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moonlitstoriess · 2 months ago

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The Cost of Deception- Azriel x fem!reader (3/3)

Summary: After years of silence, Y/N and Azriel unknowingly track the same target, only to find themselves face-to-face once more. Betrayal runs deep, and neither is willing to forgive, but the mission must come first—if they don’t destroy each other first.

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Part 2

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI (I will mention when it starts and ends), angst, mentions of trauma, fighting, injuries, mentions of SA

A/N: Well guys, this is the finale! I truly hope you enjoyed reading this mini series as much as I enjoyed writing it for you my little angst lovers😘

Five years ago. The first time Azriel realized something was wrong, it had been too late.

Y/N had sent him the documents—a set of encrypted files from the Spring Court that she had painstakingly secured. He could still hear her voice in his mind, low but brimming with excitement.

"Az, I got it. All of it. This will change everything."

The pride in her voice had been unmistakable, her trust in him unwavering. She had worked tirelessly to secure that intel, putting herself in harm’s way to serve the Night Court. How could he not have trusted her completely? She was one of his best operatives, her sharp mind and steady hand unmatched in the chaos of espionage.

But when the information led them straight into a trap, resulting in the deaths of ten of their spies, everything had crumbled.

The ambush had been brutal, a coordinated strike that targeted their most vulnerable operatives. Three were killed on the spot. The others, hunted down in the following days, were slaughtered before they could escape. The loss was devastating, not just in lives but in the trust that bound their intricate network together.

When Rhysand summoned him, Azriel had gone with a heavy heart, knowing there would be questions he wasn’t yet ready to answer.

Rhysand’s violet eyes, usually so calm and understanding, were hard and cold. “Explain this, Azriel. How did this happen?”

Azriel had no answers. He had only fragments of a puzzle he hadn’t yet pieced together.

For days afterward, he barely slept. He pored over the documents Y/N had sent him, searching for inconsistencies, for anything that could explain how the information she’d provided had been so catastrophically wrong. He sent his own spies into Spring Court territory to investigate, desperate to uncover the truth.

It was one of his scouts who returned with the key.

“Someone fed her false information,” the scout explained, laying out the details. “A contact in the Spring Court deliberately set her up. They knew she’d take the bait. They knew exactly what to feed her.”

Azriel’s hands tightened into fists as he stared down at the report. The pieces clicked into place—agonizingly, unmistakably. Y/N had been played. She had been set up by someone who knew her movements, someone who had deliberately sought to discredit her.

But by the time Azriel uncovered the truth, it was too late. The network already knew of the failure. Y/N’s name had been whispered in the shadows, accusations of betrayal spreading like wildfire. The loss of their spies was fresh in everyone’s mind, their trust shattered.

Ten lives lost.

The number weighed heavily on Azriel’s soul. He could still see the faces of the operatives they’d lost, their smiles and laughter now memories that would haunt him forever.

He had tried to explain the situation to Rhysand, to tell him what he had uncovered. But Rhys’s expression had been grim, his voice unyielding.

“It’s not about what she intended,” Rhys said. “It’s about what this looks like. If we don’t act decisively, the entire network will fall apart. Our enemies will exploit this weakness.”

Azriel wanted to argue, to fight for Y/N. But he couldn’t deny the truth of Rhys’s words. The network’s survival depended on trust, and even the smallest fracture could cause everything they’d built to crumble.

And so, with a leaden heart, Azriel made the choice.

He spread the lie that Y/N had knowingly provided false information. He destroyed her reputation, painted her as a traitor, and watched as the court turned its back on her.

Azriel woke with a start, the memory still clawing at his mind.

The forest was quiet, the faint rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds the only sounds. He sat up slowly, his sharp eyes scanning the area. The campfire had burned down to embers, casting a faint orange glow against the dark silhouettes of the surrounding trees.

And there she was.

Y/N lay on the other side of the fire, her head resting on her pack, her body curled slightly for warmth. Even in sleep, there was a tension in her posture, as though she couldn’t fully let her guard down.

Azriel’s chest ached at the sight. She looked so small, so vulnerable in the dim light, and yet he knew how strong she was. How much she had endured because of him.

Because of the lies he had told.

He had tried not to think of her after her banishment. But she had haunted him anyway. Every report from the Night Court’s spies about her whereabouts, every whisper of her struggles, had found its way to him. He couldn’t help but keep tabs on her, even when he told himself it was better to let her go.

The guilt ate away at him, day by day. He told himself it had been necessary, that he had done what was required to protect the court. But the justifications rang hollow in the dead of night when he lay awake, her name a constant refrain in his mind.

And then there were the dreams.

They started innocently enough—memories of missions they had completed together, of the way she had laughed when they argued over strategy. But they soon turned darker. He would see her standing in the rain, her eyes filled with betrayal as she asked, “Why?”

He had never answered her then. And now, he didn’t know if he ever could.

Azriel leaned back against the tree behind him, his gaze never leaving her sleeping form. The firelight cast soft shadows across her face, highlighting the curve of her cheek, the faint parting of her lips. She was beautiful in a way that made his heart ache, a quiet, unassuming beauty that had drawn him in from the start.

And now, after everything he had done, she was here.

His shadows curled around him, their whispers faint and indecipherable. He let them surround him, a comforting presence in the silence. But even they couldn’t soothe the turmoil within him.

Azriel clenched his jaw, his resolve hardening. He had to make things right. He had to tell her the truth, to explain why he had done what he did. Even if she never forgave him, even if she hated him for the rest of her life, he owed her that much.

He would fix this. Somehow, he would find a way to atone for his sins.

But for now, he let himself watch her for a little longer, committing every detail of her to memory—the rise and fall of her chest, the soft curve of her mouth, the strands of hair that had fallen across her face.

The past could not be undone. But perhaps, in the fragile, uncertain future, he could find redemption.

Y/N woke to the low rustle of leaves and the crackle of a small fire. The pale morning light filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. Her body ached from the cold, uneven ground, and the memories of her restless sleep haunted her like ghosts.

She pushed herself up, glancing toward the source of the sound. There he was, Azriel, seated on a fallen log, nibbling at a piece of dried fruit with his shadows coiling lazily around him. He didn’t look at her immediately, but the minute her movement caught his eye, his gaze snapped to hers.

“You’re awake,” he said quietly, his voice as smooth as ever but tinged with something heavier. Guilt.

She didn’t respond, instead dragging herself to her feet and brushing the dirt from her tunic. The smell of breakfast—though plain and meager—made her stomach churn, not from hunger but from the knot of anxiety that had been a permanent resident there ever since she’d agreed to this mission.

Azriel shifted, his shadows curling toward her as though they could sense her discomfort. “You should eat something,” he said, holding out a piece of bread.

“I’m fine,” she said flatly.

“You’re not,” he countered, and his tone, while gentle, left no room for argument. “We’ll be moving soon. You need your strength.”

She clenched her jaw but took the bread anyway, sitting on the opposite end of the fire. They ate in silence, the tension between them a living, breathing thing that no amount of chewing could cut through.

To her surprise, it was Azriel who broke the quiet. “My shadows went far last night,” he said, his voice low. “They’ve scouted ahead. We’re close to Malrik’s place—closer than I thought. We should reach it by midday.”

She nodded but didn’t look at him, focusing instead on the bread in her hands.

Azriel continued, pulling out a map from his satchel. He unfolded it carefully, smoothing the edges on his thigh before spreading it out between them. “This is the layout the messenger gave me,” he said, his scarred fingers tracing lines and markings. “We’ll enter here, through the eastern ridge. It’s less guarded, but it’s steep, so we’ll need to move quickly. Once inside, you’ll take the northern passage—it leads directly to Malrik’s study. I’ll handle the guards and meet you there.”

He paused, glancing at her as though expecting a response, but she remained silent, her eyes fixed on the map.

When he finished his rundown, the silence returned, heavier now, pressing down on them like the weight of the forest itself. She could feel his gaze on her, the way his shadows hesitated, unsure whether to reach for her or retreat.

Finally, she sighed, dropping the last bit of bread into her lap. “Spit it out,” she said coldly.

Azriel blinked, as though surprised by her bluntness, but then his composure cracked.

“I didn’t mean—” he started, the words tumbling out of his mouth so fast she barely caught them. “I didn’t mean for it to—Y/N, I swear, I didn’t—”

“What?” she interrupted, frowning.

He tried again, but the sentences came just as rushed, just as scattered. His shadows swirled around him, reflecting his inner turmoil, and it was so unlike him—this babbling, this loss of control—that she almost didn’t recognize him.

“Azriel,” she snapped, cutting him off. “Speak normally.”

He inhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a moment to steady himself. When he opened them again, they were filled with something raw, something she wasn’t sure she wanted to see.

“I was the one who spread the lie,” he said finally, his voice low but clear.

Her breath caught in her throat. She had known—of course she had known—but hearing it from his mouth was a different kind of pain, a dagger twisting in a wound that had never healed.

“Not this again,” she muttered, rising to her feet. “I told you, I don’t wish to speak of it.”

“Please,” he said, standing as well. “Please, Y/N. Just hear me out.”

She stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest. For a moment, she considered walking away, leaving him to his guilt and his shadows. But something in his voice—desperation, maybe, or the faint echo of the bond they once shared as comrades—made her stop.

“You have five minutes,” she said sharply. “Then we’re leaving.”

Azriel nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He didn’t sit back down, didn’t even look away from her as he began.

He told her everything. The ambush, the deaths, the documents he’d compared, the spies he’d sent to investigate. He told her about the trap laid by the Spring Court, about how they had used her as a pawn without her knowledge.

And he told her about Rhysand. About the conversation in the forest, about the decision they had made together. About how he had spread the lie to protect the network, to protect the court.

By the time he finished, Y/N’s hands were trembling with rage.

“You destroyed me,” she said, her voice shaking. “Do you understand that? You didn’t just ruin my reputation, Azriel. You ruined my life.”

“I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No, you don’t,” she snapped. “You don’t know what it was like. To be cast out, to be hunted by the same people I fought beside, to have nothing and no one because of you.”

Her voice cracked, but she forced herself to keep going. “You made me a traitor in their eyes. You made me a traitor in my own eyes. Do you know how many nights I spent wondering if I should just end it all? Wondering if it would hurt less than this?”

Azriel flinched, his shadows recoiling as though her words had struck them as well. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “Y/N, I’m so—”

“Sorry isn’t enough,” she spat. “Sorry doesn’t change what you did. It doesn’t bring back the years I lost, the ME I lost. If I hadn't been exiled, if I had been in such a weakened, depressed state, I would have never fallen into Malrik's trap, I would have never been raped by him!"

Azriel closed his eyes, seemingly battling the rage and inner turmoil within him before exhaling and looking at her once more. "Y/N...I- I didn't know. Please, I.....I swear if only I knew that this would happen- he will die soon enough but....I know it's not enough. It never will

He took a step toward her, his hands outstretched, but she stepped back, her anger flaring hotter.

“I hate you,” she said, her voice deadly calm. “I hate you, Azriel. And after this mission, I never want to see your face or hear your voice again.”

She turned away, her hands shaking as she began to pack her things. Behind her, she could feel him deflate, his presence shrinking as though he wanted to disappear into his own shadows.

But she didn’t look back.

She couldn’t.

Not when the pain in her chest threatened to consume her all over again.

The silence left in Y/N’s wake was deafening. Azriel sat there, staring at the small fire he’d stoked earlier to ward off the morning chill. The flames flickered, but their warmth did nothing to thaw the icy pit in his chest.

Her words echoed in his mind: “I hate you.”

His shadows curled tighter around him, almost as if they could shield him from the sharp edge of her dismissal. But they couldn’t. Nothing could. He had heard those words from others—enemies, strangers—but never from her. Never from Y/N, the female he had…

Azriel swallowed hard, forcing himself to push away the thought. Whatever he had felt, or still felt, didn’t matter. Not now. Not when he’d destroyed her life.

He packed up the remnants of their meager breakfast in silence, every motion mechanical. His shadows flitted about, scouting ahead, as they always did. But even they seemed subdued, their whispers softer than usual, their presence a dull hum in the back of his mind.

When he finally stood, he caught sight of Y/N a short distance away, packing her own belongings. She moved with quick, efficient motions, her face set in a cold mask. It hurt more than it should, that distance.

Azriel forced himself to focus. The mission. They had to finish this mission. It was the only way he could begin to atone.

As they trekked through the dense forest, Azriel’s shadows returned to him, bringing snippets of information. Malrik’s stronghold wasn’t far now—a few hours’ travel at most. The path would grow more treacherous as they neared the base, but they could manage it. They always had before.

Azriel glanced at Y/N out of the corner of his eye. She walked ahead of him, her posture rigid, her focus locked on the path. The sunlight filtered through the canopy, catching on the strands of her hair, turning them into threads of gold. Even now, even with the weight of her anger pressing down on him, she was beautiful.

He tore his gaze away.

They didn’t speak. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Azriel’s mind churned with everything he wanted to say, everything he should say, but the words tangled in his throat. What was the point? She’d made it clear she wanted nothing more to do with him.

His shadows stirred, tugging at his senses. He halted, raising a hand.

Y/N stopped immediately, her body tense. “What is it?” she asked, her voice sharp.

Azriel tilted his head, listening to his shadows. “Scouts. Two of them. About a hundred paces ahead.”

Y/N nodded, her hand already on the hilt of her blade. “We take them out?”

“No,” Azriel said quickly. “We avoid them. We’re too close to risk alerting Malrik.”

Her lips thinned, but she didn’t argue. They veered off the path, moving in silence through the underbrush. Azriel’s shadows guided them, weaving a path around the scouts’ position.

They were a good team, even now. Azriel couldn’t help but notice how seamlessly they worked together, how her movements complemented his, how she trusted his shadows without question. It was a painful reminder of what they had lost—and what they might never regain.

“We’ll approach from the south,” he continued, pulling the map from his pocket. “Malrik’s defenses are weaker there. Once we’re inside—”

“Azriel.”

He stopped, startled by the sharpness in her voice.

“Save it for when we’re there,” she said, not even looking at him. “I don’t need a play-by-play.”

His grip on the map tightened, the paper crinkling under his fingers. He stuffed it back into his pocket, his shadows curling tighter around him in response to the sting of her dismissal.

The rest of the journey passed in tense, stifling silence.

By the time they reached the edge of Malrik’s territory, the sun was high overhead, and the air had grown heavy with the scent of damp earth. Azriel crouched low, scanning the terrain ahead as his shadows flitted out, scouting for traps or hidden sentries.

Y/N knelt beside him, her movements quiet and precise. She didn’t speak, didn’t ask questions, just waited for his signal.

Azriel swallowed the ache in his chest and focused.

“We’ll go in after nightfall,” he said, his voice low. “There’s too much open ground to cover right now. We’d be spotted.”

Y/N nodded curtly, her expression unreadable.

He wanted to say something else, anything to fill the silence, but the words wouldn’t come. She wouldn’t want to hear them, anyway.

So he stayed quiet, letting his shadows do the talking as they scouted the area ahead. And as he watched her, sitting there with her face turned away from him, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever find a way to reach her again—or if he was destined to lose her for good.

The dense forest around them seemed to grow darker with every step. The shadows clung to the trees like they belonged there, a creeping stillness settling over the air. Y/N pulled her hood tighter, the familiar weight of her weapons reassuring against her sides. She wasn’t nervous—no, she refused to let herself feel anything close to fear. But the sharp edge of anticipation coiled in her stomach, and she didn’t know whether it was the thought of facing Malrik or simply walking beside Azriel that made her insides twist.

He was silent, as usual. Not that she minded. The less they spoke, the easier it was for her to focus. And yet, her gaze kept sliding to him—to the way his wings curled in, tight and guarded, like even they knew the weight of what he carried. His face was a mask, his jaw clenched as he scanned their surroundings, shadows slipping over his shoulders and whispering things she couldn’t hear.

She hated how he could still look like that. Like the male she used to trust with her life. Like the male who had destroyed it.

“We’re close,” Azriel said quietly, his voice cutting through the stillness. He motioned ahead to where the trees thinned, revealing a steep ridge that overlooked a sprawling estate.

Y/N stepped up beside him, peering through the canopy. The estate was larger than she’d expected—a fortress more than a house, with high stone walls and watchtowers at every corner. Guards patrolled the perimeter, their movements precise and disciplined.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “He’s fortified himself well.”

“Malrik always did think himself untouchable,” Azriel replied, his voice neutral. But she caught the edge of something beneath it—bitterness, maybe. Or regret.

“Maybe he is,” Y/N muttered, adjusting the straps of her weapons belt. “Or maybe he’s just another coward hiding behind walls.”

Azriel didn’t respond. He unfolded a map from his satchel, spreading it across a flat rock. Y/N crouched beside him, her eyes scanning the layout of the estate as he pointed to various entry points.

“There’s a blind spot here,” he said, tapping the eastern side of the wall. “The guards rotate every twenty minutes. If we time it right, we can get in unnoticed.”

“And once we’re inside?” Y/N asked, her voice clipped.

Azriel’s shadows darted across the map, as if outlining the paths he’d already memorized. “We split up. I’ll head to the main hall to find the records Malrik’s been keeping. You take the east wing. That’s where he’s likely hoarding the weapons.”

“And if we run into him?”

Azriel’s hazel eyes flicked to hers, steady and unyielding. “Don’t hesitate.”

Y/N snorted, straightening. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

The words hung between them, heavier than she intended. She saw the flicker of something in his expression—guilt, or maybe pain—but he quickly turned away, rolling up the map and tucking it back into his satchel.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded, drawing her daggers. “Let’s get this over with.”

They moved in silence, sticking to the shadows as they descended the ridge. The air grew colder the closer they got, the stone walls looming larger with every step. Y/N’s pulse quickened, but she forced herself to stay calm, to keep her breaths even.

As they reached the blind spot Azriel had mentioned, his shadows darted ahead, slipping through the cracks in the wall. He held up a hand, signaling for her to wait, and she crouched low, her fingers curling around the hilt of her dagger.

Seconds stretched into minutes.

Y/N’s heart thudded in the silence, her breaths measured but tight. She glanced at Azriel, who seemed completely still, his focus on the shadows reporting back to him. She envied that stillness, that ease with which he could disappear into himself. Because as the minutes dragged on, her mind began to wander—back to a time she had no choice but to keep moving or risk falling apart.

The banishment.

The loneliness.

She could still feel the cold of those nights when she had no roof over her head, no safety to retreat to. When even a small fire risked drawing too much attention, and the ache of hunger became as familiar as the weapons she now carried. Her hands tightened around her daggers at the memory of how she’d survived—scraping by on instincts she didn’t know she had, enduring humiliation and pain she refused to dwell on.

She thought of the faces that had turned away from her, the whispers that had followed her wherever she went. Traitor. Liar. The words had been knives, sharper than anything she’d ever wielded. She’d grown used to the weight of them, to the constant ache in her chest.

But it hadn’t just been anger that kept her going. It was exhaustion, too. Exhaustion from holding herself together, from waking up every day and deciding to fight through it all when no one else would fight for her.

Her jaw clenched as her gaze slid back to Azriel. He had been the cause of it all, the one who lit the spark that burned her world to ash. And now, here he was, standing beside her as if they could somehow go back to what they once were.

She almost laughed at the absurdity of it.

Azriel’s shadows returned then, pulling her from her thoughts. His hand brushed her arm—a silent signal.

“Now,” he murmured, motioning for her to follow.

The fortress was eerily quiet, save for the faint murmur of guards’ voices echoing down the stone corridors. The scent of damp stone and oil lanterns lingered in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood Y/N swore she could almost taste.

She moved in Azriel’s shadow, her steps silent as they crept deeper into the heart of Malrik’s stronghold. His wings were tucked tightly against his back, his shadows a living entity around them, cloaking their movements in secrecy.

Azriel gestured for her to stop as they approached a fork in the hallway. His hazel eyes flicked between the two paths, and his shadows darted ahead, scouting for threats. Y/N leaned against the cold stone wall, her breathing steady but her pulse thrumming.

She hated how familiar this all felt—the stealth, the tension, the thrill of being on the hunt. It reminded her of the missions she used to carry out with the Night Court’s spymaster. Back when they were partners. Back when she trusted him.

The memory twisted like a knife in her chest, and she pushed it away.

Azriel’s hand brushed her shoulder, snapping her focus back to the present. He pointed to the left corridor. “Records room is this way,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “Weapons cache is down the other hall. We’ll split up.”

Y/N nodded, already moving toward the right corridor.

“Be careful,” Azriel said softly, his voice carrying a weight she didn’t want to acknowledge.

She didn’t look back as she replied, “Always am.”

The weapons cache was heavily guarded, but Y/N had faced worse odds before. Fear was a luxury she had abandoned long ago, replaced with cold, calculated precision.

She slipped through the shadows, her steps light and soundless, each movement deliberate. The first guard never saw her coming. Her dagger slid cleanly between his ribs, a swift and silent strike that left him slumping to the ground.

The second turned at the faint noise, his eyes widening as he opened his mouth to shout, but Y/N was faster. She lunged, one hand covering his mouth as the other drove her blade into his chest. His muffled cry died on her palm, his body going limp as she lowered him to the floor.

The third guard wasn’t as easy. He rounded the corner just as Y/N straightened, his eyes locking onto her.

“Hey—!”

Y/N’s dagger flew before he could finish, embedding itself in his throat. The gurgling noise he made as he crumpled to the ground sent a shiver up her spine, but she ignored it, her focus already shifting to the task at hand.

Blood pooled around the bodies, dark and glistening in the dim light of the lanterns lining the walls. Her boots left faint imprints as she stepped over them, barely sparing the corpses a second glance. This was the life she’d chosen—or, rather, the one that had been forced upon her. Hesitation had no place in it.

The cache itself was a hoard of nightmares. Weapons of every make and size were stacked in chaotic piles, from polished swords to crude, rusted spears. Crates were scattered across the room, many of them stamped with ominous markings that hinted at their contents.

Explosives.

Y/N’s stomach twisted as she crouched beside one of the crates, prying it open with the tip of her blade. Inside, bundles of volatile materials were packed tightly, ready to unleash devastation. She could almost see the destruction they could cause—the lives they could end—if they fell into the wrong hands.

Or if she used them.

She inhaled deeply, steeling herself as she began assessing the room. The eastern wall was load-bearing, its stonework already showing signs of strain from age and poor maintenance. If she planted the charges there, the entire wing would collapse, taking everything—and everyone—in it.

Perfect.

Her fingers moved deftly, securing the charges Azriel had handed her earlier. She worked in silence, her ears attuned to the faintest sound, her eyes constantly flicking to the shadows that seemed to grow longer with every passing second.

The room was too quiet now.

The eerie silence crawled under her skin, each hair on the back of her neck standing on end. She tried to shake off the unease, forcing herself to focus. The quicker she finished, the quicker she could leave this place behind.

But as she reached for the final charge, the sensation of being watched became impossible to ignore.

Her hand froze mid-air.

Y/N’s gaze darted around the room, scanning the shadows for any movement. The faint glow of the lanterns danced across the stone walls, casting flickering shapes that played tricks on her mind.

You’re imagining things, she told herself. Just finish the job.

But her body betrayed her, every instinct honed from years of survival screaming at her to move, to run, to fight.

She tightened her grip on her dagger, rising slowly from her crouch. The weight of the silence pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating, until the sound of a faint, deliberate step shattered it.

Her heart leapt into her throat as she spun, her blade already in hand, ready to strike.

But the room was empty.

No guards. No footsteps. Just the dim glow of the lanterns and the distant rumble of activity somewhere deeper in the fortress.

Y/N let out a slow, shaky breath, cursing herself for faltering. She had a job to do, and paranoia wouldn’t help her survive it.

Still, as she finished setting the last charge and turned to leave, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone.

And that whoever—or whatever—was watching her wasn’t finished yet.

The last charge was set, and as Y/N’s hand pressed the final button to trigger the detonators, a strange, primal sense of satisfaction pulsed through her veins. The fortress would fall. Malrik’s reign of terror would come to an end.

She turned swiftly, ready to leave the weapons cache and move to the next part of the plan, but something in the air had shifted. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

It wasn’t just the oppressive silence anymore. No, this was different—more sinister. The shadows felt alive, watching her every move.

“Y/N,” Azriel’s voice broke through her thoughts, low and urgent.

She spun, meeting his eyes in the dim light of the hallway. He looked… different. His usual calm and composed demeanor was replaced by a look of steely focus, his shadows swirling around him as if responding to some unspoken command.

“There’s no time,” he said, his voice low but determined. “Malrik knows we’re here. We’ve been compromised.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted. She’d known the plan wouldn’t go off without a hitch, but she hadn’t expected it to unravel so quickly.

“Then let’s move,” she said, voice tight.

Azriel’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, searching her face, his shadows curling around her like a protective blanket. He didn’t speak, but she could see the question in his eyes: Are you ready for this?

She didn’t respond. Instead, she moved, leading the way down the narrow corridor with Azriel right behind her.

As they neared the center of the fortress, Y/N’s mind raced. She couldn’t help but think back to the years she spent trapped under Malrik’s control—the constant fear, the manipulation, the pain. She’d survived, but at what cost? Her mind was still scarred by those years, and her body still carried the marks of his cruelty.

The thought of confronting him made her hands shake, but she pushed it down. This wasn’t about her. It was about ending this once and for all.

They reached the heart of the fortress just as the first explosion rang out in the distance, shaking the ground beneath them. The walls trembled.

Malrik’s voice echoed through the halls, distant but unmistakable. “You think you can destroy me? You think you can bring me down? You’re nothing. Just like the others who tried before you.”

Y/N’s blood ran cold.

Azriel’s eyes met hers, and for a split second, she saw the fear in them—something she hadn’t seen from him in a long time.

He was worried.

But she couldn’t afford to think about that. They had a job to finish.

As they rounded the corner into a wide open room, the smell of smoke and the distant crackling of flames reached her nose. But it wasn’t the fire that caught her attention—it was the figure standing in the center of the room, waiting for them.

Malrik.

The man who had taken everything from her.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The man who had shattered her life was standing there, his smirk twisted in that all-too-familiar way. The air around him seemed to crackle with malice, his presence almost suffocating.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice oozing with mock sweetness. “I was wondering when you’d come. How predictable. You can’t outrun your past. It’s always waiting for you.”

A surge of rage hit her, and she took a step forward, her fists clenched at her sides. Her thoughts blurred as her heart hammered in her chest. The years of pain, of torment, everything she’d endured flooded back to the surface in a tidal wave.

Before she could even react, the room seemed to shift, the shadows thickening around them, and suddenly, Malrik’s forces were everywhere—emerging from the walls, from hidden doors, and from the shadows themselves. They were ready.

Azriel moved immediately, his shadows cutting through the air, but there were too many. They’d underestimated him, and they’d paid the price.

Y/N stepped back, pulling out her daggers, her mind focused on the fight ahead. But as she squared off with one of Malrik’s soldiers, her chest tightened. The memories of her past flooded in, overwhelming her—the nights in his cell, the screams, the betrayal, the suffocating darkness that held her captive.

It was too much.

She froze. The soldier in front of her lunged, but her body didn’t react. Her hands were shaking, the blades slipping from her fingers as a wave of panic and dread washed over her.

“Y/N!” Azriel’s voice pierced through the chaos, but it sounded far away. His voice broke her from her stupor, but the damage was done.

A soldier’s blade grazed her side, sending a jolt of pain through her body. She stumbled back, the world spinning as the wound burned.

She tried to move, but her legs wouldn’t obey. The memories, the horror, the terror she’d endured—it was too much.

Azriel was at her side in an instant, fury and panic flashing in his eyes. He pushed her behind him, his shadows swarming as he fought to protect her, but Y/N’s body refused to cooperate.

“Focus, Y/N!” Azriel growled, his voice thick with urgency. “We’re almost there. Just a little longer.”

But the battle raged around them, and in her frozen state, Y/N could do nothing but watch as Azriel fought off the soldiers with deadly precision.

Then, Malrik’s voice boomed across the room.

“Enough.”

Y/N’s heart stopped. She could barely see through the fog of her own mind, but the cold, terrifying presence of Malrik seemed to surround her, like a suffocating blanket. She tried to focus, tried to force her body to move, but it was too late.

Azriel was already too far into the fight.

And then, with a roar, Malrik advanced. The final confrontation had begun.

The air around them felt thick with tension, suffocating and heavy. Malrik’s figure loomed ahead, like a dark storm cloud about to break. He was everything Azriel despised—cold, calculating, cruel—and his presence in this fortress was a testament to the devastation he had caused over the years. But now, standing before him, there was only one thing Azriel could think of: Y/N.

The woman who had been broken by Malrik’s hands, scarred by his touch, now stood at the mercy of his soldiers, her body stiff, her mind still imprisoned by the ghosts of her past. Azriel’s jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, and a sharp wave of fury surged through him. Malrik had caused this. Malrik had taken everything from her, and Azriel would be damned if he let him take more.

“I won’t let you have her,” Azriel’s voice was low, barely above a growl, as he faced Malrik in the center of the crumbling hall. His shadows twisted around him, responding to his fury. “Not again.”

Malrik’s smirk was maddeningly calm. His pale eyes gleamed with dark amusement, as if he knew exactly what he was doing—pitting Azriel’s deepest rage against him, throwing him off balance. But Azriel wasn’t going to be distracted. Not this time. Not when Y/N was in danger.

The soldier closest to Y/N lunged at her, but Azriel was already in motion. His blades sliced through the air, a blur of lethal precision, and the soldier crumpled to the ground without so much as a sound. But as he moved, he saw Y/N falter—her hand trembling, her gaze distant.

Her past was haunting her again.

Azriel’s blood ran cold, and his shadows surged forward, protecting her in a shield that held the remaining soldiers at bay. His mind was consumed with thoughts of Malrik and what he had done to her—the rape, the violence, the years of torment that had scarred her beyond recognition. Azriel had heard the stories, but hearing them from her mouth had been like a blade to his chest. The image of that bastard touching Y/N, breaking her, was enough to drive him into a rage that could level this fortress.

“I’ll make you pay,” Azriel muttered under his breath, his voice a venomous hiss.

Malrik’s gaze shifted toward him, an almost smug expression crossing his face. “You think you can stop me? You think you can kill me after all this time? You don’t know who you’re dealing with, Shadow-cursed.”

Before Azriel could respond, Malrik’s soldiers descended on them, weapons raised. Azriel didn’t hesitate. His shadows lashed out, tearing through the attackers with deadly force, but the numbers were overwhelming. They were everywhere—more than Azriel had anticipated. He could feel the weight of every strike, every dodge, every move, but he couldn’t stop. Not while Y/N was at risk.

Every slash of his blades, every strike, was fueled by the image of Y/N’s face when she had spoken of her suffering. He wanted Malrik to pay. He wanted him to feel every ounce of the hell he had put her through, to feel the agony, the loss, the betrayal.

But Malrik wasn’t a mere man—he was a threat unlike any Azriel had faced before. He had the resources, the men, and a weapon that Azriel had no way of anticipating. Malrik fought like a predator—cold, calculating, never wasting a movement. And Azriel was starting to realize the full extent of what he was up against.

Malrik didn’t need to speak for his presence to become overwhelming. The moment Azriel made an opening to strike, Malrik’s weapon swung in, a heavy, dark blade that shimmered unnaturally in the dim light, cutting through the air with a sound like the crack of a whip. It connected with Azriel’s side, a painful, burning slice that sent him stumbling back, his breath coming in sharp gasps.

“Is this the great Azriel?” Malrik sneered, advancing. “The so-called ‘Shadow of Night’ brought down by a mere blade?”

Azriel’s fury flared. “I’ll show you what happens when you mess with the wrong people.”

He fought with everything he had—his daggers cutting through flesh, his shadows warping around him, but Malrik was relentless. Every time Azriel gained an inch, Malrik took it back, pushing him farther and farther back. His soldiers surrounded them, and the walls seemed to close in as the fight dragged on, each passing second feeling like an eternity.

But in the chaos of the battle, something broke through—the sound of Y/N’s scream. It wasn’t just any scream. It was filled with pain, terror, and helplessness. Azriel’s heart stuttered, his blood running cold. He whipped his head around, his shadows moving with lightning speed to shield her once more.

Malrik’s men had swarmed her.

“No!” Azriel roared, cutting down anyone in his path as he made his way toward her, but by the time he reached her side, it was too late.

Y/N’s face was pale, her expression empty, her eyes distant—frozen in the grip of her past. One of Malrik’s soldiers had her pinned, and another raised a blade, ready to end her.

Azriel’s fury ignited. It was as if a switch had been flipped in his mind. His shadows exploded outward, a torrent of darkness and power, cutting down every enemy in sight, his focus on nothing but protecting Y/N. His blades flashed, severing limbs and spilling blood in an instant.

Her past was haunting her again.

“I’ll make you pay,” Azriel muttered under his breath, his voice a venomous hiss.

“Is this the great Azriel?” Malrik sneered, advancing. “The so-called ‘Shadow of Night’ brought down by a mere blade?”

Azriel’s fury flared. “I’ll show you what happens when you mess with the wrong people.”

Malrik’s men had swarmed her.

“No!” Azriel roared, cutting down anyone in his path as he made his way toward her, but by the time he reached her side, it was too late.

Y/N’s face was pale, her expression empty, her eyes distant—frozen in the grip of her past. One of Malrik’s soldiers had her pinned, and another raised a blade, ready to end her.

Azriel’s fury ignited once more, burning through him like wildfire. It felt as if the ground beneath him had cracked open, his heart beating out of his chest as his shadows swarmed, tearing through the soldiers with a speed and precision that left no room for mercy.

But as Azriel turned back to face Malrik, his mind sharpened with clarity, rage, and something darker—something primal. Malrik stood at the center of the chaos, watching with a twisted satisfaction in his cold eyes.

“You think you can stop me, Azriel?” Malrik laughed, his voice laced with arrogance. “You’ll never be enough. You’re weak, just like your pathetic allies. And when I’m done with you, I’ll make her scream again. She’ll remember—”

Azriel didn’t wait for him to finish. He lunged forward, daggers flashing in the dim light. But Malrik was prepared. His blade whipped out, clashing against Azriel’s with a violent crack. The force of the strike sent Azriel staggering, but he recovered in an instant, his shadows lunging forward to bind Malrik in place.

“You’ve caused enough destruction, Malrik,” Azriel growled, every word soaked with hatred. “It ends today.”

But Malrik wasn’t finished. With a growl, he twisted in the shadows’ grip, his body moving in unnatural, serpentine motions. He freed himself, ripping through the darkness with an ease that sent chills down Azriel’s spine.

“You can’t even begin to understand what I’ve done,” Malrik said coldly, a cruel smile on his lips. “And I’ll do it all over again—just to watch her break.”

Azriel’s vision blurred with rage. He attacked again, this time with more precision, his daggers slicing through the air with the fury of a storm. But Malrik was faster, stronger—his blade moving with deadly force, striking against Azriel’s, knocking him back.

The two of them collided in a clash of shadows and steel, neither giving an inch. Azriel’s heart thundered in his chest as he fought, shadows dancing wildly around him, his daggers flashing in the dim light, but Malrik was always a step ahead. Each strike felt like an eternity—every wound, every bruise, only fueling Azriel’s determination.

Azriel’s shadows tried to bind Malrik again, but Malrik’s blade was relentless, cutting through the darkness like a hot knife through butter. Every time Azriel thought he had the upper hand, Malrik shifted, ducked, or twisted, evading the strike with terrifying precision.

It was like fighting a monster—a nightmare that would never end.

And then, in a moment of vulnerability, Malrik made his move.

With a wicked grin, Malrik struck—his blade slashing across Azriel’s chest, cutting deep. Azriel gasped, staggering back as the blood welled from the wound. His breath came in short, ragged gasps as pain exploded in his side, but the fury inside him burned brighter.

“Is this all you have, Azriel?” Malrik taunted, his blade dripping with blood. “You couldn’t protect her before, and you won’t protect her now.”

Azriel’s vision clouded, the anger overwhelming every thought, every instinct. He wasn’t just fighting for victory—he was fighting for Y/N, for the woman who had been torn apart by this monster, for the woman who had been broken and rebuilt, piece by piece, by his hands.

“You don’t deserve to breathe,” Azriel hissed, his voice dripping with venom.

Malrik’s grin faltered as Azriel’s shadows surged forward in a final, desperate push, coiling around his legs, his arms—binding him tight. The shadows felt like iron chains, relentless and unyielding.

Azriel lunged forward, his blades flashing in the flickering torchlight, and with a scream of pure fury, he drove both daggers into Malrik’s chest, pushing deep until he felt the life drain out of him.

Malrik’s body slumped to the ground with a sickening thud.

Azriel stood over him, chest heaving, blood dripping from his wounds. His hands trembled as he pulled his daggers from the lifeless corpse. His gaze never left Malrik, not even as the life left him.

But as the adrenaline slowly faded, it wasn’t satisfaction that Azriel felt—it was the cold weight of loss.

The moment Malrik’s body crumpled to the ground, Azriel’s breath was ragged, his body pulsing with pain. The battle was over—Malrik was dead—but the victory felt hollow. The blood dripping from Azriel’s chest, from his side, was a constant reminder of the price he had paid. His vision was fading, but there was no time to stop. Not when Y/N was still in danger. Not when the woman who had been broken by this monster lay crumpled on the cold stone floor, barely conscious, her body barely clinging to life.

Azriel’s shadows moved around him, reaching out to steady him as his legs threatened to give way under him. His chest ached with every breath, but his eyes were locked on Y/N. He didn’t care about the blood pooling at his feet. He didn’t care about the pain. All that mattered was getting her out of here. Getting her somewhere safe. Somewhere she could heal.

His shadows crawled around her, pulling her body closer to his. He felt the weight of her fragile form in his arms, heard her ragged breaths, felt her pulse weakly under his touch.

“No. No, Y/N. Stay with me,” he muttered under his breath, his voice shaky with raw emotion. The words were a plea—a command, a desperate cry. He couldn't lose her. Not like this. Not when they had just begun to fight back.

His hands shook as he cradled her, his blood mixing with hers, staining his skin, but he barely noticed it. Every drop of blood that soaked into his clothes only made the urgency in his chest burn hotter. His mind raced. He had to get her out. He had to get her somewhere safe.

Azriel’s last reserves of strength came crashing down on him. His wings trembled as he winnowed them both through the wreckage of the room, out of the hell that Malrik had made, and into the air. He was barely conscious himself, every breath a struggle. His vision was a blur, dark spots dancing before his eyes, but there was no other option. He couldn’t stop.

Velaris. The House of Wind. His only goal.

He landed with a jarring force, the impact almost sending him to his knees, but he stayed upright, clutching Y/N close to his chest. His body screamed in protest as he stumbled, blood dripping down his sides. He felt every injury, every slice from Malrik’s blade. But he couldn’t focus on that now. Not when Y/N was slipping away.

The doors to the House of Wind burst open, and Azriel’s heart nearly shattered as he rushed through the threshold, stumbling into the quiet hall.

“Azriel!” Rhysand’s voice cut through the panic in his mind, but Azriel couldn’t focus on the High Lord’s words. He couldn’t hear anyone. His only thought was Y/N, her fragile form in his arms.

“Get the healers. NOW!” Azriel shouted, his voice raw, frantic. His blood dripped from him like a scarlet trail as he moved, shaking, toward the stairs. The whole world seemed to pulse and fade with each breath, but he couldn’t stop. Not until she was safe.

“Azriel—”

Rhysand’s voice broke through again, but Azriel didn’t hear him. He was past the point of reason, his shadows thrashing around him as if they were as panicked as he was. The darkness roiled with his fury, his desperation. His wings were heavy with blood and exhaustion, but he wouldn’t let himself stop.

“Get out of my way,” Azriel growled, his voice an animalistic snarl as he shot a glare at Rhysand, his High Lord, the one person who had ever been his brother. The one person who should have commanded Azriel’s respect, but now? Nothing mattered but Y/N. His shadows twisted in response, threatening to lash out at the High Lord’s form. Azriel didn’t know what he’d do next, but he couldn’t stand still. He couldn’t wait.

He needed help. He needed someone to save her.

“She needs a healer, Rhys!” Azriel’s words were urgent, his voice thick with barely controlled panic. “Now!”

The shadows wrapped tighter around him, their darkness spreading out into the room, as if trying to force the world to bend to Azriel’s will. He couldn’t lose her. Not like this.

Rhysand’s expression flickered, and his gaze turned dark with understanding. Cassian appeared almost immediately, his face full of concern as he rushed toward them.

“What happened?” Cassian’s eyes darted between Azriel and Y/N, his hand brushing over Azriel’s bloodied chest.

“It’s Malrik,” Azriel muttered, his voice weak but fierce. “He—he’s dead. He’s dead, but... she... She needs help now.”

Cassian’s eyes hardened, and he nodded sharply. “I’ll get the healers.”

Azriel couldn’t think anymore. His mind was slipping in and out, and the world around him was dimming. The pain in his body was overwhelming, but it was nothing compared to the sight of Y/N, barely breathing in his arms. Her pulse was faint under his touch. She was fading.

Her body shuddered, and a weak sound escaped her lips. Azriel's heart shattered as he leaned in closer, his hands trembling as he pressed against her skin. “Y/N, please...” he whispered, his voice cracking, raw with grief. “Stay with me. Don’t leave me... don’t leave me alone.”

But she wasn’t responding. Her eyes flickered, and he could see the fight in her slowly dimming. She was slipping.

"Please," Azriel begged, his voice a tortured plea. "Please, Y/N... just stay awake. Stay with me. I’m here. I’m right here."

Her eyelids fluttered weakly, and Azriel’s heart skipped. He could hear the frantic movement around him, the Inner Circle gathering close, but nothing mattered. Nothing mattered except for Y/N.

Cassian and Rhysand spoke, Mor ran to get Amren in case the ancient female knew anything that could help, but Azriel didn’t hear them. All he could focus on was the weight of Y/N’s body, her breath shallow and shallow. He couldn’t let her die.

He wouldn’t survive if she did.

Azriel’s head swam as he willed himself to remain conscious. His injuries were severe—he could feel the blood seeping from the gash in his chest, his side throbbing in agony—but none of that mattered. He had no time for his own pain.

Y/N needed him.

And then, finally, the healers arrived.

“Azriel, we need space,” one of them said, their voice calm but firm.

Azriel barely registered the words. He shook his head desperately. “No,” he snapped. “She stays with me. You heal her, now.”

But the healers weren’t backing down. Rhysand’s powerful voice cut through his panic. “Azriel. Let them help.”

Azriel’s breath came in ragged gasps. His vision was closing in, everything feeling like it was slipping away. The tension in his body coiled tightly, the shadows vibrating with his distress. He had no idea how he was still standing, but there was nothing—nothing—that would tear him away from Y/N.

“No one takes her from me,” he hissed, his voice almost feral. His wings twitched behind him, and he took a step back to allow the healers to do their work, but his hands never left her body. He didn’t trust anyone else. Not right now.

As the healers began their work, Azriel sank to his knees beside her, his shadow-covered wings stretched out protectively over both of them, and he whispered through clenched teeth, “Please, Y/N. Don’t leave me.”

And then, finally, darkness overcame him.

The world was blurry when she woke up. Her vision swam in and out of focus, her head pounding as if a hundred hammers were smashing against her skull. She groaned softly, the weight of her limbs and the ache in her body dragging her back into consciousness. The first thing she noticed was the softness beneath her. The feeling of fine sheets, the coolness of the air. This was not the place she’d last remembered. This was not the battlefield, the ruins where Malrik had been.

Where am I?

The question was sluggish, curling in her mind. She turned her head, the movement slow and cautious, and she immediately regretted it. A sharp, agonizing pain coursed through her body, but she pushed through it. She was alive. That much she knew. But she could feel the heaviness of the room, the faint scent of healing herbs in the air. Something was off, but there were more immediate concerns.

The flicker of motion caught her eye. A woman was standing beside the bed, one that didn’t exactly seem familiar but was clearly there with intent. Y/N tried to push herself up, but the dizziness almost made her collapse again. She gripped the side of the bed and blinked at the woman.

“Where am I?” Her voice sounded strange—weak, like she hadn’t used it in ages.

The woman—who Y/N now recognized as Amren, one of the Inner Circle—raised an eyebrow, her cold, calculating gaze flicking over Y/N’s form. There was no warmth there, no sympathy. But that was to be expected. Y/N knew of Amren. The woman was an enigma, someone who remained aloof from others.

“You’ve been unconscious for two days,” Amren said with her usual bluntness, the words heavy in the air. “It’s no surprise, considering the state you were in when you arrived.” She didn’t look concerned, just matter-of-fact. “The healers are doing their best to keep you alive.”

Y/N's heart dropped at the word state. The last thing she remembered before everything went black... Malrik’s blade. The fight. Azriel. She bit down on the pain that wanted to crawl up her throat, her stomach twisting into a tight knot as the realization began to seep in like a slow poison.

“Azriel…” she whispered, her voice faint, trembling. “Where is he? What happened to him?”

Amren hesitated, just the smallest flicker of emotion crossing her cold features before she turned to the door. “That’s Mor’s department. She’ll have more details for you.”

Y/N’s pulse quickened at the mention of his name. She struggled to sit up, the pain ripping through her body. She could barely see straight, but she had to know. Had to. She needed to hear it from someone who had seen it all, who knew what happened.

Before Amren could stop her, the door to the room opened. A figure appeared in the doorway—Mor, her presence commanding, yet there was a tiredness in her eyes that Y/N hadn’t seen before. The High Fae’s gaze flickered to her briefly before moving to Amren, her wings twitching behind her.

“Well, any news?” Amren asked, her tone like steel, unbothered by the situation. She was a woman of few words, but those words always carried weight.

Mor sighed, her eyes dark and weary. “No change. He’s still unconscious. The shadows are restless. They won’t stay still. It’s like they’re trying to drag him back to the fight.” She paused, glancing at Y/N. “And... Y/N, I’m glad you’re awake, but I... I didn’t think it would be this soon.”

Her voice softened when she saw Y/N’s frantic gaze locked onto her, and she moved closer to the bed, her face full of concern despite her usual guarded demeanor. Y/N couldn’t shake the sense of impending dread that settled in her chest, the heaviness of it threatening to crush her.

“Who are you talking about?” Y/N asked, the words strangling her as they left her mouth. She knew, but she needed to hear it. She needed confirmation.

Amren and Mor exchanged a glance. It was brief, but there was an unmistakable hesitation in it.

“Azriel,” Mor said, her voice soft but steady, the name carrying a weight Y/N hadn’t expected to hear. "He’s been unconscious for the same amount of time as you. Both of you... you looked like absolute shit when you were brought back. He could barely hold you, Y/N. He was badly wounded."

Y/N felt her heart stop. The breath caught in her throat. He was hurt? The memory of their last moments together came flooding back. Azriel, fighting with everything he had to protect her, to save her. He’d come for her. He hadn’t left her behind.

He hadn’t left her.

The room seemed to spin as the emotion she’d been holding back finally began to crack open. “He saved me?” The words were raw, broken, like she was speaking through a jagged breath. “He didn’t leave me behind? Even after everything? After—?”

Mor stepped closer, her hand on Y/N’s shoulder. There was something unspoken in her gaze, something that softened her usual sharp edges. “Of course not,” Mor replied. “He would never leave you behind. Not in a thousand lifetimes.”

Y/N’s chest felt tight. She wanted to scream, to shout, to cry, but her body refused to let her. It was as if everything inside her had been frozen in place—until now. The realization that Azriel had come for her, that he had fought for her, that he hadn’t abandoned her in the chaos, was almost too much to comprehend.

But as soon as the weight of that truth sank in, a surge of panic tore through her.

“Where is he?” Y/N demanded, sitting up, her body screaming in protest at the movement, but she didn’t care. She needed to know. “I need to see him. Now.”

“Y/N, you’re not—” Amren started, but Y/N wasn’t listening. She could barely hear anything over the pounding of her heart.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her knees buckling beneath her as pain shot through her entire body. Her head spun, but she didn’t care. She was not staying here, helpless and stuck in this room. Not when Azriel—he—was out there, fighting to stay alive.

Before anyone could stop her, Y/N surged forward, pushing past Mor and Amren as she stood on shaky legs. The pain was unbearable, but it didn’t matter. She grabbed Mor’s arm, holding onto her with a desperation that surprised them both.

“Lead the way,” Y/N’s voice was fierce, even though it cracked. “I don’t care about anything else. Take me to Azriel. Now.”

Mor blinked at her in surprise, clearly taken aback by Y/N’s sudden surge of strength, but she didn’t hesitate for long. The urgency in Y/N’s voice was undeniable, and after a beat of hesitation, she nodded.

“Fine,” Mor said, her voice softening for a moment before she turned and motioned for Y/N to follow. “But you’re not going to like how bad he looks. We can’t risk you falling apart again. You need to be ready for this.”

“I don’t care!” Y/N snapped, her voice hoarse, filled with panic and fear. “Just take me to him.”

And without another word, Mor led her through the winding halls, her heart pounding with every step. She could hear the distant sound of voices, of the chaos that seemed to have erupted in the house. But Y/N’s focus remained on one thing—Azriel. And nothing would stop her from reaching him. Not the pain, not the fear, not even the weight of everything that had happened.

She was going to get to him. And she was going to make sure he knew, once and for all, that she would never leave him behind.

The door opened with a soft creak, and Y/N’s eyes immediately zeroed in on the only thing that mattered—the figure lying on the bed, unconscious and battered beyond recognition.

Azriel.

Her heart stopped for a brief second, a sharp pang of panic squeezing the breath from her lungs. It was him. It was really him. She stumbled into the room, leaning heavily on Mor, her legs shaking beneath her from the strain. But once she crossed the threshold and saw him, the world seemed to blur. Nothing else existed in that moment, not the soft hum of the room, not the presence of others who quietly lingered in the shadows. It was just Azriel, the male she needed, the male who had saved her.

The sight of him like this—a shell of the warrior she knew, pale and drained of life, bandaged and broken—made her chest tighten painfully. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, too slow, too weak, and it felt like a distant echo of the man she remembered.

Her legs gave out then, and Mor helped her gently onto the edge of the bed. She sat down slowly, careful not to jostle him, her hands trembling as they hovered near Azriel’s. The room felt suffocating now, as though the weight of the air, of the uncertainty, was too much to bear. The presence of others in the room—Rhysand and Cassian—faded to the background as she focused solely on the man lying in front of her.

She didn’t acknowledge them. She didn’t need to.

Her fingers brushed against Azriel’s hand, as if she was afraid the touch would somehow shatter the moment. The warmth of his skin was faint, but it was there. It was enough. She took his hand in both of hers, holding it gently, and she let her breath steady before speaking, her voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the room.

“Azriel,” she breathed, her voice soft but desperate. “Please, come back to me. I can’t do this without you. I can’t... I won’t let you go.”

She swallowed, trying to keep the trembling from her voice, trying to keep her composure, but the fear was there—thick, suffocating. “I need you. You saved me, but now... now it’s my turn to save you. Please, don’t leave me here, don’t leave me to fight this alone. You’re my strength, my anchor. Without you, I’ll be lost.”

She leaned closer, her face hovering just above his. The words came easier now, spilling from her lips in a quiet flood. “I know we’ve been through so much, Azriel, but I... I need you. We have so much left to do, so much we haven’t said to each other. I—I can’t lose you. Not now.”

The words hung in the air, like a fragile prayer, but she felt them burn in her chest. She didn’t want to let go of him. Not now. Not ever.

Then, as if the universe had decided to remind her that she wasn’t alone, the sound of someone clearing their throat broke through the quiet. Y/N froze, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn’t noticed Rhysand and Cassian standing at the other side of the room, their watchful eyes fixed on her and Azriel.

Rhysand’s voice was soft, but there was a tightness to it. “I’m glad you’re awake.”

Y/N didn’t respond immediately. She didn’t know what to say. What could she say?

It was Rhys who spoke again, his words careful, each one deliberate as he took a step closer to her and Azriel. “I should have told you before. But you deserve to hear it now.” He paused, a flicker of something in his eyes—guilt, perhaps—before he continued. “I had a hand in your exile, Y/N. I thought duty came first, and I made a choice. I forced Azriel to do what he did, and... I regret it. So much. Especially after seeing what he’s gone through since.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her eyes flickering to Rhysand. She wanted to say something—wanted to scream at him, to ask why, to demand answers—but the words felt too heavy, too loaded. And besides, Azriel’s life hung in the balance, and she wasn’t sure she could focus on anything else just yet.

Rhysand looked at her with a quiet, raw honesty. “I regret it, Y/N. I did it because I thought it was best for the Court, for all of us. But I see now that I was wrong. I never should have forced Azriel into that position. Never.”

Cassian stepped forward then, his face hardened with regret, his voice a little rougher than usual. “None of us knew, Y/N. Not Mor, not Amren, not any of us. We didn’t know how bad it was, how much Azriel was suffering. We didn’t know the weight he was carrying. But I’m begging you—please, understand that none of us knew. And we all want to make it right.”

Y/N didn’t respond immediately. Her mind was reeling, trying to process the weight of what they were saying. But through the fog of her thoughts, one thing became painfully clear—she couldn’t afford to focus on this. Not right now. She couldn’t afford to let this divide them further. Azriel needed her.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Y/N muttered, her voice shaking, but there was no anger in it, just a quiet, resigned exhaustion. “We’ll talk later. Right now, just... just don’t let him die. Please.”

Her gaze flickered back to Azriel’s pale face, the shadows that still clung to him like a dark promise, and she squeezed his hand tighter, as if to will him to wake up.

“I have unspoken words to share with him,” Y/N whispered, her voice breaking on the words. “I’m not ready to lose him. Not yet.”

Rhysand and Cassian exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between them. The room fell into a heavy silence as Y/N sat at Azriel’s side, her heart beating in time with his shallow breaths. And as the moments ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity, she could only hope, pray, that the male she loved would come back to her.

That he wouldn’t let go.

Not yet.

Two more days passed. Forty-eight hours.

Two days that felt like an eternity.

In all that time, Y/N had never once left Azriel’s side. Not once. Even when she was being treated for her own injuries, she would make sure to sit beside him afterward, her gaze never straying too far from his unconscious form. She ate her meals in his room, and when the healers came to check on him, she would watch, her heart in her throat, praying for any sign of improvement.

She couldn’t shake the feeling of helplessness, but she refused to leave him, not when he had done so much for her, not when he had saved her life and brought her back from the edge of death itself. No. She would stay with him, even if it felt like time was dragging on and the world outside seemed so far away.

And then, on the second day, when the shadows had grown restless and the light of the room began to shift as dusk approached, it happened.

Azriel woke up.

Y/N felt it before she saw it—the subtle shift in the air, the way the shadows calmed, the way his chest gave that faint rise and fall, like a fragile whisper. Her heart skipped a beat, and in a heartbeat, she was at his side, her hand gently brushing against his, as though afraid that touching him too much would shatter the moment.

His eyes fluttered open slowly, the darkness of his irises blinking against the light, the weakness in his expression making her heart break all over again.

"Azriel," Y/N whispered, her voice a breathless exhale of relief.

He blinked again, and then a small, tired smile crept onto his face as he realized she was there. “You’re awake,” he murmured hoarsely, his voice rough from disuse, but still so much like the Azriel she knew.

She nodded, her hand shaking as she cupped his cheek, gazing at him as if afraid he might slip away again if she let go for even a second. “I’m awake, I’m here,” she whispered, her breath hitching in her throat. Her heart felt too full, and in that moment, she didn’t care who saw or heard. Azriel was awake, and that was all that mattered.

But as her gaze flickered to the door, ready to call for anyone—healers, Rhys, Mor—Azriel’s weak hand reached out and grasped hers, gently but firmly, stopping her before she could move.

“Please,” he said softly, his voice barely audible, but it held a quiet desperation. “Stay with me... just a little longer.”

Her heart ached at the plea in his voice, but she nodded, sinking back into the chair beside him, her fingers still intertwined with his. Azriel pulled her closer, his hand guiding hers to rest at his side, his tired eyes locking onto hers.

“I need more time like this,” he said, his voice thick with exhaustion, but there was a softness in his gaze. A vulnerability that she wasn’t used to seeing from him. “More time with you. I know it’s probably an illusion. I know I don’t deserve this... but...” He paused, his eyes flickering with the weight of unsaid words. “Please, let’s talk. Let’s get this out in the open, so I can stop carrying this weight.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath, her chest tightening at his words. She opened her mouth to protest, to say they could talk later, that she didn’t want to push him when he was so weak, but Azriel cut her off before she could speak.

“No, Y/N,” he said, a rare intensity flickering in his eyes despite his exhaustion. “I can’t keep pretending. I need to say this now.”

She could see it—he was determined. He had to do this now, or it would consume him.

“Alright,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, though her hand tightened around his. “We can talk. But not about everything. Not now, Azriel. Not when you're like this.”

He gave a soft, sad smile, nodding. “I’ll go first.” His gaze softened as he exhaled slowly, gathering his thoughts. “I never got the chance to properly express myself before... but I need you to hear this now.”

He took a breath, his voice steady despite the tremor in his body. “After your banishment... I made sure you weren’t alone. I made sure you were never without what you needed, even when I couldn’t be there for you. It was me who left the money on your doorstep every month... it was me, Y/N. I couldn’t do anything for you in the first year because I thought you didn’t want me anywhere near you. I thought you hated me. And I... I couldn’t bring myself to face you, to tell you how sorry I was. How guilty I felt for what happened. But I made sure you had what you needed... I just couldn’t tell you. I didn’t deserve your smile. I didn’t deserve to be a part of your life anymore."

His fists clenched as he sighed. "That's why I never....never knew of what Malrik did to you. Because the first year I tried- truly tried justifying my horrible actions and staying away from you. I swear Y/N, if only I knew-"

He took a shaky breath, his fingers tightening around hers. “I want to make this right. I will make it right, Y/N. When I recover, I will personally make sure Rhys understands what I’ve done, and that I’ll fix everything, whatever it takes. I’ll make sure you’re taken back to the Night Court. And if you’ll have me, if you’ll allow me... I’ll make sure you rejoin my team. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I understand if you say no. But I’m asking for the chance... a chance to prove myself to you.”

Y/N stared at him, the words settling over her like a heavy weight, the truth of them sinking into her chest. She wasn’t sure what to say. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to forgive him, not yet, not when everything still felt so raw, so painful.

But then, she brushed the strands of hair from his forehead, her fingers gentle as they touched his skin, the warmth of his body grounding her in the moment. She let out a slow sigh, her voice quiet but firm.

“I don’t forgive you, Azriel,” she said softly. “And I will never forget what you did. But... I’m willing to give you a chance.” She met his gaze, her heart a tangle of emotions she didn’t have words for. “To prove yourself. To show me you can do better. To show me you care.”

Azriel’s eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders relaxing, as if a weight had been lifted. “I’ll do anything,” he whispered. “Anything to prove it to you.”

And for the first time in days, Y/N felt a flicker of hope.

The days seemed to stretch on, slow but comforting, and with every passing moment, Y/N and Azriel began to discover a new rhythm between them—one they had never experienced before. There were no rushes, no expectations, only the quiet bond they shared that had begun to grow roots in the fertile soil of time. Each small gesture, each word spoken, was a step forward, a step toward something neither of them had ever dared to hope for.

It wasn’t just their conversations that made the days feel different—it was the way they spent time together. They no longer avoided each other, as they once had, but instead leaned into the comfort of shared silence. In the mornings, they would sit side by side, Azriel with his books and reports, Y/N with a cup of tea in hand, and they would just be there together. There were no grand confessions or dramatic exchanges, just the small moments of connection that seemed to fill the spaces between them.

Y/N found herself smiling more than she had in years. She had come to love the quiet moments with Azriel. It wasn’t even about the things they talked about, but the way they could just exist together without the burden of the past hanging over them. Every laugh, every quiet word shared, began to heal something deep inside her.

But the true magic of their bond happened when they opened up about their fears—things they had never told anyone before.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in shades of gold and pink, Y/N found herself sitting across from Azriel in the garden. The air was cool, the breeze gentle, and for the first time in a long while, the weight of the world seemed to fall away.

She spoke of her time in exile—how she had tried to survive, tried to find meaning in the solitude that had been thrust upon her. Azriel listened, always patient, always present, never once interrupting. And in return, Azriel began to share more—about his guilt, about the constant weight of responsibility he had carried, and about the painful truths he had buried deep within him. They both found a kind of solace in these conversations, a silent understanding between them that spoke louder than words.

Azriel leaned back against the stone bench, his eyes searching the darkening sky. “Do you ever wonder if we’re just... doomed to repeat our mistakes?” His voice was low, almost contemplative.

Y/N glanced at him, sensing the underlying vulnerability in his question. “I think... we all have our demons. Some of us just face them sooner than others.”

Azriel’s gaze shifted to her, his expression softening. “What if I told you that I spent so long running from my mistakes, I almost forgot how to face them head-on? I didn’t just fail you—I failed myself, too. I thought I could keep it all under control, but I’ve learned... the hard way that control is just an illusion.”

Y/N’s heart ached as she heard the pain in his voice. She had never imagined Azriel would carry such heavy burdens on his own. She reached out, placing her hand on his. The touch was gentle, a silent offer of comfort. “You’re not alone in this, Azriel. You never have been.”

His hand squeezed hers, and for a moment, they were silent, both lost in their thoughts. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, though; it was a quiet understanding between them, an unspoken connection that neither of them had ever felt with anyone else.

Azriel broke the silence after a while, his voice steady but with an underlying emotion. “I’m sorry for everything, Y/N. I was selfish. I pushed you away when all you ever needed was someone to stand beside you.”

Y/N’s eyes softened as she looked at him, her heart swelling. “I was angry, Azriel. I hated you for what you did, for the way you left me in the dark. But I see now... I see how much you’ve changed. How much you’ve done to make things right.”

Azriel looked down at their intertwined hands, his voice rough. “It’s not enough, Y/N. I can never undo what I did. But I’ll spend every moment from now on trying to prove to you that I’m not that person anymore.”

Y/N was quiet for a long moment. She had been angry, so angry, for so long. But now, as she listened to him, felt the sincerity in his words, the anger began to lose its grip on her heart. She had always known that deep down, Azriel wasn’t the one she should be angry at. He was just another soul trying to find his way, just like she was.

“I believe you,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s going to take time. I need time to heal, too.”

Azriel nodded, his eyes filled with understanding. “We have time. As much time as we need.”

Azriel kept his word. He did everything in his power to make things right, though his efforts often went unnoticed by the rest of the world. He took the time to visit every corner of his network—his spies, his workers, the people who owed him loyalty—one by one, and confessed his shame. He told them all of his mistake, how he had failed Y/N, how he had allowed her to be exiled and how that decision had broken him.

And when the time came to speak with Rhys, Azriel was firm, his voice steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes.

“I don’t care what it takes,” Azriel had said, his gaze unwavering. “If Y/N isn’t allowed back into the Night Court, then I will leave. I will go with her. I’m done with this court, if it means losing her.”

Rhys had looked at him, his face unreadable for a moment, but then he spoke, his voice soft but firm. “You think I wouldn’t accept her back? You think I would make you choose between this court and her?”

Azriel met his gaze, his jaw tight. “You tell me. You’ve made your position clear before. I won’t let you tear us apart.”

Rhys had exhaled, his shoulders loosening. “It’s not like that. I never wanted to keep her from you. And if you think for one second that I would let anything come between the two of you, you’re wrong. But there’s more to this than just your promise, Azriel. There’s the matter of what’s right.”

Y/N had overheard part of the conversation, her heart stirring in her chest. She had known, deep down, that Rhys had his reasons, but hearing him speak so openly, so honestly, about what he would do for her... it made her heart ache in a way she hadn’t expected. For all their tension, their difficult history, there was a part of her that understood the weight of the choices Rhys had made.

When the conversation ended, it was like a door had been opened—a door that had been locked for so long. Y/N wasn’t just being accepted back into the Night Court; she was being welcomed with open arms, with an understanding that she had a place here. That she wasn’t just Azriel’s, but part of something bigger, something that had always been hers.

Weeks Later

Y/N walked into the training courtyard, the soft hum of the day’s activities filling the air. Her body had healed, her strength returning with each day. Azriel was already there, practicing his forms, his movements fluid and precise. He looked up as she approached, his eyes softening when he saw her.

She had learned, in the time since their conversation, how much he had done—how much effort he had put into making things right. And while the road to healing was still long, she couldn’t deny the shift in their dynamic. She had seen him work tirelessly, not just for her, but for himself. He had made amends where he could, he had spoken with those who needed to hear it, and he had taken responsibility for his actions in a way that left her with no choice but to respect him all over again.

“You’ve been training all morning,” she teased, her lips quirking into a smile as she approached him.

Azriel’s mouth twitched into a grin, though his tired eyes showed the weight of his own healing journey. “Someone has to keep up with you,” he replied, his voice laced with affection.

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully and watched him for a moment. “You’re getting better,” she observed. “But you still need to catch up to me.”

He chuckled softly. “Maybe I’ll get there one day.”

She stepped forward, her fingers grazing his arm lightly. “You’re already there,” she murmured, the words almost too soft to hear.

Azriel’s gaze flickered to her, his eyes darkening with something unreadable. He stepped closer, closing the space between them, and reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said quietly. “It’s been a long time coming. I know I can’t undo what’s been done... but I’m going to spend every moment I can making sure you know how much I care. How much I regret the things I did.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered in her chest, her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t just the apology that moved her, it was the sincerity in his eyes. She had never seen Azriel so raw, so open. And it made her believe in him again.

“I believe you,” she whispered. “And I know you’re trying. But we have time now... time to figure this out together.”

A gentle silence passed between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a quiet understanding, a promise without words, that they would move forward, together.

The conversation with Rhys had been long and difficult, but when Azriel emerged, there was a calmness to him that hadn’t been there before. Y/N could sense the weight of it, the way he stood taller now, as though he had finally cast off the chains of guilt and shame that had bound him for so long.

Azriel met her eyes across the room, his gaze softening as she stood from her seat. He walked toward her, his movements slower than usual, as though every step was a testament to how far they had come.

“I never thought it would feel like this,” Y/N said, her voice quiet as she stood before Azriel, her heart pounding in her chest. “To be accepted back... to have everything feel like it’s slowly coming together.”

Azriel stepped forward, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s not perfect. It never will be. But we’re here. We’re together now.”

Y/N smiled softly, a tear slipping down her cheek as she looked up at him. “And that’s all that matters.”

As Azriel cupped her face in his hands, their lips met in a kiss that held the promise of all the things they had yet to say, all the healing yet to come. It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was a quiet, slow kiss that spoke of time, of patience, of the love they had built in the silence between them. And as they pulled away, their foreheads resting against each other, both of them knew—this was just the beginning.

"Show me how much you've changed, Az" she whispered before feeling him gently scoop her up in bridal style and go down the hallway.

(SMUT STARTS HERE)

Once inside his bedroom, Azriel towered over her, "Are you sure you want this?"

Y/N only nodded her head, hands resting on his chest. "Yes, fuck me, Azriel."

He smiled gently and shook his head. "No, I won't fuck you. I will make love to you."

He didn't give her a chance to reply before leaning down and in one quick motion capturing her lips, her gasp. Y/N's hand's went to his shoulders, one of them holding Azriel by the nape of his neck, bringing him closer down to her as she felt his arms tighten around her, their bodies pressed flush against one another.

Their kiss deepened, and Azriel’s movements were slow, deliberate. There was no rush, no sense of urgency between them, only the quiet, steady rhythm of two souls coming together after years of separation, of scars and healing.

Y/N felt her breath hitch as Azriel’s hands gently skimmed over her skin, his touch almost reverent, as though he were cherishing each part of her. His fingers trailed along the curve of her waist, his touch light, as though testing the waters. She felt the heat of his body against hers, the solid weight of him comforting and grounding.

With a gentle pull, Azriel guided her to sit up on the edge of the bed, never breaking their kiss. His hands moved to the fabric of her clothing, his fingertips brushing against the soft material, but his motions were cautious, careful—almost as if asking for permission. He didn’t need to speak it; his touch was enough. Y/N felt the weight of the past between them, but in this moment, it was a distant memory. There were no walls between them, no walls to break down.

Her hands moved to his chest, pushing his tunic off his shoulders, the fabric falling to the floor in a heap. She could feel the hard lines of his muscles beneath her fingertips, the smoothness of his skin, but there was a tenderness in how they undressed each other, a silent understanding that this wasn’t about passion or lust alone—it was about something deeper. It was about trust. About healing.

Azriel’s breath was warm against her skin, and his hands moved to the buttons of her dress, his movements slow, deliberate, as if every action held meaning. Each layer of clothing that fell away was like another barrier they had broken down, another step closer to one another. And as her dress pooled around her feet, she felt more exposed than she ever had, but not vulnerable. Not with Azriel. With him, it felt like coming home.

He took a step back, just enough to look at her, his eyes dark with desire but filled with something deeper—something tender, something that made her heart ache in a way she wasn’t expecting. The vulnerability between them was raw, but it was comforting, something she hadn’t realized she needed until now.

“I won’t rush you,” Azriel murmured, his voice low, like the sound of a night wind through the trees. “This is about us—about us being here. Now.”

Y/N nodded, her breath catching in her throat as she gazed up at him, her hands resting lightly on his chest. The weight of everything they had been through—everything they were still going through—hung in the air, but it no longer felt like something they had to carry alone. It was a shared weight, something they would hold together.

And as Azriel lowered himself onto the bed beside her, pulling her into his arms, the soft press of his lips against her forehead was the promise of something far more profound than what either of them had ever experienced. This wasn’t just a physical connection; it was emotional, it was spiritual, and it was a healing that neither of them had expected.

Their bodies moved together, slowly, with care, the gentle rhythm of their movements speaking volumes. It wasn’t fast or frantic—it was a dance of patience and love, a stark contrast to the turmoil and chaos of their past. They were no longer the broken, scarred people they once were. Together, they were something new, something rebuilt. Each caress, each kiss, was a quiet declaration that they had found something real.

"Azriel..." she moaned an hour and two rounds later as the male in question had his head inbetween her legs, lapping up all her juices, his fingers also massaging her clit while his eyes never left hers. Oh those dark, intense eyes....

Y/N clenched his hair harder as Azriel began thrusting his tounge deeper and faster. He had kept to his word, fucking her gently, lovingly, leaving love bites and marks all over her chest, stomach and thighs. Of course she hadn't forgotten about him either, once again riding him just like that night at the inn but this time....slower, gentler, as she kissed his lips, his face, his neck and chest, hearing him groan and moan, her name spilling out of his mouth like some sacred prayer.

And now, he was intent on licking her clean. Y/N sucked in aharsh breath as she felt his other hand drift upwards, to her breasts, gently grasping and fondling them. Her thighs squeezed his head and Azriel rolled- visibly, literally rolled his eyes and groane dinto her mouth, causing her to cum all over his face.

Azriel lifted his wet, dripping face as he crawled upwards on her body, kissing along her scars, her marks, her curves, her 'imprefections' as he growled loving praises at ehr like, "Delicious" "Absolutely divine" "Mine" "Fucking hell" and Y/N could barely hide her blush.

But all of her thoughts went out of her head when she felt his thick, once more hardened and angry cock gently sliding inside her overstimulated lips. Her arms immediately went up to his neck as brought him down and whispered, "Now, will you fuck me Azriel?"

She heard a true, genuine, laugh from him as he replied with his smug voice. "Whatever you wish, beautiful." before picking up his pace.

And when they finally came together, it wasn’t with the force of their past storms, but with the calm of the peace they had found in each other. It was tender, it was slow, and it was everything they had been waiting for without even realizing it.

(SMUT ENDS HERE)

In the stillness of the room, only the sound of their steady breathing filled the air. The world outside seemed far away, as if time itself had slowed down to honor this moment between them. Azriel’s hand gently traced the curve of Y/N’s back, the soft movement a promise that he would never let go again, not after everything they had been through. His touch was warm, grounding, and as her fingers played with the fabric of his tunic, she felt an overwhelming sense of peace—something she hadn’t known she was missing until now.

They lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of the past slowly but surely lifting. There were no more words to be spoken, no more apologies to be made—just the quiet, unspoken understanding that they had found their way back to each other. The road ahead was uncertain, but it no longer felt daunting. Together, they would face whatever came next, not as two individuals, but as a united force, stronger for the healing they had both undergone.

Y/N sighed softly, her head resting on Azriel’s chest, the steady beat of his heart echoing in her ear. She could feel the peace settling over her, like a gentle tide washing away the remnants of all the pain, all the loss. She had once thought she couldn’t move forward, couldn’t heal. But now, with Azriel beside her, she knew that healing wasn’t about forgetting—it was about letting go, trusting, and opening up to the possibility of something more.

Azriel shifted slightly, lifting his head to look at her. His gaze was soft, filled with a warmth that made her heart swell. “We’re going to be okay,” he murmured, as if reaffirming the truth they both knew deep down. “Together.”

Y/N smiled, her fingers gently brushing his cheek. “Together,” she whispered back, the word tasting like the beginning of something beautiful.

And as the quiet night stretched on, they remained in that peaceful embrace, a new chapter unfolding before them, ready to be written with all the love and healing they had fought so hard to find. The future was no longer a place of uncertainty. With each other, they had found their way home.

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Taglist: @darkbloodsly @moonfawnx @clementine111002 @galaxystern08 @batboyslutt @circe143 @tele86

#acotar #azriel #fanfics #azriel acotar #azriel angst #acotar x you #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel imagine #azriel smut #acotar angst #acotar smut

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darinawrites · 1 month ago

Text

*ੈA prickle of blood is worth it*ੈ

Summary: you couldn't help feeling down for the day once you discovered your childhood plushie got destroyed. Imagine your surprise once you saw it sewed before your eyes (Dae ho sewing your plushie because he doesn't want you to be sad </3)

Content: fluff, tooth rooting even. Cuddles, pre game, Dae ho just being a sweetheart.

A/n: I love him so much, oh em gee. Anyway, sorry if this is a little rushed, the writers block syndrome got to me </3

Word count: 1.4k

You didn't want to overreact. It was simply a little plushie. One you carried around with pride as a child, showing off the cute little bows it had. One you cuddled with every night. One that comforted you with the silence with a sewed smile.

So, you couldn't help a small tear run down your cheek as you saw it all torn up today. Waking up to be met with the horrid sight of the cotton scattered all over the room. You didn't even question what happened as your mind wet foggy with sadness.

Holding up its torn up clothes, you were so disappointed. Completely forgetting the morning date you had as you mourned the loss of a childhood memory. It's only when the buzzing of your phone against your skin got you out of the trance did you realize what you had planned.

You tried to face the situation with faked equanimity, texting him that you're going to arriving a bit late. You felt really bad, truthfully, but it was forgotten with your somber mood. The excitement of meeting your beloved damped away.

You didn't want to ruin his mood too, so you dressed up as fast as you could before hurrying out of the door, hopefully not making him wait too long. Staring down at the displayed time as you hopped over to the small cafe.

And, as always, you were meet with the sweetest smile. Yet, you couldn't properly return one with the feelings you had, no matter how much you wanted to. You simply hoped he wouldn't notice your changed mood for now, sitting down to order.

But, you'd be stupid to think Dae ho wouldn't notice. The man who knows you like the palm of his hands, knowing every curve and beauty mark you have. Knowing more about you than himself. He notices when even a strand of hair is displaced.

He was never good at reading people, but you were a book amongst the crowds that he loved to read. Never getting bored of it, no matter how many times he flipped trough the pages. So, of course he'd notice if there was a grammar mistake.

He noticed your small frown, sorrow tinged with your voice. Not finishing the small cake slice nor the coffee, the giggles shrinking down. Even the forced happiness you tried to give to him, it made him have sadness underneath the smile he gave you.

Even as he took you to a small amusement park besides the cafe, brushing it off as a small annoyance that may have occurred to you, he still knew you were off. Not asking for cotton candy, no stars shining in your eyes as you stared at the sky from the ferris wheel.

And you noticed it yourself, how both of you were different today, but you hadn't bothered to tell him. Maybe if you just tried to cover it up, he wouldn't say anything. You already felt bad enough for ruining your little date together.

And, of course, your attempts were in vain. Immediately being ambushed with confrontation as you opened your door to the house.

"Hey..is everything alright? Today seemed a little off." you heard him ask as he placed his jacket on a hook, softly glaring at you with meticulous care to study your facial expressions.

You hesitated for a bit, unsure if you should tell him or not. You trust Dae ho with every fiber in your being, but it still seemed so childish for you to be so sorrowful over a little plushie.

"It's nothing, really. You don't need to worry." you hummed, but he wasn't satisfied. You could still see that glint in his eyes as he stared at you for a moment before answering.

"Nothing is childish if it bothers you. Tell me, please?" he pleaded, and you couldn't just say no. The guilt over the day catching up to you as you let the words flow out of your mouth.

"It's just that..my childhood plushie was destroyed this morning. I'm sorry, it shouldn't have affected me this badly." you hushed out, ashamed to feel this much emotion over a doll.

"Don't feel like that. It's normal," he paused for a moment, like he was arranging the thoughts in his head "I'll be back immediately, give me a moment." and with that, he suddenly hurried away and left you. His figure leaving to the bedroom as you were suddenly left alone with words hanging around the room.

Weird. He usually would like to stay to cuddle while you watched TV. Oh gosh, maybe he did find you childish? Was he mad? You didn't want that, only over a stupid toy.

You shook your head, trying to keep your thoughts straight. That's not the Dae ho you know, you shouldn't be overthinking now. Maybe making some popcorn and watching a movie would help.

Putting your stuff away as you went to the kitchen to make the essentials of a lonely movie night. Popcorn, sweets, cola, everything to get your blood sugar level trough the roof.

Sitting down on the soft cushion, yet a comforting presence wasn't beside you. A small glance at the door of your bedroom, where he was. You sighed, this was supposed to keep your mind distracted, not the opposite.

Your fingers pressed on the remote once you found a relatively interesting looking movie to watch. Setting your snacks neatly, you laid down with a blanket draped over you to make up for the missing warmth. Your eyes staring at the film as you tried to shift your focus to it.

Relief washed over you as the screen turned black, the boring film coming to an end. You were so drowsy, cuddled up beneath the cloak, eyes heavy as you tried to keep them open. But, you didn't want to fight it anymore. Letting the tiredness engulf you as you gave in to the desire.

But before you could float on clouds in your dream, a strong hand suddenly gripped your waist. Groggily opening your eyes as you could recognise those hands anywhere. Softly lifting your finger to graze over his veins as you hummed.

"You're finally back. Did I upset you? I didn't mean to, I promise." you mumbled out, voice hoarse with sleepiness as you pressed yourself up to be met with his chest.

"No, no! I'm sorry, I didn't want you to think that," a soft smile came back to your lips at those words "but I was doing this instead." and with those words he took out something behind him. Hesitating for a moment before bringing it out, showing it to your eyes.

And you couldn't help a small gasp, his hands nimbly held your doll. But this time it wasn't shriveled up, but it was poorly sewed together. The little smile it had now back as it stared up at you. Your eyes widened with shock as the sleepiness flew away.

He must have noticed your silence, worry now setting back in. "I-im sorry. Its not made that well, I promise to—" you quickly cut him off with a kiss, turning your head back to let him see your softened pupils and the red staining your cheeks.

Your hands went down to brush his hands, only to realize a bandaid intruded your sense, gliding your hands over it gently. It must've been recent, and your smile only got wider.

"I love it. Since when did you know how to sew?" your voice was soft, turning your body around to gently push both you flat on the couch. Pulling the blanket over both of you, nuzzling your head in his shoulders, like always.

"I don't. Saw my sisters do it a couple of times, tried to imitate it. Clearly didn't turn out so well." he laughed a bit, picking up his hand to stroke trough your hair. Vibrations of your own giggles heard as you muffled it in his neck.

You crooked your head a little to your side, soft hums coming out from his strokes as you gently stared down the doll.

It held so many memories, valuable ones. Ones you were afraid to wash away when you put it in the washing machine. A ripped up ear reminding you of a small incident and the ripped out eye of another. But the little line right between the chest, one that was so uneven and so messy. One made by him.

That. That was the most valuable.

#squid game #squid game x reader #squid game season 2 #squid game s2 #kang dae ho x reader #dae ho x reader #kang dae ho #player 388 x reader #squid game x you #kang dae ho x you

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earthtooz · 2 years ago

Text

x : DON'T GO :*+ﾟ

in which: blade has always felt cold, but even more so without you.

warnings: 1.9k words, HURT/COMFORT with a sprinkle of angst, gn!reader who calls blade 'ren' once, mention of blood, ooc!vulnerable!blade, he's like a kicked puppy in this one

a/n: perhaps the most intimate piece i've wrote to date, this is nothing but pure yearning and longing on blade's behalf, and a nice fix-it fic with the most vulnerable i think blade could ever be. enjoy!!

in his new life, blade has always felt cold.

he is not spared from the constant feeling of goosebumps prickling his skin, not even for a second as the cold bites the tip of his fingers and sink their teeth into him to send shivers up his spine. but he has never felt colder than he does right now.

your side of the bed is untouched, perfectly made, and devoid of any indication that you had been there. the blankets and mattress are cool to touch, with hardly any wrinkles in the sheets, and an ache declares itself home in blade’s chest.

the sun spills on his bare skin when he kicks the covers off, illuminating his scar-ridden chest as he gazes around the room, as if waiting for an sign that you were still here, and that he wasn’t too late. however, an immediate soreness tickles his throat that causes him to wince, serving as a reminder of the unpleasant discourse you had last night.

it was hardly over anything of importance, but blade, a man of pride and relentlessness, had refused to back down, and you went to bed angry that night. he did too but woke regretful and cold under the covers, your warmth taken with you.

today was the day you had to leave for a mission, and although he knows you have a strict schedule to follow, he just wonders why you couldn’t have woken him up to say goodbye, especially after everything.

he didn’t even get to say sorry or try to at least make amends. the swordsman only hopes you didn’t leave furious with him, and that you at least had something to eat before leaving.

to distract himself from the heartache, blade forgoes lying around and decides to start his day before the absence you left overwhelms him and the only thing his mind can do is think about you.

not that he’s successful, because despite dedicating a monotonous afternoon of drilling sword techniques, the rampant thoughts about you did not decrease. rather, with each swing and sway of the cracked blade, his mind finds more and more to think about, with you at the epicentre of all of them.

it’s sometime around sunset when blade receives update on your status.

the swordsman is sat on a stone ledge, gold rays from the sun spilling on his skin as he waits for the sweat and fatigue to roll off. blade thinks of how you’d normally be seated nearby, watching him train to supply water and energy bars. although he never used to like the company or the doting, it doesn’t feel the same without you beside him, he misses you and wonders when you’ll return.

“how long have you been here?” a raspy, female voice asks, breaking blade’s train of thoughts.

“since noon,” he responds merely. he doesn’t need to look up to see that it’s kafka talking to him.

“right. makes sense. i thought you’d be lonely since y/n’s gone.”

“need you remind me?” he huffs, voice teetering a threatening gruffness that would make ordinary people shudder, but does nothing to kafka.

“oh, spicy today, aren’t we?” she coos, ignoring the immense pressure radiating off blade effortlessly before taking a seat beside him. “what’s up? is there trouble in paradise?” a scoff comes from the swordsman. “i was only joking, did something really happen between you two?”

“none of your business.”

kafka shrugs before her phone begins vibrating violently. when she reads the notifications, her face pulls the closest expression to concern that blade has ever seen her wear.

“y/n got ambushed.”

his world freezes over.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

the sunlight is gentle in blade’s eyes when he wakes up.

clothes are strewn on the floor, bedsheets are half off the bed, ceramics lie in pieces along the cracks of the planks, and despite the mess blade has made of your shared space, he is the most crumpled of them all. a kaleidoscope of volcanic anger, tsunamic worry, and mountainous yearning, the only place that has remained untouched by blade’s destructive touch is your side of the bed, lest your scent disappears.

it’s been five days since anyone has received a live update from you, only hanging on to tracking notifications of your spaceship as any indication that you were fine. for the duration of it, nothing has been able to calm him, with kafka and silver wolf needing to stun him before he could do anything brash, like running off into the infinite cosmos to find you.

elio’s promises had never felt emptier, his constant claims of how you’d return very soon turning into dust in blade’s ears because how could he hold on to hope when you are alone amongst the stars?

his texts are left delivered, but never read. in fact, it has been five days since your contact displayed to be online, and he finds himself staring at it in case that the circle will illuminate green, that you’ll give him some sort of update on your liveliness.

so that you’ll see how sorry he is and all he wants for you is to return home.

he doesn’t remember when he became so dependent, but perhaps this is another cruel punishment from fate with another inconceivable price of repentance.

for someone as unforgivable and despicable as blade to love means to mutilate the universe with aftershocks that tear through boundaries of what’s possible. for a man like blade to rebel, it means that the consequences will return tenfold.

and there is no crueller damnation than tearing you away from him.

he turns on his side, arms reaching over to where you would normally lie, and dozes off again, feeling colder than ever.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

blade wakes up a second time. the sun is no longer the thing that awakens him, but rather, the sound of footsteps that echo outside the bedroom. disgruntled and still trying to gather his bearings, he shoots awake at the sound of your door opening.

you stand on the other side.

is this a dream?

“oh,” you breathe. you sound winded, caught off guard by the sight of your lover who stares at you like a bewildered deer. “i’m sorry, i didn’t think you would be here.”

he doesn’t say anything, just merely looks at you, unnervingly unresponsive.

you look miserable. fatigue clings to your skin like a second skin, your eyes lack the brightness they usually have, and you are, evidently, very battered and bruised, blood staining your ruined clothes.

but you are like sunlight, and blade thinks he can breathe again.

“i guess i’ll leave,” you murmur, interrupting blade’s momentary assessment.

“don’t.”

turning back around, the swordsman is now slowly stalking towards you, seemingly teleported from the bed to halfway across the room in the blink of an eye.

“is something wrong?” you ask and he holds back a scoff from the irony of your question. he’s the one that should be asking that, not you.

but yes, there is something wrong; you left him alone. you went somewhere he couldn’t and then made him feel helpless because he didn’t know whether or not you were going to come back, stranded in the cosmos forever.

stopping before you, his hands gravitate upwards with the magnetic need to touch you, to ensure that you were real and not some figment of his hazy imagination. blade raises a hesitant hand to sit on the back of your neck and the frostiness of his fingertips causes a shiver to run up your spine. gently, he presses you for a pulse and visibly gulps when he finds it, suffocating you in the tense silence that has occupied the air (you’re real, and you’re okay, delivered back to him in one piece).

then, he looks at you with the saddest expression you have ever seen him wear before engulfing you in his embrace. the stellaron hunter is hesitant with his touch, hovering around you in fear of overstepping, for blade would never forgive himself if he were to scare you off again.

because you’re finally back where he can reach, and he never wants you to leave.

“ren?” you pause, gently wrapping your arms around his waist and closing the gap he left, meeting him halfway. the little action floods him with endless relief. “what’s the matter?”

he shakes his head against you and his hold tightens mercilessly, squeezing all air out of your lungs.

“you had me worried,” he confesses, no louder than a whisper because otherwise he would crack under the weight of his own words. the constant fear that has plagued him for the last few days would finally break him and he’d be in shambles in your arms, making a mess of something gorgeous with something hideous.

so instead, he will continue simply holding onto you where you are safe. in his arms, you cannot leave, you cannot go places that danger you, and you cannot break his heart and choke him with the emptiness of your presence.

“i’m sorry,” you say, rubbing his back and he tugs you closer. “i didn’t mean to worry you, everything jus-”

“-you left without saying goodbye.”

you’re silent and guilty, but so beautiful. “i thought you didn’t want to see me. we were pretty mean to each other before i left,” you say after a second of contemplation. “i didn’t know where we stood, i wasn’t sure if you still wanted me.”

whatever is left of his heart breaks, crumbling into shambles that ring at your feet. there are a multitude of things that blade wants to say, yet no words come to fruition, to his dismay. he wants to offer you the comfort and promises you want to hear, and he wants to express the overwhelming relief he feels, but he can’t, and he curses his own inability to be heartfelt.

instead, his grip around you tightens, like you’ll slip away otherwise and have him search for you throughout the cosmos.

“don’t do any of that again,” he pleads instead, hoping that you’ll understand. “i beg of you.”

“okay,” you breathe. “i won’t.”

“don’t leave like that,” he tugs at your ruined shirt, grasp gentle and careful in fear of scaring you away with the intensity of his emotions that are hanging on by a thread

“i wont.”

“please don’t go.”

“i’m here, aren’t i?”

blade sighs, nodding. you smile at him and it feels like a warmth powerful enough to drive the cold away.

“but first, i need a bath,” you murmur, placing your hands on his chest to push him away. “please, keep your distance, i’m pretty sure i reek.”

he doesn’t say anything and clearly doesn’t listen, because instead of letting go, he simply leads you to the bathroom without ever unwrapping his arms. soon, the bath begins to run, and the sound of water streaming down ceramic echoes off the tiles, but the warmth of your laughter and tired words overpower it. blade sits at the edge, nothing but an oversized shadow that watches as you relax in the water, frowning when he catches the frequent bruise or fresh scar.

afterwards, you both stumble onto the bed (careful to avoid the mess that blade as made, which you scolded him for, and he listened dejectedly before promising to clean it all up), and blade reaches over to your side, chest warming when he finds your figure to tug close.

you fall asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. your lover, on the other hand, stays awake for a few moments longer, simply trying to commit you to memory.

“don’t go,” he repeats, tugging at your shirt as the evenness of your heartbeat lulls him to sleep.

he doesn’t feel cold anymore.

#blade x reader #blade hsr x reader #ren x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x gn!reader #blade x gn!reader #blade fluff #blade x reader fluff #earthtooz: HSR

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novaursa · 6 months ago

Note

I’ve seen so many stories about Cregan and y/n immediately falling in love and living happily- but what if it’s the opposite? What if y/n is pissed she was traded like a brood mare to a brute from the North? Sure, the man is brave and smart and handsome, but he’s not what she had in mind for her partner. She might even tell Jace to marry Cregan himself, if he wishes to forge that bond so much. (Unfortunately, there’s no one else available, so the wedding goes as planned).

Credit to Cregan- he realizes immediately she is not happy with the arrangement, and doesn’t force her to consummate.

They continue to butt heads and snap at each other for several months (which doesn’t stop her from giving brilliant ideas on how to stock up for the winter and spoiling Rickon though, which makes Cregan suffer even more, because he is yearning for her). Cregan has fallen for her back in Kings landing, but if she doesn’t want him… so be it, at least Rickon will have a good mother.

Queue in an incident where Cregan gets hurt. Might be a wilding ambush and he is injured, or he just gets a sickness and starts running a fever. And she spends all nights with him, tending to him and whispering prayers in Valyrian because she realizes she absolutely cannot stand the thought of losing him.

OR,

They both grow more and more frustrated because both want each other but don’t know how to approach it since it all went wrong from the start. Plus, both are stubborn and prideful. Until one evening they just can’t stop fighting about some stupid thing, and she “accidentally” ends up pulling him into an angry kiss to shut him up. Of course, it turns into a hot angry sex.

(Bonus point if she rides a dragon and all this time her dragon is absolutely enamored with Cregan- to his horror, maybe even boops him couple of times but our poor Lord thinks it wants to eat him 😭)

I just want some tension and conflict before they make up 🤌 (I love vanilla but I need some spice every now and then)

I can do that. But I'll have to revisit this after my current requests are closed and all done.

I'm doing only short requests that are about 1000 words long in this round. This is a brilliant idea, but it needs way more development to do it justice. I can do it in two long parts (each being at least 5000 words, but it will probably be more).

You'll be tagged once the first part has been posted. 🙂

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #cregan x y/n #hotd cregan #cregan x you #cregan x reader #cregan stark

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ficsbyrike · 2 months ago

Text

Your Possessiveness Will be the Death of Me

pairing: caleb x reader

TW: graphic descriptions of blood and injuries, toxic relationships

Summery: caleb won’t let you go to the hospital

Word count: 3,833

Notes: I promised someone that my next Caleb fanfic would be fluff but apparently I am incapable of writing anything happy 😭😭 might be a little ooc

A wanderer. Claws. The stinging feeling on your abdomen. The rest was a blur.

The city had recently become more dangerous with an increase of wanderer sightings. You thought—foolishly—that because of your hunter training, this wouldn’t affect you in any significant way. More on site work, perhaps, but nothing more than a minor inconvenience. It never occurred to you that you could become a victim of a wanderer yourself.

You had been walking down the street when out of nowhere, in a cruel sneak attack, a wanderer had jumped out and ambushed you. Rendered defenseless for a few moments, it was able to leave a pretty nasty gash on your abdomen before it was promptly dealt with.

It stung badly.

It felt as if the sky was very low. It was cold as shit out. You could see your hot breath rise up in puffs of white through the inky black sky, and as if the universe conspired to spite you even more, it had begun snowing.

Your blood glistened brightly in the neon lights of the city.

It was around 2:30 in the morning. You have to be up early tomorrow. God…

You raked your brain for a moment. The warm blood seeping between your fingers made it hard to focus.

Linkon Hospital was too far away for you to walk to without collapsing half way through. And, in some cruel joke, your phone had been smashed on the pavement while you were fighting the wanderer so there was no way you could call anyone for help.

You only had one option. But it was your last resort.

Caleb lived close by, but he didn’t want to see you. It wasn’t just a hunch or a feeling, you knew. Although he didn’t outright say it, you ended on pretty bad terms last time you saw each other. Regrettable words were thrown, tears were shed. Even though Caleb tried to explain himself—why he left, why he lied about being dead—you called the conversation there, saying you weren’t in the mood to fight anymore. Since then, Caleb has sent you countless text messages in hopes of staying in touch. At first, he would apologize continuously. Then, when he perhaps realized that his attempts were futile, he resorted to simply sending short messages about how his day went, what interesting things he saw today, and good morning good night texts. You pridefully ignored all of the messages. They angered you, even. You felt as if he was trying to guilt you into forgiving him by using his status as a long-time best friend and pretending like nothing was wrong.

He knows what he did. And you couldn’t forgive him that easily.

With those thoughts in mind, you promptly blocked his number until further notice. Although sometimes you wondered whether he was still sending you messages despite knowing they weren’t getting through to you.

If you showed up at his door now, would he turn you away? Even if he was angry at you, he wouldn’t turn away a shivering, injured woman. Right? But even if he didn’t, it would be so awkward to confront the issue with him again. Perhaps you just won’t say anything unless he brings it up himself. Still, he could simply shut the door in your face and leave you on the street. And he had every right to do so, with the way you’ve been treating him. You probably would have done the same in his situation. Probably.

Swallowing your last bit of pride, you began shuffling over to Caleb’s residence, your hand pressed tightly against the fresh wound. He had sent you his new address during one of his routinely text messages, and you had unconsciously memorized it because it was a part of town you always passed by to get to the train station.

With every step you took, you felt pressure in your wound. It would open up again and again and fresh blood would seep in between your fingers. This only made you more antsy and you felt your heart speed up.

After what felt like an excruciatingly long walk, you finally stood at the front door of Caleb’s house. It was cute. A townhouse surrounded by similar looking buildings in the middle of the city. Even though the others had distinctions about them—flower beds hanging out windows, chairs and fairy lights dotting the balconies—Caleb’s house was the one with the least character. It stood there, gray with no lights in any of the windows, as if he had only just moved in a few days ago.

You brought your hand up to knock on the door, but then you hesitated. You were angry at him, but that was fine because you knew that sooner or later you would forgive him. But you couldn’t have the same assurance that he would forgive you.

You shook your head, eracing the image of Caleb’s darkened eyes from your mind, and knocked.

Whatever happens happens.

For a few moments, there was silence. It would only be natural if he had gone to sleep, considering the deep hours of the night. But then, to your surprise, you heard the noise of shuffling coming from the inside, followed by another short silence. Just as you thought that he was ignoring you, the door swung open, revealing Caleb’s tall frame in the doorway.

He was a bit paler since the last time you saw him. And a bit thinner too. You guessed it was just in your nature to worry about him, as you had done so many times in the past.

It was still cold as shit out. Your thin hunter uniform is doing little to protect you from the chilly air. But somehow, your skin still felt hot. Snowflakes still slowly glided down into your hair.

You cleared your throat, “Caleb.”

Just as the words had left your mouth, you wished for the earth below you to open up and swallow you whole. You come to his front door in the middle of the night looking like hell—exhausted, dirty, blood pouring out of your side and your nose—and the only word you can manage is his name? Were you stupid?

You scanned Caleb’s eyes for any emotions. Was he angry? Or at least disappointed in you?

He didn’t speak for a moment, his gaze falling onto your wound. You shifted self consciously.

“What happened to you?”

His question caught you off guard, prompting you to look up at him again.

“I got into a fight.”

“Yeah, I can tell. You look like shit,” he said, and you sighed.

Surely this was the same Caleb you knew. He wouldn’t just leave you out here.

“Does it hurt?” He asks.

You swiftly shake your head.

“It's minor. I’m not crippled. I’ll live,” you lie through your teeth, “can I crash at your place? I’ll be out of your hair by morning. It’s really cold out here.”

You dragged your one of your hands against the bottom of your nose, smudging the blood pooling there.

Caleb stepped aside, a familiar smirk decorating his face, “be my guest.”

***

Caleb’s residence was just as barren inside as it was outside. Only the bare necessities scattered his living room. But it was warm.

You tried taking off your shoes, but with your wound, it was a little hard to do. Once Caleb saw you struggling, he quickly leaned down and helped you.

“Thanks. Do you by chance have any disinfectant? And some gauze?”

“I thought you said it didn’t hurt.”

“No. It seriously doesn’t.”

“Don’t lie to me missy. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Go sit on the couch.”

You did as he commanded, stumbling over to the couch before sitting down. Momentarily, there was the sound of running water and soon enough, Caleb came back with a clean, wet towel. He tried to gently lift up your shirt, but your hand stopped him.

“I’m fine. Really. Can I sleep on your couch? I’m really tired.”

Caleb’s worried eyes met yours, “you are not fine. You’re bleeding all over my floor. Stop being so stubborn and work with me here, yeah?”

He spoke in that same friendly voice, but it was obvious that there was concern in his expression.

You gently let go of his wrist with some hesitation, biting your bottom lip as he pulled your shirt over your head, discarding it somewhere on the couch next to him. Your wound was now completely exposed, along with your bare stomach. You knew he wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, but just having the wound out in the open was enough to put you on edge.

He inspected your injury. His brow furrowed before he brought the damp towel to your skin. You hissed and recoiled slightly. Caleb flinched, but held the towel gently in place.

“Sorry pipsqueak. It’s gonna hurt no matter what. Just… squeeze my arm if it gets too much.”

You didn’t say anything.

Caleb’s touch was warm. You felt his soft fingers on the tender skin of your side. It almost made you shiver.

“Why didn’t you call me sooner? Any later, and you would’ve bled out on the goddamn street,” he murmurs, and for a moment, you didn't know how to reply.

“My phone broke,” You say dumbly.

Then there was silence for a few moments. It was quiet. The only sound was his steady breathing and the clock ticking as the seconds slipped by.

“Are you angry?” You ask when he didn’t say anything.

Caleb shook his head, “no. You have every right to want to avoid me,” he sighed, “I just wish I wasn’t your last option.”

Silence again. Tik-tok… tik-tok…

“I thought you might turn me away,” you finally admitted.

“You know I wouldn’t let you bleed out on my doorstep. No matter how angry I get at you.”

“No, I don’t know that,” you whisper, “I feel like I don’t really know you anymore…”

Caleb finally looks up at you, a hint of hurt betrayed in his eyes, “Do you think… you think I changed that much?”

“I don’t know. But the Caleb I knew would never pretend to be dead for a whole year, leaving me by myself. So, yeah… I guess I don’t really know you anymore.”

“You had other people to turn to for help.”

“Sure. But in the end, who’s taking care of me?”

Caleb sighs again and turns back to your wound. Although he is trying to seem preoccupied, you can tell that he has a lot on his mind.

“We’ll continue this conversation later,” he finally says, “for now, let’s take care of your wound, yeah? The bleeding hasn’t stopped yet. I’ll need some water to wipe you down and see how deep your injury really is. Let me take you to the bathroom. It’ll be easier to do this there.”

Caleb helps you up. Then, he helps you walk over to the bathroom, his arm wrapped around your upper torso firmly but gently. Then, when he’s sure that you are able to stand upright on your own, he meticulously picks out the temperature of the water, making sure it’s not too hot or too cold.

He soaks the towel under the thin stream of water. Your old blood dyes the sink red, leaving a gruesome sight.

You feel dizzy from the blood loss. And slightly sleepy too. You grab onto the edge of the skin in an attempt to pull yourself together. The dim, buzzing light and the splashing of water continuously lull you to sleep.

Finally, when Caleb decided that he got most of the blood out from the towel, he wrings it, and brings it up to your wound again.

You take a sharp breath, colorful curses spilling out of your mouth unchecked, “haah… Caleb…”

He gently wipes away at the edges of the wound, trying hard to be as tender as possible. Despite this, he cleans up your wound with practiced efficiency leaving you to wonder how many times he has patched himself up during dark nights like these.

“You’re doing well,” Caleb says, running the towel under clean water again.

The cycle repeats a few times. By the time Caleb deems that he had cleaned the wound thoroughly enough, you are standing there, subtly trembling in pain. The sink, the floor, and both yours and Caleb’s hands are covered in your blood. You hope that it looks worse than it actually is.

“How is it?” You ask finally.

Caleb rustles through one of the storage compartments, and takes out fresh white gauze. However, your blood on his hands stains it as soon as he touches the bandages.

“It’s pretty deep. You’ll need to take it easy for a while,” he says.

Gritting your teeth as he wraps the gauze around your abdomen, you hold your breath.

“Relax,” Caleb utters, “the worst part is over.”

He wraps the gauze around you a few more times before securing it with a little bow at the end.

“There. Good as new.”

He lets out a sharp sigh, dusting his hands off like a mechanic, and straightens out to look at you again.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. But I’m worried. Should I go to the hospital?”

“No need. I’m here to take care of you, right?”

You nod.

You didn’t know what came over you then, but your body acted faster than you could think. You placed your hands on either side of his face and planted a small kiss on the edge of his lips.

He seemed stunned for a minute.

“You know I missed you, right?” You whisper, your fingers gently running through his raven hair.

“I thought you hated me,” he breaths.

“I do. But I can do both at the same time. These two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“I missed you too.”

“I hope you never leave again. Because I won’t forgive you a second time.”

Caleb’s eyes flicker before he leans in closer and presses a firm kiss to your lips.

God, it was as if you were made for each other.

All of these years of yearning to the most recent worries that plagued your mind came bubbling up to the surface until they finally exploded like a volcano.

He wraps his arms around you. The need for him to be closer to you became stronger, to the point where it was almost animalistic. Your exhales became his inhales as he pushed you up against the skin, deepening the kiss. Your fingers tangled within his hair, and his hands slowly mapped out the bare skin of your back. You couldn’t help but shiver.

You hated him so much. But God… it was impossible to stay away. You were drawn to him like a moth to a flame, knowing that nothing good was going to come out of this. Maybe he would hurt you again. Maybe you were stupid to come running back to him at the first sign of affection. But that didn’t matter at this moment. Right now, you only knew him. He was your world. And you were his.

“Wait, wait. Caleb,” you gasp suddenly, “fuck.”

Caleb immediately steps back as if he was burned.

“What’s wrong?”

You look down at your wound. It was still bleeding. A faint dark red color peaked out from behind the bandages, a signal to it probably opening up again.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s okay. It’s very late. We’re both not in our right mind,” you say, heart still hammering in your chest.

Caleb hesitantly nodded. His face and t-shirt was smudged with the blood that undoubtedly came from your hands.

“Maybe I should go to the hospital,” you say again.

A dull throb pulsed over where your wound was, and although you trust that Caleb did a good job of cleaning it, you knew that he wasn’t a medical professional. Maybe you needed stitches. It would be a shame if you bled out in Caleb’s apartment for no reason other than your own carelessness.

“Damn it,” He curses, “I should’ve been more careful, you’ll bleed through these bandages too.” Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his hair. “You’re probably right, but I’ll be honest, I’m not really comfortable with letting you out of my sight just yet. I just… just let me try to add a few more layers of gauze, yeah? And if that doesn’t work, we’ll figure things out from there.”

Caleb takes out more gauze and wraps it around your lower torso again, a bit more tighter this time. He steps back to inspect how much of the gauze has already been bled through, his brow furrowing.

“Damn it…” he mutters.

You put your hand on his arm to stop his continuous fidgeting, “Caleb. Calm down.”

“You’re right. No… I just… You’re bleeding. How are you still bleeding? I’ve never seen you be this chill about an injury before. You remember when you were learning how to ride a bike when we were kids? You would cry so hard when you so much as scraped your knee against the pavement and would run to grandma so she could comfort you.”

“I remember. You were not the best teacher. It’s a miracle I haven’t gotten my front teeth knocked out.”

“You were sensitive as a kid.”

“I grew out of it.”

“Apparently.”

There was another pause. It seemed that every time you and Caleb found a common ground, there was something that would always bring you back and remind you that everything had changed. He was not the reckless little boy from your childhood that you remember. And, in turn, you were not the sensitive little girl that he remembers.

When did everything become so different?

Caleb’s apartment suddenly became cold again.

Caleb shook his head before speaking, “never mind. Have you had dinner? Are you hungry?”

“I don’t know if I can stomach anything right now.”

There was a beat of silence again, as if Caleb was choosing his words carefully, “not even rice? Or maybe some broth?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on. I’ll order you something. Whatever you want.”

***

Caleb lended you one of his shirts since yours was stained with blood.

As promised, he ordered you takeout from a place that worked late and forced you to eat dinner. Even though you felt a little sick, you still made yourself eat.

He didn’t have a dinner table, so you sat on the couch while Caleb fed you.

“Why don’t you have a dinner table?” You inquire, “haven’t you moved in months ago?”

“I just haven’t gotten around to it.”

It was nice to catch up with him, even though it was a little awkward at times. You would talk for a few minutes before falling into silence again. Then someone would say something and the conversation would strike up again.

No one mentioned the kiss from earlier.

The familiar and slightly domestic atmosphere was almost enough to make you forget your previous worries. Almost.

There was a slight buzzing in your head, and then a wave of dizziness overcame you, harder than before.

You calmly, although wobbly, got up from the couch, and looked down at Caleb.

“Caleb, take me to the hospital.”

Caleb followed you up, “Hold on. Wait.”

You started walking towards the door, feeling like you could collapse at any moment. Caleb beat you to the front door, blocking it with his body.

“You’re not in the condition to go anywhere. Look at you. You can barely stand!”

“Then you take me!”

“Listen. I’ll take care of everything. You can’t go anywhere, even with my help.”

“But—“

“Don’t argue with me on this, pipsqueak,” He grabbed your arm a little more forcefully then he intended, “You’re not leaving in this state. No one will take better care of you than me.”

You bite at your bottom lip. What has gotten into him? Was he really just willing to let you bleed out just because he didn’t want you to leave?

Mustering up your last bit of courage and strength, you forcefully tug back on your arm that Caleb was holding, causing him to stumble forward a few steps. The plan was to get around him when he was caught off guard, however, when you retreated your arm in such a sudden motion, the muscles on your abdomen contracted, causing you to shudder in pain.

You collapse onto the floor, unable to put up a fight any further.

“Damn it, pipsqueak. I told you not to argue with me on this.”

Caleb gently helped you up, not minding your little stunt. He helped carry you to his room, tucking you into bed, bringing the covers all the way up to your chin even though you were hot. His scent enveloped you.

He planted a gentle kiss on your forehead, “you know I only want what’s best for you.”

You nod.

You realized that perhaps you should’ve seen this coming from the very beginning. The way he clung on to you when you first came, the way he never let you out of your sight. He wouldn’t let you go now. No matter how much you struggled against him. And you couldn’t say that you hated the idea. This was the person you loved the most. The person who knew you best. The person who would take care of you better than anyone.

He was the person you turned to at the end of the day.

Caleb respectfully sat down on the floor across from you, resting his head on the edge of his bed. Lost in thought, his fingers met yours. Then he brought them up to his lips and placed a gentle kiss.

“I’m mad about you,” he whispers, “I think I’ll die if you ever continue to ignore me like you did.”

“I won’t.”

“Good. Sleep tight, pipsqueak.”

It was four in the morning and the door was closed and Caleb's breathing gradually evened out. The light sound of cars passing on the street below was the only sound. In the haziness of the deep hours of the night, you were back in grandma’s house for a moment. You had snuck into Caleb's room again because you were scared of the sound of cars outside and the shadows on the wall of your room.

The pain in your side is unbearably excruciating. You carefully peel the blanket up to see Caleb’s sheets covered in blood. Your shirt had completely soaked through, and there was no doubt that your gauze had done little to prevent the blood flow. You felt unbearably hot, and your heart was thumping out of your chest.

Without thinking much further, you covered yourself with Caleb’s blanket and turned to the side, scumming to deep sleep shortly after.

At least you were with the person who knows you best.

At least you were with the person who loves you the most.

Masterlist

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arcadia-smith · 1 month ago

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MOB!Bucky x MOB!Female reader.

The tension between her and Bucky had reached a breaking point, the air crackling with the weight of the unsaid. After their last meeting, there was no question that he viewed her as a threat—his smoldering gaze told her everything she needed to know.

It had been a week since that first confrontation. Her efforts to fortify her operations were starting to pay off, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed. Bucky had made his first move—quiet, calculated, like the predator he was.

It came in the form of a raid on one of her smaller, more vulnerable warehouses. The place had been a logistical hub for arms trafficking, and though it wasn’t the most critical part of her business, losing it sent a message. She knew it wasn’t a coincidence. Bucky was sending a message. He wanted her to know that he wasn’t afraid to strike, even in places she thought were out of reach.

The next morning, she stood in front of the wreckage, anger simmering beneath the surface. It wasn’t just the loss of product or money; it was the principle of it. This wasn’t just about business anymore. He wanted control, and he wouldn’t stop until he had it.

She reached for her phone, dialing the one person she trusted to make things right. “Get a team together. We’re going to hit him where it hurts.”

Bucky's Move

Bucky sat at his desk, swirling a glass of whiskey, eyes narrowed as he stared at the map of her territories. He’d been watching her—her every move, her every decision. The raid had been his first strike, and he couldn’t help but feel a certain satisfaction. He didn’t take pleasure in destruction, but he took pride in sending a clear message.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sharp knock on his office door. Without waiting for a response, it opened, and his right-hand man, Sam Wilson, stepped inside.

“That warehouse you hit last night? It’s only the beginning, isn’t it?” Sam asked, taking a seat across from him.

Bucky didn’t answer immediately, instead leaning back in his chair. “It’s not about the warehouse. It’s about power. She needs to understand that we don’t play by the same rules.”

Sam studied him for a moment. "You’re sure this is the right move? She’s not like the others. She’ll retaliate.”

Bucky didn’t flinch. “She’s good, but not good enough.”

Her Counterstrike

Bucky’s mistake was underestimating her. When she sent word that she was coming for him, she didn’t just send a message. She made it personal.

She'd spent years cultivating a reputation for never being predictable. Every move she made had a countermeasure, a backup plan, and an out when things got complicated. So, when Bucky thought he had her cornered, he didn’t know she had already set up her own trap.

That night, a convoy of his men were scheduled to transport a large sum of money through a warehouse on the outskirts of town. It was a routine operation, one Bucky had probably thought was beneath her notice.

But she'd been tracking his operations carefully. Her crew was ready. The convoy was ambushed—swift, clean, and devastating.

Bucky’s prized money never made it to its destination. She made sure of it. His loss was monumental, not just in terms of the cash, but in the sheer humiliation.

By the time Bucky’s men realized what happened, the money was long gone, and the message was clear: You’re not the only one who can make tactical moves.

Bucky’s Response

It didn’t take long for Bucky to learn that the convoy had been hit. The news spread through his network like wildfire. His fury was palpable, his eyes blazing with a dangerous edge.

He knew this wasn’t just a retaliation—it was a declaration of war.

With a low growl, Bucky leaned forward, his gaze sharp. “Get me everything you can on her operations. I want every move, every person, every secret. I want her found and taken down.”

Sam watched him carefully. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Buck. She’s not someone you can just intimidate into submission.”

Bucky stood, grabbing his coat. “No, she’s not. But I can make her bleed. And I will.”

As the moves and counter moves unfolded, the game between her and Bucky took on a life of its own. Neither of them were willing to back down, and the stakes continued to climb. What started as a business clash had become a high-stakes battle for control—a battle neither of them would be willing to lose.

The lines between enemy and potential ally had blurred, but neither of them would show weakness.

Find the moodboard here.

#writers on tumblr #james bucky barnes #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky fanfic #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky marvel #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #mob bucky x reader #mob bucky barnes #mob!bucky #arcadia's mob series

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httpvomitello · 3 months ago

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Could I request a George Weasley x reader where she's a Malfoy and they are dating and her parents want her to become a death eater so she runs away with George, but the Weasley aren't very supportive until she saves him from dying and they realise that she really loves him?

Hello, hello! Hope you like it ~ ♡

To Love and Defy *⁠.⁠✧

george weasley x f!reader

The weight of expectations had been crushing you for as long as you could remember. Being born a Malfoy came with a legacy of pride, power, and pureblood supremacy—a legacy you had no interest in upholding. When your parents began pressuring you to join the Death Eaters, it was the final straw.

You’d always been the odd one out in your family. While Draco tried to embraced their ideals, you found solace in kindness, humor, and a growing rebellion against everything the Malfoy name stood for. And it was that rebellion that led you to George Weasley.

George had been a burst of sunshine in your gray world. His jokes, his mischievous grin, and his unwavering belief in doing what was right had captivated you from the start. You’d met at a Quidditch match, where Draco’s sneering comments about the Weasleys had spurred you to strike up a conversation with George out of sheer defiance.

That conversation turned into letters, then secret meetings, and finally, an unshakable love. But your relationship was anything but easy.

Your family’s disdain for George was palpable. Lucius and Narcissa were furious when they discovered your involvement with a blood traitor, and they made it clear that you had two choices: abandon him or face the consequences.

You chose George.

One stormy night, you packed a bag, left a note for Draco, and fled Malfoy Manor. George was waiting for you in the woods just beyond the property, his wand lit and his face tense with worry.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked as you approached, pulling you into his arms.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” you replied, your voice steady despite the storm raging above.

Together, you made your way to the Burrow. It was the safest place you could think of, but you hadn’t anticipated how hard it would be to win the Weasleys’ acceptance.

Molly Weasley was the first to express her doubts. “A Malfoy in my home?” she whispered to Arthur, though you overheard every word. “How do we know she’s not spying for You-Know-Who?”

Fred, usually George’s staunchest ally, was wary too. “Mate, are you sure about this? Malfoys aren’t exactly known for their loyalty—except to themselves.”

Only Ginny seemed to warm to you immediately, offering a kind smile and sitting beside you at dinner. “Ignore them,” she whispered. “They’ll come around.”

George, of course, defended you fiercely. “She gave up everything for me,” he told his family. “If you can’t see that, then maybe you don’t know her like I do.”

Still, the tension in the house was palpable.

The turning point came during an ambush. The Burrow was under attack by Death Eaters, sent by your parents to retrieve you. Chaos erupted as spells flew in every direction.

In the midst of the battle, you saw a masked Death Eater aiming a Killing Curse at George. Without thinking, you threw yourself in front of him, deflecting the spell with your own wand and stunning the attacker in one fluid motion.

George stared at you, wide-eyed, as the fight raged on around you. “Are you mad?” he yelled, grabbing your arm. “You could’ve been killed!”

“And so could you!” you shot back, your voice shaking but determined.

The battle ended with the Death Eaters retreating, but the memory of your bravery lingered.

The next morning, the Weasleys’ attitudes had shifted.

Molly brought you a cup of tea, her expression soft. “I misjudged you,” she said quietly. “You’re braver than I gave you credit for.”

Arthur nodded in agreement. “It’s clear you love George. And that’s what matters.”

Even Fred, who had been the most skeptical, clapped you on the back with a grin. “Alright, Malfoy. I guess you’re not all bad.”

Life at the Burrow wasn’t perfect, but it became your sanctuary. George’s family eventually embraced you as one of their own, and you found yourself laughing at the dinner table, helping Molly in the kitchen, and even joining in on the twins’ pranks.

George never stopped reminding you of how proud he was. “You stood up to your family, ran away from everything you knew, and saved my life,” he said one evening as you sat together in the garden. “You’re incredible, Y/N.”

You smiled, leaning into him. “I’d do it all again, George. For you.”

The war ended with Voldemort’s defeat, and you and George built a life together far from the shadows of your past. You opened a small bakery in Diagon Alley—your love for baking finally finding an outlet—while George continued to run Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes with Fred.

The Malfoy name no longer defined you. Instead, you carved out a new identity, one rooted in love, bravery, and the family you chose for yourself.

And every time George looked at you, his eyes full of warmth and pride, you knew you’d made the right choice.

#reader #x reader #y/n #f!reader #hogwarts #george weasley x reader #george weasley #fred weasley #weasley family #harry potter #x female reader #x fem!reader

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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 14 days ago

Text

The Favorite Chapter 2

Summary: Bucky Barnes, the big boss of the crime underworld, is notorious for his unhinged behavior and punishments. There’s not much that can fully set him off, unless someone messes with his favorite…

Warnings: violence, blood, gore, language, smut, depravity

**Picture is A.I., found on Pinterest. Don’t come for me.**

Previous chapter Next chapter

The Barnes and Falcone families had once been great allies, but with greed and pride came the fall of a once vast combined empire into separate factions vying for control and power. All Bucky knew was that Falcone had killed his parents and his sister. That was all he needed to know to do whatever he could to end him and his family once and for all. With Falcone out of the way, they would have the run of New York and down along the Eastern seaboard. Bucky really didn’t care much about that, he only wanted justice for his family.

He had met Y/N when they were children. She had been a little street rat kid that his father found rummaging through the garbage outside of one of his high end restaurants one night, and when one of his bodyguards had gone to shoo her away she had attacked him and nearly killed him. Bucky’s father had been impressed by her ferocity at such a young age, and instead of ending her, took her in as part of the family, raising her alongside Bucky and his sister Rebecca. Y/N was always a little weird, a little off, and it was off putting to most people, but Bucky had always found her fascinating. Rebecca had liked Y/N, too, and treated her like a sister. She was a survivor, a fighter, and relished in causing pain, especially to those who hurt what she loved or cherished. Bucky’s father had trained them all well in fighting and marksmanship, and she had taken to it like a duck to water. When Falcone had killed Bucky’s family in an ambush, it had hit her really hard, and she and Bucky had bonded, to what some would call an unhealthy obsession, over their need for revenge since they were all each other had left. Bucky had always loved her, leaned on her for her abilities and skill set, but had become obsessed with her and keeping her safe after losing everybody else. His odd behavior and mannerisms were his and her madness manifesting through grief and comeuppance. It made him notorious amongst the crime underworld: The Mad Boss. You didn’t want to get on Bucky’s bad side. It was a place no one ever survived.

A little over four hours after Bucky had left Y/N in the interrogation room, his bedroom door opened to reveal her soaking wet after hosing herself off downstairs from all the blood and gore. “Love-of-my-life,” Bucky said happily, opening his arms wide as the door shut behind her. Y/N giggled and ran into his arms, sighing heavily as he squeezed her. “Did you have fun?”

“Yes,” she said, her smile widening.

“What was your favorite part this time?” he asked. He really didn’t like the torture, but wanted her to feel accepted for her hobbies.

“Mmh,” she hummed dreamily, hanging off his neck as he picked her up at her waist and started walking her over to the bathroom. “That first crack was a beautiful sound…did you hear it?”

“I did,” Bucky nodded, putting her back down on her feet by the shower that he quickly turned on and got the water warmed up. “It was quite loud. Did that do him in?”

“Psh, no,” Y/N scoffed, holding her arms up as he bunched her shirt up and pulled it off of her. “Where’s the fun in ending it that fast?”

Bucky snickered. “Silly me,” he said as he stripped her naked. He piled her clothes up in the sink to get washed, pulled his robe off so he was naked with her, then pulled her into the shower.

She sighed heavily again once the water ran over her, her head hanging down as she let it run over her neck and shoulders. Torture always took a while and left her physically exhausted, and Bucky was at the ready with a loofa filled with her favorite body wash. As he washed her carefully the water at her feet turned a slight tinge of pink that quickly washed down the drain. After washing her body and her hair thoroughly, he started massaging her shoulders and neck as she leaned against him, the water spraying her front. Her eyes were closed, her face relaxed, and Bucky couldn’t help but smile as he stared at her.

“You did so well, my pretty girl,” he murmured. She smiled softly, her eyes staying closed. “Always so good for me. Taking care of me, fixing our little messes.” He started kissing down the side of her face like he did earlier, taking his time to taste her cleaned skin, the kisses becoming insistent as he opened his mouth wider, licking and sucking at her neck and nipping at her jaw. His massages moved down her chest to her breasts, cupping them in his hands and squeezing as his thumbs rubbed over her already hardening nipples. “My devilish little violent thing,” he chuckled darkly.

She shivered at that, her hands reaching back and gripping his hips to pull him into her as she grinded her ass back into him. “Did I make you proud, honey?” she whispered, tilting her head further so he could reach better.

“You always make me proud,” Bucky answered immediately, his words coming out gravelly and breathy. “I’m always so proud of you, baby. Always will be.”

Y/N turned her head to look up at him, giving him her best innocent, puppy dog eyes. “I love you, Buck,” she said, her mouth pulled down in a pout.

Bucky smirked at her, turning her around to face him. He cupped the side of her face with his right hand, his left going behind her back and pulling her flush to him. “I love you, Y/N,” he said. They stared at each other for a moment, the tension rising. It was the moment of calm before the storm. He could see it in her eyes, the excitement thrumming in her body as she became jittery under his touch. Her eyelids fluttered, her breathing picking up as her gaze flickered to his lips repeatedly. He nuzzled his nose along her nose, then teased her lips with a featherlight pass of his lips before moving to her cheek and kissing it. He did this over and over again, teasing her for a kiss then moving somewhere else, goading her on to see how far she’d let him take it. It was always a game they played, a ritual after torture sessions, and he fucking loved it.

Her patience snapped, and she grunted when he tried to pass over her lips again, reaching a hand up and fisting the hair at the back of his head before forcing him to hold still, and she kissed him hard with an open mouthed kiss. That broke the spell, and Bucky groaned as he kissed her back passionately. Through a flurry of panting breaths, desperate roaming hands, and continuously raising voices of moans, groans and whimpers, he wrangled her to the bed in his room. It was a feat that they made it to the bed at all, but he couldn’t fuck up his back again being on the floor. She wrestled him to sit at the headboard then climbed into his lap.

“Yes pretty little…mmh…devilish thing,” Bucky groaned as her fingers ran through his hair roughly, her lips sucking at his neck and her hips gyrating over his cock that slipped through her slit. “Fffuuuccckk…”

Y/N let out a small whimper, her fingers scratching down from his scalp to his neck then over his chest, leaving deep red lines in his skin. Even during sex she was bloodthirsty. “Remember our first time?” she asked suddenly, pulling away to look at him as she flicked at his nipples, making his hips hump up into her.

“Yeah,” Bucky smirked, holding her hips tightly as he tried to thrust up into her. “Just like this…”

“Yeah,” she nodded, then reached down and gripped his cock, stroking him a few times before aiming herself above it and then sinking down on it hard and fast, taking him all in one go. Bucky’s mouth dropped open in a silent moan, his eyes rolling back as her pussy swallowed him whole. He could never get over how perfect she was. “Just after your first kill…with his blood still on your hands…spreading it all over me,” she huffed, her words getting faster with how aroused she was by the memory. She lifted her hips and started a rhythm as she bounced on his cock, intermittently rolling her hips before bouncing again.

Her nails scratched up his neck and back into his hair, making him shudder before he heaved himself forward and tackled her to the bed, slamming his hips into her. Y/N gasped loudly, her grip still in his hair as he sucked at her nipples while he fucked her recklessly. “I remember,” he gasped, feeling her pussy flutter around him, “how good you felt. Wondered why we hadn’t done this before then. With this perfect pussy, taking me so well,” he said, then whimpered as she bit his neck. “Fuck! Darling…baby…” His hips thrusted faster and harder, his right hand fisting her hair at the back of her head just how she liked, forcing her to wrench her head back. Her eyes widened, her pupils blown as she stared up at him pleadingly. “Give me your cum, my little devil,” he snarled. “And I’ll cover you just how you like it, yeah?” Y/N nodded as best as she could, her eyelids fluttering in anticipation. Bucky snuck his other hand between them and flicked at her clit fast, making her stiffen beneath him, her pussy threatening to squeeze him to death. “That’s it…cum baby…cum!”

Bucky kissed her hard with an open mouth, shoving his tongue past her lips until she met his tongue in kind, then he sucked hard on her tongue. All the sensations came together to finally push her over the edge and she came with a scream into his mouth. Her pussy enveloped him with a vice-like grip, pulsing around him in waves that made him growl against her teeth. He held off his orgasm until hers was finished, then quickly pulled out of her and sat up on his knees, stroking himself off until he started to cum with a long, drawn out groan, ropes spurting over her still spasming pussy, her stomach, her tits and one even reaching just under her chin. He let out heavy panting breaths as he calmed down, teasing her pussy with his cock again and shoving himself back inside her as she ran her fingers through his cum. Y/N hummed happily, her eyes hooded as she rubbed him into her skin, then brought her fingers up to her mouth, sucking off his cum slowly. Bucky sighed, licking his lips as he watched her.

“You look so pretty, my favorite,” he said lowly. “Covered in my cum, licking it up like the dirty little devil baby you are.”

Y/N giggled, looking deceptively innocent as she looked up at him. “I love your cum, Buck,” she sighed, her head leaning back against the pillows, her eyes blinking blearily. “Next time I’ll cover you with mine.”

Bucky smirked at her before leaning down and kissing her sloppily, tasting himself on her lips and tongue. “Well, maybe we should get back in the shower and clean you up, and you can ride my face until I drown in your cum,” he said, nuzzling her nose and then nuzzling his cheek along her cheek.

She hummed. “Yes, Boss,” she said seductively.

#marvel #bucky barnes #smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #series fanfic #chapter 2 #mobster!bucky barnes #tw torture #macabre

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zippyskyfalls · 2 months ago

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"Alright, my brothers, listen closely..."

Weeks of planning, all leading to this. Penelope had to admit, this was her smartest plan yet.

Who would have thunk a wooden horse could fit over 600 men?

"Tonight we make the Trojans pay..."

Helen of Sparta, Penelope's cousin, was kidnapped years ago. A series of Devine events leading up to this moment. So many lives lost because of that single catastrophic event.

"Ten years of war, they killed us slowly. But now we'll be the ones who slay..."

No Trojan would be spared this night, all that will be left is ruins that historians will one day theorize if these events really even happened.

Penelope faced her soldiers, her helmet off in a moment of transparency. She should be open with her men, the ones she will lead.

"Think of your wives and your children. Your families wonder where you've been. " Penelope didn't have a wife, of course. Her husband was back home with her only son.

"They're growing old, and yet you're still here." The soldier put on her helmet, the symbol of her patron goddess engraved on the front.

A dove.

"Do what I say and you'll see them again.'

"Yes, mam."

They were all counting on her. She pointed her sword at specific soldiers, assigning each a job they must complete so the plan is perfect.

She plans for every fight, after all.

"Diomedes will lead the charge"

"Agamemnon will flank the guards."

"Menaleus will let our mates through the gates and take the whole city at large."

So many lives will be lost.

"Trucer will shoot any any ambush attack, and little Ajax will stay back."

But that was a sacrifice she was willing to make.

"Nestor, secure Helen and protect her. Neo, avenge your father, kill the brothers of Hector."

"Yes, mam!"

The men put on their helmets, bowing at her commands. They were all counting on Penelope's plan to be a success.

"Find that inner strength now, use that well of pride. Fight through every pain now, ask yourself inside!"

Penelope wandered to the back of the horse, staring back at her men as she touched the door entrance.

There were some questions that had to be answered before Troy was invaded.

"What do you live for? What do you try for? What do you wish for? What do you fight for?"

As the soldiers repeated the chorus, reminding themselves of their loved ones, Penelope leaned her head on the door and remembered her own.

"Odysseus..." her husband. The one who'd created the agreement that no war would break out when Helen chose her own husband.

He was meant to go to war instead of her, but Penelope managed to go in his place. There was a lot of arguing when the decision was made, but Penelope easily won her husband over.

"And Telemachus..." her son. He was only about 9 months old when she left to fight for her cousin's freedom. He's about 10 years old now, he must look exactly like his father.

"I fight for us... I fight for us..."

She knew what she lived for.

"Odysseus..."

She knew who she tried for.

"Telemachus."

She knew what she wished for.

Home.

"I'm on my way..."

She cut the door open, the quick motion of her sword cutting it as if it were butter.

"Attack!"

Red. So much red.

The clanking of swords so loud it could be heard across all of Greece. Penelope ran into the battlefield, spotting exactly who she wanted to see

Ctimene.

Her sword hit a Trojan soldier as he attempted to ambush and murder her sister in law.

Ctimene was the sister of Odysseus, they'd met many years ago. She'd snuck in at the middle of the night of her husband, Eurylochus' departure.

At the end of the first night, Ctimene managed to capture her husband and forcefully bring him back to a ship back to Same-- her kingdom.

Penelope spotted a dark figure, one whose face was impossible to spot. He ran towards her, nobody else managing to see the terrifying figure in front of her, and took a stab at Penelope's chest. Causing the queen to let out a scream of hurt.

But she was still alive.

All the was left was smoke.

"...what was that?"

In front of her, a man appeared. It wasn't the same one, he reeked of Devine judgement. His eyes yellow and his beard cloudy.

Zeus. The king of the gods.

"A vision of what is to come. Cannot be outrun, can only be dealt with right here and now."

He led Penelope to Troy's Palace, to which she climbed to the third story from the walls, her armor clanking down in pain.

She finally stood up in balance, her feet on the ground in the hallway of the large castle as she began to enquire. "Tell me how..."

"I don't think you're ready..."

How wasn't she ready? Could the king of the gods not see the massacre outside she had planned?

He lead her across the hallway, his eyes glowing of divinity.

"A mission... to kill someone's son. A foe who won't run, unlike anyone you have faced before..."

Penelope nodded, grabbing the handle of the door in front of her at the edge of the hallway.

"Say no more, I know what I'm ready."

"I don't think you're ready..."

She opened the door, her sword ready to strike when--

...she heard a laugh. Not a deep, sinister laugh like you'd expect. This was a child's laugh.

She walked around the room till she spotted a small cradle, inside was...

"It's just an infant.... it's just a boy."

How could Zeus, king of the gods, ask her to murder this child who's life was still ahead of him?

She faced the sky God, her eyes filled with shock and confusion.

"What sort of immanent threat does he pose that I cannot avoid?"

The room began shifting, his face reforming to show someone else's

"This is the son of none other than Troy's very own prince Hector"

Hector... this boy was Hector's son?

"Know that he will grow from a boy to an avenger"

The whole room shifted, Penelope - an older, wiser one - sat tired on a throne. The same figure that tried to stab her moments ago was in front of her, sword gripped tightly in his hand.

"One fueled with rage as you're consumed by age."

"If you don't end him now, you'll have no one left to save."

Zeus' face shifted once again, his body now the same as her husband's

"You can say goodbye to..."

The soldier felt her heart skip a beat, no. It couldn't.

"Odysseus..."

"You can say goodbye to--"

Odysseus.

She was back in the infants room, she slowly took the child, her face dark as she cradled him and looked up at the god. There had to be something she could do...

"I could raise him as my own!"

"He will burn your house and throne..."

No. Another way.

"Or send him far away from home!"

"He'll find you wherever you go."

She stared at the infant whom she held, a small smile on his face as he grabbed her pinkie finger.

"Make sure his past is never known..."

"The gods will make him know."

Penelope kneeled to the God, tears running down her face. Could she bring herself to do this? To kill an infant and deprive another mother of his first steps? His first laugh? His first words?

"I'm on my knees for ya, down on my knees for ya! I'm begging ple--"

"This is the will of the gods."

She stared at the small child, standing up as she forced herself to look at the God one last time.

"Please, don't make me do this! Don't make me do this!"

"The blood on your hands is something you won't lose..."

He brought an illusion of her Husband, next to him was a young boy, about ten or so. His face changing between different mixes of Penelope and Odysseus' faces.

Telemachus. And the one thing that was consistent was he had her eyes.

"All you can choose is whose..."

°•☆______________________☆•°

HELLO!!! Thank you for reading the Warrior of The Heart AU's version of The Horse and The Infant.

You may be wondering what the AU is!

Well, we follow Penelope of Sparta, who took her husband's place and managed to go to war. The name of the fanfic is thanks to her Mentor: Aphrodite (specifically Aphrodite Areia)

In my original drafts, Hera was originally replacing Zeus, but I didn't want this to feel like a "we have Warrior!Penelope at Home" AU.

Our role swaps are

Odysseus - Penelope

Athena - Aphrodite (Areia)

Eurylochus - Ctimene

Polites - Helen of Sparta (I'm so sorry...)

Poseidon - Amphitrite

I'd like to appreciate a few people!

Thank you, @protagaster Aka Aster, for making my favorite version of the Warrior!Penelope AU. You're an amazing friend and have always supported my projects, and I will continue to do the same for you!

Thank you, @somereaderinblue Aka Blue for being such an awesome person! You've helped me improve my writing so much and I'm so lucky to be your friend. (I also gotta thank you for helping improve/Analyse my designs I had made for the original WOTH designs I'd made!)

Thanks @literallylink--who-tf-is-ravioli for being the chaotic push I needed to make this

I hope you enjoyed this!

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dark-night-hero · 6 months ago

Text

You hate Kayden Break. He who is arrogant, full of pride, narcissistic bastard who doesn't know his place. He who wreak havoc of anyone who gets in his way. "The fuck is your problem?!" "The fuck you mean my problem?! I was minding my onw fucking business and you just hit me with your fucking divine whatever judgement your pulling off you bastard!" You shout right back at him with a glare, he was just as messed up and beat up as you. Serves him right! He better eat some shit and die!

You hate Kayden Break. He how made you stay up all night, empty wine glass in hand, gift long forgotten in the trashcan. Quietly staring at the clock as three days have gone by with no signs of him ever showing up. Setting the wine glass on the table, you reach out for the whole bottle of wine before chugging it down. You don't know if you should be hate yourself for thinking he would show up or hate him for making promises he couldn't keep.

You hate Kayden Break. "What the fuck was that?!" "What the fuck was what?" "The letter!" "Letter what letter?" "Kayden, do you take me as a fool?! People- the awakened one were laughing at me! Since when did you and Gestella have a thing?!" "Me and who- oh. Well, we did meet up once-" "So there was something really going on between the two of you!" "Why are you so mad? It's not like... you know what. I'm tired. I'm leaving." "Kayden." "Kayden!" "Kayden walk out of that door and were done!" He left through the window.

You hate Kayden Break. He who was too prideful to say sorry. Thinking everything could be resolve with some make up sex. Like everything would would be alright after some kisses. Sure kiss it better. But as you find yourself alone in the morning with no one by your side. You find yourself crying on yourside of the best cradling yourself back to sleep.

You hate Kayden Break. The selfish fucker who left no words upon disappearing. Leaving you all alone with uncertainty. Sure the two of you pften fought all the time, sure your last conversation may not have been the best and wasn't left on good terms, but damn it all. If he love you, if he loved you even just a little bit. Would it hurt him to tell you, to give you any idea if he was still alive out there?

You hate Kayden Break. He was a battle maniac, he has some loose crews in his head. He trashtalk a lot, he has this stupid habits of pissing off his enemy before the fight. He doesn't know how to take care of himself. Your relationship with him was not the best. It hurts. You hate how he loves to drive more into the thrill of the fight than to make sure he survived.

But you love Kayden Break. "Babe." "What?" "Remember when we first met?" "..." "I was so fucking mad back then but looking back, it was find of funny. Also, have I every told you-" you cut of as a pair of arm warped around you from behind. The way you felt his lips presses upon your shoulder into the back of your neck. "Hey, babe. That tickles." You knew it was his own way of saying sorry as he kisses his marks, those thunderbolt marks you sustained from your first encounter. "I'm alright babe."

But you love Kayden Break. The way you groan and was about to shift in your position when you realise someone was carrying you. The slight panicked but upon smelling a familiar scent, a rush of anger came up nevertheless you remained unmoving in his arms. His gentle steps echoing inside the mansion as he navigate his way into your room, all while princess carrying you. Setting you down on the bed before tucking you in. You felt his soft lips pressed upon your forehead. "Sorry I'm late." Damn it, you're supposed to be mad.

But you love Kayden Break. "What were you thinking ambushing her like that?!" "What?! What am I supposed to do? I ask her for a fight." "I- ah- hah!" You don't know if you should laugh or cry. Should you be glad to know that this man ain't that oblivious when it comes to you? "Kayden- babe. If Gestella comes after you, I won't lend a hand." "Wouldn't have it any other way." "Maybe I should join hands with her and beat up your sorry ass."

But you love Kayden Break. The way your entire body turned stiff before trying to relax as best as you can in a natural way as possible when the weight of the bed shifted. The way you you laid there unmoving with silent tears rolling down your cheeks before you felt him move closer towards you and soon after, an arm warped around your waist, pulling you close into his bare chest. The way his hand eventually made its way into your shaking shoulder and held it firm yet gently. "I know I don't deserve you." Thoss words eere beyond whisper. "I'm sorry."

But you love Kayden Break. "Stop laughing." "Haha- ehem.. pffff alright babe, I'm sorry." You cannot help but to look away only to burst out laughing upon seeing his current form, his disciple breaking into cold sweat as his mentor looks like he was ready to kill you in his fat form only to be in shock when his mentor ended up resting on your lap. "He's quite handful, isn't he?" You asked his disciple with a laugh. Petting the chunky orange cat on your lap.

But you love Kayden Break. No matter how much of a bastard he was. No matter how arrogant and annoying he had become. You love him and will continue to do so. "Kayden." "Doll." He gave you a smile, that damn crazy smile whenever he's feeling the thrill of fighting. "Come back to me alive and well." "Didn't I always come back to you?" This time there was a sly smirk in his face. Nevertheless there is this feeling of unease within you chest. "Hey, look at me." Before you knew it, he was within eye level as he lean down to look at you eye to eye. "I'll come back. Okay?" "... alright" "Good, now sit down and watch this shitshow I'm about to make." "..." "Kayden." "Doll?" "Please be careful."

:it's a tough week, Kayden Break girlies/lovers out there. Trust me.

#dark night hero #eleceed fanfic #eleceed x reader #eleceed kayden #eleceed #eleceed x you #eleceed imagine #eleceed angst #eleceed imagines #eleceed kayden break #kayden break x reader #kayden x reader #kayden break #kayden imagine #kayden break imagine #kayden break angst #kayden angst #kayden x you #kayden break x you

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earthlybeam · 2 months ago

Note

Would you mind writing Haldir and Legolas being saved from captivity in the same vein as the Elrond, Círdan, and Gil-Galad piece you wrote? Maybe being rescued by their significant others though? Up the stakes a bit 😏

I absolutely loved those, and I would love to know how you think those two would react to that situation!

Thank you so much in advance! I absolutely adore your writing. I always know I can coped your blog and find something that will brighten my day

Thank you so much for your kind words! 😭❤️‍🔥I’m so glad that my writing brings some brightness to your day. 🥺🙌 It means a lot to hear that, and I’m always here to share more whenever you need it. If there’s anything you’d love to read or talk about, just let me know! ❤️‍🔥🫶✨

how would the elves react to this?

↓

Haldir, Legolas Version below (you are their lover)

🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻

Haldir might react to the reader/you swooping in to save them from a perilous situation like being captured by orcs.

The forest was dark, the shadows of the trees stretching long and ominous under the pale sliver of moonlight. The air was damp with the scent of moss and earth, and the stillness was broken only by the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Somewhere deep within these woods, Haldir of Lórien was fighting for his life. The ambush had come without warning. Orcs, hidden beneath the veil of the night, had swarmed his patrol. Though he fought valiantly, his skill with the bow and blade unmatched, the sheer number of his foes proved overwhelming. Haldir’s heart burned with frustration as he swung his sword with precision, but even he, the Marchwarden of Lórien, could not hold them off alone. His brothers had been separated from him in the chaos, and he now found himself surrounded. A sharp blow to his side sent him crashing to the forest floor. The impact jarred his body, his head snapping to the side as pain lanced through his ribs. His sword was knocked from his hand, clattering uselessly beyond his reach. Haldir’s breath hitched, coming shallow and fast, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm he couldn’t control. The metallic taste of blood tinged his mouth, and for the first time in countless battles, doubt crept into his mind.

Above him, the Orcs loomed, their guttural laughter cutting through the silence of the forest like jagged blades. One of them sneered as it gripped his shoulder and pinned him down with brute force, its claws biting through the fabric of his tunic. Haldir’s muscles burned as he fought against the iron grip, his pride flaring hot despite the pain that seared through him. His silver-grey eyes burned with defiance, daring his enemy to see him as anything less than the Marchwarden he was. Yet even as his body tensed with effort, even as his mind worked furiously to find a way out, his heart began to sink beneath the weight of the inevitable. He was not afraid of death. That fear had long been banished, tempered by centuries of duty and the understanding that every life in service of Lórien was one spent in honor. But tonight… tonight, the thought of leaving his home unprotected, his brothers unguarded, and you… The pain of that thought struck deeper than any blade ever could. He could not bear the image of your face, of your voice calling his name in anguish when he was no longer there to answer. The weight of all he had left undone pressed upon him, and for one fleeting, bitter moment, a flash of helplessness crossed his proud heart.

Just as the Orc’s jagged blade was raised, ready to strike, a blur of motion tore through the clearing. A sound like thunder rolled in Haldir’s ears—the clash of steel meeting flesh—as the Orcs’ guttural cries rose in confusion and pain. Haldir’s breath caught in his throat, his sharp eyes widening despite the haze of pain clouding his vision. The shadows seemed to part, and there you were, moving through the clearing like a tempest. For a heartbeat, the world stilled around him. Relief crashed over him, mingled with awe and something far deeper, something unspoken yet undeniable. His chest tightened, his racing heart pounding louder than the fading battle cries. You were here. Against all odds, you had come for him. And in that moment, the weight of despair was lifted, replaced by the fiery spark of hope.

Your blade gleamed like a shard of starlight, a deadly brilliance that pierced the oppressive darkness of the forest. The fluidity of your movements was mesmerizing, every step purposeful, every strike calculated with lethal precision. The silver edge of your weapon flashed in arcs of light, slicing through the shadows with an artistry that belied the violence of the moment. You moved with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, your strikes clean and unrelenting, a storm given form. Each Orc that came near you met its end swiftly, their snarls turning into startled cries that were silenced as quickly as they rose. The air was thick with the clash of steel and the sharp tang of blood, but you were unshaken, your focus unyielding, your resolve unwavering. Haldir lay on the forest floor, his chest tightening as he watched you carve through the chaos with a ferocity that stole his breath. Relief flooded his veins, a tide that washed away the despair that had begun to weigh him down moments before. But it was not just relief—no, what filled him now was far greater, far deeper. Awe rippled through him, raw and unguarded, as his sharp eyes followed every movement you made. The disbelief that had briefly flickered across his face was replaced by something far more profound. You had always been strong—he knew this, admired this—but seeing you now, standing between him and the darkness, fighting for him with a passion that defied the odds, struck a chord so deep it left him shaken.

His heart, so long steeled against the perils of the world, swelled with emotions he could scarcely name. Gratitude, admiration, love—each surged within him, intertwining with the pounding of his heart. The sight of you, fighting with such unrelenting resolve, was more than a testament to your skill; it was a reminder of what he had fought to protect all his life. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Haldir felt vulnerable—not from his injuries, but from the overwhelming realization of how much you meant to him. One by one, the Orcs fell before you, their numbers dwindling until the last of them crumpled lifeless to the ground. The echoes of the battle faded, leaving only the sound of the wind brushing through the trees. The silence was almost deafening after the chaos, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves. The pale light of the moon filtered through the canopy, illuminating the scene in an ethereal glow.

You stood among the fallen, the pale moonlight catching the sheen of sweat on your brow, your chest rising and falling from exertion. Your blade hung loosely in your hand, blood dripping from its edge as your sharp eyes scanned the clearing one final time, ensuring there was no lingering threat. Only when you were absolutely certain the danger had passed did you turn toward Haldir. Your gaze landed on him, slumped against the forest floor, and your breath hitched. “Haldir!” you exclaimed, your voice sharp with worry as you rushed to his side. Dropping to your knees beside him, you immediately began inspecting him with the efficiency and care of someone used to patching him up after battles. Your hands hovered over his arms, his chest, his face, searching for injuries, your brows furrowed in deep concentration. “Are you hurt? Where are you hurt?” you demanded, your voice thick with concern.

Haldir blinked up at you, momentarily too stunned to respond. Relief mingled with a flush of embarrassment as your hands brushed his shoulders and neck, searching for wounds with single-minded determination. “I… I am unharmed,” he muttered, his pride prickling slightly at the frantic way you fussed over him. He tried to shift away, but you caught his chin with gentle but firm fingers, turning his face toward you. “Stay still,” you said, your tone brooking no argument. “Let me see.” “I told you, I am fine,” Haldir grumbled, his voice low and a little strained as you tilted his head to examine a bruise near his temple. His sharp blue eyes narrowed, but he didn’t pull away, though the tips of his ears turned a faint shade of pink. “Fine? You call this fine?” you retorted, brushing a few strands of his silver-blonde hair away to make sure there were no cuts hidden beneath. “I thought I’d lost you, Haldir.” Your voice softened, and your hands paused, resting lightly against his shoulders as you stared at him, your concern plain in your eyes. The weight of your worry hit him then, and for a moment, his pride faltered. “I was not in that much danger,” he mumbled, trying and failing to sound convincing.

You snorted, already running your hands down his arms to check for any breaks or hidden injuries. “Not in danger? You were surrounded by Orcs and on the ground, weaponless. Forgive me if I wasn’t convinced you had it under control.” Haldir’s jaw tightened, a faint flush creeping up his neck as he endured your inspection. “I would have managed,” he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction. “Oh, really? Managed to bleed out? Or managed to have an Orc drag you off? Which one?” you quipped, your tone light but underpinned with the lingering fear that had seized you when you saw him surrounded.

Finally, satisfied that he was, in fact, uninjured, you exhaled a shaky breath and sat back on your heels. “Thank the Valar,” you murmured, pressing a hand to your chest as the tension in your shoulders eased. “You’re really not hurt anywhere?” “No,” Haldir grumbled, averting his gaze as he shifted to sit up straighter. “Not that I haven’t already told you.” You narrowed your eyes at him, recognizing the slight edge of grumpiness in his voice for what it truly was—embarrassment. “Well, forgive me for worrying about the elf I love,” you said pointedly, crossing your arms. Haldir froze for a moment, the faint flush on his face deepening until it reached his ears. “I… you…” he stammered, before scowling faintly to hide his flustered state. “There’s no need to fuss so much. I’m perfectly capable of handling myself.”

“Oh, you’re handling yourself so well I had to cut down half a dozen Orcs to save you,” you shot back, though your tone was more teasing now. Haldir gave you a sharp look, his lips pressed into a thin line, but the faint twitch of his mouth betrayed him. “I appreciate your… intervention,” he said stiffly, clearly unused to being on the receiving end of such mother-hen levels of care. “But you don’t need to hover over me like an anxious bird.” You arched a brow at him, clearly unimpressed. “Haldir, you were surrounded. You could have been captured—or worse. Let me fuss if I want to fuss.” He huffed, crossing his arms as if to shield himself from your unrelenting care, but his silence betrayed his surrender. The faint flush still lingered on his cheeks, his pride clearly warring with the warmth that your worry stirred in him.

Finally, you smiled, brushing your fingers gently along his jawline to soothe him. “Don’t act so grumpy. I know you secretly enjoy the attention.” Haldir’s eyes narrowed at you, though there was no real heat in his gaze. “I do not,” he said firmly, but the way his lips twitched upward ever so slightly made you laugh softly. “Of course, you don’t,” you said with a knowing smile, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his brow. “But that won’t stop me from worrying about you anyway.” For all his bluster, Haldir didn’t pull away. Instead, he let out a soft sigh, his shoulders finally relaxing as he gave in to your care. Slowly, his free hand reached out, and before you could react, he gently took your hand in his. You blinked in surprise as he brought it to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your knuckles.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with emotion. His gaze lifted to meet yours, a rare vulnerability shining in his eyes. “For being here. For saving me. For… always seeing me as more than the Marchwarden.” Your heart melted at his quiet, heartfelt words. Smiling softly, you gently squeezed his hand. “Always,” you whispered, your voice warm and steady. Though Haldir’s pride made him grumble and resist your fussing, his quiet kiss on your hand spoke more than words ever could. Beneath the stoic exterior, his love for you shone brightly, and for the first time in the chaotic night, he allowed himself to rest in the warmth of your care.

🍃𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓼

Legolas might react to the reader/you swooping in to save them from a perilous situation like being captured by orcs.

The cold wind swept through the dense forest of Mirkwood, carrying with it the faint, guttural cries of orcs. The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light filtering through the skeletal branches above, casting shadows that danced eerily across the forest floor. Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of the Woodland Realm, stood amidst the chaos, his bow in hand and his sharp, cerulean eyes scanning the battlefield. The fight had begun suddenly, the ambush perfectly executed by the orcs who knew the forest’s every shadowy crevice. They’d swarmed him and his small band of scouts, overwhelming them with sheer numbers. Legolas moved with the grace and precision of an elf born to the hunt. Each arrow found its mark, and his twin blades danced with deadly elegance, but even he could not hold them all at bay. The jagged blade struck against his guard, forcing Legolas back with every blow. He moved with a desperate elegance, each step a calculated retreat, but the sheer force of the orc’s relentless strikes began to wear him down. The forest around him blurred into a tapestry of shadows and chaos, the cries of battle ringing in his ears like the relentless toll of a bell.

Then came the sharp crack against his temple. The impact was sudden and brutal, sending a searing pain through his skull. His vision fractured, the forest spinning in a nauseating blur of dark shapes and pale moonlight. His balance faltered, his knees hitting the forest floor with a dull thud. The ground beneath him felt cold and unyielding, the coarse leaves scratching at his skin as he struggled to regain focus. For the first time in years, Legolas felt something he rarely allowed himself to feel: helplessness. It was a fleeting sensation, quickly buried beneath his pride and determination, but it lingered enough to unnerve him. He had faced countless foes, endured countless dangers, but this… this was different. His blades slipped from his grasp, the familiar weight of them gone, and a cold emptiness filled his hands.

As the orcs closed in, their jeering laughter grated against his ears. Their foul breath filled the air, mingling with the stench of blood and sweat. He felt their rough, calloused hands seize his arms, their grip bruising as they forced him upright. The ropes they bound around his wrists bit into his skin, coarse and unforgiving, and no amount of twisting could loosen their hold. Frustration flared in his chest like a hot ember. How could this happen? He had been trained since he could walk, his every skill honed for moments like this. And yet, here he was, captured like prey caught in a snare. Shame burned alongside the anger, though he fought to suppress it. His father’s face flashed in his mind—stern and proud—alongside the countless warriors of Mirkwood who had looked to him for leadership. What would they say if they saw him now, bound and dragged through the forest like some hapless novice?

But beneath the anger, beneath the frustration, something darker stirred—a flicker of fear. It crept through him like a shadow, cold and unwelcome. The orcs’ voices rose around him, a guttural cacophony of malice and cruelty, and he could feel their delight in his capture. His sharp ears picked up their muttered plans—how they would present him to their master, how his humiliation would serve as a blow to his people. The thought twisted his stomach, but he pushed it aside, clinging to the pride and resolve that had carried him through so many battles before. Even as his legs dragged beneath him, even as the edges of his vision swam with pain and disorientation, he refused to let despair take hold. He focused on the feel of the ropes, testing their strength, memorizing the rhythm of his captors’ steps. His heart beat like a drum in his chest, a steady reminder that he was still alive, still capable of fighting. And yet, doubt lingered at the edges of his thoughts. Was this truly the end? Would he be led into the darkness, lost to the shadows of Mirkwood forever?

A sound, subtle yet distinct, reached Legolas’s ears—a barely perceptible twang of a bowstring. His sharp Elven senses were still clouded by the dizziness of the blow to his head, but even in his disoriented state, he recognized the sound. It was the unmistakable note of an arrow in flight. Before the first orc even had a chance to react, the arrow found its mark, burying itself deep into its throat. The orc let out a choked gurgle, its eyes wide in shock, before it crumpled to the ground, dead before it could make another sound. Chaos erupted immediately among the group of orcs. Through the shifting shadows of the trees, you appeared. At first, it was a blur—a streak of movement, too fast for the orcs to follow, but Legolas could see it clearly. Your form was graceful, fluid, as you moved through the underbrush, swift and deadly as a shadow in the moonlight. Your blade gleamed with a cold, deadly light, a streak of silver as you descended upon the orcs with a vengeance. The very air seemed to hum with the force of your strikes as you cut through the ranks with an elegance and ferocity that even the orcs couldn’t match.

They reacted too late, their growls turning to panicked yelps as they turned their attention to you. You moved like a whirlwind, a tempest of lethal grace. One orc lunged toward you, its filthy blade raised, but you dodged beneath its swing, slipping under its guard with ease. In one fluid motion, your blade drove deep into its side, and it fell with a gasping cry, its weapon clattering to the ground. Another came at you, its teeth bared, but you met it head-on, your strikes flowing like water as you cut down the creature in a series of precise, lethal movements. Legolas watched, his head still spinning, but his eyes locked onto you with an intensity that burned through the fog of his disorientation. The way you moved, the fierce determination in your every step—it took his breath away. In that moment, everything else faded—the pain in his temple, the mocking voices of the orcs, even the cold wind rustling the leaves above. There was only you.

Even as he struggled to stay conscious, a wave of something deeper surged within him, something stronger than mere admiration or gratitude. It was love. The fierce, unyielding love that had always burned quietly in his heart, but now—now it felt like a fire, brighter and hotter than ever before. You were here, fighting for him, saving him when he had been certain he was lost. There was no fear in his heart, only awe at your strength, your courage, your unwavering dedication to him. The last of the orcs fell with a thud, its body crumpling to the ground, and the silence that followed seemed to settle over the battlefield like a heavy fog. You turned to him then, your chest rising and falling with exertion, your breath coming in soft gasps as you scanned the area. The moonlight caught your face, framing it in a soft, ethereal glow. For a moment, you seemed not of this world, like a guardian spirit sent to him through the very heart of the forest itself.

Legolas blinked, his vision still unfocused, but when his eyes met yours, there was no mistaking the feeling that swept over him—a deep, unshakable relief. His heart stilled, the chaotic, wild rhythm of the battle fading into the background as he locked onto your gaze. In that brief, perfect moment, time seemed to slow, and the world seemed to disappear around you both. It was only you, standing there in the moonlight, looking at him with such unwavering love and concern. And to Legolas, in that fleeting moment, you were the embodiment of everything he had ever loved about the world—strength, courage, and an unbreakable bond that even the darkness of the orcs could not sever. You had come for him. Not as a prince, not as a warrior, but simply as Legolas, and that, more than anything, filled his heart with something he had long forgotten—hope. You rushed to his side, dropping to your knees with a single-minded focus that left no room for hesitation. Your hands trembled slightly as they worked at the coarse ropes binding his wrists, your voice firm but filled with concern. “Legolas,” you breathed, the worry in your tone unmistakable. “Are you hurt? Did they wound you?”

The ropes fell away, and Legolas flexed his hands, his sharp blue eyes locking onto yours. “I… I am unharmed, meleth nin,” he murmured, his voice soft and a little dazed. But the moment those words left his lips, your hands were already on him, inspecting him from head to toe with a meticulousness that bordered on frantic. Your fingers brushed over his arms, shoulders, and chest, searching for cuts or bruises beneath his tunic. “Are you certain?” you asked, your brow furrowed as your gaze darted over him. “You fell hard—I saw it. You could have cracked a rib, or—” “(Y/N),” Legolas interrupted gently, his voice steadier now. His hands reached up to cover yours, stilling them as they roved over his torso in search of unseen injuries. “I am truly unharmed. You came in time.” But you weren’t convinced yet. You cupped his face, tilting it to examine the side of his head where the orc’s blow had landed. “You’re bleeding here,” you fretted, brushing a thumb near the faintest trace of dried blood along his temple. “Does it hurt? Is your vision blurred?”

“It is nothing,” he assured you, his lips curving into the faintest smile at your mother-hen-like concern. “It will heal before the night is through.” Still, your worry refused to abate entirely. “Nothing?” you huffed, sitting back slightly but keeping your hands steady on his shoulders. “Legolas, I thought I lost you. Do you have any idea what that would have done to me?” Your voice broke slightly, and your brow knitted with frustration—not at him, but at the thought of how close he had come to being taken. His expression softened, his heart swelling with a profound tenderness as he watched you fuss over him. “Meleth nin,” he said softly, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair from your face. “I am here. I am safe, thanks to you. Please, do not distress yourself.”

Finally satisfied that he was, in fact, unharmed, you let out a long, shuddering breath. “Thank the Valar,” you whispered, leaning forward until your forehead rested lightly against his. Your hands slipped down to hold his arms, grounding yourself in the solidness of him. “If anything had happened to you…” He closed his eyes at the contact, letting the comfort of your presence wash over him. “Nothing did,” he murmured. “And it is because of you. You saved me, (Y/N). You always do.” You pulled back just enough to look at him again, your eyes glimmering with both love and lingering worry. “You have no idea how much you scared me,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “Seeing them take you… I thought I’d lose you.”

His hands rose to cradle your face, his touch gentle but firm. “I would never leave you,” he said, his voice resolute. “Not while there is strength in me to fight. And with you at my side, I am stronger than I have ever been.” Your lips parted, but no words came. Instead, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a fierce embrace that spoke louder than anything you could say. He sank into your hold, the warmth of your body against his easing the lingering ache of the fight. For a long moment, the two of you simply held each other, the quiet of the forest broken only by the faint rustle of leaves in the wind.

When you finally pulled back, your hands lingered on his arms, and your gaze searched his face one last time. “If you ever scare me like that again,” you said, though your tone was lightened by a teasing lilt, “I swear, Prince of Mirkwood or not, I will tie you to the trees myself.” A soft laugh escaped him, the sound rare and full of affection. “You have my word,” he replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I will endeavor to be more careful.” You gave a small huff but smiled in return, your love for him shining clearly in your eyes. And as you stood together beneath the moonlit canopy, Legolas knew with every fiber of his being that he was the luckiest elf in Middle-earth—not because you had saved him, but because you had chosen to love him with such fierce devotion.

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itstheendofthegoddamnworld · 6 months ago

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Swallowed Whole by The Flame (Messmer the Impaler x Tarnished! Reader) 8

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Summary: The storehouse calls to you, your path awaits.

A/N: I've been ill for a while, so this is coming out when I feel better! Sorry for the delay! A promise is a promise! More interactions!

A03 link

Chapter 8: The Encounter

The rest of your day is spent avoiding Messmer as best as you can, despite the heavy enforcement of soldiers who seem to follow your every move. It comes to you with great unease and irritation, but you're thankful when you've eaten supper and you can be to yourself for the rest of the evening,

Your thoughts are spent thinking about the specimen storehouse and where your heart lies in the books you could be reading. It comes with great restraint not to sneak out and go there in the dead of night, but you promise yourself you would rather worm your way through befriending Ansbach better to gain some further insight.

You go to sleep slightly content with your goals, hoping you can go through with them easily.

Ansbach is who you go to seek out after breaking your fast, dressing simply in your usual garbs before you find him in his usual spot. You strike up a conversation with him for a bit before you know his suspicions are up, knowing you're up to no good.

"You know, Lord Messmer will not be too pleased in knowing you're not where you are."

"How so? He's not looking for me, he's not sought me out." You shrug, though you cannot help but eye the red-cladded knight who loiters close by. He's aware of your presence down here, but he is allowing it for some reason. Could it be some ploy to think he's fine with it all?

"I think his Lord is so caught up in worrying about me, he should be addressing the real issue." You continue, "Any news of Miquella? Or even Lady Leda?"

"It seems Leda has found the gift you left." Ansbach addressed plainly, "What she wishes to do to deal with our betrayals, I am still left in the dark of. I have no doubt she will be finding some way to create an ambush."

"Best be on our best behaviour then." You jest, but Ansbach grunts in response. Why must everyone be so grumpy in this Keep, no, these lands? You remember fellow allies like the kindly girl Roderika, the polite sorcerer Rogier, and Boc your seamster - even in the coldness and darkness of the world, they still found kindness that could be shared with strangers.

Two days pass since your conversation with Ansbach, and despite lingering for far too long in the storehouse staring at the endless shelves, you cannot finally help the urge that calls to you.

Only dressed in a nightgown and dressing gown, its green silk robes still feel foreign on your skin. You scamper to the door of your chambers barefoot, the cold wooden floor cool against your skin as you slowly pull the door open. Looking to see no one there, you gather yourself, shutting the door behind you as darkness engulfs you in the small tower.

Feeling along the walls as your aid, you trek downwards, careful to keep your pacing quiet.

Quick as a mouse, sharp as a cat. You tell yourself as you avoid what you think are soldiers who are posted along the lower grounds, patrolling as they go.

You stick to the shadows as best as you can, passing the infirmary as you near the steps heading down into the dimly lit storehouse. Your smile broads, victory is on the horizon as you continue to sneak before you find yourself in endless bookshelves.

Finding a small candle and taking it along with you, you pace down the bookcases until you cannot find Sir Ansbach in his usual spot. Instead of him, you find the endless books you have been dying to open since you last spoke with him.

You feel a sense of pride wash over you, eagerly picking up the first book with too much force that it knocks the tower to the ground, some books clatter open with a loud crash as you freeze, assessing your situation before turning back to continue with the pages.

You find books on the history of the lands, of the Hornsent, the war and tyranny that seem to address in length of Messmer's battles, but you work your way to find one that is of great interest to you—the History of Queen Marika and the Golden Order.

It's when your foolishness and brashness bring you to be unaware for a moment, too engrossed in what's around you, that when you try to reach for a book on the shelf that is too high for you, a voice hisses out to you in the darkness.

"Thou art rather brazen at which hour thee sneaketh."

You almost scream out, but catch yourself, your voice being stuck in your throat as you turn to who stands behind you.

You should've known you were being followed, but nothing had prepared you to finally come face to face with the redhead. You had to admit, it was rather haunting how someone so tall as he was able to move around with ease of not disrupting noise. Despite the darkness, your candle caught a glimpse of his red hair, almost blending in with the bookcases. He appears to you how an apparition would, his form languid and swaying as if he is uncertain as to what your next moves shall be. He has a ghost-like quality that only he could carry in a Keep so full of others. He instead thrives in the abyss, in the dampened walls and cold grey spots. You wonder what he carries, the stoicism that he was born with, would it be broken if he finally saw his mother again? And just how long had it been since he last saw her?

"Firstly thee fight mine own men liketh a drunken in a tavern." He spouts. "Next I findeth thee sneaking off to mine own library. Bid me, where shalt I findeth thee next? Sneaking wine into thy chambers?"

"Are you taking note of everywhere I go?" You bemoaned. "If I had known better, it seems you enjoy stalking me."

The glare he sends you is not enough to make you cower, rather you swear you see his cheeks redden at your words. He averts his eye from you, but he keeps his mood sour. "Bid me, art thee going to starteth destroying mine own books?"

You stare at him incredulously, "I read, you know?"

It's his time to gawk, his snakes look between one another before looking up to their master, the three staring as if they are silently communicating. You can't help but feel like the fool at this moment.

Messmer surprises you as if he is a grumpy unapproachable cat, slowly inching his way towards you, his movement slow, hesitant. There is bewilderment present in his features as he whispers, "Thee... read?"

"Yes," Your words are mixed with a weary laugh that has been bubbling inside your throat, "you believe I'm ready to tear your books apart like a beast?"

He doesn't answer that, rather he's quiet, maybe from embarrassment for assuming.

"Look-" you begin to walk closer towards him, not even getting as close as you predicted before something is face to face with you, squaring off. You're startled back, keeping eye contact with one of the serpents that had unwound itself around Messmer's torso to stare down at you. You never realised even up close how vivid its scales were, bright and a brilliant crimson hue.

You also realise the difference between both serpents: one had startling blue-green eyes, the other matching Messmer's. One is slightly bigger, the other slimmer and longer. You cannot help but feel inquisitive by the one inches away from your face, it also doesn't move as it inspects you. Instinctively, you hold a hand out, somewhat frightful it could change its mind and latch its jaws around your hand, but rather than that, it takes in your scent, its long tongue flickers up your finger before you gingerly stroke along its nose once it has investigated you enough.

"Woah," you marvel in wonder, "they are beautiful." Messmer seems stiff and unresponsive, watching but not daring to move. You assume he's in two minds: fight you off his serpents or allow you to continue, however, you're still hesitant you've overstepped.

His skin even ashen holds a light blush to his face, and it finally dawns on you. He can sense what the snakes feel, for his golden eye is sharp and wide in shock. He does not recoil from you, but he finally does seem to come back from whatever trance he's in, nodding in agreement with your statement.

"Do they have names?" You ponder aloud.

Messmer's voice is soft as he points to the one with blue eyes, "Fos," he points to the other, "Eos."

It is Fos who turns from you to look up to Messmer, almost pleased to be finally formally introduced, which brings a smile to your face. To think, these serpents have their personalities and thoughts, working independently from their master if they wished.

You realise you need to say more so it does not fill the air with awkwardness, "You asked if I read?"

"I did."

"I do because I wish to learn," you answer, "Not only of these lands but of the one I have long forgotten. I am Tarnished, yes, but I also had a life before, one I have not remembered in a long time. If I am to defeat Miquella and know of his plans, I must learn more of what I'm up against."

Messmer is silent as he takes them in, his face stoic and cold but his eye is darting across your face, over the books surrounding you. It is only then that he sighs heavily. "Very well. If it is true t' is what thee needeth, it shalt be provided." The smile that grows on your face as you hear his words, "However, thee shall not seeketh this inf'rmation without mine own aid. Nor shall I allow thee to be in the storehouse alone."

A fair agreement. You think to yourself, soaking in his deal. "Deal?" You are the one to hold your hand out to him, an olive branch of peace. He stares at your hand then your face, slowly reaching out, his large clawed hand warm as you predicted, swallowing yours in the softness of his skin. "Deal."

It feels like a long time before one of you remembers to pull away, your hand feels extra cold away from his heat, the power he exudes. You go pick up the book you wished to read, but Messmer is quick to add, "T'is yours to read," his voice is a gentle whisper in the coldness of the night, "if it keeps thee from fighting mine own men."

It dawns on you, that his tone is not dour when he tells you that, there is a tinge of humour laced within him when he wants to be droll. "Now, that I don't know I can keep as a promise, Lord Messmer."

A/N: So, I wanted the serpent names to be cute and matching. Fun fact: Fos means light and Eos means dawn but also is the personification of dawn🥺

#messmer x reader #messmer the impaler #elden ring messmer #messmer x tarnished #shadow of the erdtree #messmer fic #elden ring #elden ring dlc #elden ring fic #tarnished! reader #itstheendofthegoddamnworld writes #part 8

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roguishcat · 3 months ago

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What happens at Sharess', stays at Sharess'

Excerpt: “Cora, sweetheart,” Astarion leaned closer to her, brushing a strand of inky black hair behind her ear, delighting in the fact that she leaned into his touch. “Can you tell me what you did last night to that nice drow man to have him in hysterics, hm?”

Pairing: Astarion x my OC, Astarion x female Tav

Word count: 3.2k

Tags: Fluff, Act III, Spoilers for Act III, named female Tav, OC

Set in Act III

A/N: I feel a bit nervous about posting this, and hope you like Cora, she is so cunning and chaotic, quite different from how I usually portray Tav in my other stories. Enjoy! ❤️

Art by @floadwarf1

Astarion prided himself on being able to read people. But then along came Cora. The seemingly dimwitted and charming high-born half-elf who was a magnet for trouble.

Yet, once you got to know her more, you realised that it was all a front and Cora was, in fact, so much more than just a conceited rich girl. Just like the rest of them, Cora kept her secrets close to her chest initially, but ended up confessing everything, overwhelmed by guilt, feeling that she was letting her friends down by not being entirely honest. Seeing as all of them were either keeping secrets or straight up lying to each other from the word go, the revelation was received well enough. And it was after Cora finally told them the truth about her shadowcaster heritage and dysfunctional, borderline psychotic patriar family that Astarion really saw her in a new light.

She was intelligent and ruthlessly vicious when dealing with enemies, making them end themselves by using their madness to quicken their demise. Her sharp tongue and the way she twisted words were rather useful when they were directed at someone else. He was especially impressed by the way she handled Yurgir. Large doe eyes and deceptively frail frame aside, Cora could be trusted to be cruel when the situation called for it.

Yet, Cora was fiercely loyal and protective to the group, to the point that it was near suicidal, which drove Astarion up the wall.

When Astarion first decided to sleep with her to get their unanimously appointed leader under his thumb, he did not realise that he bit off more than he could chew, figuratively speaking. Initially, Cora did not reveal her ancestry, she was ashamed of its corruptive power. But as they progressed on their journey, she managed to harness the shadows without succumbing to the corruption.

A tenday ago, as their band of misfits finally made it to the city, Cora grew quiet and withdrawn, quite a contrast to her usual chatterbox ways. Astarion guessed that it had everything to do with being reunited with her family, an unavoidable, worrying inevitability that frightened her to the point of making Cora distracted and even careless. Granted, she wasn’t the only one with an unpleasant family reunion, but it made her worries no less valid. But after Gortash’s coronation and Wyll’s subsequent decision to be free of Mizora at the cost of his father’s freedom, Astarion saw a familiar stubborn look in her eyes as she fell into her problem-solving mode.

She had a plan.

Cora squared her shoulders and thrust her chin up stubbornly, bulldozing her way through the city, swindling the innkeeper into giving them rooms at the Elfsong for free, fighting tooth and nail to make sure that they obtained all the information that could aid them on their personal quests. They defeated Cazador, which, surprisingly, was far less troublesome than he thought it would be, although it didn’t make it any less traumatic, were confronted by the Sharrans, and ambushed by Orin. Cora dealt with each crisis to the best of her ability. But it was not enough.

It felt as if for every step they took forward, they were thrust back two paces. They needed information and they needed it now.

When the sky dusked, Astarion saw Cora getting dressed with a glint in her eyes that he knew meant that she had come to a decision.

“Cora? Dearest? Where are you headed this fine evening?”

“Sharess’.”

He raised an eyebrow at that.

“Would you like me to come with you?” he asked tentatively. Being all but abandoned by her family to grow up at Sharess’ meant that if circumstances were different, Cora would avoid the place like the Bubonic plague. Several days back they helped the Mamzell find out who was behind the murder of one of the prostitutes. A favor which she wanted to repay by offering a free ride. Cora refused politely yet firmly.

“No need. Though I would appreciate it if you came to get me tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Are you planning to,” he swallowed around a lump in his throat, “stay the night?”

“Yes,” she said simply, grabbing her brocade bag and making sure she had everything she needed.

“I see,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. As if she told him what the weather was going to be like rather than telling him that he would have to sleep alone that night.

“Oh Star, it’s not like that!” Cora wound her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss under his jaw. “I’ve got an idea, but it might not work. So, not telling for now, okay? But I promise, I’m not going to lay a finger on anyone there. And no one sure as hells is touching me,” she said almost ominously.

Then her expression changed, she smooched his cheek and with that, she was gone.

Astarion followed her, of course. Because, as he kept telling himself, she was going to get mugged twice before she even made it to the brothel. Well, perhaps that was an exaggeration. He knew that she was powerful and very dangerous, but he couldn’t help but still think of her as the inept girl that she was when they first crashed on the beach. Now she was mistress of the shadows, one of the creatures that went bump in the night.

And of course she made it completely fine, walking into Sharess’ with confidence and levelling Mamzell with a hard look that that came from years of ordering people about. Astarion turned himself invisible and snuck after her, noting that Cora almost immediately ducked through the curtain and made a beeline for the drow twins.

Astarion scowled as it all clicked in his mind. So, this was it then. She just didn’t want him to be upset that she went back to taste whatever was on offer. It was understandable, really. With how much there was at stake, with all her responsibilities, it was no surprise that Cora needed to let herself forget, if only for a moment. Lose herself in someone willing, someone capable.

With the music being loud and the patrons getting rowdier and handsier as they got drunker, he could not hear exactly what she said to the twins. After a brief exchange, the brother, Sorn, if Astarion remembered correctly, motioned for Cora to follow him.

Astarion did not want to see anymore. He knew that technically he insisted that Cora indulge with the drow when they were here last time. Astarion was nowhere near ready to resume the sexual part of their relationship, but he still felt… he was not sure how he felt.

As they walked up the stairs, Astarion caught some of their conversation.

“Don’t you worry, I pride myself on delivering absolute satisfaction to every guest.”

“Let’s hope that you live up to your reputation. I am very particular when it comes to what gets me… excited.”

“Is that so? Well, whatever the fantasy, we always guarantee discretion. No one will ever find out.”

“I would like to think that. It would be shame if your establishment-.”

As they rounded the corner, Astarion could not catch the rest of what Cora was saying. He was sure that if his heart could beat it would be hammering loudly. He heard enough to make his insecurity rear its ugly head.

Of course he was not enough. How could he ever be? And Cora, the sweet, kind creature that she was when it came to him, did not want him to know of his inadequacy. The one thing that he was ever good for. And even that he could not provide. She did not take Halsin up on his offer, perhaps because she did not want him to witness whatever they would get up to. So, she had to take care of her needs in a different way.

Woodenly, Astarion made it to the bar and ordered wine. Might as well wait for her here. He didn’t want to go back to Elfsong and answer questions about Cora’s whereabouts. And it didn’t really matter if he drove himself mad thinking about what the drow was doing to her here at the bar or back in Elfsong.

As hours ticked by, he was approached several times by the men and women who worked there until they finally got the hint and left him be. Gods, he wished that he could get drunk. But apparently, he was not even allowed such small mercies. He rubbed his hand across his face. Picking up his glass, Astarion decided to relocate to a corner table near the window, to be left alone with his thoughts.

When morning finally came and the first slither of light warmed his cheek, Astarion heard a door slam open and shut somewhere. Someone, possibly one of the workers, ran past him and darted up the stairs with impressive speed. Then another and another. Just what in the hells was going on there?

The answer to his question came in a form of sniffling drow who was half-pulled, half-coaxed down the stairs by two servants, his bewildered and confused sibling waiting for him at the foot of the stairs.

“Sister! My head, my eyes, my hand, oh it hurts!” he wailed quite pathetically, making Astarion’s ears perk up in curiosity, “I have never been subjected to something like this in my life!”

“Brother? Are you well? Shall I call for a healer?”

“No, I don’t need a healer. What I need is rest!” he threw his arms up and pushed past her, confusing whatever guests were still milling about with his theatrics. “Do not expect me to entertain for at least a tenday! In the very least, I earned this respite!”

Now that was interesting. Astarion was curious to know what exactly was it that Cora had the drow do. Because surely… surely it could not be that bad and depraved, right? Had she been going easy on him all this time? He swallowed, not sure if he was concerned or impressed.

As he snuck past the workers and walked into the drow’s room, Astarion watched Cora stuff her face with the delicate little breakfast pastries, finely cut meat and whatever else was on the table. Quite a spread for a simple breakfast. But then again, she was quite the guest, apparently. And here at Sharess’ they knew how to cater to every whim.

“Astarion! You’re here already? Didn’t expect you to be so early,” she smiled from across the room, waving him over.

A quick glance told him that whatever happened last night did not involve the bed, as it was clearly untouched. He felt his shoulders relax a little as he got a better look at Cora. She looked tired out. But Astarion knew what a well-fucked Cora looked like, and this was not it. Which begged the question, what exactly did she get up to?

“Cora, sweetheart,” Astarion leaned closer to her, brushing a strand of inky black hair behind her ear, delighting in the fact that she leaned into his touch. “Can you tell me what you did last night to that nice drow man to have him in hysterics, hm?”

She blinked and swallowed her food, feigning ignorance. “But my love, I have no idea! I kept my promise to you, I didn’t even touch him! Well, once. But that was more of a slap than a touch, so nothing down south.”

“He seems to be of the opinion that after one night with you, he will have to take a tenday off work. ‘To heal physically and emotionally’ if I were to quote him.”

Cora snorted in amusement. It was quite perplexing how she could be a fine, noble-born lady one moment, a little rascal the next, and also a murder-happy villain when the situation called for it. Naturally, Astarion rather liked all of the above.

“Well, my Star,” she purred, pulling his face closer to her own, lips close to the shell of his ear as she whispered softly, only for him to hear, “it seems that only your magic touch is enough when it comes to me.”

Then she gave him a peck just below his ear, grabbed her bag and grinned mischievously.

“Let’s head back to Elfsong. I’ve got something in this bag that will make you very, very happy.”

Astarion felt a tingle run down his spine and swallowed nervously.

An hour later, they were back in their room. The separate room that Gale insisted they should take. Astarion did not know what in the world the wizard’s problem was. He was practically a saint with how well-behaved he’s been lately!

“So… spill dearest. What have you been up to?”.

“Help me with this dress,” she smiled over her shoulder.

She was stalling. He could see that suddenly she felt nervous, her fingers fiddling with the strap of her bag.

“I wonder however you managed to put it on yourself without any help,” he clicked his tongue, trailing gentle fingers up her sides until they rested on her shoulders.

“I didn’t say I couldn’t do it. But I’d rather you were the one to do it.”

He smirked and pressed a kiss to her neck, spinning her around to face him.

“And no funny business Ancunín,” she swatted at his hand when he tried to cop a feel. “Not until I show you what I got.”

“Yes, dearest. I promise to be a perfect gentleman.”

“You are not a gentleman. That’s part of your appeal. But you are perfect, my love.”

Astarion felt a lump in throat at how earnest she looked when she said that. Trust Cora to be the one person to look at him, a vampire who had been a slave for 200 and did unspeakable things, some of which she witnessed firsthand, and still call him perfect and mean it. Her fingers felt so warm against his skin as she cradled his cheek. He wanted to lean into her touch, kiss the underside of her wrist and draw her in, pulling her close and swallowing her gasp as he desperately ravaged her.

But his twice-cursed mind would not let him succumb to his own desires, or at least not let him enjoy it. And he wanted to. By gods he wanted to. Cora deserved to have the entirety of his attentions, for her lover to be present, to be there in the moment.

And that was why, with a crooked smile and a chaste peck, Astarion quickly helped her out of her dress and withdrew. Cora was a saint for pretending that she did not notice his inner turmoil.

“Lady Coraline Ravenshade, you will tell me what you got for your efforts this minute or so help me I’m leaving,” he crossed his arms and tapped his foot in a mock display of impatience.

“Fine,” Cora changed into her sleepwear and opened her bag, rummaging around and pulling out papers and parchments.

“We needed information and I thought, when does one let their guard down? When do we reveal our secrets? Whisper them into others’ ears, hushed tones, candlelight soft and intimate?”

“Are you talking about pillow talk?” Astarion said slowly, not quite sure where she was going with this.

“And then I thought, where do the richest and most influential Baldurians go?”

“Sharess’.” Astarion’s eyes widened as it all clicked.

“And of course they would choose to spend an evening with the best that coin could buy,” she nodded, spreading the papers on their shared bed with a triumphant look in her eyes.

“But why Sorn? Why not the sister?”

“Well, that was a bit of a gamble,” she admitted with a shrug. “But I figured sweet and soft would not cut it in this case. And I was right.”

Astarion picked up the papers scattered on their shared bed. Confessions, secrets revealed, plans uncovered. It was all theirs.

“You brilliant terror!” Astarion’s grin was all fangs as he quickly skimmed through the confessions the journalists at the Baldur's Mouth would pay a mountain of gold for. “But how did you convince the drow to tell you these?”

“Ah, well that took a bit of creativity. He didn’t realise that there was a kink quite like mine until last night. Because what makes me really, really hot,” she brought her lips to the shell of Astarion’s ear, “is when my lover writes.”

“We spent the whole night writing down all the gossip that the drow could think of. Quills gliding against parchment, ink stains on fingers, lips being bitten as concentration wavers and then” she said breathily, “with a thrust of the tip into the pot, back to writing we went.”

Astarion eyed her incredulously. Cora could not take it anymore and giggled.

“Was it a deeply satisfying experience, love?”

“Oh, yes. Very much. I’m afraid I tired him and myself out completely. My hand definitely cramped once or twice, but I kept at it. You know how thorough I am in everything I do,” she yawned loudly and wiped her bleary eyes.

“But the best part, my love, is that they guarantee discretion when it comes to kinks. Not when it comes to what is said after the deed is done. Sorn didn’t do anything wrong by telling me everything that he knows. But he cannot tell of anything that transpired between him and I, because that goes against everything that they stand for.”

Astarion just looked at all that she had accomplished in one night. It was so simple yet so brilliant.

“It is all here, Star,” she took his hands into her own, giving his knuckles a kiss. “The underwater prison where Gortash is probably keeping Wyll’s father. The rumours about Bhaalists, sightings in the sewers. And so much more! We can blackmail tons of people into giving us even more information!”

Astarion pulled her towards him with a chuckle and snaked his arms around her middle.

“You villain! I love how your mind works!”

“I told you, I never want to be with anyone but you. I love you. And I want to be with you for as long as you allow it.”

Astarion cradled her body against his tightly, burying his face in Cora’s unbound hair.

“This was all I could think of,” she said softly, running her fingers through his curls with a sigh. “Coming back to you and you holding me.”

It was a moment so tender that he felt like his heart couldn’t take it. It was simply too much. So Astarion threw the covers aside, the papers flying off the bed like startled birds to scatter in all directions, pushed Cora onto the bed and lay down next to her.

“Oh, be quiet and sleep! You frail half-elves need your rest,” he grumbled and pulled the covers back up to cover Cora up to her chin.

“You knew I was a yapper all along. So you have no choice but to grin and bear it.”

“Tsk, shush. Don’t make me silence you.”

“Promises, promises,” she yawned, closing her eyes with a happy sigh.

And for a moment, all was perfect. He knew that this would not last. Tomorrow would bring some new horrors and new battles. But somehow, for the first time in centuries, he found himself feeling hopeful about his future. About their future.

Because whatever happened, they would face it together. And have a lot of fun doing it.

💖 Tag list 💖:

@ninty900, @ayselluna, @dajeong,

@ravenswritingroom,

@misscrissfemmefatale,

@clazberryk, @anukulee,

@preciouslittlebhaalbae,

@sh3rl0ck, @mellowenthusiast2299,

@fleetstreet78, @starlight-rogue,

@obsessedwhyyes, @arzen9

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 astarion #astarion #fanfic #astarion fanfiction #baldur's gate fanfiction #fanfiction #bg3 tav #astarion tav fanfiction #astarion x oc #astarion x female tav

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