ve been just as unaware as them.

Your whole body tenses up as his feet slide closer to where you’re hidden, and he paces a few steps before spinning on his heel and doing the same in the other direction, moving back and forth in front of the window as you shut your eyes tight and ignore the ache of your muscles. Distantly, you register the muted sound of a dial tone behind the crackle of his shoes over broken plastic and fabric, but it’s the shock of a fuzzy, familiar voice suddenly filling the space around you that has the fear truly setting in your bones.

“Hello, what is your emergency?”

**********

“Ah, yeah, hello?” Taehyung stands in his apartment, back stiff straight as he stares hard at the wall of his kitchen as if he could see through it into your apartment. “I’d like to request an ambulance, and possibly police too.”

“What seems to be the problem, sir?” The first responder on the other end of the line sounds tired, just as Taehyung imagines he would be this time of the night, but it’s even more so in comparison to the way his own body is hyped up with anxiety, ears keen as they listen out for any other crashes coming from your apartment next door. The sound hadn’t been too loud, but it was clashing enough to tell him it hadn’t come from his side of your place, but rather the other end, where he knew your kitchen was located.

The thought of you falling or dropping a plate crossed his mind, but it just didn’t seem to compare to the way the noise had truly made him feel.

“It’s-I heard a loud crashing noise from my neighbours apartment.” The clicking of the responders fingers are fast on the keys of the computer he’s imaging in front of him, and he pauses before speaking again. “And she’s all alone in there most of the time.”

“And she’s not someone prone to making noise? What was the address?”

“No.” Taehyung steps closer to the wall as he lists off the location, so close now to the front door. So close to just going over to check on you himself. “She makes none at all. She’s very quiet usually, I-” He pauses again, deaf to the sound of the general noise coming through the phone as he loses himself to his thoughts. “I’m scared something is really wrong. It just feels really off.”

“I’ll have the closest officer inbound and you’re on the list for the next available medical response, but I apologise since there’s no guarantee of injury or crime,” a few seconds tick by and Taehyung’s heart pounds with worry for you, “our response unit is done by priority so it could take some time as nights like these can be very busy, okay? Be sure to ring back should the situation escalate.”

“Okay.” His throat is dry. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t look away from the wall, merely places his phone down on the counter.

The waiting is almost worse than the fear.

***********

“Hello, what is your emergency?” The loudspeaker on the strangers phone is entirely too loud in the tense silence of your dark apartment, and you shiver uncontrollably at the sound of Taemin’s voice. There’s a tickle in your throat that itches for you to speak up, to yell for help from your friend, but you know it would be useless.

They’re nowhere near you, and lord only knows all the possibilities of things that could happen to you before anyone reaches you.

“I want to speak to the detective.” Head pressed to the back of the couch and body tight with stress, your eyes press shut as the voice of your nightmares echoes in your head, and you ignore the tears as they start to bud on your lashes.

“I’m sorry, you can’t be using this call line for non-emergency calls. We have the office number you can find on our website between the hours of–”

“What if it is an emergency.” His voice is colder than you remember, more than a little empty, and the complete 180 degree turn his attitude had taken from the last time you’d spoken was almost haunting. “What if it’s the worst emergency he could ever face.”

That sickening, burning feeling is back in your stomach, the same as the night you’d woken up in Jimin’s arms on the couch, and you fight against your tongue when you try to swallow. The semi-conscious part of your mind is fighting to remind you that he hasn’t seen you, he doesn’t know where you are. But you can’t seem to beat the way your body is growing evermore repulsed purely at his presence in your apartment.

More than a few seconds tick by, Taemin’s side of the call quiet all but the clicking of his keyboard as he types in a rush. Before they pause.

“It’s you, isn’t it?”

The heavy clang and thundering rattle of your window vibrating in its frame bashes around in your head when the stranger lashes out at it with a tightly closed fist, and you can see the shadow on the floor between the breaking blur of tears as he presses his hand flat against the surface with a snarl.

“I know he’s there, you’d better get him or else I’ll–”

There’s the clatter of the phone being transferred from one person to another, and you can faintly hear the indistinct noise of Taemin frantically speaking to someone on the other end before being hushed.

“Hello?” Hoseok’s voice comes over the line and you tense up even further, mind running wild with the possibility of where Jimin could be. “This is Detective Jung, you’re looking to talk to my partner?”

“Don’t want to talk to you. Don’t fucking–” The strangers head whips to the side, and you can see the silhouette of his features distorted and stretched in his shadow, and a lonely tear drips from your chin to the carpet with a noise far too loud for how sensitive your ears are. “Where is he?”

“You want Jimin right?” The stranger's feet drag as he takes a step to the side, shoulder coming into your peripheral view as he staggers a little, body looking off kilter as he hunches over before straightening once more. The way his body moves is unnerving, something not quite right in the way he seems to tense and relax repeatedly, hand fisting at his side sporadically. “I can get him for you. Can you wait just one minute?”

“Don’t like to wait.” He sounds distracted as he grunts, crushing a piece of plastic further under his foot as he peers down at the streets below. “Waited long enough.”

“I’ll get him for you.” There’s a rattle as the discarded earpiece hits the desk, and as the crunching beneath the strangers feet gets louder, the hushed whispering on Taemin’s end gets louder. The more frantic they get, the more agitated he becomes, vein in his neck throbbing as his head jerks to one side, muscles coiled and ready to pounce. A lot like your own, legs aching from being so tightly wound with stress.

There’s an abrupt break in the dull noise and chatter before the gentle chime of hold music cuts through, and then the hiss of white noise and the rev of a car's engine. And Jimin.

“This is Detective Park.” His voice sounds guarded from the moment he speaks, and you assume Hoseok had spoken to him quickly before handing the call over. “What is it that I can do for you?”

“Wanted to say–” His head jerks again, swallowing as though the words are hard to get out. “Thank you, hyung.”

“Huh?” Jimin’s front disappears, clearly caught too off guard to keep his usual composure.

“All the years of being so selfish, you finally did something for me.” The stranger's tone is awfully bittersweet, and it sends chills down your spine. “I’m happy. Things can be much more simple this way.”

“And what way is that?” There’s the blare of a car horn cutting through Jimin’s words, and you hear his car rev even harder as he drives as fast as he can during no doubt lots of peak hour traffic.

“You left her alone.” Your heart feels hollow, heaviness sinking into your stomach like that’s where it decided to fall, and your lower lip shakes before you hold it tight between your teeth, enough for an iron tang to coat your tongue. “I can...finally take care of her. The way she deserves.”

“Listen to me.” You’ve never heard Jimin’s voice sound so dark and thunderous, and it makes goosebumps pimple the skin of your exposed arms. “I’m only going to say this once, Jungkook.”

‘Jungkook’ stiffens, breath pushing through his nose in a huff before he starts to breathe roughly, a grating in his lungs like he can’t quite get enough air in. And it’s then you register just who you’ve been looking at, the person you recognized in the elevator, the boy behind the desk in the lobby of your apartment building…

The same boy who’d been so young and timid when he’d approached you in the lunchroom at the station, stammering and shaking as he’d confessed how pretty you were, and how he’d like to know if you wanted to come to the cafe across the street for lunch.

The same boy Jimin had laughed at, ruffled the hair of, and teasingly told that you weren’t free real estate. That he had kissed you right in front of; Jungkook’s expression tight, embarrassed, and whispered in your ear how ‘cute’ it was that you’d gained an admirer. Not seeing the way the young cadet's face had pinched and the way his frame had caved in to make himself seem smaller.

The same boy you’d defended with a gentle push and a light giggle against Jimin’s chest, telling him not to tease. Jungkook hadn’t looked at you when you thanked him for the compliment, or apologised for Jimin’s well-intended need to poke fun. In fact he didn’t look at you much after that...and you didn’t care enough to notice. You couldn’t even pinpoint the last time you’d seen him and recognized him, remembered his name or said hello. He’d merely faded into the background of your life along with the crowd. And the guilt feels nauseating as it creeps like thorny tendrils up your throat, choking the air from your lungs.

“If you even think for one second that you’re going to get as close to her as you did today ever again, you have another thing coming.” The more Jimin speaks the colder your blood runs, and you can’t help but note the irony of his words. “I’m not going to leave her side, not even once you’re gone. I’m going to catch you, Jungkook, and when I do, you’d better hope karma doesn’t catch up to you with me.”

Jungkook starts to shudder in front of you, and it takes you a tense second to realise he’s laughing. Chuckles wracking his chest until he wheezes for breath, and you can barely hear Jimin still talking over the sound of his husky coughing.

“Locking you in a psych ward would be a mercy for you, Jungkook. You’ll be lucky if Hoseok gets to you before I do.”

“Oh, hyung.” Jungkook giggles but Jimin isn’t done.

“You’ve gotten messy Jungkook, and today is the end of your little game.” Jimin grunts, the car revving again, and you pray he’s on his way to you. Unsure how long this can be dragged out before Jungkook snaps and rips your apartment apart, no doubt finding you in the process and carrying out whatever god-awful plans he’d had in mind tonight. “Your plan is over, she’s not going to be one of your victims. But you’ll be one of mine, that I can guarantee you.”

“It’s all mine, hyung.” Jungkook stops giggling, going so still and stone-faced it’s almost too haunting to witness. “This life. Being here with her. It was always meant to be me.” Jungkook's head hits the glass of your window with a heavy thud, and you jump in shock. Your eyes are still leaking slowly with tears, growing more blurry and stinging the longer you stare, and through your muddled thoughts, you’ve forgotten yourself.

So when he finally turns, the glow of the city haloing his face as he drops the phone in his hand to the floor with a clatter, his eyes lock onto yours instantly, where you’ve leant too far out of the safety of your hiding spot. And Jungkook’s lips twist in a shaky smile as he raises his voice. “She’s tried so hard to hide for you, hyung.”

Jimin doesn’t reply, and you’d almost think the line was cut could you not hear the struggle of him trying to speed through unseen traffic. Your eyes slips from Jungkook’s face to the phone discarded at his feet, tears dripping to the carpet once again, and it takes the crackle of debris under his shoe to note he’s turning further toward you, and its then you see the glint of the large dagger reappearing in his hand

“I ‘can’t get near her’?” Jungkook’s words have your eyes quickly lifting to meet his again, and you can’t even tell how badly you’re shaking, nails painfully dug into the carpet as he twists his neck to the side with a dull crack. “I don’t think your car is that fast, Jimin-hyung.”

Torn from your throat is the scream that shatters the silence, numb legs scrambling underneath you as he takes his first step in your direction, and you stumble over your own feet before picking up speed and shooting as fast as you can down the hallway. Your heart thunders in your ears as you feel the vibrations of Jungkook’s feet slapping even harder against the floor behind you, and it’s by sheer miracle that you manage to tear through the door to your bedroom seconds before he can catch up.

The slam of the door behind you hurts your arms with the force with which you push it, back pressed flat against it as you pray to whatever god might hear you for help. The sobs that are escaping you go without your notice, heaving pulls for air as you desperately try to blink the tears from your eyes and you cry out loud as the door is almost pushed out from behind you, wood creaking as Jungkook slams against with an almost inhumane sound of anger.

“_____... let me in before I have to hurt you.” You’re frozen against the door, heels pressed painfully into the floor as you hold the door in place with all the strength you can muster. And for a few seconds you almost believe it's working, hope creeping up your spine that you can hold him off long enough for someone to come to your aid.

The door shakes with a loud clunking noise right beside your head, before all attempts of penetration stop, and your head whips to the side as you listen to his footsteps start to retreat, heart thrashing in your hollow chest.

And then movement catches your eye across the room, and you compute the creeping of his shadow coming from your adjoining bathroom with a shriek as you scramble for the doorknob beside you.

Only for the knob to loosely rattle in the frame, mechanism broken from the outside, and you then realise your mistake. The reality of how trapped you are sinking in as he steps out into your line of sight, bloody knuckles and fingers red from his efforts. And you shrink into yourself in the corner of your room, eyes sliding shut as you begin to sob in fear once more.

His footsteps are deafening in the silence, the heavy sigh he releases as his feet come into your blurred vision humidly warm on the back of your necks as he leans down, bent at the waist. A cold chill runs down your spine when you feel his fingers on your hair, nails slipping in close to your scalp and filling your mouth with bile at the feeling of stickiness on his skin dragging through the strands.

Slowly, he crouches down, filling your nose with a sharp combination of fresh sweat, blood and an almost alarmingly clean scent. Disinfected. Citrus. Bleach. The way one may smell after visiting a hospital. And it burns. Singes through your noise and has every last inch of your body cringing in discomfort.

“Look at me.” His voice is alarmingly soft, almost sickly in its sweetness, and your skin crawls as he strokes through your hair again, playing with it with that same air of familiarity that he’d portrayed in the living room. Moving naturally as though he’d done so a million times over, his hand slips down to the back of your neck, cupping a cold chill around your nape with freezing fingers that has you shrinking even further into yourself. Every nerve ending in your body screaming at you to get away from him. “_____.”

The next few beats of silence are shattered as he rips his hand from your hair, stinging pains of tangled strands being pulled from the tender area of skin pulling another sob from your throat as his now free hand cracks against the wall beside you with force. You straighten up instantly, eyes clenched tight, not having to look to know the plaster is caved in around his fist and only able to feel slightly thankful the lash of anger hadn’t been directed at your body.

“Look at me!” You can feel the drops of spittle hitting your face and he screams hoarsely, voice cracking on the last word as the now even more injured hand returns to your chin to pull your attention. And with a shuddering breath that feels void of oxygen, your head spinning too much to focus properly as the adrenaline and fear spikes in your blood, you force your eyes open to land on his hallowed face.

Jungkook is far from the way he had lived in your memory. Bigger, yet more hollow. Stronger, but with a weakness floating just beneath the surface waiting to be broken. Older, and somehow still seeming so young behind the pain in his eyes. The Jungkook sat before you had physically grown, but mentally his pain is real, raw, as though it were just yesterday you’d managed to tear his heart apart and leave him cracked and broken at the seams. The only solace he’d found to hold himself together being the anger that lives now in his core, the expression being that of someone that loves you, but the energy of someone that has nothing but hatred in his being for you.

So many emotions are conveyed in his eyes, it’s hard to look at, but the terror you feel has you unable to look away, as though watching a hundred cars crash together at once.

“Don’t cry, I’m gonna take care of you.” Gut wrenching, you flinch as his hand lifts to brush stickiness over the tear tracks under your eyes, and you can feel the thickness of blood now streaking your face and suffocating your pores. He leans in close, breath washing over your cheeks, and you can feel the cool of the wet spots his fingers had left behind.

“Please don’t kill me.” The whisper is ripped from your raw throat before you can stop it, the chill in your hands and feet reaching all the way through your arms, legs and torso, as though he’d reached right through your ribs and grabbed a hold of your heart.

“He can’t have you.” The venom is back in his voice as he twitches, hand shaking under your chin before he moves it down to brush his fingers over your exposed clavicle, running a careful thumb right over your carotid artery, and you flinch away again as his fingers stray even further down towards your breasts, his breathing starting to come in pants before he groans. “Can’t.”

Crowding into your space, Jungkook leaves no room for you to dodge his advance as his grip returns bruisingly on your jaw and he pushes forward to press his lips against yours. His kiss is hard, painful and wet, with the moisture on your face. His tongue slips in around the cry of shock that escapes you, and for a few nauseating seconds you’re subjected to what you can only think he imagines to be a passionate kiss.

You turn your face in an attempt to break the kiss, but he follows you, hand pushing back across the left side of your face to curve around your ear and pull your lips back to his, leaving an agonising spike of pain behind as he jarr’s your neck in the process. Your hands are trapped against his chest, pressing futilely, unable to gather enough strength in your arms to push him away.

In one last desperate attempt, you open your mouth into his kiss and as his tongue slides across your lip and back into your mouth, you quickly bare down and bite his tongue as hard as you can. Blood is coating the back of your teeth when he rips away from you, and you spit it out without a second thought, flinching as he changes like a lightswitch. “No! Mine! You’re mine!”

In a flash the desperate softness is gone, the hollow emptiness back in his eyes as he grabs you by the throat and pulls you from the faux security of your corner with a painful tug. You wheeze as he pulls you close, wrapping the dagger-wielding arm around your waist and using his hold to twist your feet out from under you and push you backwards in the direction of your bed.

“Can’t have you–can’t have you. Won't let him.”

It’s your body's natural instinct to struggle, and struggle you do. Arms pinned under his are barely of use, but you thrash them anyway, unable to scream with the pressure he still holds on your neck, but your throat muscles contract painfully under his hand regardless. Only managing an airy screech, you break off into a choked gasp as the cold of the dagger finds its way onto your skin through your shirt, moments before he releases his hold and lets your weakened body drop back onto the bed.

The moment his hold is relinquished on your airways you’re gasping for air and bunching your legs up towards your chest as he rushes to climb utop you. Every self defense masterclass Jimin had ever made you take flashes through your mind as his hips quickly move in to press against the backs of your thighs, and you muster all the strength you can in your arms to lifts them right as he swoops in and brace your splayed palms firmly against the front swells of his shoulders.

Jungkook bares down against you with his entire body weight, and even as the both of you grunt in effort, his hold on the dagger limits his mobility just enough, too focused on getting his body as flush to yours as he can. The fingers of the hand not holding his weapon are slipping under your waistband, sticky, cold fingertips clawing at your bare flesh in struggle, and encouraging your efforts as you keep your arms locked at the elbows and plant your left foot on the bed. Jimin’s voice is in the back of your head, screaming the instructions at you over and over again, and you quickly twist to the left, right leg curling up even further until your foot can find the bend of his pelvis.

The pressure of your foot pushing him forces the hand on your hip to tear back out from inside your pants and clutch at the bed, trying to keep his stability, and hope reignites in your chest as he sways long enough for your hold to slip from his shoulders to just above his elbows. From here you have enough mobility to bring your left leg up to match the right on his other hip, effectively trapping him where he is and keeping him slightly off kilter.

The fabric underneath you makes it harder to move up the bed away from him as he pushes against you with a growl of anger, frustration clearly getting to him as he struggles to retrieve the power you’ve managed to regain. But with a relieved sob, the strength of your legs is just enough to have him slipping back on his knees, increasing the space between your bodies with only a slight struggle.

His anger mounts to the point where he attempts to lash out again, losing his grasp on the dagger somewhere in the sheets as he tries to pull back out of your hold, swaying only for a moment before attempting to swing the momentum towards you. Yet with a flash of movement, and the miracle of space between you, your leg rears back far enough to get some force behind it, and with your hands slipping down to claw a rough grip on his wrists, you deliver a swift, straight-on kick to his stomach.

Visibly winded, Jungkook forgets his advancement on you with a pained gasp, falling far enough back to slip half off the edge of the bed, barely catching one leg under him on the floor and one knee on the mattress as he curls over on himself and dry heaves a sob of absolute torture.

Taking the small window of chance you have, you don't look twice – rolling off to the side and falling onto the floor yourself. Ignoring the pain in your knees, as you scramble your limbs under you, and make a break for the bathroom doorway.

The roar of pure rage behind you has every hair on your body standing on end, and you scream as you slip on the bathroom tiles, almost losing your footing before you manage a hold on the bathroom counter. Dashing off to the left once you’re stable enough, you try your best to ignore the crash of Jungkook’s pursuit as he collides with the door behind you and seemingly breaks it right off its hinges.

He’s still affected by the aftershocks of your kick, gasping and staggering as his body tries to recover while he still pushes himself, but you’re equally struggling as your nerves are locked up with anxiety, legs stiff and uncoordinated as his growing proximity has you panicking. Right after you tear out into the hall, arm brushing against the wall as you swerve, he clashes with the plaster right behind you, reaching out and swiping at you roughly with the dagger. And you can hear the whistle of the blade slicing through the air, missing you by millimetres...the first time

“Help me, ple–ah!” You shout as the dagger manages to catch you on an upsweep, grazing your shoulder and sending a burning pain instantly across the area of skin. You grab your shoulder, staggering again before picking up the pace and finally escaping the hall into the openness of your living area. “Help!”

“No!”

As you manage to round the island in the centre of your kitchen, Jungkook finally comes to a stop on the opposite end of the table. There, the two of you stand-off in a tense silence, staring hard at each other as you both pant for breath. He spits a mouthful of blood out onto the countertop, a streak of it marring his chin before he lifts an equally bloody hand and swipes at it, careless of the proximity of the weapon he holds as he spreads the red stain further across his skin.

Neither of you move for a good few moments, and as you start to catch your breath, and the ringing in your ears starts to wind down, you hear it.

Sirens. Loud. And getting closer by the second. And–

“_____!” Taehyung’s voice cuts through the tension, the door to your apartment rattling as he bashes into it from the outside. “_____! Let me in, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“N–No! NO! YOU’RE MINE. MINE! HE DOESN’T GET THE HAPPINESS I DESERVED!” Jungkook steps to the side, as if to dash around the island towards you, but you immediately counter his movement with a step of your own, closer to the apartment door, and he immediately corrects himself and steps back, which you mirror.

“_____! The code! What’s the code?!” Taehyung is desperate, and it has Jungkook panicking even more, head whipping off to the side before snapping back to you.

“It's over, Jungkook.” You whisper, calming down faster as you listen to the sirens get even closer. They’re right outside now, and you know it’s only a minute or two before they get up here. But as you watch, Jungkook starts to shake with fury, and faster than you can comprehend, he’s flicking the dagger in his hand to pinch the blade between forefinger and thumb before lining up his shot and readying himself to launch it at you.

You won’t be able to move fast enough, this much you know instantly, and the sudden confrontation has you panicking, eyes wide with shock and pulling a smirk on his lips as he watches your expression change.

“If I can’t have you, _____. No one can.”

“Taehyung! The code is 64785!” You act on survival instinct, hands grabbing ahold of the counter as Jungkook’s arm rears back, and you can hear the beeping of Taehyung entering the code immediately, hope blooming in your chest.

But dread is what holds onto your heart like cement.

“I’m going to kill your friend.” Jungkook’s voice is merely a poisonous whisper, and as fast as you can register his words, he’s moving. The small throwing knife he has procured in his left hand whips through the air faster than you can move. You throw yourself to the side, regardless, not even registering the chime of your apartment door unlocking or the crash of Taehyung breaching the entryway.

Pain flares through your right arm as the knife embeds itself through a decent amount of flesh, a shriek leaving you as you sway off to the side and collapse to the floor. But the sight of the two men before you colliding in the entryway of your apartment is what truly leaves pain stabbing through your heart.

Taehyung barely manages to throw a punch in Jungkook’s direction, too distracted with your collapse and not enough on the opponent in front of him, and in one short, swift movement, Jungkook curls his arm between them, and pierces the blade right into Taheyung’s stomach.

“NO!” The scream that rips from your throat is dry and burning, and tears well up anew in your eyes with a feeling akin to needles. Futile, you struggle on the floor with only one good arm, immediately beginning to crawl towards the pair as Taehyung drops to his knees, eyes wide and gasping up at Jungkook’s still form.

Jungkook let’s go as Taehyung falls, leaving the dagger embedded in his abdomen and turning to you with an empty look. You can still hear Taehyung fighting for air as Jungkook takes his next steps towards you, watching with an almost numb expression as you whimper and battle with your own body to move backwards away from his approach.

“_____!” The two of you have barely a moment to freeze in place as heavy footsteps scatter into the hallway outside your apartment, and Jungkook cracks. You can barely hear your own noises of panic as he launches himself at you, scrambling to do whatever he can to reach you but Jimin is faster. You can only watch as Jungkook spins on his heel to meet him head on, as Jimin crashes into him.

They fall hard in front of you, Jimin immediately gaining the upper hand and rearing above Jungkook to rain a heavy fist down over his face, but Jungkook recovers faster than you’d have expected, hand pulling from his side with a glint of silver, and Jimin’s name leaves you in dry shriek as Jungkook swipes up from underneath and tries to stab into his chest.

Jimin manages to jerk back fast enough, the thin blade now in Jungkook’s hand only managing to very slightly slice through Jimin’s shirt and over his stomach before the knife is knocked from his hand, but you heave and scramble up onto your knees as a sliver of blood is left behind and Jungkook is rearing back for another attempt. He uses his advantage of having gotten Jimin off balance over him, lifting his body and using the space between them to land a well placed palm into his jaw, and you sob as Jimin’s back and head hit the floor with a dull thud.

You move in synchrony with Jungkook, lifting yourself up even as your legs scream beneath you. The dazed, pained look on Jimin’s face and the sight of Jungkook getting the upper hand, wide, bloody palms wrapping tight around Jimin’s neck and the choked sound that escapes him filling you with enough energy to launch yourself forward.

“Jimin!” Hoseok finally appears in the doorway in your peripheral vision. “_____! Fuc–!”

Jungkook howls and jerks under you as you pierce his back with the blade you’d ripped from your own arm, the blood covering your hand making it harder to hold it firm but the pure blind panic filling your every sense keeping your grip tight even as he twists off Jimin and attempts to face the new attack.

Twice, three times, four–eight–eleven–nineteen, thirty.

You have no idea how many times your fist plunges the blade into Jungkook’s abdomen, losing time in the grey haze that settles over your mind.

“_____! Jesus, fuck, baby stop! He’s dead, baby, stop!”

Jimin holds you tight, battling the way you thrash and twist in his arms as he attempts to catch your chin and tilt your face towards his. You’re gagging on your own gasps, whimpering and pushing at his chest as he drags you further away from where Jungkook’s body lays prone between the back of your couch and the island. The knife he’d wrangled free of your fist lays somewhere in the splattered pool of blood that halo’s Jungkook’s form.

Slowly, slowly, you come to, and the moment your body recognizes the safety and warmth of Jimin’s embrace, you sag into his arms with a heavy sob, clutching at him tighter than ever as more voices fill the room.

But nothing else matters now, because the only thing you can hear is his heart as yours beats in sync.

**********

You haven’t a clue what time it is, staring blankly at the wall of Jimin’s office as people rush back and forth outside the glass windows. Only thin slivers of light make it through the shuttered blinds, casting beams of white that barely manage to light up the room. Shivering again, you tuck your feet tighter beneath you on the leather chair, Jimin’s blazer pulled tight around your shoulders, and you bury your nose down into the fabric, trying to fill your senses with him as an attempt to keep yourself calm.

The numb feeling that had gripped ahold of you hadn’t yet dissipated, sticking around long after the tears had dried up, eyes burning and head throbbing with pain. Detective ‘So-and so’ Min had done his best to take your statement, frowning and sighing through your harrowed silence and broken sentences, finally conceding when Hoseok had quickly dismissed the questions for the rest of the day.

Jimin had been pulled from you shortly after arriving at the station, promising to come back to you within a couple of minutes but disappearing for close to an hour. You could only console yourself with the knowledge it wasn’t by choice, only imagining the pile of questions and paperwork that had awaited him, regardless of how badly you ached to be back in his arms.

Hoseok had come in to check on you periodically, but even he had left you to the silence, instead retreating to his own office with the reminder he was only next door if you needed anything. You appreciate the sentiment.

Your eyes had begun to grow heavy quickly, drooping and fluttering before a noise in the hall outside would have you jumping back into place with your heart beating out of your chest and your skin crawling. Each time forcing yourself to calm down with whispered words, closing your eyes and reminding yourself that you were safe, and Jungkook couldn’t get near you anymore. But after last night, nowhere felt secure enough to calm your raging anxiety.

Footsteps outside the door merge with a shadow, breaking through the blinds and flowing over you before they stop behind the wood and the handle gently turns. You no longer have the energy to greet Hoseok each time he comes in, so you stay in place on Jimin’s office chair, almost huddling yourself deeper into his blazer.

“Hey.” Jimin’s voice immediately breaks through your exhaustion, and your head whips to the side as you quickly stand to meet him, blazer falling to the floor without a second glance. His arms wrap around your shoulders, and your face buries into the warmth of his chest, inhaling his scent deeply as you shiver against him. Instantly, his palm is stroking the back of your head, squeezing you tight enough to make you feel like you’re whole again, and you finally start to feel more at ease just being with him. “The doctors got back to us about Taehyung.”

“He’s okay?” You pick your chin up only far enough to see up into his eyes, and he gives you a tired smile, hand shifting around to cup your cheek, and you lean into the warmth.

“He’ll definitely be sore for a while, but he’s being well taken care of. There’s no serious damage done which is very lucky.” Your bottom lip quivers, the relief affecting you more than you thought it would; cracking through the emotionless shell that had started to harden on your face. Jimin pulls you close again, this time pressing his lips gently to your forehead before rocking you back and forth, and your eyes instinctively slip shut. “You already know he doesn’t blame you for what happened, sweetheart. He’s just happy you’re safe.”

“He could’ve died.” Your voice is little more than a croak, throat too dry and tender to speak comfortably at regular pitch, and you can feel Jimin shake his head slowly where his lips are still pressed against you.

“He’s not the only one.” He reminds you, finally relinquishing the embrace to lean down and sweep the blazer from the floor, shaking it out before slipping it back around your shoulders and rubbing firmly up and down your sides. You can see the muddy stain of dried blood on his neck, knowing just as well that your own body has similar stains in a few areas –some more intense than others– as well as a few aches and pains.

The arm which Jungkook had managed to injure was luckily all flesh wounding, the angle having merely skimmed past the muscle and luckily left no permanent muscular damage, and a small pit stop at the hospital, some high strength anti inflammatory painkillers, and a short sit had you stitched right up in no time. And even better was the mark on your back, barely a scratch that had felt like a scarring wound.

But the fatigue hasn't taken long to catch up to you, your body weary from stress and adrenaline, aches that only time will fix lingering in your bones, and now that he’s back with you, it makes it ten times harder to resist finally letting your eyes fall shut. And though Jimin wears a strong mask of composure for you, the tightness around his eyes and the slack of his shoulders tells you more than he could ever say.

“You’re okay too, right?” Pulling away, you look down at his stomach, mind flashing back to the sliver of red Jungkook had swiped across his stomach, and you automatically reach for the hem of his freshly-changed tshirt. He chuckles, shaking his head as he grabs your hand halfway, and you frown up at him.

“I’m fine, you don’t need to worry.” You continue to press on, waving off his attempts to convince you, but you quickly see he’s not just lying for your benefit when the toned muscles are revealed. “Heh–“

You can certainly see the mark, a thin, arching line that starts deeper to the left of his navel and the feathers off up under the right side of his ribcage. It’s still more than you would want, but you’re relieved to see no stitches or heavy bandaging, the sliver of damage no doubt going to disappear in a few days.

“See?” He teases, distending his tummy out and slouching to make his stomach more pronounced, only stopping when your lips lift and you poke at his bellybutton. Bright smile dropping, he pulls your hand till his shirt falls and holds you close again, looking down into your drooping eyes. “There’s that smile.”

For a few calm, peaceful moments, the two of you stand in the hush of his darkened office, ignoring the bustle of the work outside the door. Looking into his eyes, there’s so much sitting within them that you know he wants to say, and you don’t doubt he finds the same in yours. So much has happened in the last 12 hours that your outlook on life and the way you want to live it has changed entirely. Including who you want to live it with.

But before anything can be said, Jimin squeezes you tight around the middle and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear before taking your hand in his and leading you away from his desk.

“Let’s go home.”

**********

A sense of relaxation, even as the bureau disappears into the horizon behind Jimin’s car, seems far off and unattainable as ever, the silence between the two of you covered with the layer of deafening noise within your own head. Jimin’s hand moves occasionally between the gearstick and your thigh, fingers warm and grounding as he does his best to soothe the war he can see raging behind your irises.

Your skin stays raised in goosebumps under the too-thick fabric of your jeans, the layers of clothes tightly trying to hold you together whilst only making your skin feel like it’s ready to rip apart. Exhaustion weighs heavy in your bones but your muscles haven’t seemed to lose their sense of adrenaline, and the way each different part of your body fights for your brain's attention makes you feel even more numb while you try to overcome the overload of sensation.

Every dark corner and unfamiliar noise on the way up to Jimin’s apartment has you flinching and holding onto his arm tighter and tighter, but he simply pulls you into his side and wraps his arm around you, pressing his lips to your temple as the elevator stops on his floor and he leads you down the hall.

The chime of the security system locking only serves to make you feel the slightest bit safer, and as much as it makes your head hurt to consider, you can’t help but remind yourself over and over that Jungkook is dead, and he can’t get near you anymore.

“You want some water? How is your head feeling?” You turn to look at Jimin as he gently pulls the jacket from your shoulders and slips it over the back of the nearest dining chair.

“I don’t think this headache is gonna go away with just aspirin.” You try to lift one side of your mouth into a smile but you lack the energy, and Jimin frowns at the emptiness behind your eyes. “My brains working way too hard trying to process this whole...this whole day. I don’t know what I’m meant to do, I just...I feel so numb, Jimin. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel like myself again.”

“No one expects anything from you right now, _____.” Jimin steps forward to rub at your arm, and you feel sick to find that this kind of careful, weary comfort does nothing but make your skin crawl. You crave more from Jimin, the kind of consolation you know only he can provide you, and though the hurt flashes deep in his eyes before he can hide it, you’re recoiling out of his reach and taking a deep, shaking breath. “And you don’t have to try and force yourself to process this. Take your time, reflect on the way you want to feel, and we can go from there.”

You stay looking into Jimin’s eyes, soaking yourself in the underlying strength he’s always been able to hold even on his most tired of days, and trying your best to take some of that on yourself. And after a few moments of silence, you step forward and wrap your arms around his middle, closing your eyes when he returns your embrace and squeezes you tightly.

He holds you there. Long enough that you start to feel the way he’s holding the million fragile pieces you’d become, together in one piece in the palms of his hands. Achy bodied, you eventually pull back just far enough to look up into his face, and he immediately presses a soft kiss on the crinkle between your brows “What can I do for you, sweetheart?”

“I’d…really like a shower.”

He nods, smiling gently, and seconds later he’s pulling you through to the bathroom and leaving you momentarily to fetch a change of clothes from his room for you. Though you’d rather avoid it, your eyes immediately run over your reflection in the mirror, and you find yourself leaning in close as though you can search for the answers to your hundred and one questions somewhere in your hallowed eyes. There’s a few smudges of blood still on your chin and neck that you hadn’t managed to clean up completely, and the water from the tap is freezing on your skin as you scrub it raw.

When you finally stand from where you’d bent over the sink, whipping at your dripping chin, you make eye contact with Jimin behind you in the mirror, and it takes the heavy look on his face and the breathlessness taking over your chest to realise you’d started to gasp for air, eyes growing teary and aching.

“Oh, baby.” He drops the clothes and towel on the bench beside you, pressing himself against your back and slipping his arms around you. One hand lifts to cup the side of your face, thumb meeting a stray tear halfway down your cheek and swiping it away. “Shh.”

“I can’t...I can’t go back, Jimin.” You sob roughly as he holds you even tighter, keeping his eyes locked on yours no matter how much you blink or shake. “Everything I own, he’s tainted. My home isn’t my home anymore. I don’t have anything, I don’t know what I’m gonna do…”

“Shhh, sweet, silly girl.” Pulling you until you face him again, Jimin cups both your cheeks. “I’m right here. What’s mine is yours, _____. Always has been, always will be. No matter what you need, you have it. Even my heart is yours, _____. That’s never changed even for a second.”

“I love you, Jimin.” It’s not at all the way you’d hoped to have told him, feeling so out of sorts it’s hard to recognize your own reflection as yourself, but if anything has shown you that time is too short to bite your tongue over the way you feel, it’s today.

Jimin inhales, not a gasp but a deep, steadying breath, and his thumbs indent the soft parts of your cheeks as his hands tighten their hold on your face. Your fingers tangle in the hem of his shirt as he leans down closer, and you almost shut your eyes on instinct before your lashes flutter open again.

“I love you. So much.” Stroking over your cheeks, his thumbs trail down to your jaw before he slips one hand behind your neck, the other dropping to hold you tight against him with a palm pressed to the small of your back. “My darling girl. I love you more than you can ever know.”

Jimin’s lips meet yours like two waves crashing together, colliding against each other before blending together as one, and as your eyes slip closed, and Jimin guides your head to deepen the kiss, you finally get that feeling of safety and comfort that you’d been waiting for.

There is no goal to be made in this embrace, no race to be won. Simply the two of you locked so tightly together as you both give your entire soul to make the other feel all the things you want to say but can’t find the words for. Jimin’s hand cupping the side of your neck sweeps back, shifting your hair behind you, and soon his arm is holding you tight as his palm finds the nape of your neck, and the hand on your lower back relaxes and comes forward to hold you at the hip.

The skin of Jimin’s stomach is balmy on your palms where your hands have slipped beneath his shirt, searching for his warmth as you start to shiver in his arms, and he pulls away from you to press heated lips down over the tear tracks on your cheek.

His lips find yours with a soft press one, two, three more times before he simply rests his forehead against yours and holds you close for a moment, nothing but the sound of your two heartbeats to fill the silence. “Shower?”

“Yes, please.” You concede his pulling away from you, trying not to feel too hollow when his warmth moves away from your chilled skin, watching as he flicks the shower taps on with practiced ease, adjusting it to the best temperature and holding his hand beneath the stream to test the heat. “Will...will you stay with me?”

There’s not even a second thought crossing your mind before you ask, the sheer desperation to keep Jimin close at all times for the foreseeable future, something you don’t dare to deny yourself for the fear you may fall apart without him.

“Of course I will.” When you glance back up, Jimin is already looking at you over his shoulder, shaking the water off his hand before turning to close the bathroom door most of the way shut. Your hands reach for his shirt as he returns to you, and he doesn’t question you for a moment, simply lifting his arms above his head and letting you slip the fabric from him and drop it to the floor. He finds the buckle of his pants on his own, belt clanking on the floor with his shirt before he kicks the slacks to the side and soon he’s completely bare in front of you, both body and soul, and before you can think he’s reaching out to help you.

Kneeling on one knee, Jimin quickly and gently plucks open the button of your jeans before shuffling the too-tight fabric down your legs. He soothes the goose-pimpled chill that follows with a caressing hand as you lift each foot out of the jeans one at a time, instinctively using his shoulders to stabilise yourself and letting your eyes slip closed as he presses the softest of kisses along your inner left thigh, his hand cupping your calf as you find your balance again.

Your shirt and bra are handled in the same manner, Jimin’s tentative touches and soothing warmth seeming to cover every place you need it to, and when you’re down to just panties you take that step yourself, hooking your thumbs under the band and letting them drop to the floor before Jimin grasps your hand and pulls you into the steam-filled shower.

The water is almost too hot, the steam fogging up the glass walls and blocking out the outside world, and you finally allow yourself to relax into Jimin’s arms fully, the warm water streaming over the back of your hair and down your spine as your bare flesh presses to his completely. It's been so long since you’ve felt comfort to this extent, and you can help but hum into the base of his throat as his fingers run down the length of your spine to tickle circles into the small of your back.

Your arms are wound loose around Jimin’s hips, as you allow him to simply guide you himself, twisting the two of you side to side under the stream of water, avoiding your bandaged arm regardless of the waterproofed dressing. One arm releases you to reach somewhere behind you, and the sound of a bottle cracking open echoes against the tiles moments before you feel him rub his hands together.

Reaching up to pull your hair away up from your back, you look up as Jimin presses his lips to your forehead, hands finding the base of your spine and massaging the tense muscles lining your back to up and around the base of your neck. The water streams down between your bodies from the side where he’s turned you, slicking up the press and slide of him moving against you, and your eyes slip shut again as you simply enjoy the feeling as he washes the rest of your body.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you the way I should’ve been.” Your eyes snap open as you feel his fingers trace the outside of the bandage on your arm, and you can see the complete devastation in Jimin's face without even needing him to meet your eyes.

“Jimin.” You let go of your hair, trading it to hold his face until he finally returns your gaze, and you can’t help but press a kiss to his lower lip, unable to resist now that you’ve been given the chance again. “Jimin, I’m alive because of you.”

“You’re in this position because of me.” He pulls away from you, using his hold on your hips to push you back under the water until you’re forced to let go of him. He guides your head back under the stream further until every inch of your hair is drenched and then pushes you to turn until your back is to him. “Because of the way I acted. If I had been better, if I’d done the right thing and treated people the right way back then...none of this would have happened.”

“Stop.” You reach back to grab his arm, pulling it around you and urging him to hold you tight. “I dont...I can’t talk about things like this, please.”

Jimin spins you once more in his arms, eyes still sad but a twist to his mouth that tells you he’s doing his best to do as you ask, and you hold his gaze until you no longer can, hair rinsing out under the water.

He washes you from top to toe, cleaning every inch of you until you start to feel a little more human, a little more put together, and when he guides you to step from the shower it's straight into his arms and the fluffiest towel he owns before you can blink.

Nothing much else is uttered from there, only words unspoken that linger in his eyes as he dresses you and himself before tucking you into bed. And you simply lose yourself in those moments between consciousness and sleep, finding the only comfort you need in his arms and between his lips and yours.

**********

You’re torn from sleep by your own scream, mind unable to remember or comprehend the nightmare that had taken over you. Heart beating out of your chest, your eyes fly around the room before landing on Jimin’s worried face above you, and for a few seconds you simply stare at him as the ringing in your ears starts to subside and give way to the gentle murmuring of his voice as he does his best to reassure you.

“S-Sorry.” You sit up into his embrace with his help, sweeping the hair back away from your face and taking a shaky breath. Jimin stay’s close, pushing your hair behind your ear and blocking the outside world out as you slowly regain your composure.

“Don’t be.” He whispers into your cheek, nuzzling his nose against you and pulling you close as you both close your eyes and simply breath. You can hear the faint sound of the city below outside his bedroom window, but there is not yet any sunlight to break the darkness. “I’m here. Everything’s okay.”

You can’t explain the way you feel even to yourself, skin feeling too tight over your muscles and the sour sense of discomfort that has seemed to linger no matter the efforts of Jimin’s consolation. And nothing is truly as draining as the feeling of inescapable numbness that lines your consciousness, and you know it’s your brain struggling to process everything that’s happened and trying to give you something you can truly feel.

But all you can stand to feel is Jimin.

It takes a mere second to lift your head and press your lips to his, feeling his own part instantly in acceptance of your embrace while his hands press to your shoulder blades to help hold you where you’ve lifted yourself to wrap an arm around his neck. Yearning for more of his essence has you lifting yourself up onto your knees and crawling into the triangle of space between his own, and he cradles your waist as you move towards him.

Jimin’s hands tighten at your hips with the desperation building in the ardent presses of your lips and for a second you feel him start to pull back before his questioning hum is immediately silenced by your tongue trailing along his lower lip. All at once he withdraws from you, firm in his ignorance of your pleading whine as he pushes you back just far enough to stop your advances and fix you with a weary, confused expression.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” Jimin pays no mind to the way you reach for him, holding you solidly in place as he studies your features carefully. “I’m not sure what’s going on here, I need to know you’re okay.”

“M’fine, J’min, please…” Your hands reach for him again and he lets you get close enough to touch, eyes still piercing as his brows pinch together in concern. “Just, I just wanna feel… something good. I–”

“Baby, I wanna take care of you.” He reassures you easily, finally letting you get close again without losing your eyes. “I want nothing more than to make you feel good in every way I possibly can. But I need to know that we’re doing things the right way for what's best for you right now.”

You gaze up at him quietly, fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck as he plays with the ends of your own. His brown eyes look black in the darkness of the night that paints his room, but there’s an uncompromising warmth that no amount of light or darkness has ever been able to hinder.

“Please.” Frustration starts to bubble in the pit of your stomach. The one thing you want right now so close yet so far in this moment that it has tears starting to prickle your tired eyes. Embarrassment whirls in the forefront of your mind but you’re too tired to care and, as a lonely tear manages to escape you, Jimin quickly surges forward and pulls you tight against him. Lips cover your cheeks in tiny kisses, and he hushes you gently as a whine is pulled out of your throat once more, only to be cut off but Jimin’s lips.

This kiss is different from the last. Heat now underlines the ardent press of his lips and he holds you close like he fears you may disappear into thin air should he release you. This time when you lift higher above him on your knees and slip a leg over his, his other hand follows to pull you more easily onto his lap, and his legs spread out beneath you as he slowly reclines back onto the bed.

You shuffle up, straddling his hips properly, and Jimin pushes your hair to one side when he reaches up to grasp your chin and pull you back down to his lips. You feel jumpy, almost like adrenaline, desperation in the way your hands press and grip at the hard curves of his shoulders and biceps, flexing when he’s got a handful of your thigh and is pulling you ever closer. His tongue meets yours with a tentative flick, teasing as you deepen the kiss and he sucks your lip between his teeth with a hum of pleasure.

His thighs twitch upwards when your hips start to roll slowly, without you even noticing, and the squeeze of flesh over your hip between his fingers has you jerking to a stop before pressing down again even harder, feeling the way his length starts to respond quickly under your ministrations as he groans into your mouth.

Breathlessness pulls you away from him as your face starts to flush, starting to become overwhelmed by sensation as he caresses every inch of your body with his touch. But he doesn’t give you a moment of pause before moving his kisses down your neck, and a firm hand eases your head to one side to expose the most sensitive spot that he’s never forgotten about.

The spot that made your breath hitch under a gasp, and your hips undulate just that little bit faster. That one spot that, combined with the hand that has now crept up to tease the stiffening peak of your nipple through the fabric of your nightshirt, has the crotch of your shorts starting to stick between the apex of your thighs.

Jimin is unhurried when he reaches up, pulling the end of your shirt up and over your head to expose your torso, and as he thumbs at the waistband of your shorts, he presses his face into the swell of your breasts to take a deep inhale of your scent before pushing against you to lay you back on the bed. You cradle him to your chest, moaning as his hands slip underneath your shorts to take two handfuls of your ass and encourage you to lift up just enough to quickly pull the fabric from your legs.

It’s instinct, the way your hands immediately reach for Jimin’s own waistband to even the scores but you’re interrupted by your own gasp as he pushes you down with a hand on your chest, the second slipping between your thighs to leave you scrunching his waistband between your fingers. His heated stare keeps your gaze locked with his as he runs his fingers through your folds, gathering the wetness on his fingertips slowly as you gasp against his lips.

His mouth pouts against yours gently, eyes never breaking focus, and the corner of his lips perks up when you swallow a moan at the sparks of pleasure starting to ignite as he strokes slowly over your clitoral hood. Fabric crackling under your hands, you try and pull his hips closer to yours, but your efforts prove futile when he easily pulls further away to kiss down over your breasts. The sky outside is starting to lighten in the early morning sunrise, warm light only just starting to peak over the horizon, and it means that when Jimin finally pulls back to look down at your body properly, you can’t help but instinctively turn your head to the side shyly knowing he can see every inch of you like this.

“So beautiful.” Reverent hands glide down over your breasts and waist to squeeze the extra flesh at your hips, and though you’re embarrassed to know you’re not the skinny young woman Jimin once knew, the heat in his eyes when you meet them has your skin tingling with excitement. His hands push back up to cup and roll your breasts until the peaks of your nipples are tight against his palms, and this time when he leans down, it’s to envelope one into his warm mouth and roll it under his tongue.

Your back arches up into his ministrations, and you gasp into the empty air far too loudly for this time of morning, teeth clamping down on your lower lip as Jimin hums tingles of delight into your skin until you’re thoroughly covered in goosebumps. He then switches to your other nipple to repeat the sensations until you’re writhing uncontrollably, and when you finally break and jerk against him to reach down and wrap your hand around his hardened length through his shorts, he pulls back with a hiss and reaches back down between your thighs instead.

You moan as he slips further down the bed on his stomach, far enough down to lay his head on your thigh, and you blush heavily as his eyes land on your core, shining with desire and clenching down in despair as your craving peaks. A gentle thumb presses on your flesh, easing back the hood of your clitoris and before you can mumble a complaint about his staring, his mouth is enveloping the sensitive nerve in warmth as his tongue grazes against it roughly.

His hand moves down to tease his thumb around your slit, gauging just how wet you are before his tongue swipes down over your folds to leave you even wetter, making the gentle prodding of his finger a little easier as he starts to drag it harder and harder over your entrance until the flesh starts to part for him on it’s own.

“Hnng-ah!” There is nothing gentle about the way your hands grab and pull at Jimin’s hair, unable to control yourself as the pleasure blooms between your hips way more intense than you expected, but he quickly eases up at your overwhelmed whine, using just the tip of his tongue to gently flick and stroke over the pulsing nub. “D-Don’t–”

Jimin pulls back instantly, hand moving to carefully caress your outer thigh as he eases your legs back together under his chin. Concern is clear in his eyes and you bite your lips, feeling silly to have lost yourself so fast and worried him. “You okay? You wanna stop, sweetheart?”

“N-no! I-I’m sensitive. I just–” Heavy blush is warming your cheeks and Jimin smiles up at you softly as he presses a kiss to your knee. “I-I havent...nobodies...not since you.”

A sweet smile breaks across Jimin’s lips at at the darling way you shyly whisper the words, and he reaches down under you to wrap strong arms around your waist and pull you back up to sit in his lap, hips pressing firm against each other as he uses the freedom of his hands to run soothing fingertips up and down your back.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders as he pulls you close, and you can't help but return his smile as he leans in and puckers soft lips against the crease of your elbow.

“Me too.” You blink down at him in surprise, but he simply grins up at you before easing the flyaway hair at the back of your head down with gentle fingers. “It’s always been you, _____. I don’t think I could bring myself to even think about someone else.”

“I love you, Jimin.” Your arms and legs wrap tight around him, and he squeezes you tight to his chest with a happy hum.

“I love you.” His reply is muffled by the way your lips crash against his, and this time when you reach down to tug at his shorts, he lets you. Leaning back to brace himself on one arm, he lifts his hips until you can both shimmy the fabric off and under the sheets somewhere, and when you finally wrap your hand around him, and he groans deep in your mouth, the heat fully envelopes your mind and every sensation is full of Jimin like you’ve craved for so long.

His abdomen tenses as he thrusts up into your hold instinctively, and his hand loops around your wrist to tug your grip away from his sensitive member as he pulls you up over his hips and scooches up the bed until his back meets the headboard, staring up into your eyes. He breaks your gaze only to reach over into the bedside table, the small bottle he procures leaving a smile on your face as he uncaps the lubricant and squeezes some into his palm.

The gel is warm by the time he spreads it over his fingers and brings it between your thighs, and you lift yourself up just enough, bracing yourself with arms wrapped around his neck as your hips twitch at the gentle touch. Liberally, he spreads it over your folds, running his fingers through and down to your entrance with a tilted smile, and his grin only grows when your hips jerk unintentionally.

Barely a minute can pass before the slight touches become almost unbearable, and you’re reaching down behind yourself to grasp him at the base. But he catches your arm behind you quickly, hand leaving your core to run whatever is left on his fingers down his shaft until his hand meets yours. And together, with the slightest tilt of your hips, the two of you ease him between your walls.

You don't even notice that you're holding your breath, the tension in your body fully encompassed by the way you gradually relax down onto him, and for a few long moments, all either of you can do is revel in the feeling of being connected again. And even though the moment has only just begun, it already feels like coming home, body opening up for him as though he’d never left.

Jimin’s eyes flutter as his head hits the wood behind him with a dull sound, and your eyes zone in on the muscle in his jaw that clenches the lower you slide onto him. His hand wrapped around your wrist behind you gives a squeeze, and as your hips nestle deep into his, his free hand lifts to grip your face as his hips give an unintentional roll, and it's like a punch to the stomach as air finally rushes down into your lungs when you gasp, thighs immediately clamping down around him.

“O-oh!” You’re barely strong enough to hold yourself upright, the intensity of finally being this close to Jimin again is staggering, and you can’t control yourself as your hips jerk down into his, leaving the two of you gasping at the surge of unprecedented pleasure.

“Shit.” Jimin’s fingers squeeze a little harder as he groans, and your fingernails dig in on his shoulder as you watch heat swirl in his eyes, any sense of composure he normally holds completely lost. He pulls you closer by the chin, the heat of his breath now brushing over your lips, and the arm behind you pulls you even further against him as your walls give a shuddering squeeze as they clench around him rhythmically. He can feel the way your breath hitches against his face, and the slow dance starts as the two of you groan and pant, hips rolling slowly into desperation against each other.

Blood is starting to rush through your ears as your movements become more depraved, and the way he pushes against all the right spots inside you leaves your memories a mere shadow in the distance. Nothing you’ve ever felt compares to this moment in his arms, and the shock to your body has you hurtling into the abyss as you lose all semblance of self, feeling as though you're dissolving into him.

Sweat coats the skin between you, hips gliding in slick movements as you writhe against him, and the moans vibrating through him hum right into your core, and you find yourself echoing him. He spears deep into you, another tilt of his hips and yours grazing the tip of his length deep into the front of your core, leaving you crying out as you finally fall against him, and with a sharp tug your lips are pressing to his and he’s drinking in the sounds that escape you like an elixir.

“H-nghh-ah!” Your eyes clench shut as you grasp for his hand behind you, fingers squeezing between his as he continues to roll his hips under you. And it’s with an impressive example of his restraint that he manages to slow them to an almost stop and pulls away from your lips to let you breath, throat burning around a shuddered breath that almost kicks into a sob with the moisture budding behind your lids.

“Baby.” Jimin eases you carefully back to the surface, and it takes you a few seconds to realise just how hard your panting against his neck, arms both around his neck as he strokes a gentle hand up your back and over the nape of your neck. “Baby, talk to me.”

“J’min.” Shock takes over as your voice wavers, and you swallow thickly as he eases you back from his neck to look into your eyes. Your core is still pulsing around him, but you’re grateful for the reprieve as the two of you start to calm down, needing just a moment to really soak it all in before you can revel in him too much.

“Breath for me.” You do as he says, taking a deep breath as he runs a gentle thumb under your eyes, and for a few seconds all you do is return his gaze as he runs his hands over your body. “Doing so well for me. So beautiful. Love you so much.”

The words are so quiet you could almost think he hadn’t meant to say them out loud, but the warmth in his eyes and the tilt of his lips say otherwise, and you give him a shy smile in reply, cheeks starting to heat. “I love you.”

Jimin pulls you down to his lips once more, and you meet him eagerly as the need in your centre returns with a vengeance. The hitch of a moan you feed into his lips is echoed by the pulse of his member deep inside you, and you lift yourself up just enough to feel the friction of his against your walls, smiling shakily as a hiss leaves his lips at your ministrations. The pleasure starts to take over the forefront of your mind again, and as your movements grow bigger and more eager, so does the knot starting to tighten between your hips.

“F-Feels s-so–” You sob, teeth finding your lower lip as you jerkily roll your hips into Jimins, and at his deep growl of pleasure your clit gives a heavy throb, and you fall back to brace yourself with hands on his thigh as you lift yourself with a debauched level of eagerness. Jimin’s hand drop to find your hips, fingertips deep in your flesh as he holds you tight and throws his head back in ecstasy. The way you can see his eyes roll back before he closes them tight, nostrils flaring as he clenches his jaw, leaves you throbbing, and had you been of sound mind, the lewd sounds of your hips pushing and rolling against each other might’ve made you blush.

“S-So good, I–” But you’re in far too deep now, a hiccuped sob leaving you every time your hips drop into his, and Jimin is hardly faring any better as he grunts and moans, the veins in his neck popping as he swallows thickly, and your eyes catch on his tongue as it runs over his lower lip. Chin dropping forward, his eyes pierce straight into you when they finally open, and you almost jerk to a stop as the sight has your core clenching tight with a shocking pulse of lust.

“H-ah! I’m–!” Shuddering over him, you try to get back into a rhythm that resembles controlled, but fail miserably as Jimin leans up and forward to brace an arm behind himself as the other winds around your waist. You follow his lead, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, but you fumble as he gives a strong tug and leaves you gasping as his length pierces straight into you, deeper than before. And he is unwavering.

“Come on, baby.” Deep slaps of your hips against his echo around the room, almost drowned out by your cries as your entire body tenses with shock, and you can feel more than hear his groan as he leans in to suck your lower lip between his teeth, teasing you into a messy, breathless kiss that you can barely hold for half a second. You’re weak against him, entire body thrumming with a pleasure that is so wholly encompassing that it catches you off guard, and all you can do is take it as he pushes himself back until he’s laying back against the pillows. You’re too far gone to notice the hand he lifts to his lips until it’s too late, fingers wet with saliva when they slip down against your clit, and you choke on your own breath. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

Your climax hits you like a freight train, not a sound or breath escaping you as you rip Jimin’s hand from between your thighs and fall down weakly against his chest. You can’t hear a single thing around the blood rushing through your head as you pull up and off Jimin’s length in instant oversensitivity, and he automatically catches you in his arms as he shushes your now heaving sobs.

“Good girl, baby. You did so good for me, sweet girl. God, you’re so beautiful cumming for me like that. Missed you so much–” Jimin brings you down, gentle kisses lining your cheek as he holds you close and whispers into your ear, and as you start to breath again, and your mind starts to slowly clear, you can feel the way your release eases down your folds and no doubt pools over his length.

“J’min.” You slowly pull back with a weak arm trying to brace you against the bed beside his head, and his eyes glint as he grins up at you, holding you carefully. He hushes you again, thumbing at your chin now as he pulls you in, and the kiss is tender against your swollen lips as he strokes his other hand down to your lower back.

You kiss languidly for a few minutes, the strength slowly returning to your limbs as you regain some energy, and ever so gradually, the kiss starts to grow more eager. And with the sheer burning heat of him right underneath you, it’s not hard to expect the way your body starts to desire the feel of him again.

He hisses as your hips undulate back down against him, the sensitive tip of his length grazing and parting through your folds and leaving you to moan against his lips as he twitches and grunts beneath you. The hand at your hip squeezes you tight, shifting to take a handful of your ass as he pulls you against him again before pulling away from your lips and fixing you with his heavy stare.

“Only if you’re sure baby.” You look at him for a moment, smile small but growing quickly as his thumb runs over your lower lip, and you quickly move in again to fix his lips against yours, and wordlessly you reach down to lift his length until it aligns with your core, grinning as he jerks and squeezes you in his hold.

Your jaw instantly drops, a heavy breath escaping the both of you as he parts your folds once more, and this time the slide is a little slower, a little more intense for you as he parts your walls and nestles deep inside, but it doesn't take long for you to start to rock back and forth over him, and Jimin hides his face in your neck as a high pitched sound of pleasure escapes him. Hips rolling, you close your eyes and focus on the sounds he makes as you pleasure him, engraving them in your mind and shuddering as they lift the hairs on the back of your neck.

Pulling back in an effort to ground yourself from becoming too lost in him too fast, you sit up slowly and start to properly move, pushing down on him right to the hilt before pulling away until his tip barely kisses the insides of your folds. The sunlight has peaked over the horizon in the distance, filling the room with a lavender glow that quickly intensifies as you ride him with increasing desperation, and soon his hands join your efforts and pull you against him as he gazes up at you heatedly. His lips are parted on his breath, and you bite down on your own as the sight of his eyes starting to roll again has your clit throbbing.

“Baby.” Jimin’s head flies back as you grind down on him hard, the delicious expanse of his neck now exposed to you as he cries out, and just by the sound of his breath hitching around his little gasps of pleasure and the way his hands are shaking, you can tell he’s starting to get close to his release. And so you double your efforts, slamming down against him hard enough to make you yourself cry out, eyes clenched shut as he brushes against the deepest spots. “F-Fuck!”

“Hmh-ah!” Your breath is punched out of you as you’re twisted to the side, your back hitting the bed unexpectedly, and your eyes shoot open to see Jimin now above you, length gripped in his hand as he squeezes the tip hard in a desperate attempt not to cum, while he growls as he pushes your legs apart and falls over you to claim your mouth once more.

His breath is scalding as it washes over your lips, his heaving gasps for air a reflection of the way the sight of him has you breathless, and while your lips stay pressed together he pushes his hips forward to connect the two of you once more. Your arms find their way around his neck as he lifts a hand to cup your jaw, and with the first drive of his hips your body is thrust upward closer to the pillows.

Elbows dent the bed on either side of your waist, and Jimin's hands slip under you to cup the back of your shoulders and hold you in place. A gasp escapes you at the way his length delves deeper still as his thrusts hasten, and he pushes his thighs further apart as he solidifies his position over you, leaving your own unable to resist as you’re spread wider and your hips tilt upwards automatically.

This minute change in position has your core completely victim to Jimin’s will. And with every drop of his hips into yours, your body vibrates with electricity as the angle drives him right over your most sensitive spots and deep within where even the slightest twinges of pain are left to ignite the burn of impending doom even brighter. You can merely hang on and try to breath as ecstasy mounts.

A heavy clench of your walls has Jimin’s hips faltering for just a second before he resumes with a deep growl that he muffles into your neck, and you hold onto him desperately as he shifts a hand to clasp the back of your neck instead, shifting his weight to his elbow and using the now free hand to curl your thigh even higher on his hip.

The heat between the two of you is stifling, the slickness of sweat coating your bodies as the push and pull intensifies, and as your lashes flutter and the feeling between your hips starts to mount, you pull him back by the hair at the nape of his neck and fix his heavy gaze with yours.

“J’min, please-ah!” He cries out as you feel him swell and throb at your centre, and his hips grind heavy against yours. The press of him catches your clit and you whimper in oversensitivity as you squeeze him tight and you feel your core clench repeatedly as the tsunami drowns you, his breath hitching and lashes fluttering as his hips stutter and then finally stop.

Warm wetness leaks out and down from where you’re connected, but you pay no mind to the way it pools on the sheets under you as you cup his cheeks and lose yourself in the kiss he pulls you into. You drink him in like nectar, returning his embrace fervently as his tongue teases at the tip of yours, and he leans his weight off to one side to twist his fingers through the hair behind your ear.

By the time he pulls away from you light has broken through the buildings and runs vertical lines through the blinds to decorate the walls and the side of his face, and you can’t help but to run fingers over them in reverence as he smiles gently down at you. A few more kisses find their way to your lips before Jimin manages to pull himself away, and regardless of the warmth of the sun's rays filling the room, you instantly feel cold without him.

But he doesn’t go far lifting himself just enough to wrap you in the sheet that’s found its way to the end of the mattress before lifting you smoothly into his arms and standing from the bed. You find yourself smiling as you wrap your arms around his neck and lean in to press your face to his warm skin, breathing in the scent of him that resounds so strongly as home even before.

Gentle kisses rain over your exposed skin as he walks to the bathroom, and your feet barely touch the cool tiles before the patter of water fills the room and you're deafened to the world as Jimin pulls your lips to his with a hand under your chin.

And you know that regardless of the trials that no doubt will still litter your near future, having Jimin by your side once more makes any hardship that little bit easier, makes you that little bit stronger.

383 notes · View notes

duskandstarlight · 4 years ago

Text

Embers & Light (Chapter 32)

Notes: Thanks for being so patient waiting for this latest chapter. As usual it turned out to be a hefty MF so I hope you enjoy reading it :) I think this chapter has got the most locations in it so far: Windhaven, Ironcrest, The Steppes and Velaris!

As usual, let me know what you think. And if you enjoy reading it please do hit the reblog button. Thank you, thank you, thank you <3

And during the wait for Chapter 33 (which I will post on Sunday 28th March / 4 April if all goes to plan), do feel free to drop into my anon box--I love hearing from you guys!

Chapter Thirty-Two Cassian

Despite a day and night of rest following the initial bout of healing at the cottage, the next week tumbled by in a whirlwind of activity. If life were a play, Cassian thought, then everything had previously been in intermission and the Gods had suddenly deigned to continue the show.

After speaking with Maya, Feyre and Rhys had winnowed an exhausted Cassian and Nesta back to Windhaven before leaving immediately for Velaris. By the time Cassian waved them goodbye, Nesta was already lying in the foetal position on her length of the couch, her head nestled into the corner. Silent silver flames danced in the hearth and Cassian only had time to groan before he collapsed onto the branch of cushions directly opposite. His wing had landed with an unceremonious thump onto the coffee table, moulding itself around a stack of books, the tip of his fingers grazing Nesta’s thigh. She did not bat him away. Her eyes were already half-closed, her breathing deep and even.

Cassian heard the gentle reassuring thump of her heart in his ears before everything had turned dark.

It was the click of the backdoor that had woken him the next day, heralding Mas and Roksana’s arrival. Cassian had blinked the sleep from his eyes only to be met with the crown of Nesta’s golden head and the scent of jasmine and vanilla entangled like something vital in his lungs.

Only then did he remember the nightmare that had dragged him from sleep in the dead of night. His eyes had snapped open, his body bound and immovable by the heavy weight of death and the illusion of powdered ash in his mouth. His chest had heaved but he’d managed to whip his head to the side—searching for her—only to find Nesta blinking blearily at him, as if his torment had pulled her out of the clutches of sleep. She hadn’t said a word, had only climbed across the cushions until she was lying at a right-angle to him, her body stretched across the intersection of the couch.

As soon as her head had lain next to his, Cassian had found himself able to move, as if the bindings holding him prisoner had suddenly been cut free. Shuddering, he had wound his hands through her hair and pressed his face to her scalp, breathing her in—the scent of her that told him she was safe and sound. That she was not the crumbling ash that coated his tongue.

Nesta’s hand had come up to clasp at his elbow, a silent comfort that told him she was there, before they had tumbled into the comforting dark together.

He hadn’t dreamt after that.

Biting back a sleepy grin, Cassian watched with amusement as Mas halted abruptly at the left-hand archway to the living room.

“Sorry anak,” she apologised with a mortified, unnecessary flush to her brown cheeks. Her hazel eyes flitted from him to Nesta, no doubt clocking how close their heads were and how Cassian’s fingers and nose were still buried in Nesta’s hair. “I didn’t realise you were still sleeping.”

With the swiftness of a mother prone to scooping up little ones before they got themselves into trouble, Mas grabbed for Roksana as the youngling tried to enter the room, gathering the little girl tightly to her chest. Roksana had made to lurch forward and her wings were still spread wide, ready to aid her attempt to launch across the room—towards Sala who was spread out by the fire.

Slowly, the manticore lifted her head from where it was resting on her huge paws and cocked it to one side. The beast’s sandy ears pricked forward in intrigue, her beautiful almond eyes soft and curious as she soaked in the sight of the little Illyrian buzzing with energy.

“Manticore!” Roksana exclaimed with a delighted clap of her hands. She looked up at Mas with unbridled excitement and then, to Cassian’s surprise, to him.

Cassian had never seen the youngling’s face so unfettered—so childlike. In fact, Cassian had never heard her speak. He knew she spoke the odd word to Mas and Nesta, but with him present, the youngling usually remained mute.

An ache rippled over Cassian’s wings as he folded them in and sat upright. Biting back the grimace that wanted to fight its way onto his expression, he shot Roksana his best smile and told her, “The manticore’s name is Sala.”

“Sala,” Roksana repeated quietly, turning her head to peek up at Mas with wide hazel eyes. The housekeeper grinned at the gesture and dropped a loving kiss to the wind-snarled mass of the youngling’s hair.

Nesta, who had been as immovable as a rock, finally stirred, no doubt dragged from the blanket of sleep by the sound of voices and the loss of Cassian’s hand in her hair.

Those steel blue eyes immediately sought his and everything in Cassian tightened as he found them to be clear and trauma-free—as wide and open as the moments after he had kissed her. After he had made her shatter on his tongue.

“Hello,” Nesta croaked. Then, she spied Roksana and Mas, and the sleepy smile that graced her face had all of his desire dissipating. His heart softened as Nesta propped herself up onto a forearm and said, “Hello.”

“You can go to Nesta only,” Mas told Roksana sternly as the youngling scampered across the room, scrambling up onto the sofa so she could wrap her arms around Nesta’s waist.

“She wants to pet the manticore,” Mas told Nesta with a faint, amused smile as Roksana whispered the word twice more to Nesta with a point of a stubby finger towards the fireplace. “Your manticore,” the housekeeper corrected with a toothy grin, even as Mas glanced nervously at the beast who had jumped to her feet, eager to greet Cassian as he rose from the cushions.

Cassian stretched with a groan that evolved into a wide yawn. His limbs were stiff from sleeping for so long. He needed to fly—to exercise and warm up his muscles. He needed to bathe. Gods, how long had they been sleeping? Eighteen hours? More? He usually only slept that length of time after battle.

“Devlon and the other instructors trained you this morning?” Cassian checked with Mas.

The housekeeper nodded. “More balance and footwork,” she told him. “Then applying that to self-defence.”

Cassian’s nod indicated that he was satisfied. “Take the salve from the bathroom cupboard on your way out today,” he instructed. One quick sweeping assessment of the Illyrian had told Cassian that she was sore. “It looks like you could do with it.”

A muzzle was thrust into Cassian’s hand and he looked down to find Sala staring up at him beseechingly. She let out an indignant whine as if to punctuate that she didn’t appreciate being ignored and Cassian snickered, before he bent down to scratch behind the beast’s ears.

When the manticore began to purr loudly, Roksana clapped her hands in delight.

“She’s very friendly,” Nesta told Roksana with a smile. She smoothed back the girl’s wild hair and kissed Roksana’s chubby cheek. Nesta’s hair was mussed, golden strands falling from her coronet which was now loose, no doubt from where his hands had been in it all night.

Cassian wasn’t sure she could look more beautiful. An intense urge overtook him and he almost felt the tug at his ribcage as he imagined striding across the room and slanting his mouth on hers.

Gods, he needed to taste her again more than anything.

Ignoring the sharp, knowing glance Mas threw his way, Cassian created some distance. Doing his best to appear casual, he leant against the right-hand archway that led to the kitchen and took the time to wrangle back some semblance of control.

But then he had watched Nesta introduce Roksana to Sala and everything tightened in a completely different way. His throat bobbed at the look of wonder on the youngling’s face as she stroked Sala’s fur and Cassian knew the sight was something he would cherish forever.

With a fervour that surprised even him, Cassian wished Feyre was with them. Because he knew what he wanted for next Solstice—a painting of this. Of Roksana before Sala, Nesta cradling the youngling’s body from behind, her chin tucked atop the girl’s dark tangle of hair, a secret smile on her face. Just the thought of Feyre brushing the moment onto canvas had sent shivers down his spine—and in that moment Cassian had understood just how irrevocably entangled he was with the female before him. How completely and utterly besotted he was in a way he had never thought possible with anyone.

Later, Roksana had buried her face into Sala’s neck, her small hands clutching at the manticore’s ears and whispered Sala’s name. And when Nesta had laughed, the sound had only confirmed to Cassian what he already knew: that he had never been so content. That he would live with the pain of being so near to Nesta and not being able to have her if it meant he could witness her smile freely. If he could hear her laugh without trying to stifle it as if it were a fire to be put out.

Over the following week, training the females, overseeing the military units and ferrying between Windhaven and the cottage preoccupied Cassian’s every breath. Nesta was just as busy, and she spent any free time she had in the widows camp or running errands with Mas. She had even flown to the travelling market with Mas, which had set itself up for a few days in the Paya valley, selling all means of goods, from spices and fresh produce to jewellery, weapons and swaths and swaths of fabric.

When he did not winnow to the bungalow to deliver them in person, Rhys spoke frequently into Cassian’s mind to deliver updates. Azriel bled in and out of shadows scouting for Kallon and utilising his most-trusted Illyrian contacts to feedback information of the ongoings in Ironcrest’s camp—the former attempts of which had been futile. And all the while they waited with bated breath as news continued to reach them that Marsh had still not left his bed.

It was only a matter of time until Kallon had the right to the title of Prince of Ironcrest. They all knew it. The question would be whether he’d come back to claim his title. And if he did, how the princeling would wield his new found power to rally his cause and drum up the discontent even further.

Given their demands and duties, Cassian and Nesta did not often find themselves alone, something which Cassian found to be both torture and a blessing. Even during their flights to the cottage they flew separately—Cassian on his own wings and Nesta atop Sala—and Nesta had even taken to bringing Roksana with her once the majority of the girls had recovered enough to be taken to Velaris by Mor. The little Illyrian had been delighted to discover Caer whom she adored even more than Sala, most likely due to his endless patience whenever Roksana clambered onto his back. Caer would pad around the grounds outside the cottage, carting Roksana about as she tried to balance herself with outstretched wings. Whenever she toppled off—which was frequently—the manticore would nuzzle at Roksana’s stomach with a teasing growl, which never failed to elicit squeals of giggles that cracked even Frawley’s hard exterior.

Lorrian, who had taken a shine to Roksana well before her visits, had used the youngling’s attendance around the cottage as an opportunity to give her some much-needed flying lessons. Cassian had watched with amusement, leaning against the paddock railings with Nesta and Frawley by his side as Roksana zoomed around the paddock with such speed even Lorrian had stumbled to catch up with her. Cassian had even spied a few of the girls peeking curiously from around the barn doors, no doubt drawn by Frawley and Nesta’s amused outburst of laughter. In the end, even Maya and Samra had come outside to watch.

After the lesson, Frawley had awarded Roksana with a huge mug of hot chocolate, before depositing the youngling swiftly into the tub for a much-needed bath.

In the rare moments that Cassian and Nesta were alone, Cassian found things… difficult, and it was through no fault of Nesta’s. After all, it was Cassian who had given Nesta the choice of deciding what their activities between the sheets had meant. Yet, Cassian could not help the bitter disappointment that wound through him when Nesta did not seek him out again at night—neither for company or for something more heated.

The problem was that Cassian had not truly known the gravity of what he would be dealing with in the aftermath. Knowing what Nesta now tasted like—the scent of which had faded but not disappeared from his tongue—tested a new reserve of Cassian’s strength, and Cassian found himself flitting between an almost terrifying, composed calm to a fervent, primal yearning that had him shaking with the need to touch her… to consume her… to please her in every way possible that went beyond carnal lust.

Oddly, it was the small things that set him off: when she stood too close or when those smoky grey eyes searched for him over anyone else. The worst was when she allowed a small smile to grace her beautiful face or when she taunted him, each teasing jab or jest enough to tell him that she was no longer wading through the muddy waters of trauma. That she was happier—more content.

Sometimes Nesta would touch him without him prompting her to, her fingers snagging on his arm or her body brushing against his as she moved to make tea at the kitchen counter. And those light touches… they burned, as if Cassian was nothing but an animal and Nesta was on heat. His body itched and trembled and begged for her, and Cassian had taken to pleasuring himself at night and first thing in the morning, recreating the sounds of her moans in his head and the grasp of her fingers in his hair. The way she had finally said his name and the weight of her breasts cupped in his palms. The way her body had arched and moulded to his as she had begged for release.

And finally, the way she had reached for him. Those fingers as they had dipped just below the waistband of his pants…

Fantasy and memory became friend and foe. And Cassian pleasured himself in the shower. After training. In the middle of the night. And even then, Cassian was only sated for the briefest of moments until that need crashed down over him again and he had to think of any grotesque image that would cool his blood: Devlon. Marsh. Kallon.

As a consequence, Cassian found himself keeping his distance whenever it became too much. It hurt to do it, as if something was tearing inside of him, and he knew Nesta had clocked it. But she didn’t bring it up and nor did she broach what had happened between the bedsheets. She did not shut him out. Did not poison him with words or derisive looks, even when, for the most part, Cassian thought his actions called for it.

And all the while her scent lingered like the sweetest perfume. It was worse when they were together. Then, it grew stronger. It filled his nostrils, his mouth, the taste of her heady and wonderful and almost sinful in its reminder that Cassian had experienced his one chance with her: one kiss, one touch, one taste.

That was another reason why Cassian was keeping his distance. What was it Nesta had said when he’d told her that the others might scent what they had done? It’s a complete invasion of privacy. So, when the others had arrived, Cassian had created space between them whenever he could. Had watched the way Nesta’s eyes had become more hollow whenever he ensured he was stationed at the opposite side of the room. He hadn’t had the time to communicate to her that his distance was to try and respect her wish for privacy—to prevent the others knowing what they had done—and he had been forced to watch her tumble into the dark depths of her trauma without a hand to haul her out.

Until he’d had to act as a tether, anyway.

Despite his efforts, Cassian suspected that all of his friends had sensed a shift. Mor’s gift was truth, after all, and Azriel and Rhys knew him better than anyone. His brothers had always reprimanded him for wearing his heart on his sleeve to the detriment of no-one but himself, but Cassian couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help a lot of things when it came to Nesta, and he didn’t trust himself not to let that carefully formed leash slip and ruin everything he’d promised her.

He’d already failed once; If you summon your healing magic, I’ll taste you again.

Mother Above. Cassian had even had to resort to training Nesta with Lorrian at the cottage—an unacknowledged chaperone—using the excuse that Nesta needed to not only practice with the bow, but spar with other opponents so she could experience different fighting techniques. And whilst that was true, it was also because training was sacred to Cassian. It taught people to survive and endure and he would not taint the opportunity by tackling Nesta to the ground and slanting his mouth on hers.

Not to mention that she probably didn’t want him to do that, anyway.

“Struggling?” Lorrian taunted at Cassian one evening after dinner.

The two of them had stepped back out into the paddock in order to exhaust some excess energy. They had left Nesta in the cottage living room with Frawley, Maya and Samra. Roksana, who had been running around all day with the manticores, had passed out in front of the hearth, curled up between the two beasts, one of her little wings curved around Caer’s head.

Maya’s eldest daughter Ailie remained upstairs. In fact, she rarely came out of the room she shared with her mother and sister, still too traumatised to face even those inside of the cottage. When she did emerge, she’d sit in front of the armchair by the fire and stare at the flames, as if she were hoping she were one of them and she could escape up the chimney and out into the freedom of the open sky.

But Samra—the youngest of Maya’s girls—was slowly and shyly come out of her shell, although she stuck to her mother like glue, clearly terrified that she might disappear.

“Struggling with what?” Cassian drawled to his friend, as he tapped his siphons to rid himself of his armour. It disappeared scale-by-scale, revealing a short-sleeved tunic layered over a long-sleeved one. Both were fastened at the waist by a lightweight rope of leather, which Cassian tossed to the side before shucking off the short-sleeved top.

Usually Cassian favoured fighting in skin, but Illyria in the depths of winter tested even his fierce warrior blood.

Snorting, Lorrian flared his own siphons and a gleaming emerald arm appeared in a wave of light. “You’ll feel better once you have beaten the shit out of me.”

Cassian raised a scar-slashed eyebrow. “That’s defeatist of you.”

Lorrian rolled his magical arm as he adjusted to the additional weight. “You have intermittent aggression and arousal seeping from your pores. I’m surprised Nesta hasn’t detected it.”

With a dismissive wave of a hand, Cassian replied, “I’m not that bad.”

The way Lorrian grunted told Cassian that he didn’t agree, but to Cassian’s relief, the no further comment came.

Cassian did not need his friend to point out that in the past week the two of them had sparred more frequently than they usually did in months.

“I’m acclimatising,” Cassian said shortly as they began to circle one another, their fists held up to their faces.

For a few turns, there was only the sound of their feet on the wet, spongy earth beneath the soles of their boots. Cassian’s eyes did not stray from Lorrian’s face, allowing his peripheral vision to drink in his friend’s every movement.

It was true that Cassian had more weight behind him than the colonel, but like he was in the skies, Lorrian could be as quick as hell in the training ring. Cassian had learnt long ago that sparring with Lorrian wasn’t about throwing the fiercest punch, but being alert enough to recognise when the bastard was going to duck and strike a fierce upper cut to the gut.

“You’ll stay in Velaris for a few days?” Lorrian asked, after their third round of circling.

Cassian flashed his friend a grin as if to tell him he knew what he was doing. It turned out to be more of a grimace. “You know that I am. Quit trying to distract me.”

“And Nesta’s going with you?”

“You know she is.”

“My point,” Lorrian continued with a slight pant, “is that you better master your shit before you get there. I imagine tensions will be high enough without a snarling general in the mix.”

“Things have been mending. She’s doing well.”

“Incredible,” Lorrian corrected, his eyes flitting to Cassian’s solar plexus in a way that betrayed his desired move. “I’ve never met anyone more resilient. Frawley holds her in high regard and we know that doesn’t happen often.”

In the corner of Cassian’s eye, something moved at the far left-hand side of the paddock, but then Lorrian’s right elbow dropped and Cassian had the opening he had been waiting for. He lunged, his fist flying for Lorrian’s jaw and the colonel barely had time to slam his left arm up to deflect the blow.

But Cassian did not give Lorrian time to recover. He was already moving, his left fist cutting upwards to land a sharp jab to his friend’s ribs. Lorrian tried for a shot to the face but Cassian’s right arm was already deflecting and counter-jabbing before the colonel had time to so much as think about doing anything else but blocking.

Breath sawed out of them and Cassian knew that to any onlooker they were barely more than a blur of grunting flesh and lethal wings.

It was only a lightning fast parry from Lorrian as he jumped back on agile feet, that spared him from being thrown to the forest floor.

It struck up a distance between them again, and for a moment, there was nothing but the sound of wings as they flared outwards and tucked in tight.

And then they began again. Circling one another and panted for air, before one of them created an opening and then there was nothing but punches and blocks and counterattacks, of footwork and grunts and wings thrown out for balance. Cassian felt himself slip into that calm—the mantra that felt like a dance to him—until he landed a precise counter-head blow as Lorrian stepped in for a hook to the ribs.

Lorrian’s knees hit the floor with a thud and Cassian stepped back, breathing hard, giving his friend space to recover. Turning, he used his wrist to wiped the blood away from his lip, only to find Maya watching him with wide-eyes, her arms wrapped tightly around her body.

He lifted a hand in greeting and she offered him a small smile in return, before she turned on the spot and disappeared back inside the house.

“That was better going than last time,” Cassian told Lorrian. He extended his hand to help his friend up from the ground but Lorrian only waved him proudly away. “But you’re still dropping your left arm and leaving your face open. Once that falls apart so does all of the rest.”

Shaking his head in irritation, Lorrian spat blood onto the damp earth. Neither of them had been going at full pelt, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t roughed one another up a little. Cassian’s ribs were already bleating from the impact of Lorrian’s fists and he knew he was already sporting a bruise on his right cheekbone. “I spent all this time mourning the loss of a limb, but when I magic it back for hand-to-hand combat it feels wrong.” Grimacing, the colonel rolled his arm in its socket. “It’s like learning all over again and the worst damn thing is that even when I magic it away at the end of the session, my brain still creates a phantom soreness where my limb should be.”

Chuckling, Cassian clapped his friend on the back. The sparring hadn’t only been a method of burning off energy for Cassian. Now Lorrian had taken up the position of colonel, Lorrian had asked Cassian to train with him more regularly. Whilst Lorrian’s magic could bring his limb back into temporary existence, Lorrian’s muscle memory had depleted over the years. Training with Cassian provided his friend with the opportunity for his brain to reconnect with his lost limb for those times when he needed it the most. “You’re Illyrian, Lor. You can deal with some pulled muscles.”

Another grunt. “It would be easier on my body if you didn’t fight like a damn God.”

Cassian flashed his teeth. “I can’t help that I was destined to lead on the battlefields.”

“And so modest, too,” Lorrian grumbled. Then, he sobered. “Nesta seems a little better.”

Cassian had not spoken to anyone about Nesta’s trauma, but it was there so plainly for anyone to see that he did not jump to deny it. And… pride wound through him at how well she was doing. At how she hadn’t shut him out. “Yes. I hope—“ he blew out a long breath, suddenly unable to stifle the worry that took hold of his brow. “I hope Velaris doesn’t make it worse.”

“You think it will do that?”

“As you guessed, there are a lot of unresolved tensions and conflicts,” Cassian admitted. Not to mention that Nesta herself had once begged him not to send her back to Velaris. Cassian did not know why she’d had a change of heart. He knew she wanted to visit the girls and help them to settle, but she’d asked to come back with him before that. “Nesta wasn’t happy in Velaris,” he finished simply.

“Does she know it’s your birthday on Hogmanay?”

“No,” Cassian said shortly. He shot his friend a sharp look. “Don’t tell her.”

Cocking an eyebrow in confusion, Lorrian asked quizzically, “Why?”

“Because Nesta has enough to worry about. If she thinks there will be a party that she has to attend with my family where she has to pretend that she’s happy, then she will bolt.”

Lorrian frowned. “She won’t bolt from you, Cass.”

But Cassian was not so sure. Lorrian did not know the Nesta in Velaris; the sharp, angry female who had been so terrifyingly sick.

“What you have seen is not Nesta at her most traumatised,” Cassian told Lorrian in a long breath. “When she came here…” He trailed off, his throat bobbing. “Things were very bad. Velaris was toxic for her. The War was hard on her—more so than any of us.”

Kallon had highlighted some of Nesta’s habits during their trip to Ironcrest and Cassian had no desire to voice them aloud again.

This time it was Lorrian’s turn to clap him on the shoulder. “And now Nesta is stronger. She’s built herself from the ashes and become someone the females revere, Cassian. You know what the Illyrians are calling her.”

Cassian did know. Did not want to think too hard about the silver-flamed Diyosa with a fierce manticore by her side. Together they protected and defended the females of the Night Court.

“She might be the only High Fae in the history of Illyria to have the respect of our people,” Lorrian continued. “She’s already winning over the majority of the female population by doing nothing but being herself. She could single-handedly sway the rebellion if we played our cards right, Cass.”

Cassian did not say anything. Was too scared to.

“Even the males have begrudging respect, you have seen how Devlon is around her. At the very least, they recognise that she is powerful. Is she still going with you to instate the new law tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

Rhys had offered Nesta a choice: to assist Mor in settling the last of the girls into the library or to come with the rest of them to each of the Illyrian camps to announce the new clipping law.

“This is what you have been campaigning for all your life,” Lorrian said quietly. “Nesta could pave the way for something new. Something better. You both could.”

“You seem to have forgotten that I am nothing but a lowly bastard,” Cassian stated gruffly, as together they walked out of the paddock and past the barn. “And that I have done very little to stifle this rebellion.”

“You earned the title of Prince of Bastards a long time ago, amongst other names.”

“That is not a title.”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Lorrian asked with a flicker of surprise. “That you’re not good enough for Nesta?”

Cassian stalked towards the back door, suddenly keen to find Nesta and go home. He wasn’t angry, just… uncomfortable. Lorrian had hit too close to the bone.

“Don’t do yourself a disservice by labelling yourself as something others have tried to falsely pigeon hole you into,” Lorrian told Cassian sternly as they reached the threshold. “You can’t dismantle a faulty system if deep down you believe what the oppressors have drummed into you.”

Then, with a final clap to Cassian’s shoulder, Lorrian disappeared into the cottage.

___

As the pastel hues of dawn bled into day the next morning, Rhys and Feyre winnowed into Windhaven.

Even if it hadn’t been for the star-kissed breeze that wound its way through the mountain pass, Cassian would have known his brother and his mate had arrived. Cassian was halfway through correcting Emerie’s stance when her head whipped to the right of the sparring rings, along with every other female who had turned up for practice that morning.

Only Nesta did not turn, but like Cassian, she had been expecting them. Rhys had spoken into Cassian’s head the evening before whilst he and Nesta were eating dinner, informing him that he and his mate would arrive just after dawn the next morning. They planned to watch the females train, before Rhys would carry out his quarterly observation of Windhaven’s aerial fleet so he could witness the progress Cassian had insisted they were making in reforming the Illyrian troops.

Feyre would join Nesta and Mas on an inspection of the camp—the widows camp in particular—before they would all reconvene for a quick lunch. From there, they would travel to each of the camps main squares to announce the new clipping law, whilst Mor would winnow to the cottage with Frawley and transport the remaining females to the library.

Cassian knew that Nesta was not looking forward to going back to Ironcrest, but she did not change her mind about accompanying them to the camps. For some reason, the fact that she was willing to brave it at her own expense had only served to make Cassian fall for her even more. And although she had retired to bed early that night, she had left her bedroom door ajar just as she had promised during their time in Ironcrest. Cassian had watched her read in bed out of the corner of his eye for an hour or so before the faelight in her room winked out.

It had taken a long time for her breathing to become deep and for the blankets to stop rustling as she tossed and turned in bed. Cassian had fought the urge to crawl in beside her; to fold her into his body and tangle their legs together. To reassure himself with not only with the sound of her heartbeat but the patter of it against the centre of his palm.

Now, Nesta stood beside him with her hands on her hips, using the opportunity to catch her breath. She was dressed in her favourite leathers and her golden brown hair was weaved back tightly from her face. It revealed her flushed cheeks and pink nose, which was thanks to the frigid bite of frost that had kissed the landscape the night before.

“Back to work,” Cassian ordered the females firmly, as their attention lingered on the new arrivals. He heard the same command echo around the adjoining sparring rings from the other trainers. “I want three sets of ten lunges on each leg, followed by twenty one-two punches against your partner’s sparring pads,” Cassian continued.

He was teaching the youngest age group that morning and Nesta remained at his side to assist with the demonstrations. “Remember to make two clean punches,” he told the females. “It should sound like a beating heart—boom, boom—but your fists should move in a fluid movement like an arrow. One fist is the head, the other is the tail.”

He held up his palms so Nesta could demonstrate. Unsurprisingly, her punches were perfectly formed.

“Good,” he praised her. “Partner up with Emerie again whilst I do the rounds.”

Leaving Nesta with the shopkeeper, Cassian weaved his way around the ring, stopping when he needed to gently correcting a stance or a technique. In the corner of his eye, Cassian saw Sala give up her station beneath a copse of young pine trees. The manticore gently nudged off Roksana who had thrown her arms around the beast’s neck, and slunk over to Rhys and Feyre, her silver tail a blaze cutting through the brisk morning air.

The manticore paid no heed as Rhys stilled and his magic crackled—a male ready to protect his mate—but something angry rose in Cassian. He stifled it. Told himself he’d be nervous if a young manticore was roaming around near his mate without its fae counterpart beside it. Yet… the females around the camp had accepted Sala more readily than Cassian had anticipated. To them, Sala and Nesta were a gift from the old Gods—a level or protection against the evils in Prythian—and whilst they kept their distance they did not flinch when Sala walked by.

It helped that the manticore was good with the children. She allowed them to tug at her ears and hang around her neck, only letting out a warning growl if they pulled too hard or she’d had enough.

And the males… even they treated Sala with a level of begrudging respect and terror. Nobody could dispute the old magic that clearly stated that Sala was Nesta’s and Nesta was Sala’s. Cassian couldn’t say he was put out by it. If anything, it offered Nesta an undisputed level of protection that meant she could roam the camp and surrounding skies with more freedom. There had been so many times this week when Nesta had come back to the bungalow in time for dinner, her cheeks glowing and her eyes so wonderfully bright that Cassian couldn’t stop the delighted, relieved smile that graced his expression.

Ignoring the magic that was heavy in the air, Sala drew up at Feyre’s side. Feyre’s eyes were a little wide as the manticore nudged her muzzle into her hand in greeting, before the beast sat back on her haunches. Those golden eyes fixed back on where Nesta stood in the sparring ring, her weight braced on a back foot as Emerie pummelled her fists into her hands. But when Feyre dared to run her hand down the silken fur of Sala’s head, the manticore’s eyes briefly slatted in pleasure.

“She’s on our side, you know,” Cassian told his brother later, as they stood at the lip of the mountain pass where the sparring rings jutted out into the Illyrian sky. Feyre and Nesta had disappeared to the widows camp whilst Rhys observed the Windhaven forces. “Quit acting like Sala is going to tear Feyre limb from limb.”

Rhys’s attention slid from the males engaged in a sword fight to pin Cassian with violent stare that did nothing to quell Cassian’s irritation. “In case you have forgotten, Sala is a manticore. I believe I have some leniency to be wary of a beast who could rip out my mate’s throat with little hesitation.”

“Bullshit,” Cassian retorted, making sure he kept his voice low so as not to draw attention. “A manticore has its own moral compass and its own ability to judge who is and isn’t a threat. And,” he continued, “Nesta would never harm Feyre. She would never allow Sala to attack her.”

“Nesta’s magic is so vast you could add up the magic of six of the High Fae nobility and it would seem like a drop in the Sidra in comparison to Nesta’s. So excuse me if I take precautions given her relationship with my mate is volatile at best and the manticore answers to no-one but her.”

Barely contained fury split across Cassian’s expression and he clamped down on it, lowering his mental shields on instinct so Rhys’s dark consciousness could step inside his mind. Stop spewing shit, Cassian snapped internally, his voice thunderous now he did not have to control the level of his voice. And stop disrespecting Nesta. Her trauma runs deeper than you could ever imagine, yet here she is, defending the Illyrian people and fighting for what is right.

And Rhys… his brother actually blinked at the force behind Cassian’s words. It was not often that Cassian truly lost his temper—not like this.

Releasing a slow breath, Cassian finally loosed the words he’d needed to say aloud for a long time; If you don’t forgive Nesta, you will forever drive a wedge between the two sisters. You forget that Nesta is an empath. Why do you think she turned down every job you offered her? Your offers were never genuine.

Rhys observed Cassian with a level of scrutiny he hadn’t been subject to in a long, long while. Cassian did not squirm, only stared his brother down, unflinching. You can’t welcome Nesta to the Court of Dreams without a level of trust, brother. Let her show you what she’s capable of. Give her space and time. Nesta is strong and fierce and proud but she feels deeper than anyone I’ve ever met. She is well aware of the wrongs she’s committed. Do not think she does not suffer for them, but she is not someone to be controlled. Nesta cannot and should not be tamed by anyone but herself.

This time Rhys’s blink was laboured as if a realisation had just clicked in his brain. Cassian knew that he had not considered that he might prevent Feyre from mending a relationship that she yearned for. And to know he could be the cause of his mate’s unhappiness…

Rhys wasn’t without fault—nobody was—but this bias had gone on too long.

His brother seemed to think so, too. Ok, Rhys conceded. You’re right. I’m sorry. But know that it will always be my instinct to protect Feyre, you know that. Even if there’s nothing to protect her from I will never stop worrying.

Cassian did know. It was why he was so worried about this afternoon. About Nesta joining them whilst they announced the new law to a population of hostile, backward Illyrians.

But Cassian graced Rhys with a taunting smile that was free of his earlier anger. I understand. But you should know that if I see you mistrust Nesta or Sala again, I will drag you into the sparring ring. And we both know who will win that fight, brother.

Rhys’s velvet soft laugh echoed around Cassian’s mind and then that midnight dark retreated. Cassian carefully stacked up his mental shields until they were a ring of indestructible fire.

And all the while, Cassian did not voice what they both already knew: that it was his instinct to protect Nesta, too.

___

“What if instating the clipping law today motivates the rebellion?” Feyre asked uncertainly as they ate a quick lunch together in the bungalow.

Azriel had arrived a few minutes prior and they all sat together on the couch, plates balanced on their laps. Mas had been busy preparing food dosas that morning and even Rhys’s eyes had lit up with delight as he thanked the blushing housekeeper, piling copious amounts of potato onto his pancake.

It struck Cassian as he surveyed the people in the room before him—his loved ones— that the bungalow too small for so much company. And that was without Mor or Amren, the latter of whom had remained behind in Velaris to watch over the wards, alongside overseeing an important meeting with the merchants in stead of Rhys.

Cassian also suspected that Rhys’s second remained behind because his brother didn’t want any of the Illyrian’s to glean just how much power Amren had lost in the war—how she was no longer the nightmare the children of Prythian were told about—the ancient, terrifying other who would drink their blood if they misbehaved.

The new law would be decreed in all of the market squares of the major camps. Alaksander would travel with them and would be publicly clipped—a living example of what would happen to anyone who disobeyed the law that had been instated for centuries. Alaksander would prove that the new penalty for clipping another’s wings was not just a threat: the Night Court would follow through on their promises.

All of the Illyrian nobility had been informed of the impending law by Night Court winnowgram, each letter signed by both High Lord and High Lady. The reaction had not been a pleasant one and even though Cassian knew the amendment to the law was progress, he couldn’t help but wish it was not a bastard who had stooped so low as to mistreat girls in such an abominable way. What might have been different if Alaksander had not been brought up on the cold and brutal fringes of society, where only iron will and sheer luck meant you survived? It didn’t excuse his actions, but Cassian couldn’t shake the leaden sensation in his gut that whispered; what if, what if, what if?

“It could go either way,” Cassian confessed finally to Feyre, his expression grim.

As he spoke, cold fingers brushed against the back of his hand and Cassian looked down in surprise to find Nesta’s forefinger curl around his. He had dared to sit next to her, unable to emerge triumphant from the battle that came with his innate need to oversee what she ate—fetching her chai when she barely touched her tea, spooning more yoghurt atop her dosa to counteract the spices. Feyre, he knew, had watched the entire process with a bemused expression that bordered on amusement. Rhys’s eyes had just glimmered knowingly. Azriel remained stone-faced, but Cassian knew his brother was raising an internal eyebrow at him as those shadows whispered and whispered and whispered.

Cassian adjusted his grip until their fingers intertwined just as a soft, gentle breeze fluttered down that tether. It smelt sweet like summer. Like freshly cut hay bails and the muted perfume of flowers and grass. In his mind, Cassian caught a fleeting image of Nesta running her hands through a golden field of wheat as she walked towards a lone large oak tree, its gnarled trunk a safe haven as she sat against it and opened a book.

Want coiled inside of him and all Cassian could think about was raising Nesta’s hand to his lips and pressing his thanks to her skin. Something primal growled as he fought the urge and Cassian hoped to the Mother that Nesta’s scent had faded from him enough that his mere proximity to her didn't scream to his High Lady, I pleasured your sister until she shattered on my tongue.

For some absurd reason, the thought made Cassian want to bark a laugh. Nesta twisted her head to look up at him and Cassian wondered if she’d felt his amusement with her empath gifts or whether it had tunnelled down the bond.

He didn’t really care. He squeezed her hand.

“It will either continue to ignite any existing hatred of our Court or scare them enough that they will start to see us as a real threat,” Azriel said.

The Shadowsinger had already finished his food and was now standing at his usual spot by the fireplace. Sala sat intently before him, her eyes tracking his shadows as they wreathed about his body. It was almost as if the manticore was hoping he would send out a tendril for her to play with.

Cassian felt like telling the manticore that Azriel was all about hard work and very little play. But it was that work ethic and the Illyrian spies his brother had in place across the clan territories that had ensured that word had got out about what had happened in Ironcrest. Rhys had been adamant that condemning the Ironcrest royalty right off the bat might spark Kallon into action before they were ready. They still needed to find out where Kallon was, whether he’d managed to get the sword to work, and why he had needed the girls blood. Cassian was sure it was dark magic intended to revive the blade, but until they knew for certain… They needed answers and they needed them fast.

So, the leaked information had been selective—devoid of details about the sword and the pit of blood—but the bare bones had been enough to spark intrigue; each retelling whispered of Nesta Archeron, the witch of the Eastern Steppes and their manticores. Of clipped girls kept in cages and rebellion sentries killed for their crimes by a member of the High Fae who did not treat the Illyrians as lesser.

As Azriel had assured Nesta a few days prior when he’d visited for dinner; Stories that thrive on the grapevine have a tendency to wreak more havoc than the complete truth.

The key was to use the power of rumour to slowly unravel the success of the rebellion’s cause amongst the Illyrian people. If Kallon was relying on the females to sway any future referendum for an independent nation, the Night Court would reveal their despicable actions and hope that it would be enough to show the females of Illyria that the rebellion would only result in continued subordination and abuse.

“I am keen to side with the latter,” Rhys said lightly, as he picked a piece of invisible lint off his already immaculate shirt. “This is the first true reaction they have seen from us. It reasserts our authority above petty threats.”

“And it helps,” Azriel continued coldly, “that the rebellion sentries lost their lives. It eliminates further problems down the line.”

“Had the Blood Rite gone ahead, I did initially suggest that we should have allowed some of them to get caught up in the casualties,” Rhys mused.

“We can’t kill every Illyrian that stands against us,” Cassian snapped, his temper rising, even though he knew Rhys had never been serious about messing with the Rite. “That makes us the evil ones in the scenario. It sparks further rebellion later down the line when we squash down every fly that strays onto our path.”

“That may well be true,” Rhys reflected, “but Nesta has certainly done us a favour by ruling some of them out of the equation. Either way, going to all of the camps today is the start of something new—something better.” He turned to Nesta. “You’re ready?”

Nesta had been silent during the meal but to Cassian’s delight, she had cleared all of the food on her plate. Even so, her fingers tightened around his, her knuckles turning white as she rose up tall and lifted that regal chin. “Yes.”

To everyone’s surprise, the Shadowsinger let a faint, reassuring smile grace his mouth, as if he saw through Nesta’s indifferent mask. “It will reassert authority,” he reassured Nesta quietly, his voice as smooth as midnight.

Cassian relaxed slightly at his brother’s words. Nesta liked Azriel and he was the least likely person she would snap at. Sometimes that understanding consumed Cassian with a bitter jealousy that he couldn’t shake, that territorial part of him raging that Nesta would sooner listen to his friend over him, but now… it was needed, and it was useful.

He also knew that he wouldn’t give up their shared fire for anything.

Rhys nodded in agreement. “My Inner Court works on choice,” Rhys told Nesta. “You can help Mor relocate the girls this afternoon if you’d prefer or you can come to each of the camps with us.”

It was an olive branch and one Rhys meant, even if it scuppered his brother’s plan to reassert that Nesta was not someone to be messed with: a benevolent yet wrathful queen that would defend and protect those who needed it the most.

Nesta shook her head, but Cassian felt her inner turmoil in his stomach, the sensation deep and wounding. So he stood, helping her rise to her feet, their hands still entwined. He cocked an arrogant, lazy eyebrow and allowed a grin to spread across his face as he gave in to temptation and kissed the back of her hand, as if she were royalty and he a lowly pauper. “I think you’ll terrify them, witch,” he drawled, and Cassian didn’t have to observe anyone in the room to witness their surprise as Nesta’s lips twitched up into a small, true smile—a smile she saved for Mas and Roksana and him.

“You don’t have to do anything, Nesta,” Feyre said thickly, her hand coming to rest gingerly on Nesta’s arm as she also stood from the couch. She was no doubt thinking of the image Cassian had accidentally let slip the day before when Rhys had asked Nesta to share her memory of the cave. He had been so terrified of Nesta reliving the previous day’s trauma that the ring of fire around his mind had slipped.

It had been too late to fumble after the images that had tumbled through the exposed cracks of his mental shields; Nesta’s haunted blood-streaked face and that dead look behind her eyes as he desperately cupped a palm to her cheek in the bathroom—as he tried to get her to engage with him.

Feyre had looked as if she had been hit in the stomach—had looked physically ill—and even Rhys’ violet eyes had flicked to Cassian’s for a second, his dark eyebrows raising imperceptibly before Nesta had allowed him into her mind.

And that memory…

Even now, the thought of it made Cassian want to shatter things. They had all witnessed Nesta’s sheer panic as that male had pressed his body against hers, pinning her to the ground. Had all seen the boy’s cruel face that had pushed to the forefront of Nesta’s mind when it had happened—a face that Cassian was certain was that human piece of filth. But then Cassian’s pyrite had exploded with power, the ruby light throwing the male off of her just in time for Nesta to scramble to her feet and thrust that sword through his groin.

“You’re involved in this either way,” Rhys told Nesta from his position across the couch, puling Cassian abruptly from his thoughts. Silver flames from their position in the hearth danced in his brother’s star-flecked irises. “What you displayed was an incredible amount of power that they will fear. You need to remind them of that.”

___

When Nesta emerged from her bedroom in full leathers with a bow slung across her back, Cassian thought he might self-combust.

The leathers were a gift from Rhys and rather than being made up of the usual black, the scales were lined with a smoky silver that shimmered and danced. The effect was both sublime and unnerving; the whispering silver a promise of the danger that could be wrought from Nesta’s fingers should anyone cross her.

Clamping down hard on the arousal that smacked him in the face, Cassian quickly looked away, only to find Azriel observing him with a sly grin.

“Ditch the bow,” Rhys ordered.

Nesta bristled. “But—”

“No.” Cassian’s words were a deathly snarl that were forced between gritted teeth. Besides the lunacy of asking Nesta to go into the camps unarmed, Rhys’s tone was not the way to deal with Nesta—it was not the way to speak to his mate.

Feyre whirled on Rhys. “You can’t be serious?”

Rhys’s violet eyes did not move from Nesta’s, nor did his expression turn neutral as he spoke to Feyre mind-to-mind. “You’re powerful enough without it,” Rhys told Nesta simply when he was done explaining to his mate. “That’s the message you want to send. You have your own magic and you have a manticore at your side.”

Cassian clenched his fists as Nesta removed the new bow Lorrian had gifted her a few days prior. The bow she had taken to wearing almost everywhere.

“At least take a dagger,” Cassian ground out, striding towards Nesta and unsheathing one of the knives at his thigh in one fluid movement.

Mother above, the thought of Nesta with no weapon made him want to vomit.

But Nesta shook her head. “I’ve got one,” she told him as she buried her fingers into Sala’s ruff and took Rhys’s outstretched hand.

Her lips twitched as Cassian scoured her body in vein. He was so close to her that he could almost taste her skin, but he ignored the heady rush and crossed his arms firmly over his chest. He stared down at her and demanded, “Where?”

A taunting eyebrow lifted as Nesta replied coolly, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Cassian couldn’t help it. He laughed—the sound loud and booming and true. “At least tell me you’re wearing —“ he started, needing to know she was wearing the pyrite. That if some shit went down and he couldn’t reach her, if her magic failed, then he could protect her like he had that day at the cave.

Metallic blue shimmered in Nesta’s irises—her power writhing beneath the surface. The sight of it was a relief and Cassian wondered if Nesta had known that. If she had summoned it so she could assure him that she had her own arsenal of weapons. “I haven’t taken it off.”

Fine. Good.

“Now, now children.”

Feyre’s teasing voice filtered into Cassian’s ears and then her slim fingers were wrapping around his hand.

But Cassian did not break his gaze from Nesta, watched the fire dancing amusement in her eyes until Feyre folded him into nothing.

___

Ironcrest was just as they had left it; beautiful yet punishing, the strong wind a slap to the face as they winnowed directly into the roughly hewn market square located in the centre of the valley. To the left of them the sparring rings rose like teetering, grass-topped towers and to the right, the cliff face layered with the nobility’s residences staggered their way up into the clouds.

It had been decided that the royalty across the camps would not be granted a visit prior to the clippings. The Night Court would not bow to the Illyrians haughty sense of authority. Instead, the Illyrians would be reminded that it was they who were subject to its Court’s wrath should they not abide by law.

For the brief second it took for them to materialise into the camp, Cassian witnessed the awe alight across Feyre’s face—the painter in her no doubt drinking in the beauty around her—before her expression turning into the stony mask of a High Lady unimpressed with the brutal actions of her people.

Beside them, Nesta, Rhys and Sala appeared in a glitter of midnight. Seconds later, Azriel stepped out of the shadows with Alaksander beside him, the bastard bound in ropes of cobalt light. The Illyrian’s face was full of such stark fear and apprehension that Cassian knew he’d be begging when he learnt that his penalty was far worse than death.

Aside from the howling wind, the activity in the camp seemed to pause at their arrival, as if it was waiting with bated breath. Crowds had already formed in the square around a circular wooden platform that had been built around the middle of a stone fountain.

The fountain itself was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful structures in the camp. Water flowered downwards into multiple stone basins that grew in size until they met the wide reservoir at the base, which was obscured by the wooden scaffolding. At the very pinnacle of the fountain, two stone warriors rose towards the sky—Enalius and Oya—who sported crowns. Rather than being inlaid with jewels, the crowns were set with two angled stars that lay atop the front and were tied together by a circular ribbon that ran through their middle—pareho.

At the base of the fountain, hidden by the platform, Cassian knew lion faces were carved into the stone—beasts ready to fight beside their chosen companions in the battle against evil.

“Here we go,” Cassian muttered under his breath to Feyre as he spotted the all too familiar figure of Lord Rufous—Ironcrest’s senior war-lord—stalking towards them across the wide circular platform.

Cassian turned to Nesta, ready to prompt her should she forget their plan, but she and Sala were already moving—Nesta an unwavering, lethal Queen as she floated towards the steps that would lead them up onto the raised planks.

Sala slunk by her side, her silver tail flicking dangerously, her sharp fangs visible and pointed beneath her muzzle, and Illyrians stepped back warily to create an unobstructed path. Some jumped out of Nesta’s way, their eyes wide and scared as they discovered that the rumour of the manticore was grounded on truth. But a few of the females dropped to their knees and bowed to the earth. A handful of them even dared to reach out and brush Nesta’s arm, as if they wanted living proof that she was not a mirage.

Cassian tried not to bristle—tried not to snarl and launch himself towards her and unsheathe his sword in the same motion. A slow, steadying breath allowed his head to clear as he reminded himself that Nesta could protect herself. That she was strong and fierce and brave and that she did not need him to step in and fight her battles for her. So Cassian watched Azriel stride after her, his hand gripping Alaksander’s arm as he led the restrained male towards the stage. Feyre and Rhys filed in behind them, their magic trailing an invisible yet somehow detectable path behind them like a royal cloak, and Cassian took up the rear, his hand casually resting on his sword as he stalked after them, his expression as hard and unyielding as granite.

When Nesta slowly ascended onto the platform, Lord Rufous faltered. And Nesta—Nesta—smiled at him, the movement cruel and twisting and terrifying. And in that moment, every single rumour that had spread through the camp like wildfire lit as a threat in her eyes.

Those dark beady eyes fell to Nesta’s fingers, where embers sparked with the promise of flame, and Rufous stilled, seemingly frozen to the spot. Even the males beside him halted, although their expressions remained cruel and calculating.

“She killed Ironcrest warriors,” Lord Rufous snarled when he finally found his voice. “That witch is not permitted on our lands.”

Cassian snarled right back, the sound a low, territorial warning in his throat as he bared his teeth at the war-lord. Rhys scraped a nail down Cassian’s mental shield but he ignored it. They both knew he couldn’t help it. “Then the Ironcrest nobility should have ensured that girls were not caged and slaughtered like animals.”

“Where is Lord Marsh,” Rhys cut in smoothly, before Cassian could royally fuck something up. “I called for his presence today.”

“He and his wife are indisposed,” Rufous sneered. “As is his son.”

“And pray tell me, where has Prince Kallon scarpered off to?” Rhys asked with a light deliberation that should have set alarm bells clanging through Rufous’s thick skull.

“He has business with the warriors in the north of our territory,” Rufous replied coldly, but the male’s onyx eyes slid warily to Sala as the beast pinned him with a glare that sung death.

“How interesting,” Rhys mused, as he picked off an imaginary piece of lint from the exquisitely tailored shirt that was lined with silver thread—starlight shimmering in a night sky. “And here I was thinking that Princeling Kallon abandoned his territory and his people after our recent findings.”

Rufous’s lip curled but he did not retaliate. Instead, his gaze slid to Alaksander who looked as if he might have fainted if it were not for the Shadowsinger holding him up. “He’s not one of ours,” Rufous sneered.

“He was on your territory with many other males who belonged to your camp,” Rhys responded calmly, but this time his voice was laced with the dark sort of promise that should have finally made Lord Rufous take stock of who exactly he was speaking with. “And he will receive a punishment that is fit for his crime.”

“Is that why we’ve all been called here then?” Rufous asked. “To witness a killing of a bastard who has no relevance to our camp? We do not control the filth that comes out of Windhaven. We can’t help it if those savages clip their females.”

“If the Illyrians in Windhaven are savages, then I do not know what to call the males in your camp,” Nesta said, her voice brimming with a fervour that burned like ice. “How many females have been mutilated here? How many girls? It is a sin what has been allowed to happen here.”

Lord Rufous was slowly turning purple with rage—no doubt at having been spoken to with such derision by a female—but he remained where he was, his darting glances between Sala and the fire burning at Nesta’s palms enough to keep him stationed in place.

“I do not believe that I need to remind you or the Illyrians here in Ironcrest that clipping has been against the law for centuries,” Rhys began coldly before Lord Rufous could open his mouth to form a retort. His voice was suddenly ringing out across the crowds, his magic amplifying the sound. “As Lady Nesta has pointed out, I have it under good authority that many of the females in this camp have been mutilated, so I would not take it upon yourself to lie to both your High Lord and Lady that this is a one off occurrence when I can see for myself that it is not the case.”

Rhys nodded to the bodies of Illyrians who had gathered around the fountain—at the females who had turned up not only to witness a public visit from their High Lord and Lady, but to see the High Fae who had protected their gender at the potential cost of her own life.

A sharp click of Rhys’s fingers summoned a rickety looking stool that appeared out of thin air. “Sit, observe and do not speak,” Rhys ordered with another snap of his fingers and a deliberate pointed finger.

For a moment, Rufous looked as if he was going to object, but then Sala prowled forward. The manticore’s ears lay flat against the back of her head and her nose wrinkled as her lip curled into a cruel smile, baring her lethally sharp incisors.

The blood that had threatened to turn the war-lord the colour of beetroot drained so quickly that Cassian thought it was a wonder that he didn’t faint. Sala slowly encourages Rufous and his warriors to step backwards until the war-lord’s legs bumped against the stool. There was a moments pause and then, when Rufous failed to sit down, Sala let out an ear-deafening roar. Spittle flew onto the war-lords leathers and the male jumped out of his skin, his backside hitting the seat with an audible thump.

The males at Rufous’s side leapt to unsheathe their weapons, only to find that they were stuck in their scabbards.

Feyre raised her chin. “We won’t be using those. If anyone so much as dares to touch their weapons you will receive the same punishment as this traitor.” She jerked her head towards Alaksander whose knees were all but knocking together.

“Well said, darling,” Rhys purred, bringing his mate’s hand to his mouth so he could press a kiss to the back of her palm.

And then together they turned back towards the crowd.

___

Alaksander had begged when Nesta had cut his wings. Had fallen to his knees and begged as Nesta floated over to him, her irises misting silver.

“You were part of a group of males who raped and mutilated young girls,” Nesta had told him in a voice that had bordered on ethereal. “As punishment, you will never taste the skies again.”

That fated forefinger finger had risen and at the tip, a single silver flame had burned so hot Cassian could sense the molten heat of her magic from where he had stood flanking his High Lord and Lady. And somehow Cassian knew that the hoards of Illyrians that had gathered could sense it to—the immense power of the eldest Archeron sister who had been gifted with the magic to protect and defend.

Alaksander had started to sob, the sound cracking around the market square in such a broken way that Cassian was surprised the male’s ribs did not splinter. He tried to tuck in his wings but Azriel made him turn so his back and wings faced the crowd.

The male had tried in vein to keep his wings tucked in tight, but Rhys had lifted a hand and slowly, painstakingly, Alaksander’s wings had spread as if an invisible force was pulling them open.

“We do not take pleasure in this,” Rhys informed the many faces that had gathered around them. “We have trusted Illyria to uphold the laws the Night Court have decreed in the past, but they have not been followed. Lest this new law be a lesson to you all.”

“Should any of you clip another's wings then you will pay the same price,” Feyre continued. “We have eyes and ears in every corner of this Court. Do not think because you are far removed from Velaris that we will not catch wind of barbaric acts and that we will not dare to interfere.”

And then, with a nod from her sister, Nesta’s flame had seared through the tendons on either side of the male’s elbow joints. Alaksander had screamed, his back arching as he tried to flinch away from the permanent damage that Nesta had inflicted to his treasured wings.

It was that desperate, broken scream that had sleep eluding Cassian as he lay in bed hours later. His thoughts were too loud, too insistent, and the images his mind conjured were too bright and colourful.

He was worried about Nesta. She had healed Alaksander between trips to the other camps without a word. Had slowly knitted his tendons back together only for her to cut them again as they stood before the next clan. She had not balked. Had only kept that icy, murderous expression across her face that told Cassian she was thinking of every wronged female as she took away Alaksander’s flight.

Even so, Cassian knew Nesta had found no true pleasure in it, only a grim determination that what she was doing was right. And it was something that the crowd had understood, too. Nesta was two sides of a coin: she could protect and destroy and she would indulge in the latter if it meant fighting for the former.

By the time they had arrived at the House of Wind, the exhaustion that came with the day’s events had been stark across Nesta’s face. She had barely registered the food Cassian had made her eat in the dining room as soon as they had arrived, or the way that Sala had placed her head in her companion’s lap. Feyre had summoned the wraiths up to the House, clearly worried herself for her sister’s welfare, and Cassian had watched Azriel’s spies lead Nesta away to her old room in search of a bath and a warm bed with a forlorn expression on his face that had resulted in a quirked eyebrow from Azriel.

When Cassian had checked on Nesta an hour before he retired to bed himself, he’d only spotted the slope of a satin-strapped shoulder and the golden tangle of hair spilled across a pillow beneath the piles of blankets atop the mattress. Sala had lain at Nesta’s feet, her chin between her paws, but the manticore had hopped off the bed when she’d spotted him, rubbing her face against his middle with a loud, rumbling purr.

Letting out a long groan of frustration, Cassian flipped over onto his back in defeat—his mind too busy to grant him the peace that came with sleep. It was well after midnight now, the night sky overcast and muted through the view Cassian was afforded in the gap between the curtains. Occasionally, the cloud coverage would break to reveal a dusting of stars as they glinted softly against the smoky blue of the night sky and a beautiful crescent moon.

A dull pounding began to echo around Cassian’s skull; the result of his continuous efforts to strain towards something that simply would not come. So, when he heard the quiet patter of feet coming from the corridor outside his room, Cassian initially thought it was a new addition to the throbbing in his head. Even so, instinct had him reaching for the knife beneath his pillow. But then the doorknob turned and a soft, buttery wedge of light crept across the floor, illuminating the sweeping outline of Nesta’s curves as she stepped into the room. Sala’s golden eyes glinted as she sloped in behind her companion.

Nesta’s scent hit him moments after that—sleepy jasmine and vanilla. He didn’t sit up. Cassian had learnt to treat Nesta like an easily startled animal when she chose to expose herself. Opting for slow, measured movements was key—or better, no movement at all.

“Ok, sweetheart?” he rasped through the darkness, barely daring to believe he wasn’t dreaming as she leant against the carved oak door. It clicked shut behind her and Cassian pushed the weapon back beneath his pillow.

For a moment, Nesta stood there and Cassian tried not to notice how her nipples had peaked from the cold or how painstakingly beautiful she looked with dishevelled hair and her eyes half-shuttered from sleep.

He clamped down hard on the sudden need that washed over him, imagined sinking his teeth into the meat of it until it squirmed uncomfortably—a beast trapped beneath a paw—as Nesta walked silently across the room. Sala slunk through the shadows too, hopping up onto the bed so she could curl up by Cassian’s feet. But Cassian was too preoccupied with how the mattress dipped as Nesta slid beneath the sheets. At how his heart was beating so hard he knew she must be able to hear it.

She was still too far away—too far, too far, too far away on his stupidly enormous bed—and Cassian resisted every urge that screamed at him to grab her.

Instead, he rolled onto his side. Savoured the sight of her silhouette from the intermittent moonlight that filtered between the billowing amethyst curtains.

“It’s too quiet in my room,” Nesta admitted eventually, her voice hoarse from lack of use. She stared up at the ceiling. “The silence woke me up. I miss the wind.”

Now Cassian’s heart raced for an entirely different reason. “I had Rhys loosen the shield around my room here a long time ago,” Cassian told her, knowing Nesta had already clocked the soft howl of the wind as it whipped around the neighbouring mountain peaks. “Whenever we used to stay here as younglings I could never sleep either. It took me a long while to realise that Rhys could alter the magic for me. He did the same in Azriel’s room.”

Not that Cassian often entered Azriel’s bedchamber. His brother was fiercely private like that.

“Is that why you choose to stay up here rather than in the other houses?” Nesta asked. “So you can live in the sky?”

“Partly,” Cassian admitted with a lift of a shoulder. “I never had reason to set my roots down in Velaris permanently and buy my own place. My home has always been Illyria, even if the bungalow is small.”

Nesta frowned, clearly unconvinced by Cassian’s words. Before the threat of the rebellion, Cassian had spent very little time living at the bungalow, more often than not having one of his friends winnow him to where he needed to be when he was required to oversee a military unit or kick a stubborn war-lord into line.

But she only said quietly—as if it were their secret, “I like the bungalow.” She rolled towards him and as the face of the moon was again cast free of a cloud Cassian finally saw Nesta properly.

“I didn’t think I’d like Illyria but I do,” she confessed.

“I’m glad,” Cassian replied softly. “It’s not for everyone.”

Nesta shrugged. “It’s brutal and cold but it’s…” She trailed off, searching for the right words. “Freedom, somehow. I’ve never had a home really, but being there feels right.” A blush graced her cheeks and Cassian wanted to stroke it away with his thumbs as she looked away. “I don’t know if that makes sense.”

“It makes sense,” Cassian replied hoarsely.

Silence draped over them like a blanket. But then Nesta asked, her voice smaller than usual, “Can I stay here? In your room, I mean?”

“I’ve already told you I’d rather sleep with you beside me,” he reminded her, something cracking inside of him at the glimpse of vulnerability she allowed him to see. “Stay whenever you want.”

Nesta stifled a laugh. “You won’t be saying that if you have company.”

“I won’t have company.”

Nesta turned her head to smile into the pillow. “Liar.”

“I’m beyond lies right now, Nesta.” The intensity behind his words didn’t have Nesta physically recoiling but Cassian knew her—knew that she would start to panic. So, he shot her a slow grin. “I wouldn’t be stupid enough to turn away a haughty witch now, would I?”

A huff of breath caressed his cheek. “I didn’t realise you had such common sense.”

Cassian’s laughter sparked him into action, his resolve to keep his hands to himself wavering as he reached for her. And when Nesta moved towards him and melted into his embrace, her back moulding into the hard planes of his body, he almost groaned at the comfort of it—at the knowledge that she wanted to be held by him.

Their legs tangled together and Cassian curved a wing around them, carving out a safe space for the two of them.

Emboldened, Cassian dared to bow his head to the nape of her neck and breathe her in. And even though he had spent the last week desperate to touch and taste her, Cassian found he had never been more content in his life to lie with someone and merely hear them breathe.

Minutes passed and when Cassian shifted slightly to get more comfortable Nesta’s fingers curled around his arm. It was a silent order to stay and Cassian realised they were in the exact same place they had been the other morning, when they had awoken.

They both slept, after that.

Tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @arinbelle @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @iammissstark @lovelynesta @melphss @nestalytical @darkshadowqueensrule @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @little-diyosa @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @sjm-things @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta @inyourmindeye @amelie775 @iwastoowildinthe70s @helen-the-weirdo @pizzaneverdisappoints @wishfulimaginings @trash-for-nessian @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @hatemecozuaintme @vidalinav @onceupona-chaos @inardour @thesunremembersyourface @teagoddess99 @ellies-iced-coffee @simonmqb @misswonderflower nessiantrashh

#embersandlightfic #duskandstarlightwrites #acotarfanfic #acosf #acosf spoilers #acosf fanfic #nessian #nessian fic #nessian angst #cassian and nesta #nesta x cassian #acotar fanfic #acotar #acowar #acomaf #acofas

131 notes · View notes

mythicamagic · 5 years ago

Text

In the Company of Wolves: Inukog oneshot

Summary: Every place feels like a temporary home for a Hanyou. Kouga offers Inuyasha a welcome respite within his wolf pack. Inukog oneshot

Written for @gaykagome, who has been a lovely, encouraging commenter and fandom friend ^^ thank you for your support bud.

Rated T

7,000 words (you can also read this on ao3 via the same username)

In the Company of Wolves

Leaping through sprawling trees, thick white hair flew out behind a red figure. Inuyasha landed on a sturdy branch, legs bent, muscles coiling and springing free as he leapt forth again. He smirked, a fang hooking over his bottom lip.

"Nice try, but you ain't got a hope in hell."

The deer fleeing for its life beneath the branches had skittered to the left, racing through dense undergrowth. Perhaps it hoped to lose him, or maybe it was running scared. Either way, this would be over quick.

Stepping from branch to branch, long fingers flexed, claws catching on sunlight. Pushing off from a tree trunk, Inuyasha sprang down with every intent of landing atop his prey.

He fell within range, closing in- only for his foot to collide with a mass of thick black fur.

Inuyasha's eyes flew wide, crashing into the beast and hitting the floor in a tumble of limbs. The deer merrily pranced away out of sight.

Snarling and lifting his head, Inuyasha cradled his throbbing skull. "Damn it, what the-!"

A large bear-sized wolf staggered to its feet, rumbling a noise of complaint. Two cobalt blue eyes glared at him.

Inuyasha stopped, "Kouga?" he rose a bushy brow.

There was no mistaking that smell. He'd never seen the mangy wolf's true form before though. In all honesty, it was kind of surreal. Hell, the guy even looked a bit more dignified.

Kouga tilted his head, standing. As he shook himself, yellow, static powder fell from his fur like gold dust, swirling into a whirlwind of youki. In a matter of moments, Kouga's humanoid form stepped out, hands on his hips.

"Why'd you get in my way?! You lost me my meal!"

White triangular ears flicked and pressed back against his skull. Fuck taking that. Inuyasha stood, hands balled into fists.

"Your meal?! I've been tracking that deer for at least an hour! You weren't even in the picture, I didn't smell ya chasing it once!"

Kouga tilted his chin up, flashing a cheeky grin. "Tch, that's what happens when you track from downwind, Dog Breath," he muttered, ignoring the pissed off Hanyou and looking around. "How come you're out here huntin' anyway? Isn't Kagome with you? She always carries some goodies to chew on. Tastier than venison too."

Inuyasha glanced away moodily, crossing his arms. "Shaddap. Like it's any of your business."

Kouga hummed, scratching his jaw. Odd. There was no bite in his tone. Sniffing a little, Kouga picked up the faint scent of sadness clinging to the robe of the fire rat.

Inuyasha's face heated. He quickly bared his teeth, "quit with that! She's just busy, alright? Besides, I can still hunt for myself. Ain't you a little far from your territory to be hunting out here?"

Kouga blinked, mildly concerned despite their history together. "Uhh… where do you think you are, Dog Breath?"

Frowning, Inuyasha glanced around. Clearly no answers were forthcoming from the forest, so leaping up, he climbed a tree, digging claws into rough bark to hoist himself up. Minding the tallest branches aside, Inuyasha gaped as he surfaced from the sea of greenery. Sprawling, picturesque mountains met his startled gaze.

How far did I chase that deer?

And why'd it have to lead him to Kouga's turf, of all places?

Dropping down to solid ground again, Inuyasha avoided eye contact. "I just got caught up in running, that's all," he answered the silent question hanging in the air.

Kouga tilted his head slightly, "… right."

A rumbling sound rang out between them. Inuyasha grit his teeth, ignoring the impatient gurgling of his stomach and swiftly turning. "Whatever. See ya," he started walking.

"Hey-" Kouga called, causing him to nearly trip in surprise and frown over one shoulder.

The wolf winced, looking awkward and weirded out to even be asking. "We got leftovers. If you want some," the offer was casual. "Don't want you keeling over on the way back, Kagome would kill me."

Inuyasha stared. Maybe he'd hit his head or something because for some reason, the offer sounded like a tempting one.

"Keh," he grunted, pivoting on one heel and trudging towards Kouga's territory instead. "Better be good," he complained with no energy behind it.

"Its free food! Be more grateful to your host," the wolf snarked, jogging to keep pace with him.

---

Mutters echoed throughout the cave, causing white ears to twitch and swivel atop his head. Inuyasha ignored the curious wolves, digging into tough boar meat. Uncooked. Miroku and Kagome would've called it ghastly. His lips twitched at the thought, soon wiped away. Something squeezed his chest instead.

"Hey, blabber-mouths! Keep it down!" Kouga's booming voice caught his dazed attention.

Ginta and Hakkaku quickly shut up, apologising. The rest of the wolf pack fell quiet, though their eyes blazed with questions.

Inuyasha rose a brow and glanced at the Wolf Prince. Did he think the gossiping bothered him or something? Weird guy. He should know a Hanyou would be used to it.

Kouga's tail flicked as he strode through regular wolves, minding some beasts aside. He then threw himself down beside Inuyasha on some soft furs, stealing a rib. Not having the energy or inclination to snap at him for it, Inuyasha merely flashed his teeth, grunting and continuing to eat.

"So what brings you to us, Inuyasha?" Hakkaku asked bluntly. Ginta gasped and fretted, clearly having wanted to ask more delicately.

Inuyasha drew into himself slightly, noticing a hush fall over the atmosphere within the damp cave.

"Was just in the neighbourhood is all. If ya wanna blame someone for dragging me here, look no further than your precious leader," he snorted, sidestepping the question.

Kouga elbowed him and chuckled in a deep, rich baritone. Triangular ears flicked upon hearing it. "Aw c'mon! You practically tripped over yourself getting here you were so eager," glimmering blue eyes swung to his pack, giving a shit-eating grin. "He's just too proud to say 'thank you for the meal' because he lost his prey and is still being a sore loser about it~"

Inuyasha blinked, noticing his verbal diversion and change in topic. Kouga was... helping him?

Sure enough, the wolf demon gazed at him, brows raised in challenge, trying to encourage a rebuttal.

Relief touched Inuyasha's face for a moment, before snorting loudly and thrusting his nose up in the air, turning away. "Me? You're the one who got in my way, Mangy Wolf."

"Dog Breath!"

"Flea Bag!"

The wolves glanced back and forth between them, noticing the lack of malice in their nicknames. Their scents were calm, giving them away. A touch of humour and enjoyment radiated from them as they bickered.

"Alright, prove it-" Kouga suddenly threw out. "Hunt with us tomorrow. Then we'll see who's better at it," he jabbed a thumb at his chest. "Obviously, it'll be us wolves! I've provided for my pack as leader for tons of years and I'm faster than you."

Rolling golden eyes, Inuyasha picked up a stone, hollowed out cup of water, taking a sip. "Keh, wouldn't be the first time people have underestimated me. Won't be the last," easing slightly closer to get in Kouga's face, he bared sharp fangs in a feral grin. "I'll beat you just like I've beaten everyone else who figured a half-breed couldn't measure up to a full demon."

Kouga stared, a funny look crossing his face- both palms shooting up to wave slightly. "Huh? Nah, you've got me wrong," he grunted, straightening his spine. "I was just trash talkin' you as competition, not because you're a Hanyou. I honestly wasn't thinkin' of that," his voice trailed into a musing tone.

A stab of surprise and disorientation swung through Inuyasha. There was no time to recover, however, as the demon kept talking. "Though now that you mention it, you're probably used to hunting alone, right? We'd call you a Lone Wolf if you were one of our kind. My pack will win through sheer teamwork."

Inuyasha huffed. So clearly it was more like 1 vs 30 rather than a fair fight. Coward.

Ah well. Looking down at the bones he'd picked clean, he gave a rough shrug of his shoulders. Not like he had anything else to do. He could stick around a little longer.

"You're on."

----

Many hours after the sun had gone down, taking its vibrant colourful sky with it, the moon had opened up her blanket of stars. Inuyasha sat at the mouth of the wolf pack's cave, hands thrust inside his sleeves. Tetsusaiga rested against one shoulder.

The wolves had finished singing their melodies to their mother, the moon, so they'd settled down.

Golden eyes slid towards their sleeping forms. They'd packed themselves tight against one another to retain some heat. Only a few had broken off in pairs to cuddle by themselves. Ginta and Hakkaku were well and truly wrapped around one another, swathed in furs.

They all looked comfortable. Trusting, together. A family unit.

Inuyasha stared. The most annoying part about it was that he could never pinpoint exactly what he was feeling, looking at groups like this. It made him uncomfortable, a reminder that they had something he didn't. Maybe he had, for a time, but his friends had all split off to live their own lives. Shippo was growing up. Miroku and Sango had their own family now.

Kagome…

He wasn't needed anymore. Their quest had been over for a long time. He should be over it by now.

Staring at the pack was like looking into a store window in Kagome's time. Unseen glass forever separated him from what they possessed.

Kouga lifted his head from where he lay, noting a chill in the air. Inuyasha met his gaze, quickly turning to face the other way and pretending to look at sprawling scenery. A snort sounded out in the cave before sharp, static youki fanned into the breeze.

Transformed, Kouga stepped around his pack and lay down towards the entrance, blocking out the night's chilly breeze with his thick fur and large form.

Inuyasha glanced behind him with mild surprise.

Kouga was maybe, actually, kind of…

... a good leader.

---

It started at midday.

The pack immediately flooded the forest, racing through it like droves of rats. Inuyasha shared a look with Kouga, before smirking and starting to leap from tree to tree.

Hunting with wolves nearby started to look next to impossible, considering how eagerly they dove and ran through the undergrowth, loud and clumsy. However, the second they caught wind of a herd, they split off into different, smaller groups. Inuyasha watched them from his vantage point above.

Scouts ran on ahead. Kouga kept towards the back of his pack, signalling orders with mere grunts, growls or gestures of his hand. Inuyasha followed the scouts, dropping down to run alongside them. They were slightly younger demons, teenage boys and girls, lithe and built for running. They stared at him but gave tentative grins.

Inuyasha blinked and offered a slight smirk, soon powering on ahead and leaving them behind.

Sniffing out a herd of deer that the wolves intended to close in on, Inuyasha kept to his vantage point in the trees. He rounded one side of a large clearing, heart thundering.

It had been a long time since he'd hunted seriously. It took him back to old times. Kagome had spoiled him with ramen, and complacency softened his body. But now rusty instincts were awakening, shaking the dust away. His fangs ached. Demon senses kicked in, blood pumping. He could hear and smell everything, down to the blades of grass, fusty scent of deer and pungent odour of wolves.

As predicted, Kouga's scouts halted at the opposite side of the treeline. Lower-ranking wolves and wolf demons alike burst through into the meadow then, causing the herd to take off running.

Right towards Inuyasha.

Dumbasses. Didn't they figure they were leading them right to him?

Grinning, Inuyasha's clawed nails elongated slightly. Waiting as a few deer ran beneath his position- he suddenly lept. Free-falling and spreading both arms wide, he tackled a stag around the neck, yanking it down with him using his weight.

Grabbing it by the antlers the second he recovered, Inuyasha gave a quick jerk, snapping its neck cleanly.

Panting and grinning, he raised triumphant eyes-

Only to see Kouga bent over a felled deer not too far away. His mouth was bloodied. His prey lay dead on one side. It was obvious from the number of adults mid-way through their meal that they'd taken it down much quicker than Inuyasha. They'd had the same idea, flushing out prey and leaping upon them from the opposite direction. Somehow they'd evaded even his detection.

Younger wolves looped around, waiting pensively for their turn.

Kouga licked his lips, maintaining eye contact. Dark hair hung loose from its typical ponytail, claws stained crimson. Inuyasha's heart skittered. His breath halted.

The demon drew bloodied lips back over his fangs when a lower wolf sniffed too close to his food- a loud, powerful snarl thrumming through the clearing.

An answering rumble built in Inuyasha's throat, unbidden. Blazing, twisting heat hooked low in his stomach, cock twitching.

Golden eyes snapped wide, realising just what the fuck he was reacting to.

Kouga's feral expression softened back to normal, shooting him a surprised grin and happily digging into his meal, none the wiser.

Shaken, Inuyasha grimly started tucking into his own, busying himself with eating. He then offered some scraps to some salivating teens, ignoring the amused demons watching. He wasn't above dining with pups. Especially if it meant never confronting what had just happened.

---

"So you and Kagome broke up, huh?"

Inuyasha jolted, wondering how obvious he'd been about it. Frowning at Kouga, who seemed content to laze within the den after the hunt, he gave a long exhale. "Have been for a few months now."

"Gotcha."

"We're still friends though, so don't even think about sniffing after her again."

"I ain't about to, Dog Breath," Kouga flashed him a wolfish grin, slowly sobering, "you wanna talk about it? Only it seems to be eatin' at ya."

Running a hand through his hair and giving a dusty sigh, Inuyasha stared blankly at the forest down below. With no other wolves around, he felt somewhat better about talking so plainly.

"Nothin' much to talk about, she's with someone else now. Seems happy."

Kouga made a noise of affirmation, showing he was listening while picking at his teeth with a pinky.

"I've got a crappy track record with relationships."

"You've got a crappy track record with women, yeah."

Inuyasha whipped his head back to stare at Kouga, wondering what he meant by that. If he meant what Inuyasha thought he meant.

Kouga remained in a reclining position, meeting his gaze easily. The late afternoon sun touched his skin, giving it a warm glow, hooded eyes seeming to darken. "You ever think about trying to be with someone else, rather than pining after the same soul over and over?"

Inuyasha's lips thinned, cheeks heating.

"I dunno. I was with Kikyo and then after being sealed to the tree- I woke up and met Kagome like no time had passed," he grunted. This would usually be the part where he clamped up. He didn't like talking about something so vulnerable. Self-preservation had taught him not to divulge too much, even to friends like Kagome. Kouga could easily mock him. However…

Looking over, no sinister motivation seemed to compel the wolf. He was genuinely interested. Inuyasha's insides screamed at him as he reluctantly continued. "It was like… it made sense to be with her, but I barely had a chance to process losing Kikyo. Things just kinda happened," he shook his head slightly. "Startin' fresh? Sounds like a fairy tale."

Kouga chuckled deeply, causing Inuyasha's ears to twitch again. His stomach did a nervous flip, but there was no cruelty in that rich tone. "Kinda set in your ways, huh? You're like a human in that respect."

"Keh, well what about you? Been with anyone recently?" Inuyasha asked flatly. He wasn't fishing or anything.

Kouga stretched languidly, yawning and exposing sharp-pointed canines. Blunt claws flexed wide, before curling into his palms again. "Nothing permanent. My last 'relationship' was with a guy for a couple of weeks. Just casual stuff. Heh, bet that's unthinkable to you, right?"

Inuyasha bristled, cheeks reddening. He tossed his head and huffed in answer.

"Oi, I don't mean anything by it. I think it's great you're such a loyal pup and have soul-consuming relationships instead of flings. Still, it sounds kind of exhausting to me," the wolf shrugged.

"I thought 'wolves mated for life', you sure tried that line on Kagome."

"We do," Kouga muttered, looking at him, "but only after we find someone special. We got an expression, us wolves. It basically translates to 'my heart and liver.' You gotta find someone that really fits your needs, who you pursue like they're a missing organ inside you. Till we find our chosen one, we're free to pursue who we want."

Inuyasha snorted, "and Kagome was that person to you?" he drawled sarcastically.

Kouga shrugged, not catching it. His earnest, blunt disposition was somewhat refreshing, if Inuyasha were being honest. "I figured so. But after three years of thinking about it, I kinda dove headfirst into loving her without really knowing her. I pursued her so hard that I forgot to think about why I was even running."

Unbidden, a smile came to the Hanyou's mouth, a fang hooking over his lip. He chuckled, eyes warming. Something heavy lifted from his shoulders. "We're both dumbasses," he said, golden eyes dancing. It felt kind of good to not be alone in that. To know they both should've done better.

Kouga blinked, gaze roving over his face. Slowly, he gave an answering, amiable smile. "You get a snaggle-tooth when you grin," he pointed out teasingly. "It's cute."

"Don't think you can flirt with me just because we bonded for a second, wolf," Inuyasha rolled his eyes and forcefully snuffed out his grin.

"No I'm gonna," Kouga chuckled, tail thumping beside him.

Something dissuaded the Hanyou from hotly shutting this down. His heart sat a little lighter in his chest, shoulders relaxed. If the dumbass wanted to keep saying stupid shit, who was he to stop him?

----

After that day, Inuyasha resolved to stay- at least until he caught a kill quicker than the wolves during a hunt.

Kouga became somewhat more shameless and flirty. It started out subtle. Well, subtle for Kouga.

One time, Inuyasha had leisurely taken a sip of his drink, setting it down and not noticing the wolf sit beside him. Kouga then proceeded to pick it up.

He crooked his wrist as he lifted the cup so that his lips landed squarely over the same place Inuyasha's had just occupied. He'd performed the manoeuvre so quickly that Inuyasha wasn't sure at first of what he'd seen. But as Kouga drank, he glanced at him, and Inuyasha knew then that the move had been intentional.

There were other small, maddening things. Kouga's tail brushing against his hip in passing. How he always brought over a slab of meat from a fresh kill to Inuyasha first during evening meals. How he offered over and over to take a 'friendly' dip in the waterfall together.

Inuyasha rolled his eyes at the attention. It never strayed too far into 'Miroku' territory, but it also wasn't something to take it seriously. The other wolves by now had caught on and sometimes teased their leader. Kouga laughed it off yet continued undaunted. When he next offered Inuyasha a pot, the Hanyou blinked.

"Are those stingers?" he grunted.

Sure enough, bee stings dotted bronze skin. The idiot hadn't removed the stingers from his hand.

The wolf chuckled, gesturing to the covered pot. "Ya mentioned that honey goes well with meat, so I got some for you."

Staring and feeling weird again, Inuyasha heaved a sigh and grabbed Kouga by the wrist, tugging him to kneel beside him. "Hold still, idiot. Do your feet run away with your brain or somethin'? You have to take these out," he bent over his hand, clawed fingers grasping a stinger.

"I was just eager to get it back to y- OW!"

Huffing, the Hanyou continued in his task, ignoring the whimpering demon. Despite his gruffness however, he leaned Kouga's arm over his knee, one hand gripping the back of the wolf's to keep it steady. He could feel Kouga's sharp inhale close to his cheek.

Finally removing the last of the stingers, Inuyasha's dog demon side betrayed him. As natural as breathing; he'd bent his head and swiped a careful tongue over a red sore to soothe the wound unthinkingly. Human embarrassment kicked in then, and he dropped Kouga's wrist like a rock, lurching back and standing.

"There! Tend to your own damn hand now!"

A ripple of laughter washed over the pack as Inuyasha stormed away, leaving Kouga to stare at the spot of saliva on his hand like it were a dewy jewel.

---

When next hunting, Inuyasha set off on his own under cloudy skies. He didn't keep track of the mass of wolves flooding the forest. Closing his eyes and removing the robe of the fire-rat to leave him in his white underlayer, he sank into a crouch. Burying Tetsusaiga somewhere safe at the base of a tree, he exhaled. The hanyou then began the process of shedding.

Shedding didn't entail fur. Rather, for him, it meant shaking off the layers of bullshit that weighed on his mind. He even stopped thinking about himself as a person. His mind turned blank, running through the forest like an animal.

He hadn't hunted via pure instinct in so long. He forgot how to speak with a human tongue, letting out grunts and growls. Saliva pooled in his mouth. Unknowingly, golden eyes tinged red. Faint markings cut across his cheeks. Fangs and claws elongated, youki pounding through his system with every thunder of his heartbeat.

A hare darted out from the bushes- and Inuyasha lunged.

He was barely aware of Kouga looping closer until he jogged out from the trees. "Hey, mutt- no luck for us today. Think that last hunt scared the herd too far awa-"

The creature hunched over spun around, a mangled kill hanging limp from his mouth. It hit the ground with a sickening thud as long white hair bristled, puffing up. A deep, rumbling snarl deafened Kouga's ears.

Inuyasha gazed at him, unblinking, panting with ragged breaths.

Kouga stopped and stared. Unbidden, the wilder, fiercer side of his nature reared its head. Teeth and claws gleamed, interest piqued.

However, something was wrong.

Inuyasha gasped and grunted, bending low and whimpering with pain. His body began fighting with itself, his demon blood coursing too strong for his hanyou form to withstand.

Kouga didn't really know anything about hanyou kind. However, he knew enough about the situation to realise a particular sword was missing from Inuyasha's hip. Turning tail and hurrying away, it was a simple matter of tracking Inuyasha's scent all the way to the base of a tree.

The fog cleared from crimson eyes, and Inuyasha blinked, panting. He flexed his shaking hand around a muddied Tetsusaiga, the partial transformation leaving him worn and ragged.

Kouga was squatting next to him. Concern probably wasn't the right word for it, but he gazed at him seriously for a moment before standing.

"Don't do stupid stuff just to win bets, Mutt Face."

Coughing, Inuyasha slowly adjusted back into his old senses, gripping his sword so tight his knuckles bled white. "Yeah... fine, whatever... Mangey Wolf."

----

The 'incident' as Kouga called it was not an isolated one in terms of throwing him for a damn loop. After bathing at the waterfall in a nice, refreshing midday dip, Kouga noticed an absence immediately.

"Where's Inuyasha?"

Ginta looked up from polishing some armour.

"I'm not sure. He started getting fidgety and sniffed around- then he looked at the sky and took off without a word to anyone. I think he looked a bit pale."

Kouga frowned. In a few hours, it would get dark. Tracking him would be more difficult.

Wasting no time, Kouga lept from their den, sailing down the side of the rocky mountain face. His black hair and wolf tail flew up to flutter in the breeze. "Be back later!" he called, ignoring Ginta's confusion.

Bursting into a mini tornado of power, Kouga started running, lifting his nose to scent the air. Locating Inuyasha's unique smell, he sprinted into the gloom of the trees. It seemed the Hanyou hadn't wanted to be found. His scent zig-zagged everywhere, even travelling upriver, perhaps intending to lose anyone tracking him.

Kouga smirked. As if that would work on a full demon.

By the time dusk settled in, however, Kouga felt antsy. Still no sign of the mutt, and it was getting dark. Even his scent had become strange and diluted.

Stopping beneath the canopy of trees and frowning, Kouga shifted his attention to the waning light above. The moon was out, but faint.

Kouga's eyes widened slightly. A new moon.

Hearing a sigh and the crunch of weight shifting on dried leaves, Kouga turned, nose twitching.

A willow tree sat relatively still and serene, located near some stretch of water. Weeping, draping branches were parted by Kouga's rough palms. He peered into the shadows behind the sweeping curtain, finding a familiar face.

Inuyasha stood, eyes incredibly dark. Midnight locks of hair split down broad shoulders. He stood weary and watchful, gripping a useless Tetsusaiga.

"What are you doing here?" Inuyasha muttered.

Kouga gave a look, as though it should be obvious, stepping into his private space beneath the darkening tree. "I came here to find ya, obviously."

Dark eyes widened slightly at his blunt honesty. Sighing anew, Inuyasha rubbed at his forehead. "Dumbass. I'm guessing you forgot what night I transform despite seeing it yourself before?"

"Kinda," the wolf demon shrugged, resting both hands on his hips and walking around the tree, glancing at the fresh kill of a rabbit. "Glad ya fed yourself at least. C'mon, let's go back before we lose any more light. Unless of course you wanna stumble around in the dark, forcing me to hold your hand?" he teased.

Inuyasha gazed back soberly, causing the mirth to leave Kouga's eyes. Both fell quiet.

As a human, Inuyasha lost many things. Animal ears, a keen sense of smell, golden irises that gleamed like a treasure trove. He also lost a certain harshness. The thick wall of defence usually built up around his heart had crumbled.

Like this, Inuyasha looked much softer. In more ways than one.

"I don't want to go back looking like this," Inuyasha muttered. "And neither do you."

"What're you yappin' about?"

Bushy brows pulled down, and he backed up slightly. "Listen, you've had your fun little charity experience including a Hanyou in your shit, but I know how full demon society works. I'm not stupid. You're all fine with me hanging around as some little project to measure yourselves against, but when it comes down to it, you don't want to confront this part."

Kouga's heavy brows pulled down, a sneer marring his lips. "Ah, I get it. Ya think my pack will mock you because it's your human night? You're a fucking idiot," he sighed. "I was in love with Kagome. Ya think anyone's gonna say shit? Admit it, you just feel vulnerable because you got baby skin and no fangs."

Inuyasha's expression flickered; an open book. His hands balled into fists, stubbornness setting his mouth into a thin, grim line.

Kouga gave an exaggerated sigh, grabbing his arm, "quit bein' stubborn-"

Yanking himself free, Inuyasha gave a poor imitation of a snarl, exposing blunt teeth. "Get lost!"

Growling, Kouga blurred in the air- appearing behind him and grabbing the failing human around the waist- lifting so that his kicking feet left the ground. "We're going back, it's cold out! Your baby skinned, barely furred ass will catch a cold, and I ain't dealing with that!" he started walking.

With a yowl of outrage, Inuyasha swung his elbow back into Kouga's face. With a grunt, he was released, only for the two to snarl and grapple once again. Heels dug into mud- foreheads smacked, palms clasped and muscles strained on Inuyasha's end to match the power of a demon, failing. Kouga licked at his bleeding nose, before giving a hard shove. Landing on forest ground and losing themselves in senseless scrapping, sharp teeth closed around a curved ear.

Inuyasha yelped, dark eyes flying wide. Did he just?-

He had! Kouga had reprimanded him like a damn pack member.

Sensation burst within his chest, boiling over, consuming. He didn't know how to react to it. Therefore, Inuyasha didn't stop to think about his actions. When drowning in feeling, his mind turned blank, and he acted on impulse.

Curling coarse fingers in dark hair and latching tight- he yanked Kouga down by the back of the neck- mouths colliding.

Teeth knocked. Lips strained against hard pressure. Inuyasha's grip tugged Kouga's hair tight against his scalp. It was painful. It was uncomfortable. It was brilliant.

The wolf demon reeled, inhaling hard through his nostrils. His senses flooded with Inuyasha's human scent.

There was a reason Kagome's slap had cemented her into Kouga's head as a potential mate. He wasn't used to being opposed. Everyone listened to him, and he talked freely. But a push back, a stubborn, fierce 'no!' made his world tilt on its axis. It was exactly what he needed. Someone to raise their voice and get his attention. An opposing view to clash with his own. That was what leaders primarily looked for in partners, not meek obedient types.

And Kouga couldn't say he personally disliked it either.

Releasing him, Inuyasha panted. His face suddenly paled, realisation dawning. "Shit," he muttered, drawing back and falling silent.

Kouga opened his mouth, then closed it. There were no words he could scramble together in his currently fried brain. What he did know- was that the weather still felt chilly, and Inuyasha needed a place to sleep. He kind of felt the desire to prod for more, but judging by Inuyasha's closed off, guarded look, that wouldn't be happening anytime soon.

They picked themselves up, standing. Inuyasha wiped some mud from his ashen cheek.

"You won't come back to the pack tonight, right?" Kouga asked.

Mild relief seemed to touch his features as he nodded glumly.

"Gotcha, well, don't kick up a fuss. I'll take ya somewhere else for the night," the wolf demon stepped away, youki swirling around his form, tumbling faster into a fierce gust. Inuyasha watched as a 10ft tall dark-furred wolf eventually lept out of the whirlwind. Kouga then knelt down as best he could, jerking his head to indicate Inuyasha climb on.

"You've got to be kiddin' me?" he grumbled. It didn't take much prompting for him to give in, burned out from nerves and high tension. The new moon always messed everything up.

Grasping onto thick, feathery fur, Inuyasha climbed onto his back, sitting behind Kouga's shoulder blades. The wolf demon flashed him a toothy smile, pushing off starting to run.

Gaping and swaying from the momentum, Inuyasha ducked down and gripped his hackles. Kouga talked a lot of shit, but he got one thing right; he was fucking fast.

Muscles coiled and shifted, prowling through dense undergrowth with quick footfalls. Kouga panted softly, paws thundering over chilled forest floor, scattering leaves.

Inuyasha ducked to avoid a few low-hanging branches, feeling the wolf's sturdiness and warm form beneath him. Despite being in human form with his dulled, dim senses, the silence of the forest combined with Kouga's rhythmic noises made him feel strangely wild yet lulled. He was a creature again, not a man nor demon. It comforted him.

Kouga's breath fanned out in visible puffs of curling smoke by the time they reached an abandoned cave beneath a slightly upturned tree- it's hanging, frozen roots slightly obscuring the entrance. Snowdrops littered the ground- crunching under Inuyasha's feet as he dismounted and quietly entered.

More snowdrops awaited him inside the mouth of the cave, and he sank down exhaustedly into the flowers, cheek cushioned by soft petals.

Kouga huffed, staring down at Inuyasha's near motionless body. Shifting, he settled beside him, acting as a shield against the elements.

Inuyasha's feet were turning blue. Knowing he'd probably be insecure about holding onto him in inhuman form, the wolf shifted closer, bumping against his side.

Making a tired noise, a dark brown eye cracked open. With a sigh- Inuyasha's coarse hands met Kouga's fur, settling closer into the mass of warmth. "This means nothing," came his muffled voice.

Resting his head upon enormous paws, Kouga ignored this, tail thumping slightly behind him.

"Thanks for... coming to get me."

At that, Kouga stiffened with surprise, lifting his head to look at him.

Inuyasha's breaths evened out, and in the quiet hush that followed, it was difficult not to notice how his dark hair seemed to mesh and meld so naturally into the wolf demon's own black fur.

In the morning it would be harder still not to stare at sprawling wisps of long white hair blending into the snowdrops.

Kouga's blue eyes blinked, nose twitching. It was then he realised he was probably in danger of something much larger than either of them could've expected.

----

Predictably, Inuyasha acted as though nothing had happened.

He stuck around the wolves for a few days longer, before finally approaching Kouga, arms thrust inside trailing sleeves.

"So… gonna be headin' out soon."

Kouga continued sharpening his knife. He then stood, rolling one shoulder and keeping his tone casual.

"For good?"

"Yeah," Inuyasha muttered, face guarded. "No point in sticking around here any longer than I need to. Keh, I ain't in the habit of getting in people's way."

Kouga heaved a sigh, putting the knife away and folding his arms, walking from the cave and out into bright sunlight. Rounding one side of the mountain and following a rocky trail, his tail swished with agitation. "You ain't in the way, Dog Breath. I made that pretty clear. You wanna talk about the kiss or not?"

Inuyasha made a noise behind him. He then scrambled for something to say, "we don't gotta talk about it! Weird shit happens when I turn human! Stuff I wouldn't usually do-"

Kouga cut him off with a dramatically loud groan, turning on his heel to face him. Inuyasha jumped, feet skidding to bring him to a stop- rocking forward with momentum and ending up nose to nose with the wolf.

Cobalt blue eyes remained flat, "dunno how Kagome put up with your damn wishy-washy ass. I ain't about to listen to that crap when my nose can sniff out lies unlike her. Since you're so bad at this, I guess I'll be the mature one; and that's how ya know you're being an idiot, stupid mutt."

Inuyasha blinked, opening his mouth with an irate expression.

"I want ya to stay," Kouga said bluntly. "The kiss didn't bother me. In fact, I kinda liked it and I'm open to doing more of that stuff, weird as it sounds saying it out loud. I was into it," he shrugged broad shoulders. "But if you're too busy getting yourself worked up about feeling like an outsider, that's up to you. As pack leader, I'm telling you you've got a place here, dumbass. You can quit being a lone wolf if you want to. My group won't mind."

Inuyasha stared at him, completely stunned. He put a little distance between them, ears pressing flat.

His expression rapidly changed with a multitude of conflicting thoughts. He opened and closed his mouth, eyes flickering to the scenery, to the rocks, to their bare feet. Heavy brows drew down.

Kouga sighed and scratched his pointed ear, figuring he'd be stubborn about it. Not like he could force him to stay. But still… an odd sense of disappointment weighed in his chest. He'd had fun. He'd had a lot of fun with him around.

"I don't do casual," came Inuyasha's reluctant reply.

Kouga's brows rose. Oh. That's what he'd been having reservations about?

"Fuck- I'm bad at this," the hanyou gazed stubbornly at the horizon, cheeks heating. Hands curled into fists at his side.

Blinking, Kouga let out a rasping chuckle, shoulders shaking. It immediately won him Inuyasha's attention. "You really are," he agreed, tone turning into a teasing one. "I didn't know you were that into me."

Growling and bristling, Inuyasha seemed to assume he was laughing at him, so Kouga held up a hand. He then used it to grab hold of the robe of the fire rat, bridging the distance between them.

Inuyasha's breath rushed out of his nose, exhaling sharply. He froze, becoming completely still. Kouga's mouth remained against his in a firm kiss, before shifting into a yielding one, eventually drawing away.

Kouga grinned, "if you wanna get stuck with me, then I'm totally capable of being serious too."

Inuyasha slowly relaxed. He snorted, lips quirking as golden eyes warmed. "Dumbass," he mumbled, tugging him back in again. This time Kouga's ensuing chuckle came out muffled against his lips.

"Heh, you really do have dog breath."

"Do I gotta keep shutting you up?"

Kouga lifted a shoulder, flashing him a wolfish grin, tail thwacking his thigh. "If that's the method you're going with to do it, I guess so."

Inuyasha's gaze flattened, feeling large hands slide around him to rest on his shoulder blades. Oddly comforting. The warmth of a wolf was a strange, foreign thing, but one he could get used to. Kouga had a strong scent. He could feel it saturating his clothes. The robe of the fire-rat would reek for weeks.

And that was okay too.

Their noses bumped, and they huffed with amusement, teeth nipping. They'd be clumsy for a while, but sticking around suddenly didn't sound so heavy. Inuyasha resolved to stay for a few more weeks.

And then maybe he'd linger for a little while after that too.

---

The wolves always howled in their true forms, conveying their love, heartbreak, hunger, stories and other things into their haunting songs. They were beautiful, powerful, twisting, waxing poetic about nothing and everything.

Inuyasha stepped out onto the summit of their mountain that they gathered upon. When he threw back his head and howled suddenly, it startled the others out of their songs.

His voice strained, held back by untrained vocal cords. It wasn't wild enough and held no finesse, too tempered by humanity. Imperfect.

Kouga beamed upon hearing it. He then transformed, black silky fur receding.

Throwing his head back, he let out a loud howl, hair dancing in the breeze. Inuyasha finished and looked at him breathlessly, heart drumming loudly. His throat hurt, cheeks stinging from the cold bite in the air. It felt fucking fantastic.

The rest of the wolf pack demons followed suit, transforming into their mockery of human appearances. Their inhuman forms joined in, baying with hoarse, powerful voices.

If someone had happened upon the pack that night, they'd have found the wolves packed in close, huddling for warmth in their cave. And at the very centre of the pack would be one hanyou, nestled amongst their slumbering, monstrous forms, nose buried into windswept fur, heart in sync with theirs.

---

It would be a few weeks later when Inuyasha would return to Kaede's village. It had been two months since he'd left.

Kouga jogged around him on the trail, sniffing the air and chattering animatedly. He loved travelling. Inuyasha grunted a few replies but was content to listen to him. It kept his mind off inevitably seeing a certain someone again.

That person seemed to spot them almost immediately as they approached the village.

Kagome came rushing over, causing Kouga to grin and call a greeting- his words going completely ignored as the miko drew back her hand.

Inuyasha blinked at the ensuing slap. His cheek stung like hell.

Salt peppered the air then, causing guilt to sink heavy into his gut.

"H-how dare you!" Kagome's watery eyes blazed. "You disappear for months- without a word to anyone?!- and then just swan back here like nothing happened? I searched for you! Do you have any idea how WORRIED I was? You jerk! You're such an absolute JERK!"

Inuyasha slowly stepped closer and brought her into a hug just as she burst into tears.

Kagome thumped her fists weakly against his chest, shuddering and prattling nonsense.

"I just… needed to get away," Inuyasha muttered, ears pressed back tight to his skull. "Didn't feel right being here."

Letting out a rush of hot air, Kagome drew back slightly to look at him. "N-nothing had to change. I told you that," she hiccuped. "Just because I'm in a relationship with someone else- it doesn't affect us. We're still friends. Your place is here. Miroku, Sango and Shippo were worried too."

"They were?"

They'd seemed so busy with their own lives before. Too busy to hang out with him- or maybe he'd been alone in thinking that? Had he put distance between them unknowingly because they'd all changed but he'd stayed the same?

"Idiot," Kagome and Kouga sighed together.

Noticing their wolf companion, Kagome wiped her tears and turned to Kouga. She gave him a much gentler reception, hugging him tight with gratitude.

"So he was with you the whole time? Thank you for looking out for him, Kouga."

"Heh, no worries. It's actually been pretty fun."

Kagome pulled back and rose a brow, glancing between them. "Really? You two haven't been fighting?"

"Sometimes," Inuyasha scratched his nose, combing some claws through his hair. "That hasn't been so bad either, though."

Completely lost, Kagome tilted her head. She then located a hickey on Inuyasha's neck, the skin bruised and red. She reddened herself, meeting Inuyasha's awkward gaze.

"Oh," she put the pieces together slowly. "So… are you just visiting?" she asked quietly.

Inuyasha nodded slowly. "Yeah. I got…" he took a breath, words faltering. He then continued, voice full of conviction. "I got a place to return to now. The wolves ain't a bad bunch to stay with now that my nose has adjusted to their damn smell."

"Hey-" Kouga scoffed.

"I'll keep coming back here though," he continued. "I'm just-"

"It's okay," Kagome soothed. "That makes me really happy to hear. Sometimes new things are good. Different, but good."

It was the same thing she'd said when trying to talk to him about her new relationship. Inuyasha nodded slightly, rendered mute by the heaviness of her words. Change was inevitable. It had freaked him out enough to run from the only real family he'd ever known.

Sadness flitted through her gaze before acceptance gentled matured features. Ageing had changed her too. That was partly why they'd broken up as quickly as they had. They were too different now than how they'd been at 15, swept up in a whirlwind teen romance. There was a sadness in never being able to return to their glory days, but it wasn't necessarily a bad thing to move on.

Kagome scrubbed at her eyes and smiled for him. She always smiled when he needed it most. Grabbing both of their coarse hands, she tugged. "C'mon, everyone will be wanting to catch up. There's also some ramen I saved with your name on it."

Inuyasha's slack fingers twitched in her hold. He then adjusted them, squeezing her hand. Something brazen, fragile and guarded in his heart soothed and healed. His shoulders relaxed. Finally, he felt a sense of peace sweep over him that he hadn't experienced for some time; ever since they'd been flung out of orbit from their romance and back into friendship.

Meeting Kouga's amiable, enthusiastic gaze, Inuyasha bit back a snort. Golden eyes danced, lips twitching- before tilting up. A fang hooked over his bottom lip, snaggle-tooth peering out.

---

End

#Inukog #inuyasha #inukoga #kouga #koga inuyasha

91 notes · View notes