#childhood memories oh lord

[local-shrub]

Omg i miss the old teen titans! The ending man😭

I like in Teen Titans that Robin’s mask is just as expressive as like cartoon spidey masks. Especially when they do this thing:

OR WHEN HE DOES THIS:

he’s so silly I love him lmao

[song-tam]

can't tell if my replies actually sent pls know if they didn't i also loathed rafayel with a burning passion. xander was second least favorite for the SAME REASON (both of them grab u without consent literally on the first meeting) but at least he wasnt a little BITCH

NOOO THEY DIDNR SENT BUT IM GLAD YOU AGREE i cannot STAND rafayel. ugh. im gonna be real i kinda forgot the grabbing thing i just remember thinking that he was SUCH a cunt. total trash. i hate the way that you talk the way that you walk i hate the way that you dress <- me abt rafayel. xander was like……… whatever i guess??? like he was FINE he was just so BLAND i didn’t care for him at all. anyways!!!! love & deepspace was an Experience

[fairsweetlonging]

time travel au where liu qingge and shen qingqiu (yuan) end up accidentally traveling a decade back in time before luo binghe was amitted to qing jing peak and before shen qingqiu had his qi deviation, but after their generation has risen to peak lords.

which means, shen yuan realizes quickly, as they're accosted by said peak lords, that he will have to face shen jiu.

as they're being cleared for demonic energy and the likes, mu qingfang of course instantly detects the poison without a cure eating away at shen yuan's meridians. liu qingge pulls a copy of the treatment plan out of his sleeve (shen yuan blushes a bit, did liu qingge always keep that on hand?), and just like in the current timeline, they agree to keep it under wraps.

shen jiu tries various times to get a moment alone with shen yuan, but he never quite manages because liu qingge is there, who is also... nice?? to him?? for some reason?? shen jiu gets a bit flustered at the solemn politeness and skitters off.

it comes out pretty quickly that shen yuan has "memory loss", and thus can't remember anything that's currently taking place in this time. shen yuan expects scorn, hatred and disdain from shen jiu, expects to be grabbed and interrogated, to arouse suspicion.

but shen jiu looks....... sad???

being transported here threw shen yuan's qi off-balance (even liu qingge had to sit down, which means it's bad), and his cultivation is already so unstable, so when the peak lords are all squabbling and arguing and threatening and raising their voice, he can feel his body shut down. he sees yue qingyuan start to move towards him, which, knowing the future yue qingyuan, he really isn't up for right now—but before the sect leader can get to him someone else is at his back, transferring him qi, holding him up gently by his shoulders, then coaxing him up, leading him outside

shen yuan's been fed qi by every peak lord at least once. he doesn't recognize this one. that means it can only be one person.

he looks up. it's shen jiu.

and it's bizarre, getting fussed over by the scum villain, having gentle hands run along his back, his hair, that clear, soothing voice calming him down. and somehow shen jiu knows exactly what to do?? somehow it works perfectly on him?? it's almost as if shen jiu has known him his whole—

oh.

bodies, like homes, hold memories, even if the original occupants are no longer there. it's the milestone marks on the doorpost that chart a child's growth, blurry photographs faded by time, scuffed floors from well-walked paths, and tiny holes in the walls where pictures once hung.

shen jiu takes him to the bamboo house, pours him tea, and asks, calmly, what he remembers from their childhood.

it's not his childhood, so shen yuan doesn't actually remember anything, but the body he's in does. the memories it holds are emotional rather than visual; he remembers being alone, scared, and hungry. he remembers anger, pain. a dark room. loud voices. he remembers his heart skipping a beat when heavy boots stomp his way. the sound of a whip.

he doesn't have to lie. the memories aren't his own, and they're from long ago, which means shen jiu has them too. and, he supposes, this is his only chance to find out what really happened.

but shen jiu doesn't say anything about it. he just nods and stares, intensely. then he asks shen yuan if he remembers yue qingyuan. shen yuan says no, he doesn't. the conversation takes a very strange turn after that. shen yuan can't help but feel a little queasy when shen jiu asks him if yue qingyuan has taken advantage of his memory loss.

"has he come into your home? has he brought you gifts, sweets? does he invite you for tea? did you accept?"

he has. shen yuan doesn't know why that would be a problem, the sect leader has been nothing but kind and helpful and patient. and generous, too.

when he says yes shen jiu looks furious.

liu qingge (his one) comes to pick him up, and his time with shen jiu is cut short. somewhere he's glad, cuddling into liu qingge's back as he holds him while they fly. he feels a little bad for yue qingyuan, knowing he's probably caused a big fight, but it doesn't sit right with him. he wishes he knew what happened.

.

liu qingge, meanwhile, is having the time of his life fighting himself. it's good practice!

[aemondloverr]

𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐉𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐩𝐭. 𝐈

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐕𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐) 

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 • 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 • 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: As the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra, you are sent to the North to negotiate terms with Lord Stark.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: Disapproving Jace

𝐰𝐜: 𝟐.𝟒𝐤

𝐀/𝐍: Ngl school was kicking my ass but I still wanna deliver 😪 (btw, cregan appears in the next part, not the first. sorryyy :p

❆ • ❆ • ❆ • ❆

“Mother? You sent for me?”

Rhaenyra is sitting at a table in her chambers, sipping wine and surrounded by various papers and documents. She looks up as you enter and a soft smile tugs at her lips, her eyes seeming to light up for just a moment

“Yes, my daughter. Come, sit with me.”

She pats the seat beside her, clearing a space among the piles of documents. There's an expectant look in her eye, her gaze resting on you

“I have something to discuss with you.”

Oh no

You know whenever those words come from the mouth of a mother, it’s never good. You’re either in trouble, or it’s something serious.

You approach the chair nervously and sit.

She sighs and sets down her glass of wine, shifting her attention fully to you. Her eyes seem to search your face for a moment before she speaks again.

“You're growing up so fast, you know that? It feels like just yesterday you were a little girl running through the gardens, laughing and playing with your brothers.”

You smile at the mention of fond memories.

Oh Gods. A speech is always a bad indicator. Especially one of childhood.

A pang of bittersweet nostalgia seems to pass over Rhaenyra’s features as she continues, her voice taking on a hint of regret

“Sometimes, I wish I could freeze time and keep you just as you are right now, still young and innocent, before the world has a chance to harden your heart. But… that’s not the way things work, is it?”

“I know mother…” Your smile quickly fades and you worry for what she’ll say next.

Rhaenyra holds your gaze for a moment before she speaks again, her voice soft and earnest

“You're much more perceptive than your brothers, you know that? You always were, even as a child. You always seemed to know what I was thinking before I even said it-”

“Is there something you want me to do?” It would be nice if she stopped beating around the bush and just asked.

She takes a deep breath as if steeling herself for what comes next, her gaze unwavering and intent on you

“…As you know, my reign is not without its challenges. There are those who question my claim to the throne, who think that my rule is not rightful. I need you to understand, my love, that in the future you may be forced to make difficult decisions, decisions that will impact not just your own life, but the future of the entire realm.”

You stare, expectantly

“This is why I am asking you to go to Winterfell…”

What…??

“But mother…”

She knows that this is the part where you'll likely protest

“I know you don't want to go, my love. I know that leaving home, leaving me, is difficult for you. Believe me, I would not ask this of you if there was any other option.”

“But Cregan…you know what he did…”

You’d expected something important yes, but this?…This was simply too much to ask of you .

Her hand comes to rest on top of yours in a comforting gesture.

“I know, my love. I know it hurt you greatly, believe me, it pained me to see you so distraught.”

“So why can’t you send Jace. Why would you send me to see him??”

“Jace is a good, honourable boy. I know he would do his duty and serve me well as a diplomatic envoy to Winterfell. But he is not you. I'm sending you for a reason, my love.”

“And why’s that??” You begin to get frustrated

Rhaenyra looks straight into your eyes, her gaze unwavering as she speaks

“Because Cregan Stark is a proud and stubborn man, one who values strength and resilience. He is unlikely to listen to just anyone. But he knows you. He once cared for you, deeply. I'm sending you there as someone who has the potential to sway him to our cause.”

“This is not fair. How could you even consider asking me this when you know—“

She sees you tearing up and reaches out to brush a strand of hair out of your face, her touch, gentle and tender

“You know that duty must take precedence over desire…”

“For the realm...” You mutter, a tear falling

Rhaenyra's heart aches to see the tears in your eyes, but she doesn't falter in her resolve. She lifts her free hand to your face, gently wiping away a tear that threatens to spill down your cheek.

“Yes, my love. For the realm…”

She gently pulls you closer, letting you rest your head against her shoulder. She runs her fingers through your hair, her touch soft and soothing

“…For our family. For all the people we are sworn to protect.”

*****

Later that evening at supper

The entire family is gathered around the large table in the dining hall, eating their supper and engaging in light conversation. Rhaenyra is seated at the head of the table, daemon at the other with Jace seated to her left and Luke to her right.

Joffrey is seated across from Jace, chattering away happily about some toy he received. Rhaenyra glances up to where you are sitting, a small but weary smile on her face

Jace notices your quieter-than-usual demeanor and nudges you gently with his elbow

“Hey, are you alright? You're awfully quiet tonight.”

“Yea I’m alright, I’ll tell you later” you whisper.

Jace looks at you for a moment, his expression one of concern, but nods understandingly. He returns to his food, but you can feel his gaze occasionally flicking over to you throughout the meal.

*****

Rhaenyra stands and taps her glass.

At her signal, the conversation around the table dies down, and everyone turns to face her. Rhaenyra stands, her expression serious as she looks around at her family

She clears her throat and speaks, her voice steady and commanding

"Before everyone retires for the evening, I have an announcement to make."

Rhaenyra takes a deep breath, her gaze flickering briefly to you before continuing.

"As you all know, the stability of the realm depends on maintaining strong alliances and relationships with our noble houses. It is therefore necessary for me to send an envoy to Winterfell to reinforce our ties there."

A pause.

"I have decided to send your sister to Winterfell as our representative. She will leave in two days' time."

There is a moment of stunned silence as the rest of the family processes this information. Jace looks over at you, his forehead creasing with confusion. Luke's mouth has dropped open in surprise. Even Joffrey is silent, for once.

Jace protests. Daemon just sits back and watches the drama

He speaks up immediately, his voice filled with concern

"Mother, surely you can't be serious? You're sending our sister all the way to Winterfell? Alone? It's too dangerous!"

Rhaenyra looks at Jace with sympathy but irritation at his protest.

"I understand your concern, my son, but this decision is not up for debate. Your sister is perfectly capable of handling herself and representing our house honorably."

“At least let me go with her“

"No, Jace. I cannot spare you here, I need you by my side. One dragon in the open is enough and the greens could spot you” your mother says sternly.

“Mother you can’t just-”

Joffrey cries and Luke tries to comfort him. He doesn’t like the arguing and yelling

“It is done Jacaerys. You will argue no more about this!”

You quickly excuse yourself from the table, hurrying to your chambers.

Jace looks like he wants to say something, but Rhaenyra gives him a warning glance, and he reluctantly stays silent

As you head back to your chambers, you can hear the murmurs of the rest of the family resume, their low voices discussing the announcement Rhaenyra made. As you begin to pack your things, there's a soft knock on your door

“Enter”

Jace enters the room, closing the door behind him. He stands awkwardly for a moment, his hands fidgeting at his sides. Finally, he takes a deep breath and speaks, his voice filled with concern

"Are you really okay with this, going to Winterfell and seeing...him again?"

“I…have to” your back is turn from him as you put your clothing into leather bags

His expression softens and he moves closer to you, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder* "I know, but that doesn't make it any easier. I don't want you to get hurt, especially not by him."

“You need not worry Jace, I will be fine.” You already know that’s a lie. And he does too. But saying it out loud makes it feel true.

"You can say that all you want, but that doesn't make it any less worrying. I know how much he meant to you before."

“I am not going there to pursue him, I am going there to gain the North as an ally for our house.”

Jace nods, his expression serious once more

"I know that's the purpose of the mission, but you can't deny that seeing him again will be hard for you. You have feelings for him."

“What are you saying Jace.”

Jace sighs and runs a hand through his hair, glancing at you with concern "I'm saying that you're fooling yourself if you think going to Winterfell and seeing Cregan Stark isn't going to stir up feelings you thought you had buried."

“So what if it does…It’s not like I’m going to act on them.” You’re just going to do what is asked of you and leave. Nothing more.

"You say that now, but what happens if he wants to revisit the past with you? What if he wants to rekindle what you had between you?"

You let out a huff of frustration. “Just stop Jace. You don’t know anything anyways…”

He takes a step back, his expression hurt, almost. "What do I know? I know that you've been in love with Cregan Stark since you were children, and I know how much it hurt you when he left and you still haven’t gotten over it!”

You turn and look at him in disbelief that he would mention the very thing you’ve been trying to avoid. “Just go…Leave!”

Jace's expression softens at your harsh tone, and he takes another step back, swallowing thickly. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but then closes it again, his eyes flicking to the ground before back up to you.

“Fine.”

He shuts the door with force.

You stand alone in your room, the silence heavy and oppressive without Jace's presence. You feel your emotions welling up inside of you, a mixture of anger and sadness and frustration at Jace's words. But deep down, you can't shake the feeling that you know he’s right.

*****

For the next two days you stay in your room, packing and pondering until the night it’s time to leave.

The atmosphere in the castle is tense, the realization of your imminent departure hanging heavy in the air. Rhaenyra and the rest of the family have gathered to see you off.

Rhaenyra stands next to Silverwing, watching you with a mixture of sadness and pride. The dragon emits a low, melancholic whine, as if sensing the gravity of the situation. The boys and daemon stand on either side of Rhaenyra, their faces stoic but anxious.

“I will see you in few weeks time.”

Rhaenyra nods, her expression solemn. She steps forward and hugs you tightly, pulling you to her chest. The hug is firm and possessive, conveying a mixture of love and protectiveness.

"Be safe, my love. I will count every day until your return."

You step aside to hug Jace. He returns your hug, his arms wrapping around you tightly. He holds you close for a moment, his chin resting on the top of your head. When he pulls back, his expression is still serious, and he mutters quietly.

"Be careful, alright? Don't do anything stupid."

“No promises…”

Jace gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before stepping back to allow Luke to say his goodbyes. Luke hugs you tightly, burying his face into your shoulder. When he pulls back, he's fighting back tears, his voice wavering when he speaks

"I don't want you to go."

Joffrey then hugs at your waist, teary eyed, his aebottom lip trembling.

"Please don't go, please...I want you to stay."

Joffrey buries his face into your stomach, his small hands tugging at your dress. Luke places a hand on Joffrey's shoulder, trying to soothe his younger brother's distress. He looks at you helplessly, his own eyes glassy with tears

“Hush sweetlings…I wont be gone forever” You kiss their cheeks and tops of their heads

"You'll come back, right? You promise?"

“I promise.”

Joffrey and Luke both look up at you, their eyes wide and pleading, searching your face for assurance. Rhaenyra steps forward, her hand resting on each of their shoulders.

"Your sister will be back before you know it, and she'll come back with a great success for our house."

Even Jace tears up a bit but rolls his eyes, trying to play it off.

"I'm not tearing up. I just got something in my eye, that's all." He rubs at his eye, trying to cover up the fact that he is, in fact, on the verge of crying.

Then comes Daemond with a large, tight hug, practically suffocating you.

“Alright alright I love you too” you struggle with a strained voice and he finally lets go

“Just come back in one piece.”

“You know I will” you playfully push his shoulder.

You tie your bags to Silverwing and mount her saddle, blowing air kisses as you lead silver wing out of the den and out into the dark of the night.

The entire family watches as you and Silverwing take flight, the dragon's wings beating strongly as you soar into the black sky.

A sense of melancholy hangs in the air, the weight of your absence already palpable among those left behind. Rhaenyra's expression is solemn as she watches you disappear into the distance, a silent prayer on her lips for your safe return.

❆ • ❆ • ❆ • ❆

𝐀/𝐍: I hope you enjoyed and forgive me for the delay. AP clases are NOT for the weak 😭 part 2 will definitely be out within the next few weeks tho. Let me cook.

PS. The plot is a bit different from the teaser. Please don’t be mad at me🙏🏾

@beebeechaos @iv-vee @aemondwhoresworld @obscure-beauty @6ternalsun @msmarvelknight @melsunshine @cregansfourthwife

[skyrigel]

You are in love 11 | B.B

Part 1 of " You are in love "

Pairing: Benedict bridgerton x best friend! Reader

Warning: smut, 18+, p in v ( rough), fingering, fluffy fluff, Idiots in love, might have used whore, use of f word( alot) double orgasm, teasing, inexperienced! Reader, horny! Reader

Rigel's note 🪩: aftermath of my " You are in love 1 ", this is the confrontation and smut part of the request. My cow is so angry at me—i write so cringe sometimes, 10 points to your house if you find 1989 ref other than title.

You can hear it in the silence...

It was only a minute after you laid in your bed, you heard it, a soft thud against your window followed by another.

Your heart dreaded because it wasn't the first time your best friend had thrown rocks at your window, first time—when he called you a duck in front of lord Ivor, a childhood memory and second when he was bored so he thought calling upon his fairer sex friend would be the best choice and another time—

This particular one was very violent against the glass and for a moment you wondered if it would break, you pushed the blankets aside, feeling the night chill settle in your bones as you pulled your night gown closer.

Your feet touched the cold floor, chill reaching up your spine as you dragged yourself to the window and there he was.

Basking under the moonlight and ever so beautiful, his cheeks flushed like he had run miles and his heart heaving, his eyes widened at your silhouette and a deep sigh escaped just after a smile took refuge on his lips, those treacherous lips.

You opened the window, he dropped the pebble.

" Benedict ! " You screamed whispered down at him, his smile grew but his expressions were pained, like he was deeply confused.

" Can we talk ? " It was loud and clear, echoing in the dark, he wasn't drunk but there was something very intoxicating about him.

You face palmed, feeling your heart sink because you still haven't forget the warm tingling, still haven't forgotten the way your heart cart wheeled along with everything inside you, crawling it's way to Benedict.

Every friendly castle crumbling in mere moments, just by remembering how tenderly his mouth moved when he was protecting you and how tenderly it would be to have it against your—

" Please, please, please, " He chanted, not attempting to keep it low, then he dropped to his knees and even in the dark you couldn't mistake the silvery bead, those were tears.

" Give me one chance, let me talk, let me—"

" I am coming ! " You leaned across the sill, telling him shush with your fingers as you backed away, running out of your room but tiptoeing all right, missing the third step because it creaked and opening the back door soundlessly to your secret gardens.

Despite the fear of getting caught and chill that was swirling, your own heart wasn't being much help, your face grew warm at the mere sight of him and let alone the other embarassing things that he did to you, just by existing.

" Are you mad ? " You stomped your feet across him, crossing your arms as he looked up, his knees penetrating in grass, like he was begging for all of his sins, like you were something to worship, like a false god.

Benedict's eyes were red in the moonish glow, he was radiating, he was crying, he was so very beautiful.

" You are really mad Benedict ! Go home, we will talk tomorrow—"

" I thought i lost you." He said, it was more of a cry but you were too baffled to form words anymore. He sniffed.

" I thought i would never see you again...when I lost you...my heart..my heart was the closest to exploding." He said, clutching his heart as his lips parted in a gasp. It was paining him but it pained you all the same.

" Oh Benedict." You whispered, your hand inevitably caressing his cheek as he shaked his head profusely.

" You don't understand how much... fuck...I came here all the way thinking you would be gone somewhere i couldn't follow...like i fucked everything again—"

" You ran all the way here ?! " You garbbed his chin, you knew it would hurt but you needed to know this.

" That's not the point." He avoided your gaze but you jerked him right up, eye to eye.

" Are you fucking mad Benedict ?! Are you drunk ? " You leaned to sniff his mouth but he only reeked of the few lemonade he downed with you.

" I...no...I am sorry." Benedict swallowed hard, his adam rolled and readjusted again and the warmness was there again, spreading through the creaks of your bones.

" That was really stupid Benedict." You said softly, you couldn't imagine what whistledown would write if she had seen him running wild.

" I know, I know...it just seemed right to me, like I couldn't stop myself even if I tried but I am sorry, i don't wanna lose you, and I meant it all, truly and completely." Benedict said, his hand grabbing your wrist like you would run away and leave him.

" Benedict we aren't talking about running..?"

Benedict's brow raised as he worried his jaw, his eyes dazed as they lingered on your lips more than it was approved by.

" I am talking about.. about my defending you but I swear I wasn't trying to be hero or some knight in shining armour, i just wanted to be there like you were always for me." He inhaled sharply, you were knocked out of your breath as you tried to breathe and speak and failing in both.

" I know..I know I have embarassed you deeply and i am so sorry, i am—"

" Benedict shut up." You yanked your hand away from his grip, breathing harder as he watched grimly, not making a sound.

" That..." You bited your lip, " I'm..." Your heart was beating too fast and your cheeks deepened in colour as you turned to him.

" Hot." You said finally, gripping your night gown as your knuckles went white, all blood rushing to your face and places too holy.

" You're hot ? " Benedict tried but a grin tiptoed it's way and it was so beautiful across his face that you wanted to feel it against your own lips. Shut up !

" What you did for me Benedict...it was...it was the hottest thing you ever did...you were..oh my god...you were on fire." You closed your eyes, feeling yourself vibrate throughout your body with just his heavy gaze.

" I thought," he recovered his slackened jaw, smiling like a star,", i embarassed you."

" You could never ! " You shaked your head, taking a step, not much, it was enough.

" And the time I called you a duckling? " He laughed, sound rich and melodic and that's how you loved him the most, free and feral.

" Well you could be an idiot sometimes." You chuckled softly, taking a deep breath as Benedict outstretched his hand.

" I know, I know...I am such an idiot and that's why I need you, I want you by my side." He said earnestly, you took his hand as he pulled you closer.

" This...it has been a torment all this time." He whispered it lowly, voice heavy as he kissed each word on your knuckles, your brain was dead in it's wake.

" Benedict." You exhaled, this would ruin you, there would be no coming back.

" I watched you leave and i...I thought what would become of me and there was only one answer—nothing, there's no me without you. I can't imagine a life where it's not us." He brought your palm closer to his lips, pressing them softly, inking each syllable.

" Benedict." You shaked your head because you would do something very stupid if he didn't stop, Benedict stood up, his knees buckling and making an odd sound.

" So you must know, it can't wait anymore because I can't keep it in, it's killing me." Oh how much it was killing you, little did he know, You felt the moment stop when he leaned down, his breath heavy on your cheek as his eyes darted to you.

" You're my best friend." He said, and you knew what it was, he is in love.

Then he kissed you, soft warm lips against yours and it was only a moment before he pulled away.

" I am sorry...fuck—"

" Don't ever apologise for that ! " You pulled him by his collar, crashing your lips again like waves meeting the shore, it was like your soul was crawling out for Benedict and nothing else mattered.

A moan escaped his mouth and your whole body shuddered at the sound he was making, those sound that drowned in your own mouth as your devoured him, you felt him grinning against you and oh you could die, In silent screams and even in your wildest dreams, you never dreamt of this.

Breathless, you spared a moment and he looked so beautiful with his swollen kissed lips beaming up with your saliva. Your.

" I... Benedict...more." your cheeks blazed, you were damn sure your ears were red because Benedict looked like he was about to die, his grin splitting his whole face in half.

" This..it was perfect ! " He said, dipping down to kiss your cheek, you thought he would pull away but he then rested his forehead against yours, your breathing leveling with his in synchronise. It felt real, all of it.

He pulled you by your waist, nose bumping in yours.

" I want to give you everything..." He breathed, " everything that you want."

" I want it Benedict." You were only half aware of the thing you wanted from him, perhaps to entwine your souls together, you weren't sure but this torment was too much.

His thumb caressed your lips and then your jaw, making stars and circles as he whispered in a amused little voice.

" We must wait—" you kissed him, hard on his mouth and you were sure someone's tooth was chipped but it melted the pain as soon as his mouth parted for you, his tongue swiping across your lower lip like a Eden's feather.

You were holding his face like it was your life support and he was too holding you back like you were his most precious treasure, his hands were slowly progressing up your thigh, your night gown sliding up. He stopped, you stopped tugging at his hair and felt him whine against your mouth, nipping in response. You guided his hand to your slick as oil womanhood, he gasped against you.

His eyes were shining brighter than every star that hanged high.

" Oh." His fingers touched you and you thought you would die just there, moaning like you never had.

" You are...you are wet." He said, his cheeks deepening in heat and colour, his smile becoming a grin as your eyes dazed.

" Fuck ! " You moaned, arching back when he swiped his one long finger against you, Benedict moaned just the same.

" Oh lord...oh lord..oh fucking lord." Benedict groaned, you were sure he smiled wickedly before his finger penetrated inside you.

The coil in your stomach lurched and something heavy dropped inside you.

" It might..it might.. might hurt." Benedict dropped his head to the crook of your neck, kissing once before he set his eyes on you.

You winced as one finger became two, pulsing inside you, your soul was no longer inside you and it was as if you were floating.

" Ben...oh—" you almost cried, your eyes tearing up when his pace increased and he was panting and shaking, his eyes widening when you came with a sharp cry, thighs shaking and turning to jelly as Benedict watched dazedly.

" Fuck i ruined..I ruined — " you looked as Benedict withdrew his fingers covered in silvery thick juices.

" Shhh... " He cooed, smiling as he brought his fingers to his mouth, you gawked as he wickedly sucked them in, humming at the sweetness. " You were beautiful."

" Can we..can we go inside ? " You were being nasty, you knew but what you wouldn't give to see Benedict, whole of him, raw and naked.

" I...I would love to but in order to keep your virtue intact—

" Shut up ! " You groaned, taking his hand.

" Anthony will kill me." He shrugged, entwinng your fingers together and they moulded like they were made for each other.

" I will kill you." You said, he smiled like the devil he was.

-

You can feel it on your way home...

" Hey." You laughed when he pinned you against your father's study, kissing you deeply, " shhh..." He smiled, lowering his head to your cleavage, licking it, placing open mouthed kisses all along.

" My father's on hunt, he will come tommorow" You whispered, the servants were the only concern and honestly, there was hardly any concern.

" Good, tommorow i am talking to you father." He smiled up at you, kissing your flesh and you mouthed all prayers you knew.

" Wh..y ? " You said, Benedict hoisted you up, his hands underneath your thigh as he carried you up, missing the third step because he knew, he has been here.

" To marry you my little kangaroo." He laughed when you deadpanned at him.

" Call me that vile thing again and I will say no." You hid your face in his neck, smiling.

" Well since you're smiling—ow"

" Not smiling! " You nipped at his skin, salty and just like Benedict, it was like a dream come true, to kiss him, to love him, to have him.

" What should I call you then cupcake ? " He pushed open the door, lowering you gently down on the couch as he backed away.

" Cupcake ? " You offered, he mouthed a 'sweet' before he removed his waist coat.

" Oh lord..." You gasped as one by one Benedict began to discard his clothes, his skin gleaming with sweat and beauty, he was like the one poets wrote poems about, he was artist but he was art in himself, dazzling and ever so mesmerising.

" C'mon, don't act like you're unimpressed." He wiggled his eyebrow, teasing as he started to work on his breeches, you felt warmth tingling throughout you, you demanded touch because you were starving.

" You're like a poetry." You said, it was more of a breath but he heard it anyway, stopping as held the last bits of dignity together.

" You have called me poetry earlier too."

" Byron's poetry."

" But poetry indeed." He dropped the last clothing, naked and bare in front of you and like every bit about him, he was beautiful.

" My snowman..." You couldn't hold back the grin, Benedict was all macho and bravado but it crumbled when he strided towards you, he so wanted you to like him, every bit of him, whole of him and you did, with your whole heart you would love this man, forevermore.

" Yours." He mouthed, coming over you, his fingers undoing your nightgown and it was revealed that Benedict was rather good with buttons.

He sensed the way your body shivered at his touch, his fingers examining the work he did there with his mouth, he looked at you, you nodded, your night gown slipped down.

" Oh my...you have been hiding this from me ?! From an artist ?! " He sniffed down your body, placing tender kisses all over.

" Really ? I don't know...never thought I was much of bea—" Benedict shut you up with a kiss.

" You're the most gorgeous person I ever met and-" he kissed you again, " my sweet little kangaroo, so please." He shaked his head.

His length twitched on your thigh and you dare not look down.

" It's okay." He said, " all yours." He added with a wink, you glanced at his hardened leaking length, red angry at its head.

A desire in you swirled, to touch it, to hold it, to claim it, you brought your hand before Benedict pulled away, scaring you.

" I am sorry, I am sorry." You threw your hands back, Benedict opened his mouth abruptly.

" Oh no, i would let you fence with it later but right now I really really want to make it good for you."

" Right...I don't know what it meant but..that fencing part Benedict?! " You giggled, Benedict laughed, placing himself between your legs.

" It...it might hurt babe." He said, you stopped giggling.

" Not much." He assured, placing a kiss on your stomach, you so needed to be filled by him, his slender fingers could make you see heaven, you were dying to think where his thickness would take you. He was going to split you, you were going to very much enjoy it.

" Are you sure.. because..we can just do any other time...like wait for marriage, " you made a face, " not that I am not interested...you have no idea how much I am dying to see you scream my name."

" Benedict." You teased, putting all your seduction in it, Benedict eye rolled fondly.

" Oh Benedict! " You said it louder, Benedict eyes were blazing, the vein on his neck was throbbing like worm set free.

" You have no idea what you have done." He practically growled, taking your hand as his tip teased your entrance, you really didn't.

Your heart stopped when only his tip pushed through your folds, your resistance at it's peak, a beak of sweat tricked down your cleavage, Benedict closed his eyes, muttering something.

" Fuck..fuck you're so tight." He hastily said, his length pressing inside, you looked at how he was only half inside but you were already panting and moaning like a whore.

" Oh fuck ! " You screamed as he pushed all at once inside you, his hips smacking against yours making an obscene noise.

" I am gonna make you see stars." He said, his voice shaky but determination was dripping as he slowly thursted, once—your head threw back, twice—you were no longer bounded in body and space, thrice—your eyes closed and it was just stars and cosmic rays, you lost count and control as Benedict set his pace in a feral way, he was pushing inside you like beast set free, his hips rolled and slammed down at you with an alarming rate, they left a burning pain before he striked again.

" Benedict ! " You were screaming, your breasts rolling up and down and he watched devilishly, penetrating into your hole, plunging inside, your jaw slackened like his, his drool dripped down as he was lost somewhere, in his own daze.

He pounded inside you, his breath caught in his throat and his face red, you only half registered when he lowered his whole body, his mouth inches away from you and his thursted one final hard one.

" Oh my god ! " He bited his lips, his knees buckling as his cry sharpened, you felt the insides of your swirl with warmness, arching back, mouth agape with moans he brought out of you, the coil inside your stomach loosened as you came, body going limp. It was the second time you felt mere smoke in existence, everything dizzied while you short circuited.

You opened your eyes to look at him, your devil, your snowman, he was panting, his hair plastered to his forehead, his smile dazed.

" Was it good? " He nuzzled his nose in the crook of your neck, you were aware of his juices mixing with yours inside you and it made your nipples hard, just by thinking.

" Ama..zing." you kissed his forehead, his limp cock still inside you, you liked how full it made you feel, like complete.

" I was thinking about a snowman waltzing." He laughed lowly, it's sound buzzing inside your skin, you didn't get why.

" Why ? "

" Umm...to last longer because.. because I would have come just by the way you looked at me."

" I was looking like a perv ?! " You huffed, he glanced up, his mouth easing your hardened nipple, speaking around it.

" Oh yes, like you couldn't get enough of me, you have compromised me, now you must marry me to keep my virtue entact." He sucked back again, you chuckled, feeling the corner of your eyes glistented with tears.

It was several moments gone, his head on your chest as you scatched his scalp, untangling his hair and occasionally pulling him for a kiss, he was still inside you, coaxing inside your warmness, relishing.

" Benedict." You whispered, not bothering if he had slept already.

" Huh." He mumbled softly, heavy with sleep.

" You're my best friend." you knew what it was, you are in love.

[darklordofthesimp]

Ipseity (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader)

Part of the "Anything" verse, can be read as a standalone.

Summary: When the 141 has to make a choice between saving you or a fellow sniper, you know that your time has come to an end.

A/N: This was meant to be a short filler and now it's like 4.5k long. Hope you're all happy.

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Graphic Language | Graphic Violence | Gun Violence | Graphic Description of Injury

The ringing in your ears woke you up. 

It was a high-pitched squeal that scrambled your thoughts and made your head pound. You couldn't think straight, you couldn't get past the overwhelming dizziness whenever you tried to raise your chin.

Blood stung your eyes. Your chest burned. You hadn’t been in this much pain in years, every pinch of your nerves prodded at long-forgotten childhood memories. They were things that had been left behind from before you enlisted, things that no longer mattered. What mattered was that you were tied to a chair and barely breathing. 

You were going to die here. 

And nobody was coming to save you. 

"Oh,” someone crooned from behind your seat. You didn’t have the strength to turn your neck and you thanked whatever cruel deity was listening that you hadn’t flinched. The least you could do was fake some courage for what was to come. 

“Come back for more?” Your mouth was dry, wretchedly so. You wanted to gag and spit, but there was no moisture in your mouth- it was like sandpaper. 

“There’s not much left in you for me to take, Sol,” Valeria said, her fingers trailing the length of your shoulder. Your body shivered beneath her touch as she slowly circled your chair, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of her lips. 

“Oh, I’ve always got something left for you, gorgeous,” you chuckled, flashing the drug lord a weak grin. 

She snorted, the harsh light of the overhead lamp illuminating the edges of her features. She was a sharp woman, Valeria, somebody that you secretly admired. Not for her deeds or the atrocities she’d committed, but for her tenacity and her ambition- there was no stopping her. 

“You’ve always been my favourite sniper, you know,” Valeria mused, pulling her hand from your skin to inspect it. Your blood stained her fingers, thick and warm from where it had oozed from your wounds.

“You usually kill your favourite snipers?” You tried to raise your eyebrow but sharp pain ripped through your face, you realized dimly that the skin of your forehead had been split.

“Only when they steal things that belong to me, Luz,” Valeria whispered, pressing her hands against the armrests and leaning in. “Then, I kill them.” 

“We didn’t do it,” you met her gaze evenly, the false claim falling easily from your lips. 

“You’d die a liar to protect your friends,” she nodded thoughtfully. “It’s unfortunate that they have chosen not to give you the same courtesy.” 

You frowned, taken aback by the statement. You suspected that the 141 wouldn’t be there in time, you’d come to terms with the fact that your journey might end here. But, the way she’d said it… it was as if you were missing something. 

Valeria’s brows raised, eyes wide as she mocked your surprise with a gasp. “Oh, I must have forgotten to mention it earlier.” 

“Mention what?” You ground out through your teeth. 

The drug lord huffed a laugh, pushing off from your seat and standing upright. Sweat began to form in a thin sheen across your skin, anxiety running rampant through your system. 

What did she mean? 

Valeria’s eyes hardened as she tutted under her breath, pulling the blade on her thigh from its sheath. When her attention turned back to you, the malice in her gaze made your spine straighten. 

“What you stole from me,” she began, pointing the knife towards your face, “got someone very close to me killed.” 

You swallowed thickly, your throat like gravel and your tongue like concrete. 

The woman was seething now, the cool facade that she’d worn had melted into pure vitriol and hatred. It was an expression you’d never seen on her but on so many others throughout the years, it was the stare of someone who blamed you for their loss. 

“So, as penance,” Valeria pressed the tip of the blade to rest against your chest, “your Task Force will have to lose one of their own- even after they bring me the information.” 

“What-” 

“We have the other sniper,” the drug lord shrugged. “The little broken one.” 

Your heart stalled in your chest, fear dousing your body like a bucket of ice water. Blood rushed through your ears, loud and roaring and all-consuming with the sound. You couldn’t think straight, the image of your colleague being tortured flashed across your vision like a spotlight. 

“Birdy.” You whispered the name but it sounded like a plea rather than a statement. Valeria must have heard the begging in your voice because she only smiled. 

“Birdy,” she confirmed, with a smug tilt of her head. 

God, please no. 

“Let them go!” You lurched against your restraints. 

The latina's eyes were like stone, hard and unyielding. She was in pain, she was hurting and now it was her chance to hurt you all for what you’d done.

“I will,” she nodded her head soothingly, fingers coming to trace your trembling jaw. You snatched your face from her touch and she raised a brow. When she leaned back with a sigh, you knew what was coming. 

Valeria struck you hard. 

The wounds on your face screamed and it felt like someone was making you gargle molten lava. Your eyes watered but you made no sound, you gave her nothing to indicate that she’d hurt you. 

“The 141 will bring me what they stole,” Valeria sucked in a breath, watching you from beneath her lashes. “But they can only save one of you.” 

Your eyes widened. 

They can only save one of you. 

You knew then that you were going to die here. 

“What’s the matter, pequeño sol?” Valeria spoke with a mocking lilt. Your body trembled. “You don’t think they will come for you?” 

“No.” 

The word was soft and broken and you wondered if the drug lord had even heard it. The way that her smile wavered implied that she did. 

“No,” she nodded, standing straight. “Neither do I.”

If you hadn’t been so shattered, you would have seen the glimmer of pity pass over her features. 

You took in a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself, "will you keep your word?"

"What?" 

"Will you keep your word?" You repeated firmly. No one was stupid enough to trust the word of a drug lord but right there and then you would take it as law. If you were going to die you needed to know that Birdy would be safe. 

Your eyes bore into hers. Valeria swallowed and you could see her hesitation, the desire to spit on the dying flame in your chest and put it out. 

Instead, the woman only nodded. 

"I will." 

Instantly, you relaxed in your seat and leaned your head back with a sigh. You closed your eyes, fighting the tears that had gathered along your lashes. 

This was it. 

This was the end of it. 

You weren't stupid enough to expect anyone to come save you, not when Birdy's life hung in the balance. There was never a doubt about who was more valued on the team, despite your skills you'd never be able to contend with Birdy's spot on the team. 

It wasn't about who was better, it was about who was loved. 

And nobody in the 141 loved you more than they loved Birdy. 

No one. 

Your lips trembled and you fury rose like a volcanic eruption from within your chest. You would not die crying. You would not die without dignity. 

"I'll be leaving to retrieve my package," Valeria sighed, sheathing her knife. "Once the handover is made, my men will put you down."

You grinned.

"After all we've been through," you feigned hurt. "I thought you'd want to do the honors, gorgeous." 

But Valeria didn't bite. She didn't laugh nor did she retaliate, the woman only watched you with an unreadable expression. 

"We are the same, me and you, Sunshine." The drug lord stood tall, "Deberías haber sido valorado. Morir con orgullo."

You blinked dumbly.  "I don't know what the fuck you said but I'm going to assume you think I'm hot and that you regret not sleeping with me before I die." 

Valeria rolled her eyes and turned away. 

"You act tough, Sol. Don't die thinking this is anything but a betrayal."

Betrayal. 

You offered nothing but a snort, laughing the chill of her words off your spine.

The woman left the room and immediately the silence was overwhelming. There was no one to lie to now, no one to throw your facade at. You found yourself almost asking her to stay as she closed the door behind her, biting your tongue to reserve your dignity. But, you didn't want to be alone, not when the end was approaching so quickly.

 Though, you guess you'd done this to yourself. 

Always good, but never enough. König was your best friend, but you knew he'd leave you in a heartbeat to save the sniper he truly loved- you couldn't ask any differently from him. 

After all, if it had been between him and Ghost, you were sure you'd make the same decision. 

A pathetic tragedy in itself considering the feeling wasn't mutual.

Simon Riley loved Birdy, just as the rest of them did.

You would never compare, you'd never come close, not with your ambitious demeanor- not with your shitty attitude. You'd never allowed yourself to view them as family and when they'd tried to include you, you hadn't let them in. 

If your own family had wronged you, your own flesh and blood, what would the 141 do any differently?

By the looks of the situation: nothing. 

No one was coming to save you. 

The burning beneath your lids became so aggressive you wanted to tear the skin from your face. You wanted to gouge out your eyes, just so that the only thing dripping would be blood- not tears. 

Never tears. 

You were not Birdy, you did not cry. 

You were not Birdy. 

You'd never be Birdy. 

The pressure in your chest grew and swelled and suffocated, extinguishing the fire you'd kept burning for years. Through everything, you'd held strong. Through hellfire and brimstone, you'd crawled your way across death and misfortune to emerge from the ashes stronger. 

You did not break. Not until now. 

A scream ripped from your chest, unrecognizable. It wasn't you who wailed, it was the child inside who mourned their life. It was the adult who'd never been loved the way they'd prayed for in the dead of the night.

Never enough.

Never enough for König, the man who always found himself by Birdy's side, chasing for the crumbs of their attention.

Never enough for Simon Riley, who'd taken your heart and crushed it every time he watched you with distaste- with disappointment.   

You were never the priority. 

Never his priority. 

You'd never be anything to Ghost, not the way Birdy was.

But you were not Birdy and you'd not die wishing that you were. 

You pulled at your restraints, thrashing in your chair with renewed energy. While you knew it was unlikely you'd escape, at least you'd be put down fighting. 

"Hey!" One of Valeria's henchmen shouted. 

You struggled harder, the skin of your wrists ripping from beneath the ties. Fresh blood trailed down your fingers and you smeared it wherever you could reach, wetting the braided rope until it was slick with crimson rage.

Your heart jumped as your hands slipped through the restraints, the gory lubrication helping you pull your crumpled fingers free. 

"Stop!" The cool metal of a barrel pressed against your forehead, putting an instant halt on your plans. 

You glared up at the man before you, his eyes were hard but his hand trembled, the weapon jittering against your skull. 

"I will fucking paint this room with your brains," he hissed, the cigarette in his mouth jolting with each word. "Try me, I dare you." 

"If the 141 comes with the package and I'm dead, Valeria will butcher your entire family, cabrón." You were careful as you spoke, enunciating each word as clearly as you could muster. 

The butt of his weapon struck your cheek hard enough to send stars skittering across your vision. 

"I speak," the man hissed, "not you."

"I'm trying to warn you-" 

He hit you again, this time harder. You felt your teeth dislodge from in your mouth and panic gripped your heart as they slid down your throat. 

"I said don't speak!" He shouted, the words warbled as your vision spun. Your head lolled to the side, gagging as you choked on your own bones. Bile speared through your chest as a combination of blood and stomach acid hit the floor weakly. Your teeth clattered across the ground, like dice rolling across the board. 

"Ricky!" The man called over his shoulder. "Alguna palabra sobre el paquete?

"Aún nada, hermano."

"Mierda! ¿Por qué tarda tanto?"

The conversation fell on deaf ears as you fought to keep yourself conscious. Your hands were freed but now the element of surprise was lost and there was a barrel pressed against your face. 

"I should kill you right now," the man spat in English. "You fucking murdered my brothers like a coward."

"They should learn to duck," you shrugged weakly. 

This time when he hit you, it threw your seat backward. You hadn't been able to move your hands in time before the weight of your body and the steel spines of the chair slammed against your forearms. 

A sickening crunch reverberated through the room, echoing like the toll of a church bell and while that was loud, your scream was deafening. 

"Let's be honest with ourselves, Sunshine," the man laughed, watching you as you writhed and sobbed. "Nobody is coming to save you." 

He cocked the weapon slowly, leaning down to press the barrel against your forehead once again. You couldn't even keep your eyes open as you struggled for breath, choking on your own spit and blood as you shrieked. You wanted to watch him, you wanted to go down with defiance- but fear gripped your throat so tightly you were choking on it.

You weren't going to die fighting. 

You were going to die suffering. 

When the gunshot came, your body recoiled so hard that your head smashed the concrete beneath you. In that horrible moment of silence that followed, you wondered if there was no peace even in death. Agony ripped through your nervous system, every inch of your body screamed for relief. 

If this was death, then you were in hell. 

"Think again, cunt."

The distinct cockney accent had your spine straightening and your eyes snapping open. 

The gun clattered beside your head, unfired. 

You weren't dead. 

"Sunshine!"

You were being saved. 

"Talk to me, Sunshine!" 

The voice was so far away, he was too far away, he wasn't going to make it. You weren't going to make it. The man on the floor next to you must have sat back up because you could feel his hands gripping your shoulders, the gun rattling in your ears. 

Fingers gripped your face, jostling you from your semi-conscious state. Your vision was blurred by your own blood and tears, the figure before you a mess of shadows. You screamed, trying to pull your broken arms from beneath the chair to defend yourself until help got to you. 

Searing hot pain ran up the lengths of your arms and stabbed into your neck. You gagged, a low bellow wrenching from your throat as you heaved. 

"Stop! Stop! Don't move!" 

"Get away from me!" You wailed, voice shrill and unhinged. You tugged again and this time his hands came down on your shoulders. 

"SUNSHINE!"

The roar of your name made your entire body freeze, clutching you by the throat with the desperation behind the callsign. You closed your eyes, a whimper falling from your lips to taint your dignity. 

"Jesus." He sounded like Ghost. It couldn't have been him but, God, you wished it was. "Come on, Sweetheart. Look at me." 

"I can't see," you wept. 

His thumbs swept over your face, gloves wiping the blood from where it had settled on your lids and lashes. You tried again, blinking the crimson liquid from your eyes as best you could. You imagined that you looked a sight, the whites of your eyes a deep red, stained with evidence of your injuries. Finally, your vision settled. 

Simon stared back at you, eyes wide. 

You gasped. 

"Simon?" You slurred, his name broken on your lips. 

"Yeah, Sunshine. S'me." He murmured distractedly. His fingers were twitching on your neck, scanning the rest of your body for injuries.

Your heart was beating against your ribs, sudden anxiety flooding your being.  If he was here it meant that they'd brought the package to you rather than to Birdy. 

That meant… 

"No, no, no," you whispered as the Lieutenant lifted the chair with one hand, pulling your broken hands from behind your back. "No, no, Simon, what're you doing here?" 

Ghost recoiled slightly, a frown overtaking his features. "The fuck do you mean?" 

"Birdy," you rasped, a sob building in your chest. "You need to get Birdy. What about Birdy?" 

"Birdy's-" 

You fought to stand up, pushing him out of the way as you stumbled to your feet. Your body swayed side to side as your vision swam, but you weren't going down- not again. 

"Need a gat. Need Birdy- we can't lose Birdy. Everybody needs Birdy-" 

"Sunshine." 

"I can't lose Birdy!" You snapped, reeling on your superior with a broken gaze. 

For a moment, he stood frozen, speechless. You'd never recover if they killed the other sniper, no one would. Everyone would blame you, it'd be your fault.

"König's got Birdy," Ghost said slowly, straightening to stand to his full height. "I've got you, Sunshine."

You gawked at him as though you hadn't understood a single word he'd said. Realistically, you truly hadn't. They'd come for you, knowing that it would put everyone at risk. 

Simon had come for you, leaving Birdy to a man that he hated with every ounce of his being. 

Simon had come for you, not Birdy. 

"You're here?" You whispered and although it sounded fucking stupid, Ghost only nodded. He knew what you were really asking. 

"Of course," he said. "Of course, I am."

"You came for me?" Your voice broke.

The soldier shuffled on his feet, shaking his head as though he thought it was obvious. 

"I'd follow you anywhere. We both know it," he huffed, that dark gaze pinning your soul to your chest. 

You rocked forward at the words, knees buckling from beneath you. Simon shot forward instantly, his arms looping around your waist and hauling you upward. His hand came to grip your chin, fingers slapping your cheek lightly as your eyes rolled backward. 

"Come on, Sweetheart. Stay with it, it's nothin',"  he growled, jostling your body to keep you conscious. Your head fell forward to rest against his shoulder, ears ringing and your mind shattered. "Sunshine, stay awake for me."

You couldn't any longer, you couldn't listen to him. He should have been used to it by now, you'd always been the troublesome one for him. Never directly disobeying him but never doing it the way he asked, always driving him bat-shit fucking crazy- always under his skin. 

But, if Simon couldn't save you, you'd die happy knowing that he'd even tried. 

You'd die happy knowing that somebody loved you. 

—

When you thought of dying, you always had such a visceral image of what would happen. You'd be the last one on your line, and the rest of your unit would be shot down; you'd make a stand on a hill and wipe out the enemy until you were out of ammo. Then, you would fight until you were overwhelmed. 

That was the death you'd imagined. 

Not abandoned and left alone in a warehouse in a sick game of "pick the sniper you like more." 

"They'll fully recover physically," someone sighed from above your head. "Mentally, though…" 

"They'll be right," Simon finished. 

"That's what they said about Birdy," the doctor muttered. "We all know how that ended." 

"Doc-" 

"Saint."

Simon cleared his throat. 

"Saint," the callsign foreign on his tongue, "Sunshine's not Birdy."

To hear it from Simon Riley himself was all the validation you needed. 

You stirred in the bed and immediately all conversation fell quiet, the both of them waiting for you to fully awaken. 

You knew you were in the hospital before your eyes opened. You recognised the doctor who was talking, a medic who had yelled at you often for ‘being reckless.’ The smell of antiseptic was near seared into your memory and the sound of the monitor beeping was too familiar. 

However, the room was brighter than you’d anticipated and you cringed into your pillow with a moan. The overhead light stung your eyes, searing your retinas and making it near impossible for you to think. 

“Get the lights,” Saint ordered, realizing what the issue was. 

The room fell dim, enough for you to finally pry your lids open and have a look around. Your jaw felt heavy like there was cotton in your mouth. As you probed with your tongue, you realised with a pitted stomach that there actually was something stuffed between your teeth. 

You moaned, reaching upward to pull it out. 

It was as though you’d set off a bomb with the movement. Both Simon and Saint immediately shot forward, hands on your arms to rest them by your side gently. They stood on either side of your bed, like two sentries, one dark and one light. 

“Gonna need you to just relax a second for me, spitfire,” Saint chuckled. 

You huffed, fighting the urge to gag on the material in your mouth. Your tongue ran over it, moving to dislodge it from where it had been wedged between your teeth. 

“Now,” the doctor leaned over to adjust your drip. “Do you remember your name and what happened?” 

Rather than respond, you opted to slowly let the gauze fall out of your mouth and onto your chest. Saint watched you with a deadpan expression as you fought with your facial injuries to perform this feat. 

At the end of it, you offered a weak smile. 

A long moment of silence ensued before the doctor sighed, staring at the lumps of bloody fabric sitting on the gown. 

“I’m gonna go grab some shit,” they said. “Maybe a fuckin’ whiskey.” 

They disappeared from the room swiftly, leaving you alone with the Grim Reaper himself. With a harsh sigh through his nose, the Lieutenant reached over and scooped up the gauze, dropping them into the bin. 

“You couldn’t just answer the question?” He muttered, moving to crouch by your head. He wore only his balaclava, his hoodie down for once. 

“Not with that in my mouth,” you rasped, words thick and sickly. 

Simon snorted softly but he said nothing, opting to watch you instead. His gaze ran from your hair to your neck, over and over as if he were committing you to memory. His expression was gentle but there was something hidden that made you think that, at that moment, he was extremely vulnerable. 

Anything you said from this point on would determine the relationship between you both. You remembered what he’d confessed when he found you beaten and bloody on the floor. It was clear as day and imprinted on your brain as though it had been branded on the inside of your skull. 

“I would follow you anywhere. We both know it.” 

You’d both reached the point of no return, no more smoke and mirrors, no more half-truths. Neither of you could get away with hiding your feelings behind hatred anymore. 

Not after he’d chosen you. 

“You came for me,” you whispered. A statement, not a question this time.

“Of course,” he said again, just as he had before. 

You hadn’t realised you were crying until his hand cupped your cheek, his thumb wiping the tears from your cheeks ever so gently. As much as you hated it, as much as you wanted to stop, you couldn’t hold them back. 

The relief was palpable, the understanding that you were valued was freeing. 

Simon Riley knew the kind of person you were, right at your very core, and he still chose to love you. He still chose to hold your hand and dry your tears with nothing but pure reverence in his gaze. 

You realized then and there, that you were valued.

You were enough.

[tossawary]

You know, given all of the cloning and other evil experiments that Palpatine apparently had going on, it's a little remarkable in hindsight that he never targeted Shmi Skywalker personally.

Like, this woman apparently reproduced asexually and gave birth to one of the most powerful Force-sensitives of all time; I don't generally characterize Sith Lords as having great scientific curiosity or a sense of wonder for the universe (or bothering to remember "little" people exist most of the time), because their whole deal kind of precludes that, but it seems reasonable that one might conclude that there's potential power in investigating this.

If Anakin was friendly with Palpatine for the latter half of his childhood, it seems like it could have been relatively easy for Palpatine to learn things like 1) Anakin's midichlorian count (which he can use to tell Anakin that everyone else is just jealous of his power) and 2) Shmi's situation on Tatooine (which he can use to foster resentment between Anakin and the Jedi Order for not helping Shmi too). Just get Anakin a little frustrated and he'll probably start talking! Palpatine could make some concerned offer to send someone to check on Anakin's mother - it is the least that Naboo can do for the family that helped to save them, the Chancellor might say, but he would prefer that such favoritism remain a secret between them - and then Sidious would have Watto's exact address no problem.

And it's not like it would be hard to kidnap Shmi. Palpatine (as Sidious?) could pick some random bounty hunter and order them to go buy her, because this amount of money is presumably pocket change to him, and if Watto resists selling her off to a stranger, the bounty hunter can claim that they've come on behalf of her son. And if that doesn't work or if Shmi is already with the Lars family, there's always violence. Palpatine can just lie to Anakin and say that his agent discovered Shmi was targeted by enemies of the Jedi Order. Oh, what a shame they didn't protect her!

I don't know what would happen from here. Sidious could potentially contract the Kaminoans as a private, anonymous citizen to research Shmi and see if she'll be useful to him at all; the Kaminoans seem to be in the business of designer babies for specific clients (Jango + my vague memories of some "Clone Wars" comic). Which means that Shmi could be unhappily, awkwardly hanging around Kamino, probably still enslaved, when Jango Fett and the clones business is going on. For years, potentially.

Ideally for the Sith, the Kaminoans would be keeping Shmi in an entirely separate facility most of the time, away from the army intended for the Jedi and the Republic. But Jango might be sent around the planet on errands or something and the Kaminoans might need to use very specific equipment at some points, and I am a fan of grand plans being ruined by chance encounters or workplace logistics, so I think it would be fun if Shmi met Jango or Boba. Maybe Palpatine assumed that the Kaminoans had already disposed of Shmi or were keeping her on ice, due to a badly worded email or something else mundane, because the Kaminoan forgot the right Basic word (it's not their first language!!! or a translator malfunctioned or something) during their space phone call.

There's lots of Canon Divergence directions for this, like more serious angst or drama or thriller horror being imprisoned by a Sith Lord (somewhere besides Kamino) or discovering what's being done to the clones. Shmi could end up being rescued by Jedi and helping uncover Sidious. Or she could have a different tragic ending.

(This whole post regarding Shmi and cloning is partially inspired by that one post pointing out that Rey looks a lot like Shmi, and given the strange circumstances of Anakin's birth, any attempt to clone Anakin might have created a clone of Shmi instead. I still think a "Rey as Anakin's clone" is a fun sequel trilogy AU.)

I'm leaning towards fix-it and comedies of errors ideas because the prequels are tragic enough for me. Currently, I'm thinking about Shmi eventually ending up as part of young Boba Fett's gang somehow, because it's amusing to me that he was somehow a recurring antagonistic figure on that TCW show despite being a child. The other bounty hunters are like, "Kid, did you... bring your mom on this mission...?" And Boba Fett is like, "No!!! She's my ship mechanic!!! But if you touch her, just so you know, I will fucking kill you."

I think that both Anakin and Boba would fucking hate being adoptive brothers in any way, shape, or form. And the idea of Luke and Leia someday having an "Uncle Boba Fett" is also very funny to me.

(EDIT: I'm currently dubious regarding a Jango/Shmi ship because Jango does participate in the creation and enslavement of the clone army. Like, it's the Kaminoans who do it, they hold most of the blame and they would have gotten someone else if Jango hadn't done it, but Jango is very much there and at the very least complicit in a horrifying series of crimes against millions of people. Depending on how you characterize Shmi Skywalker, an enslaved woman, I don't really think she'd be cool with that. She let her child go off to become a Jedi because she thought it would be a much better life for him, while Jango sold his own "children" off into war for money. So, I'm currently thinking that Shmi might like the innocent child Boba, but she might honestly dislike Jango quite a lot.)

[epicfroggz]

Age of Shadow

(This is a fan-made Messmer questline and ending, not based on cut content or anything of the sort. Source is: I made it up. Thanks to @purpupa for helping with some of the items, inspiring me, and listening to my crazed ramblings at the midnight hours. Very long post ahead, enjoy!)

After his fight, particularly after the Hornsent has left his arena, you will be able to locate Messmer at the entrance to the keep’s infirmary, near the West Rampart site of grace. He will be standing in thought before these three chairs:

Messmer has donned a cloak made of Shadow and patched himself up using black gauze (see drawing above). When prompted, he says:

“Hello, Tarnished. There art three chairs here, but none fit me. That seemeth an oversight, does it not?”

Messmer does not turn to face you when he speaks. When prompted again, he says:

“… Thou hast not walked away yet. Doth thee needeth something?”

>Ask how he is alive

pleasantly “Serpents art exceedingly difficult to kill. Believe me, I have tried. Is that all?”

>Ask why he is not attacking

“I had underestimated thee, Tarnished. Thee hast strength befitting a lord. I shouldst not have doubted my mother.” pause “The serpent didst not expect a lightless creature like itself to be elevated to such a standing. It appears things hath changed in mine absence. I have much to learn.”

>leaving dialogue

“Tarnished, I have a request, if thou’rt up for it. I hath misplaced some notes of mine, a recipe for a particular physick. If thee bringeth it to me, thee shalt be rewarded. Farewell, for now.”

The key item Messmer’s Notes can be found in the Specimen Storehouse, near the Storehouse, Loft site of grace. It requires climbing up the catwalks and dropping down to an area with bookshelves.

Messmer’s Notes - Barely legible cursive scrawl written by Messmer the Impaler. Details a recipe for a medicine once derived from one of his mother’s blessings. It appears to be based off a childhood memory, with a few added ingredients “for taste”.

When you return to the infirmary, Messmer will be kneeling in the “O, Mother” gesture before a shrine to Marika that he has set up, the three chairs neatly pushed out of the way. When prompted, he retracts his hands, and says:

“Hello again, Tarnished. Didst thee findeth the recipe?”

You may then give him Messmer’s Notes. Alternatively, you may choose to give him a Blessing of Marika if there is one in your inventory.

>Offer Messmer’s notes

“Oh! I thank thee. Here, thy compensation.” gives you a Rune of an Unsung Hero

>Offer Blessing of Marika

“Oh, this is… Where didst thee get this? Nay, ‘tis not my place to ask. My sincerest gratitude, Tarnished.” gives you a Marika’s Rune

You may now ask Messmer more questions:

>Ask about the jarfolk

“Ah. What remains of my mother’s people. I hath tried desperately, for aeons it seemeth, to ease their suffering, yet… At what point is keeping a patient alive no longer in the interest of their wellbeing? At what point does it becometh insanity?“ shakily “I still feeleth as though I hast failed them…”

The second question only unlocks after you have defeated both Rellana and Gaius. If you have not, when you leave and travel back to the West Rampart site of grace, you will be greeted by the sound of Messmer weeping. Walking within ten feet of him or breaking objects in the room will cause him to stop. When prompted, he says:

trying to sound intimidating but holding back tears “Begone, Tarnished.” shakily “Messmer does not wish to speak to thee at this moment…”

Leaving and traveling back to the West Rampart site of grace will let you choose the second question:

>About your friends…

“I knoweth, Tarnished. They were in thy way, were they not? Rellana, and Gaius… I shall grant them a hero’s burial. May they returneth to the Erdtree yet, even if that is a vain hope in this land.” quietly “My friends, forgive me… For I have availed you nothing…”

>leaving dialogue

“Tarnished, thee can travel to the Lands Between, can thee not? I have another request for thee.”

A cutscene plays wherein Messmer carefully pulls a snake from his eye socket. During it, he says: “After shedding the seal, I recalled abilities lost to me. Some wonderful, some terrible, some… Gah! Hah… For thee, Tarnished. On thy travels, I bid thee well.”

Thus he will grant you this key item:

Juvenile Serpent - One of the base serpent’s progeny, pulled from the eye of Messmer the Impaler. Writhes around often. Stares longingly at the world, or perhaps stares hungrily at you. Who can tell? “Do take care of it, wilt thee?”

After reluctantly accepting the serpent, when you travel back to any grace in the Lands Between that Melina can spawn at, there will be a new option to Speak to Melina. She will say:

“What in the world is that creature you travel with? It seems to like me… You are exceedingly warm, little snake.” pause “It appears hungry. I can feed it some runes, if you would like?”

>Accept (-100 runes)

“Snakes are said to be traitors to the Erdtree, but we too are walking the path of heresy. Let’s get you fed, little one… There. Do tell, where did you find it?” pause “A long lost demigod pulled it out of his eye? Have you been afflicted with madness? No, you are entirely sincere. Huh. Well, it seems harmless enough.”

The serpent must be fed one more time to continue the quest. Speak to Melina at any grace and she will say:

“Hello. The little one hungers once again. Would you like to offer some runes?”

>Accept (-100 runes)

“I am surprised at its good nature, though I have witnessed it spit a red flame when angered. It is impossible not to question what sort of demigod it came from…”

An interaction occurs wherein Messmer materializes in a shadowy haze—not unlike the spirit fog through which Melina appears to you. He introduces himself: “Ah, so it was thee feeding the wee serpent? I knew it smelled like kin… I am Messmer, and thee?”

dumbfounded “Melina?”

“I see. Melina. Sister of mine, I knoweth of the kindling that smolders within thee.” he summons a small flame in his hand to show her “There is no need to burn thy self again. The Tarnished and I shall see it through.”

After this, the description of the Juvenile Serpent item updates:

Juvenile Serpent - One of the base serpent’s progeny, pulled from the eye of Messmer the Impaler. Prefers the company of the kindling maiden, as her touch feels like home. It will not bite the hand that feeds it. Serves as an anchor between the Lands Between and the veiled Land of Shadow.

(Optional) Taking the serpent in this state to the Church of Vows site of grace allows you to choose the new option, Speak to Messmer, which will summon him in shadowy spirit:

“Thou hast met Miriel? We became acquainted when Rellana once brought me here… ‘Tis a burning memory now, but the pastor is a wise beast indeed.” he looks to the sky “‘Heresy is not native to the world. All things can be conjoined’. We have forgotten that. We have forgotten ourselves, what we held most dear. To repair shattered Gold, I must layeth bare the ugliest truths of this world, those which I have been the bearer of for so long—I must mend it with Shadow. For there is no light that exists without the dark.”

Taking the serpent to the Forge of the Giants site of grace allows you to choose Speak to Messmer:

“Thou hast done well to come this far, Tarnished. Long have the prophets uttered of this moment. ‘Tis not lightly I choose to fulfill it, but… I wouldst prefer to give my men the option to return home, if nothing else. Art thou prepared to commit a cardinal sin, with me?”

>Accept

A cutscene plays, in which the Erdtree and Scadutree are burned at once in Messmer’s flame. Messmer speaks:

“Tarnished, hold my kindling aloft. From here, I shall do my part… O, Erdtree, and Scadutree both, ye shall burn together. For the sake of the new Lord, and a new world, mended.”

You continue your journey to Farum Azula and then back to Leyndell, Capital of Ash. Sir Gideon Ofnir will have access to the incantation “Messmer’s Orb” in his fight (why wasn’t this a thing already???). At the Queen’s Bedchamber site of grace, you must choose to Speak to Messmer one last time:

“Ah… Thou art close. Within the Erdtree, I intend to confront my mother. If it be true she has become infirm, and lost all sense of self… Then I shalt taketh her place. The Two Fingers rejected me long ago, but I am yet capable. If it cometh to this, will thee be my Lord?”

>Accept

“I thank thee. We have come a long way, Tarnished.” small laugh “When it cometh to thee, I find I have no regrets. Take this, and when the bell tolls, summon me forth. To stand before my mother once again.”

Thus you will be granted this key item:

Mending Rune of the Abyssal Prince - Mending rune gestated by Messmer the Impaler. Used to restore the fractured Elden Ring when brandished by the Elden Lord. Formed of a swirling mass of serpents, and the base serpent biting its own tail. It will embed a Shadow lost back into the Golden Order, restoring balance. The “base” in the base serpent’s name refers both to its nature and the place it once belonged, at the roots of the Erdtree where light does not reach.

After defeating Radagon and Elden Beast, you will have the option to summon Messmer from a shadowy summon sign on the ground, giving this final cutscene:

“‘Those who walk alongside flame shall one day meet the road of Destined Death’… Yet, it seemeth my road hast led me back to thee.”

“Mother… Thee may rest now. I shall put thee, and this world, back together again…”

Messmer gently gives Marika’s head to you, and you place it upon her body, the Elden Ring becoming mended with the abyssal rune. The scene lingers on her as the shadows in the background deepen, and as a squelching sound grows in volume, soon thunderous. From the darkness suddenly emerges the abyssal serpent to swallow her whole, its red eyes burning against the dark:

The scene cuts to black.

Messmer narrates the final scene, showcasing the now physical Erdtree grafted unto its Scadu counterpart: “The fallen leaves tell a story… Of a Tarnished who became Elden Lord... And the serpent that became a god. A god that ushered in a gentle dark, so that this shattered world may heal.

So that the light of Gold can shine ever more brilliantly, against an Age of Shadow."

[snarp]

This is the official translation of the final Remembrance:

Remembrance of Radahn, consort of Miquella, hewn into the Scadutree.

In their childhood, Miquella saw in Radahn a lord. His strength, and his kindness, that stood in stark contrast with their afflicted selves.

And so Miquella made his heartfelt wish. That Radahn would one day be his king consort.

It is very different from the Japanese text. Here's my translation:

A memory of Radahn, Miquella's king, hewn into the Scadutree.

When very young, Miquella saw in Radahn a king: saw strength - so unlike their frail selves - and, too, saw kindness.

And so, Miquella's innocent request: "Be my king, please"

("Elden Lord"/"Lord" is always "King" (王) in the Japanese text, and I'm mostly using "King" in this post: "lord" has awkward implications.)

Breaking it down:

影樹に刻まれた ミケラの王、ラダーンの追憶

A memory of Radahn, Miquella's king, hewn into the Scadutree.

"Miquella's king". Miquella always phrases Radahn's role this way: "my king," "my promised king," etc. In-setting, the characters probably do read this as a subordinate role - hence the translation "consort" - but in modern Japanese, the expected meaning is the same as in English: "the king whom Miquella serves."

I think the translators kept using "consort" to make absolutely certain everyone knows they're married, but it was overkill to use it every time: there's a reason Radahn's being referred to this way. Go back and count how many times Godfrey or Radagon is referred to as "Marika's lord."

The term for "Remembrance" is "tsuioku" (追憶), "a memory". This is explicitly Miquella's memory. The description of Radahn as "kind" isn't coming from the omniscient narrator: it's what toddler-Miquella saw, firmly in the past tense.

幼き日、ミケラはラダーンに王を見た

When very young, Miquella saw in Radahn a king:

脆弱な自分たちにはない、強さを

saw strength - so unlike their frail selves -

そして優しさを

and, too, saw kindness.

That's not a complete or grammatical sentence, and the linebreaks create the cadence of someone struggling to find words. It feels like the thought got constructed backwards, potentially because Miquella could remember the word "king," but had trouble with "strength" and "kindness".

(Which makes sense both thematically and in terms of how hard those words are to say: kindness = "yasashisa", strength = "tsuyosa", king = "oh".)

だからミケラは純真に願った

And so, Miquella's innocent request:

私の王に、なってください

"Be my king, please"

The "innocently" is "junshin ni" (純真に), which carries a strong implication of naivety that "heartfelt" does not.

The comma in the middle of the quote isn't grammatical, but rather an indicator of hesitation. Miquella said this aloud to Radahn while too young to understand what it meant. Maybe even what "king" meant, aside from "dad".

And it's not phrased as a question; given Miquella's status as an Empyrean, it could even be interpreted as an order. And if this happened in front of witnesses, and if Radahn - possibly already an ambitious adult - said "sure, when you're grown up"...?

This is a horror story, and the kid is not the monster.

[s-4pphics]

moth. teaser. (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: knights of the devil, you all are to be conquered. 

WORD COUNT: 881 

WARNINGS: vampire!ellie, vampirekiller!oc, a lot to come FUCK, violence… so blood(drinking), death, murder, gore, religion briefly,

A/N: yasss yaaas taglist?

prolouge

1809

“Oh, my precious darling…” 

Red, similar to her hair; palms painted from the tips of a finger to the points of elbows; knees sunk into begrimed pili drenched with fresh maroon. Panicked breaths are accompanied by prayers, wishes of denial. Desires for death. 

“… What I would give to protect you…” 

“F-F—“

Tortured hollers are directed towards the pouring skies. Bodies. Bodies everywhere; surrounded by decay. 

She sobs, deep from the pits of her stomach, “Father, for-forgive them! For they do not—“

Thunder claps. Lightning is being used as weapons from the Lord above, all meant to discover her and strike. The beams in the sky are intended to punish her discernment. It was a mistake. It was a mistake! Her eyes refuse to meet the battered corpse of the young babe, no more than three. Her crime was committed in a haze, blinded by starvation, all at the cost of the family before her. Villagers would deem the view a savage attack. A mutilation only made possible by the ravenous wolves after dark. The bears that protect the trees at dusk.

All on horseback, the strangers paused their ventures to inquire guidance. She swiftly became an aid for navigating the path, instructing them with a trembling finger and a blistering throat. Follow that trail to the end of the woods. Unbeknownst to their gracious eyes, she followed. Stalked after their mount for miles like the thoroughbred they ride, carried by the wind. Urged by bloodlust. 

Her vision blurred when they tied their horse’s lariats to a nearby post that barely passed the trees. Her vision was shrouded in darkness, a substance so thick that her limbs felt trapped, even in frantic movement. They’d reached the end, just like she’d promised. 

Their screams satiated her hunger, but never hindered her guilt. 

Demons, I tell you! All of them, demons! Witches destined to be set aflame for the masses! 

And now she crouches over them with remorse in her chest. Remorse that will wash away her like the rainfall that pounds on her shoulders. Much like it had in the past when her purity was stolen. Another fatality. 

1919

“Hunting requires bouts of unwavering dedication. If the entirety of your being doesn’t relish in the suffering of the demons walking, then you are to be shunned.”

Being the youngest hunter-to-be amongst legends, historical monuments that leave trails of prosperous victories wherever they advance, is humbling. Your mother pestered you for as long as you could remember: never, never become a hunter, being her only protest for you, her only child. She used to pray beside your bed at night when she assumed you to be asleep, praising the Creator for forbidding you sickness or poverty. You were her only treasure, a gift from the frosted heavens. 

And the demons took her. 

Hunters searched the unoccupied lands that surrounded your home relentlessly, but no traces of the Devils’ were ever discovered. They attended your mother’s burial for your protection, and prepared to assist your transition into the orphanage, but you denied. You were permanently vexed. Forever vengeful. 

I wish to become a hunter! 

Your recruitment was immediate due to the shortage of volunteers, and that same day, you witnessed all of the treasures and memories of your childhood home — of your mother — get burned to the ground by the Hunters. No trails for the demons should go untouched by fire. 

“If you hesitate for even a second, you’re dead. Either by their hand…” 

Something unsettled you that morning as you prepared for school. Something in the air, something underground. A heaviness in your home that you couldn’t trace. Your mother ironed your skirt and pinned your hair up, brushed down the small curls around your hairline, and she eased you. The weather is changing, dear, she’d said before wishing you well. You studied relentlessly, all while she was shredded by teeth sharp as knives. You want the Devil’s lifeless heart in the palm of your hand, risks be damned.

“Or mine. And I will not hesitate.” 

The overseer of your battalion, who slowly paces before his future prodigies, aura menacing, pauses in front of you. With your gaze locked forward and a lump in your throat, you gawk right on the crescent on his belt — the hunter’s insignia — your feet shuffle, shoes slightly squeaking above the wood. 

“Are you prepared, child?” 

His tone is disparaging, and you swallow. Your head bobs and your breathing stutters. 

“Yes, sir.” 

He crouches before you and your cells stiffen, elbows perched on his knees, eyes finally level with yours. You appear stoic due to the grinding of your teeth, inspecting the stitched scar that sprouts at his right brow and crosses his eye.

“You are nothing,” He hisses, and your heart clenches, “You are not a child, and I am not your elder. Any identity you held prior to your arrival is worthless, now. We are vessels for the greatest power above. Hunter is your only name, do you understand?” 

No verbiage escapes you. It couldn’t with how your breath trembles, so you nod once; Quite mechanic. 

“Stand straight.” 

His conviction forces your shoulders into alignment, and snickers from the older prodigies erupt from behind you. Your cheeks warm and your palms drip. The overseer rises to his feet once more.

“That goes for all of you!” He shouts, and the room is quiet.

The crescent sparkles under the yellow candlelight. Your palms grow clammy at his viperous swear. 

“I will not hesitate.” 

[panda-writes-kpop]

your home is the sea, my home is you ~ pirate! giselle

a/n: after almost seven months (good LORD), we have a third pirate aespa fic!!! and everyone cheered!!! this may be one of my favorite works of the year, there's something so tender and sincere in this fic that I can't quite put my finger on. anyways, gonna go watch Hugh Jackman edits on repeat until I get more fic ideas! 🫶

tw: mentions of robbery, violence, and other crimes associated with being a pirate, a LOT of swearing, the faintest hint of winselle, it's not angst but it gets sad at times???

summary: Your idea for your latest novel has you ruminating on your previous relationship with the woman who haunts your dreams, Giselle. Giselle's longing for a missing piece of her heart leads her to your front doorstep. She just has to hope that you won't close your heart to her, just as she did to you years ago.

♡ Masterlist ♡

A cool ocean breeze wraps around her neck as the chill of the night starts to seep into her bones. Every part of her is screaming to run, to go far away from the things that scare her.

But what is life without a little bit of adventure?

You watch the pendulum in your grandfather clock swing forward as the next words flow easily onto the paper.

She wanted to experience the adventure of the ocean, to let her heart travel with the ocean waves that beckoned her forward. But what was she to do? Abandon her family? Leave the familiarity of her hometown behind?

Leave them behind? The one person who supported them through thick and thin?

The pendulum swings back as you stare at the candlelight in your bedroom.

Rosella had a choice to make, one that would decide her entire destiny. A friend, or a lifetime of fulfillment?

Their call was strong, but the ocean’s was stronger. 

~

With one hand on your naval revolver and the other on your bag, your feet hit the ground with increasing frequency as you run towards the docks. You had a deadline to meet with your time and your writing. The traveling night market was in town tonight, and within their merry caravan of travelers was your editor. A shrewd old woman with a sharp tongue who had been your mentor since you had abandoned your studies to pursue writing as a career.

I would’ve stayed if Giselle stayed.

You shake your head at the thought of your childhood best friend - you were nothing but a fleeting nostalgic memory to her, so she should be the same to you.

The book, the market - I have to hurry.

Unfortunately, the night market only accepted incoming foot traffic until midnight, and according to your grandfather clock, it was a centimeter past eleven-fifty. Your home was ten minutes away from the docks - you’d be cutting it close if you were simply walking.

~

“You’re early.” The guard jokes as you pull out the business card that Merrin, your editor, gave to you. “She still edits your books?”

“As long as I keep writing them.” You fold your arms as the guard stares at the card. “Can I go in?”

“Try to make it quick - she’s in one of those moods again.” 

You pluck the card from their hand before waving at them.

“She’s always in a mood, but I have to hope that it’s a good one.”

You greet the various merchants and regulars that pass by you - most of them are familiar with your work, even if you use a moniker instead of your real name. It isn’t hard to deduce who the newest novelist on the block is when you know their publisher by name.

“When’s the new novel coming?” One shouts at you as you chuckle to yourself. “The last one really pulled on my heartstrings, and I need a bit of a pick-me-up before I go for a second read.”

“You’ll get your hands on it as soon as everyone else does.” You reassure them as they jokingly scoff and walk away.

Oh, the bliss of only being recognized by a small crowd of people.

You stop in front of the last tent on the docks - a large purple cloth hangs over the rods and poles that make up the foundation of the tent. Angry red vines dart over various parts of the tent, but none dare to cross each other.

You take a deep breath before entering the tent.

Hopefully her mood won’t sour mine.

“You’re earlier than usual. Did you get sick and tired of begging the guard to let you in until I would show up and save your ass?” Merrin, dressed in a conservative, frilly white dress, lights a candle with one hand as she balances on her cane with the other.

“Does your bad mood have to do with whoever’s wedding you interrupted?” You bite your lip as she slowly turns toward you.

“If my glasses were on me, I’d knock you to the floor with my cane.” She hobbles over to another table to light another candle as you approach the middle of the room. “And I thought this dress looks nice on me.”

“Yeah, if you were a fourteen-year-old noble who was forced to marry a man decades older than her.” Another sharp look from Merrin causes you to shut your mouth before she fulfills her early promise. “Are you in the mood to read something I’ve written?”

“Depends on if it’s better than the utter shit I’ve been reading all day.” Merrin sets her cane aside as she sits on one of the two chairs near the middle of the room. “Hand me my glasses, will you?”

“Don’t hit me with your cane, you old witch.” You pick her glasses up off of the floor before handing them to her.

“Why, I ought to-” She quickly grabs her cane, which causes you to immediately sit in the chair on her left.

You’re both playing with each other - she won’t hit you that hard, and you won’t completely piss her off. It’s just the way that Merrin is, and if you’re careful, you can break down her walls and see the woman behind the anger and sass.

As you look over to her, Merrin lightly taps your ankle with her cane as a rare smile appears on her face.

“How’s the novel coming? More progress than scribbles and midnight thoughts, I hope?” She looks surprised as you pull a bundle of parchment from your bag.

“I managed to get a chapter out, but it’s a rough draft, Merrin.” You remind her as you hand her the papers. “It isn’t very good-”

“-that’s for me to decide.” She says as she grabs the papers and adjusts the glasses on her face.

“I-” You interject before she gives you a pointed glare.

“Shut your damn mouth so I can read in peace.”

~

Sometimes you wonder why you chose Merrin as your editor - a form of punishment, perhaps?

That’s what you feel like you’re doing to yourself as she carefully scans every single word on the pages that you scribbled on. A spotlight has closed in on you, and you’re sweating under the pressure. What will you do if she rejects you again after this draft? Will you finally part ways with the woman who helped you find a path when you were nothing but an empty wanderer?

Merrin clears her throat as your attention snaps back to her.

She thinks it’s terrible - I’m never going to live this latest failure down.

“This is quite good.” She softly says as she reorganizes the papers for you.

“I beg your pardon?”

“And I thought I was the one with bad hearing, being old and all.” She snorts as you reach for the papers from her extended hand.

As soon as your hand touches them, Merrin snatches them out of your reach with a knowing smile.

“I have one question about the main character.” 

“Alright, lay it on me.” You sigh in relief as you can mentally prepare yourself for her critiques.

Rosella was hardly fleshed out, and she had little-to-no dialogue to give perspective into her motivations, ideals, and personality. Perhaps Merrin could help you with that?

“What woman inspired you to write Rosella?” She asks as you furrow your brows in confusion.

“Excuse me?”

“Answer the damn question.”

“I, uh…” You nervously look around, trying to think of an escape route. “She’s based on a friend, from long, long ago.”

You stress that this woman was long behind you, and there was absolutely nothing to worry about. It’s not like she would show back up in your life after years and years of silence.

“Well, if you see this friend from a long, long time ago,” She stresses the words the same way you did, “tell her that she’s one hell of a protagonist.”

“I will.” You grit your teeth as your mind wanders to the woman in question.

I hope I never see her again.

~

Giselle scribbles various notes onto the map within the captain’s quarters. She used to be the primary navigator when the Red-Hair Pirates were nothing but an idea in Winter’s head.

“One day, this boat will be filled with pirates and friends we’ve collected in our travels,” Winter looked over to Giselle before placing a hand on her back, “and I’m going to need you to be by my side, every second of every day.”

Winter paused for a moment, before walking towards the ship and extending her hand to her.

“You have everything you ever need here - a good education, family, friends, and stability. I’m offering adventure until your heart's content, enough money to set your family up for life, and every kind of booze imaginable.”

“Even rum?” Giselle tilted her head at Winter, who gave her a toothy grin.

“Especially rum. So, are you in or what?”

“I’m in, I just… have to say some goodbyes first.”

Now, her role within the crew was more muddled, somewhat lying between weaponsmaster and navigator. Usually, she would sort out her navigating affairs in the morning, and then keep up with the weapons in the afternoon. The nighttime was reserved for merrymaking and hell-raising - just as Giselle liked it.

But there was a part of her missing, something she had been chasing with booze and adventure that couldn’t be replaced.

What was she missing?

“Giselle!” Karina barrels into the captain’s quarters as she nearly collides into the table.

“You’re still drunk.” She chuckles. “You can’t handle your liquor for shit.”

“And you prefer in that way, so you can scam me out of my money.” Karina scoffs before loudly hiccuping.

“Alright,” Giselle stops working and puts her hands up in the air, “I am a bit of a trickster, but we’re pirates, remember? It’s kind of our thing.”

“Eh.” Karina shrugs before throwing a book onto the desk where Giselle was working.

“What’s this?” 

She studies the book for a moment before looking at Karina

“A gift from the Captain. Winter says to come see her after giving it a read.” Karina stumbles out of the door before loudly shutting it.

“Riveting conversation with a drunk Karina, like usual.” Giselle mumbles to herself. “I wonder why Winter would want me to read this?”

Her hands gently trace the spine as she studies the author’s name in bold ink.

It’s not one she recognizes, but perhaps she might know the writing style? Curious, Giselle carefully opens the book and begins to read.

~

It was mid-afternoon before Giselle exited the captain’s quarters, much later than usual. When she does, she immediately charges towards her quarters in a fury.

It takes every bone in Giselle’s body to stop her from ripping her room to shreds to find the letters that she had locked away years ago.

The letters that reminded her of you. The letters that had the same cadence and writing style that you did. Those letters tied you to her, and, at the moment, pointed to you as the author.

More than that, Giselle had come to the realization that Winter knew that the two of you were connected.

And that was more terrifying than confronting someone from her past.

Giselle finds the letters under her bed, and they’re carefully tied together with a bit of rope. She snatches them within an instant, and she tucks them under her arm before beginning her journey to find Winter.

“Giselle!” Ningning calls out to her as Giselle appears on the upper deck. “I had a question about some of the knives that I found in the gunroom.”

“Not the time.” Giselle charges right past her as she spots Winter on the quarterdeck. 

“Is that the book Winter asked me to get you?” 

Giselle, with no hesitation, turns on her heel to face the assassin.

“Of course she did!” She sighs before turning around. “Am I the one finding this out last when it’s my business?”

“If it comforts you, I didn’t ask for any details. I just grabbed the book and gave it to her.” Ningning plays with a knife in her hand as Giselle tightly squeezes the book in her left hand.

“Thanks.” She grumbles before calling out to Winter, “Hey, you have some explaining to do!”

“As do you!” Winter copies her volume, but she waits until Giselle comes closer to begin speaking in a softer tone. “Are they the reason why you tried to send letters back to your hometown from the different ports that we stopped in?”

“You knew about that?” Giselle stares, absolutely befuddled.

“I know when my friends aren’t themselves. I did a little digging, and I found a gold vein.” Winter looks out to the ocean. “You could’ve told me, you know. We could’ve worked something out.”

“But you needed me-”

“-I did, but I wouldn’t have asked you to come if I knew that your loyalties lied with someone else.”

Giselle physically deflates before confessing the truth to Winter.

“So you know that I was a part of the naval academy before I joined you.” Giselle looks away in shame, like a small puppy. “They were too, but we quit together-”

“-so you could chase your dreams together. You, an acclaimed mapmaker. Them, an accomplished novelist. Do I have the narrative right?” Winter raises an eyebrow at Giselle.

Not quite.

“I loved them.” Giselle bites her lip. “I love them.”

Panic covers Giselle’s face as she opens her mouth to speak.

“There it is,” Winter smirks before yelling to the crew, “Set sail to the west.”

“I’m doing you a favor, mind you. You need to figure this out before it ends with you getting yourself killed. I can’t stand to watch my crewmate, my friend, drink herself into an early grave.”

“So we’re doing this?” Giselle asks.

“You’re doing this.”

~

“The pirates are coming! The pirates are coming!” A man on a horse repeats the same phrase over and over as he passes by your estate.

Pirates? Here? Why?

No, it can’t be those pirates.

Your head snaps towards the nearest window that faces the docks. In the distance, you can see a large pirate show approaching your humble town.

And wouldn’t you know it, the flag on the ship shows a dead skull sporting some fire-red hair.

The Red-Hair Pirates.

The crew that Giselle’s a part of.

Shit.

You can see a group of villagers approach the docks from your side, and you’re sure a fight will break out - no, a bloodbath will occur - if someone doesn’t get down there and stop it.

Maybe that naval training will come into use.

~

“Your kind isn’t welcome here.” A villager points a large shotgun at Winter’s chest, and she seems unphased by his outburst.

“We’re not here to loot, we just want to rest.” She pulls out a gold coin and flips it into the air before grabbing it and offering it to the villager. “Our coin is good here, no?”

“I-” He pauses before studying the coin. “One night. And the only place that you can shop is the night market.”

“That sounds like our kind of place, right?” Winter turns to her pirates, who cheer loudly. “I’ll make sure they’ll behave, I swear.”

“You better.” He scoffs before spitting at the ground. “C’mon, we have better things to do than guard open docks.”

The villagers disperse, which causes Giselle to sigh in relief.

That’s a battle I didn’t want to fight.

“Alright, everyone, back on the ship until nightfall. We aren’t welcome here until then, so this boat better be spotless in a few hours!” Winter commands, and her crew scrambles back onto the ship as Winter pulls Giselle aside. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“I do, and I don’t need backup. I’ll be back before nighttime.” Giselle softly says before Winter grabs her shoulder.

“I’d like to meet your friend, if they want to meet me. Perhaps it can help explain why you left - take some of the blame off of your shoulders,” Winter shrugs, “Or I can just have a drink with a friend and a friend of a friend. Either works for me.”

They’re… leaving?

“Not sure I’d call us friends, but I’ll see what I can do.”

~

You watch from a distance as the villagers, your neighbors, disperse with varying emotions on their faces. Some look relieved, others seem pissed, but most appear to be indifferent.

As if killing another wasn’t a brutal act that weighed on your soul for as long as you lived.

A woman with striking red hair turns to the pirates on the dock, and with only a few words, she sends them back onto the ship.

Their captain - Winter, the pirate queen of myths and legends.

Infamous doesn’t even begin to describe Winter, as her face was neatly plastered on every wanted board across the nation. Her reputation of brutality nearly exceeds her generosity and kindness. She took from the rich government ships and gave to the poor towns that she traveled to.

Almost like a storybook character. Perhaps my next protagonist can take some of her qualities.

Before all of her crew can go back to the ship, Winter pulls one of them aside. A girl with blonde hair, but a face that you recognize. Not from the wanted posters that showed her with black hair and a devilish yet charming smile.

But a ghost from your past, the woman who you were hoping to escape from. The girl who had invaded your dreams every night since she left.

Your Rosella.

Giselle.

You want to turn away, to run back to the safety of your home, but you can’t. Not because you want to see Giselle, but because she’d follow you back home.

After all, it was her home too.

With a deep breath, and as much courage as you can muster, you let your feet carry you towards Giselle.

Towards your destiny.

Giselle’s eyes widen as she sees you walking towards her with an unreadable expression on your face. You’re not completely pissed, which is good, but you don’t look happy. You’re not sad, but there isn’t any longing in your eyes. There’s no indifference in your face, but when your eyes meet hers, a twinkle of nostalgia appears briefly.

~

Perhaps you missed her as much as she missed you.

“You look…” Giselle pauses as the two of you meet in the middle of the road. “Well.”

“Thanks.” You nod before looking out to the ocean. “I like your blonde hair. It suits you.”

“Thanks…” Giselle trails off while hoping that the road would open up and swallow her whole.

Why was it so hard to talk to you? She thought of a million things to say to you, but none of them seemed right.

So let’s start with the simplest one.

“I’m sorry.”

When the words leave her lips, you look over in surprise.

As if you thought that she meant to hurt you.

A dagger slices through her heart, as the wound that is your shared history is reopened again. She’s going to let herself drown in bad blood unless she says something else.

Something that will make this right.

Nothing will, she knows this. But why not try?

“I’m sorry for leaving you with such a shitty goodbye. I’m sorry for convincing you to leave the naval academy with me and then leaving you behind. I’m sorry that I never was able to return your letters.” She pauses to hand you them.

“You kept them?” You tilt your head at her. “After all of these years?”

“Of course I did.” She says before softly laughing. “It was the only reminder I had of home.”

“I thought the sea was your home.” 

“No, my home was always you.” Giselle quietly mumbles. “I wanted to explore, to see the world, but I wanted to come back home.”

“Why didn’t you write me back?” Your voice is laced with hurt, and Giselle wants nothing more than to hold you in her arms.

But you’re not that close, not anymore.

“I tried to, but no letter carrier would take my money. Turns out that people aren’t fond of pirates,” She scoffs, “but I kept them all in my quarters. Perhaps you’d like to see them?”

A light smile appears on your face - you’re actually contemplating her offer.

“Would you like to see the home first? I don’t know if it has changed much-”

“-that sounds great.” Giselle lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

A peace offering. An olive branch. Perhaps you can begin anew?

~

Months ago, you would’ve sworn at Giselle if she had set foot in your town, let alone in your house. That was before you finished the book, before a character in that book taught you something about forgiveness.

“Will you ever forgive me, my dear?” Rosella says to her beloved. “I know it’s been years, but I can’t help but yearn for you. Our souls are intertwined, and no amount of treasure will ever make up for losing you.”

“I… I don’t know. I don’t know if I can ever truly forgive and forget, but…”

“But?” A flicker of hope appears in Rosella’s eyes.

“But maybe there’s room for us to start again. If we’ve both healed from our past wounds, then what’s the use of bringing them up again?”

You watch Giselle comb over your bookshelf as you take a seat in the living room. 

“You really didn’t change this place, huh?” She says before sitting at a chair on the opposite end of the room.

“It didn’t feel right. This is still your home, after all.” You say.

“Our home,” Giselle corrects you before her eyes widen, “shit. I didn’t mean to-”

You wave away her concerns with a charming smile.

“No, it’s alright.”

An awkward silence spreads over the room - what should you say to her now?

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” Giselle softly asks before looking in your eyes. “I don’t want to intrude if I’m not welcome.”

You take a deep breath - it’s time to address the massive elephant in the room.

“Giselle, I don’t want to do this back-and-forth with you. I want to talk about what happened between us.” 

You’re surprised at how mature you sound, how non-malicious your words are. You had gone over this moment a thousand times in your head, but none of them were this nice or friendly.

“What is there to talk about? I ruined your life, no, our lives. I promised you that pirating was only a temporary thing, and you can see how that ended-”

“It pains me to see you tear yourself up about this, Giselle.” You calmly say as she pauses and reflects for a moment. “How can we move forward if we’re stuck reliving the past over and over?”

“You want to start again?” 

Giselle looks dumbfounded as you nod.

“We might not be that close again, not for a long time, but we can try being friends. Then we’ll see where it goes.” You shrug your shoulders as she thinks for a moment before responding.

“Why would you let me get away with what I did to you? I left you alone for years, with not a word of my health and well-being. Why put yourself through that again?”

You chuckle to yourself as familiar words come to the front of your mind.

“Maybe there’s room for us to start again. If we’ve both healed from our past wounds, then what’s the use of bringing them up again?”

“From your book.” She responds wistfully before her eyes widen. “You wrote yourself as the love interest?”

“Uh-huh.” You nod as the realization comes crashing down on Giselle.

“And the girl, Rosella, who is strong, beautiful, and kind. The girl who messes up time after time yet she still manages to redeem herself - that’s me?”

“Yup.” You’re quiet for a moment, to allow Giselle to process everything. “Do you know why I chose you as my inspiration?”

“Why?” She leans forward as her voice quivers in anticipation. “Why me?”

“Because no matter how much I hated you, I could never get you out of my head. You haunted my every dream and nightmare. I couldn’t escape your grasp, so I wrote about the woman who had completely transfixed my mind, body, and soul.” 

A breathy chuckle escapes your lips.

This is just like a confession that I would write in my book. The next thing she would say is I love you-

“I never stopped loving you.” She confesses before standing up.

You stand up to meet her gaze.

“Neither did I.”

~

“To be completely honest,” Winter says as you and Giselle approach the docks, “I didn’t expect you to come back.”

“You’re still my captain, Winter.” She smiles before gesturing to you. “This is my friend, the one I told you about.”

“Friend,” She stares at your intertwined hands, “right. Excuse my staring. It isn’t every day that you meet an author of legend.”

You feel your cheeks heat up.

“Ah, that’s sweet of you to say.” You nudge Giselle’s shoulder. “Why can’t you be as charming as her?”

“Hey-” She tries to defend herself, but Winter’s laughter cuts her off.

“Oh, I like them. They’d be a good addition to our crew.”

Your mouth hangs agape as you blink rapidly.

“You… you can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid so, unless Giselle objects?” Winter turns to Giselle, who glances at you.

“It’s your decision. I won’t force it on you-”

“Yes,” You quickly answer, “but I’m not sure what use I would be to your crew.”

“We could use your writing and organizing skills to keep track of weapons, finances, maps, food, and other supplies on the ships. That means that you would be working closely with Giselle and I.” Winter explains as you nod along. “Plus there would be plenty of time for you to continue writing your latest masterpiece. I know you’re good with a gun - I can see the Navy’s engravings on the handle, so combat won’t be an issue for you.”

You quickly hide your gun holster with your coat.

“I hope you don’t take offense to my weapons background,” You say before leaning over to Giselle, “how the fuck does she know all of that?”

“Long story, I’ll explain after a drink or two,” Giselle whispers back, “but I’m glad that you’re going with us. It’ll be nice to show you to all of the places that we’ve been before.”

“Got it.” You smile before letting go of Giselle’s hand.

She reaches out to grab it, but you instead maneuver around her hand to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“I, um…” She struggles to articulate her feelings as a furious blush appears on her face.

Winter laughs loudly before gesturing towards the ship.

“We still have a few hours before nightfall. Perhaps we can celebrate with a drink?”

“Sounds good. You in?” You ask Giselle, who can’t even look you in the eyes.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” Her face is still red as Winter walks to the ship.

“Feel free to join me when you’re ready.”

You go to follow behind her, but Giselle stops you by catching your arm with her hand.

“Hey, I-” She pauses to regain her composure, “Thank you, for this. I needed it.”

“It really isn’t a problem,” You say before leaning in to tease her, “but don’t expect me to kiss you every time you need a pick-me-up.”

“Damn, you know my schemes before I can properly plan them.” Giselle smirks before pulling you closer. “But I can always kiss you, right?”

She closes the distance between your lips before quickly pressing a kiss to your neck.

“Tease.” You grumble as she leans back.

“You started it, and I ended it.” She shrugs before her hand slips into yours. “We shouldn’t keep Winter waiting - we don’t want her to have a bad impression of you, right?”

You nod as Giselle leads you on to the ship.

As her crewmates greet you and welcome you onto the ship, you wonder if this new chapter of your life will be something to write about.

Maybe it’s time for my story to be told.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

HELLO GORGEOUS WHAT'S UPPPP🤺

just wanted to request something SUPER angsty lolll.

Maybe reader and Donna Having their first huge argument? and like saying stuff they don't really mean?

THANK YOUUUUU <3

Yesss!!! Thank you for the compliment xD and for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :))))

Your jealous heart

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst, jealousy, fluff, mental health issues, Donna being Donna...

Word count: 7,907

Summary: That girl's just a friend, she has to understand, right?

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours :))) I love you all!!!

“(Y/N)? Is that you?” a pleasant voice interrupted your path out of the church. It wasn't just any voice, you knew it.

“Mm?” you murmured, searching for the origin of those words that said your name and smiling when you found it. “Oh, Lydia,” you sighed, approaching the young smiling woman.

Excited by an unexpected encounter, you hugged her, who was none other than your best friend, a childhood friend that you had missed quite a bit.

“(Y/N), how long has it been?” she said, returning the hug enthusiastically, like when you were just a couple of excited teenagers.

You shrugged, looking down, where a baby was sleeping peacefully.

“Oh, I see that a long time…” you sighed, bending down to look at the child. “Is it your son? I can't believe it.”

“Yes,” she answered, bending down as well. “Ivan.”

“Wow... I've missed a lot of things this year,” you murmured, cooing at the baby, who didn't seem to notice your presence. “Hello, hello, little one.”

“I'm glad to see you, (Y/N), I was afraid I wouldn't be able to do it again,” your friend commented, with a more serious tone, looking away.

“Well, I've been quite busy,” you said, getting up and looking for your companion with your eyes, something complicated due to the number of faithful villagers talking to each other.

“Yes, that's what I heard,” Lydia murmured, her voice low and broken.

The young woman came a little closer to you, looking around.

“People in this village talk a lot,” she whispered almost in your ear, as if she was afraid of something.

“It's their favorite sport,” you said amused, making more funny gestures at the sleeping baby. “I'm not surprised.”

“Yes, well... I have to admit that with the pregnancy and the child I haven't had much time to attend to my duties with the Black Gods, but I’ve heard rumors,” she said, smiling at her baby and looking around again.

“What have you heard?” you asked, giving your friend a nudge.

“Well, when you mysteriously disappeared I assumed that you had managed to escape from this place,” she began, in a calmer tone. “I know you never liked living here. I asked Luiza and the others if they knew anything and they told me that… Well, that you hadn't left.”

“That's obvious,” you said arching an eyebrow, amused by Lydia's curious attitude, one that you understood.

“Okay, I have to ask you,” she finally said, standing in front of you, subtly moving away from curious eyes and ears. “Is it true? Do you…? Do you have something with Donna Beneviento? Luiza told me that you were now living with her and that you weren't exactly a maid.”

“I see that in a place like this it's impossible to hide something,” you whispered laughing, blushing. “Yes, it's true. I've been living with her for a year. We have… A relationship,” you explained in a low voice.

“Really? But, but, (Y/N), she's… She's… A-A Lord,” Lydia asked, not surprised, but curious, very curious “When did that happen?”

“A year ago, more or less,” you said, looking up to try to be accurate with your memories. “I met her by chance.”

“Met her? (Y/N), she's…” she said, looking around again. “W-Well, no one knows exactly what she's like, but she's dangerous.”

“Nonsense, Donna's lovely,” you corrected, crossing your arms. “She's not as terrible as people say.”

“I find that hard to believe… They say, they say she's crazy and that if you go to her territory, you'll probably never come back,” your friend said, moving her baby's stroller.

“It's true that she's sick, and she's definitely a very strange woman, but I... I love her. She's good, she takes care of me in her own way and the truth is, I've never been better.”

“I understand,” she said, nodding distrustfully. “(Y/N), they say she killed her gardener, the man who took care of her when her family died.”

“Um... Well...” you said scratching the back of your neck, knowing that you couldn't deny the evidence, no matter how painful it was. “Yes, well, um...”

“What were you thinking to get involved with her?” she asked, making you sigh uncomfortably. “She's terrifying.”

“We could talk about what you were thinking the day you conceived this precious thing,” you said amused, speaking tenderly to the baby. “Lydia, I know what I'm doing. Donna loves me, I love her… Well, I guess the rest doesn't matter.”

“I-I hope you're right, I don't want to lose my friend,” Lydia murmured, looking away.

“You're exaggerating,” you said with a wry smile. “We should meet and talk about all of this more calmly, like we did before.”

“Yes, of course, I think it's a great idea and... Oh, Gods, Lady Beneviento,” she said, suddenly lowering her head.

You frowned and looked up. The lady in black was there, holding her doll, standing still, not moving, but making you feel her intense gaze, hidden by that horrible black veil.

“Oh, Donna, meet my childhood friend, Lydia,” you said in a casual tone, approaching your girlfriend and grabbing her arm romantically.

Donna didn't move, just made a vague gesture with her head, leaning towards your ear.

“Let's go home,” Donna whispered in a hoarse voice.

“Yes, yes, um... Wait for me outside, honey, I'll be right there,” you said with a smile, moving away from Donna, who stood still for a few seconds before walking towards the exit, turning her head towards you from time to time.

“Honey... Gods, (Y/N), she's terrifying,” your friend said when she was free from the doll maker's presence, causing you to laugh slightly as you shook your head.

“Nonsense,” you said, sure of yourself. “Well, I was delighted to see you. I hope we can see each other soon.”

“I hope so too,” the young woman said, looking towards the door through which the lady in mourning came out. “I-I have a lot of things to tell you.”

“Oh, me too,” you said amused.

“I see,” Lydia murmured, scratching the back of her neck.

“Wait a minute,” you said, searching for a piece of paper in your bag and writing something on it. “Here, that's the number of the mansion, call me when you have a chance and we'll catch up,” you said, handing her the piece of paper.

“Hey, you stupid idiot!” a shrill voice that you knew well caught your attention. “Are you coming or what?!”

“Yeah, I'm coming…” you growled at the impatient cries of the Angie doll, looking back at your friend. “Call me, okay? I really want to remember old times.”

“I will, (Y/N).”

You couldn't blame your friend for feeling terror, for feeling all that the rumors said you would feel if you approached the lady in black.

Like everything that happened in your life, chance gave you the opportunity to face that world of nightmares that surrounded Donna’s dark figure, although the result wasn’t exactly what you expected.

Behind that cloud of rumors and gossip hid a tormented soul, a woman with an inferiority complex, solitary, reclusive and surly. The misfortunes of her family had worsened her mental disorders to the point that she caught the attention of Miranda, who adopted her as her fourth daughter.

A terrible past, a deformity on her face, the inability to relate to others… Donna Beneviento was certainly not the ideal woman to fall in love with, but you never looked for the ideal woman.

Kind, loving, romantic… These were aspects that the rumors never talked about, traits of the woman in black that you discovered for yourself and made you fall even more into her protective arms.

With no prospects for a better future, hopelessly in love and curious about the new life that was presented to you, you decided to put aside your attempts to escape the village and start the most important love story of your life.

Jealousy always flew around Donna's head, her erratic and confusing attitude was something you had to learn to deal with, but you always managed, you always overcame any problem.

After a year living with her, with that sinister doll maker, you realized that this was actually your fate, that Donna was precisely the place where you should and wanted to be.

The walk back to the mansion was romantic and silent. As you feared, the lady wasn’t the least bit interested in your words, in your explanation about the young woman who was talking to you.

It didn't surprise you. Anything that had nothing to do with you was of no interest to the lady in black.

The days passed quietly, wrapped in a terribly romantic atmosphere, wrapped in her caresses, her kisses, her whispers…

“Hey, Donna,” you said amused, letting her hand pull your body, sitting you on her lap. “I have to... Read.”

“Read? Well, read with me, tesoro,” she said, her voice velvety soft, kissing you quickly, in one of her romantic outbursts, one of those you secretly adored. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“Mm, let's see…” you sighed amused, placing yourself on her lap, wrapping your hands around her neck. “It's not the best position to read,” you joked seductively.

“Then we're not going to read,” Donna said, whispering on your lips, caressing your back while keeping you close to her, very close, just the way she liked it. “I really want to tell you how much I love you… “

“Oh, really? Because I want to hear it,” you whispered, biting your lip before her kisses moistened the atmosphere.

It seemed like a normal day, an explosion of romance and passion as erratic as Beneviento, one that you no longer knew how to live without. Unfortunately, reality interrupted that festival of kisses and dancing hips with a shrill sound.

“Phone!” Angie shrieked, tugging at her owner's black dress. “Donna, Donna, phone!”

“Ugh, Angie, lasciami,” the lady sighed, concentrating on her kisses, on her hands slipping through the gaps in your dress.

Of course, the doll didn't give up, pulling harder. The sound of the old phone started to be terribly annoying and the lady sighed, fixing your hair with a loving but somewhat disappointed look.

“Pick it up, will you?” Donna said, pushing you away and looking over your shoulder.

“I'm not your servant!” the puppet shrieked, making the noise in the normally quiet mansion even louder. “Damn it.”

With no other choice, the puppet obeyed, comically climbing onto the small table where the phone rang tirelessly.

“This is House Beneviento… Stupid Donna is busy making out with the fool, so drag your ass to the phone later, thanks,” the doll mocked, speaking through the phone, something that irritated the lady.

“Angie…” she hissed in a very low voice, picking you up and sitting you on the couch  among romantic laughs. “Wait a moment, tesoro…” she said to you as an apology.

“I can wait,” you said in a seductive way, arching your eyebrows as Donna approached the small table, making abrupt gestures towards Angie and snatching the phone from her.

“Pronto,” the lady said in a cold tone, almost in a whisper.

Her face darkened little by little. You leaned in curiously. You hadn't heard any praise or Miranda's name, so it was impossible for you to know who was on the other side. Suddenly Donna's head turned to you with a frown, her expression cold and annoyed.

“What's wrong? Who is it?” you asked, surprised, getting up from the couch when you didn't get an answer.

“It's for you,” Donna whispered, with that same cold expression, frowning, extending the phone towards you and immediately moving away, giving you a soft bump with her shoulder.

“For me?” you asked curiously, putting the speaker to your ear. “Um, hello?”

“(Y/N)? It's you...” the voice on the other end said. It seemed a little scared, but it didn't take you long to recognize it.

“Lydia? Oh, hey, how are you?” you said relieved to hear your friend's voice, relief overshadowed by the curious and penetrating expression of the lady in black. “You finally called, I thought you wouldn't.”

“I had to think about it,” she said with a scared laugh. “It's not easy to know that I'm calling to a Lord’s house.”

“You're calling your friend's house, don't be dramatic,” you joked, making a playful gesture towards the lady in black, who completely ignored your funny intentions.

“Yeah, well, um…” Lydia murmured, sighing. “I was thinking that we could meet this afternoon, you know, to chat a bit. It's Igor's day off and he can take care of Ivan.”

“It's a great idea, we have a lot of things to talk about,” you said smiling, frowning at the brunette's stoic and unmovable attitude. “Where? Should I go to your house or would you prefer to have a drink at…?”

“Wait a moment,” Donna interrupted, snatching the phone from your hand and lowering it towards Angie, who took it.

“The line has been interrupted momentarily, silly, wait a bit until it is fixed. In the meantime, I'll delight you with some music…”

A shrill humming forced you to cover your ears as Donna lightly pulled your arm, moving you away from the horrible noises of the doll.

“What's wrong?” you asked confused, at the nervous reaction of the lady, who seemed to shake her head.

“Are you going to meet that girl? Why?” she asked, more like an accusation than an innocent question.

“Um, yes, she's my friend, it's been a while since we've seen each other and…” you said, blinking, trying to interpret the cold emotions of the lady in black. “Oh, calm down, Donna, I won't be long.”

“No, I…” she said, shaking her head, putting her hands on your shoulders. “(Y/N), you know I don't like you… You going...”

“Nothing will happen to me, I know the area perfectly, besides, we will probably go to Luiza's house and…” you said in a normal voice, but suspecting that the doll maker wasn’t happy with your plans.

“Wait a minute, why did you give her my home number?” Donna interrupted, with a more abrupt tone.

“Because it's my home too, isn't it?” you answered intelligently, laughing amused, making the lady shut up with a grunt. “Don't be like that, my love, I'm sure that when I get back we can…” you whispered in an increasingly lower tone, getting closer to her ear. “Keep reading.”

“No, no, wait,” she said, grabbing your wrist when you were about to get closer to the phone again. “Why don't you meet here?”

“Here?” you asked confused, shaking your head and frowning.

The lady nodded unsurely, playing with her hands.

“Y-Yes, well… It's cold outside and I wouldn't want anything to happen to you,” she murmured in a voice that betrayed a big lie.

“It's cold... Donna...” you sighed, hands on your hips. “Isn't it because you want to keep an eye on us?”

“Oh, no... No, I...” she stammered, blinking childishly. “I...”

“Well, fine... I'll tell her,” you sighed, not believing that a visit was such a bad idea, ignoring the brunette's obvious jealousy.

After all, it was much better for her to realize that she had nothing to worry about.

You managed to convince your friend to come to the mansion. Again, you couldn't blame her for being afraid of that place, but you also saw it as a unique opportunity for both of you.

Donna would see that there was no danger in that friendship, and maybe Lydia would understand why you were so in love with the young Lord.

“Hello...” Angie said, mockingly dragging her words when the lady opened the door, revealing a frightened Lydia with her head down. “Are you the fool’s fool friend?”

“Y-Yes, I think so,” the girl said, being rescued by your presence.

“Lydia, I see you have arrived safely,” you joked, giving her a hug, a gesture that the veiled lady observed cautiously, stepping aside.

“Yes, I... Um, you have a very nice house, Lady Beneviento,” your friend said, looking towards the mysterious lady, who sighed annoyed, ignoring that comment.

“Forgive her, she doesn't like to talk,” you said amused, putting a hand on the young woman's back. “Shall we sit? Donna has made tea, right, darling?”

The lady growled discreetly, walking in front of you with a serious air, accompanied by her doll, who watched you amused.

Lydia nodded elegantly, sitting down without losing sight of Donna, who was patiently standing, intimidating the poor girl with her gaze.

“T-Thanks, (Y/N),” she whispered, settling down on the couch.

“Donna,” you said, looking strangely at the lady, who remained motionless. “Um, didn't you have to work on your dolls?”

“Do you think we're going to leave you alone with her, silly girl?” Angie mocked, making your friend step back.

“What do you mean?” you asked nervously, looking for some support in Donna's hidden gaze, one that you were unable to find. “Um, well, I-I suppose you can stay with us, if you want.”

“Yes, we do,” Angie said as the lady sat in front of you, without making a sound, like a ghost.

“Okay... Um... Well...” you murmured embarrassed by that uncomfortable presence.

If it was uncomfortable for you, you didn't want to even imagine what it was like for your friend, who looked at the floor, hoping not to coincide with the hidden, bright eye of Lady Beneviento. There were a few brief moments in which the creaking of the wood was your only companion, the only sound that could be heard in the mansion.

“So... Tell me,” you said, clearing your throat to interrupt the horrible dance of tense glances. “Wow, I never thought you would have a son.”

“Y-Yes, well... I...” your friend stammered, looking discreetly at the lady, who maintained a regal pose in the chair in front of you, with her hands on her knees, like a statue, motionless. “I…”

“Oh, don’t worry about her, just act like she’s not here,” you said, glaring at the lady, who, with her mere presence, was scaring your old friend. “Unless you have something to say… Donna?”

The woman in black shook her head softly as the doll Angie climbed onto the couch, staring at your friend.

“You have a son? Oh, how interesting,” the puppet said, causing your friend to nod slowly.

“Relax, Lydia, I assure you that they know how to keep a secret, don’t they?” you said through clenched teeth, looking at the doll.

“Yes, yes, tell us, tell us,” Angie insisted, jumping comically. “We don’t bite… Usually.”

“Th, the truth is that it wasn't in my plans either,” Lydia finally said, making a great effort to forget about your uncomfortable company. “Igor and I had been dating for years and... Well, we got married and...”

“Have you gotten married?” you asked, putting your legs up on the sofa and resting your head on your hand.

“Actually I married him when I found out I was pregnant, you know... Family stuff...” your friend explained, masterfully ignoring the doll's intense gaze.

“Who is that guy? Do I know him?” Angie asked, with a confident tone that gave you chills.

“T-The baker's son,” she explained.

“I can't believe it,” you said, trying to ease the tension. “After all, I was right.”

“Yes, it seems that way,” she said, amused. “I should have listened to you when you told me he was a good boy.”

“Of course,” you said triumphantly. “When are you going to learn that I'm always right? I'm never wrong.”

“Well, I think that sneaking into the Duke's warehouse to steal alcohol was a wrong decision,” your friend said, amused, forgetting for a moment the awkwardness due to nostalgia.

You blushed, scratching your head.

“Yes, but it was worth it,” you sighed amused.

Little by little the tension dissipated.

Donna seemed not to be there, so your friend gained enough confidence to ignore her intimidating presence. Laughter, memories of youth, anecdotes... Against all odds, it was a funny afternoon.

There really was no reason that would have prevented you from maintaining the relationship with your best friend, but your circumstances, and hers, abruptly separated you. Her son, your new relationship with Donna… It wasn’t the distance or the lack of interest in keeping your only friend, actually, your discovery of the lady in black, the steps your relationship was taking kept you away from the rest of your life, something you had no complaints about, of course.

Getting out of the nice and romantic routine you had with Donna was a breath of fresh air, a reminder that you hadn’t lost your life.

“Yes, I remember,” you said laughing after the second tea, remembering your little teenage misdeeds. “Luiza almost caught us.”

“She caught us, (Y/N), it wasn't the best place to hide from Dimitri,” said Lydia, laughing relaxed too.

“Who's Dimitri?” Angie asked, also interested in your anecdotes, being a pleasant addition to the conversation.

“Oh, a boy from the village, the poor guy thought he had a chance with me,” you said amused, noticing a movement in Donna's hands, which seemed to scratch her dress.

“He really thought so, (Y/N),” your friend said, with an amused smile. “I didn't even know that you were making out with Sofia that night and…”

You, being aware that this was a fact that Donna didn't know, quickly shook your head, trying to make Lydia understand that it was much better to keep that information.

The lady suddenly stood up, startling you. Yes, it had been a bad idea to make that comment.

Luckily, the old clock in the hall calmed that abruptness. That and the doll Angie, who gestured for Donna to sit back down, muttering something you didn't understand.

“Oh, it's late,” you said, sighing wistfully, forgetting that awkward moment. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“Oh, no, I don't want to bother you, besides, I have to, I have to take care of Ivan, but, thank you,” Lydia said kindly, standing up with an elegant curtsy. “Thank you for your time, Lady Beneviento.”

The doll maker looked at her but didn't say anything. She simply stood up slowly, putting her hands in front of her body.

“Wait, I'll come with you,” you said smiling, walking to the door next to your friend, who looked back nervously, making a shy gesture towards the doll, who waved her hand in farewell.

“Bye, bye,” Angie hummed playfully, being quickly grabbed by Donna, who lifted her into her arms.

“Ugh, well, nothing happened,” your friend commented, outside the mansion.

“Of course,” you said, leaning on the door frame.

“But, it was a bit… Disturbing, you know, that… she… was there,” she murmured discreetly. “I'm sorry, (Y/N), that woman scares me a lot.”

“Well, it's understandable,” you said amused, rolling your eyes. “Relax, Lydia, Donna's harmless.”

“I'd like to believe you,” she said in an even lower voice, looking around. “If you don't mind… Next time we'll meet at my house… It's nothing personal, it's just…”

“Yes, I know, Donna scares you,” you said mockingly, to which your friend nodded slowly. “Don't worry, we're in touch, right?”

“Of course, (Y/N), I really enjoyed talking to you… I'll, I'll call you,” Lydia said, turning slowly, taking a last look at the interior of the mansion. “Or, or better you call me, will you?”

“Fine, whatever,” you said kindly, with a calm voice. “Say hello to Igor, oh, and to little Ivan…”

“Of course, (Y/N)… Or, and… Take care, please.”

You frowned, crossing your arms.

“Y-Y-Yeah, sure…” you sighed, watching your friend walking away, and entered the house again, closing the door with a sigh of relief. It hadn't gone so bad, after all. “Anyway… Donna?”

The lady waited for you stoic as always, freeing herself from her black veil, with an expression that was anything but friendly.

Ignoring the danger, you approached her, giving her a small kiss on the lips and grabbing her waist.

“Where were we going, honey? I think you wanted to… Read with me, didn’t you?” you whispered sensually, kissing her again.

Donna pulled away from your kisses, shaking her head.

“I don’t feel like it,” she hissed in a dark whisper, moving your hands away from her body. “Leave me alone.”

“Oh, um, are you okay? I know you don’t like visitors but… It was your idea, so…” you said a nervously. “Do you need something? Do you want me to bring your medicine?”

“I’m going to the workshop to work on my dolls,” she said passively, shaking her head and turning her back on you.

“Okay, um… Donna, honey, are you sure you’re okay?” you asked nervously, playing with your trembling hands.

There was no answer, just an impatient walk of her heels on the wood, disappearing down the elevator hallway.

You looked at Angie, who remained the same as you, confused and shrugging.

“Hey, what got into her?” you asked discreetly, rubbing your forehead. “Did I do something wrong?”

“How would I know?” Angie said, walking away from you, leaving you confused. “Come on, silly, let's play.”

Ignoring the lady's strange attitude, you continued your routine of games with Angie, patiently waiting for dinner time. The moment to sit at the table and exchange romantic glances wasn’t long in coming, but it wasn’t love that was reflected in her bright eye, it was something else.

Donna hadn’t said a word since your friend left, and you knew her well enough to know that there was something that had upset or angered her. Of course, the comments about your past surely had something to do with it.

“Mm, delicious” you murmured with a tender smile, hoping that your affection would calm her worries, as irrational as they were.

The lady looked up briefly, drinking some wine and ignoring your compliments, making you sigh and play with your food, looking in that cold gaze for an explanation of her attitude.

“I don't like her,” the lady murmured, about to finish her dinner, without even looking at you.

“Mm? What are you talking about, sweetheart?” you asked distractedly, relieved to hear her melodic voice after what seemed like an eternity.

“That stupid girl, I don't like her,” Donna whispered, crossing her arms.

“You mean Lydia?” you asked, putting down your cutlery and staring at her. “Why? She hasn't done anything to you.”

“Breaking into my house and stealing my girlfriend, is that not enough for you?” she growled, slamming her fist on the table, causing an ominous sound of glass shaking.

“Wait, if I remember correctly, it was you who asked me to meet here,” you said with an unpleasant, inquisitive tone. “Now you change your mind?”

“I haven't changed my mind,” she said, not alerted by your annoyed tone, elegantly wiping herself with a napkin. “She's stupid, and I still think the same way.”

“Stupid? Lydia hasn't done anything to you, Donna,” you said in an accusatory tone, shaking your head. “In fact, maybe if you hadn't had that dark and sinister attitude you always had, you would have realized that she's a good…”

“Shut up, I don't want to hear you defend her,” she interrupted, pointing at you and cooling her dark gaze even more. “I've heard enough.”

“Oh, wow, and what exactly did you hear?” you asked ironically, crossing your arms with a haughty, defiant tone.

“Too many things, (Y/N),” Donna said furious, clenching her fist so hard that her knuckles turned white. “You told me that I was the first.”

“Yes, and it's true, you were my first long-term relationship, I didn't lie to you,” you said, frowning and letting the air out of your lungs little by little.

“That's why you went around making out with girls, right? As if you were a slut,” the lady growled, getting up from the table and pressing her lips tightly together.

You sighed again, shaking your head, with a mocking and false smile.

“If I haven't told you anything it's precisely to avoid that reaction, darling,” you said, getting up too, enduring the lady's hurtful words, some that, over time, you stopped giving importance to.

After all, Donna was sick. She didn't control her emotions well. You couldn't blame her for that.

“What else have you hidden from me? Did you make love to any of those stupid girls? Have you lied to me about that too?” the lady asked, coming closer and grabbing your arm tightly.

“Let me go, Donna,” you said with a serious voice, breaking free from her grip. “Look, it's clear that I can't talk to you right now, so relax, take a deep breath and think before you say anything else,” you said, putting your hands on her shoulders, making her look away. “That's it... Calm down, my love…”

“I'm sorry,” she apologized after relaxing, playing with your hand nervously. “I shouldn't have said that.”

“Okay, that's better… Now sit down while I pick this up, relax and forget about my past. You are my present, you know that, right, my love?” you said lovingly, lifting her chin and stealing a tender kiss on her lips.

Donna nodded, running her hands over your face and sighing sadly.

“I just don't like that girl, she gives me the creeps,” she said after a few quick and comforting kisses. “I don't want you to see her again.”

“The creeps? Why?” you asked amused, playing with her black hair, keeping your eyes on hers, which seemed to be trying to run away cowardly. “Come on, Donna, she doesn't...”

“I've seen how she looked at you, how she smiled at you. That girl wants something with you, I know it,” she affirmed nervously, grabbing your face harder.

“Don't talk nonsense, she has child and she's married,” you explained calmly, dealing again with her irrational jealousy. “I'm sorry, Donna, but I'm not going to stop seeing my friend because you have that damn paranoia, so you better get used to the idea, okay?”

“She'll take you away from me... I-I'll be alone... You'll leave me!” the lady screamed, making you step back for a moment, her whole body shaking with irrational anger. “You will leave me…”

“Oh, gosh, no honey, no… Stop…” you said worriedly as you watched the love of your life losing her mind, pulling her hair hard as she sobbed. “Shh, Donna, don't do that…”

“I can't stand it, no, no, I can't…” she stammered almost unintelligibly, alternating words in Italian and insults that made no sense. “I can't…”

“Come here…” you whispered lovingly, drawing the lady's trembling body towards yours, letting her rest her head on your shoulder as you hugged and comforted her as you already knew how to do masterfully. “Shh, don't cry, my Donna… I'm here with you… I'll always be here with you…”

“(Y/N)…” the woman sobbed, burying her head in your chest, pulling hard at your dress, desperately scratching your back. “Don't leave me, please, don't go... With-With her...”

“You know I won't, I know you know that,” you said, caressing her head. “Come on, stop crying... Donna...” you insisted, faced with the impossibility of calming her crying, something that was more complicated than other times.

“I don't want you to see her again, please...” she whispered after a moment, after a soft movement of your arms cradling the sick lady. “Don't make me suffer anymore...”

“Donna,” you said with a slightly calmer but firm voice. “Listen to me, you have to... Calm down, okay? Lydia is my friend, just my friend. I'm not interested in her and I'm not interesting to her, you have to understand that I want to see her from time to time, and that doesn't mean that I love you less or anything like that. Please, darling, tell me you understand…”

“I… V-Va, va bene…” Donna murmured, slowly moving away, surely embarrassed by her behavior. “S-She’s your friend.”

“Yes, that’s it,” you said with a smile, discreetly checking that the lady hadn’t managed to hurt herself. “She’s my friend, just my friend.”

“S-She won’t take you away from me, will she? You won’t leave me for her, will you?” she asked desperately, grabbing your hands tightly.

You hissed at the pain, but remained calm.

“Of course not, Donna,” you said, kissing her quickly, feeling the salty taste of her tears on your lips. “You are the most important thing to me.”

Donna nodded slowly, with a sad smile.

“I love you, (Y/N)…” she whispered in your ear.

“Me too, Donna… So much,” you said with a smile that she returned. “Now… Stay here with Angie while I pick this up and then… Well, then maybe I can prove to you the truth of my words,” you said, winking at her, making her laugh shyly. “Angie, stay with her, okay? Take care of her for me.”

“Yes, ma'am,” the doll said, gracefully climbing up her owner's body. “Hey, hey, Donna, let's play guessing games...”

Crisis over, for the moment.

Time went on and, luckily, Donna finally agreed to let you maintain the friendship that you had lost. Almost every day you met with Lydia to chat, to drink a coffee or a beer at Luiza's.

You knew that Donna wasn’t exactly happy about it, but you appreciated her apparent change of mind. Her only condition was simple: not to abandon her, not to stop caring for her, not to stop showing her that she were the most important thing for you.

Everything was going perfectly. With jealousy slightly set aside and a friendship recovered, you could say without a doubt that you were living one of the best stages of your life. But, as always, everything had to go wrong at some point.

“But who is this precious child?” you said while playing with Lydia's baby, on one of your afternoons of quiet chat. “Hello, hello, hello… Hey, he suits me, doesn't he?”

“Yeah, well,” your friend joked, shaking her head. “More or less.”

“More or less? Little Ivan adores Aunt (Y/N), doesn't he?” you said amused, making funny faces at the baby, who responded with an adorable laugh. “Look, I make him laugh.”

“It's not something complicated,” she said, looking at you fondly.

“I see, maybe I'm better at it than I thought,” you commented, giving the child back to his mother. “I don't know, maybe one day…”

“You're not thinking about…” she said, frowning. “With her?”

“Oh, no, I'm not saying that... Um, well, I'm good with kids, but I don't really want to start a family... right now...” you murmured somewhat nervously.

“I understand your doubts,” Lydia commented, with a mocking expression. “It's definitely not a good idea.”

“Hey, what do you mea...?” you said, giving her a soft punch on the shoulder.

“(Y/N), I'm glad to see you,” Igor, your friend's husband said, entering through the door.

“How are you?” you asked your old friend amused. “I was talking to your wife about how good I am with children.”

“You? I find it hard to believe,” the boy joked, greeting his wife affectionately.

“I notice a certain distrust towards me...” you said mockingly.

“No, it's just that we know you,” your friend said, causing you to stick out your tongue, amused.

“Yes, yes, very funny,” you said pretending to be annoyed, crossing your arms.

“Are you staying for dinner, (Y/N)?” Igor asked kindly.

“Dinner?” you asked, frowning and looking at a nearby clock. It was 9 pm and that time marked something you had forgotten. “Oh, shit…”

That night, precisely that night you had met Donna to have a romantic dinner since, that same day, was the anniversary of your first kiss.

Among laughs, anecdotes and memories of the past, you had forgotten.

“What's wrong?” your friend asked, alerted by the way you got up from the couch to grab your coat.

“Today I had to dinner with Donna, a romantic dinner… Shit, shit, I had completely forgotten…” you said regretfully, sighing and closing your eyes. “I'm sorry to leave like this, but…”

“Don't worry,” they both said, watching in astonishment as you disappeared from their house almost running.

You quickly ran through the dark forest, thinking of a valid excuse for the lady in black. You knew there wasn't one, that you had failed at something so simple, that you had, for a moment, forgotten about her.

“D-Donna?” you asked timidly as you entered the mansion slowly, with your heart beating scared, too fast. “My love, I…”

The lady in black suddenly appeared with a cold look and, without saying a word, grabbed your arm, dragging you into the living room and sitting you violently in your chair.

“Donna, hey, relax, I…” you said, scared by that attitude, by the look of hatred that you saw in her eye. “L-Listen, I…”

“Eat,” she ordered you in a dark voice, pointing at your plate, illuminated by some weak candles.

“What? Honey, let me explain…” you said making reassuring gestures with your hands. “Donna…”

“Eat!” she shrieked furiously, grabbing your hand so you could take a fork and sink it into the food. “Eat!”

“Um, okay, okay,” you said, taking some pasta to your mouth, looking in fear at the deranged lady. “I-It's…”

“Do you know what this is?” Donna asked mockingly, breathing heavily. “Do you know what it is, (Y/N)?!”

“I-It's pasta with oil and garlic, right? My favorite,” you said with a cowardly smile, with a broken voice that tried to overcome the situation.

“It's cold pasta, (Y/N)!” the lady shrieked, slamming her fists on the table, making you pull your hands away in fear of being hit too. “And you know why? Because you didn't come…”

You sighed, closing your eyes and rubbing your forehead.

“I know… I, I lost track of time and…” you said, apologizing weakly, knowing that nothing you said would help. “Forgive me, Donna.”

“Forgive me, Donna,” she repeated, with an unpleasant tone. “How dare you to do that to me on our anniversary?!”

“I didn't mean to, I was with Lydia and…” you said nervously, keeping your cool.

“Of course, you were with her,” Donna hissed, bending down to look at you with a nervous, dangerous eye, speaking with an ironically melodic accent. “Did you have a good time?”

“Donna, that's enough, hey, I'm sorry, okay?” you said, slowly getting up. “I forgot about dinner, but not about you.”

“Not about me…” she hissed again, shaking her head with a sinister smile. “You forgot about me!”

“No, that's not true,” you said in your defense, adopting a slightly more confident attitude. “I made a mistake but…”

“A mistake… a mistake!” she shrieked, waving her arms, laughing in a disturbing way. “I'm a mistake to you!”

“No!” you shouted, trying, unsuccessfully, to reason with her. “You're not! I just forgot about a damn dinner, Donna!”

“It may be just a dinner to you, but you know it's important to me, you know that…” she whispered, shaking her head. “If a stupid dinner is so unimportant… You don't need to say anything else.”

“Hey, we all make mistakes, you too. I've acknowledged my fault, it's not fair that you torture me,” you said hissing, also holding the lady's cold gaze. “I've already said I'm sorry.”

“Do I make mistakes?” the lady asked, pointing at herself. “Of course, I made the mistake of letting you keep seeing that bitch...”

“Stop insulting my friend! She hasn't done anything to you!” you shouted furiously, fed up with her contempt towards Lydia, something that hadn't changed. “You're just jealous.”

“What am I supposed to do? Stay waiting like every day? Think about what the hell are you doing with that girl while I'm here alone, crying because you don't come?”

“You're selfish, Donna,” you growled, pushing away another attempt by the lady to grab you, moving away from her but hardening your tone. “Get this into your head, darling: you don’t own me.”

Donna roared in rage, kicking one of the chairs, knocking it over irremediably, making you back off again.

“Of course, of course…” she said, laughing madly. “I get it, (Y/N)… Since I'm not your owner, you think you have the freedom to fuck all the whores you find, right? Why give me explanations? I'm just… Your fucking girlfriend!”

“You're rambling again,” you whispered, shaking your head. “When you stop talking nonsense, we can talk more calmly.”

“I'm rambling, I'm rambling,” the lady gasped, clenching her fists on either side of her hips. “It's my fault for falling in love with a slut like you,” Donna growled, pushing you unpleasantly.

Ignoring that terrible insult and the tears that were beginning to form in your eyes, you took a step forward, not letting yourself be intimidated by her harsh words.

“In love? Let me doubt it,” you said mockingly, defiant again. “You are incapable of loving, Donna, you only want to possess and wow, how curious, I am not your possession, I will never be!”

“Chiudi il becco!” Donna shrieked, approaching hastily and grabbing the collar of your dress, scaring you for the first time. “Porca puttana! You are mine, (Y/N)…”

“No, I'm not, I'm your girlfriend, not your possession, get that through your head and… Donna, let me go, you're hurting me,” you protested, struggling with her grip. “Damn it…”

“Mm, maybe you're right, (Y/N),” the mad lady said, releasing your clothes in a calmer tone. “Maybe I haven't made things clear… Oh, it's my fault, (Y/N)… My fault for letting you do whatever you wanted…”

“What?” you asked, putting on your clothes.

“Mm, maybe I've been too soft with you… Maybe I should tie you to my bed to make sure you never… leave me again!”

The rage that those words provoked in you was already unbearable. The rage traveled through your veins, heating up your body until your fury came out in the form of a loud slap towards the lady in black, who turned her head at the blow, but didn't change her gaze.

“You know what, Donna? People are right, you are a dangerous lunatic, a freaking nutcase who only knows how to give nightmares, to cause pain…” you said sobbing while Donna held her bruised cheek, looking at you with a terrifying gleam. “You are stupid, Donna Beneviento, a selfish lunatic who is incapable of behaving better than a three-year-old girl and you know what? I’m fed up. I’m sick of you.”

“Hey, hey, that's enough!” Angie interrupted, comically separating you. “Hey, Donna, (Y/N), stop!”

“I hate you,” you whispered through your teeth, pushing the woman roughly. “You finally got it, honey. I'm leaving.”

“W-What?” Donna stammered blinking in confusion at your words as you hit her with your shoulder, walking without stopping towards the elevator.

Crying, but still angry, you gathered several of your stuff and put them in a backpack, making that hard and horrible decision, determined to leave the love of your life forever.

“W-Wait, wait (Y/N),” the lady said, trying to stop you from leaving, something you ignored with a haughty gesture, walking out the door. “Wait, wait, please!”

“I don't want to see you again... You're the biggest mistake of my life,” you hissed before leaving, closing the door abruptly.

“W-Well... Then...” Donna said hastily, opening the door again while you walked into the darkness. “Then leave! Don't you dare come back... or I'll kill you! “

“Mm, I should have guessed,” you commented with irony.

There weren't many places you could go. Your friend's house, the indirect cause of that terrible argument, seemed like your best option.

“I'm sorry, (Y/N),” your friend said, enduring your tears, warming your spirit with a cup of tea. “But, but I warned you...”

“I know you warned me,” you said abruptly. “Gods... Donna...”

“She can't force you to give up your life, you haven't done anything wrong, (Y/N), besides, you can stay here as long as you need,” Lydia said, rubbing your back.

“W-Well, being late for a romantic dinner is not pleasant…” the husband commented, sitting casually on one of the arms of the sofa.

“Igor,” your friend scolded. “I already knew this would end up happening. You should never have approached that woman.”

“Do you think I don't know? That I didn't know what I was getting myself into?” you asked abruptly, sobbing inconsolably. “I never thought Donna would say such horrible things…”

“People say horrible things when they're angry,” Igor commented, scratching the back of his neck.

“Hey, we're not talking to you,” she said in a brusque tone. “Don't pay attention to him.”

“No… He's right,” you said, shaking your head, burying your face in your hands. “I've also behaved like an idiot, I've said things to her that… that I don't really think.”

“She can't force you to stop seeing your friend, that's not fair, (Y/N),” Lydia said, convinced of her words, reasonable ones. “That's not right.”

“I know,” you said, nodding. “But I can't help but feel that… That I'm somewhat to blame.”

“Don't talk nonsense, I repeat: you haven't done anything wrong,” she said. “That woman is crazy, she sees enemies where there aren't and she controls you. You did well by abandoning her.”

“I know what Donna is like,” you said, looking up. “I know she's terribly jealous and that… Well, she misinterprets things but… but she's also loving, kind, romantic… she took care of me, Lydia, she really did.”

“I can't believe you're still defending her,” the girl said, sighing reluctantly. “She could have hurt you.”

“She would never hurt me,” you said, sure of your words. “She would never... Oh, I know how I sound, that I sound stupid but it's just that... Lydia, I... I love her more than anything. Her flaws are not even a shadow of her virtues. With her, I feel safe and... I don't know what I would do without her. Oh, Gods... I have to, I have to go back.”

Without saying another word, you left the house again, running towards the forest.

Yes, you were right, she was wrong but you hadn't stopped to think that you might be wrong too. Donna had always been alone. She didn't understand the concept of friendship. You, on the other hand, insisted on returning to your teenage years, leaving aside the poor lady in black.

You should have been more understanding with her and not act like you didn't care, not say those horrible things to her.

You were both guilty.

Slowly, you opened the door, finding Donna in a corner, crying inconsolably.

“Donna…” you sighed, leaving your backpack on the floor. “Donna, honey, I’m back…”

“(Y/N),” she said, getting up immediately, her face torn apart by tears. “P-Please, don't leave... Don't leave me... Please... All the things I said... I didn't want to, I shouldn't have…”

“Shh…” you whispered calmly, caressing her cheek. “I've said a lot of stupid things too. I didn't want to, really, I don't think that way.”

“Forgive me, please…” she whispered, hugging you desperately. “I-I was jealous and…”

“I know, I know darling…” you said, caressing her back, letting the lady cry on your shoulder again. “I'm to blame too… I should have understood your feelings better. But, uh, if you want, we can get over it, what do you think?”

“Y-yes, I… I won't fail you again… I love you, (Y/N)…”

[soapssuds]

Infinity

Yandere ! Gojo Satoru x Female ! Reader

Part 2 | my childhood friend

Warnings | Gojo is kind of clingy, y/n is shy and has a stutter (at first), grammatical errors, etc.

Notes | this fic will be using she/her pronouns for y/n. Also this is a reincarnation fic, so Gojo's name will not be "Satoru" in this part. And please let me know if you want to be in a taglist for this series !! ^-^

Summary | And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you.

Infinity Masterlist

year 1102 AD

GOJO SHIRO was at the tender age of twelve when he regained his past life's memories, and with a sudden burst of excitement he realized that he was indeed living a new life as a reincarnation of his former self. With such news, he immediately set off with such knowledge and past experiences. He knew things as such a young age that baffled many adults. Which was to no surprise to the young Gojo. Though, truthfully, he had no intention of revealing how he had such vast knowledge and instead would give the simple answer of "I like to study when I'm not training." Which was believable to most adults with in the Gojo clan because they would take notice how the young future head of the clan would wander straight towards the clan's sacred library.

Little did they know, however, was that he was actually researching the l/n clan and trying to see if y/n even existed in this time period. And, much to his dismay, he would find that after his first death the l/n clan would have fallen from grace. (Which was very much deserved, mind you.) But now he had no way of finding her, of find y/n, or knowing if was even born yet or even if she would have the last name l/n or the first name y/n.

Because look at Gojo.

Sure, he still has the six eyes. His powerful cursed techniques that he will be expected to hone as he ages. Yet he has a different first name. So the same could be expected of y/n if she got reincarnated as well. But he knew that once he saw her, he would know that it was her. Without a doubt. Mainly because he wholeheartedly believed that when one is reincarnated, their personality stays the same. Their soul never changes. I mean, the only thing about him that changed was his first name for goodness sake! So the same could easily be said about his y/n. Easily.

However ...

"Oh! How frustrating!"

It was still very frustrating.

He slammed the book shut and pushed it aside. His gaze settling onto the nearest wall.

It was clear to him that searching through books on whereabouts of the l/n clan were no longer going to work. If he wanted to find his cute little maid, then he was going to have to leave the Gojo Estate. Simple, right? So, that was exactly what he set out to do. And much to his surprise, no one really stopped him. Probably because he was already at such a high position within the clan as the next head and all.

And thats how he found himself wandering the streets. Many people bustled around him but didn't dare to step in his path for it was easily known as to who he was and how much power he had.

Well, that was until he felt a small tug on his sleeve.

Rolling his eyes, he couldn't believe someone had the audacity to bother him, especially considering how he was busy looking for y/n. Not that whoever was pulling at him to get his attention needed to know that.

"What."

Though the moment that the word left his mouth, his whole body froze up when he had turned to look at the person who was bothering him. His brillant blue eyes fixated on the slightly smaller girl before him.

She looked exactly the same as before.

"Uhm- i- i- I'm so sorry, Lord Gojo! But- but you- i-," she stuttered over her words like a fool. She shut her eyes as she tried to find the right words she wanted to say, "its just.. us kids were going to play a game and- and we were wondering if you want to play with us. We- we know you probably have better things to do.. but but we j- just .. just wanted to be friends since- since w-we saw you pass by and and we never see you out from the estate walls, so..."

She blabbered on. To anyone else, they may have tried to cut her off or shut her up. But to Gojo? He was on cloud nine. In his past life, he only got to see her when she was a teenager, and that was only for a year before her life was taken from him. But now? Now he has a chance to get to know her as a child. They can grow up together, learn about each other at the same pace without someone threatening them. It made a smile stretching across his lips.

"Sure," he said suddenly, "I'll come play with you all. But...only on one condition."

She brightened at first when he agreed to come play but instantly deflated at the condition. He wasn't going to ask for money was he?! Her dirt smudged face and tattered clothes were proof enough of her wealth. So, she really did hope he didn't ask for anything too grand.

"Mmhmm, want to hear the condition?"

She shakily nodded and he basked in her shyness and fear. He found it was really fun to tease her! And he planned on teasing her a lot in the near future.

Booping her on the nose with an index finger, he grinned, "well, its actually two conditions. But don't worry, its within your power to fulfill them easily."

Rubbing her nose, she silently urged him to continue.

"First, I want you to call me Shiro. No more of that lame Lord Gojo crap. And second .. what's your name? You want me to come play with you, but don't offer an introduction? Honestly, I'm hurt."

He faked a pout while laying a hand on his chest. His heart beating rapidly against his palm and he silently hoped she wasn't able to hear it.

She bowed suddenly, "r- right! I'm s- sorry Lord- uhm- I mean! I'm sorry Shiro!"

She straightened back up as a blush coated her (color) cheeks. Her hand shakily jutting out as her feet moved from side to side in a nervous manner.

"I'm y/n and- and I was wondering if you like to come and play with me and my friends.."

His heart did a backflip and he internally swooned. So cute!

He immediately snatched her hand into his own despite her hand being slightly dirty than his clean, pristine one.

"I would love to!"

[nikethestatue]

All Hallow's Eve

An Elriel Halloween fanfic

Summary: Rhysand, the High Lord of Night Court enlists his sister-in-law Elain Archeron to plan a city-wide celebration of All Hallow's Eve. As she is still new to being Fae, Rhysand suggests a helper--Azriel, who would guide her through the process and show her the ropes.

Over the next few weeks, they plan the celebration together, they visit the Historian, and they end up together at Azriel's secret mansion, finally free to confront their feelings for each other.

TW: Explicit Sexual Content

Words: 13,229

-

“I’m gonna show you where it’s dark, but have no fear.” 

Day One

“Elain,” Rhysand called out her name from his office. 

She paused, surprised, because he rarely included her in any discussions and she was called to his office…well, never.

She pushed the door and entered. The High Lord sat behind his large desk, the portrait of her sister behind him. Watching.

Elain had to admit it–Feyre’s turned out to be a gifted painter after all. What had started as a childish hobby and endless doodles, morphed into something introspective and emotional. What Feyre perhaps lacked in technique, she compensated with the sheer visceral impact of her paintings.

“Good morning,” Rhysand said and gestured for her to sit down. She took a place across from him and allowed herself to be enchanted by his lavender eyes, which brimmed with starlight–a sight she was still getting used to.

“How are you, Elain?” Rhysand asked, his voice smooth and vaguely concerned.

“I am well, Rhys. Thank you for asking,” Elain answered politely. 

Internally, she felt both trepidation, and excitement. Because she was never asked to come to Rhys’s office. She was relegated to the gardens, to the nursery, the kitchen. Never called into the inner sanctum. 

Yes, she was part of this Court, and whenever she was called upon to serve, she did it eagerly and without hesitation. But she was typically used as a pretty doll at parties and balls or meetings with emissaries. Not unlike what her mother used to do when Elain was young–a pretty doll to dress up and parade around, introducing her to the guests. Elain didn’t mind it: she was well-versed in the matters of hosting and entertainment, and even the uncouth and ill-mannered Fae straightened in her presence and didn’t insist on behaving like beasts. 

“How are you?” she asked in turn, her stomach tightening with anticipation.

What if today was the day? The day Rhysand, the High Lord of Night Court, would actually ask for her assistance in some task. Would use her powers and skills of observation for a specific purpose. Would she be finally used for something important and meaningful?

“Oh, I am well,” he leaned back in his chair. “The babe kept us up for a few hours, but then he fell asleep so I can't complain.”

Elain smiled politely and shifted in her seat, the impatient movement catching Rhys’s all-seeing glance.

He folded his elegant, aristocratic hands on his stomach and then asked,

“Do you know what All Hallow’s Eve is?”

Elain furrowed her brow, confused by the question.

“Pardon?”

“Have you heard of it?” Rhys repeated.

She shook her head. 

“No. What is it?”

“You didn’t celebrate your dead in the Human Lands?” he confirmed.

Elain bit her lip and shook her head again. No. The dead were burned in the river and then remembered by their families, until all generations died out, and with them, all the memories as well. The wealthy, they had different customs of course, as did those who lived on the Continent. Elain’s own grandparents and mother were buried properly, and had elaborate gravestones in the family cemetery. But the cemetery was gone along with Elain’s childhood estate and the only time the family members were remembered during the years of poverty was when the sisters lit a candle on the anniversary of their passing. 

Only Nesta refused to light for their grandmother. 

“No,” she answered curtly.

She didn’t want to remember. Any of it.

He nodded calmly, unperturbed as usual. 

“It is a night when we remember our dead,” he explained. “It is not a night of sorrow, but of celebration. We light bonfires, we leave sweets outside our doors, we exchange foods to please the ancestors, and we drink in their honour. What Calanmai is to Spring Court, All Hallow’s Eve is to Night Court.”

Elain thought about it and then asked cautiously, “and you and Feyre then…have to,” she swallowed audibly and felt her cheeks heat, “have to,”

He smiled mischievously, watching her discomfort.

“Have to what, Elain?” Rhysand prompted. 

She sighed. 

“You know exactly what I am referring to,” she told him, her tone dry. “Will you be fornicating in public then?” Like they do at Calanmai?”

She’d never seen it, but she heard stories about orgies out in the open and sexual acts performed by the High Lords. 

He chuckled and assured her, “don't worry, it won't be something we’ll subject anyone to.”

“Thank the gods,” she breathed with relief.

Rhysand’s eyes sparkled with mirth.

“Is it something you’d like to experience then?” he queried with amusement. “I could arrange a trip to Spring for you, come spring,”

“That won’t be necessary,” she stopped him quickly.

“Alright then.”

“So, what about this Eve?” she questioned, “do you wish me to bake something? Cook something?” her voice was small and quiet. She wished that he’d asked her for something meaningful.

Rhysand scrubbed his chin and then resumed his relaxed position.

“So, the custom is to host a gathering,” he said at last. “Obviously, due to various reasons we’ve been unable to have a proper celebration for half a century. This year though, I feel we are in a good position to resume the festivities properly.” 

She leaned forward in her chair and watched him intently, trying to understand what he wanted from her.

But she didn't need to wait long, because Rhysand announced,

“I’d like for you to take charge of the event.”

“Me?” she cried out, shocked.

“Yes, I think you’d be the perfect candidate. Just understand that this is not a small family celebration–this is a large gathering, on par with Starfall. Dignitaries will be coming. We are looking to return to normal, and this is one of the ways we’ll do that.

“I feel that you’d be excellent for this task,”

“Wait,” she interrupted him quickly, “but I don't know anything about what’s required! How am I expected to plan this…event, when I never saw it or know,”

“Oh don't worry,” he stopped her smoothly. “Of course I wouldn't expect you to do all of this on your own and by yourself. The twins will help, surely.”

“But,”

“And I feel that another person should be available as well,”

“Who?”

Elain shuddered internally, hoping that he wouldn't suggest Nesta. It’s not that she didn’t want to work with Nesta, but planning parties with Nesta…well, calling the experience a ‘nightmare’ would be kind. Nesta was opinionated, mean and impatient. Precisely the type of person one wouldn’t want to plan a large gathering with. 

“Azriel.”

Rhysand’s tone was even, and he sounded almost bored.

Elain’s eyes, though, popped open at the ridiculous suggestion.

Azriel?

Azriel who barely talked to her, who said that their almost-kiss was ‘a mistake’, who avoided her at best, and ignored her fairly regularly…THAT Azriel? Azriel who hardly struck her as a party maker either.

Gods, now she wished for Nesta!

She also wondered if Rhysand’s been hitting that fairy wine stash that he had in his possession, because she’s never heard anything more preposterous.

“Pardon?” she said for the second time in 15 minutes.

“Azriel,” Rhys repeated blandly. “It’s his turn,”

“Turn for what, exactly?”

“We used to take turns every year, organising the festivities. How do you think Azriel is so well-versed in the usage of proper cutlery, dancing, music and good etiquette? He isn’t a savage. Now, Cassian, on the other hand,”

Elain snorted a laugh.

“In any event,” Rhys shrugged. “You ought to consult with Azriel and make plans with him. That would take the pressure off of both of you…”

It would?

Elain couldn’t think of anything more pressing than working with Azriel. 

“Are you certain that there is no one else who could help me?” she implored.

“Unfortunately, not this year,” Rhys explained somberly. “Nesta doesn’t have experience, Mor is back in Vallahan, Amren…well, she is tougher than Azriel, though I might ask her,”

“No!” Elain exclaimed. “No. I…I will try it with him. “

“Good. I’d rather not ask Cassian, because then I’ll end up handling most of it. It’s settled then?”

She exhaled heavily.

No, it wasn’t ‘settled’, but what was she going to say?

“Yes, I will do it.”

“Thank you, Elain.” 

Rhys smiled at her, but he sounded genuine in his praise and gratitude.

“You should begin promptly,” he suggested. “There isn’t much time left, honestly. It sort of escaped my mind this year. Well with all the things that happened,” his voice trailed and Elain understood. After Feyre’s pregnancy and the horror of her birth, parties weren’t Rhysand’s priority.

She stood up and smoothed her skirt.

Rhys gave her a small nod of encouragement and before she left the office, said, 

“Azriel is here right now. In his rooms. You might as well start the discussions as soon as possible.”

Oh.

Elain didn’t know.

Both Cassian and Azriel had rooms in the River House, however, they were in a different wing and they could come and go as they pleased. 

Feyre had explained that the wards in the townhouse were very strong and admittance was stringent. Rhysand and Mor were the only two people who could come and go as they pleased, and the other three needed to be admitted. Well, with everyone now either coupled or living here, permissions were a little more lax, but the wards were even stronger than before. 

After leaving Rhys’s office, Elain stopped in the middle of the hallway, and contemplated her next move.

Would it be absolutely uncouth to go up to Azriel’s rooms and knock on his door? 

Should she send him an official invitation to join her? 

That seemed a bit over-the-top even for her. 

Perhaps ask Nuala or Cerridwen to explain the situation to him? 

Have Feyre summon him?

Request that Nesta invite her over, whilst Azriel was at the House of Wind and ‘accidentally’ bump into him?

Elain tugged on her braid aggressively, but then stomped her foot in frustration.

He was just a man. Nothing more.

A man who seemed to have been attracted to her once. Maybe not. Maybe she read the signs wrong. But regardless, he wasn’t better than her. Wasn’t intimidating in the least. She was a Cauldron Made Seer. He was a spy and a shadowsinger. She was pretty sure that she outranked him anyway.

Resolutely, she headed towards the other wing of the house, her hands balled at her sides and her fingernails digging into her palms. She reckoned that she resembled Nesta right now. It didn’t matter. She was going to do it.

When she came to Azriel’s door, she heard faint music coming from inside. 

He had obtained a Symphonia for himself, because Nesta refused to let him ‘borrow’ hers at some point, since he was taking it all the time and listening to it himself. What’s more, he also added melodies and dances that he liked to it, and deleted some of Nesta’s–or at least she couldn’t find them–so they argued and that prompted him to buy one for himself. 

Elain took a deep breath and knocked.

“Come in,” she heard his voice almost immediately, and then she opened the door.

Azriel had three rooms–his request–which consisted of an office, a bedroom, and a sitting room, and Elain’s never been here, though when the house was built, she suggested some of the colours and decorations for his rooms. She wasn’t even sure why she did that. Why it mattered to her. 

Stepping into his office, the first thing that happened was Elain was blinded. She gasped, surprised to be enveloped in complete darkness. 

“For the love of the Cauldron, get away from her!” she heard Azriel’s deep, gravelly voice somewhere in the darkness. 

Shadows…These were his shadows. The gathering of shadows, which were caressing her skin now:  they touched her hair, her neck, her cheeks, her hands. 

“I said back off,” she heard Azriel’s command, and at last, the wall of shadows thinned and they pulled back as if being sucked into a vortex. 

Elain squinted and heard Azriel say “forgive them. They got excited. They haven't seen you in a while.”

And whose fault is that? Elain wanted to ask, but she didn’t.

As they typically did around her, the shadows then disappeared completely, leaving her with Azriel.

“I thought they didn’t like me,” she said quietly.

With a sigh, he told her, “no, they like you. All of me likes you.” 

At that, Elain’s eyes finally found him and she stared.

He cleared his throat.

He sat behind a desk, instantly reminding her of Rhysand. Unlike most other times, Azriel was dressed casually, and Elain dug her feet into the soft rug, trying not to squeeze her thighs together. 

His tunic was simple, but clearly bespoke–everything that he wore was tailored specifically to him–of a deep cornflower blue, and unbuttoned on his chest. His bronze skin worked beautifully with the colour of his shirt and Elain couldn’t help but admire how good he looked. She also couldn’t help herself as she peeked at his sculpted chest and his thick, veiny forearms, which he folded on the desk in front of him.

His huge black wings loomed over him like two mountains, but they didn’t seem as rigid as they usually appeared. It was almost as if Azriel was…relaxed.

But it wasn’t his elegant tunic, or his golden skin, or his muscles, or his thick black hair that attracted Elain’s attention the most–though all of those things certainly kept her occupied–but it was a pair of spectacles that was perched on his nose that took her aback.

Spectacles existed in the Human Lands, though they were expensive and rare. Only the very wealthy could afford them, and that if they lived long enough to need them. Most people just got by the best they could.

Azriel wearing a pair of black-rimmed spectacles wasn’t what Elain expected to see this morning.

“I am old, you know,” he said suddenly.

“You aren’t though!” she argued immediately, even though she wasn’t sure what he was referring to.

“I am. In your years, I am probably 33 years old. Maybe 35.”

“It isn’t old!”

“You are not yet 25,” he reminded her. “You are so young!”

“Not yet?! Young?” Elain cried out. Was he insane? She was a spinster! Even when she got engaged to Graysen there were many who whispered that she was getting on in her years and that being almost 22 was almost too late to be getting married. 

He raised his brow at her, giving her one of those ‘Azriel looks’ which he tended to shoot on occasion at people around him. It was a look of incredulity and disdain. She wasn’t the receiving end of the look before, and now that she got the eyebrow lift, well…it was scary and lonely on the other side of that look.

“You wear spectacles,” she stated the obvious.

“It would seem that I do.”

“Why?”

“Because I read a lot and need to protect my vision,” he explained. “These help me–they are slightly magical.”

Slightly magical.

Only in Prythian could something like that be uttered and actually make sense. 

“Well, they look good on you,” she blurted out, and then mentally smacked herself for her big mouth. She shouldn't even be noticing how he looks!

Azriel smiled. 

And then, they just stared at each other. 

His office was very spacious and with south-facing windows. When the house was being designed and constructed, it was Rhysand who told the artisans and the architects that Azriel’s rooms ought to have as much sun exposure as possible. Elain recalled the moment, because she was there–Feyre and Rhys were there, Amren too, and no one questioned the request. 

“Not that I am not pleased to see you in my rooms,” Azirel said at last, leaning back in his chair and taking the same pose as his brother did earlier, by lacing his long, strong fingers on his flat stomach. Elain could see the smooth ridges of his abdominal muscles even from here. She shouldn’t have been looking. But he was borderline indecent, sitting like that, folding his hands on his stomach. Who did that? It should’ve been illegal!

“However,” he continued, observing her with a smirk, “I am curious about the reason for your visit? It’s most unusual, is it not?”

“It’s not like I want to be here!” she told him quickly.

He smiled and then removed his spectacles and placed them on the desk.

“And yet, here you are.”

“I am supposed to plan a party for All Hallow’s Eve and you are supposed to help me.”

Azriel looked both amused and a bit perplexed. 

“Why did you choose me, specifically?” he queried.

She huffed and shrugged, “I didn’t. I didn’t ask for you specifically.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, only stared at her and then mouthed soundlessly And yet here you are. 

“It’s because Rhys told me!” she argued defensively.

“Told you what?”

“To ask you because it’s your turn to plan the party anyway,” she even rolled her eyes at him, which made him grin.

“I am supposed to plan a party?” he repeated.

She sighed with exasperation and exclaimed, “must I repeat everything? Are you not supposed to plan the celebration? Why are you acting like this is news to you?!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said calmly, “it must have skipped my mind. It’s been a while since I’ve done it,”

“That’s what Rhys said as well,”

“I bet he did,” Azriel nodded. 

“He said that you are supposed to help me and teach me,” she clarified.

A faint smile bloomed on Azriel’s lips and he murmured, 

“I can certainly teach you a thing or two.”

Elain squinted at him, trying to determine the meaning behind his words, but opted not to comment. Instead, she asked, “well, will you?”

“What?”

“Help me?”

“I will,” he agreed at last. “Just need to refresh my memory.”

She nodded primly.

“When do you want to start?” she asked.

“How about tomorrow morning? I can finish up everything else and then throw myself head first into party planning,” he rubbed his hands together with fake excitement.

Elain threw him an unamused look, but nodded and said, “I shall see you tomorrow at 8 in the morning.”

“Oh, eight?” he repeated.

“Yes. Eight.”

Once Elain left his office with a swoosh of her green dress, Azriel tugged on the mind link that connected him to Rhys rather aggressively.

“Ow!” the High Lord complained.

Azriel seethed, “You are such an asshole. The biggest asshole I’ve ever met.”

Rhys laughed on the other side.

“Surely not the biggest?” he argued.

“The biggest.”

“I take severe umbrage to that because you know Jurian, Beron and you knew my father. I am an honourable High Lord, that’s all.”

“Yeah, you are,” Azriel’s voice trailed. “What the hel are you doing? What is this party nonsense?”

Rhys thought for a moment and then said lazily, “I feel like you are floundering. You need a change of scenery and pace. So this is an order.”

Day Two

She arrived exactly at eight in the morning.

Carrying binders. 

Large journals with blank pages, which, Azriel supposed, she planned on filling out with information.

Azriel was in the kitchen, talking to Nuala, a cup of milky coffee in one hand and a pistachio pastry shoved in his mouth, crumbs all over his front, when Elain strode decisively inside.

She was clutching all her binders and journals to her chest and Azriel noticed that they were also different colours.

“Morning!” Elain said cheerfully, and Nuala smiled, noting, “You’ve got some pep in your walk today!”

“It’s a big assignment!” Elain declared importantly.

“You know,” Azriel attempted to say something contrary but she shot him a look of such fierceness that he shut his mouth and continued chewing.

She slapped each binder on the counter, stating loudly:

Guests.

Food.

Decorations.

Venues.

Other things.

Azriel chortled and muttered other things under his breath.

“That’s why you are here, isn’t it?” she asked, “to tell me about things I don’t know.”

“Sure, I can tell you what to do,” he offered easily.

Nuala hid a smile.

Elain squeezed the bridge of her nose and moaned, “this is going to be difficult, isn’t it?”

“Not if you don’t make it so.”

Pursing her lips, Nuala stated, “he is very difficult to work with,” and with that, and before Azriel could argue, she disappeared through the wall. 

“How’s this fair?” he yelled after her.

Only a soft laugh came in response. 

“Alright, so,” Elain opened the first journal, “I was thinking…”

“You should get some breakfast,” he interrupted her.

“I don't want it, I am not hungry!” she protested, but Azriel poured her a cup of coffee and plucked a pastry from a stand and handed it to her.

“Eat,” he ordered in a tone that didn’t allow for arguments.

Elain pouted, but accepted both the coffee and the pastry, noticing that the coffee was exactly how she liked it and the pastry was made with apples and almonds–her favourite.

But that, she was sure, was just a coincidence. He wouldn’t have known how she liked her coffee.

“So, how many guests do you think we should invite?” Elain asked, as she sipped her coffee.

Azriel looked at her with amusement, until she glanced at him and then reached out and suddenly wiped some of the buttery crumbs from his chest, carefully picked at the ones that stuck to his black jacket.

He stood still and silent, while she cleaned him up, clearly unaware of what she was doing. Her brow was furrowed while she concentrated and smacked his chest up and down. He liked it. He tried to contain his smile, but it wasn’t easy. Outside of long-forgotten brushes of fingers, this is the most Elain’s ever touched him.

Abruptly, she realised what she was doing and pulled away.

“I think you missed a spot,” he pointed out innocently.

“Ugh, why didn’t you tell me to stop?!” she exclaimed, her cheeks pink and her tone flustered.

“Why? I was enjoying it,” he said simply.

She bristled and hissed, “you don’t even like me!”

His face lost its softness and the expression hardened.

“I never said that,” he snapped.

“Yes, you did,” she insisted.

“No. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

She waved her hand dismissively,

“I don’t want to talk about it. We need to plan the party and then part our ways.”

“Sounds good to me,” he agreed, his face unreadable.

She caressed the blank pages of her journal and asked,

“How many guests usually attend?”

At that Azriel shrugged irritably and said, “I don’t fucking know…”

Her eyes popped at his coarse language.

“Haven’t you done this before?” she insisted, looking annoyed. 

“Been a while. Anyway, don’t you think you are jumping ahead of yourself?”

“How’s that?”

“Shouldn’t you find out more about the holiday? Before you start inviting guests.”

He looked at her like a disappointed teacher and she breathed a small ‘oh’.

“Come on then, we have a trip to make,” he extended his hand to her.

She looked confused, but took his hand without argument. Unlike all the others, she always took his hand without argument.

She grabbed her pastry and hurried after him, forgetting her pristinely new journals behind.

“Where are we going?” she asked, running after him as he took massive strides with his long legs.

“Just follow me!”

“But where are you taking me?” she insisted.

He gave a derisive snort and threw, “to be ravished!”

She wasn't even bothered by the callous remark and said, “I thought we are a mistake and you weren't interested.”

“Guess things change,” he said nonchalantly.

“Well, they didn’t change for me!” she screeched.

“Don’t care.”

She tried to stop, but he pulled her behind him and she was forced to trot obediently so she wouldn’t fall.

They were outside on the lawn in no time and the next moment, Azriel was in front of her, looming over her, his expression stern and dark. He released her hand from his, only to move to her shoulders, squeezing them, but not tightly. He peered into her brown eyes and said,

“I don’t want you to bring that night up anymore.”

It wasn’t a request. It was an order.

She glared at him and reminded her firmly,

“It was a pivotal night in our…association. I cannot not bring it up. It…” she swallowed. “You hurt my feelings,”

“And I apologise for that. But if we are to work together on this celebration, we can’t dwell on the past. One day, I might explain myself further. Is that understood?”

“I am not one of your soldiers to bark at,” she glowered at him.

He smiled at her and then gently tucked a rogue curl behind her ear.

“No, you're not. You are my lovely girl.”

“I am not yours,” she breathed, blinking at him.

He sighed heavily and was forced to agree. “So it would seem.”

“I am nobody’s girl,” she concluded wistfully.

Azriel wasn’t sure what to make of her words. On one hand, he was pleased that she didn’t seem to be Lucien’s girl, and that she didn’t go further into her relationship with her mate than before. On the other hand, she didn’t consider herself being his girl either. And that didn’t please him at all, though he couldn't blame her.

“Where are we going?” she asked again.

“To see the Historian,” he said.

“Why can’t anyone in Prythian have a normal name? Like Sebastian? Or Pascal?” she moaned. “Or Roan? Why is it always the Death God. The Bone Carver. The shadowsinger. The Weaver. The King. The High Lord.”

“Well, out of all of those, shadowsinger sounds the most reasonable and attractive,” he reasoned. “Also, aren’t you the Seer? Aren’t you Made?”

She scoffed with disgust and asked instead, “how are we getting there?”

“Winnowing. As much as I’d like to spend days flying there with you in my arms, I don’t think that’s the wisest course of action.”

With that, he opened his arms and winked at her, “Come, step on in, Seer.”

Wrinkling her nose, she warned him, “you better stop calling me that!”

He chuckled, and then gave her an Illyrian salute. 

“Is it dangerous?” she asked cautiously, once he pulled her into his embrace and wrapped his arms around her.

“Isn’t everything around here?” he asked innocently. 

Azriel smelled good–his scent was sharp, with undertones of cedar, and something cool and clean, like water. His body was like a slab of granite–massive and firm and so clad in muscle there wasn’t one soft spot on him. 

Winnowing with him was different from winnowing with Rhys or with Feyre or Mor. His was a pure, but comforting darkness. As they tumbled through space and time, his arms tightened around her, keeping her securely anchored to him. All she could see was the faint gleam of his blue siphons.

They landed in a few minutes, on the outskirts of a massive forest. In the distance, Elain spotted a village of some sort, but closer to them stood a stone hut with a thatched roof. Azriel released her from his embrace, but immediately tucked her behind him, protecting her with his body.

Good thing he did, because just as they stepped towards a retaining wall that surrounded the hut, a rock was hurled in their direction. Then another. And another.

Elain crouched on the ground, protecting her head, while Azriel just about fell on top of her, covering her with his body.

“They are throwing rocks at us!” she screamed, stating the obvious.

His wing shot out and not a moment too soon, because a rock bounced off of it instead of hitting Elain in the head.

“No? You think?!” he grunted, and then a rock landed almost on his shoulder, but using some incredible move, he pressed on his siphons and suddenly, the rock bounced off an invisible shield. 

“By the Mother,” Elain whimpered, “why are they throwing rocks at us?”

“Probably don't know if we are friend or foe,” he proposed.

“That’s no way to greet strangers,” she fumed.

He laughed softly, his hand cradling her head to his shoulder. 

“It is for the Fae.”

Then, once a few more rocks bounced off the shield, Azriel bellowed,

“Old man, if you don’t stop tossing boulders at us, I will rip your arm off and will beat you to death with it.”

The barrage paused.

“Shadowsinger?”

“The very same!” Azriel confirmed.

“Well then why didn’t you say so?! Come in!” the tone was happy and welcoming.

Azriel finally straightened out and Elain squeaked, “is it safe?”

“I won’t let anything happen to you, flower. Come on,” he grabbed her hand and hauled her up.

“Flower?” she repeated, straightening her dress.

“My flower,” was all he said.

A male of an undetermined age greeted them. He was on the older side for a Fae, but as far as Elain knew, it could’ve been 5,000 years old. It was impossible to tell. 

They crossed the lawn in front of the house, Azriel holding her hand firmly and for once, she was glad that he was holding her.

“Azriel shadowsinger!” The man greeted them with a smile. “It’s been a while,”

“I’ve been busy,” Azriel said.

“I can see that. Brought a woman, finally!”

Elain blushed at the man’s words and Azriel cleared his throat.

“She isn’t my woman,” he corrected the man. “She is Elain, Cauldron Made Seer, and the High Lady’s sister.”

“Oh. Well, if you would’ve warned me you were coming, I would’ve made tea!”

He ushered them inside the house–it was neat, if small. Late autumn chill dissipated the moment they entered and were directed to sit down by the hearth. 

“What brings you here, shadowsinger?” the man asked, as he fussed around a simple wooden stand, preparing tea for them.

“Lady Elain would like to learn more about All Hallow’s Eve. Its history and customs. We are to host a party and she needs the background. And I…I just need your insight.”

“Ahhh, of course,” the man stated and then brought them two cups of tea. Elain accepted hers, and noticed that there was a slice of lemon in it–just like she liked it. When she took a sip, the tea was strong, sweet and tart. 

“This is excellent,” she complimented the man. Upon closer inspection, he had a forgettable face but luminous blue eyes. Strange and deep and penetrating. When he observed her for a moment, she had a sense that he was somehow looking inside her soul. She wasn’t sure why she needed it, but she reached out for Azriel’s hand and he threaded their fingers together without question. He didn't seem surprised that she needed a bit of his strength and solidity.

“So, Lady Elain, what would you like to know?” the man inquired, taking a seat across from them.

“Azriel said that you are a historian?” she asked.

“Indeed I am. I’ve been alive for a long time and I’ve seen much, but I’ve also forgotten just as much,” he smiled. “But I can offer what I know about Samhain.”

“Samhain?” she repeated, confused.

“The name of the festival is Sam-hain actually. It means summer’s end in the Old Language. The old Fae celebrated it at the end of autumn and the beginning of winter.

“We have a few festivals that all of Prythian celebrities: Solstice, with which you are familiar, I am sure,”

“I am,” she nodded and Azriel added,

“She gives the best gifts!”

It was a pointless comment as far as Elain was concerned but it made her feel nice nevertheless.

“Something of healing and protection, I reckon,” the Historian said.

“How do you know?” Elain exclaimed, feeling her heart beat faster at the man’s sudden words.

“Just an inkling,” he stated vaguely, and continued, “the other holiday is Calanmai, known as Fire Night in some Courts. Hallow’s Eve is the other. These are celebrated across all of Prythian, unlike, for example, Starfall, which is only observed at Night Court, where the stars are visible.”

“What does it celebrate?” Elain questioned.

“The dead,” the man said plainly. “The Fae of old believed that the spirits of the dead returned to their homes on Samhain, and that the souls of those who died during the year would travel to the afterlife.”

“Is it true?” Elain asked, a little scared.

“Perhaps,” the Historian shrugged indifferently. “But you’ve been inside the Cauldron. Inside the Void–surely you wouldn’t be frightened of a little ghost.”

Elain paled and Azriel shot the man a threatening glare.

“Enough,” he muttered.

The Historian’s blue eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, before landing on their linked hands. 

“We celebrate Samhain with bonfires, dancing, divination, and wearing costumes. The bonfires are lit to guide the souls to the afterlife and to frighten away evil spirits. The old Fae also wore costumes, often animal heads and skins, to avoid being recognised by the evil spirits. This continues to this day.”

Elain’s head swirled towards Azriel and she scoffed incredulously,

“You wear a costume?!”

He smiled.

“I do.”

“What kind of costume?!” she exclaimed.

The Historian also smiled. 

“Death,” Azriel said bluntly.

She popped her lips,

“Of course you do.”

“You asked,” he shrugged.

The other man somehow forgotten, she chewed on her lower lip, pondering out loud,

“What kind of costume should I wear?”

“Anything that you wear looks good,” Azriel assured her, his large hazel eyes skimming her from her face down to her waist.

She glanced shyly at him and murmured, “no, I don’t.”

“Oh, I assure you–you do. What do you want to be?”

“I don’t know,” she worried. “What’s a good costume?! Oh gods, I bet Nesta wouldn’t even want to wear one!” she gasped.

“We’ll convince her,” Azriel said confidently. In response, Elain gave him a look. 

The Historian watched them in silence, his eyes skipping from one to the other. Whatever he saw, he kept his opinion to himself. Instead, he told Elain,

“I would recommend dressing as something that would confuse the spirits. I sense that you had experienced a loss recently?”

“I…how, how would you know?” she gawked at him, squeezing Azriel’s fingers with hers.

“I have a gift. A gift of Sight,”

“Like me?” she gasped.

“No. Nothing as advanced or as intricate as your gift. I see…threads. How they bind people and things together. Because everything is connected. Every single decision that you make will guide your path. Look at your life right now–who would’ve thought that you’d be sitting here, in my home, holding the shadowsinger’s hand in yours?”

Elain looked down at Azriel’s thumb that was stroking the fleshy part of skin of her hand.

“Who did you lose?” the man continued. “Your sisters live…So I suspect a parent?”

“My father.”

“Ahhh, condolences then, Lady Elain. This will be your opportunity to offer him a safe passage to the Land of Milk and Honey.”

“What sorts of threads do you see?” Elain asked, ignoring the rest of what he said. “What kinds of connections?”

“All kinds. Every kind.”

“And what do you see between us?” she asked boldly. 

Azriel looked at her with surprise, but didn’t say anything. 

The Historian cocked his head to the side and then told them.

“You are mated.”

At that, Elain jolted, looking at him in bewilderment, only to hear him add, “To another.”

Her expression fell and she said dryly, “yes. I am aware.”

After a pause, they continued their talk, the man proving to be a wealth of information, especially when it came to food customs. 

-

Days Three and Four

Anemone.

The Historian told them that anemone, the flower of the dead, was the plant that was commonly used for decorations. Especially the red ones with black centres, and the white ones. It was especially important for those who had lost close family members recently. And who didn’t, after the war?

The problem was–where in the world would Elain find anemone this time of year? Or in Prythian?

It grew in the Human Lands, and Elain was familiar with it–a pretty field-like flower which needed a lot of sun and bloomed in the summer.

She contacted all the flower shops and green nurseries in Velaris, but none carried the mysterious flower.

Besides this flower dilemma, things were going well with the preparations.

She and Azriel spent a lot of time together, which was something she needed to get used to. But he was gentle and helpful, and she recalled the carefree times from before when they could just talk and stay together in a comfortable silence. It was similar to how they were together right now. 

There was something that Azriel was preoccupied with ever since they had returned from the Historian. Elain wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but she overheard the man say to Azriel just as they were leaving…well, she wasn’t sure what she’d heard. A couple of words. But ‘your right’ and ‘destiny’ were among them. Since then, Azriel seemed deep in thought whenever they had a moment to themselves. Elain didn’t pry though. His secrets were his own.

Meanwhile, together, they devised a guest list–Hgh Lords and Ladies, merchants, dignitaries, High Fae, Lesser Fae, Illyrians. It was a long list, but Elain wanted to be inclusive of everyone. When Azriel began protesting the inclusion of Illyrians, she told him that they had suffered the greatest losses in the war and therefore were definitely going to be part of the celebration. He pouted. Pouted. Told her that they wouldn’t attend anyway. She smiled and said ‘we’ll see’. 

-

“Marshmallow eggs,” Azriel announced, interrupting, as he entered the kitchen.

Elain, Cerridwen and Nuala turned at the sound of his voice.

“Excuse me?” Elain said, wondering what he was talking about. 

“Oh,” Cerridwen rolled her eyes, “here we go,”

“Yeah!” Azriel nodded aggressively. “Yes! I want marshmallow eggs!”

“We’ll get you marshmallow eggs,” Nuala promised kindly.

“That’s not all,” he insisted and then pointed to the journal in front of them, which was filled with rows of food ideas, some underlined, others scratched out. 

“This is what I want,” he handed them a list. He made a list.

The following was Azriel shadowsinger’s list of food requirements:

Apple cake with almonds

Pistachio and almond rolls

Bilberry tarts

Chocolate sponge with buttercream

Caramel carrot slices

Coffee sponge with walnut cream

Cheesecake with pears

Curd tarts

Lardy cakes

Jellies

Prune pastries with poppyseeds

Jam Rolls

Saffron bread

Topfen cake

Cake Florent

And no, Elain did not know what half of these were.

“Are there enough cakes and pastries?” she confirmed, glaring at him.

“Yes, but I forgot to add the marshmallow eggs,” he exclaimed, and then scribbled this addition on the page.

“Will your heart be able to handle it?” Elain pondered, unable to stop smiling. He was ridiculous.

“A better question is if Cassian would be able to handle it,” Cerridwen contradicted. 

“Oh, add honey cake with hazelnuts,” Azriel snapped his fingers, ignoring them and apparently running through all the possible sweets he could come up with in his head.

“Poor Cass,” Nuala shook her head, “the sheer amount of sweets will send him into convulsions!”

“Don’t care! He doesn’t have to eat any of them,” Azriel barked roughly.

Elain propped her cheek and asked, looking between the three of them, “what is this all about, exactly?”

“The shadowsinger likes his sweets,” Nuala said flatly.

“He is obsessed,” Cerridwen added.

“I am not obsessed!” Azriel argued.

“He is. He really is.”

“He will eat them all,” Nuala assured.

“He will,” Cerridwen echoed.

“He is obsessed with sweets. If you want him to bow to your will, just hand him a berry tart and he is all yours.”

Elain laughed at that.

“I’ll keep that in mind!” she promised.

Azriel threw her an unreadable look and said, “you wouldn't need to bribe me with anything.”

With that, he left the kitchen.

The twins exchanged smirks and glances and Elain warned them, “don’t start.”

“We didn’t say anything.”

-

Day Nine

Five days until the celebration and Elain Archeron was annoyed.

She was annoyed because Rhysand gave her so little time to complete all of this and come out on the other side with an incredible celebration. 

The twins were an amazing help, as usual, and she enlisted cooks and chefs from Velaris’s best restaurants and pastry shops, but it still didn’t seem like enough. Azriel’s enormous list of sweets kept growing, and Elain had to resort to hiding the final list because otherwise, if he had his way,  they’d end up with a hundred desserts.

Pumpkins were delivered from nearby farms and were placed strategically all around Velaris, and the entire city glowed with orange lights, which came courtesy of Rhysand’s magic. Beautiful embroidered Illyrian tablecloths and napkins were sent to the River House, and despite Azriel’s protestations, it seemed like numerous Illyrians would be attending the festivities. Cassian was pleased and astonished by this particular achievement–he couldn’t believe that Elain somehow convinced dozens of Illyrian commanders to come to Velaris for a …party. 

Azriel was in charge of negotiating with proprietors of various stalls and shops, and since he always came back with perfect results and signed agreements, Elain figured that the poor sellers at the Palace of Bone and Salt were so terrified of having to deal with him, they agreed to anything. Azriel was oblivious to his own menacing presence, and sweetly believed that he was just an excellent negotiator. Elain didn’t have the heart to dash his hopes. He was rather proud of himself and she preferred to keep it that way.

Despite some of the setbacks and miscommunications and the tight deadline, things were progressing nicely.

Except for the Cauldron blasted anemone!

It wasn’t available anywhere. 

Elain had asked Feyre to speak with the High Lords of other Courts–the warmer ones–and see if they were aware of the flower and whether it was blooming right now? Tarquin of Summer and Helion of Day said ‘no’, while it was pointless to ask Viviane of Winter. The one High Lord that might have actually had the flower at his Court was Tamlin of Spring, but alas, Elain wasn’t motivated enough to obtain the flowers if it meant forcing Feyre to communicate with him.

Therefore, anemone remained elusive.

Azriel was helpful and knowledgeable in some things, and for that Elain was grateful, for in other things, he was hopeless. The way he acted sometimes, she would’ve thought that he’s never done this before. Supposedly they all had planned this holiday celebration prior, and yet he seemed mystified by some of the questions that Elain asked him. Granted, he was a male. And Elain’s expectations were fairly low, and she repeatedly told herself to be grateful that she was doing this with him and not Cassian, for example. However, it still frustrated her when Azriel couldn’t answer simple questions. 

When he grew frustrated with something, or somebody annoyed him, he began calling her ‘beautiful’ or ‘flower’ as in ‘I really don’t remember, beautiful!’ or ‘Flower, why don’t you make a decision?’ And it’s not that Elain wanted to agitate him on purpose, but she liked it when he used the little pet names, and maybe, just maybe, she teased him unnecessarily at times, just to have him throw a ‘beautiful!’ at her. Beyond the little slips though, Azriel always kept an appropriate distance and didn’t permit himself any frivolities with her. Which, Elain supposed, was for the best anyway. Especially because her mate was coming for the celebration. 

Of course he was. 

It was late in the afternoon and Elain was going through her checklist to make sure that everything was in order. She hasn't been sleeping well in the past few days, overwhelmed by the sense of responsibility, but also, Azirel’s endless close proximity. It didn’t matter that he kept his distance–Elain didn't want him to keep his distance, but she also dreaded not being near him. Each hour was spent watching him, and Elain never got tired of it: the dark tattoos that peeked from his collar and his sleeves, how he crossed his arms on his chest and the biceps bulged obscenely against the material of his tunic, his long legs, always splayed just enough to cause Elain some uncomfortably pleasant thoughts. She loved watching him. Loved hearing his voice, its gravelly, deep timbre. When she didn’t allow herself to watch him before, she now ogled because it was acceptable. 

“I am not sure if I should tell you this.”

Azriel’s voice startled her and Elain jolted in her chair. She raised her eyes and saw him standing in the doorway.

He was looking down, fumbling with his sleeves, not meeting her eyes.

“Tell me what?” she asked softly. “Because whatever it is, you do want to tell me, otherwise you wouldn’t be standing here.”

He smiled.

“You got me there.”

“So what is it?” she twirled her pen in her fingers, watching him.

He thought for a few long moments and then said,

“I know where to find anemone.”

The pen slipped out of her fingers as she lurched upwards and cried out, “you do?!! Why didn’t you tell me?!!”

He rubbed his chin and then said,

“It’s complicated.”

“Oh…” she moaned. “Of course it is. Do I have to fight some monster in order to obtain it? If that’s the case, then count me out,”

He chuckled,

“Even if I am there to protect you?”

“Even then,” she concluded firmly. “So, where is it?”

“You won’t need to fight a monster,” he assured her at last. “Unless you think that I am one?”

Elain stared at him and then spoke, “no. You aren’t. Not to me…”

Azriel looked straight at her and asked, “Will you trust me?”

She stood up and nodded.

“I trust you. Nothing that you do or what you are frightens me.”

He glanced out the window. Thunderclouds were gathering over the mountains and the wind picked up, making the hanging lanterns swing violently outside the window.

“We’ll have to hurry. We’ll winnow part of the way, but then we’ll need to fly,” he told her, extending his hand towards her. Elain looked back at her opened journal, grabbed it just in case and then took his hand. 

“Where are we…” she began saying, but she didn’t get the chance to finish her thought as she and Azriel were sucked into the vortex of darkness and space. 

“Goooiiinnnng?” she breathed out once they landed on a grassy field. She stumbled and held her tightly around the waist, steadying her.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“No need. Took me a while before I learned how to land properly.”

Elain looked around. There was nothing as far as the eye could see but rolling hills and oak trees, as well as grazing sheep.

Azriel opened his arms and said, “Jump on, beautiful.”

Elain tugged on her dress nervously and stepped closer to him. Flying in someone’s arms was always strange–whether it was Rhysand or Cassian. The feeling multiplied by a hundred when she was flying with Azriel. He always held her differently from the others–tightly and reverently. Like she meant something to him. Like she was precious and he cared about her and her comfort.

Gracefully, Elain stepped into the circle of his arms and he lifted her easily, his arms solid, secure bands under her knees and behind her back.

“Arms around my neck,” he instructed.

Rhys never asked for that. Neither did Cassian.

Elain squinted at him but did as he told her and looped her arms around his neck.

It always fascinated her how they lifted off–no running, no preamble of any kind–just straight up in the air. Cassian liked to do all kinds of stupid, reckless things, and Rhysand was more gentle and careful, but Azriel was…slow and gradual. And that was perfection. That’s exactly how Elain loved being lifted off the ground and then hang precariously in the air, hundreds of feet above the ground. Azriel’s massive wings flapped so hard and so powerfully, they caused a booming sound to reverberate in the cold air around them. And it was cold. She shivered and curled closer to his wide, warm chest.

“It’s not a long flight,” he calmed her. “I am sorry, we should’ve taken your jacket. Sometimes I forget that regular Fae get cold.”

“And you don’t?”

“No, I don’t. I got used to it.”

The way he said it…It wasn’t a good memory and Elain didn’t want to press him on it.

“I'm alright,” she lied.

He smiled and wrapped his arms tighter.

“So, where are we going?”

“Home.”

Day Ten

Home.

Azriel, the spymaster of Night Court and shadowsinger, brought Elain Archeron home.

They were flying over the soft sloping hills, which gradually gave way to rocky cliffs, until Elain spotted a glistening purple-blue lake. 

“It’s so beautiful,” she gasped under her breath.

It was indeed. Even in the gathering storm on the horizon, the lake churned and smashed against the rocks on the left, but was calm and pristine on the right. And then, she saw it. A small, but not too small island, which poked out of the water a few miles from the shore. It was rocky, but covered in green grass and thick tree canopies of various autumnal colours. In the middle of the island, similar to the House of Wind, stood a massive mansion, which seemed to float above the water and pop right out of the rocks. 

“Is this home?” Elain whispered, amazed and flabbergasted.

“It is,” Azriel nodded. 

And then she understood why they were flying. An invisible barrier–wards–brushed against them, but parted as Azriel approached. Their strength was such that even he had to power through the invisible wall of magic.

As if reading her mind, he explained, “I thought that the House of Wind had a good idea in terms of security–you cannot winnow inside. When I purchased this place, I felt that it would make good sense to do the same here.”

“That’s why we have to fly,” she stated. 

“Yes. We can winnow onto my lands,”

“All of that was yours?” she exclaimed in shock.

“Yeah. But the wards start at the shore, and then continue all the way to the island.”

As he began banking it was then that Elain saw it.

Anemone.

Fields of it.

Slopes covered in multi-coloured beds of flowers. 

“How is this possible?!” she cried out excitedly.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “They’ve always been here. I never paid attention to them. I don’t even come here all that frequently, so I sort of forgot about them. Until the Historian mentioned them.”

“Don’t you think it’s very serendipitous?” she marvelled. 

“I suppose that these are the connections that he was speaking of,” he reminded her, as he landed smoothly on one of the balconies. 

“We must pick them at once!” Elain decided right then and there, and Azriel chuckled at her eagerness.

“Fine. I’ll get some baskets.”

-

The thunderstorm brought them back inside after about an hour and a half of picking flowers, placing them in different baskets, sorted by colour. Azriel found something out about Elain that he wasn’t aware of before–she could keep things alive. A wave of her hand and the cut flowers promised to be just as fresh as they were today by the time the holiday rolled on. Azriel wished to find out more about this ability of hers, but he didn’t think that it was appropriate to do today.

By the time they ran back into the house, they were dripping wet. Azriel probably could have thrown a shield over them, but frankly, it totally slipped his mind.

So now, Elain stood in front of him, shivering from the cold, her dress clinging to her curves, her long hair dripping on the parquet floor.

“Oh gods, I am such a mess!” she fussed, trying to stop the deluge of water that was leaking onto the floor.

“It’s not an issue, you know,” Azriel mumbled, threading his fingers through his wet hair. “I am sorry I forgot the shield,”

“It’s alright!” she interrupted him, her lips blue but her cheeks red. “Are we…we…returning soon?”

He considered, looking outside the window.

“It’s coming down rather hard and we’d have to fly. Not that I can’t fly in the rain, however, I’d rather not do that while carrying you,” he told her honestly. 

“Oh,” she wrung out her hair, “but then…what do we do?” she blinked at him, her blush growing redder.

“You need a hot bath,” he said firmly and then took her by the hand and pulled her after him.

Elain looked around–it was a place that she’d imagine Azriel living in. Stylish, seemingly out of a different era and another world, orderly, clean. Large pieces of furniture, smartly arranged in the rooms. Wide open spaces. Unfussy decor, but expensive taste.

They walked up a stone and wrought iron staircase and soon Azriel opened one of the doors, ushering Elain inside.

It was a bedroom.

She assumed his bedroom.

Her feet stopped moving and she froze at the entrance, murmuring, “I cannot…I can’t…”

“It’s this or nothing,” he said bluntly and pushed her inside, his warm, large hand on the small of her back.

“This is your bedroom!” she screeched, scrambling backwards.

“A keen observation indeed. You are staying here or we are flying back in the pouring freezing rain. These are your choices,” he warned dangerously. Then, to soften his approach, he pointed to the door and said, “the bathing room is over there.”

Elain pursed her lips, while feeling a warm glow slowly slither down her body, despite the wet chill that she was feeling. Azriel…Azriel was forbidden. A mistake. He told her that they were a mistake about 11 months ago. But in the past ten days, he certainly hasn’t been acting like he was regretting being next to her. In fact, he was downright amorous in some ways, even if he tried not to show it. All that aside, what was she even thinking? She needed to keep herself and all her carnal urges in check.

“Fine!” she hissed. “But I am counting on you to be honourable and,”

“Whatever you say,” he shrugged. “I am not here to ravish you.”

Nevertheless, he followed her into the bathing room. There was a massive tub, but also a shower–something that Bryce Quinlan told them about from her world. Nesta, of course, jumped at the opportunity to get one fitted at the House of Wind. It would appear that Azriel was also in favour.

“Don’t take too long,” he said, turning on the knob, “I am cold too.”

“So, are you going to just stand here, while I undress?” she queried. 

“Wouldn’t mind it,” he replied over the rush of the water from the showerhead. “If you need any help,”

“I shan’t require any!” she snapped at him primly and he laughed merrily. 

“If you say so. The drying cloths are all here,” he pointed to a cupboard. “I think you can figure out soaps and lotions yourself.”

“Thank you.”

The hot water was beginning to steam the room and she looked at him through the fog.

Stop. Thinking. About. It. 

“Last call for assistance?” he offered. 

“I am fine.”

“Your loss,” he shrugged and then left the room at last. 

Elain exhaled loudly. If it wasn't for the heat in the bathroom, she would’ve guessed that she was sweating. 

Quickly stripping off her sodden dress, she stepped under the water and moaned out loud. Her hand immediately flew to her mouth and she muted herself, hoping that he didn’t hear her. His laughter from the bedroom confirmed otherwise.

She lathered her body, then her hair, and stood under the blast of hot water for gods’ only knew how long. But it was glorious. And she didn’t want to leave. 

At last, she remembered that Azriel was also wet and cold and probably needed the shower as well.

She rinsed and stepped out, noticing that the floor was heated and pondered whether it would be something that Rhysand should add to the River House.

“You decent?” Azriel asked, and before she could answer, he pulled the door open, clearly unconcerned by whether she was actually decent or if she stood there butt naked. 

“There is no food,” he announced quickly, unbuttoning his shirt, pulling on strings in the back and releasing it from around his wings. Elain just stood there, wrapped in the drying cloth, barefoot, with her legs exposed, staring at him openmouthed. He was just….undressing. In front of her. 

The gall!

He didn’t seem to care, because he continued shucking off his clothes, going on to unlace his trousers, and added, “but there was hot chocolate and I made you a cup. It’s on the nightstand.”

“Are we spending the night?”

“We are,” he nodded. 

“Where am I sleeping?”

“Your choices are: my bed or my bed. Granted, it’s not many choices to actually choose from, but that’s what it is.”

This man was out of his mind, and Elain didn’t know what to say.

“Grab a tunic of mine or you may sleep naked,” he offered. “I am fine with either one, though I do have a preference.”

“I can only imagine…” her voice trailed.

She slipped out of the bathing room just before he dropped his trousers. 

In the bedroom, she finished drying her body and her hair, and then went to the chest of drawers and found a white tunic of his. She put it on over her naked body, only now recalling that all her clothes, including her undergarments, were in the bathing room. Well, nothing she could do about that now. She was tired. Despite being extremely wound up, she was tired. She cradled the cup with hot chocolate in her hands and took a sip. It tasted divine–sweet and rich and so very chocolatey.

She couldn't even wrap her mind around what she was doing when she pulled the covers and slipped into the bed. She didn’t know what side Azriel slept on, and she didn’t care. Surely he wouldn’t actually sleep with her in the same bed! That would be preposterous.

The sheets and the pillows smelled fresh, of Azriel’s cedar-like scent. She rolled onto her side, tucking her hands beneath her cheek and then glanced towards the bathing room. The door was ajar and her heart jumped in her chest, when she glanced at Azriel’s completely naked body. Brown and glistening and beautiful beyond belief. He was muscular, and his tattoos spilled down his back, his chest and there was a whole string of some kind of runes etched down his spine. At some point, he must have felt her eyes on him, because he smirked and glanced in the mirror, catching her staring. His wing flipped back and exposed him completely, soliciting a gasp from Elain’s lips. Because…there it was. 

Huge.

He was huge.

Her eyes bugged out of her head, as she observed him. 

Even flaccid, he was enormous. ‘Impossible to fit’ enormous.

Granted, Elain wouldn’t consider herself very knowledgeable in the art of the bedroom, and had only seen one other cock in her life–Graysen’s. But Graysen was a mortal man, tall and strong, but human. Azriel wasn’t human. That much was obvious. Even if she managed to forget a pair of great reptilian wings that sprung out of his back, his height, his size and his physique definitely didn’t make him human. And now, there was that. Also, utterly inhuman. Yes, she was Fae too, and very hard to break, but Azriel’s cock would certainly break her. 

He was better for fantasising, and not for reality.

A boom of thunder woke her up. She slept so deeply, she only vaguely heard the steady drumming of rain on the balcony and against the windows. Sleepily, she extended her hand out and for a moment expected to find a warm male body next to her, but the sheets were cold and she was alone in the bed. 

She didn’t know if she was disappointed or relieved. 

She also didn't know if he’d gone to bed at all, or if he slept somewhere else in the house. 

Opening her eyes, she saw that it was still dark outside, with only the palest glimmer of sunlight peeking above the horizon, beyond the lake and the mountains. It was windy and dark, the night skies slashed repeatedly by lightning strikes and claps of thunder. 

It was during one such flash of lightning that she saw a great winged figure standing outside on the terrace. He was wearing only his black undershorts and his wings were relaxed, the bottom tips touching the floor.

She wasn’t sure why, but Elain tossed the blanket aside and set her bare feet on the soft carpet. She tugged on the hem of the tunic and then padded softly to the balcony. Cold autumn air lashed at her the moment she stepped outside and she shivered, though it seemed that Azriel didn’t even notice the pelting rain that bounced off the railing and peppered him with freezing water. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he suddenly snarled at her, without turning his head. “Go back inside.”

She stopped abruptly in her tracks, taken aback by his vicious tone.

“Did…did I do something?” she whispered.

“No. You didn’t,” he turned on his heels, so quick that she stumbled and almost fell back, but his massive arm caught her before she fell. 

His look was furious though, his brows bunched above his nose, his expression both angry and pained. He gripped her upper arm tightly, almost bruising her and then pulled her towards him. 

“A…z…” she breathed, shocked because in the next moment, he suddenly lifted her off the ground and pinned her to the wall of the building. Her legs naturally wrapped around his muscular thighs and he grabbed her hands, pinning them above her head, his face all but an inch away from hers. There was a moment of stillness, where there was just the cold rain and the lightning slashing the horizon, and their warm, panting breaths.

Elain’s mouth parted slightly, as she watched him and the indecision on his face. So she cocked her head to the side, exposing her throat for him, offering him everything he wanted from her. And she watched how his expression morphed into something sensual and decisive, as his lips found hers and he moaned softly into her mouth.

Everything, everything she wanted finally came down to this moment and it felt perfectly right. Even the brutality of the kiss didn’t take away from the tender longing that always lived between them. Azriel’s loneliness, his self doubt and self-hatred, Elain’s insecurities and her cursed bond–all were washed away by the fusion of their lips together.

This was Azriel. Her Azriel, whom she craved and yearned for since the night they saw each other back in the Human Lands. Kept apart by people, circumstances, obligations and expectations, right now, in this moment, maybe they could just come together and forget all about the things that separated them. 

He was hot and big and once he released her hands from his hold, she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him to her, burying her fingers in his thick hair.

“I want to bite you,” he groaned against her neck.

“Bite me then,” she welcomed.

“There would be no going back, you know,” he warned. “Not if I bite you.”

He hefted her higher, her unbound breasts sliding up and down his bare chest, the thin material of her tunic the only barrier between them. He stepped even closer, pressing her hips and her bottom into the smooth stone of the house wall and Elain felt him…scorching and eager and ready for her. Azriel didn’t bite her yet, but instead, trailed soft, hot kisses down her neck, her shoulder and stopped at the swell of her breast, before pulling her nipple roughly inside his mouth and sucking aggressively, his teeth clamping on the little swollen bud.

She cried out, in both pain and incredible pleasure, while propping her feet against the stone railing and giving him more space to manoeuvre. She needed his mouth. His hands. His body. All of it. The thought of this monster of a man becoming hers was dizzying and it was making her feel drunk. Azriel’s massive shoulders moved and flexed beneath her hands, while he sucked on her other nipple and she managed to reach between their bodies and pulled down his underwear, freeing that beast of a cock at last. 

There was no going back now. Even if she knew that should she say ‘no’ he would stop, she didn’t think that she could do it. She didn’t want to stop. She let him pull back from her breasts and grip the tunic firmly, before ripping it off her and leaving her naked in front of him. Her long hair tumbled over her torso, and he brushed it back impatiently, his eyes glued to her form.

“Every day I dream of you,” he whispered heatedly, stepping forward so that he was positioned between her thighs, “I dream and I know that I cannot have you. And I want to tear apart the world and destroy the Cauldron for not giving you to me. Because you are mine. You know this. I know this. You’ve always been mine.”

He gripped the thick length of his cock in his hand and rubbed the sleek, heavy head of it between the lips of her pussy. She moaned, throwing her head back against the stone, shivering and shaking with need and anticipation.

“I am,” she managed to say. “I am yours. Always have been. You were chosen for me,”

“And yet,” he began to say, but she clamped her hand over his mouth. 

“Nothing really matters. Only you and me. Together.”

He looked down again, his shaft dark and sturdy between her pale thighs and against her bare mound. 

“Do you know how many times I’ve imagined possessing this sweet pussy of yours?” he marvelled, his voice hoarse. “Three years of celibacy…only because I knew that no other pussy would compare. No other pussy interested me.”

He fisted his cock harder and lined it along her wet, warm hole, which quivered at the feel of him. 

“Are you a virgin?” he asked, pausing. “I could never tell…”

She shook her head.

“I’ve done it. Once.”

A smile bloomed on his mouth. 

“Once?”

She nodded.

“I’ll try, but I can’t promise gentleness,” he said honestly.

She felt the head of his cock part her entrance, pushing in just a bit.

“I don’t need you to be gentle. I need you,” she said simply.

He still held himself in check, just the tip of him inside of her, the stretch already agonisingly pleasurable for her. She moved impatiently, trying to take in more of him, but he held back.

“Like I said before, beautiful,” he warned, “once you are mine, you are mine. Damn your mate, damn Rhysand, and damn everything else. Once I own you, I own you forever.”

“Then own me,” she growled. “Take me however you want. Use me. Fill me up with your seed. Control me. Bleed me with your cock. Give me everything.”

His hazel eyes turned dark and menacing.

“Own my pussy,” she offered. “Own my body. Leave your scent all over me, so that everyone knows who I belong to.”

Azriel chose not to argue at that moment, and instead, he pushed his massive, scorching shaft deep inside of her in one brutal, solid move. 

She cried out into the storm, enveloped in his darkness, in his love.

Just like she expected, he was fucking massive. It was like being split in half by an unyielding ram, and she shook on his cock, momentarily wishing that it would just end and he’d withdraw.

But no. With her breath ripped away by every tiny movement of his shaft, she secretly wanted more. She clenched pathetically around him, while he dipped his face to her neck and licked her skin. Her nails dug into his shoulders, and he pulled almost all the way out, before shoving back in and biting her neck at the same time.

The pain between her legs and in her neck made her feel faint, as he savagely tore through her pussy, marking her, moulding her, taking her for himself. 

“Auuu,” she moaned, scratching his back, while he sucked and bit her neck. It hurt so good, but it hurt nevertheless.

Instead of stopping or easing, he thrust even harder in her, deeper, opening her up completely.

“Take it,” came his order. “Take it all.”

“I am,” she breathed. “It hurts.”

“Good,” he said simply. “It should. An Illyrian warrior and a Fae is taking your soft, wet pussy for the first time. Of course it would hurt.”

She clung to him, getting pounded in with savage, deep thrusts, her pussy both needy, but on fire from how large he was. 

“Do you like it?” she whispered, kissing his lips. “Am I taking you well?”

He smiled and stroked her cheek. 

“My perfect girl,” his tongue brushed her lips. “With a perfect little hole for me to use. Do you like it, sweetheart?”

She nodded, moaning, “it’s so big.”

He smirked, “oh, I know, flower. Your pussy is full of the largest Illyrian cock and you are taking me so well.”

For some absurd reason, that made Elain proud. 

“I am going to turn us around, beautiful,” he told her, “so I can ride you harder.”

She barely even understood him, but allowed him to do what he wanted. 

He spun her around, and she propped her hands on the railing, her fists getting pelted with rain at once. His large, warm hands smoothed down her back and over her behind with appreciation, and he kicked her legs wider apart, before inserting himself back inside her battered hole.

“Oh gods,” was all she managed to groan, while his hand clamped on her shoulder and he held her steady, as he pounded into her.

Her breasts bounced hard from his rapid thrusting, and he looked at them, craning his neck, and smiling.

“How are you doing, beautiful?” he asked, wrapping his fist with her hair. 

“Like I am being railed by the biggest Illyrian cock,” she grunted and he laughed heartily. She couldn’t help herself and laughed as well.

“And?”

“I love taking your cock,” she vowed softly. “I love all of you on me. Please ride me,”

“Oh, I am, flower. You are getting ridden for the three years of me not riding you.”

He dipped his fingers inside her mouth and said, “suck”.

She did. She licked and sucked his scarred fingers, feeling wild and out of control.

“You should’ve taken me earlier,” she told him, once he pulled out from her mouth and she looked over her shoulder at him. 

He looked at her, barely able to tear his gaze away from his shaft pumping in and out of her pink hole, and nodded, “I should have. I should’ve claimed you for my own right after the war. But, there were complications.”

She sighed, and he slapped her ass cheek lightly.

“Now, to rectify this a bit, you will fuck yourself on my dick, like the good girl that you are, but you will also pull apart your ass cheeks for me,” he commanded. 

Elain bit her lower lip and then reached down wordlessly, while he held her shoulder, and did as she was told–even though he was crude and she was embarrassed, she grabbed her bottom and pulled her cheeks apart for him, exposing her little hole.

She watched for his reaction over her shoulder and his face split into a satisfied grin. 

“Perfect,” he approved. “From now on, whenever you are taking me from behind, you will keep yourself open and your little asshole on display.”

She didn’t respond, too overwhelmed by how deeply he was driving into her. What he did next took her breath away completely–he circled her asshole with his fingers and pushed two inside. 

“Ahhhhh,” she cried out, stilling.

It felt…insane.

With his mega dick inside of her, and now his fingers in her ass, she thought that she was going to faint. He stopped moving too and then said sternly, “I didn’t hear you say ‘yes, of course’.”

She nodded frantically. 

“Yes, I am sorry. Yes, of course I will.”

“Now, show me how much you like my dick in your pussy. Fuck yourself on it. I’ll finger your little hole while you do it. If I don’t like how you take me, I will stop.”

And Elain did what he told her. 

She wasn't sure why, but she wanted to submit to him. Her neck ached from the bites. She moved her hips on his cock, gliding over it. She wanted to please him. She wanted to serve him.

He was rough and demanding, objectionable in every way, but she couldn’t get enough of him. Of his body. His musk. His cock.

His gaze made her insides clench with desire for him. Everything about him was perfect–his stunning body, his dominance, his control. He knew what he wanted and he took it. 

Banding his arm around her stomach and waist, Azriel pulled her back, and then, with his dick and his fingers still inside of her, he plummeted heavily on the padded bench, taking her with him. 

“I want to watch you climax, sweetheart,” he whispered warmly in her ear, while he fucked up into her from the bottom. Her whole body was trembling and spasming with pleasure and each push of his cock brought her closer and closer to the pinnacle of pleasure. 

“I want to,” she breathed.

“I know,” he kissed the side of her neck, gently tweaking her nipple with his available hand. “Give it to me. Show me.”

Her fingers dug painfully into his knees, her breathing rugged and loud, as she squeezed him inside of her, milking him with her inner muscles.

Hot seed shot deep inside of her and she felt the moment that he released, as she cried out with desperation and shuddered violently atop of him. Unravelling a man like Azriel was something that made her strangely proud. It wasn’t something most women could claim, yet he was undone beneath her. 

“Beautiful,” he whispered into her cheek and then turned her face, so he could kiss her.

She was gasping for air as she kissed him messily, licking his tongue and his lips. He stroked her hair, smiling at her.

“Was that good?” he asked.

She nodded, “Indescribable.”

“Wonderful. But that was just round one. Now, I want round two…”

“Again?” she gasped.

“Did you think we were done?” he laughed.

“But…”

“You will turn around and sit on my face,”

“WHAT?” she exclaimed, eyes wide, her pulse beating wildly beneath her skin.

“You heard me.”

He carefully lifted her up off his still-hard dick and looked at her with male satisfaction.

He’d made her bleed. 

She wasn’t surprised exactly. He probably tore something inside of her. Graysen’s human member was no match for Azriel’s Illyrian cock. 

“Well, look at that! maybe I took your virginity after all,” he joked, and then leaned back on the bench.

Elain stood there, watching him in all his sprawling, relaxed glory.

He was indeed a beast, dressed in the skin of the most beautiful Fae imaginable. 

His skin glistened in the early morning light, the tattoos taking on a life of their own. He was firm, and solid all over, his body an unforgiving network of scars and muscles. His wings were spread out, a magnificent border around the two of them.

And he was hers.

Somehow, he was hers.

She lowered herself on his lap, straddling his thighs. He cupped her breasts in his hands and then leaned in to kiss her.

“You are dripping with my seed,” he noted, looking down.

She blinked and nodded. 

“I am.”

She was.

“Best sight I’ve ever seen.”

He bit her neck again, gentler this time. But then asked,

“I told you to sit on my face, not my lap.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t disobey me again, or I’ll punish this pretty pussy.”

She exhaled. There was nothing to say to his vulgar words. She was all in. With him. 

-

All Hallow’s Eve

“Death? Really?” 

Rhysand’s sarcastic voice interrupted Azriel’s consumption of a walnut and cinnamon bun. The shadowsinger turned around and cocked a disbelieving brow at the High Lord. 

“You are dressed as a spy,” he scoffed. “Are you really the one to talk?”

“Maybe I always wanted to be like you. Lurking in the shadows. Ravishing maidens.”

“I don’t have to ravish them,” Azriel argued, his eyes never leaving the sight of Elain, who was dressed as the Death of Spring–her face carefully painted, her costume decorated with large flowers. She flitted about the enormous reception room, chatting with guests, smiling, drinking spooky cocktails. 

The mansion was decorated with pumpkins and bundles of anemone, candles suspended high up in the air, phantom wind blowing gently and ruffling everyone’s unique costumes. 

Nesta was dressed as a black swan and it suited her. Cassian came to the party dressed as a wizard, and now was dancing with Feyre, who was dressed as a…huntress. Not very original, in Azriel’s opinion, but he kept that to himself.

“The maidens come to me themselves,” Azriel pointed out.

“So it would seem,” Rhys sipped his liquor. “You know,”

“Really not interested in what you are about to say,” Azriel waved him off.

“Only that I can smell you on her…”

“Good. As you should.”

“Her mate is here.”

“He is too late.”

Azriel looked Rhys straight in the eye and asked,

“Care to explain this whole ‘we took turns preparing the Hallow’s Eve party’ bullshit that you concocted?”

The High Lord chuckled.

“Oh, you liked that?”

“I am not sure,” Azriel admitted truthfully.

If it weren’t for Rhysand’s involvement, Elain wouldn’t be walking right now with Azriel’s seed dripping down her thighs.

“No, she wouldn’t,” Rhys smirked.

“Fucking stop that!” Azirel snarled.

“You can thank me later, brother,” Rhys clapped him on the back. “She bought it. You understood the assignment. And now…” his voice trailed. “Now she is yours at last.”

She was.

“She is,” Azriel nodded his confirmation. 

My right.

My destiny.

My woman.

[the-doomed-witch]

COME HOME TO MY HEART

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: You rekindle with a childhood lover, now on the other end of the world. The love is still passionate, vibrant, but just far away. So you go back to meet her. // based on Supercut by Lorde

Word Count: ~4.0k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, MINORS + MEN DNI. phone sex, masturbation, long distance lovers meet up, fluff, a littttttleeee angsty, oral (both), fingering (both), strap-on (n receiving), squirting, light bondage, mostly reminiscent

Author’s Note: i’ve written a similar drabble with wanda before, but i wanted to write a complete one shot with infinity war nat bc why not 🤭

MASTERLIST // NAVIGATION // REQUESTS CLOSED

— ✦ —

The room is dimly lit, almost completely dark, when you get a call from Nat at 3:00 a.m. There’s obviously nothing else she could possibly be doing right now, so a little sigh leaves your mouth as you prepare yourself to pick it up.

“Hey baby, w-” you attempt to ask her, but she moans loudly. Yes, she’s doing exactly what you thought before picking up her call.

“Y/N, I need you… your touch, your tongue… Ah-!” you listen to her closely, with a hint of redness flushing over your cheeks. You could vividly imagine the mess she would be making around her.

The sounds of her fingering herself stopped, and she asks you, “Wouldn’t you join me detka? Come along with me? Let me hear you say my name? Won’t you, Y/N?”

Your mouth was already dripping at the thought of her wanting your tongue, but a pool of slick formed on your cotton panties at the thought of touching yourself to her sounds. You’d never done anything of the sort before, but ever since Nat reconnected with you, it was hard to resist or deny the offer she just gave.

You put your phone aside, on the bedside table, as you take off your clothes. You make her listen to your own sounds of pleasure, all the way in a different country. You can hear her overflowing pussy, and her fingers. Dip, spread, and rub, and again. Every moment or so, she pleads your name, as if you were right there, next to her.

Realising that mere touching is of no use for you to get yourself off, you introduce a toy to the moment, conveniently handy inside your bedside table drawer. “God, Nat, I wish you’d be taking this right now, I’d be pounding into you. You would take me so well…” you narrate to her, fantasising her touch, as you align the toy inside of you.

On the other end of the line, Nat is already reaching her climax. Her breathing is staggered, and her hole sounds as heavenly as her chants of your name. She screams loudly as she comes, hopefully making a mess around herself.

Just listening to her has been giving you chills all over your body. And no sooner than you sense her releasing herself, you do it too.

After moments of mutual silence filled with panting and whining, the question slips out of your mouth,“Why are you so far away, Nat?”

“Why did you move away, Y/N?”

You have no answer that is satisfactory. “I almost forgot that it’s morning for you, you really wanted me to come over and take care, didn’t you?”

“Isn’t it obvious Y/N? I ache for you, crave your touch every single night, hoping you’d come back here someday. We could go on dates, kiss each other, fool around all day in my apartment…”

“Oh my sweet baby… I promise I’ll be there soon. And when we go out on dates, I’ll hold your hand, always. Okay?”

“You’re going to make me come again with all your sweet talk. But this time, I mean it. I want to be able to do everything with you, just how lovers do. I miss you. I miss you so much.” You don’t need her to explain, you become cognizant of how her fingers slipped inside of her again. “Y/N, I’m so wet for you, I wish you were here to see it, do something about it.” she says shortly before cutting the call.

You think it’s by mistake, so you ring her again. She doesn’t pick it up.

With a heart full of longing, you recall your brightest memories with her. Right from coming out to her, to stealing moments alone after the day at high school ended just to give each other a kiss. The time both of you went to prom together, despite all your classmates thinking that both of you did so because “you couldn’t get a nice guy”. But nobody except you two knew the joy of being together.

Natasha Romanoff was your whole life before you left the goddamn place. She was so sure of a future together, before a silent and apologetic breakup came along, followed by you moving out to an entirely different continent. You still remember the tears pooling up around her emerald like irises, and then you attempting to calm her down. Breathe in… 2,3,4. Breath out… 6,7,8 you taught her before leaving as a naive teenager.

A flashback of every subsided memory in your mind filled up your thoughts for the rest of the night. Your heartbeat increases as you think of what you have done for the two of you, and how it was only the most reasonable option given your circumstances. As a young love, you were wild and fluorescent.

But it’s been a few months since you found Natasha again, thanks to an exchange student in your university who turned out to be a mutual friend. And you wouldn’t commit those same mistakes this time.

— ✦ —

After three days of a monotonous routine, you call Nat several times abruptly. Of course, she is busy on the other side of the world, but there’s nothing more prime than your excitement today.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up!” you repeat to yourself till she actually picks up your call. “Y/N! You’ve been calling me aggressively, care to consider I’m at uni? What’s going on, is everything okay?” She sounds impatient. Not the impatient that you are feeling, but a rather frustrated one.

“Honey! Natty! I’ve got the best news for you!”

“Get to the point quickly! I cannot hold this call for long, my professor will be breaking my neck in half.”

“Mark the date Natty!! I’m just about to scream, oh my God! I love you! So much. Tell me that you love me too when I meet you at the airport, don’t forget to pick me up. I’m sending you the details of my flight, we’ll be walking around the town hand in hand in a few days!”

“Oh my God, Y/N. This is the best news I’ve heard, like ever! Fuck, I’m so going to cry, gosh. I lo-”

“No Natty! Say it when you meet me, I want to hear it in person. I can go for a week. Oh my God, there’s so much I need to do, bye! Take care.”

“Take care moya lyubov! See you soon.”

There’s a week left for you to catch your flight, but there's too much stuff to do. After all, it’s your home country and you will inevitably have to meet your family after years of no contact. That’s a fear, yes, but having Natasha by your side seemed soothing in a way.

Over the seven days, you cause havoc in your own apartment. Random calls with Nat throughout the day, going to university for the selected number of hours, bunking a few lectures to go and relieve yourself with what only Natasha could give you the best.

Definitely, there’s financing trouble to do, calculating the amount you’ll be spending, but you balance it all through with the help of your colleagues pursuing finance related majors.

From the depths of your wardrobe, you select the best pieces of clothing you have. Some bright, some in Natasha’s favourite colours, and some just a little provocative. There are an endless bunch of other things you want to carry but obviously, there’s a restriction on the weight of your luggage.

— ✦ —

“Babe, where are you? I can’t find you here. I’m at Gate 3.” you speak to Nat on call.

“Then what the fuck am I doing at Gate 2?! Wait I’ll have to run over to the other gate, I’m so fucking dumb!”

She turns to the other side, preparing herself to run off to the supposed gateway to find you. Suddenly, two arms grab her waist from behind, kissing her neck as you hold her in a tight embrace. “I was messing with you, love. I’m right here.” You whisper while planting kisses on her whole face as she giggles through your affection.

In the fullness of time, she pulls your face closer into a long awaited, and pined for kiss. Her tongue travels places inside your mouth as soon as you let her in, her hands pulling you impossibly close to her body.

Your hands stay gripping her back, entangled in her now-blonde hair. Your lips don’t depart till you’re both completely out of breath. “Before I forget to say it; I love you too Y/N! With my whole heart.”

“Seven years. Seven fucking years and you just taste the same kind of sweet, Natalia.”

She gives you a gentle smooch before replying, “And for seven fucking years I’ve waited for this. You’re here, you’re so here malyshka, my dearest!” Her muscular arms help you carry your heavy luggage, full of stuff you want to share with her.

She drives you around the city, reminiscing about places you both used to go to. “Wait, here comes the school! Can we please go inside? I want to take a look, it feels like I’ve missed years of stories I need to catch up with.”

You meet a few teachers from your childhood, many others have either left or retired. You meet Mrs. Agatha Harkness, who taught you history. She was the first adult you ever came out to, because you had met her wife Mrs. Wanda Maximoff several times in school.

She looked just the same, as if she were immortal. Agatha greeted the two of you with a cheerful glin, “What a lovely surprise have I got here! The two ladies; the secret high school sweethearts!” Both of you tensely blush at the addressal, and she teases the two of you again, “Your cheeks still redden just the way they did about a decade ago, oh my God!” She adoringly laughs at your innocent faces.

You find your secret spots in hidden staircases, near humongous trees, and the girls’ restroom. In the light of echoing your earliest happy moments, you kiss Natasha every time you find one of those places. The school is empty, since summer holidays are around.

Among other places in the city, you visit parks, cafeterias, and other sites you’ve been to with Nat ever since your childhood. From time to time, you recreate the past photos of the both of you.

You sit in the car after yet another round of wandering, tired of all the travel you’ve done today. You let out a sigh in the sharp afternoon sunlight. You haven’t rested in the last sixteen hours, but it’s been all worth it.

“I can’t imagine I get to say this today - Take me home, baby.” you tease her, tugging on her leather vest. The jacket you don’t understand for what godforsaken reason she still has on, in this summer heat.

Her apartment is a little cosy space, with hints of boldness here and there. Though there are spots recognizable from video calls and pictures, you’re surprised at the bigger picture that you hadn’t yet seen.

You never imagined her to be someone to hang artwork, but she has a few sapphic based paintings along the entrance corridor. You comment on the decoration, “Wow, I love how these are hanging by the entrance door. Someone could walk inside and just go like, ‘Natasha Romanoff. Badass, smartass, and girlkisser.’”

She chuckles at your little quip. Her bedroom is simple, not filled with many things, just some regular personal effects including photo frames. There were mainly pictures of her and Yelena, but some of them also had you photobombing the sisters.

“How’s Yelena?” you ask her, taking a seat by the bed.

“She’s alright. Like you, she doesn’t live here anymore. She goes around the world, teaching women about vigilance. I’m proud of what she does, but I wish she were here.”

“I was hoping I could meet her, we haven’t spoken in almost a decade. What about Bucky? Or Carol? Tony? All of our friends, you know.”

“Most of them left the city, and some, like you, left the country wholly. Bucky’s still here, he’s engaged to Sam. Bruce and Tony went to a science oriented institute. Carol comes around from time to time, to meet us. And well, Steve joined the military like he always wanted to. Everyone’s still in casual contact, except we miss you so much.”

“You know, we should be having a reunion someday. Not this time though, I think I’ll just meet a few people. Mostly, I want to be with you.” Your palm rests on the top of hers, fingers interlocking.

You let out another audible sigh, pushing yourself back into the bed. “You sound really dead beat, you don’t breathe out like this often. Do you want me to get you something Y/N?”

“I think I’m just facing jet lag, I’ll be fine in a day or so. But I could really use relaxation right now.”

She straddles your waist, moving strands of hair out of your face and tucking them behind your ears. “Then let me help you, detka.” Your lips part softly, signalling her to lean in. Instead, she places her thumb on your chin, making you suck on it. You close your eyes as they flutter, enjoying the feeling of her touch.

After a few minutes, she withdraws and gets her weight off your body. “May I?” she seeks your permission before proceeding. You nod at her in response.

She doesn’t pull down your pants immediately. Instead, her hands touch you over your pair of trousers. You cannot feel it as a direct contact with your skin, but it does tingle. A light tickle-like movement of her fingers traces your body, sending literal quivers and twitches from head to toe. Impatiently, you pull up your t-shirt and throw it away into a corner of the room. She unzips her shiny leather vest, only to reveal that there was nothing underneath this whole time. However, she doesn’t take it off her shoulders.

One flick of her hand, and your bra is unhooked. She covers your tits in her saliva with her sucking, biting and licking. You turn into a whimpering mess underneath her.

If she hadn’t cupped your core by pushing her hand down your trousers, you were sure you could’ve leaked your wetness onto the bed. “Fuck Y/N, who thought you’re going to be a dripping pool for me? You want me to fuck you so that you forget how to walk? Leave your legs sore? That’s what you want?” With every question, she spreads your juices up and down. She presses down on your clitoris harshly, “Answer me Y/N.”

“Mm” You give a string of incoherent mumbles as a reply. She unbuttons your pants and helps you take them off, to meet a sight of black lace barely covering any of your pussy. Natasha groans at the view, and decides not to pull them down.

She bends down to get to work as she lets two of her fingers hold the cloth aside. Her tongue rolls up and down and side, experiencing the full taste of your cunt. Every now and then, she pauses, leaves kisses, and moans into your slit, giving you shivers.

The room is filled with your screams, and sounds of your entire body heaving. Nat could sense the walls of your pussy clenching on her tongue. With a soft graceful tug on the bud, you squirt on her face, leaving you utterly embarrassed. “Oh my God baby, I didn’t know you were a squirter!” she says, excitedly. You get flustered as you misunderstand her words and push her away from your body. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Shh. Give me one more, I love it when you do it.” She interrupts your whole line of thought with a kiss, and simultaneously pushing her fingers inside of you, ultimately curling them. Your legs writhe against her touch, as her hand moves faster.

You separate yourself from the kiss to scream when she touches a deep spot inside of you. Your response is enough for her to do it again, and again, and once again, till you release your juices. As soon as you do, she goes down to swallow it all, licking you and your pussy clean.

Throughout the climax, you leave scars on her body in the heat of the moment. Scars on her shoulders with your tight grip, on her back, and bites on her lips till they bled. “Look at me malyshka, look me in the eye when you come. You’re so tight for me, so good.” she says as she rides you through another orgasm, staring into your eyes with nothing but adoration.

You let your panties slip down, exposing Nat to an unfiltered heat. She slaps it hard before spreading it wide with her digits, rolling her tongue inside once again.

When she’s done abusing your poor clit, she massages your sweaty body, helping you relieve all the stress you’ve been facing with the jet lag.

“Nat,” you say, rubbing fingertips on her head in circular motions, “I love you. Let me return the favour, please?”

“Tomorrow. You’re so tired dorogaya, you should sleep. We can continue anytime.”

“Now.” you demand, rolling one of her nipples between your fingers. Her grip on the bed sheet intensifies as you stimulate her gently. “Y/N…”

You shred her of all her garments till she’s left only with her panties. You rub them over her drenched core, and pull them out too. You use them to tie her hands above her head, so that you could have the space all to yourself.

Her holes expand and shrink, waiting to be fucked by you. So you dip your fingers inside her, and pull them out fully, sucking on them for a taste, a nice and loud slurp. Your eyes meet hers, fingers still in your mouth, her hooded glaucous sight connected to yours.

Carrying a string of saliva on their way back in, you penetrate her once again. Pump in, pump out. Your thrusting gets more quick with every moan she lets out with your name on the tip of her tongue.

Something sparked your mind, so you get off the bed and poke around in your luggage. Back in the bed, hands tied, Nat screams at the lack of friction, squeezing her legs together for some sort of relief.

“I’ve wanted to use this on you since so long, baby.” you say as you return with a strap adorned around your waist. “Wouldn’t you like to take my big dick? Make a mess on it?”

You don’t give her time to answer and linger on her top before deciding to fuck her throat. You shove the toy inside, practically gagging the woman beneath you. When you find it satisfactory, you align the tip against her hole, slowly inserting it till you bottom out.

“Ah… feels so full Y/N-”

You start pounding into her vehemently, evoking the loudest of noises from Natasha. “You’re so fucking pretty Nat, taking it so well.”

The words of affirmation made her come hard, almost tripping her over. Beads of sweat roll down her tummy, the dimmed lights giving them a different glow. Just the sight of her was seductive at its finest.

Your movements keep going mercilessly, till you turn her around and plunge into her even more rapidly from the back. And just before she is about to come undone, you pull out and put your mouth to work.

She keeps on grinding against your face even after coming, just to feel you in the places she always needed you the most. The panties tied around her wrists tear apart with a single attempt from her, just because she wants to push your face further inside. You moan and occasionally breathe deep inside her pussy, driving her wild. A little pressure on the clit and she’s coming again. You lick her thoroughly clean, not letting a single droplet get to waste.

“Y/N… too much… please.” she begs you to stop and so you do, with one last taste of her delicate sweetness. You lay down next to her, on bed sheets covered in the liquids of pleasure and lust. While staring at the ceiling, she utters, “That was the best experience I’ve ever had and you’re the worst tease.”

“Can you really blame me though?” You wheeze at her comment, and turn towards her, the weight of your right leg on the top of her. Fingers find their way through her blonde hair again, scratching her scalp. “When did you choose to get rid of my favourite redhead?”

“You know it’s your favourite. What would have been the point if I never saw you again? I changed it a couple of years ago.”

“Not that I’m complaining, you look really hot as a silver blonde. If I didn’t know you and you walked up to me I think I would literally do whatever you asked me to.”

“Except you know me, and still do it.”

After what almost felt like an hour of comfortable silence, she cuddles you like a big spoon, which is highly unlikely of her. But you are not whining, you love the warmth of her body, and her soul.

— ✦ —

Fast forward to the last day of your stay. The two weeks you’ve spent with Nat have already come to an end, and you find it difficult to believe. You struggle to pack your belongings, in a reluctance to leave the place. But you need to prioritise some things.

On a long session of scrutiny with Nat, you decided not to visit your parents. You’ve had your fair share of trauma already.

She smiles at you throughout the day, but her eyes clearly convey, “Please stay.” You’re convinced that the departure is going to be harder than you imagined it, but you had no choice.

Before leaving her at the airport, you don’t stop kissing her. She’s almost out of her breath, but doesn’t spare a single moment. Evidently, she’s trying to hold on to every bit of you that she could keep with her.

There are tears in her eyes, on her cheeks, as she cups your face even more close. “Don’t leave, malyshka. I can't beat this pain again. Please stay.”

“You know I can’t, honey. You know that if I could, I would.” you begin crying yourself, too scared to forget what it felt like to hold her in your arms.

“Shh. Breathe in… 2,3,4. Breathe out… 6,7,8.” you teach her again, exactly how you did years ago, when you broke up with her.

She didn’t have it in herself to let go of her grip on you, but a warning announcement for the passengers had to do it. She tastes your lips one last time before letting you go, unsure of when she will ever get to do it again.

But she doesn’t ask you about you coming back. Natasha is, in all respects, confident that you would. The ring on her finger does it for her, as she waves goodbye.

On your flight back home, you’re sure you’ll be permanently moving back someday, the ring on yours does it for you.

[memescomicswriting]

It's Nice to Have a Friend

Chapter 1: I Got Waisted Like All My Potential

Summary: Fate is cruel on how it goes about obtaining its desires. It must be fate, because there is no other explanation for how perfectly molded Y/N and Helaena are to one another. They complement one another like opposite sides of a coin. Where Helaena is shy, Y/N is outgoing. Helaena has a photographic memory. Y/N has emotional inteligence. They have the right temperament to be the missing piece in one another’s lives. Ying and Yang. Then there are the boys. Love them or hate them, they’re there. Even the adults cannot escape the Targaryen chaos, and the fallout doesn’t spare the minors simply because they’re adolescents. Follow how Y/N and those around her carve out lives for themselves amongst the weight of the Targaryen legacy in a modern Westeros.

Word Count 3.3k

Pairings: Aegon x Y/N, Aemond xY/N, hints of Jace x Y/N, Platonic! Helaena x Y/N, Father Figure! Harwin x Y/N, Mother Figure! Rhaneyra x Y/N, Mother Figure! Alicent x Y/N

Warnings: 18+ you’ve been warned

Lots of profanity, sexual innuendos, drug and alcohol use, boys being stupid jerks, infidelity, divorce, eventual smut

A/N: Chapters drop on Thursdays. Please, please, please, please share your thoughts. I wanna hear them. I don't bite, promise!

Sereies Masterlist

Thinking back on her adolescence, Y/N divided it into two parts: the quiet time and the time she never had a moment alone. The first ten years of her life were spent as a privileged vagabond. She learned how to read airport terminal maps before she mastered her multiplication tables. It was a unique childhood, but she knew what it meant to be loved and understood that she was cared for. 

Her mother was of Valyrian descent, old money, the old country. Her father’s family accumulated wealth as members of the merchant class. They weren’t nuevo riche as their status elevated  almost two centuries prior, yet nothing could compare to the ancient sway of Old Valeryian wealth. Though the empire came and went, those who could trace their ancestry back to the old lords were in the stratosphere of high society.

Her parents met as most wealthy couples do, through mutual friends. They attended the same college and shared a similar spark. Neither enjoyed the formalities of the elite. They preferred the country to the city, gardening to garden parties, but their lifestyle could never be described as rustic. Oh how the rich love to play pretend poor. Through her mother’s side, she inherited vast real estate holdings across the globe. Through her father, she inherited large shares in corporations the family had a hand in founding. Not to mention a comfortable lump sum in the bank. Yes, she was an heiress and for the large part of her minority she never fully grasped that.

Harwin did the best he could. When you agree to be the godfather of your best friend’s kid, you don’t expect to take on the role as it originally meant. He went from a semi bachelor to a girl dad and an orphan within a few hours. The fire marshal could never say with certainty what caused the Harrenhal Estate fire. His brother Larys escaped by being out for the night. Harwin escaped because he had caught Y/N up and out of bed. Back then he was just the fun uncle. He was the gentle giant that would flip her in the air and sneak her sweats. If he hadn’t woken up to her rustling and escorted her to the kitchens in the opposite wing, then they would have perished as well. Harwin tried to go back for his Father and Y/N’s parents, but when the flames reached the bar and all that old barrel booze there was no chance. Floors were caving in and beams falling.

When the CPS officer asked who Y/N’s next of kin were, the answer was Harwin. It was the summer holiday before her first year of middle school. She was left with her belongings from her parent’s penthouse and the guest room at Harwin’s apartment. It wasn’t an easy transition in the least. Y/N didn’t know what sedentary meant. She hadn’t stayed in one location longer than six months. Harwin, though very paternal, didn’t know how to parent a child 24/7. So he went to the one person who did, Rhaenyra.

Y/N had met Rhaenyra several times throughout her prior life. She’d introduced Y/N’s parents and Harwin. Y/N even joined in the family fun of one or two holiday seasons. Her reintroduction to Rhaenyra and her family marked the end of the quiet times. Going from the luxuries of an only child to one of eight adjacent children was an adjustment for sure. She never knew what it meant to share toys and games, to have someone walk into your space at any given moment on a whim, or not have everyone’s full attention by merely being present. Later, she’d come to appreciate how it forced personal growth on her. In the moment, she reacted by being a bit of a brat.

Over time she became accustomed to common space, sharing the spotlight, the fights, always making extra snacks, and the freedom that sedentary life brought. She could bike all over, something she hadn’t done before. Those whom she met the day prior she could continue to see for months, years on end. She learned what it meant to be amongst peers and the wondrous secrets of sisterhood. It certainly made high school bearable.

Another night, another summer party Helaena didn’t want to attend. That was fine with Y/N. She hated seeing Helaena uncomfortable and Helaena’s absence didn’t mean she’d be alone. She had many friends, many more acquaintances. She wasn’t the kind of popular person that climbed their way up the social ladder by having the right clothes, posting the right things, or the viciousness to pull others beneath her. No, she just was. She was kind and good humored. It didn’t hurt that she had Valyrian money and beauty.

Helaena didn’t want to go. If she brought Jace and Rhaenyra or Harwin suspected anything, he’d cave into their questioning. Aemond wasn’t an avid party goer. And Aegon, Aegon was grounded, again. His mother had been harsher on him as of late. The stress of her failing marriage manifested in a need to tightly control her kids- despite her eldest going into college, two in high school, and the youngest in middle school. Better caught by Alicent who’d never assumed Y/N was up to no good than another episode of awkward parenting by Rhaenyra.

The party was across the lake from the patriarch Targaryen residence. It wasn’t a secret that the children of the elite enjoyed a party now and again in the woods that made estate borders indistinguishable. So long as they weren’t too loud or too rambunctious, no one went looking for them. However, someone, probably a Baratheon or Florent, didn’t realize that you couldn’t replace your parent’s two-hundred dollar bottle of imported vodka with water. It would freeze. So this go around, some estate security guards were dispatched to break up the party. After all, calling law enforcement could mean a charge of underage drinking. Either way, the partiers saw flashlights and scrammed in every direction like cockroaches when you turn on overhead lights.

The path to Y/N’s house took her right past the guards. The scenic route was too far and it was too late. She was also tipsy. Who’s residence happened to be a shoreline walk away? Conveniently, her best friend’s. She’d snuck into the Targaryen house countless times. She practically lived there throughout Rhaenyra and Laenor’s divorce. Rhaenyra’s half siblings were just as guilty for sneaking into her house. Early on an agreement was made. Only one household could be in turmoil at a time. The kids needed some place to escape.

So there she was, Y/N, once again using a column to climb to the roof of the porch. From the porch roof she could reach a lower balcony. Sometimes, she could sneak in that route. If it was a calm night and everyone was where she expected them to be, she could enter into the second floor den and sneak up the stairs to Helaena’s room. This wasn’t one of those nights. Light peered through the door blinds. Either Alicent or Viserys was up nursing a drink after yet another fight. Y/N had to quickly and quietly dart across that balcony to reach another. A great thing about being rich and owning gated property; you needn’t worry about how someone could scale your house and break in.

On the balcony roof, in one direction was Helaena’s room. In the other, Aegon’s. Normally, Y/N had no problem making it to her destination, However, tonight she had been drinking and her balance was off. The thought that she shouldn’t be climbing roofs had crossed her mind, but in her state, the cost benefit analysis seemed reasonable. Her foot shifted under a loose shingle and slipped down to catch on a gutter rail. She froze, eyes wide, wondering if the noise was loud enough to arouse suspicion. After all, a means of entrance was also a means of escape. That was more of Alicent’s priority. Quickly, at the realization that the music stopped, Y/N reached out an arm and hoisted herself up to the nearest window. It was unlocked, thank the gods, and she scurried in before the balcony doors could open.

She wasn’t exactly graceful. She was in a rush and intoxicated. She came tumbling into the room like a child at their first gymnastics lesson. She snorted laughter at her grand entrance. Her head threw back as her laughter grew. She’d definitely bruise, but that was a problem for later. Her laughter came to a sudden end when she was admonishingly hissed at.

“What the hells are you doing?” Aegon exclaimed as much as he could in a whisper. He was in bed, under the covers shirtless. His hair was in a wild state and his eyes were rimmed like he had just seen a ghost or had a heart attack. Y/N began giggling at the sight and situation. “My mother’s going to kill me thinking I’m trying to sneak out while grounded!”

“Don’t worry,” Y/N reassured while wiping tears of laughter. “There was music downstairs so it was probably Viserys. Alicent’s probably on the other end of the building sulking in her room.”

Aegon ran his hands down his face stretching his skin. “They’re fighting again.”

“I know.” She confirmed with a hum. There she was on the ground, legs out in front of her, back against the wall. She was a sight to behold in only her sandals and a barely covering bathing suit cover. A fantasy that definitely came across Aegon’s teenage male mind. No matter how much she got under his skin. Maybe because of it.

“Well go on then. You’ve gotten in, now get out.” He waved to the door.

Y/N tilted her head and examined him as he was. A Cheshire cat's smile beamed across her face. Under the covers, no shirt, hands sneaking back under the fabric. As if reading her mind, Aegon began to protest. “No, Y/n I swear to the gods!”

Too late. Y/N had hopped onto the bed like a predator would its prey. “Whatcha doing there, Aegon.” She hummed out with emphasis on his name. She tried to snatch the covers, but he beat her to it. Trying to catch the other compromised. A long running pastime for the pair.

“Praying.” He deadpanned.

“Bullshit.”

“Trying to sleep.”

“Nah, try again.”

“Would you just take your dumbass out of here?” He was getting pissy. She liked him pissy. If she wasn’t making him pissy then he was making her pissy.

She grinned that feline grin once more as she shook her head.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” He sounded exasperated by her presence.

“Nuh uh.” She shook her head fervently.

“Yeah huh.” He retorted.

“Fine,” She blew out an exhale. “I may have had a drink or two out by the lake.”

“The party Dane junior organized?”

“The very one you sadly missed.”

“That’s such bullshit.” He crossed his arms with a disagreeable pout. “I get grounded for taking the car out on a midnight snack run. Meanwhile, Harwin and Rhaenyra probably think you’re off in bed. Even if they catch you missing they’ll just assume you’re with Helaena.”

“Sucks to suck.” She said with a teasing shrug.

“Fuck you.” He scoffed back.

“That’s probably what you were just dreaming of.” There began another laugh of giggles.

“I fucking hate you.” He grumbled, very annoyed.

Y/N rolled her eyes dramatically. “Hate to love me. Love to hate me. Now come on.” With that, a bag of gummies magically appeared from between her breasts. How she hid them, he did not know but for sure wanted to find out.

“Get dressed and eat an edible with me.” She offered up the bag.

“How in the seven hells did a devil like you end up best friends with my Septa of a sister?” His gaze was wildly aggressive.

“Fine, fine. I’ll turn around and give you privacy.” She mocked.

Aegon took the opportunity and slipped his joggers back on. He knew if he protested she’d only retaliate and he’d be fighting her off.

“And your sister isn’t a Septa. She’s just not interested in being a whore like you. If you’d been there I’d be the only female you haven’t defiled in one form or another.”

He scooted up to the end of the bed next to her. “Huh, you’d be so lucky.” He plucked a gummy out of the bag and tossed it into his mouth. She might annoy him, but he wasn’t going to pass up free drugs.

“Where’d you get these anyway?”

“The Martell’s just got back from Lys.” She hummed.

“Of course they did. So I should’ve taken half.”

“I don’t know. Let’s find out.” With a shrug, she took one herself.

There they laid. Two semi-delinquent teenagers entertained by the ceiling fan. Aegon’s head was laying on Y/N’s stomach while she played with his hair. It was comforting. No one was this gentle with him anymore. His mother stopped long ago. Helaena was never interested in physical contact, even that of familiar or platonic. Aegon never stayed around long enough for one of his many hook ups to be tender. He’d get a hug from his older sister every now and again, but it was more of one of those pat on the back half hugs. No, it was only on rare occasions when he and Y/N were getting along. She allowed him to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her close. She’d run her delicate fingers over his scalp and trace patterns on his chest and cheek.

They’d stay like that for hours; until they heard someone approaching or one needed to sneak off into a respectable bedroom. There was a rarely spoken of companionship between them. Each made to grow up before they were ready. Smacked by the world. Both had ruined a marriage.

They had been silent for quite a while. Aegon was fiddling with the fingers of her free hand. A crease formed between his brows in curiosity. “Why didn’t you bring Jace or Aemond?”

Y/N tutted with humor. It was a common question between the two. If not Helaena, why not trust someone else? “Jace can’t have any fun without getting caught or ratting on himself. And Aemond wouldn’t have gone.”

Aegon turned his head to give her that questioning look. “Oh yes he would’ve.”

“Aemond? Our Aemond? Who only tolerates the majority of our peers and turns back into a pumpkin after midnight? We must not be thinking of the same Aemond.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“But I’m not wrong.”

“You are. I know you are because I know he has a crush on you. Everyone knows he has a thing for you. He and Jace both. You’re just the only one in denial about it. Well, and them.” He shrugs against her.

She lifted her head to glare at him. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying, if you wanted to, you could have two guys waiting on your every whim.”

“Not my fantasy.” Rather than continue to go back and forth about the validity of his claim, she shot down any thought that she’d want it. That was enough for Aegon to drop it.

They fell back into comfortable silence. It was peaceful. For a moment the world stopped spinning and they were the only two conscious of it. They shared similar weights.

“Are you sure these are fresh? They don’t feel that strong.” Aegon broke the silence again. Though Y/N was normally the chatty one, when they were high or drunk they switched roles.

“Mhm.” She nodded. “Higher CBD to THC ratio. It’s what they had on hand.”

“Oh.” He breathed out, understanding the state they were in. “Who are you going to get high with when I’m gone for college come September?”

He extended his neck to watch her response. Selfishly, he wanted her to say no one because no one could fill his place in these moments. He wanted to be the only one in the whole wide world that she’d be this soft and vulnerable with. He knew that wasn’t true. She annoyed him. She got under his skin and could drive him mad. But he wanted these tender moments to be as sacred to her as they were to him.

“Helaena doesn’t mind edibles.” She answered simply. As if it were nothing. “And Jace is fine so long as he’s away from his mom until he’s sober again.”

Aegon propped himself up and over her. He frowned.

“What?” And this time, her innocence was truthful.

He tilted his head and his frown grew deeper. Y/N sighed. “Do you want me to stockpile all the edibles for when you get back? Is that it?”

Aegon shook his head and kept the frown. Y/N continued. “You won’t be gone that long. The school isn’t that far away and there’s like a dozen holidays in fall semester. Spring has the family trip and summer is right after. You’ll be back. Besides, Helaena and I will probably follow you there next year anyway. We’ll have endless time to take edibles and drool into covers.” She chuckled as it wasn’t as important to her.

He wants to fight her on it. He so desperately wants to make her say this is something special between the two of them. He rolls his eyes and lets it go. He sinks back down onto her stomach and nuzzles into the soft flesh there. “You’re going to be so bored without me.”

Y/N lets out an amused puff of air. “Bored. At peace. Same thing I guess. Hey, maybe Helaena and I will finally have tea without you stealing our cakes.”

A pang of jealousy struck a nerve in Aegon. “You, Helaena, and your tea. I’m surprised any boy is interested in you when you act like an old, married, lesbian couple.” 

He continued in a mocking tone. “Oh Helaena love, you look so beautiful in this light. Helaena, you’re so smart. You’re the smartest person I know. Helaena, I’d do anything for you. I’m surprised someone hasn’t walked in on the two of you scissoring.”

Y/N gave him a shove at that. It didn’t move him much. “You’re gross.”

“And you and my sister are gay for eachother.”

“Helaena doesn’t like girls.” She mumbled. “She doesn’t even like guys like that.”

Confusion flashed across Aegon’s face before it was replaced with stark realization. “No way she doesn’t like anyone. Asexuality is just an excuse you claim when you can’t get laid.”

Y/N went to shove him again but he caught her hands. Aegon was fully invested now. “One, you’re an ass. And two, don’t go around tormenting her with it or I will castrate you and you’ll be a nosexual. Besides, I don’t even think she knows yet. And there’d be no coming back from being the jerk that spoils that for her.”

“I’m an ass.” He clarifies. “Not an asshole.”

“Better be.” Y/N gives him one last threatening look.

Needing to switch topics away from his sister’s sexuality, regretting that he even brought it up as a joke, he asks. “Are you going to spend the night here?”

“I don’t know. Can you keep your hands to yourself?” Before he can make a snide remark, she looked at the clock. “It’s three in the morning. I’d have to be out before the others start to wake at seven.”

Aegon hums in agreement. “Set an alarm.”

It’s an unspoken arrangement. From all the years they spent fighting, wrestling over one insult or another, they became comfortable with being in close proximity to one another. It was almost nostalgic. Like the shared touch brought back fleeting ease; like they were twelve and thirteen and the biggest worry was who could make the other eat dirt first.

They shifted back to the top of the bed. Y/N got under the covers as she was cold. Aegon chased her touch. There they resided, limbs tangled in one another like they were lovers.

And as soon as they found peace the alarm rang.

Next Chapter