#Painting a Lifeless Face|His Highness

[brooklynislandgirl]

@nightmarefuele may have had a certain Agent Chaos who may or may not have asked: What’s your favourite part of foreplay?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Puberty only came knocking on Beth's door, hat in apologetic hand, the year everything else changed, and maybe she didn't notice it right away. Where she was concerned about the mainland, what Gotham and college would be like, and the like, her brother was already twenty and anxious to leave behind a series of hearts that would invariably break. She'd come home early to surprise him but hadn't realised he'd already gotten himself company. Beth knew the girl to be a senior in her glass, more by sight than by name, and for the long blonde hair she sported. She remembers hearing the noises and being curious had made her way to her brother's door. She pushed it open and then stood there and stared. Until that moment, Beth had never seen two people engaged in physical intimacy. Moreover, she'd never really felt any interest beyond the occasional kiss in a story. So why did she watch until he noticed her? She doesn't know. Why did it fill her with a sort of rage she'd never known before? She doesn't know. She walked away as Andy pushed the girl off him and chased her out into the back yard after pulling on a pair of basketball shorts. He tried to explain himself by saying what he had done was sinful. That the reason the girl was making those noises is because sex was something terrible for girls and painful, too. Something that should only happen between husband and wife. At some point, she could only cover her ears and refuse to listen to him but more or less the damage was already done. The anger never really went away. It only became worse when Andy subsequently got married to that goblin of a woman. Beth was only eighteen then and maybe could be forgiven for the meltdown that followed his announcement. She hasn't yet addressed this fully in therapy. ~*~ But more than a dozen years later, that feeling lives in her belly, and she recognises it the moment he steps into the room. He doesn't need the shot-gun blast to garner her attention, but oh how he has a certain flare. She can practically choke on the smell of fear and adrenaline at the mere sight of him. Of course her own breath catches in her lungs for entirely different reasons, which go unnoticed and unmourned in the sigh she exhales slowly. He makes his rounds with small talk in flashes of charisma, nibbling on the hors-d'œuvres and passing judgement on the sparkling wine ~she feels quite the same but she's spoiled by the cellar her family has always kept~ but she feels bile rise when Rachel Dawes has to steal any chance or garnering his attention. Beth watches as she grandstands and hears the way he calls Rachel beautiful. If he watched her swim out in a pool of her own blood, would he find Rachel so pretty then? Beth almost gets to have an answer, a thing that hardly ever happens in day to day life although there is another surge of smouldering envy when she sees light dance off the edge of his knife, and how close he comes to kissing her. She doesn't understand why she feels that ache. Why her eyes prickle and her vision blurs, why she wants to tear Rachel apart because Beth has never really been a jealous creature. But that is the right word. Wanting something... some one ...that doesn't belong to you. Maybe never could. Beth isn't important. Certainly not enough to have a score of men blindly fighting over her. She's only even here because she's Bruce's neighbour, and they are expected to extend invitations to one another. She doubts he or anyone else even know her name. She tries to ignore that rush of heat deep in her belly. The way her knees turn to ocean-eroded sand. Doesn't know what to do with the urge to bite and lick and leave a scar on him all her own. Beth wouldn't flinch from him. She watches until the Bat comes and ruins everything, until the window shatters. When night comes rushing in with a whistling scream. ~*~ There's nothing a hot bath and Eddie Vedder can do for her.

[brooklynislandgirl]

It's ink, she tells herself. There's too much tang, even drying out, to make it true. She should run. Hide. There's no use, every better angel she has in her is dancing in her gaze. Psychopath, they whisper. The same people who kill their world without a second thought, do unspeakable things in the name of greed and power and call it privilege. She's always been a sucker for a beautiful smile. "Shouldn't you be scare, den?"

@brooklynislandgirl —

— ❝❛Say there's lots-a fish in the sea, Beth-bee, but yer the only shark I see.❞

[thef1diary]

Language Of Leaves | F. Colapinto

Summary: Franco begrudgingly agrees to watch your plants, but caring for them leads him to realize he’s growing just as attached to you.

warnings: fluff, a few spanish sentences - w translation (correct me if it’s wrong!)

wc: 3k

masterlist

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate or repost any of my work.

Franco had been wholly reluctant from the moment you asked him to take care of your plants. The request hadn’t even fully left your lips before he shook his head, immediately retreating a step, his hands raised as though warding off some ludicrous proposal.

“¿Estás loca?” (are you crazy?) he’d exclaimed, his brows furrowing in exaggerated disbelief. “You’re asking the wrong person here, I would kill your plants without even realizing. They don’t want me around, trust me.” He looked at the leafy green oasis you had so carefully tended to with a mix of apprehension and resignation, like the plants themselves were quietly mocking him from their pots.

But you knew Franco well, you knew that if you pressed just a little, his tough facade would soften. So, you laid it on thick, giving him that soft, pleading expression that he could never quite resist when it came to you. You looked at him with those big, hopeful eyes, layering in just a hint of sadness. “Franco, please. My plants will wither without someone to care for them. Leaving them alone for two whole weeks… it’d be like abandoning children.”

Your words seemed to strike a nerve. He hesitated, his gaze flicking back to the plants and then to you, a faint crack appearing in his armor. You could practically see the thought unfolding in his mind—imagining you returning home to drooping, lifeless plants, the beautiful greenery reduced to a shadow of what it had been. His resistance wavered.

And then you delivered the final blow: a tiny, almost-mournful pout. You knew it was his Achilles’ heel, the expression that always seemed to make him relent, no matter how absurd the request.

Franco sighed—a long, dramatic sigh, muttering under his breath as he glanced away, pretending as if he hadn’t already lost this battle. Finally, he held out his hand for the paper in yours, grumbling all the while, “fine. Solo por dos semanas.” (only for two weeks)

Franco took the paper with a resigned sigh, eyeing it skeptically as he skimmed the instructions. You had done your best to make it as straightforward as possible, keeping the notes to simple instructions for sunlight and water. Still, he seemed to regard even this minimal guidance as a daunting task, his brows furrowing with each line he read. You could practically see his mind racing, piecing together the responsibility you were trusting him with, and how high the stakes suddenly felt.

But since he had already agreed—thanks to that soft pout of yours he couldn’t resist—he knew it was too late to back out now. He folded the paper carefully and gave you a look, one last attempt to salvage his pride. “I’ll try my best, okay? But if you come back and a plant or two doesn’t make it, that’s not my fault.”

There was a slight smirk on his face, though, as if he was secretly determined to prove himself wrong, to come through for you.

You lean in and press a quick, warm kiss to his cheek, murmuring a soft, “thank you, Franco.” The gesture is small, but the effect is immediate. A flush rises to his cheeks, painting them a rosy pink that he tries to hide by looking away. He clears his throat, obviously flustered, and rubs the back of his neck as though the warmth spreading there might somehow disappear if he just ignores it.

He lets out a low cough, shifting his stance uncomfortably, and mutters, “Yeah, yeah… don’t mention it,” his voice gruff, but betrayed by the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Before you can say anything else, he gives a quick nod and ends the conversation right there, stuffing the paper in his pocket as though ready to make his escape before you see just how much your kiss affected him.

When you finally left for your trip, Franco lingered in the doorway of your apartment, taking in the quiet space that was now his responsibility. He moved to the middle of the room, staring down at the list you’d left him. The handwriting was familiar, your looping letters filling the space with gentle reminders and careful instructions, but it was the little doodles that captured his attention.

You’d sketched a happy monstera leaf next to its name, a tiny sun with a smiling face by the plants that needed more light, and even raindrops beside those that liked extra water. He found his fingers drifting over the paper, tracing each drawing, a small smile creeping onto his face. “Qué linda…” (how cute) he murmured before catching himself and pulling his hand back with a quick cough.

“They’re just plants, Franco,” he told himself under his breath, trying to brush off the warmth in his chest. Still, he couldn’t deny that the thought of you sitting down to make this list—carefully, as if you were entrusting him with a life-or-death mission—made him feel… something.

The first day was straightforward enough. He followed each instruction you’d left to the letter, checking off each plant on your list and measuring out water carefully. Some plants didn’t need watering every day, so he noted the days with reminders on his phone. He’d warned you he wasn’t the best plant sitter, after all, and the last thing he wanted was to accidentally prove himself right.

As each day passed, he found himself coming over more often than necessary. Even on days when only one or two plants needed watering, Franco would still make the trip, convincing himself it was “just in case.” What if something went wrong overnight? What if he’d missed something? He checked each plant like they were little patients, leaning close to inspect the soil.

By the fourth day, he was getting into a rhythm. He began with the smaller plants, crouching down to check the moisture in their soil. If it felt too dry, he gave them a splash of water; if it seemed damp, he left them alone.

But then he reached your monstera, the plant you considered your prized possession. He stilled, a strange sensation of dread creeping over him as he noticed the edges of the leaves starting to turn yellow, a slight droop to the usually vibrant foliage. His heart dropped.

“¡Mierda!” (shit) he muttered, kneeling down to inspect the damage. “No, no, no…” Panic crept into his chest as he pictured you coming home to find a mess of dying plants. He knew how much these plants meant to you; you tended to them with such devotion, treating each one like it was a beloved pet.

“No me hagas esto, por favor. ¿Qué te hice?” (Don’t do this to me, please. What did I do to you?) His fingers brushed over one of the yellowed edges, his brow furrowing as he searched for any clue. “I swear, I followed everything she wrote down,” he muttered, almost like he was trying to reassure the plant—and himself. He took out the list and reread the instructions for the monstera, scanning the page as if a hidden solution would suddenly appear.

The room fell silent, save for his own low muttering as he kept inspecting the monstera, turning the pot gently and studying each leaf like a doctor checking a patient’s pulse. “Okay, maybe it needs a little less water? Or more light?” He tried everything he could think of, even nudging the pot slightly closer to the window. “Dios mío,” (my god) he breathed, wiping a hand over his face. “She’s going to kill me if it wilts.”

But then he paused, remembering something else.

Franco looked around at your cozy, plant-filled home, feeling a mix of anxiety and determination. He remembered how you’re always doting on these plants, cradling each one gently as you water or trim leaves. He’d always found it amusing, the way you’d coo at it as if it were a pet, fingers lightly brushing over its leaves, calling it mi bebé, whispering reassurances in a soft voice, and he’s never missed the way your face lights up whenever one of them sprouts a new leaf or a flower bud.

Franco never understood it, thought it was just some odd habit. But now, facing the wilting monstera, he wondered if maybe it wasn’t as silly as he’d thought.

He cleared his throat, feeling utterly ridiculous. “Alright, monstruo,” he muttered, using a nickname he’d given the big, leafy plant.

“We’re gonna make this work, ¿sí? No más hojas amarillas, ¿entendido?” (Yes? No more yellow leaves, understood?) He felt silly, but if talking to them helped even a little, he was willing to try.

“She really loves you, ¿sabes? She’d hate to see you like this.” (you know) He reached out and gently touched one of the yellowing leaves, his hand lingering there, almost as if he were holding its hand.

He could picture you now, laughing at him for talking to a plant—to your plant—but he kept going anyway. “I’ll do better, okay? Whatever you need. More sun, less water, whatever it takes. Just… hang in there. Don’t make me break her heart.”

He sat back on his heels, staring at the monstera for a moment longer. He felt strangely connected to it, like he’d made a pact, a silent agreement between them.

In the days that followed, Franco grew more and more attached, unconsciously mimicking the little rituals he’d seen you do. He hummed softly under his breath as he watered, sometimes even pausing to glance at the list you’d left, your handwriting now familiar and endearing to him.

He no longer approached your plants like a checklist to get through. Instead, he slowed down, taking the time to touch each leaf and test the soil carefully with his fingers, just like he’d seen you do a hundred times.

When he came across your spider plant, a small and slightly finicky one that he’d once jokingly called “the diva” because of its stubborn leaves, he paused, lightly brushing his thumb over the thin, arching fronds. “You’re giving me more trouble than all the others combined, you know that?” he said, his voice softer than before, almost like he was confiding in it. “But I get it… you’re probably used to her touch, not mine.”

Each day, he began to greet them with a quiet “hola,” as if entering a room full of familiar faces. He knew the way you did it, how you’d walk in and give each plant a little greeting or a compliment. And now he found himself doing the same thing. “Looking good,” he’d mutter as he checked the moisture of your jade plant, nodding approvingly, even though it was just a plant in silence.

The last thing Franco expected was to miss you. But somewhere between fussing over your plants and memorizing every instruction you’d left behind, he started to notice the silence. Your laughter, your endless chatter about plant care, the way you’d smile as you talked about each one like it had a personality—all of it lingered in the empty spaces of your home, making it feel strangely hollow.

He never said it out loud, but as much as he protested, he enjoyed coming over, having coffee with you as you arranged your plants, rambling about which ones needed more light, which were delicate, and which were “just a little dramatic.” You’d look at him with that soft, knowing smile as he pretended not to care, and though he’d grumble about “too many plants,” he never left without sneaking one last look at your little green haven.

He wondered how you’d react if he managed to keep them all alive. A small part of him—a part he tried not to examine too closely—wanted to see your face light up when you saw the plants, thriving and green, as if he’d managed to preserve something precious to you.

Sitting there on your living room carpet, surrounded by all these green, leafy “babies” you’d entrusted to him, he realized he wasn’t just daydreaming about your reaction to the plants. He found himself wondering what it would be like to be here with you, to share these quiet mornings side by side, maybe with a cup of coffee and your gentle teasing. He imagined your hand on his arm, laughing at his sudden “attachment” to your beloved green haven, and he felt a pang of longing he couldn’t ignore.

Franco had always admired you, but these past two weeks had somehow made him feel closer to you, made him wonder what it would be like if he weren’t just a friend.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, he stopped seeing these plants as “yours” and started treating them like they were his responsibility too.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, your two-week trip came to an end. It was well past midnight when you let yourself in, leaving your suitcase by the door as you spotted a lit lamp in the otherwise dark apartment. You padded softly down the hall, stifling a yawn, but stopped in your tracks at the sight that awaited you.

There, in the middle of your living room, was Franco, sound asleep on the floor. His back was against the sofa, his head lolling to one side, and in his hands were two of your plants—your small, temperamental spider plant and your “drama queen” fern. Even in his sleep, he cradled them carefully, as if afraid one wrong move might damage them.

You couldn’t help but smile, taking in the sight of him nestled between your plants, his face softened in sleep, looking far more at peace than you’d ever seen him. You stepped a little closer, crouching down and noticed the smudges of soil on his hands and the slight disarray of the room, as if he’d gone through a nightly ritual of checking on each plant before dozing off right there on the floor.

As you reached out, your fingers barely grazing a stray curl from his forehead, he stirred, eyes fluttering open, his gaze meeting yours. His sleepy, unfocused eyes sharpened as he realized you were there, inches away, and a hint of surprise flickered in them.

“Ah… estás aquí,” (you’re here) he muttered as he realized he was still holding onto your plants.

A faint blush colored his cheeks as he placed them gently beside him, his fingers lingering on the leaves as if reluctant to let go.

You both remained close, his sleepy eyes meeting yours, and suddenly the room felt charged, every inch between you alive with an unspoken electricity. He didn’t move away, and neither did you. The silence was warm, thick with all the things you hadn’t yet said, every shared glance and lingering touch from before echoing in this small, tender space between you.

“I didn’t expect to find you like this,” you whispered, the words coming out softer than you intended.

He laughed lightly, the sound rumbling low in his chest as he leaned back, eyes not leaving yours. “I didn’t expect to get so… attached,” he admitted, his voice dropping, a hint of something more in his tone.

A small smile tugged at your lips, and you raised an eyebrow, teasing. “To the plants or…?”

His gaze flickered down to the fern beside him for a moment, and then back to you, as if he could no longer resist the pull drawing you closer. “They were good company,” he murmured, his voice softer now, like he was confessing something he’d been holding back, “but… I meant you.”

Your smile softened, and before you could second-guess yourself, you had leaned in, bridging the last inches between you until your head was nestled gently against his chest. He shifted to hold you, his arms wrapping around you naturally, as if they’d been waiting for this moment. You could feel his heartbeat beneath your cheek, steady but just a bit faster than usual, mirroring your own.

He tightened his hold around you, one hand settling at the small of your back while the other drifted upward, his fingers trailing gently along your spine. The touch was unhurried, almost reverent, as if he were savoring the simple act of holding you close.

You let yourself relax fully into his embrace, feeling the way his fingers seemed to map out a quiet symphony along your spine. There was a tenderness in his touch, a kind of reverence that made you feel like this moment was as meaningful to him as it was to you.

“Franco…” you whispered, the word barely leaving your lips as his gaze flicked to your lips, lingering in a way that made the room feel smaller, more intimate. His thumb brushed against your side, an almost absent-minded gesture, yet one that spoke volumes, as if he was trying to memorize every inch of you with the tips of his fingers.

He leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours, and for a heartbeat, the world outside faded, leaving only the soft rise and fall of his breath mingling with yours. His eyes closed briefly, like he was savoring the closeness, and when they opened, his gaze was deeper, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“I missed you,” he murmured, his tone laced with a sincerity that sent a thrill through you, making you forget everything but the warmth of his presence.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “I missed you too,” you whispered, your thumb gently grazing his cheek.

Franco’s hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair as he tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing against your forehead in a soft, lingering kiss. The moment hung between you, suspended in time, gentle and full of unspoken promises.

When he pulled back just enough to look at you, his smile was warm, content. There was no rush, no need for words anymore. Just the quiet understanding between you, as if the silence said everything that needed to be said.

And in that silence, you both stayed, savoring the peace of finally being close in a way you hadn’t been before.

taglist: @blakebearsblog @arieslost @lilorose25 @jamieeboulos @cinderellawithashoe @spreadyourwings-my-smiling-angel

[azrielbrainrot]

Silent Voices Speak

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Description: Both you and Azriel find yourselves with some sleep related problems. Who would have thought you could be each other's remedy?

Warnings: barely any angst

Word Count: 3400

Notes: I can't believe it took me so long to write a new story in the healer!reader universe, they're my first babies. Hope you enjoy!

Healer!Reader Universe Masterlist

The killings hadn't stopped. The, by now, tripled security slowed them down and allowed the Inner Circle to be made aware of any disturbances quicker, and the bodies hadn't been found by any innocent civilians since then either, thankfully saving a lot of fae from having to witness such gruesome sights, but the killings hadn't stopped.

Your research has given you some clues as to the motives behind the murders, though you still can't fully understand the ritual behind them. None of the information you've gathered has helped in stopping them from happening or finding the people responsible for them. Amren has traveled to the Day Court and is now searching the High Lord's extensive libraries to try and find more information on a lead she got but, for now, there wasn't enough to make anyone feel safer.

The streets of Velaris felt lifeless, bars and restaurants closing earlier than usual given the unofficial curfew every fae seemed to have set for themselves. The City of Dreamers, heart of the Night Court, was scared of the dark. Apart from the killings, that was what weighed the heaviest on the Inner Circle's minds.

Feyre and Rhysand had been forthcoming with information, letting the public know they were actively searching for the killers and sharing some of the details as a means to stop the rumors that kept going around that were only exaggerating the already awful murders the more they spread. Of course, they'd been careful not to reveal any of the more gruesome details, or the fact that everything pointed to the murders actually being sacrifices to what could be an old God or even worse.

Those had been the details keeping you up at night as you were now, sipping on chamomile tea in hopes of relaxing your body enough to get some sleep without any unwanted thoughts filtering through and spoiling it once again. You wanted to help as much as you could, and weren't considering talking to Rhys and backing down as Azriel had suggested multiple times, but you weren't used to witnessing this much cruelty, not like this.

When you'd been stationed as a healer during the war, you saw a lot of awful things, some of them you won't ever forget, but this felt different. Everything about these killings and the motives behind them had set off every alarm in your body.

The cup was empty before you realized, bringing it up to your mouth only to be met with nothing. You let out a sigh and look over to the comfortable bed, knowing you had to at least lay down and try to fall asleep, no matter how frustrating it was to toss and turn for hours on end or get woken up by terrifying dreams. At least this bed was a lot more comfortable than the one you had at home, it almost made you want to ask Rhysand where he got it from although you probably would never be able to afford it.

You're not entirely sure what brought it on but, after coming back from yet another fruitless mission, Azriel asked you to stay in the townhouse with him. You tried to decline, not entirely comfortable with staying at the High Lord's house indefinitely. You've spent some nights up in the House of Wind when you were helping with research, but this was different. You didn't want to take advantage of Rhysand and Feyre's kindness, but Azriel insisted, a tormented look you weren't used to seeing painted in the shadowsinger's face, and so you ended up accepting.

Just remembering your talk that night made you feel hopeless, wanting nothing more than to make him feel better and take some of the unbearable weight off his shoulders somehow.

“I'm not sure this is necessary,” you try to reason with him, “There haven't been any attacks in the city, with so many eyes on the streets it would be impossible.”

“It also seemed impossible for them to be able to hide for so long but even my shadows are blind to them.”

“I can't stay at my High Lord and Lady's home."

“I can't sleep not knowing you're safe,” the admission feels heavy between you, prompting you to study his face carefully, taking note of the fear and desperation behind his request. “I wouldn't forgive myself if something happened to you.”

“Azriel…”

You don't know what to say, not sure what this means for the two of you.

“Please.”

But with that little word he convinced you, not caring if it was Rhysand's house you were going to sleep in, or anyone else's, as long as it made Azriel feel at least a bit more at ease.

Your relationship has been changing ever since that fateful night when he kissed your cheek goodnight. It's a silly thought even now, that something so inconsequential as a peck to the cheek would end up meaning so much for the two of you.

Ever since that day your talks have gotten longer and more frequent, Azriel has also flown you to and from work a few times, has taken you on multiple outings that you can only classify as dates at this point. But things hadn't gotten further than that and more chaste kisses on the cheek.

The timing wasn't right. Not with everything that has been happening and the troubles filling both of your minds, the long hours Azriel had been putting his body through trying to find even the smallest clue about these murders, and your assistance in any research the Inner Circle needs as well as providing mental and physical aid to a terrified city.

Your feelings for him were impossible to deny - even though you've certainly tried to when everyone else asks about him, especially your High Lady, who you've come to learn is an avid busybody, - and you were more than confident that he cared for you just as much, but the timing wasn't right, and so you've been stuck between acting like friends and so much more.

You were still thinking about the shadowsinger when your head hit the pillow, making yourself comfortable and letting your thoughts wander around warm hazel eyes and shy smiles, hopefully lulling you into a peaceful sleep at last.

Rushed murmurs and harsh breaths take you away from the soft grasp of sleep. You try to ignore them at first but as the words grow louder, you try to decipher them confused. A flurry of shadows filters into your room, flying over you when you open your eyes to try and ascertain the situation. You can barely see them with the low lights the moon rays covered by dark curtains provide, but it almost feels like they're tugging at you, urging you to get up.

The thought that Azriel could be in danger makes you leap out of bed, foregoing your robe or slippers as you follow the frantic shadows to his room next to yours. Only hesitating at the door for a moment, knuckles raised against the intricately designed wood as you considered knocking before barging into his room unannounced, but another string of groans and panicked breathing assault your ears, prompting you to open the door.

Your eyes land on the shadowsinger immediately as he lay restless on his bed, blinking a few times as you adjusted to the dim lighting, his room being even darker than yours. A small sigh of relief escapes you when you find him unharmed, although you soon realize that the noises you heard were the result of what appears to be a particularly consuming and terrifying nightmare.

He had struggled so much in his sleep that the sheets were completely thrown off, laying by his feet as his body tossed and turned uninterrupted. A light sheen of sweat covered him, telling you he'd been at this for a while. There was a familiar glint of blue on his nightstand, as Truth Teller and two of his siphons lay close by. You tried not to linger on the fact that he didn't appear to be wearing anything else aside from underwear for too long.

Some of the shadows that swirled around the room meet the ones that had brought you here, moving over you once more as if asking you to save their singer. You wanted to help them, but you're not entirely sure if you should be seeing him like this, if he'd want you to see him so vulnerable.

Aside from that, waking up someone when they were so immersed in a dream, especially a nightmare, could be dangerous and bring more harm than good. Still, you couldn't leave him like this and go back to your room, so you decide to try and call his name softly, hoping the noise or familiarity will be enough to help him wake up in a more organic way.

“Azriel?”

You hesitate in the doorway, feeling like you were already invading his space, but as another weak cry escapes him your body moves on its own. You're at the edge of the bed before you even notice, repeating his name and shaking him softly so as not to startle him too much.

The pain was evident on his face. You didn't know what he was dreaming of but you knew you had to pull him out of there fast. You've never seen him so distressed. Watching him like this felt like a chain was tightening around your heart and lungs, making it hard for you to breathe or think.

At a slightly harder push, his eyes open, one scarred hand moving to grab your wrist, stopping you from touching him as the other went to the nightstand, finding the hilt of his dagger. His hazel eyes were open wide, clearly disoriented by not only the nightmare but also having someone in his room. You expected nothing less from the Spymaster, of course he couldn't be so easily caught off guard even in his own room, but the tight grip was becoming too much, and you knew it was bruising, not being able to stop yourself from cringing softly at the pain.

As he understands the situation, wide eyes blinking multiple times as the waking world comes into focus, he drops your wrist and pulls away from you, sitting up and almost bumping his head against the headboard in his rush.

Neither of you moves or speaks for a moment, his heavy breathing the only thing that can be heard in the dark room. You wanted to turn the faelights on, to properly check on him, but Azriel always prefered the dark, feeling much more at ease surrounded by it. In fact, his shadows had hurried to him as soon as he woke up.

When his wide gaze settles into a frown, hazel eyes dropping to your wrist, you decide to speak up. You know that look and this was not the time for any other worries that might be growing in his mind, certainly none that concerned you.

“Azriel,” you whisper, not wanting to startle him, “Are you okay?”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No-”

“I shouldn't have hurt you,” he says, more to himself than to you, haunted eyes never straying from your wrist. You had only wanted to help, but now it feels like you made it worse by coming here.

“No, it's my fault. I know better than to wake someone up from a nightmare,” you swallow, throat suddenly dry, “but it looked like you were in pain and I couldn't leave you like this.”

He seemed unwilling to listen to you, a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head the only answer he gave you as you told him it wasn't his fault. Azriel is always too aware of himself, never allows himself any mistakes, as if he thinks he has to prove himself worthy of the life he leads. You don't even want to know what's going through his head now that he's convinced himself he hurt someone he cares about.

You let out a sigh when it was clear he wasn't going to say anything or acknowledge you further, you could almost see him receding into his own mind, getting consumed by his betraying thoughts. If you had listened to your training, you might not have ended up in this situation.

Slowly and very carefully, you move closer to him, giving him time to push you away or stop you if he wanted to. You only stop when your bare knee brushes his thigh, the warmth of his skin spreading through yours. Reaching for his hand, you interlock your fingers and squeeze softly, his eyes finally meeting yours.

“I shouldn't have grabbed you like that.” The pain was evident in his face, and it hurt you far more to think he was beating himself up than your wrist ever did. “I'm sorry.”

“There's no reason to be sorry,” you smile up at him, trying your best to soothe him, “You were disoriented and moved to protect yourself, that's all.”

He still looks unwilling to let go of his guilt, but you can see him settling back into himself, his usual calm expression falling over his beautiful face. He lets go of your hand in favor of cradling your wrist, carefully inspecting it as if he was looking at a broken bone and not at a bruise that would be completely healed within the hour. Caressing the soft skin with his thumb lightly, the scarred skin and affection behind the movement causing goosebumps to erupt.

“You didn't answer my question. Are you alright?”

Azriel looks up at you then, a conflicted look falling over his face once more. It seems he had been too focused on your wrist to remember the nightmare, and the fact that you'd seen him like that. You're almost positive he hates the fact that you've seen him like that even more than whatever haunted his nightmares. He's always been an extremely private person, so you can't even imagine what it feels like for him to be seen in such a vulnerable light by someone he barely knows.

“Did I wake you?”

“No,” the expression on his face telling you he doesn't believe it, “You didn't. I've been finding it hard to sleep with everything that has been going on.”

“You're safe here.”

“I know, I've just had too much on my mind.” It feels like you're doing this wrong, you're the one that should be worried about him, not the other way around. “Your shadows came into my room and I heard movement so I came to check on you.”

Disapprovement flashes in his eyes, directed at his shadows of course. You'd find it adorable how he treats his shadows like misbehaving children if it weren't for the situation. Hopefully he won't be too harsh on them, you can almost feel the lecture coming. You're not entirely sure how much they can feel, if they can at all, but they had done good in going to find you, even if Azriel reprimanded them for it.

“I didn't know they could do that without you being conscious. They were very helpful,” you smile down at the dark wisps stationed over his shoulders. He clearly didn't agree with you, a soft scoff escaping his lips, but you hope this is enough for them to know they can come to find you in this type of situation from now on. You don't want Azriel to suffer on his own when you're there for him.

“Thank you,” you look up at him in surprise, “You didn't have to come. It was only a nightmare.”

It's not as surprising that he doesn't want to tell you what the nightmare was about, or even change the subject. If he wants to pretend this never happened come morning, you're more than welcome to oblige, as long as he feels better and knows you're always ready to lend a helping hand.

“You can come to me for anything, Azriel,” your hand finds his once again, thumb caressing the scarred skin on the back of his hand. “I'll always be here for you.”

He holds your gaze in an intense stare, the swirl of emotions written in his eyes becoming almost too much to bear, and still you're unable to break away from the all-consuming hazel. It seems like the world stops around you for a moment, and there's only you and him.

As your surroundings return slowly, you suddenly become too aware of the position you're in, of what it would look like if someone walked in. They would find you sitting on his bed, right next to him, lost in his eyes, hands clasped together between you, disheveled hair and half lidded eyes. The lack of clothing only added to the sight, you had never been so conscious of how short and thin the nightgown you wore to sleep was. You can only be grateful that Azriel doesn't sleep completely naked, though his underwear barely leaves anything to the imagination, and your imagination is desperate to run wild.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as the thought settles in your mind, clearing your throat softly to try and break yourself out of those thoughts. Looking up at the suddenly captivating pattern painted on his dark navy walls when his gaze becomes too much. You could swear you saw the corner of his lip rise as he likely noticed the effect he had on you. This was a good thing, it was like the Azriel you're used to, but you needed to get back on track.

“Do you think you can go back to sleep?” You try to untangle your fingers from his but he holds onto your hand, unwilling to let go of you just yet. “I can get you some tea to help you relax if you can't, or maybe we could go for a walk instead?”

Tiring him out could be a good idea, although his body is probably beyond exhausted from the long hours he's been putting himself through. Maybe tea was the best option.

“Can you stay with me?”

His words cut through your racing thoughts, your lips parting in surprise. You had half expected him to kick you out of his bedroom when he came to, inviting you into his bed was the last thing you would have seen coming.

“What?”

“I think I can sleep if you stay,” he whispers, “but if you don't feel comfortable-”

“I don't mind staying,” you rush to assure him with burning cheeks, thankfully matching his own, “You just caught me off guard that's all.”

Azriel offers you a tired smile and, with a wave of his hand, fixes the sheets, moving to the middle of the bed so you have enough room to settle next to him. Your movements are painfully awkward as you lay down next to him, all too aware of every inch of your body, heart beating out of your chest.

While you're in the middle of deciding how to safely position your hands, stiff body frozen in place, he takes matters into his own hands, an achingly fond smile playing at his lips, his hand falling to the small of your back and pulling you in closer to his body, his scent enveloping you.

Azriel closes his eyes, breathing out a soft, “relax.” Your hand finds his chest, body slowly but surely melting into him as you do as he says and will your mind to stop wandering. Letting the soft beats of his heart calm yours, you decide to listen to your body, and fall into him, arm wrapping around his waist as you inch even closer, your chest finding his, tangling your legs until you can't know where you end and he begins. His grip on you tightens as a satisfied sigh escapes him, one heavy wing falling over your body, until you're impossibly close.

Your face now only a breath away from his, your nose bumping into his chin as he drops a soft kiss to your forehead and nuzzles into you, breathing you in. You almost catch yourself purring as you lay in his arms, completely surrounded by Azriel.

Tangled up in each other's warmths, sleep found you both easily, finally allowing you a few peaceful hours of sleep after the grueling weeks you've endured.

[hopesangelsprite]

So Anxious

Summary: It's strange, the things you make Illumi feel, so strange that he keeps his distance from you almost constantly. After a long day, though, he can't help but crave that strange, inebriating feeling.

Warnings: heavy petting, whipped/needy/pervy Illumi (possibly OOC), suggested smut, no editing, mentions of death/blood/etc. (yk just normal Illumi tingz).

MINORS/AGELESS ACCS DNI

It wasn't normal for the eldest Zoldyck son to feel fickle emotions such as anxiety or stress. Hell, it was hard for him to feel anything at all, and if his father caught wind of these developing feelings there'd be Hell to pay. That didn't stop the irregular beating of Illumi's heart as he calmly drove a pin deeper into the skull of his latest unlucky target. He was an older fellow and, from what Illumi had read, a crooked politician. That didn't matter to him, of course. The only thing bothering Illumi at the moment were memories of your arms around him, memories of the softness of your skin.

A frustrated growl escaped the slender male's chest as he drove the golden pin deeper than he should've thus ending the poor old man's life. Disgust painted its way across Illumi's features as he staired at the now lifeless corpse below him. He'd meant to keep him around a little bit longer.

"Hm? Dead already? Don't tell me you're losing your touch!", came the grating voice of his killing companion, Hisoka Morrow. Usually, Illumi let his distaste for the brightly colored clown settle in the back of his mind, but today was different. Today, he was high strung and ready to brutally murder the aforementioned male. Illumi directed a particularly sharp pin in Hisoka's general vicinity. "I'll kill you. Right here, right now.", he hissed earning an unfazed stare in return. "You've used that threat too many times for it to be affective.", the clown muttered while kicking the corpse into a nearby body bag, "Seriously, what's gotten into you? You've been acting weird all day and it's creeping me out.".

Illumi glared at the back of Hisoka's head and considered how much effort it'd take to remove it completely. After a second of thought, he deemed it a waste of his time and checked the time on his phone. The numbers '1:38 am' glowed from the screen almost tauntingly. If he was going to make it to your bed tonight, he'd have to leave now.

The dark-haired male looked up and found himself face to face with his mischievous counterpart. After seeing how long he'd stared into his screen, Hisoka could just about read Illumi's mind. "Go ahead then, loverboy, I'll take care of this old geezer. Don't keep your little lady waiting! ~". A nod was all Illumi could muster as he began sprinting back toward the city. Before he was out of earshot, he could make out Hisoka yelling something about meeting you some time in the future.

"Over your dead body.", Illumi thought as he caught sight of the glittering horizon. There was no way Hisoka would ever live to see the day that Illumi would allow something of his to be tainted by his presence.

Ten minutes.

______________________________________________________________

That's how long it took for Illumi to make it to the outside of your windowsill. Now, as he sat perched on the stone ledge jutting out of the building, he wondered if he should just suffer through the night and contact you in the morning. Consideration was another new thing Illumi found himself struggling with after you'd wormed your way into his life.

Just as he prepared to drop from the sill, he caught sight of your silhouette entering the room. His breath caught in his throat as he watched you stretch from behind your silvery curtains. All previous thoughts of leaving exited Illumi's mind and other... explicit ones began to make his head swim with need. Slowly, the assassin brought a bloodied hand to your window and began tapping incessantly. It didn't take long for your figure to still and cautiously approach the window. The closer you got, the more he found himself leaning into the cold glass. If you didn't open it soon, he wouldn't mind breaking in...

To say he wasn't amused at the brief flash of fear in your eyes when you finally got the courage to open your curtains would be a lie. When you finally slowed the beating of your heart and opened the window, Illumi was in the room before the glass was fully open. "I'm home.", he breathed out into the warm, vanilla scented room. You leaned forward a little to shut the window, not missing the blood and earth littering his skin and clothes. "I can see that...", you hummed with an eyeroll, "I almost pushed your ass out of that window.". Illumi let the threat slip through one ear and out the other as he took in your smaller frame. You'd happen to wear those dainty little pajamas he'd bought you not too long ago; the ones with the thin top and shorts just barely long enough to keep you warm at night.

The only thing that should be keeping your warm at night was him.

His eyes followed your figure as you rummaged through your closet for a second. "Here, take these.", you started while throwing him a pair of his joggers and underwear he'd left and directed him toward your bathroom, "I'll be here when you're finished". Illumi stood there for a moment and let his eyes trace your form before stalking off toward the bathroom. The quicker he was clean, the faster he could indulge himself in your presence. He wanted to lie and say that he was using you for some sort of personal gain, wanted to say you were a pawn in one of his many games. He couldn't though... not when he could feel the ice thawing in his chest when you held him close, not when your hands made him as weak as they did.

As the warm water washed the filth from his skin, any traces of the strength his father had instilled in him washed away with it. All thoughts left his mind as he breathed in your scent through clouds of steam.

When he finally finished showering and dressing, he crept toward your room door silently. He watched as you scrolled through your phone unaware of his prying eyes. Suddenly, your eyes met his and you sat up with a smile, curls falling into your face. "Don't just stand there, idiot! Come here and let me take care of you.", you beckoned. One second Illumi was at the edge of your doorframe and the next he was settled between your plush thighs. His eyes closed as you whispered sweet nothings into air while drying his hair with the towel he'd subconsciously brought to you. If you were to kill him now, he wouldn't mind in the slightest. It'd only be fitting considering how weak you'd managed to make him by simply existing.

"I've killed for you... and I'll do it again.", he whispered into your skin. It was a truth he would usually leave unspoken, a truth you'd suspected long before its uttering. "I know, pretty boy, I know.", you hummed softly while tossing the towel into an unknown corner.

"I want to consume you. All of you will be mine and there's nothing you can do to stop me.", he purred as you held his face close to yours and peppered it with cocoa butter scented kisses. "I know, pretty boy, I know.", you breathed just before your lips locked with his.

The kiss lasted a lot longer than the ones he'd dealt you in the past. This one was filled with unsatiable hunger, it was filled with greed. Illumi rose to cage you underneath him and let his lips roam every inch of your skin available to him. He listened to your breathing change, and he knew he had you where he wanted you. Carefully, with lips and teeth etching praises into your neck, he pressed your thighs against your chest and your ankles on his shoulders. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered the tinkling sound of the anklets he'd had designed specifically for you and his sweats became too tight for comfort.

Illumi broke away from the intoxicating taste of your skin and sat back to assess the damage he'd caused. You were a sight to behold; brown skin littered with hickeys, unshed tears prickling at your lash line, and clothes barely covering your body. Illumi wanted nothing more than to make those tears fall from your eyes and rid your body of the fabric separating your skin from his. Still, consideration nipped at the back of his mind as he observed the tiredness in your eyes as well. He'd been thinking too long, apparently, because your hands were back on his face pulling him in for another long kiss.

Illumi decided that he'd send you off to sleep with a treat.

A muffled gasp fell from your lips onto his as he snaked a hand between your bodies and began toying with you through your shorts. To his surprise, and delight, they were the only thing between his hand and that sensitive spot he liked to abuse. Illumi drank in the broken whimpers and moans you offered him with unabashed fervor. Soon, his lips wandered blessing his ears with the sweet sounds of your pleas. He found himself licking a long stripe up from the base of your neck to a sensitive spot he'd discovered not too long ago.

Illumi practically purred at the feeling of your nails drawing patterns into the skin of his back that would undoubtedly be left for him to see in the morning. "If anyone ever tries to take you from me, I'll kill them. Mine... all mine.. only mine.", he whispered into ear as he felt your thighs quiver on either side of him, "That's it, sweet thing. Come for me, I know you can do it. Make me proud.". As you came, tears slipping down your cheeks, Illumi almost came undone at the sight.

Curtains of long, raven-colored hair surrounded you, allowing your eyes to be trained on the dark ones peering down at you with a twisted look of love and warmth. As your consciousness slowly ebbed away, the comforting weight of Illumi's body on top of yours lulled you into a sense of security. Illumi watched you fall asleep as he removed his hand from between your thighs and shut his own eyes. He ignored the twitching in his pants as he too lost consciousness. It didn't bother him that he was falling asleep unsatisfied.

He'd simply have his fill of you in the morning.

[utterlyotterlyx]

A Ballad of Storm and Shadow

Azriel x F!Reader

Part One

Summary - Rhys had been content in taking the darkest secret of his family to the grave, but when the threat of Hybern increases, he has no choice but to send a message to another world and pray to the Mother that his call is answered.

Warnings - angst, mentions of war, tension, fluff, touch of sadness and longing

This is a crossover series, some aspects will differ from that in the books. Physical attributes are described in this fic, it is essential to the storyline of the character

Rain spattered against the ledge, the open window allowing the tears of the sky to coat the black glossed paint with their sadness. Azriel watched them inquisitively, noting how each droplet fell further into the room than the last, his shadows pecked along the ground to dry the dampened spots and it was a welcome distraction from the conversation encircling the room.

The storm raged on overhead, cracks of lightening slicing across the sky every few moments, the clouds rumbling their anger throughout the city. A harmony to the idea of war.

There was no avoiding it. The war, that is. It had consumed Azriel's every thought as he played out every possible scenario in his mind, ones where they all made it out alive, and the ones where they all perished alongside Prythian. It was those visions that kept him up at night, flashes of Cassian's bloodied face lifeless against the earth, wings torn and soul withered, were enough to make him desperate enough to the point that he'd give anything to avoid it.

Azriel ran his marred hands over the curve of his leathers, soothing down each muscle and drifting over every glowering siphon attached to his body, doing his best to pull himself from the images that plagued his waking moments and sleepless nights.

If Rhys were speaking then Azriel would have been listening, but, surprisingly, he wasn't. Rhys stared dead ahead, nails digging into his nails beds and jaw clenching along with the reeling thoughts plaguing his own mind, staring right ahead at the corner of the table placed in the centre of the seating area at the River House. Azriel wasn't the only one who noticed, Amren had halted her words to slice through his train his thought, "Are you going to say anything?"

Rhys' gaze pulled from its formerly trained spot at the table edge toward his second in command, and it was clear that there was something he wasn't sharing with his family. His eyes drifted about the room, landing on each one of them in turn before they landed on Feyre and wavered slightly. Azriel couldn't blame his brother for his fear, he had finally gotten everything he had ever wanted after all the horrors he had endured, and now that picture perfect life was being threatened.

But something still wasn't right. Rhys was too consumed in his mind to pay any real attention to what Amren was saying, what plans were being spoken of, and that wasn't like Rhys. It wasn't like Rhys at all to blatantly ignore words spoken that could aid them in their collective efforts against Hybern. Azriel couldn't exactly be too picky about it though, considering he too was ignoring the firedrake fumbling plans into fruition, also too consumed by his own demons.

"The High Lords will be convening in three days time," his words were tense, his eyes burning, "Give me one night to think. We can start on this tomorrow," Rhys ran his hand over his face and leaned back in his chair, inhaling deeply and pinching the bridge of his now.

"The future of this continent, your home, is threatened, and you wish to speak of this tomorrow?" Amren scoffed, her silver eyes dancing under the faelight in warning.

Rhys rose from his seat, having had enough of the incessant drawls of war and death and offered Feyre his hand, a hand that she took willingly and stood at his side, fingers wrapped around his forearm and body drifting beside him, "Yes, I do. I cannot think when this is all you're speaking of, Amren. I am High Lord, and I need to think about how to spare my family and my people from this."

Instead of retorting in a way only she could, Amren contained her fury and buried it deep within her core, "Fine." Amren almost spat at his feet, but he paid no mind to it, he didn’t have the energy to go head-to-head with Amren that night, not when there was a much more pressing matter to attend to.

So, Rhys took Feyre to bed, and made sure that she was sound asleep before removing himself from her embrace. He threw an onyx silken shirt over his body but didn’t bother strewing up any of the buttons, content in allowing the night air to glide across his skin, he wasn’t sure how long he was going to able to appreciate its touch.

The High Lord of Night paced through the River House swiftly, not wanting to disturb any member of his family or alert them to his movements, and as soon as he stood on an ornately stunning balcony, the same he had stood on with Feyre that night on Starfall, did he unfurl his glorious wings and take to the skies, determined to reach the place that he hadn’t visited in over 200 years. A pool of starlight lay within a small valley within the mountains, not too far from the cabin but recluse enough for no one to be able to find it unless they knew that it lay there.

It had been too long since he had been there, but the all too familiar aura curled around him like a lost hound and pulled him down to it. The pool twinkled in greeting, reflecting the endless wonder of the sky above, and Rhys then remembered just how small it was, and just how long it had been since he peered into it or drifted his fingers along its rippling surface.

None other than he knew of what it truly was - not even his mate- it was a thin veil between worlds, a veil he used to send messages through often in hope that they’d find the one intended for, and he would wait for hours at a time for a whisper of a response. One time he had waited an entire day, desperate to hear her voice on the wind, hauntingly mesmerising like a siren to a sea captain, replying to his message with her usual level of warmth and understanding.

Then one day he just stopped visiting the place, the weight of her void had become too much to bear, too much that he had made the selfish decision to try and move on, to live his life in anyway that he could. Part of Rhys thought that she would have commended him for it, that she would have understood and that she was somewhere and knew of his strength, pain, and success of finding his mate.

But it had been so long. Rhys wasn’t sure if the pool was being monitored from her end, and he was terrified that his plea would fall upon deaf ears. But she was the only one who could help them, the only one powerful enough to give them any real chance of surviving. That power was the reason she had been sent away in the first place.

Rhys fell to his knees at the bank of the water, the contact of his markings without their twin flames in the snow causing the pool to ripple and hum with eons old yearning, and the stars within it began to glow, eager and ready to pull his words from his lips and sail them through the veil. He lowered himself to the surface, his face reflecting in the water showing him just how exhausted he had appeared, and the pool knew it, it knew of his desperation and rippled in a way that Rhys was sure it would split open at any given moment.

But, the water settled and shuddered, the gate between him and the one he thought of often still firmly in place.

"I'm sorry that it's been so long," he began, not knowing what to say to soften the blow but wanting to believe that she wasn't angry at him for it, and hoping that she too was thriving wherever her feet carried her. "If it means anything, I have missed you, and not a day has passed where I haven't thought of you," he fiddled with his fingers, his breath sending gentle wisps of steam rising into the air, "I found my mate. You'd like her, I think. She's my High Lady now, things have certainly changed."

"We are going to war. The Cauldron is in the grasp of our enemy and it threatens to devour the continent as we know it, and I fear that none of us with survive the destruction. I suppose I just wanted to speak to you, to say that I'm sorry I haven't visited in so long, and to let you know that I love you despite our distance. I may not survive what's to come, but I just wanted you to know that, and if there's any way you could come and save my ass then that would be greatly appreciated," he spoke the last words with a soft chuckle.

Rhys often thought of what she looked like, she had been only a girl when she was sent away, thrust through a portal with no way of knowing how to get back if she wished it. The day he heard her whisper through the pool had been the best day of his life, and on some level, he knew it still was in a sense. In those days, Rhys knew that she was alive, she may have been struggling but at least her heart was still beating and soul was raining havoc.

He wasn't sure of what he was expecting, he knew the chances of a reply were slim to nothing, but his heart still sank when the pool rippled with intoxicating silence.

Rhys waited another hour at least, but when the stars within the pool began to dim, he knew that it was time to leave. He rose to his feet, his soul solemn and heavy, and he couldn't bring himself to glance backward at the water as he ascended to the skies.

It was a pity really, for if he had turned around for but a moment, he would have seen the pool sparkle to life.

Azriel was curious.

It wasn't often that he found Rhys to be hiding something from him, or any of them for that matter. It was the beauty of their shared family, they knew all of the worst things about one another, from actions to thoughts, and nothing was counted as being too ferocious to accept.

But Azriel knew that Rhys was hiding something, his High Lord had been on edge from the moment he had returned to the River House after sneaking out that night, under the impression that no one had known of his time away. But Azriel knew everything, every single move was accounted for thanks to his shadows and his own keen hearing.

The Shadowsinger had merely thought that Rhys needed a moment to himself to think, but as the time stretched on, it seemed that Rhys was on a mission of sorts, and Azriel's suspicions became clear when he saw his brother the next morning, hair askew and eyes occasionally flickering through the window to a certain spot against the mountain face.

Rhys had worn the same expression for three days, not even Feyre could get him to talk to her about what it was that had him so concerned. But Azriel couldn't miss the longing in his eyes each time he passed by the window, like he was expecting someone to float up to the glass pane and solve all of their problems.

The day had come to meet with the High Lords, and the location had been set at the Dawn Court Palace, Thesan had always been the perfect mediator, besides, Cassian had been banned from Summer which automatically ruled that location from the list.

To Azriel's understanding, Rhys hadn't uttered a single word to anyone all morning, not even a single scold toward Cassian and Mor for their incessant bickering. It was worrying Feyre, Azriel noticed, he saw the emotion sketched into her furrowed brow each time she would try and speak to her mate to only be ignored. It seemed as though only Azriel and Feyre, and perhaps Amren, had noticed it.

The silence continued all the way to the Dawn Court, and Rhys' brooding only lightened when Helion appeared after his lacklustre greeting to Kallias and Viviane, spurring Rhys to remember the reason why they were there, what they had to do in order to give Prythian a fighting chance against Hybern and the Cauldron.

Helion jerked his chin toward Feyre, asking, "Does Tamlin know what she is?"

Rhys, his sadness wavering for a moment as they stood before the doors to the meeting chamber, spoke, "If you mean beautiful and clever, then yes - I think he does."

Azriel watched Helion closely, taking a tentative step toward his High Lord and Lady as the High Lord of Day sent Rhys a unimpressed flat glare, "Does he know that she is your mate, and High Lady?"

Ignoring Viviane's squeal, Rhys answered, picking a loose thread from his jacket and allowing it to float to the ground, "If he arrives then I suppose we will find out."

"I always liked you, Rhysand," Helion said after a lethally dark chuckle, knowing just how powerful he was in comparison to Rhys' brothers; he rolled his shoulders and glanced to Nesta, his gaze lingering whilst he enquired of who she was.

"She is my sister," Azriel didn't miss the muffled flinch that sliced across Rhys' face, "She will tell her story when the others are here."

Skittering steps against the pale golden stone pulled the attention of the Inner Circle toward Thesan who was surrounded by his highly alert Peregryns, beings who seemed a little too on edge.

"I hate to interrupt," Thesan drawled with wary eyes before they landed on Rhys, "But there is a woman I have never seen before in the meeting chamber, she says that you sent for her."

No one could miss how Rhys' entire body language changed from lax to urgent, his posture straightening and eyes boring into the doors of the chamber as though he could see through them; his breathing quickened, and it became apparent that whoever the woman was had been the cause of his ire for the last three days.

Begrudgingly, Rhys followed Thesan's order to wait for the others, Tarquin seemed less than pleased to be stood before Rhys, and it wasn't long until Beron and Eris rounded the corner of the corridor, sneering and spitting their horrid words, sending warning glares to Cassian and Azriel in particular for the scuffle between the two courts over the now High Lady of the Night Court and Lucien Vanserra.

Opening the doors, the woman lounging in the chair facing their entrance was not the person Rhys had been longing to see, Azriel deduced that much from the instant droop of his shoulders before he fully even saw her face. She sat in one of the deep rooted chairs, legs strewn over the arm and a dagger pricking into each one of her fingers, not hard enough to break the skin.

She was glad in a green dress that extenuated her long legs and her utterly wild scent had enveloped the room, a scent of lemon verbena and crackling embers, her blonde hair was well tamed and pinned backward in a loose yet luxurious ensemble, and power poured off of her in searing waves.

"And who exactly are you?"

A grin formed on her lips at the defensive question directed her way by Helion, and she rolled her eyes incredulously in response, sliding her legs from the arm and propping her elbows upon them, "Is that any way to greet a guest?" The tip of her dagger scratched into the wood of her seat, a curved and lethal weapon not of Prythian, "They really don't have any manners," she spoke loudly, directing the comment elsewhere.

Large hands clasped around the back of her seat and a flash of white hair reflected against the dying sunlight, "She did tell us that they were going to be apprehensive of us, Fireheart." The woman hummed, seemingly unphased by who she was trapped in a room with, anyone else would have been quaking in their boots at the knowledge of it.

"I didn't think she was being serious-"

"You haven't answered the question. Tell us who you are and why you're here, or-"

"Or what?" The woman's gold ringed eyes glistened, hungry and bristling with a flame Rhys, nor any of them, had ever witnessed. She rose from the seat, "You'll hurt us? I'd like to see you try."

Azriel stuck to Feyre and Rhys, sizing up the male with the tattoos in an ancient language littered down the side of his face, and that only seemed to make the male smirk, "Don't think about it. You wouldn't last a minute."

Tension simmered in the chamber, the High Lords of Prythian bar one faced the two strangers who looked much like them but were different in every single way imaginable.

Only when a click of heels entered the room followed by an exasperated sigh, did the two strangers grin, their offensive stance dissipating before Rhys' very eyes as they turned to make room for another.

"You'll come to rather enjoy Aelin's wit," a voice as mesmerising as the crashing summer waves called into the simmering silence, a voice so perfect that it had Rhys almost whimpering in disbelief as he took a step forward. Another woman appeared adorning a playful smirk, "And the vein in Rowan's forehead."

Azriel studied her, even his shadows couldn't stop themselves from peeking over his shoulders at the sound of her melodic voice, one so calming that it had them dancing toward it. She was by far one of the most incredible creatures Azriel had ever seen, dressed in an impeccable midnight blue gown that exposed her taut legs, allowing Azriel to see the two markings delicately placed below her knees, the twins to Rhys' own. Her hair was as dark as the night and swaying with each step, eyes as violet as the summer horizon that were lovingly teasing her companions, and she moved with a grace Azriel had never encountered in all of his years. A crown composed of onyx stone flowers and jewels curled around her head and glittered in the slowly decaying light, it was delicate and rested just over her ears, keeping her skin free from the imprint of it.

But it wasn't the crown nor the dress that had really stolen Azriel's eye, no, it was the pristine pair of feathered wings that were tucked neatly behind her back, not wings of an Illyrian, but wings of some form of angel Azriel presumed. They resembled the night sky, black and speckled with silver, and the longer Azriel focused on them, the more he struggled to believe that they weren't enriched feathers of pure starlight.

Rhys loosened a breath of disbelief, and his bottom lip quaked softly as he took her in, eyes trailing up her form and resting on her face, not believing who was stood before him but thanking the Mother all the same, "You came."

With her dress swaying in the breeze infiltrating the room from the open arches of the chamber, she faced Rhys and smiled sadly, taking a moment to drink him in just as he had with her before she answered, "You called."

"I didn't think you heard me," he took another step toward the curve of the pool, slowly but surely closing the gap between them, "You've grown."

"I've always heard you," their features were so strikingly similar, and Azriel was grasping onto any memory or mention of the female before his eyes, "And, if I hadn't have grown in over 500 years I'd be quite concerned."

Rhys laughed, throwing his head back and lips stretching into a smile of pure bliss, he didn't stop his steps this time, no, he allowed his feet to carry him all the way to her and bundled her up in his embrace, inhaling the scent of her deeply into his lungs "Hello sister."

Sister.

The two strangers, Aelin and Rowan, took a step back, serene smiles on their faces as they watched, seemingly understanding what it meant for the Rhys and the female, "Hello you," she replied, wrapping her arms around him and holding him tightly, "Someone mentioned that you have a mate now?"

Rhys pulled backward and sent her a look of wonderment, "I do. Feyre, darling? Would you?" He extended an arm out to her and Feyre wasted no time in joining him, "This is y/n. My sister."

"Well, half-sister, but we don't take notice of the specifics," she grinned at Rhys and softly nudged him, "It's an honour to meet you, Feyre Cursebreaker."

"How do you-"

She waved her hand dismissively, "I know many things."

"It's true, it's extremely annoying," Aelin spoke flatly nestled under Rowan's arm, the fire in her eyes softening.

Glancing about, Azriel became completely aware of just how much the beauty of y/n had captured the attention of all within the room, from the hue of her skin to the glossy black of her hair, from the curve of her jaw to the strikingly vibrant eyes that had stolen Azriel's breath from the moment the light had hit them.

She was undeniably Rhys' sister, but Azriel was sure that Rhys had only ever had one, and she died years ago.

"I'm sorry, but how?" Cassian couldn't help but ask, drawing the attention of everyone to him, he glanced to Azriel who shrugged, confirming that he knew nothing of the female before their very eyes.

Y/N smiled softly, her eyes dimming slightly and promised, "My," she looked to Rhys for a moment, "Our story-" her gaze returned to Cassian, but not before gently floating over Azriel and widening slightly, "-is one for a different day. Prythian is in danger and you need help, I'm here to provide it."

"What about us?"

"One more word Aelin and I'll send you back home, I'm sure Aedion would love to take your place."

Aelin gasped, "You don't mean that."

"Try me. See where you land this time round."

Aelin grimaced, recounting the time y/n had shoved her through one of her fancy test portals to only land in the foulest smelling swamp she had ever experienced. She kept her lips sealed and moved to the seat where she had been sat minutes before with a forced smile, prompting the rest of the occupants of the chamber to do the same.

The Shadowsinger moved with the rest of the Inner Circle, finding his place beside his High Lord and Lady, which was just a stones throw away from y/n, and he found himself completely lost in the scent of a brewing storm, his shadows unwinding from his body as it flooded his lungs and fighting through invisible storm clouds in order to brush against her for even a moment, to taste her skin and shudder at the power laced within it.

Crossing her leg over the other, Azriel watched y/n recline into the comfort of the seat, doing his best to not make his awe so obvious whilst she took a moment to gaze upon every person in the room, her eye lingering on a certain Autumn heir with a level of intrigue before she spoke with a feline grin, "So, you're all on the verge of death. Tell me more."

Author's Note

Trying a different writing style with this one - let me know what you think x

[hyunnielix]

skinny dipping. | h.h

Series Masterlist

'we'll be thinking about how different we are, from those scared little kids'

— hyunjin x (f) reader

— word count: 1.5k

— genre: non-idol au, artist!hyunjin, second chance romance (I know who would've thought. eventual smut (not in this chapter sorry).

— warning's: fluff, some angst, bestie!felix (and minho)

→ playlist on spotify

The minimalist architecture is what consistently drew you to the local coffee shop. Sure, other customers may have described it as sterile, lifeless and boring (as per the reviews). But the simplicity created a sense of ease within you. Tranquil blues adorned the ivory walls in decorative swirls. Each paint stroke seemed calculated and practiced. Stay Grounded — a silly name for a cafe, despite the fact most days you felt like the opposite.

A creature of habit, most of your friends would find you sitting in a small alcove, observing people, nose in a book, or phone depending on the day. Today, however, you couldn't stay. You promised Felix you would take a baking masterclass with him, much to your chagrin. Your sneakers tapped gently against the stool you occupied, a subtle rhythm and distraction.

The coffee shop hummed with life. A barista, dressed in a grey apron stood behind the counter, skilfully crafting drinks. Steam rose from the espresso machine and the aroma of freshly ground caramel beans filled the air. The menu, black block text on a white background, exuded an air of prestige. Maybe it was snobby. You didn't care.

Nearby, a group of friends occupied a corner booth, their laughter filling the space. Your gaze travelled to the left. A couple sat by the window, engaged in quiet conversation while their mugs rested on a wooden table.

Occasionally, you glanced toward the counter, anticipating the arrival of your coffee. Your phone buzzed, directing your attention to the device.

Lixie 🩵: remember class today. you promised! <3 I'll go easy on you. first timer and all.

An amused smile crawled onto your face, and you scoffed, typing up the response.

Y/N: I have a few tricks up my sleeve Lix. Don't be surprised if I beat you!

Lixie 🩵: didn't know this was a competition :(

Y/N: It is now :)

"The iced long black with an extra shot!" The barista's voice rung through the space. It couldn't be. The order. You knew it off by heart, as familiar as the back of your palm.

"Coffee for Hyunjin!"

You gaze snapped up, ignoring the buzz of your phone. Your face paled. It couldn't be him. Hyunjin lived in Paris. His paintings adorned the walls of reputable galleries, and his exhibits were a media sensation, captivating critics and the public alike. Newspapers and art magazines clamoured to cover every detail. The headlines screamed of a young, rising artist, whose work spoke to the masses. Capturing intimate moments and the simplicity of life in a delicate way. You would know, you owned a few of his pieces yourself.

He stood at the counter, his movements smooth and effortless while he reached for his takeaway coffee. His previous golden locks no longer framed his face, instead replaced by a harsh onyx colour. His sharp jawline and high cheekbones reflected a quiet elegance, while his eyes, deep and almond-shaped, sparkled with a hint of thoughtfulness. He wore a fitted beige coat which draped gracefully over his shoulders. He looked ethereal. His slender fingers wrapped around the iced drink, and he gave a soft, polite smile to the barista, lips curving in such a way that suggested quiet confidence. With a slight tilt of his head, he nodded a thank you, his gaze drifting while he turned around, landing directly on you.

You think you imagined the way his expression softened. Although, he froze, his hesitation painfully visible. You swallowed, offering a hint of a smile and a slight wave of your hand. What's the worst thing that could happen? ignore you?

He shoved his hand into the pocket of his baggy jeans and walked over, towering above you. His tongue poked out and he sipped the coffee before bending down to your height. "Hi."

"Hi," You squeaked out. "I uh- wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Yeah. It was sort of spontaneous. Homesickness kind of thing."

"Oh. When did you get back? from Paris. I mean."

"This morning actually. I can't stand airport coffee, so this is the first place I thought of." He gazed around, then brought his eyes back to you. "It hasn't changed. It's kind of comforting in a way. Something familiar."

"Yeah..." You fidgeted with your phone and ignored his stare, which lingered far too long on your face. Had your makeup smudged or something?

Hyunjin cleared his throat. "How's Felix?"

"He's good. I actually have a baking class with him in an hour."

"You bake now?" He tilted his head, a gesture so endearing it reminded you of a curious puppy, and then came the sound—a soft laugh that spilled from his lips, light and unrestrained.

You froze, the corners of your mouth tugging down. It had been far too long since you’d heard that laugh, warm and melodic.

Before you could respond, your attention snagged on a girl behind him. She wore a maroon mini dress that clung to her like a second skin, confidence radiating with each step. As she drew closer, her focus locked onto Hyunjin. Although, his remained fixed on you, his eyes steady, waiting for your answer, completely unaware.

She reached forward, tapping on Hyunjin's shoulder. "Oh my god! It is you! Jiniret."

"Oh... yeah, that's uhh me." A faint blush tinted his cheeks, so subtle it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else. But you weren’t just anyone—you knew him better than most.

The girl rocked on her kitten heels, pleading with an unmatched intensity. "Can I please get a photo with you?"                                     

"I'd love to but me and my—' He paused, his eyes darting to yours briefly, "friend. my friend have some business to attend to."

You chewed on your bottom lip— an anxious habit you’d picked up during high school. For a split second you swore his gaze dipped to them and back to your eyes.

"Oh my gosh I so get it. I'm sorry again.” The girl gripped one of his hands in hers, bowed, and then scurried away.

The hum of voices and clatter of cups grew as more people filtered in— your least favourite time— rush hour. "Coffee for Y/N!"

You rose abruptly from the stool, eager to leave the establishment and memories attached to it. With him.

"I guess that's me then." You flashed him a tight-lipped smile and approached the counter. Slender fingers wrapped around your wrist, halting your movement. You glanced over your shoulder. The anguish etched across Hyunjin’s face held a strange sort of tenderness.                                                                                                    

He let go, instead running his fingers through his onyx hair. "We should do this again sometime. Like old times.”

"Hyune, do you really think that's a good idea." You shifted your weight, hip jutting out as your brows knitted together. The answer couldn’t have been more obvious.

"We can go to that restaurant. The one you like—"

"You, the Jiniret, want to go to that silly little restaurant with me?" you quipped, crossing your arms over your chest. A smirk tugged at your lips, though your heart thudded a little harder seeing the faint dimple appear in his cheek when he grinned.  

"I’m hurt that you think I’m that pretentious." He pressed his hand against his chest, mouth agape in mock hurt.

Your eyes flicked to the floor, then back to his, catching how he shifted on his feet—just a small move, like he was still trying to find his footing. “I was worried Paris was getting to your head,” you teased, the words carrying a sharp edge.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you crackled, layered with old familiarity and something newer, something fragile. You caught the way his jaw tightened, just slightly, like he wanted to say something but hadn’t decided how.           

 "Quite the opposite, actually," he murmured, his voice barely cutting through the din.

You glanced at your phone. "I have to go. I'm going to be late for my baking class."

"I'll text you."

"I don’t have your number anymore," you admitted, your voice softer than you intended.

His brows furrowed and an emotion you couldn't quite decipher flashed behind his eyes. Without hesitation, he extended his hand, palm up, an unspoken request. The motion felt calm but firm, and something about it made your breath hitch.

You placed the device in his outstretched hand, his fingers brushed yours briefly and he began typing.

“Coffee for Y/N!” The barista’s call cut through the buzz of the coffee shop, pulling your attention away from him. Right your drink. You glanced toward the counter, spotting your drink waiting in its cardboard sleeve, a slight sheen of condensation on the plastic lid.

He reached out with his palm open. “Here,” he said, handing back your phone. His lips curved into a small smirk, and he added with a wink, “Make sure to keep me a pastry.”

You rolled your eyes, the scoff escaping before you could stop it. Turning on your heel, you made your way to the counter. Your shoes clicked softly against the polished floor as you retrieved the drink—melted now. A small frown tugged at your lips as you adjusted the lid, but you didn’t look back at him, even as you felt his gaze following you.

[slttygeto]

CURSING MY NAME, WISHING I STAYED.

જ⁀➴ synopsis: you never got the chance to say goodbye to each other in 2007, you never thought you needed to. ten years later, you are still unable to find the right words as you stand in front of his lifeless body. if suguru geto was truly dead, who was the man standing in front you almost a year later?

જ⁀➴ content warning: angst, hurt/no comfort, manga spoilers, slapping and choking.

જ⁀➴ word count: 1,4k

જ⁀➴ note: this was requested about a year ago and I only got the chance to work on it today. enjoy :)!

You never associate Suguru with spring, despite it being such a lovely season, you remember it being the one season where he decided he needed to pull away. It was subtle, but you could feel it. He ate less, spoke less, he didn’t want to hang out as usual. You didn’t go on missions anymore, but you tried to be present. Even when summer came around and all hell broke loose.

You associate Suguru with autumn. Satoru doesn’t say a single word when you say it loud, when you tell him that that the orange leaves falling down and painting the road remind you of your past lover, how your love for him felt that way when he left—fragile, easily crushed. But Satoru would beg to differ. He could see it in your eyes, how they refuse to meet his when Yaga brings up the man’s name. It hurts to lose a best friend, but it hurts even more when you have a best friend and a lover in the same person.

Ten years later on Christmas Eve, Satoru has to put his best friend to rest. He doesn’t need to call you or tell you where he is, you just know. You show up as Suguru is taking his last breath and you stand there, unmoving. Your love for Suguru didn’t feel like autumn anymore. The tears running down your face were warm, and your chin was quivering as you let out a pathetic sob.

“I’m sorry.” What was Suguru apologizing for? For killing people or for betraying the people he loved the most? You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything, didn’t even bother to wipe the tears blurring your vision. You just stared at him, how a smile was dancing on his lips as he saw the two people he loved the most standing in front of him.

“Perhaps in another life,” Suguru’s voice is quiet, and you seem to take notice of how pale he looks. “I am who you’ve always wanted me to be.”

You wanted him to be many things, but it seemed unfair for him. If Suguru was truly unhappy while in Jujutsu high, then maybe you were never meant to be together. If he couldn’t wear a heartfelt smile in this world, then perhaps destiny played its cards wrong. If you were never able to keep Suguru around, then Suguru was never yours to keep in the first place.

You watch as the life slowly fades out of his body, and Satoru turns away from the corpse of his best as you kneel down in front of it and hold his lifeless body in your arms, the heart wrenching sobs that you let out force the strongest sorcerer to stand behind you and place a hand on your shoulder.

“It’s time to go.”

--

 “You’re late, (name).” You never associated Suguru with autumn after his death. In fact, no season could do your past lover justice. Yet the person standing in front of you reminded you of winter—cold, mean and lifeless.

Why was Suguru standing in front of you?

You and Satoru are unmoving as the familiar body of your best friend and lover approaches the two of you. You don’t speak, your lips are frozen as you stare in shock at the same person whom you’ve been mourning his death for the past twelve months.

Geto Suguru passed away on December 24th. You’ve been mourning his absence for almost a year—so who was this person standing in front of you?

“I don’t remember you being this quiet, my love.” The pet name sent shivers down your spine, and you watched as the hand of your past lover reached towards your face to hold it. You craved this, to be held by him again after so long, to feel the warmth of the one person who promised you a lifetime of happiness—only to break that promise so soon. You pull away harshly when the tip of his fingers touches your cheek, and Geto Suguru seems to find your hesitance extremely funny.

“Who are you?” You step back towards Gojo, and you don’t need to look his way to know that he was just as taken aback as you were. Wide blue eyes staring in shock at his best friend—his one and only. It was sad that Geto Suguru (while he was still alive) was your enemy for longer than he was a loved one or a best friend.

“Geto Suguru of course.” Liar.

“My six eyes…” Satoru starts, and your heart breaks at how panicked he sounds. “My six eyes are telling me that you are Geto Suguru.”

But he wasn’t Suguru. This wasn’t the man you fell for, nor the man you fought last year. You refused to believe that he somehow came back to life. Not when you kneeled in front of his corpse and held him in your arms.

“But my soul knows otherwise! So hurry up and tell us, who the hell are you?!”

It’s a gut wrenching feeling as you watch the man in front of you open up Geto’s head and toy with it as he wished. He lets out an ugly laugh, one that doesn’t match Suguru’s beauty.

“It’s a cursed technique that allows me to hop between bodies by switching brains. Of course, it lets me use the innate techniques within the body, I coveted his cursed manipulation and these exact circumstances.” His eyes then land on you and a sinister smile is dancing on his lips.

“You,” he starts, taking one step forward towards you. “As pathetic as you seem in this man’s memories, begged Gojo Satoru and Shoko Ieiri to not get rid of Geto Suguru’s body, am I right?”

As pathetic as you seem in this man’s memories.

You didn’t know what to react to first. His words felt like a thousand burning knives, each one stabbing you from a different side. You fight back the urge to jump on him, you know you’re at disadvantage because Satoru was bound to this prison realm.

“I did.” Your response is short and quick, and the man in front of you chuckles at how dry you sound.

“He loves you a lot, you know?” Kenjaku pauses for a second, and the time he takes before continuing makes you feel as though he was mocking you. “Always wished he could trade places with the strongest sorcerer. You two were close, it always nagged him.”

This wasn’t true. This could never be true because Satoru and Suguru were closer than ever. You don’t remember a single instance where you felt as though Suguru was jealous of his best friend. This man was trying to shatter you in hopes of trapping you the same way he trapped Gojo Satoru.

“How are you gonna let yourself get used like this, huh?” Satoru sounds enraged. “Tell me, Suguru!”  

You are just as shocked as Kenjaku when his neck twists, a sign of resistance when hearing Satoru’s loud yell. It was almost as if he heard him and wanted to wake up, to free himself of the man who was using his body to toy with the feelings of his loved ones. He then laughs, and again it sounds evil as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“Ha! No way! This is a first for me,” his eyes then fall on your frozen figure and by the look on his face, he was up to no good.

His hand makes its way towards you and wraps around your neck, you get that his intention was to choke you. But when his hand refuses to squeeze around your neck, the look on his face turns into an annoyed one. Kenjaku couldn’t hurt you, Suguru didn’t let him.

Unfortunately, he still had more control than the original soul occupying the body and his hand manages to grab your neck and push you up against the wall, knocking the wind out of your chest.

“You’re getting in the way.” No matter how hard Gojo tried to shift the attention back on him, Kenjaku seemed to want to get rid of you and as fast as possible. You find yourself thrown next to Satoru, tied up in similar bounds.

“Goodnight, my love.” His hand caresses your cheek, and you’re forced to feel his cold touch against your skin. You hear a smack and your cheek stings, teary eyes forced to stare into his cold ones when he roughly grabs your jaw.

“Let us meet in the new world.”

2023 ; all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

William Afton x Reader (SMUT)

this is a very dark fic • includes all the things we associate with w.a. including murder, blood, emotional/mental manipulation, as well as a reader who is so enraptured by william, she is willing to kill for him. read with caution. ♥️

Blood spilled across your hands, the slippery crimson liquid dripping warm between your fingers to the floor. It splashed across the wall beside you, thick and syrupy ropes painting the room a lucent shade of red.

William smiled proudly from his place by the doorway, hands causally sheathed in his pockets, savoring his girl. You were always beautiful to him, but never more so than in moments like this…with your lips trembling excitedly, eyes blown wide open, your pretty cheeks freckled with someone else’s blood.

He started toward you, taking care not to step on your victim as their lifeless body slumped to the floor. William took your hands in his, gently removing his knife from your grasp. The pressure his shoes made in the blood pooled at your feet produced a wet, squelching sound. William wiped the knife clean and returned it to the inner pocket of his jacket. His deep blue eyes danced over you with awe. “Just look at you,” he marveled, cupping your face between his calloused palms. “Just look at my fuckin’ girl…”

Your heart raced wildly, a sense of pride washing over you. Gaining William’s approval made your head feel tipsy, a delicious kind of high only pleasing him could induce. He gently pulled his thumb across your cheek, smearing your lips in blood, tracing their shape as if applying a lipstick. William’s eyes slid over you, a satisfied grin turning the corners of his mouth. “Beautiful,” he said. William pressed his lips to yours, his tongue licking into the warm bed of your mouth. The kiss was filthy, not for its explicitness, but for its context. The bitter flavor of a dead man’s blood sank over your tastebuds, shared between your mouth and William’s like a sacrament.

He cupped a hand over your breast, squeezing the fleshy mound roughly, pulling a pained but grateful whimper from your throat. In moments like this, no amount of guilt could make you stop killing for William. His tests of your loyalty may have been extreme; but they were effective. At this point, leaving William would have been impossible, even if you’d wanted to. He’d orchestrated so many killings for you…stained your hands with so much blood, it could never be washed away. The evidence William had against you was extensive. If you ever strayed from his grasp, he could cast your sins into the light, for all the world to see. William’s tests worked. Your loyalty to him was absolute. He’d purchased your devotion at a very high price: the cost of a human life, many times over…

William cradled your head in his large palm, clutching the back of your hair. His teeth sank over your bottom lip, tugging it lower, using the angle to his advantage and plunging his tongue deeper inside your mouth. The deep penetration of his tongue forced the sour taste of blood too far, and you gagged. His grip on the back of your head increased, locking you in place, using your mouth while rhythmically squeezing and releasing your breast.

Just when you felt you might choke, William pulled back. He slid an arm under your ass and hoisted you up, carrying you over the mess on the floor. William walked with you into the hallway, kicking the door of his office closed behind him.

At the end of the hall, a flood of neon colors awaited you. The main dining and arcade area of Freddy’s may have been empty, but it was certainly not dead. William liked to treat you, after successfully completing one of his tests, with a personal Freddy’s experience. You had the entire arcade all to yourself, all night long. He placed you back on your feet, and helped you out of your blood-spattered clothing. William spat on a napkin, emblazoned with the restaurant’s logo, and used it to wipe your face clean of blood. He balled up your clothes and stuffed them in the trash bin. He’d burn them later, along with the body in his office.

William pulled up a chair for himself at the nearest table, and removed a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. Once lit, he took a long, contented drag, and blew the smoke towards his beautiful young protégé. Standing stark naked, your body illuminated by the gleam of stage lights at your back and his cigarette smoke swirling around you, William could have mistaken you for an angel.

He saw the excitement in your eyes, the gleeful impatience that had you shifting from foot to foot. You’d passed another of his tests; it was time for your reward. William grinned knowingly, waving his hand at the arcade around you. He slid a cup full of tokens across the table, which you excitedly snatched up. “Alright baby,” William said with a smile. “Go play.”

You squealed with joy and skipped over to your favorite machine, ready for a night of fun. William sat back comfortably, enjoying both his cigarette and the sight of your naked body prancing around his restaurant. After he’d let you play awhile, teasing his dick with your body and his hand, William would bend you over one of the machines and fuck your brains out.

He’d grown to love the pure devotion you gave him. At first, William had been put off by your relentless interest in him. He’d been your employer at the time, and you had been just another pretty little waitress he’d hired for your tits rather than your experience. It didn’t take William long, however, to realize that the obsessive crush you had on him could be used to his advantage. What a devoted pet you’d be, he’d imagined, willing to do whatever was asked of you, sexually or otherwise.

Your position as a waitress had been ‘upgraded,’ to that of William’s mistress, and soon after, his accomplice. Knowing that you’d kill for him was the ultimate stroke of William’s ego, the most delicious proof that he’d found a playmate just as depraved as himself.

As you excitedly called out to William that you’d reached the high score on a particularly challenging machine, he clapped his approval and congratulated you. “That’s my girl,” William murmured. He stamped out his cigarette, and casually made his way across the floor to where you were standing. He wasn’t in any sort of rush; he had all night to fuck you every way imaginable.

So as his big hands came to rest warm on your bare hips, the outline of his erection prodding your ass, it came as no surprise to you. You bit your lip excitedly, arching your back and wiggling your ass so William’s cock was positioned between your cheeks. He leaned over your back, his hand sliding around your throat and closing just tightly enough to make you moan. His chest was flush with your back, your body bent forward over the machine you were playing.

“Go on baby; you know what to do,” William murmured at your ear, nuzzling your neck. “Keep playing. Don’t stop on account of me…” His free hand worked his pants undone, wrapping around his thick, leaking cock as his other hand lightly clutched your throat. His breath was hot on your neck, his teeth finding your earlobe in a gentle bite. William guided his tip between your folds, wetting his cock with your creamy arousal, before dragging his tip upward between your asscheeks.

“M’gonna help you get that high score again, sweetheart,” William lewdly whispered, his fingers tapping against your pulse. With a squeak of delight, you braced yourself for the sting of him stretching you. William slid a token inside the machine’s slot, a burst of lights and sounds signaling a new game was ready to be played. You wrapped your hands around the game’s controllers, pressing the “A,” button to begin, followed by William pressing his cock past the barrier of your tight, puckering hole…

[cera-writes]

"Ma chère, you are mine." 🃏

Part Three

Pairing: Remy "Gambit" Lebeau x F!Reader Tags: slow burn, angst, jealousy, mentions of death Remy never thought there'd be someone else besides Rogue who'd just waltz into his life, but there you were.

The world splintered into a cacophony of violence. Emerald energy, a malevolent serpent uncoiling across the Genoshan sky, lashed out with indiscriminate fury. Buildings crumpled like sandcastles under a child's fist, their infrastructure spilling forth in a grotesque display of shattered brick and twisted metal. Remy, with a snarl that mirrored the savagery unfolding around you, shoved you roughly to the ground, his body a meat shield against the onslaught.

The impact with the ravaged earth sent a jolt of searing pain through your body. A high-pitched whine filled your ears, a relentless wail that threatened to drown out the world. When the world finally refocused, its edges blurry and tinged with red, you found yourself staring into the smoldering ruins of what was once Genosha.

Remy lay beside you, groaning as he pushed himself up on one elbow. Dust and grime painted his face, a mask of grim determination etched beneath the grime.

"You alright, cher?" His voice, rough with concern, cut through the ringing in your ears.

"I'm fine," you rasped, pushing yourself up with a grimace. "But we need to find the others!"

Your gaze swept across the scene, a desolate wasteland where once stood a haven for mutants. Bodies, like fallen marionettes, littered the ashen landscape – stark reminders of the Sentinel's ruthless efficiency. A strangled cry escaped your lips, a prayer whispered into the acrid smoke-choked air. "Oh gods..."

There was no time for lamentations. Remy, ever the pragmatist, grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the meager cover offered by a half-collapsed building. As you stumbled through the debris, your eyes scanned the devastated landscape for any signs of life.

A flicker of movement – Rogue, her green eyes narrowed in fierce concentration, stood beside Magneto, who scowled at the wreckage with an almost inhuman intensity. Relief, a fragile butterfly taking flight in your chest, was swiftly extinguished by a cold dread that coiled around your heart.

"No...no, no! Kurt!" You tore free of Remy's grasp and sprinted towards the crumpled figure lying in the debris. Kneeling beside him, your hands shaking, you cradled his head in your lap. Blood, a crimson stain blossoming across his blue fur, marred his pale face. He lay unmoving, his chest rising and falling with a shallow rasp.

"Rogue!" Remy's voice, sharp with urgency, cut through the haze of terror that threatened to consume you. You looked up to see him kneeling beside you, his face etched with concern as he checked Kurt's pulse.

"He alive! So are you," Remy announced, his voice laced with relief. A wan smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he met Rogue's gaze.

The choked sob that escaped your lips caught in your throat. Tears, hot and stinging, streamed down your face. Relief, a tidal wave threatening to pull you under, washed over you. You squeezed Kurt's hand, murmuring a desperate plea for him to hold on. "Good," you choked out, your voice thick with emotion. "You can't die on me yet, you hear?"

The grim tableau before them hung heavy in the air, a macabre tapestry woven from shattered concrete and lifeless flesh. Magneto joined them, his voice a gravelly rasp cutting through the stunned silence.

"Gambit, how many?"

Gambit, his usual carefree swagger replaced by a haunted solemnity, shook his head, the movement conveying the immensity of the devastation better than words. "Too many...so many," he muttered, his voice thick with a grief that mirrored the ashen wasteland that stretched before them. "Some vile Godzilla. You go at it, you wind up dead. Can't even dent it. We tryin' to evacuate folks now, but the Morlocks… they stuck in the bay. Right under it's belly and there's no way to get to em'."

A cold dread coiled around your spine, its icy tendrils tightening with each passing moment. "Remy's right," you confirmed, your voice a mere whisper against the cacophony of devastation still echoing around you. "This… this is beyond anything we've ever faced before."

Magneto, his face a mask of thunderous fury, stood with his head bowed, lost in a war council of one against the smoldering ruins. Finally, he raised his head, his steely gaze meeting yours. "A promise was made," he rumbled, his voice heavy with a barely concealed tremor of emotion.

You nodded in grim agreement, a shiver racking your body despite the oppressive heat radiating from the smoldering wreckage. "We have to stop this, Magneto," you stated, your voice firm despite the fear threatening to bubble up.

"Eclipse is right," Gambit concurred, his eyes landing on a lone motorcycle half-buried in debris, its chrome glimmering defiantly against the ashen landscape. It might not be much, but it was a lifeline in the storm. Just enough to get them where they needed to be, fast.

Rogue was about to place a gentle hand on your shoulder, but thought better of it. Instead she offered words, a grounding force amidst the swirling chaos. "Then let's do what we X-Men do best, sugah," she said, her voice laced with a steely resolve. "Nightcrawler wouldn't want us sittin' here mournin'. He'd want us fightin', protectin' those who can't protect themselves."

With a reverence born of desperation, you lowered Nightcrawler onto a scrap of relatively undamaged concrete. A silent promise hung heavy in the air, a vow to see him again, hopefully under skies that weren't choked with the acrid tang of destruction. You had to. All of you had to. This wasn't just about survival; it was about clinging to the fragile thread of hope that remained for the mutants trapped beneath the metallic behemoth.

Striding towards the lone motorcycle, you felt a surge of renewed determination. The roar of the engine, a guttural growl that echoed off the shattered buildings, was a battle cry, a call to action. Joining Remy on the steel stallion, you wrapped your arms around his waist, a silent anchor in the impending storm.

Beside you, Rogue was ready to fight, flying high through the smoky air beside you. A grim exchange of glances solidified the unspoken plan. Magneto, his voice a rasp, spoke, his words carving through the chaos.

"I will draw its fire away from the gardens," he commanded, his gaze unwavering. "Rogue, clear a path for Gambit and Eclipse to reach the Morlocks. Save as many as you can."

A flicker of admiration ignited in your chest, a brief respite in the maelstrom of emotions. Magneto, the master of metal, would become a lightning rod, drawing the Sentinel's wrath and diverting its destructive energy. It was a desperate gamble, but one he was willing to take.

"Hang on tight, cher!" Remy's voice was a shout over the engine's roar as he revved the motorcycle to life. With a surge of power, they shot forward, a precarious bullet weaving through the hail of emerald blasts.

You channeled the shadows, a tapestry of darkness swirling around the three of you, forming a shield against the Sentinel's onslaught. It was a delicate dance, a constant push and pull against the relentless energy.

"Never much cared for roulette," Remy shouted above the din, his voice laced with a sardonic humor that belied the seriousness of the situation. Each dodged blast, each fleeting moment of reprieve, was a victory won in a game with impossible odds. You knew it wouldn't last forever, but for now, it was enough. They had to reach the Morlocks, had to offer them a sliver of hope in this crucible of despair.

A rebellious glint sparked in Rogue's eyes. "Then how bout we spice up these rules?" she quipped, her flight maintaining a steady pace alongside the motorcycle.

You smirked, one hand gripping Remy's waist for dear life while the other channeled shadows. The shield pulsed around you three, a tangible darkness that defied the emerald onslaught.

Suddenly, Sentinels loomed ahead, their metallic forms blocking the path. With a guttural roar, Remy pushed the engine to its limit, the motorcycle whining in protest as he executed a death-defying drift.

You narrowed your eyes, focusing your energy away from the shield and towards the lead Sentinel. It was a hulking monstrosity, hell-bent on ending your desperate mission. A surge of power coursed through you, manipulating the shadows into tendrils of inky darkness. They latched onto the Sentinel's head, momentarily obscuring its vision.

"Let's shuffle the deck, chere!" Remy yelled, a wild grin splitting his face. With lightning-fast reflexes, he charged his playing cards with a surge of kinetic energy. They shot through the air, imbued with raw power, and whipped into the Sentinel's head.

The impact was a thunderous roar. Metal shrieked as the Sentinel's head detached from its body, the emerald blasts it had been firing careening wildly into other Sentinels. A chain reaction erupted, triggering explosions that showered the landscape with molten debris.

"Three down, mon ami!" You crowed, a wide grin splitting your face. "But leave a few targets for the rest us, okay?"

Gambit chuckled, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the fight. He wrenched the motorcycle's handlebars, veering off into another direction as the echoes of the explosions faded behind them.

But their precarious victory was short-lived. A colossal Sentinel, dwarfing its brethren in size and ferocity, came hurtling through a building in a desperate bid to cut them off. Rogue, a whirlwind of fury and concentration, was fending off one of them on her own.

A roundhouse kick, a ballet of raw power and focused fury, connected with the Sentinel's chest cavity. The impact resonated through the air, a metallic clang that echoed through the smoke and debris. The machine itself didn't stand a chance. Rogue's enhanced strength cleaved through it like a hot knife through butter, transforming the Sentinel into a shower of sparking fragments and molten slag that rained down upon the ravaged cityscape.

In the rearview mirror, you watched as the fire and smoke of the Sentinel's demise dissipated into the acrid air. Relief flickered in your chest, a fleeting ember in the inferno of destruction that surrounded them. Rogue rejoined their formation, a whirlwind of emerald energy coalescing beside you.

"Badass!" you shouted over the engine's roar, a silent nod of approval telegraphed through the urgency of the moment. There was no denying it, Rogue was a force of nature, a badass sculpted from pure determination and raw power.

But even the sweetest victories were fleeting in this war of attrition. Each Sentinel they felled seemed to be replaced by another, a relentless metallic hydra rising from the ashes of its fallen brethren. Yet, you pressed on, driven by a desperate hope and the dwindling sliver of time before they reached the Morlocks.

The tunnel entrance loomed ahead, a dark maw in the concrete sprawl. Just as you were about to reach it, a colossal Sentinel, a leviathan dwarfing its brethren, materialized from a side street, blocking their path with menacing intent.

"Ready, cher?" Remy's voice cut through the din, a question punctuated by a steely crimson glint in his eyes. You met his gaze, a silent understanding passing between you. A curt nod was all the confirmation he needed.

With a screech of tortured metal, Remy slammed the motorcycle through the shattered window of a nearby building. The sudden change of course was a tactical maneuver, a desperate gamble to gain the upper hand. You and Remy dismounted, back to back, facing the encroaching Sentinel.

Remy whipped out his bo staff, a blur of lethal grace as he parried the Sentinel's initial energy blasts. You channeled your power, weaving the shadows into a thick, inky cloak, obscuring the Sentinel's vision and preventing it from unleashing a devastating blast upon the already-fragile tunnels below. The air crackled with raw energy as the battle raged.

Remy, a whirlwind of movement, landed blow after blow on the behemoth with his staff. Finally, with a flourish that belied the gravity of the situation, he hurled one last charged card directly at the Sentinel's head. The impact triggered a chain reaction, igniting a spectacular explosion that ripped through the metallic monstrosity, leaving only smoldering wreckage in its wake.

"Bonne soiree, mes amis. Now, kindly follow Eclipse and me."

Your outstretched hand met Leech's clammy grasp, a beacon of hope in the choking gloom. Together, a ragged procession of Morlocks tumbled out of the tunnel entrance, faces etched with terror and exhaustion. But before you could savor the brief reprieve, a soul-rending scream tore through the smoke-choked air. A pillar of emerald energy slammed into Magneto, sending him hurtling through the air like a discarded rag doll. His body crumpled with a sickening thud against the mangled wreckage of a car.

A guttural curse ripped from your throat, a stark counterpoint to the symphony of destruction. While your attention had been momentarily diverted, a hulking chunk of debris – a twisted remnant of a building sheared in two – hurtled towards the fleeing Morlocks.

Gambit's reflexes, honed by years of navigating chaos, kicked in with lightning speed. With a flourish that belied the urgency of the moment, he ripped the silk of his blue scarf from around his neck. In a single, fluid motion, he charged it with a surge of kinetic energy. The scarf, imbued with raw power, transformed into a blazing projectile, slamming into the hurtling metal with a deafening boom.

The resulting explosion, a spectacle of incandescent pink, vaporized the debris into a cloud of shimmering particles.

You, meanwhile, fought on a different front. Your hands danced a desperate ballet in the air, weaving shadows into a thick, inky tapestry around you and Remy. You poured every ounce of your will into the shield, praying it would hold against the relentless onslaught. Rogue coalesced beside you, her arrival a much-needed reinforcement.

A chilling mechanical voice boomed from the depths of the Sentinel's metal maw, pronouncements echoing through the shattered cityscape. "Omega-level threat detected," it intoned, its robotic pronouncements devoid of any emotion. Its cyclopean eye, a glowing orb of malevolent green energy, locked onto you and your companions, a death warrant hanging heavy in the air.

"No..." you rasped, your voice strained from exertion. You gritted your teeth, pushing your powers to the limit, desperately trying to maintain the integrity of your shadow shield.

Across the battlefield, Magneto, miraculously still alive, rose shakily to his feet. Anger, a molten inferno, burned in his eyes. He raised his hands, and the wreckage around him pulsed, metallic tendrils snaking towards the Sentinels in a defiant show of force. He, too, would stand his ground, a lone bastion protecting the vulnerable. The stage was set for a final, desperate confrontation.

The clash of energies painted the sky in a grotesque ballet of destruction. Where Magneto stood, resolute and defiant, a shimmering dome of crackling crimson energy deflected the Sentinel's emerald onslaught. It was a titanic struggle – the telekinetic master against the cold, calculating fury of Sentinel technology.

You, wracked with concern for Magneto, pushed your own abilities to the limit. Your shadow shield strained, a flickering ebony curtain attempting to hold back the storm. You channeled just enough raw power to deflect the brunt of the impact away from you and Remy, but not enough to completely isolate the battle raging before you.

Rogue, ever the impulsive force, couldn't bear to witness Magneto face the Sentinel alone. A primal urge to protect flared within her, overriding all sense of caution. With a defiant snarl, she shot towards the emerald death ray, a solitary speck of emerald defiance against the mechanical behemoth.

Remy, his face etched with a mixture of fear and determination, lunged towards Rogue. "No, chere! It's too dangerous!" he roared, his voice swallowed by the cacophony of the battle.

But his warning came too late. A sudden surge of crimson energy erupted from the clash above, a sign that even Magneto's defenses were faltering. The resulting shockwave slammed into you with the force of a freight train. You, Remy, and Rogue were sent sprawling backwards. Your shadow shield, overwhelmed by the sheer force of the impact, disintegrated into wisps of darkness.

The three of you found yourselves pinned. The impact had caused you, Rogue, and Remy to become pinned beneath a large piece of warped metal. You were trapped, cocooned in a makeshift cage of debris, mere feet away from the epic clash unfolding beyond the barrier.

You could hear Rogue's frustrated screams, the Sentinel's monstrous pronouncements, and the clang of Magneto's valiant defense, but you were helpless to intervene. Panic gnawed at the edges of your resolve, but a stronger emotion burned bright - the desperate need to find a way out, to rejoin the fight. You were trapped, but you wouldn't be broken.

The detonation echoed through the shattered cityscape, a thunderous knell that shattered your fragile shield. Inky tendrils of darkness dissipated into the smoke.

A primal scream ripped from Rogue's throat. It wasn't a battle cry, but a torrent of raw emotion – a desperate plea laced with anger and a flicker of something resembling fear. "Don't you dare, Erik!" she roared, her voice cracking with the strain of witnessing him teetering on the precipice. "You hear me?!"

"He's trying to protect us, Rogue!" he shouted above the din, his voice a beacon of reason amidst the chaos. You watched, heart clenching in your chest, as the battle lines shifted. Magneto, his face a mask of resolute determination, wasn't fighting for dominance; he was fighting for a sliver of time, a desperate gamble to shield you and the Morlocks from the Sentinel's relentless assault.

A metallic groan sliced through the air as Magneto exerted his telekinetic prowess to the limit. The twisted wreckage around you pulsed once more, the mangled metal coiling and twisting into a grotesque, protective cocoon. This wasn't a cage – it was a desperate shield, a last-ditch effort to buy you precious moments. You could feel the strain on him, the telekinetic exertion echoing in the way his features contorted in concentration.

And behind the flimsy barrier you were forced behind, the Sentinel loomed, a mechanical monstrosity bristling with malevolent energy. The air crackled with anticipation, the inevitable doom hanging heavy in the air. You could only watch in horror as the Sentinel, unfazed by Magneto's valiant defense, continued to barrage the shield. There was no escape, no recourse.

You were trapped, forced to witness the battle through the warped metal bars of your makeshift cage, a helpless spectator in a life-or-death struggle.

The pronouncement echoed through the ravaged cityscape, a metallic monotone devoid of any semblance of triumph. "Omega threat eliminated." The words hung in the air, a chilling epitaph for the valiant stand Magneto had taken.

You stared, your voice a mere rasp escaping your lips. "No...oh my god," the words tumbled out, barely a whisper against the symphony of destruction that roared around you. It was as if the world itself had been plunged into an abyss of despair.

But within that despair, a flicker of primal rage ignited in Rogue's emerald eyes. Grief, raw and unbridled, morphed into a terrifying fury. With a strength that seemed to defy physics, she ripped apart the metallic cocoon that had served as your temporary prison. The mangled metal groaned in protest as it yielded to her touch, showering you with debris.

You and Remy scrambled to your feet, your gaze falling upon Rogue. Her form, a whirlwind of primal raw energy, streaked across the battlefield towards the colossal Sentinel. 

A desperate cry escaped your throat. "She's gonna get herself killed!" The raw terror in your voice resonated with Remy, his face mirroring your own growing panic.

He didn't hesitate. In a blur of motion, he launched himself onto a nearby motorcycle, a battered relic amidst the wreckage. The roar of the engine masked the fear that gnawed at him. He sped towards Rogue, desperate to intercept her suicidal charge. He ignited the bike in kinetic energy, sending it flying toward the sentinel and saving Rogue in the process. 

The air itself crackled with anticipation as the Sentinel, its victory seemingly assured, prepared to unleash another earth-shattering blast. A beam of emerald energy, the largest and most destructive you'd ever witnessed, beamed within its metallic eyes, threatening to annihilate the last vestiges of life on Genosha.

Your eyes darted back and forth, taking in the scene with a horrifying clarity. You looked back at your friends.

 You couldn't let them die. This wasn't an option. With a glance back at the imminent threat, a resolute determination hardened your gaze. You knew what you had to do.

"Hey Rogue," you called out, your voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in your heart. You turned to face her, forcing a smile onto your face despite the tears that welled up in your eyes. You wanted to etch this image of her – beautiful, strong, defiant – into your memory. Then there was Remy. You're best friend. The one person who had your heart forever. 

A single tear escaped, tracing a glistening path down your cheek. You had found love in this fractured world, and now, you were ready to give it all up to save them.

"Take care of Remy." 

The words hung in the air, a stark counterpoint to the cacophony of devastation. You looked at Rogue, her emerald eyes blazing with a grief that threatened to consume her. This wasn't her fight anymore, not if you had anything to say about it. You couldn't risk looking at Remy one last time in fear that you wouldn't be able to go through with this. You turn a heel and looked up towards the hazy smoke filled sky. 

With a resolute nod, you rose. It wasn't a physical movement; you willed yourself upwards, defying gravity with a surge of pure, unadulterated power. Your body became a mote of light, ascending towards sun. It was partially obscured by the Sentinel's monstrous shadow, but it held the key to your desperate gamble.

Your mind became a crucible, a furnace where your mutant abilities burned at their most intense. You channeled every memory of a total eclipse, every flicker of darkness that had ever devoured the sun's brilliance. You needed more than just darkness, though. You needed a celestial eclipse, a cosmic puppet master pulling the strings of the solar system.

The effort was Herculean, a battle waged on a universal scale. You could feel your very essence straining, the potential for oblivion a mere hair's breadth away. But the thought of your friends, their faces etched in your mind, spurred you on. You wouldn't let them die. Not today.

As you neared the sun, its corona, a fiery halo, blazed with an intensity that threatened to immolate you. But you pressed on, driven by an unwavering determination. You were a cosmic moth drawn to the flame, but instead of destruction, you sought a metamorphosis, a transformation that would turn the tide of battle.

Your body, now a conduit for celestial energy, reached a critical point. With a cry that echoed through the shattered city, not as sound, but as a ripple of pure willpower, you unleashed the culmination of your efforts. A shadow, vast and obsidian-hued, erupted from you, engulfing the sun. The once-shining orb receded completely, swallowed by a darkness born not of the moon, but of your desperate will.

The Sentinel, its emerald death ray poised to deliver its final, apocalyptic blow, faltered. Its mechanical systems sputtered in the sudden absence of its power source. A wave of unnatural darkness blanketed the battlefield, turning the day into a spectral twilight. The battle was far from over, but for now, you had rewritten the rules of the game, drawing power from the heavens themselves to tip the scales in favor of humanity.

The strain was immense, a war waged not just on the battlefield but within your own essence. The air crackled with raw power, a testament to the titanic struggle being waged. Visions flickered at the edges of your consciousness – your friends' faces, etched with worry and determination, a stark reminder of what you were fighting for. You wouldn't let them down. Not today.

The shadows that now pulsed through your body, tendrils of darkness imbued with the power of a celestial event, surged outwards. They lashed out at the Sentinel, a tidal wave of midnight propelled by your unwavering will. You roared, a primal sound that escaped your hoarse throat, "Go to hell!"

The shadows connected. The deafening hum of the Sentinel's weapon died with a whimper, replaced by an eerie silence. For a heartbeat, the battlefield held its breath. Then, with a sickening groan of metal, the Sentinel began to disintegrate. The shadows devoured it, consuming the mechanical monstrosity whole until nothing remained but a smoldering pile of scrap.

As the last remnants of the Sentinel crumbled, you felt the darkness within you begin to recede. It was like a tide pulling back, leaving you drained and adrift. Your vision swam, the familiar faces of your friends blurring at the edges. You had achieved the impossible, but the victory came at a steep price. The world faded away, consumed not by the eclipse you had created, but by the exhaustion that finally claimed you.

Your body fell gracefully back down to the earth that was once a lively Genosha. Your body, still the color of faded moonlight, lay motionless on the dirt and ash surrounding you. The last thing you could hear were footsteps dashing madly in your direction. Your eyelids were getting heavier. You didn't know how much time you had left. 

The world dimmed around Remy, the edges blurring with a sickening dread. Eclipse, usually a beautiful, sarcastic ray of light, lay fragile in his arms. Her eyes fluttered open, a spark of confusion battling the haze clouding them.

"Remy?" You whispered, your voice faint.

He choked back a sob, tightening his hold on you. "I'm right here, mon coeur. You're gonna be okay. Gambit's gotchu." Each word scraped against his throat, a desperate promise at odds with the chilling fear that coiled in his gut.

Eclipse blinked slowly, your eyelids heavy. "It hurts, Remy."

He traced a gentle hand over your cheek, his fingers brushing against a damp tear track. "I know, mon amour. But the medics are almost here, you just gotta hang on."

A weak smile played on your lips. "Always the hero, huh?"

Remy forced a smile back, his heart shattering with each shallow breath she took. "Always." He knew better. This wasn't a situation he could fight his way out of. But he wouldn't let you face the darkness alone.

Your grip on his hand tightened, then relaxed. Your eyes fluttered open once more, a question lingering in their depths. "Promise me..." Your voice trailed off, barely a whisper.

Remy pressed his forehead against yours, willing his strength into you. "Anythin', Eclipse. Promise anythin'."

A single tear escaped your eye, tracing a glistening path down your temple. "...don't forget me."

Remy's breath hitched. "Never. Tu me hanteras toujours."

He choked back a sob, burying his face in your neck.  Your hand, cool against his cheek, brushed against him one last time, a whisper of a touch before falling limp.

A/N: I'm adding one more part to this, just to close this fic out. How we feelin'?

[brooklynislandgirl]

@nightmarefuele {{this delicious bite of petite four}}

A rush of pique comes skittering up her spine and makes her stiffen in place for a moment. Lifts her jaw, tilts her head, posing her like a mannequin full of imperious pride. It lasts all of fractions of a few seconds. There are a plethora of flaws she'd admit to, freely and without need for platitudes to soothe her, but the thing she'll not brook is a slight on her intelligence. She cannot convince him any more than she can turn the sun into a swan, no more fly without wings. She doesn't need to answer. The way her gaze pours over him says all she needs to. Particularly the moment where she lingers over the blade in hand. The pulse at her throat turns to drum beats in unceasing pace. Lips part to permit a deeper draw of air which feels caught in her lungs. Pupils dilate so that the darker streaks of amber in the spring green gets eaten away. None of these things change as she meets his own lightless depths save for maybe the flutter of butterfly wings in her belly. The effort to tear herself away uses curiosity as a pry bar but sags her shoulders. Each minced step toward him is picked with great care, placed delicately enough she could spring away like a doe caught in a hunter's cross. "…'m a painter, I draw. Photography is…an artificial eye. F' me anyway. Wha' did ya capture in film? A slivah of time? Some phantasm of beauty?" She passes behind him, close enough to catch a vagrant warmth despite his suit jacket. Sharp bites of chemistry that had never been her strong suite give way to the softer, lingering scent of hydrocarbon…gun-metal on her tongue. Reminds her of summer nights far away from Gotham where the skies were endless and the sea abounded at every turn. Her brother working on his car engine, then racing her on an empty Pali-Highway. Makes her want to rub into his creases and lines a fresh coating of Wilson Combat oil, royal purple to his liking, viscous but penetrating. Would he be a paradox under her skin? Poli'ahu dancing atop Haleakala? "Ja'like recompense den? Pound of flesh?" On his other side she flashes him a glance that is all lightning strike. There and gone with an after-image as unsettling as his deeper expressions. "Ya skippin' ovah da part dat you…intentionally come f' find me. Why? Wha' ya hope for? You gettin' it?" Just out of reach, she peers into the pan. Grows a little green at the gills over the unnatural smells. His more agreeable to her. Still, she catches that glimpse of mawkish apology. I'm not, she mouths back.

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Wicked Felina (The Girl That I Love)

Part 1 - El Paso

Azriel x Reader - Angst - Smut - MDNI

The darkness within her became his obsession. She was his. Didn’t she know? When Azriel spies his wicked mate with another male, when he kills that male, what he knows as life shifts eternally. No longer is there life. No longer is there death. There is only Felina. Felina who has many secrets.

Series Masterlist - Part 2

Warnings: threat of self-harm/suicide, assumed character death (you’ll see), implied rape/non-con (some gross, shitty males discussing it in a tavern), dub-con, violence, obsession, dark themes, sexual content

One hour ago

Rhysand

All Rhys knew was that when Azriel returned from what was supposed to be a short inspection of the Illyrian war camps, he was different. His shadows whirred violently; his eyes… there was a darkness in them that he’d not seen even within the depths of harrowing interrogations; and while his scent remained his usual cedar chilled mist an iron tang tinged it.

“Az?” Rhys asked cautiously, trailing his brother up the stairs

“Not now.” Azriel growled, clenched fists shaking, pupils blown wide, sweat beading his brow.

Rhys said nothing more, following the frantic male to his room. Well- until Azriel slammed the door shut in his face.

Message received.

A few minutes later, Azriel re-emerged into the living area, a packed duffel bag in tow.

“Az? Talk to me.” Rhys pleaded. Fighting against the urge to dive into his mind. Azriel’s shields were ironclad but Rhys could break through them if absolutely necessary.

“Just stop. I’m fine.” Azriel growled.

He sure as shit didn’t look fine.

“I need to go handle some personal things. I have never asked for leave for anything. Can you please just allow me a couple of weeks?”

The High Lord’s brows creased, voice raising “Weeks? With no provided reasoning?”

“I said that it was personal.”

“As your employer, I can accept that it’s personal. As your family, Az, come on. What happened?”

“I’m leaving whether you grant me this or not.”

Azriel and Rhysand had many battle-of-wills over the years but this was different. Rhys could feel it in the very marrow of his bones.

And Azriel’s demeanor - Fuck, he’d always been dangerous but he was outright predatory in the moment.

Rhys shook his head. “I should kick your ass for talking to me like this but fine - go. Two weeks, Azriel, and then you’re back here or I tear the world apart looking for you. You aren’t abandoning us without reason. I will not accept it.”

Azriel’s only response was a tick of the jaw before stepping out the front door and launching skyward at breakneck speed.

Rhys spent the next hour nursing a glass of whiskey, fighting an internal battle of leaving his brother be or going to find him. Just when he began to lose that battle and head out searching, Cassian burst through the door. His hair disheveled from the wind and caked with blood, his eyes puffy and red as if he’d been crying the entire flight.

Rhys froze in his tracks at the sight of his brother who took a few steps forward before falling to the floor, knees giving out as he let out a deep, world-shattering scream.

Rhys sent his darkness to caress his mind, gently prodding for what could have left Cassian in such a state only to be met with crushing waves of grief. Rhys pushed his consciousness with great effort to cut through the viscous surge of emotion desperate for any sense of clarity.

He’d almost reached his own daemati limit when he was abruptly greeted by flashes of memory. Snow painted bright-red with blood. Azriel laying limp. Ash arrows littering his body. Lifeless hazel eyes. Long dark hair. Red lips. Eyes darker than night. Sounds of a female voice screaming. Tears falling onto blood coated hands.

Suddenly Rhys was thrust from Cassian’s mind as he fought against the induced slumber. Cassian’s body shuttered as tears broke free once again. His words slurred as he tried to communicate within his half dazed state, “Go. Ste-steppes.” Another broken sob. “Az is d- Oh gods!” He cried out. “Dead. And s-she’s”

“Who?” Rhys’ mind flashed to the female crouched over Azriel, screaming.

“Oh fuck, R-rhys. Go!!!”

Cassian fell back into his dream state before Rhys could press further.

Rhys willed himself to remain as calm as possible. Fighting to keep his mental voice steady before the grief could overtake him as he called for Amren and Feyre.

Elain, who had been in the garden, would stay with Nyx. Amren would keep an eye on Cassian and throw additional wards up, while Feyre retrieved Nesta from the House of Wind. Once Feyre returned she would be able to soothe his mind.

Feyre’s mental voice wavered, heartbreak surging through the bond at the news, but she agreed to keep details private until Rhys understood exactly what had happened.

——————

Three weeks ago

Azriel

War Camp inspections had a way of bringing out the worst in Azriel. As if his tolerance level for Illyrians was not already at a miniscule level, these inspections always seemed to inflate the egos of the Illyrians. Camp Lords and their cronies marching into meetings with puffed out chests and mouths spewing hatred particularly grated on his typically infallible patience.

Azriel had been staying at the River House for some time now, carefully avoiding Elain as much as possible, and trying his best to avoid giving Rhys anything to pull rank over. And fuck, he was so tired after a day of negotiations. With nothing but tension awaiting him at home and overwhelming fatigue, he found himself at a shitty Inn in the Illyrian Steppes.

He’d seated himself at a small corner table, shrouding himself in shadow as he observed the belligerent patrons of Rosa’s Cantina, a shoddy tavern attached to the Inn.

“Witch.” He heard a group of males call her. Their eyes fixed on a stunning female swaying her hips in time to the music flowing from a rickety piano at the front of the bar.

Remaining silent, the Spymaster listened to the ruddy males lecherous conversation.

“I wouldn’t mind being under her spell.”

“You’ll sooner find your balls nailed to a stake than completion - even with tits like that it’s not worth it.”

Azriel snarled to himself. Even outside of the Illyrian camps, the males in the Steppes were abhorrent. Backwards in every way. The woman continued twirling, her raven-black hair flowing with each movement of her supple body.

“Not if I tie her down first.” A burly male chimed in, his slurred voice gruff.

“I’ll bet you five marks that you won’t survive the encounter with all of your appendages.”

“Look at what the whore is wearing. She wants it whether she knows or not.”

The brute of a male stumbled up to her and Azriel sighed to himself, he really didn’t want to get into it tonight. But….

The male put his greasy hands on her and Azriel instantly jolted upright, preparing to step in. She tried pulling away as the male yanked her into him. The female whirled in his arms, looking up to him like a lover. The male immediately dropped his arms, palms in the air as if placating a wild animal, he began stepping away slowly. When he turned around, Azriel noticed the blood drained from his face as he threw gold marks on the table and immediately left the cantina. The males only laughed and went back to their drinking.

“Wicked Felina” they called her.

“Eh? How much money have you won off the males she scares away now?” One of the patrons chimed in.

“Enough to cover these boys.” The male slapped the new pair of leather boots adorning his feet.

Azriel hadn’t seen what the male saw in her face when she looked to him but his shadows whispered to him.

“Darkness”

“Like calls to like”

“Look”

And maybe it was the stale mead he’d downed but he did. He strode right up to the female and could have sworn he felt time stand still as the patrons of the bar watched.

He didn’t touch her, only spoke in a low tone, “May I have a dance?”

The female whirled towards him and Azriel had to fight to keep his footing steady. Before him stood the most breathtaking female he’d ever seen.

Her eyes met his and his heart sputtered as he stared into the depth of them. Blacker than night, constellations and blood and something “other” swimming inside of them. He could sense her darkness and instead of his typical urge to question, it drew him in like metal to a magnet.

As she took him in, he heard her heart skip a beat for only a moment, before that darkness invaded his senses once again. No, it wasn’t darkness to run away from at all. It was alluring, captivating, dangerous. And he wanted to drink it all in.

“You are a brave male.” She spoke with a slight, unfamiliar accent. So similar to those of Velaris but with something else mixed in.

Azriel’s shadows whirled around the female, winding through her hair and between her fingers. She didn’t balk from them, she only remained intensely focused on him.

Her scent surrounded them and he couldn’t breathe the female in deeply enough.

An hour later he found himself driving into her. Her breasts bouncing so beautifully that he nearly came from the sight alone. He’d spent so long fisting his cock as he fantasized of Elain that he’d forgotten just how glorious the feel of a tight cunt wrapped around him felt. And this female, Felina, her moans were like a sirens call, drawing him so deeply into her that he didn’t know where she ended and he begun.

He would have gone slowly with her, tenderly, worshipped every centimeter of cool, exposed skin, but she had begged him so prettily to fuck her until she forgot what she was. Who was he to deny a female who knew exactly what she wanted. He’d never fucked a female so hard and still she pleaded for more, sensing that he was holding back. When he finally let go of his restraint, he had to dig his nails into her moonlight pale flesh just to keep her from sliding away. She bit her lip and held his gaze through every thrust. Those damning eyes looking at him like she could read every fucking tendril of his own inner-void.

When she came, he came with her. The Inn shaking with the intensity of their combined orgasms. As he came down from the high, the darkness in her eyes banked momentarily a deep, blue flashing in them before once again overtaking them. He gasped sharply as a snap yanked in his chest. Gold tethering him to her.

“Mate” his shadows sang

“Our mate, our mate.”

Azriel’s breathing grew frantic. She climbed out of the bed, her exposed backside red from the slaps he’d pressed to her round ass. “Did you feel that?”

She turned her head over her shoulder, those eyes meeting his again. “Feel what?”

Azriel’s heart sank. “Nothing.”

“Hm.” She shrugged. “Intresting.” And poured a glass of water from a pitcher on an oak dresser with nonchalance. As if they hadn’t just had life-altering sex, like the ground itself hadn’t shook with the force of their coupling.

Her mouthwatering breasts bounced with each step toward him, her lightly toned abdomen baring silver, faded scars.

“Who gave you those?” Azriel asked.

“I’m as willing to talk about them as you are about those.” She nodded toward his hands.

Touché

“Curiosity can be a dangerous thing.” She stated before bringing his head to her chest and running delicate fingers through his hair until he drifted into a deep slumber full of darkness and a golden thread.

When he woke, she was gone.

And he would have thought he’d dreamt it all, had it not been for the nearly-healed crescent moon imprint of her nails littering his body. He hummed in satisfaction at the sight.

He only hoped that next time she’d leave marks deep enough to scar. He should have staked his claim on her too.

——————

Two weeks ago

Azriel

He searched for her, frantically, day in and day out but she was nowhere to be found. How could he have found his mate and been so foolish to lose her in such a short period of time. He hadn’t even told her his name.

Eventually, he had to take pause, and venture into the camps due to a couple of missing Illyrians. Through his questioning, he’d found that the males were shaking, reporting a fanged creature that swept from the trees and picked off several of their men, one by one. When they returned to reclaim the bodies, all that was left were scattered body parts. Fingers, tongues, and cocks mostly.

He remembered the whispers in the taverns of “Wicked Felina.” Surely it was just paranoia.

Azriel returned to the tavern each night, hiding outside within his shadows. She was never there.

His patience was infallible, no amount of space or time would deter him. He would find his mate, he would embrace that pit of darkness dwelling within her - even if she were the creature the men were speaking of. She hadn’t hurt him, she’d only awoken something within him. His Felina may be dark but she is not the villain. She couldn’t be.

He pushed the sight of the ghostly pale brute running away from her at Rosa’s far into the back of his mind.

——————

One week ago

Azriel

Something tugged at him that night, urged him to find her again. Felina had become the focal point of his thoughts, consumed with her 24/7.

He was a desperate male, he wanted - no, needed - to know every piece of this dark anomaly. Mind, body, spirit. He’d sought someone whose light cast upon his obsidian soul for so long - finding hope in the radiant enigma that is Mor and the gentle, sweet presence of Elain. But all along the mother knew he needed someone who could step into his shadow and find solace. When Felina stared into his eyes, he knew she saw it, saw home. He saw it in her too.

She was so new to him and yet so familiar.

His brothers would tell him he was infatuated, that this was just another Mor, but they would be so far from the truth. This was a need, as essential to him as water or air. He thrummed with desire for his Wicked Felina.

She was the other half of his soul and he would not lose out on the opportunity to make her his.

Tonight was the night, she’d be there, he felt it deep within.

And she was.

Not inside. No, in a dark corner of the alley adjacent to Rosa’s Cantina. With a silver haired High-Fae male, nearly as tall as Azriel, muscled, well-groomed.

And she - her back was pressed against the wall. Her head flung back from the crook of his neck it where her face had been burrowed, pure ecstasy written all over those seductive features. A moan escaping her plush lips.

And then he saw it. Blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.

No.

No.

This couldn’t be.

He HURT her. She didn’t want this. Didn’t she know that he was her soul-bonded mate? She wouldn’t fuck someone in the dark corner of an alley willingly.

Didn’t she know she was better than that? Didn’t she know she was everything?

Visions of the scars on her abdomen and of the male who joked about tying her down to have his way with her came to mind.

No. Not his Felina. Nobody would harm her now that she was his.

Azriel didn’t think further as he barreled for them, unsheathing truth-teller and slitting the males throat before he could even lock eyes with him.

Felina let out a quiet inhale of shock, onyx eyes blown wide.

“No. No. No.” She dropped to the male. Her nostrils flaring at the sight of him, his bloodied neck, checking for a pulse.

There was none.

Felina looked up to him with near-black, pleading eyes. “Azriel.”

And despite the peril of the moment, the fact that he clearly misread the situation, his name rolling off those pretty red lips made it all worth it.

Until the thought occurred to him. He’d never told her his name. “How?”

“Az….” Her voice cracked, the slightest bit of silver lined her eyes before darkness began radiating from her, rage filling those deeper than night eyes. Her voice became cold, deadly. “I told you that curiosity was dangerous.”

Shouts from bystanders rang out, creating panic among the villagers.

“You need to go now. They’ll recognize you.”

He paused, mouth gaping as she looked to him. He knew what she was saying but remained frozen in place.

“Azriel, please!” She cried.

There it was. His name again. Had she been as taken by him as he was by her? Had she sought him out too?

It was then that she unsheathed a dagger and held it to her own throat. “If you don’t leave, I will end it all right now.”

If he’d have looked closely, he would have seen the way her hand shook, the way she couldn’t quite touch the blade to her pale skin.

“I will find you again, Felina.” He vowed - threatened - Don’t even think about escaping me. You’re mine.

“Go.” She mouthed.

——————

Four hours ago

Azriel

Staying away for days was impossible. When she’s wander at night, he’d watch her from afar, remaining unseen. The small village mourned the dead male, apparently the esteemed ruler of this shit hole place. He caught glimpses of a mourning Felina. He felt something in the bond but he couldn’t quite make it out.

Resentment, perhaps? Jealousy? Longing?

And despite the black apparel she donned through the village, her face remained neutral with only a tinge of sadness.

Villagers whispered as she walked by. She paid them no mind.

He imagined they likely suspected the death was over her. Azriel’s shadows reported he had a wife. Why would his Felina sleep with a married male? If he was willing to cheat on his wife with her, he couldn’t have been a good male. Azriel did right by the females for eliminating him from the picture, right?

It was then that a flash of auburn appeared. The male’s wife with several large males behind her carrying torches. “Whore!” She spat. “Only fucking my husband wasn’t good enough, was it?”

“You had to sleep around with another male, one you surely had under your spell, just as you had with mine. You vile witch! And now my husband is dead because some enchanted soul grew jealous over you. You will burn for this!”

Suddenly she was placed in shackles, his shadows zooming into her vision. She must have noticed them as she whipped her head searching for him. She mouthed “no”, shaking her head in the direction his shadows raced off to. They came back.

“Blue not black. Blue not black.”

“Still beating. Still beating.”

“Mate. Mate. Mate.”

It was then that wings burst out of her back. Like Illyrian wings but white, the light casting a holographic range of gentle hues of blues and purple, and pinks. Talons emerged from her nails, but her lovely face remained impassive.

His shadows stirred aggressively.

“Alike. Alike. Alike.”

Another shadow shot back to him, beginning to report something when Azriel saw the pyre lighting in town as the villagers threw obscenities in her direction.

Felina held her head high, accepting her fate so easily.

The fire grew and Azriel once again acted on instinct. They couldn’t take her from him. And to burn her? Rage roared within him.

Azriel flew in, obliterating the large males jerking her toward the fire.

“The Shadowsinger!” someone cried out. Azriel saw nothing but Felina and the rising flames. Never would his mate be subjected to licks of flame marring her flesh. She was far too precious to burn.

Anyone who tried to lay hands on he or Felina were eviscerated. “The key!” She cried, pointing to a dead male. She ran toward it. Azriel launched in front of her, his speed overtaking hers as he retrieved it. She caught the key but her talons made it impossible to unlock the chains quickly. Azriel grabbed the key, unshackling her, the talons and wings disappearing.

“We have to go!” She shouted. Azriel caught her, launching skyward, right as an arrow shot toward them, and straight into Azriel’s back. He fought through it, he had to get her to safety. Another arrow flew through the air, narrowly missing Felina. The attempt on his mate triggering a knee-jerk reaction in Azriel who turned to send a blast of power at the bastard shooting the arrows.

He was struck in the side as another arrow met him. Azriel shot another blast of power in the direction that it came from.

Azriel could feel power rumbling under Felina’s surface. “We don’t have time! You’re hurt.”

Azriel bit back a cry at the pain radiating through his body, the blood not slowing as it should. He began feeling faint, fevered. He struggled through it, needing to make it as far away as he could but his vision began to blur as his body weakened. Felina was crying out something but he couldn’t hear her. All there was was pain and the cool press of her body against his. Gods, she was so cold.

“We need to land, Azriel! You can’t make it further.” She commended. He felt the sting of her palm on his face. “Wake up! Land!”

The slap along with her frantic voice roused Azriel enough to land them, very roughly. He crashed down on top of her.

“Felina….” He rasped.

“Shh.” She hushed him. “Save your breath. I’m okay.” Reassuring him through staggered breaths. “We need to get you to help.”

Azriel placed a hand on hers. “Too far. There’s nothing.”

“There’s got to be something!” She choked out.

Commotion erupted from the trees as a group of males from the village drew toward them. Their torches lighting the night and their bows drawn and ready.

Azriel used the little remaining might he had to push himself up. Felina throwing herself on top of him, her hands coated in his blood.

“I’m sorry for this, Azriel.” She spoke and ripped the poisoned arrow out of him, stabbing it right into her bicep. “Fuck!” She cursed. Suddenly the talons and wings were back. Her scent shifted into something so fucking familiar that it made Azriel’s heart ache, and screams echoed as she shot bursts of power at them. The range was short and the damage limited but it slowed them.

A commotion distracted the group of males as flares of red shot from the brush. A large winged male approaching from the night.

“Cass.” Felina whispered in awe.

Azriel’s vision went dark again, his conscious only picking up on words as the males screaming became less and less with each blast of power from Cassian and Felina.

A light caress came over Azriel’s mind, stroking it into submission, his pain easing. This was it. He wasn’t going to make it out of here.

And at that moment the caress broke free, Felina releasing a piercing scream. He tried moving, tried to console his mate, but the arrow that had just lodged in his heart was too much.

Azriel fought to see her one last time, her darkened eyes now shining like the night itself.

“Mate.” He whispered.

“I know, Azriel. I know.” She sobbed. Caressing his face with those delicate, chilly hands.

All Azriel remembered was the darkness embracing him once again. The pain easing as he heard Cassian’s voice.

“How?” Cassian’s booming voice cracked.

“Later, Cassian. He needs help.” Her voice was so pitiful. Broken.

Azriel’s breathing grew so shallow, that sweet darkness lulling him, even his shadows were silent. All he saw in his mind was her but she was fading. Her touch no longer registering to his senses.

He tried fighting it but there was no use as Azriel took his final breath.

“He’s dead, Cassian.”

——————

Two hours ago

Cassian

Cassian had never flown so fast in his life.

Oh gods, his brother was dead. The female, she refused to leave his side until he left to get Rhys.

His mind roared at him that he should have brought her with him. But why? Who was she?

Who was she to Azriel?

All he could remember as the tears flowed freely was that his brother was dead. That he heard the call for help from the village, that the Shadowsinger had gone mad, only to find a group of men on the attack and his brother incapacitated.

He had to get to Rhys quickly and let him know about Azriel, about the female.

——————

Present

Rhysand

Rhys winnowed to the vicinity of where Cassian had been in the memories when he’d held his mind. He flew until he found the bodies of several men. This was the clearing Cassian had been in and in the center of the clearing was caked blood.

Caked blood and no Azriel. No female.

But the blood, there was so much. He couldn’t have survived.

Right?

——————

Two hours ago

Azriel

The darkness on Azriel’s mind eased only slightly. The crippling pain too much to bear.

He opened his eyes to his version of heaven, to his mate’s face. The arrow removed from her arm.

He was in so much pain only managing to rasp out, “Can’t leave you.”

“You have to make a choice now.” She cupped his hand. “There was no other way.” She spoke to herself more than him. “There’s no way Cassian could have made it back in time.”

She was trying to convince herself. His decision was already made.

She shook her head, bracing herself for his response. “You have only a few moments left.”

The black fog cleared from his mind, every ounce of pain returning, but his eyes opened.

“Look at me, Azriel.”

He blinked and where her canines had been were sharp fangs. “I can save you but I can’t guarantee this existence is worth it. I am still figuring it out for myself.”

To his credit, Azriel didn’t balk. A chance to be with his mate… his Felina. He groaned as he turned his head, exposing his neck to her.

“Azriel, if I do this. You are bound to me. I know I’m your mate but you don’t know me. What if I’m… too much? Can you bare that?”

He tried to speak. She would never be too much. He only kept his neck exposed, a warning rattle escaping his chest.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, as she pressed her fangs into his neck.

Blinding light erupted through him along with the worst pain he’d felt in centuries. Tears fell from those otherworldly eyes of night onto his neck.

He fought through the pain, biting back screams. He would be strong for her.

As she drank, she caressed his hair. A slight whimper and the scent of arousal escaping her. She tensed as she recognized the scent. And he could feel a hint of shame from her end of the bond.

Azriel had only heard legends of vampyr’s. Stories told in the camps to scare children who were prone to wandering off and now here she was feeling shame for her own body’s response to having him at the most intimate level.

As she drank, little gulps escaping her, he felt his strength returning. He raised a hand and grabbed her breast, massaging it as she lapped at his blood. A silent communication that whatever she was feeling did not frighten him, was not unwelcome.

Her body relaxed only slightly but he could sense her relief.

The pain began subsiding and Azriel’s strength had already returned in full, in excess, even.

Her drinking slowed and she fought against the urge to keep drinking, the greedy need for blood raging through her.

Azriel raised his hand from her breast to her face, stroking his thumb across her cheek. She leaned into it, grounding herself.

Suddenly she pulled herself off, gasping. Her chest heaving. Pain filled her eyes as she stared up at him. But he felt… incredible. Euphoric.

And there his mate was, reeking of sweet arousal. Chest heaving. Trickles of blood dripping from her mouth.

“You have to go now, Azriel. Get what you need and come back to me.”

He could hardly think. His need to be inside of her overwhelming every sense.

“Azriel. Listen!” She spoke firmly. “You have a couple of hours at most. Go home, get any healing tonics or sedatives that you may have, clothes, and blankets and come right back here.”

“I don’t-“ he started.

“You will. Can you still winnow?”

Azriel nodded. Had he winnowed in front of her before?

“Go. Now. Before Cassian gets home and bombards you with questions.”

Azriel didn’t want to leave, growing irate at the thought of it.

“I know it’s hard for you to leave. It’s a culmination of our newly tethered bond and likely the mating bond, Azriel.”

He stayed in place.

Finally she approached him. Staring straight past his eyes and into the depths of his soul as the urge to obey her taking overtook him. “Go now.”

Without another word, he left, winnowing directly to the River House, collecting a bag, and leaving Rhys with far too many questions. He prayed to the mother that he wouldn’t track him.

——————

One week later

Azriel

She’d begged him not to take her but she was declining far too quickly. They’d spent the past seven days in a daze. He had quickly gone from euphoric to delirious once returning from the River House.

And just as he’d made a life altering choice to be eternally bonded to her when she’d turned him, Felina made the choice to accept the mating bond by allowing him to feed off of her.

The combination of blood lust and the mating frenzy sent him into a spiral. They barely talked in the past few days, they’d have eternity to do that. He spent more time inside of her than out but she… she refused to feed off of him, citing that it was too risky with his newly turned state. When he wasn’t rutting into her, he was hunting for game but the blood wasn’t enough for her. He cursed himself for taking so much of her blood in his frenzied state.

She repeatedly asked that he not take her to his family but they would understand. It was the only option at this point. Her scent began shifting into that strange familiar aroma again, the darkness of her eyes swirling with flecks of blue. That “other” aspect to her diminishing slightly.

As she fought her consciousness, she barely managed to whisper “There’s more.” before going unconscious.

He’d waited so long to find his mate.

She’d saved him.

He didn’t want to go against her wishes but her condition was deteriorating rapidly. Her fever raising, her once-cool skin now burning as whimpers escaped her lips.

He did the only thing he could and prayed to the Mother that Felina would forgive him.

He flew her home.

They landed on the River House lawn in the middle of the night. Rhys appeared with a crack of thunder to confront the threat that breached his wards. Feyre, Elain, Cassian, and Nesta rushing out behind him, their eyes wide with shock.

Rhys shuddered, falling to his knees before his brother. “Azriel. Thank the mother you’re home.” He sobbed.

Felina let out a pitiful moan. Sweat beading on her brow. Her cool skin now radiating waves of heat. She slowly, weakly opened her weary eyes, the swirling black now bleeding into a blend of ultraviolet blue.

Rhys approached the female in his arms, Azriel tightening his grip on her. Time stood still as Rhys gently touched her face, carefully turning her head toward him. His face of relief crumpling into something earth shattering, the mountains quaking as he fell to his knees.

Azriel started, “This is Felina, my m-“

Rhys interrupted shaking his head as let out pained, joyous laughter. “No, Az.” He choked out. “Not Felina.”

Fighting to regain composure, Rhys clarified. “That’s Y/N.”

Azriel gasped as those now violet-blue eyes peered up into his, his jaw dropping as he carefully went to his knees with her in his arms.

That scent. Those eyes of night. Azriel’s mate was-

Rhys gave a disbelieving smile his voice again breaking at the sight before him.

“My sister.”

——————————————

A/N: Thank you for reading! For now, this is a one-shot. I have left openings in the story with the potential for it to become a series or at least part two with an explanation but have not yet decided.

This fic is loosely inspired by an old-western song called “El Paso” that I listened to growing up with my grandmother. The song is where I chose my pen name of “Felina” from. You may also recognize “Wicked Felina” as the title of the final episode of the show “Breaking Bad”

ACOTAR general tag list: @lilah-asteria

[izzabela]

Idk how to start with this but like how Hanzo is the last couple timlimes kinda clawed out of hell just to avenge his family and shit. Something along the lines of the reader doing it with one of the Lin Luei bros of your choice? Like they died during a mission gone wrong that ended in a massacre with only the Lin Kuei bro alive. So the reader just out of sheer desperation to get back to them bascially claws themselves out of the Netherrealm to try and get back to them. Their covered in burns and they look like shit, but their back

From the Depths of Hell - Kuai Liang x GN!reader

in which you come back home

a/n: DLC announcement, how we feelin?

ship[s]: kuai liang x gn!reader

warning(s): bodily injury(/ies)?, gore?, angst, non-kanon story, non-kanon lore LOL

the TATTOOS GUYS THE TATTOOS OH MY ELDER GO-

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

You looked at Kuai Liang's eyes as he stares at you. His eyes, that are usually focused and reserved, held a line of tears as he looks into your eyes.

The fight to defend the Fire Temple and Hourglass from another timeline threat ended, and the casualties in this were double Shang Tsung's atrocities.

While Liu Kang, his champions, and other titan allies remained relatively alright, mortal casualties from the Lin Kuei and the monks of the Wu Shi climb high.

This was not a war, not even a state of emergency. This was a bloodbath, a massacre- carnage.

It was so bad that the aid you and the Lin Kuei provided, most (if not all) of the men and women that were born into this clan, perished.

The lone survivors were you, Kuai Liang, Bi Han, and Tomas. Not even Sektor and Cyrax made it.

"My dear?" He calls out to you, and you smile as you happily close your eyes, arms are wide open for him to embrace you.

Except you can feel something pass through you. Like a wave of goosebumps, you don't feel the muscular body of Kuai Liang, nor the warmth of his arms.

You turn around and watch as he kneels on the ground, cradling a body that looks eerily similar to yours. You try to get his attention, waving your hands, screaming his name even. But when you try to grab his shoulder, your hand phases through it, and your eyes meet the gaze of your very own, lifeless, ones.

Kuai Liang's shoulders rack violently, rocking back and forth as he holds your cold body. There's a deep, ugly gash running down your collarbone to your stomach, scratches littering your usually clean face, and blood coming from the top of your head. You gasp, falling to your butt as you scoot away.

Your ghostly presence shakes again, this time two people passing through you.

"Brother..." Bi Han's voice is rough, but eerily soft as his eyes lay upon the situation at hand. Tomas is also by his side, and he looks into the sky as he fights the tears that threaten to fall.

"She told me she could handle it..." he mumbles, still rocking back and forth. "I let her go because she told me so..."

Suddenly, you could feel yourself slipping away from the bloodshed. Your arms tried to reach for something, anything, but the mysterious force that stole you from your dearest and his family was too strong.

One minute, you were in Earthrealm. Next, you found yourself in the chaos and eternal damnation of the Netherrealm.

The scenery of the realm frightened you. You had heard the rumors, learned from Ashrah as well, but seeing it in person was different. Jagged and sharp mountains painted the endless and borderless horizon. Echoes of the screams and cries of the damned can be heard throughout the realm, and no matter how much you cover your ears, it rings clearly through your hands.

"By the elder gods," you plea silently. Tears welled in your eyes, the overwhelming sorrow of this place filling your soul.

You begin to cry, wandering aimlessly in the terrain as your body begins to burn, scar, and tear at the elements it faces. What's worse, though, is that you couldn't feel it- not a single thing.

You couldn't feel the jagged stones and rocks that pierced through your feet and scraped your legs. You couldn't feel the fire that burned your arms and torso, your burns scarring over themselves as you wandered. And you couldn't even feel the tearing of your skin as debris from the whirling winds cut you up.

"No use... stay here... all alone... the fire welcomes me..." you mumble this mantra over and over again.

There is no possibility of keeping track of time here. Order, law, civilization as you once knew did not exist here- not when it's ruler-less, borderless, and populated with the most wicked.

And you had to walk through it all.

********

As you walked, Kuai Liang mourned. The loss of his clan was one thing, the loss of his beloved? You? Impossible to comprehend.

While everyone mourned differently, Kuai Liang was different. Fire is beautiful, but also dangerous. It can be wild, uncontrollable, an element of destruction. And by the elder gods, he was ready to explode.

The yellow-clad ninja's depression was violent and manic. He lashed out on everyone, almost burning his brothers and burning Liu Kang's champions. He did not sleep, his insomnia coming back full force to keep him training or sparring.

He wandered the empty palace, sometimes stopping in the courtyard and yelling exercise mantras- as if he still had initiates to train. He was falling deeper and deeper into a psychosis- and you weren't there to witness it.

Bi Han, Tomas, Liu Kang and his champions, hell even some of the Outworlders the Lin Kuei allied with, they all tried to help him, but it was no use. Kuai Liang was a ticking time bomb, and every little thing could be considered the ignition.

One night, Kuai Liang finally passes out from exhaustion of his insomnia. Tomas heard a thud in the hallways, and found one of the servants trying to pick him up. i know i said everyone died but do you honestly think servants go? Tomas tells the servant he's got it, and rushes to his brother in his study.

"B-Bi Han!" he stutters out, his brother on his back as he calls for the cryomancer.

Bi Han gets up immediately, and it's slightly scary for Tomas to watch him tie him down without saying a word.

However, it was for his own good, he'd been growing more and more unstable, taking him out traditionally would probably get one of them killed.

As Tomas watches his brother's chest rise and fall, Tomas prays for the first time in decades.

"God, whoever. If you can hear me, please..." he begs.

"Please return my brother."

********

You're not sure how long it's been since you've heard a noise other than a scream or cry.

But when you hear the faintest whisper of Tomas's voice, your tears cease and your humanity is brought back momentarily. You wipe your eyes and look left, right, down, and up, trying to figure out where and how you heard Tomas's voice.

"return?" you repeat what you heard.

The whisper grows into something more tangible, like a hushed tone someone used in the library. You can hear his voice more clearly, but not yet loud enough.

"Please- retu- bro-," you hear his voice whisper fragments of words.

You shut your eyes tightly, using the last bit of your energy to really zone in on his words.

"God... whoever. If you can hear me... Please. Please return my brother," his voice booms in your head. It's shaky, almost like he's holding in his tears.

"Oh Tomas..." you coo as your tears begin.

Tomas hasn't gone to church in decades. Being from Prague, The Czech Republic, catholicism used to be a major part of his identity. After his parents, he lost the spark and drive he had for the religion.

"The fact he is praying..." you mutter to yourself. "Oh elder gods."

Kuai Liang must've not taken your passing as well as his brothers. Death was natural in your line of work, Kuai Liang had hosted many burials in honor of his clans-people, but you were different. You weren't just a clan member, a ninja, or a woman.

You were Kuai Liang's, just as he was your man. You were his fire, his drive to fight, his partner for life. To be separated so soon... you can only imagine what it would be like in his shoes.

You wipe your tears as you get up from your spot on the ground. More burns appear, but they do nothing to you as you begin to tread for the end of this realm.

However, despite such a noble start, you realize the pain that once felt dull to you was creeping back in increments. Slowly, the agony began to settle in.

"I guess the more human I am, the more I'll feel again," you groan, walking the grounds of the Netherrealm as you try to find any semblance of an escape.

Finally, you stop at a huge wall. Looking up, you realize that it's emitting a haze of heat, just hovering your hand over it feeling like you got burned again. You think of stopping, returning back to the sad, yet easy life of a wandering spirit.

"No," you tell yourself. "Not when you have something to live for."

And so, you grabbed onto the stony wall, hoisting yourself up as you reach, grab, and pull yourself higher and higher. It's hot, scorching, melting your skin as more burns cover your body; you don't care.

Not when your beloved's brother prayed for the first time in years. Not when you realize the agony your beloved is living through as you lie here- wandering and helpless.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blue.

Blue and white.

It's cold, too.

You aren't sure how long you had been climbing, but when you make it back to Earthrealm. And while the chill bites you, it feels like a warm hug.

The warmest of hugs.

Using the last of your strength, you pull yourself up and land into the powdered snow. You gasp as you lay in the snow, rolling around in it like a husky.

You're on hands and knees as you take in your surroundings, and bits of yourself too.

This is Arctika, that's certain. The fir and maple trees that are around this part of the small nation, the constant snowfall the region has is also an indicator. You climbed out of hell to finally be home, but that's the least of your worries.

Looking down at your body, you examine the serious burns that mar your arm. Like a crazy artist on a canvas, your arms are painted in splotches of pink and brown.

But why can you only see one arm?

Your leg also experience this type of artistry, except scars of deep cuts add more depth to this painting. You knew your leg would be cut up from the climb, but you didn't realize to what extreme they would be.

You honestly don't want to look at your face, but when you lick your parched lips, you limp to the nearest body of water you could find.

By the gods, you had never been so... shocked. No words could describe what happened to your face, but it's not a secret when it's this obvious.

A huge, healed burn starts from your right eye, down diagonally across your nose and lips, and ending at your chin. You also realize why you can only see one body part.

Your left eye has been blinded, and there's a scar over your eye as well. You don't remember when this happened, but it doesn't matter when it's real and on your face. You stifle tears as the realization sets in, and all the adrenaline that kept you alive leaves, and you pass out next to the water.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kuai Liang remains in his room, bound to his bed as his brothers stare him in the face. He's livid, body temperature rising as he tries to use his fire to melt the chains that hold him.

Too bad they're imbued with magic.

"Release me at once! Bi Han! Tomas!" he seethes, venom dripping from his words.

Both men look at one another as they meet with sad eyes. For the first time in years, these two agree on one thing- that their brother has become unstable and a threat.

"We cannot do that, brother," Tomas says softly, and Kuai Liang is practically pulling the chains off the walls before a servant bursts through the doors of the bedroom.

"Grandmaster! I come bearing news-" but the servant is immediately yelled at by Bi Han.

"What do you have for us that allow you such disobedience?!" Bi Han screeches, but the servant is out of his water as he keeps talking.

"Grandmaster, master Tomas... She is here." The young men stare at the servant with semi-lax faces, and they push out of the way as the servant locks eyes with the bound pyromancer.

"How do you mean?!" Kuai Liang yells, arms shaking the chains, but it falls on deaf ears as they run out of the room.

Bi Han and Tomas are in the courtyard, and the servants are trembling at their knees as they carry your slumped body. Bi Han and Tomas rush to them, the former carrying your head and the latter at your feet and legs.

"This... is a trap. We saw her die," Bi Han states matter of factly.

"But look, brother," Tomas points out a damning feature of yours. "No one else in the clan has such a part on their body."

"Agh...." you groan, moving around as best as you can. The men move more softly, trying to keep you comfortable.

"(Y/n)?" Tomas calls, and you blink multiple times before the vision of an ashen-haired man appears in your eye.

"Oh elder gods, you're real," you whisper, touching his cheek as Tomas turns pink. You turn to Bi Han and touch his face too.

"It's not a dream...." you mumble to yourself, and Bi Han sits you up so you can breathe properly.

"That... is not possible," Bi Han mutters. "We saw you....die. Kuai Liang held you, he-." You cut him off at the mention of your partner.

"Bi Han, where is he? How is he? I heard he has gone mad, show me where-" it seems everyone in this family has a habit of not letting people finish their sentences.

"Wait, how do you know he was going crazy? You've been dead for months!" Tomas gets up, pointing an accusing finger at you with an accompanied glare.

"I heard you pray, Tomas," you say, getting up slowly to your feet. Tomas is shocked, a bit scared, but he nods as helps you. You arm is over his shoulder, and you limp.

"You look well for what the Netherrealm has treated you," Bi Han quips, and you raise a brow at his dry humor.

As you walk upstairs together, entering the room, and you're met with such a heart-wrenching sight.

Kuai Liang has wrist burns where the chains hold him. His eyes are sunken in, and he has deep and heavy eye-bags under his dimmed eyes. His skin is dull, but there are littered bruises and cuts all over him.

"Kuai Liang?" you ask carefully, voice echoing into bedroom. His head is up, and his tired eyes are bright at the sight of you.

"Oh... darling," you whimper, limping over to him as you wrap your arms around him, his warmth crawling all over your skin as you breathe him in.

"I'm here, I am here. You do not need to be afraid or angry, please beloved," you beg, crying as your shoulder wrack and shake.

Kuai Liang breathes you in, that natural scent of yours with the slightest hint of death. But it doesn't overpower your smell. In fact, it compliments your scent.

Kuai Liang's chains are removed, and finally his hands wrap around you. He holds you, so tight that he was afraid you'd leave again. He tries to look at you, but you're shy.

Also, mangled at the face, you cannot forget that your face isn't what Kuai Liang fell in love with.

"Kuai, no, please do not look,' you whisper. "I am not the same as I was before..."

Kuai Liang just holds your cheek, rubbing it as he smiles tiredly.

"You're as beautiful as the day I lost you." Your eyes well up in more tears as he kisses the scarred parts of your face.

You hold each other, your arms lovingly around his back.

It would take more than death to tear you apart from him.

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

no yap notes, see yall in the next fic!

[blue-jisungs]

horizon zero dawn

# author's note … sigh. i started writing it in feb 2024 LMAO when me n zanna would play (i mean i would play horizon n zanna would watch) so this is dedicated to her <3 im so so sorry how shitty it gets later, you can see the diff when i came back to finish it ... (fun fact this fic was inspired by that one gif of yeonjun who took off his shoe and kicked beomgyu LMAOOO n we were like... wow that was so sneaky... imagine him attacking like that...)

# summary … you're an outcast, no one can talk to you and no one wants to... except a weird, red-headed guy

# word count … 3432

# genre … horizon zero:dawn au! (wow if u coudlnt tell by the title... axe u r sooo smart) its not really lore based, only the fact that theres dangerous machines of diff kinds and there's a major law of being an outcast but fic explains it :D

# warnings … rushed ending + an open ending so its up to interpretation what yn (you!!) choose! blood, swearing, fighting (yn bites a man lmao), killing an animal (the way i wrote the scene after seeing deers while in a car BYE), flashback in italics

it was his moment of glory.

the machine stood there, a few feet away from him yet close enough to take it down with one, precise hit.

he’ll take it down and bring the parts, gaining respect amongst the villagers.

crouching in the high grass, the gentle wind making the grass-stalk tickle his face. hands gripping the spear, he took a deep breath and slowly released it.

it was his moment… though that’s a shame that no one will see it. maybe he shouldn’t have wandered off so far.

better to hunt it fast and return before it gets dark.

the machine had massive antlers which were the most precious part. other than that he could possibly loot some shards and valuables.

yeonjun jolted forwards, jumping out of his hiding spot. the blue light in the machine’s lenses changed to red in the blink of an eye. the spearhead landed right above the eye, not making a critical damage.

“fuck” he grunted and ripped the spear out, rolled over and sank it again, this time aiming for the fragile part hidden under the belly of the machine.

it made a loud, whining noise and fell lifelessly with a thud, dust swirling in the air.

“ha, suck it” yeonjun hummed happily and kneeled down, rummaging through in search of parts.

that’s one of the reasons why he preferred mechanical animals rather than real ones. no blood, bones and skin… mess in general. just metallic gears, wirings and containers.

he noticed something shiny and dived in, a foxy smile of satisfaction painting on his lips.

yeonjun failed to notice that the noise when the machine fell dead alarmed a nearby predator.

just when he grabbed the heavy metal antlers and stood up, his eyes met with the thin red light of an angry creature.

“oh shit” he grunted and reached for his bow, fingers almost slipping with how sweaty they got.

the cheetah looking beast started running, its slim

legs making its movements faster. before yeonjun could draw a bow and shoot an arrow, the murderous creature was opening its mouth. metallic, silver fangs even from afar reflected his face in them. mere moments before it jumped and yeonjun almost released an arrow, there was a sudden swish. an arrow cut the air faster than the wind blows and it pierced the machine’s eyes from the side. it fell down on its face, moving on the ground due to the momentum. the dead piece of metal landed at yeonjun’s feet and he stared at one of the ends of an arrow poking through the lifeless lens.

“i almost got it!” he grunted and looked up. he saw someone approach him, a bow in their hand. “nice shot”

“i know” a feminine voice reached his ears and he sighed. great, now everyone in the moa village will laugh at him “that was foolish of you to stay in the open space like this”

you approached him quietly, if he didn’t see you – he wouldn’t even know you’re here. your steps were noiseless. upon further examination, he noticed your equipment – it was handmade but fully professional, adorned with blue sewings… similar to those in his tribe.

“where are you from?” you asked, noticing his eyes wandering on your bow. kneeling down to deatach the lenses of the machine. yeonjun watched how swiftly your fingers moved, prying open the material with your nails.

“moa village” he stuttered.

“you shouldn’t be talking to me then” your voice was cold as you hid the broken lens in one of the sacks you carried.

“why? i’m a curious person, i wanna talk. besides, thank you… even though i’m a great archer i guess… my timing was a little off” yeonjun grinned, patting his weapon.

“i’m an outcast” you grunted and heard him mutter a quiet ‘oh’.

the law (at least the law in those lands) forbid people to talk to outcasts. if one broke the law, they would be subject to being outcast as well. it’s a punishment – some people get exiled forever and some for a certain amount of years. it all depends on the crime committed, from stealing to murder. however, some outcasts even after being allowed to return to the village decide not to.

“but… no one is here anyway. and i want to thank you. is there a way i can repay you for saving me?” yeonjun mumbled, scratching his neck.

you looked up at him and your eyes met, his ebony irises glowing with genuine honesty… and a spark of curiosity.

“just go home and don’t get killed” you grunted and stood up, nudging the piece of metal with your foot. yeonjun nodded, a mischievous idea blooming in his head like a snowdrop flower after winter.

“sure, of course. i won’t. farewell, outcast stranger” he smiled like a fox and waved.

you watched him leave. the boy was turning around to glance at you from time to time before his silhouette blended with the landscape.

and so you parted your ways.

crouching down, bow drawn and arm stretched, you aimed at a deer. it was a bit away from its herd so you wanted to use it as an opportunity to attack without startling the rest. you just had to land the arrow perfectly between its eyes, causing an instant and painless death. your mentor always taught you that it’s the least you can do while hunting – a quick and painless death for the animal.

the deer lowered its head to start munching on fresh grass and that’s when you released an arrow. with a whistle of the air being cut, the animal dropped dead.

before you walked up to it, there was a quiet crunch of a branch breaking. you turned around, scanning the area and drawing your bow again. was it a machine? you would’ve heard it before, surely.

another crunch.

this time you were able to locate the source of the sound and moments before releasing the loaded arrow, someone jumped out of the bushes.

“don’t kill me!” he yelped and you froze, not lowering your bow. the nearby deers ran away, scared by the sudden noise. well, besides the dead one at your feet.

“you…” a grunt left your lips, realizing it’s the guy you saved two days ago. his face lit up, stepping closer. but you aimed the bow at his head “don’t. move.”

“ah– why? i’m– i don’t want to hurt you” he whined, a pout forming on his lips.

“then explain yourself. why the fuck you’re here? it’s the complete opposite direction from the way you were headed. you were spying me… but why?” you came to a conclusion, eyes trained on him. the man just giggled nervously.

“i… i know it will sound weird but i was just… curious, yeah… and i didn’t even tell you my name yet!” he reasoned and pointed at the deer “i want to help you. let me carry the deer for you?”

you sighed, putting down your bow and hiding the arrow. standing up, you nodded.

“fine. what’s your name, stranger?” you tilted your head, grabbing the arrow that was stuck in the deer. some crimson blood splashed on the ground.

“yeonjun. choi yeonjun” he said and walked up to the animal. you watched him with a puzzled look on your face “what?”

shaking your head, you smiled.

“do you even know how to–” you started but he leaned and grabbed the dead body.

“i was… taught. nevermind. lead the way, lady outcast” yeonjun hummed happily. so you did, avoiding branches.

“be careful. we’ll eat it later” you grunted, looking at him through your arm.

“we?” he repeated happily

“i’m an outcast, not a weirdo. you’ll have a stew and leave” you sighed and immediately stopped, causing yeonjun to bump into you “shh”

there was… a quiet squeaking sound somewhere in the bushes. you looked at him, cocking an eyebrow, and suddenly he smiled softly.

“that’s a fox” he smiled, catching your confused daze “i… ever since i was a kid, i attracted foxes. weird thing. but ignore it, it’ll eventually leave on its own”

letting out an amused huff you began walking again. yeonjun followed you, catching a glimpse of a copper-colored tail in the bushes.

“so… may i know your name, oh mighty outcast?” he cooed and you fidgeted with a pocket knife that you always carried around.

“at my place. also, if you think about it, it’s highly unreasonable to track a stranger and then follow them to their house, don’t you think?” you said casually, stepping over a rock.

“well, they call me ‘unserious fool’ at the village so i guess i know exactly what i’m doing” yeonjun hummed.

for a moment comfortable silence fell between you two so you took in the spirit of the woods.

autumn was your favorite season. trees turning into beautiful bouquets of yellows, reds, browns and oranges. under the sunlight, some leaves looked golden and filled up your heart with nostalgia. you lived alone so most of the time you spent outside, hunting or gathering herbs. during autumn various animals were preparing for the winter sleep so you even had a chance to admire bears if you wandered far enough. badgers, raccoons or squirrels… you loved to sit down and watch them wander in their natural habitat. not to mention all the precious mushrooms growing after a heavy rain. and during this season, the air was crisp and refreshing, even if it stung your cheeks with coldness. what’s there not to adore?

“i apologize in advance for my cooking” you said suddenly. yeonjun hummed.

“don’t worry. i ate my friend’s food and survived so it will take much to take me down” he grinned proudly.

“i noticed” you snickered, touching a tree that you passed by. its tree bark was rough and coarse but you enjoyed that feeling.

“are we there yet?” yeonjun suddenly asked and you just let out a deep sigh.

arriving at your place took a bit longer than usual… apparently yeonjun was a very slow walker and tripped twice over a stone. but you made it eventually. and the deer - surprisingly - managed to stay in one piece.

you insisted yeonjun sat down as you started preparing a stew from your whatever was nearby. herbs, dried mushrooms, leftover broth, fresh vegetables from your garden…

you felt his gaze on you and heard his calm breathing. it was quite an usual sound, as for someone who lived alone since–

“nice place you’ve got there, outcast” he hummed and when you looked over his shoulder, you saw him admiring your place.

it was rather simple. all the furniture handmade from scratch, bunches of herbs and braids of garlic attached to the walls to dry, bows and tools scattered on the floor. and a rug.

“this rug…” he breathed out, the sound of a chair scratching the floor reaching your ears. the faint sound of his bones cracking signaled that he kneeled down.

yeonjun’s fingers traced the rough material of the beautifully crafted rug. light blues, greens and yellows braided and intertwined together only to blend with a thick white stitching. a spiral of colors leading to three x signs in the middle.

he turned around, eyes widened. he felt a cold metal on his neck, of a nearest weapon you grabbed, your cold gaze meeting him from above. raising his chin, his mouth fell ajar.

“you’re from moa village?” yeonjun breathed out, utterly shocked.

“so what if i am? were you sent to spy on me, yeonjun?” you grunted and he shook his head vigorously as a no.

“no! no, no! i was just… it’s difficult to explain but there was just something pulling me towards you and i couldn’t… i had to figure out what…” he started explaining. his hands roamed on the floor but you only poked the spear at his throat further.

“don’t. move.” you hissed through your clenched teeth.

“i promise i don’t want to hurt you!” yeonjun whined, panicked.

“you wouldn’t even hurt a fly, junjun. i’m not scared ‘bout that” you said slowly, watching his features morph into pure shock. eyes widened, nose flaring, mouth open wide and chest rising up and down quickly “i’m just thinking what to do with you now”

“no one has ever called me that in ten years” he murmured. and then you saw it: a spark of realization in his ebony eyes “y/n…?”

lowering your spear, you saw you might’ve accidentally pressed too hard: a faint trickle of scarlet blood ran down his neck.

but he didn’t care, rising to his feet and… wrapping his arms around you. now it was your turn to be left frozen, not knowing how to react. you haven’t felt the touch of a human in ten years, not to mention how it was to hug.

“it’s you” he stuttered, burying his head in your neck. whereas you choked back tears, he didn’t hold himself back. broken sobs escaped his lips, body shaking in your arms. you slowly, awkwardly even, hugged him back.

being a girl is tough, especially in a village when there’s a majority of men. luckily, you had some friends that weren’t as bad as other boys in the village. beomgyu, soobin, kai, taehyun… and yeonjun. you lost your parents while they were out on a hunt whe you were 8 and ever since, soobin’s family took care of you. but you loved playing with all of them equally.

when they hit the age of 13, they had to prepare to become an important part of the tribe one day. their trainings began, slowly losing time to hang out with you.

but yeonjun always tried to spend some time with you. sometimes you two would sneak out at night and go on walks, to catch up.

it all took a turn when one day one of the village boys, older than you, started bugging you.

“come on, why are you hanging out with those losers? they are all gonna end up as butchers or blacksmiths, you should stick with me. i’ll be a hunter” he grinned, grabbing your wrist.

“leave me alone, fucker. at least they are normal” you grunted, trying to run away from his hold.

“normal? come on, they’d ditch you the second they had a chance” the boy, kinam, pulled you closer.

“they wouldn’t. don’t even try to talk about them” you shook your head.

“come on, it’s not even like they’re gonna defend themselves because yeonjun is a pussy!”

“he’s not!” you huffed, attempting to wriggle away from his hold. when you noticed trying to run away doesn’t work, you decided to take a swing and punch him. not only to run away but also he deserved it: no one will talk bad about your friends. especially junjun.

his, oh so manly, scream attracted attention. people gathered to see what was happening.

“oh i’ll beat you up” he hissed, coming at you.

yeonjun heard yells and frowned upon realizing there’s a feminine voice. running to see what’s happening, pushing through the crowd… he saw you, covered in blood. but so was kinam, in who you were currently sinking your teeth.

“y/n, stop, you’ll–” yeonjun called and ran to grab you, separating from the other boy. kinam started attacking him but yeonjun’s hold around you only tightened. curling your back, he took the hits.

“enough! what is happening here?” an elderly voice spoke up. it was kinam’s father, the tribe leader.

“she started punching me, i only acted in self defense!” kinam shouted. you just shook your head, tears running down your cheeks.

“that’s not true… i just wanted to escape and he wouldn’t let go…” you whispered. yeonjun lulled you softly.

“i know, don’t worry. it’ll be okay” he hummed; however, there were dark thoughts in his head. violence in the village wasn’t accepted. and this was the leader’s son, after all.

“you attacked my son?” his father asked, the bass of his voice booming in your ears. shaking your head as a no, the realization began to settle in.

you’re in trouble.

“no, it was him who…” you started and slightly tapped yeonjun to move. he helped you stand up and grabbed your hand.

“you did attack my son. there are witnesses” the leader said, eyeing you up and down. soobin and his parents arrived, fear in their eyes.

“no, it was-!”

“kinam would never attack a lady. we saw and heard when you hit him first” an older lady standing by cut in. you began shaking your head as no, managing eye contact with mrs choi. she knew.

“you will be punished” was all what the leader said and turned around, grabbing his son’s wrist. before walking away, kinam sent you a victorious smirk.

the crowd disappeared and you clutched onto yeonjun, unable to control your sobs.

“i attacked him but only because he was saying shit about you… and he wouldn’t let go of me” you cried, panicking. yeonjun saw soobin’s family approaching “i don’t wanna be exiled, junjun, please…”

but life - nor law - isn’t always fair. this was the last time you hugged yeonjun, being sent into to wild to lead the life of an outcast. no one was permitted to talk to you and you weren’t able to say goodbye to your guardian parents, friends.

with tears in your eyes and just a bunch of your stuff in your arms, you saw them for the last time. beomgyu and taehyun had to hold yeonjun back from running after you as the village guards closed the gate.

your exile was meant to last 15 years.

so as a 14 year olds you thought you'd never see each other again. especially that you didn’t have any knowledge of how to survive in the wild.

but here you are, reunited.

yeonjun leaned away, his eyes puffy.

“how… i… holy shit” he breathed out, his lower lip quivering. you smiled softly and wiped his wet cheeks.

“i managed. i’ve stumbled across some people, they were travelers and didn’t mind helping me. i’ve learned how to hunt, gather… it was okay. hey, don’t cry” a gentle scoff left your lips upon seeing his eyes tear up again.

“you were just a girl… i’m so sorry” he croaked out, shaking his head. then, he managed to smile “you recognized me right away, didn’t you? why didn’t you tell me?”

“when you said you’re from our village. i didn’t want to say because i knew you wouldn’t want to come back. i didn’t want you to live in pain that i’m in” you hummed and brushed his hair away

“we were sure you are alive. no one doubted you– holy shit” he gasped, eyes twinkling.

“what?” you frowned. yeonjun ran his fingers through his hair nervously but a huge smile painting on his lips gave him away.

“kinam is the leader now, his father passed away. it was like two years ago and he admitted he angered you on purpose. he, um, felt really bad and said that it haunts him everyday. he wished he could tell you that you are safe to come back” yeonjun breathed out and you blinked, sitting down on you bed.

he did the same, grabbing your hand.

“that’s why i became a hunter. the day you were outcasted, i changed my training. i suck at it, yeah, but that was the only way to leave the village. and i can’t believe i found you” the man grinned, admiring your changed features. changed but still beautiful.

you observed his eyes widen.

“come back to the village. or let me live with you! i- i can’t live without you now that i know you’re here and, and-” yeonjun mumbled, falling to his knees and burying his face in the fabric of your shirt. you ran your fingers through his soft locks and smiled gently.

“junjun, stand up” your voice was quiet but he obliged in a blink of an eye, taking in a sharp breath “i missed you so much”

and with that, you captured his lips in a long kiss. it was full of never spoken confessions, ever-lasting feelings and love. pure love that only parted lovers could share.

with that, his soft lips on yours; you made up your mind where you will continue your life. whether it was in your faraway safe place or back in the hometown you haven’t stepped foot in years, you knew everything will be perfectly fine because now you have yeonjun by your side.

masterlist <3

taglist. @primoppang ,, @mirxzii ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @slytherinshua ,, @kazmura

@nicholasluvbot ,, @ameliesaysshoo ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @mon2sunjinsuver ,, @ocean-minho ,,

@eternalgyu ,, @haecien ,, @nonononranghaee

[bluebird8683]

RR is dead, Tim is not

Tim Drake stood on the rooftop of an abandoned high-rise, the wind pulling at his cape like it was trying to hold him back, as though Gotham itself were begging him to reconsider. He would miss this—the only home he had ever known. The city stretched out beneath him, its ceaseless hum a bittersweet symphony, a reminder of all the people who probably wouldn’t miss him, not really. And yet, the wind seemed almost alive, whispering doubts, pleading with him to stay, even as he remained steadfast in his decision.

They’d mourn Red Robin, perhaps. Maybe even Tim Drake, for a fleeting moment. (Tam is the only one he truly feels bad about leaving behind, but she has a life outside of him, friends who care about her. She'll be ok.) But eventually, they’d move on, the way Gotham always did. Would the family even notice his absence?  A part of him whispered they might be better off without him. That they’d be happier, lighter, without the weight of someone they never seemed to truly see. 

He’d made sure of it.

Tim looked down at the blood pooling on the cracked concrete, dark and glistening under the cold moonlight. The crimson trail spidered out across the rooftop, a macabre work of art he had painted with his own blood, painstakingly collected over weeks to ensure authenticity. Almost hiding the faint scent of ozone in the air from the rainstorm earlier today, the scent of iron, or blood, hung heavy in the air. The scene in front of him is a gruesome sight- one he purposely staged to be that way, but horrid all the same. The manikin he painstakingly ensured looked exactly like him (down to not having a spleen and that paper-cut he got earlier today in the office) was one that he had grown and made explicitly for this. It never breathed in life, but he had made sure all the muscles showed all the wear and tear his muscles likely had.

He arranged it to be crumpled near the roof entrance of the building, its fingers splayed unnaturally, some twisted and broken as though his attacker had tried to torture something out of him that he refused to give. One shoulder was visibly dislocated, the other broken in such a way that his bone was sticking out of his skin. The left leg bent as if he had somehow gained a second knee. The neck bore the telltale bruising of strangulation, the skin mottled with dark purples, a haunting testament to his fabricated final moments. (Though there is bruising elsewhere on the body, the ones on his neck were the darkest.)  

The area around the manikin was a tableau of chaos: broken bits of his bo staff scattered like splinters of a shattered life, and tears in the suit—carefully slashed to match the grotesque injuries—added the final touch of authenticity along with the extra blood he had collected from himself in advance pooling and being poured from specific spots. He doubted anyone would be able to tell that he was still alive after seeing this. No one but him would ever see this as what it was, a staged exit. They might call it a tragedy (if they're feeling generous) or a lost fight. They would call it the curtain call of his life, but all it truly was is the end of Act I.

The stage was perfect. (Thinking of this all as a play had made him feel better about it, thinking of the clone as a manikin as he removed the spleen and injured it, as he put together the murder scene...) 

Tim’s gaze swept over the rooftop one last time, cataloging every detail. The smear and drops of blood around the roof, the broken bits of his bo staff lying near the body covered in wounds, the com he placed in its ear. The entire scene screamed tragedy—a hero ambushed, overpowered, and left lifeless on a cold rooftop, the final act of violence etched around his neck in a black bruise.

It had to be convincing. It had to be enough to fool Bruce, Dick, Damian, and even Barbara. Tim could imagine the triumphant sneer on Damien's face, the satisfaction of no longer sharing the Robin title in any form. And Jason… Jason might raise a beer, toasting the end of the “replacement.” The thought hurt. (Thoughts of how they viewed him always did- it's why he tries not to let his mind wander... not that he can really do that- but that's part of the reason that he's doing this.) He’d run through every possibility, refining his plan with several contingencies he can switch to at a moment's notice. That was what he did. That was who he was. (Something that Bruce trained into him.)

His fingers trembled as he adjusted the position of the manikin’s arm one last time. Not from fear or regret—those emotions had burned out weeks ago. This was the final piece of a puzzle he’d been building for months. (He left a nice little case for the detective family to follow, if they decide to investigate his demise. All the leads would turn cold though, of course.) He should feel relief, maybe even triumph, but all he felt was a bone-deep exhaustion.

“This is it,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the gusts of wind.

He stepped back, letting the scene burn into his memory. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what would happen next. The news would break—Red Robin, dead in the line of duty. (He knew his body would be discovered in the morning- the owner of the building liked to come up for a smoke every morning before going to work.)

The family might grieve, or maybe they wouldn’t. Tim wasn’t sure anymore. Would they even miss him, or would they be better off without him?  Maybe they’d even be happier. Bruce would brood, sure, throwing himself into the case until he found just enough to close it. Damian, though, might sneer, claiming he saw it coming. Dick… Dick might actually cry. But eventually, they’d move on. They always did. After all, it had been months since any of them had really talked. How could they miss someone they never cared to know?   

But eventually, they’d move on. They’d forget. It's not like it'll change much.

Tim swallowed hard, forcing the lump in his throat back down where it belonged. This wasn’t about them. This was about him. A chance to finally breathe without the crushing weight of their expectations, their demands, their indifference. All this without even a courtesy "thanks." He’d spent so long loving them, sacrificing his sleep, his time, his social life for them, and all it had earned him was emptiness. Exploitation masquerading as family.

He's had enough.

He turned away from the body, moving to the edge of the rooftop. His new gear was already packed, hidden in a secure location outside Gotham. His offshore accounts were loaded, his new identity (and several back-ups) painstakingly crafted. Every system he’d set up—from the programs helping Gotham’s homeless to the automated responses at WE—would run smoothly without him. He’d made sure of it. Everything major will be fine without him. They’ll be fine without him.

Tim took a deep breath, letting the cold air fill his lungs. His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins. This was it. The last goodbye.

He turned on the device that would hide his heartbeat from anyone with advanced hearing, stepped off the ledge and disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind all he had ever known, the fractured remnants of his life, and the only city he had ever called home. 

[kolechiart]

Do you have any strange hill high headcanons with the main trio

* sure! i got a couple under my belt at this point but to preface one of the main headcanons i have is that the magical oddities of the school carry over and infect the students as much as it does the teachers, giving each of them a unique curse of sorts that fades away once they leave school grounds - this concept dictates the rest of this post!

templeton 🧪💡

curse turns into him into a wooden puppet - though one that is old and dull in colour. human enough sure, his sweater does most of the heavy lifting noticeably off not helped by worn paint and chipped, dented wood. he looks more like a test dummy than a children's toy-

the meaning here is obvious enough, to highlight his gullible, easily swayed nature, but one that'd still be lost in him anyway as most things are. looking deeper brings to light a more charitable reading of him being naturally curious and easily adaptable to any situation.

most noticeable feature is that he glasses are his eyes and he is still able to see out of them when they're no longer attached to his face. they aren't hiding anything however and if removed will only reveal a hallow, blank face that's prone to being vandalised with red marker-

it's hard to tell if he's really…alive in this form and he doesn't need much of anything at all. sleep? water? food? all concepts that feel strangely unfamiliar all of a sudden and the fact he's prone to going in a lifeless, ragdoll like trance whenever he stressed does little to help.

becky 🐭🧶

curse turns her into a stuffed toy mouse - one that is been well used and therefore she's stitched together like patchwork quilt a mixture of soft felt, torn cardboard and floral patterns. she feels as if she has crawled out of a grandmas sewing tin but can't say that she minds.

what she does mind is that how this is clearly mocking her for being meek and anxious, quick to bolt and otherwise be scatteredbrained under pressure. as true as that may be it also hints at her softer, kind nature and how that her impulsive can be just as much as a blessing.

tends to undo at the seams when anxious, causing her to fall apart in a more literal fashion. she insists that the only painful thing about it is the sheer inconvenience of it all but upon discovering she's still has full control of her body when it's in pieces maybe it has more uses-

very creative and artistically gifted, another's trash is her treasure! or even maybe a new coat or earrings. big into upcycling and is fond of making personalised trinkets for her friends but tends to have a hard time letting go of clutter. you never know when it'll be useful, mitch!

favoured pass time is exploiting templeton and using him as a blank canvas for him to paint or otherwise experiment on with her more out there crafting. after all he is built like a mannequin, it's only fair.

mitchell 🐺🚀

curse turns him into a werewolf - though one made from hardened, worn plastic instead of plush soft fur and that combined with his segmented, ball jointed limbs gives him the appearance of an action figure! maybe one that has been collecting dust on a collectors shelf

he's disgruntled by this, viewing it as backhanded way to poke fun at his lack of attention span and given the nature of the curses he isn't exactly wrong in thinking that. however it's also in reference to his unwavering, doglike loyalty and general easy going, playful nature.

he was more enthusiastic upon discovering that body modification was something that came almost natural. from extending his arm to flick becky's ear from the other side of the room to swapping out his hand to a nerf gun pranking just became his main line of defence.

naturally he brute forced himself to become an makeshift engineer and with the help of becky's scrape collection alongside templeton's brainstorming he's able to craft up all sorts of makeshift tools and devices for every niche, hyper specific situation imaginable!

the only thing stopping him from terrorising everyone around him is his lack of foresight and how many of his ideas do not pan through because are you sure physics is an actual, tangible concept and not something made up so that they can bore you to tears in class-