#it’s a knit that somehow FRAYS

[alangdorf]

Happy Forgotten Land anniversary! Elfilin’s a little birthday boy yippee!!!!!

[ddejavvu]

hellooo, could I request for animagus!reader and Sirius where they have heated conversations and reader is the type of cat that’s talkative like just meows a lot and Sirius responds back while Remus and James are just 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️ they stare back in confusion. Thanks!!

"I'm not saying you can't sleep in my sweaters, I'm saying you've gotta keep your claws to yourself," Sirius glares at you, holding up the sleeve of a cable-knit white sweater that's fraying from the unfortunate snag of your claws, "Y'think this was cheap, pet?"

You let out a rather vicious meow, one that sounds like it may have hurt your throat. James doesn't know much about cats, but he presumes you can have sore throats just like humans can. He wonders if you've ever woken up in your human form with a sore throat from shouting at Sirius in your cat form, but he'll ask you later when you're not so preoccupied.

"Don't take up that tone with me," Sirius chides you, and when your response is even more intense, he scoffs, "Watch your language! If you keep talking to me like that I'm telling Lily you want her to make you another sweater."

Properly daunted by the possibility of having to wear not just one, but two itchy sweaters, you dart from Sirius's wardrobe and escape through the door that Remus has just opened. You manage to dodge his feet as he steps into the dorm room, and Sirius scoffs at your attitude.

"She's a brat." Sirius declares, and Remus shuts the door with a raised brow.

"Arguing again?" The boy asks, and James nods in tandem with Sirius.

"What did she say this time?" Remus drops his bag onto the bed, toeing off his shoes and throwing an amused glance at James.

"I shouldn't repeat it," Sirius looks grim as he tucks his near-ruined sweater back into his drawer, "Let's just say she's calling me names I've never even heard before, and somehow I still know she's using them right."

[moonselune]

origin companions + halsin with a durge reader who's scared of hurting them? :3

Aweeeeeeeee yeee I love me some hurt/comfort

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

You found yourself lying next to Karlach one quiet night in camp, the usual contentment you felt in her presence haunted by a gnawing fear you could no longer ignore. Your hand rested on hers, calloused from years of battle yet infinitely gentle as she held you close. But even her warmth couldn’t quell the dark, twisting urges that had been growing inside you, lingering at the edges of your mind like shadows waiting to pounce.

As Karlach’s breathing slowed into a soft rhythm, you could feel the tension within yourself mounting, your fingers twitching in your lap as you struggled to keep the darkness at bay. The more time you spent with her, the more desperately you wanted to stay by her side, but the very core of you, the blood that coursed through your veins, pulsed with the hunger for violence—a birthright you couldn’t escape.

Finally, with a resigned sigh, you sat up, unable to bear the silence any longer. Karlach stirred, her eyes opening to find you gazing off into the distance, lost in thought.

“What’s on your mind, love?” she murmured, voice tender as she reached up to cup your cheek, her thumb grazing softly along your skin.

You closed your eyes, leaning into her touch, feeling her strength and warmth, wishing you could be whole enough to deserve it.

“Karlach,” you whispered, feeling the weight of the words build up in your throat, thick and heavy. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something I’ve tried to keep hidden.”

She sat up, her attention fully on you, brows knitted with concern.

“You can tell me anything,” she reassured you, her hand squeezing yours as if she could somehow tether you to her strength. “Whatever it is, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

But that’s exactly what terrified you. You opened your mouth, hesitating, afraid that once you voiced it, it would become real, a truth you couldn’t unburden from yourself. But the worry in her gaze and the trust she’d placed in you made it impossible to keep hiding.

“I’m scared, Karlach,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Scared that one day, all this darkness inside me… that I might lose control and—” The words faltered, and you swallowed, forcing them out. “That I might hurt you.”

Karlach’s expression softened, and she placed a steadying hand on your shoulder, grounding you in her calm.

“Darling,” she said, her voice a quiet balm against your fraying nerves. “We’ve faced hell and back together, quite literally. And I’ve seen what’s in here.” She placed a hand over your heart, her gaze fierce and unwavering. “And I know it’s a good heart. Better than most.”

Her words stirred something in you, but the fear remained.

“There’s a part of me that wants to give in,” you said, struggling to keep your voice even. “A part that whispers how easy it would be to let go, to let the bloodlust take over��� You wouldn’t be safe from that, Karlach. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to stop it.”

Karlach’s hand moved from your shoulder to your cheek, guiding your gaze back to hers. Her eyes, so full of fire and compassion, searched yours, unwavering.

“Listen to me,” she said firmly, her tone gentle but unyielding. “You are stronger than whatever darkness is inside you. I’ve seen that strength in every fight, in every choice you’ve made. You’re not your blood, love. You’re you.”

Her words cut through the dread tightening in your chest, and you felt something break inside, like a wound you hadn’t realized was there finally being tended. But as her fingers traced reassuring patterns against your skin, you couldn’t help but voice the other fear that had been haunting you.

“I don’t want to put you in danger,” you admitted, voice thick. “The idea of being close to you, of letting myself love you completely—it terrifies me.”

Karlach smiled, a sad, beautiful thing that held no trace of fear. “If you push me away, I’ll still be in danger. Out there, fighting, facing whatever madness this world throws at us. But if I’m by your side, at least I know who I’m fighting for. Who I’m protecting. And who’s protecting me.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond, too afraid that any answer would break this fragile moment. But Karlach didn’t need words. She pulled you into her embrace, her warmth surrounding you, her fingers tracing soothing circles along your back as she held you close.

“Promise me something,” she murmured into your hair, her voice a steady anchor. “When the darkness feels too heavy, when the blood feels like it’s pulling you down—come to me. Let me help shoulder it. Don’t carry it alone.”

Her words settled over you like a shield, the terror slowly easing under the weight of her trust. You nodded, unable to speak, letting yourself melt into her hold, feeling the burden lighten just enough to breathe.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The moonlight cast a pale glow over the camp, deepening the shadows of the trees around you as the night grew quiet and still. You sat by the fire, watching its embers flicker, your mind a tangle of thoughts and emotions too knotted to untangle alone. Tonight, you couldn’t shake the growing, gnawing worry that tightened its grip on your chest. The violent urges within—the dark whispers that surfaced when you were cornered, angry, or simply still too long—felt closer than ever, and the very thought of losing control with Minthara nearby made you shiver.

It was a rare vulnerability, one you hadn’t planned to let show, but Minthara was sharp. When she finally settled down beside you, her piercing gaze fixed on you, she noticed the tension in your shoulders, the distant look in your eyes.

“What’s the matter with you?” she asked, brow furrowing with a hint of impatience. She wasn’t one for sugarcoating her concern.

You hesitated, not sure if you could put into words the fear that had been clawing its way up from somewhere dark within you. The silence stretched until you finally forced yourself to speak, voice barely above a whisper.

“I… worry, Minthara,” you began, and she raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced by your tone alone.

“Worry?” she scoffed, leaning back with a half-smirk. “What are you, mortal?”

But you held her gaze, your own look unyielding, and she gradually registered the seriousness etched into your face.

“I’m worried I might hurt you,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “These urges, this… darkness inside me—sometimes I feel it would be so easy to lose myself to it.”

Minthara stilled, the humor gone from her eyes. She narrowed her gaze, searching your face.

“You think you’re dangerous to me?” She sounded half-amused, half-intrigued, as though the thought were a new challenge rather than a cause for alarm. “I know you’re dangerous, but to me?” She shook her head dismissively, as though the idea were ridiculous.

“No, Minthara. I mean it,” you said, your voice firmer this time. “What if it’s stronger than me one day? What if it’s stronger than… than us?”

There was a pause as the weight of your confession settled between you. For a moment, Minthara’s hardened expression softened, only a flicker, before her fierce eyes met yours again.

“If it’s any consolation,” she said, voice lowered to a dangerous murmur, “I’d kill you long before you laid a hand on me in malice.”

You let out a shaky breath, and though her words were grim, you knew they were a promise—one she’d keep if it ever came to it. There was comfort in her unflinching resolve, in the certainty that Minthara would not hesitate to cut you down if you became a danger to her. But it was still hard to believe she’d understand the battle raging within you.

Minthara held your face firmly in her hands, forcing you to look her directly in the eye.

“I’ve faced darker things than you, and I chose you,” she said, her voice quiet yet fierce. “You aren’t the only one who knows the dark, and you’re certainly not the only one who knows how to control it.”

Her touch steadied you, a calming balm against the tempest you felt within. You took a deep, shuddering breath, grounding yourself in the solidity of her hands against your skin.

“You’ll have to trust that I know what I’m doing,” she said with an air of finality, almost daring you to argue. And you knew she meant it: she would see through whatever lay ahead, by your side or against you if need be. But you could feel the strength in her assurance, the way her words wove around you like armor, and the whisper of your own doubts grew a little quieter.

Still, Minthara didn’t pull away. She stayed close, her gaze intense as she searched your face.

“I don’t need you to hide what you are from me,” she murmured. “Only a coward would. And you…” She leaned forward, brushing her lips softly against your cheek, a rare tenderness in the gesture. “You’re no coward.”

Her confidence filled a quiet part of you, a place that only Minthara could reach. And for the first time that night, you found yourself almost able to believe that maybe her blood would not decorate your hands.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

The night was quiet and still, save for the distant rustle of leaves and the crackling of the campfire. Its warm light flickered over Lae'zel's sharp features as she rested beside you, eyes half-closed, her usual intense demeanor softened by a rare, momentary relaxation. But your mind was restless, weighed down by shadows you could barely voice.

You watched her, feeling the gentle pull of affection—and something darker. That gnawing, dark urge was a reminder of your bloodline, a whisper at the back of your mind that seemed to grow louder with every passing day. Each time you felt the pull of the violent, savage instincts that Bhaal had woven into you, you fought to suppress them. But tonight, the struggle felt heavier, too close to the surface. You could feel a deep-seated fear forming in your chest: the fear that one day, you wouldn’t be able to contain it. And if that day came, would you be able to keep her safe?

Finally, you couldn’t bear it any longer. The words slipped out, breaking the silence between you, quieter than you’d intended. "Lae'zel… I need to tell you something."

She looked up, the piercing gaze of her amber eyes meeting yours. Even in this vulnerable moment, there was no judgment in her expression—only curiosity, perhaps the smallest hint of concern.

"Speak then," she replied, her voice firm but encouraging.

You hesitated, unsure where to start, then took a deep breath, staring into the campfire’s flickering flames as you began.

"Sometimes, I feel this… darkness inside me. A hunger for violence that runs deeper than mere anger. It’s been part of me since I was born, and most days, I can hold it back. But with you, Lae'zel…” You paused, words catching in your throat. “I worry I might lose control. And I couldn't bear it if I… if I hurt you."

For a moment, there was silence. She studied you, her expression unreadable, and you began to fear the worst—that she might recoil or mock your weakness. But then, she spoke, her voice surprisingly gentle, though edged with her usual sharpness.

"Do you think I am some delicate flower, trembling at the thought of a little bloodshed?" she said, almost scoffing. “Or do you think I have not already noticed the darkness in you?” She shook her head slightly, her gaze steady and unafraid.

“It’s not that,” you stammered, struggling to make her understand. “You may be a warrior, fierce and unbreakable. But this is different. This isn’t sparring or combat—it’s… primal, uncontrollable. If I ever lost myself fully, it wouldn’t matter who was in front of me. I’d be nothing but a tool for death.”

Lae'zel’s eyes narrowed, but she did not pull away. Instead, she leaned closer, placing a strong, calloused hand on your arm, grounding you.

“You listen to me,” she said, her voice low, unwavering. “You fear harming me because of this ‘darkness,’ yes? Yet you know this about yourself. You fight it even now, holding back when others would simply give in.” She paused, her hand tightening around your arm. “But you must understand something about me as well. I am no stranger to violence. I have walked among enemies all my life, and I have bested warriors twice my size. I am no frail creature, and I am not afraid of you.”

Her words sent a jolt through you, her confidence in you both humbling and terrifying. She didn’t understand fully—not yet.

“But what if one day… I’m not me anymore?” you asked, your voice breaking slightly. “What if all that’s left is Bhaal’s influence?”

She smirked at that, and a strange fire sparked in her gaze. “

Then you will know that I would face you without hesitation. I would be ready, blade in hand, to meet whatever you became and bring you to heel.” There was a fierce pride in her words, and though her response was blunt, it was laced with a loyalty that softened your fear, at least for now.

Lae'zel pulled you closer, her grip firm, and rested her forehead against yours, the gesture as intimate as any words she could have spoken.

“Do not insult me by assuming I am weak enough to be afraid of you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

With that, the tension you’d been carrying in your chest began to ease. Lae'zel would never see you as a threat; she would face you if she had to, but not with fear. Only resolve. Only love.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

The moon hung low, casting silver light over the camp, as the others drifted into their tents or found their places by the fire for the night. You sat on a boulder near the edge of the clearing, staring into the surrounding darkness. The shadows felt more alive than they should, twisting and coiling, whispering at the edges of your thoughts. You clenched your fists, trying to still the trembling in your hands.

The violent urges had been growing stronger lately. A restlessness clawed at your soul, begging to be let out, and it terrified you. Your bloodline—Bhaal’s taint—felt like a curse you could no longer contain. You thought of Shadowheart, her quiet strength and sharp wit, the way her voice softened when she spoke to you alone. You loved her with a ferocity that frightened you, and it was that love that made everything worse. If you ever lost control, what would stop you from hurting her?

You didn’t hear her approach until she was standing beside you. Shadowheart had a way of moving silently, as if she were part of the shadows themselves. She sat next to you, her presence grounding but still leaving you on edge.

“You’ve been distant,” she said softly, her gaze studying your profile. “I know something’s troubling you. I can see it.”

You couldn’t meet her eyes, staring instead at the ground.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, but the lie tasted bitter on your tongue.

Shadowheart wasn’t fooled. She reached out, her hand brushing yours.

“You’re not fine,” she said, a quiet insistence in her voice. “I can feel it. Please… talk to me.”

Her gentle concern was enough to break the fragile wall you’d built around your emotions. You exhaled shakily, your voice trembling as you spoke.

“Shadowheart, I… I don’t know if I can do this. Every day, it gets harder to keep it all in check. The bloodlust, the urges—they’re stronger than ever. It’s like there’s something inside me, clawing to get out. And I’m terrified of what will happen if I can’t stop it.”

She watched you intently, her expression unreadable, and you pressed on, the words pouring out now.

“You’re everything to me, Shadowheart. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. And that’s what makes it worse. What if one day, I lose control? What if I hurt you? I couldn’t live with myself if that happened.”

The silence that followed felt unbearable. You risked a glance at her, expecting—dreading—judgment or fear in her eyes. But instead, there was understanding, and something even deeper. Shadowheart took your hand in hers, intertwining your fingers.

“You think I haven’t seen what you struggle with?” she asked quietly. “I’ve seen the way you fight it, the way you hold yourself back, even when everything in you screams to let go. That takes strength most people couldn’t dream of.”

You tried to pull your hand away, shaking your head. “Strength only lasts so long. One slip is all it takes.”

She held on tighter, refusing to let you retreat into yourself. “Then I’ll be there to stop you. I’ve been in darkness before—I know what it’s like to fight something that feels bigger than you. You’re not alone in this, and you don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

Her words struck a chord deep within you, a mixture of hope and guilt threatening to overwhelm you. “But what if��what if you’re not enough? What if one day, I…”

Shadowheart placed a finger to your lips, silencing you. “Stop. Listen to me. If I were afraid of you, I wouldn’t be here. You’re not defined by the darkness in you, no matter what your bloodline says. You’re more than that. And if you lose your way, I’ll be there to pull you back. Always.”

The certainty in her voice was enough to break something inside you. Tears welled up, unbidden, and you quickly wiped them away, ashamed of your weakness. But Shadowheart cupped your face in her hands, forcing you to meet her gaze.

“It’s okay to feel this way,” she said softly. “It’s okay to lean on someone else. You’ve been carrying this burden alone for too long.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe her. You leaned into her touch, letting her warmth chase away the cold that had taken root in your chest.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Shadowheart pulled you into an embrace, her arms strong and steady around you.

“We’ll face this together,” she murmured against your hair. “You don’t have to fight alone anymore.”

And in that moment, with her holding you as if she’d never let go, the weight on your soul felt just a little bit lighter.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

The camp was still, cloaked in the soft, silvery light of the moon. Most of your companions were asleep, save for the faint sounds of someone shifting in their tent or the occasional crackle of the dying fire. You sat apart from the others, your hands trembling slightly as you stared into the flames, the warmth doing little to chase away the cold knot of fear in your chest.

You had been feeling it for weeks now—this creeping, gnawing sensation at the edges of your mind. It wasn’t just anger or frustration. It was something deeper, darker. The whispers of your lineage clawed at your resolve, a constant reminder of the bloodline you couldn’t escape. Being Bhaalspawn wasn’t just a title; it was a curse, a tether to violence and death. And it was becoming harder to ignore.

The thought of hurting someone—hurting her—gnawed at your mind like a sickness. Jaheira, with her calm strength and unwavering compassion, had become your anchor, your light in this shadowed existence. But what if the darkness inside you grew too strong? What if you slipped? What if, in a moment of weakness, she got caught in the storm of your own making?

The thought alone made you sick.

You didn’t realize how tightly you were gripping your hands until you heard a voice behind you. “You’ve been brooding for hours now. Even I can’t meditate with the weight of it pressing on the air.”

You turned to see Jaheira stepping toward you, her expression unreadable. In the dim light, her silver-streaked hair glimmered, and her green eyes seemed to pierce straight through you. She was dressed for rest, her usual armor replaced by simpler clothing, though she still carried the air of a warrior—always poised, always ready.

“Jaheira,” you said, your voice catching slightly. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I—”

She waved a hand, cutting you off as she settled beside you on the ground. “Enough of that. What is it, truly? You’ve been distant. Distracted. I’ve faced enough troubled souls in my time to recognize one sitting before me now.”

You hesitated, the words heavy on your tongue. But this was Jaheira. If anyone deserved the truth, it was her.

“I’m scared,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “Not for me. For you.”

Her brow furrowed slightly, but she said nothing, letting you continue.

“I feel it growing inside me,” you said, gesturing vaguely toward your chest. “The violence. The urges. The part of me that… that isn’t really me. I can control it most days, but lately…” You swallowed hard. “I’m terrified, Jaheira. What if one day I lose control? What if I hurt you? I couldn’t—”

Your voice broke, and you looked away, ashamed of the tears pricking at your eyes. Jaheira was silent for a long moment, and you braced yourself for her response. Would she push you away? See you as a threat? End you there and then?

Instead, she reached out and placed a hand on your knee, grounding you with her steady presence.

“Listen to me,” she said, her voice firm but kind. “I have faced Bhaalspawn before. Many of them. Some sought redemption; others embraced the darkness willingly. I have seen what your kind is capable of—both the good and the evil.”

Your stomach twisted at her words, but she tightened her grip, forcing you to meet her gaze.

“And you,” she continued, her green eyes blazing with conviction, “are not one of those who revel in chaos and blood. I see you fighting it, every day. I see the way you hold back, even when it would be easier to let go. That alone sets you apart.”

“But what if it’s not enough?” you asked, your voice raw. “What if I fail?”

Jaheira’s expression softened, and she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a gentle murmur.

“Then I will be here to remind you of who you are. To pull you back, if I must. And if it ever comes to it, if you truly lose yourself…” She paused, her hand brushing against yours. “I will stop you before you can hurt anyone else.”

The weight of her words settled over you, both reassuring and sobering. You knew Jaheira was not one to make empty promises. If she said she would stop you, she meant it. And in some strange way, that knowledge gave you a sense of peace.

“You’re not afraid of me?” you asked quietly, searching her face for any sign of hesitation.

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head.

“Afraid of you? Hardly. I’ve faced demons, dragons, and gods themselves. Do you truly think I’d falter in the face of one stubborn Bhaalspawn?” Her lips quirked into a wry smile. “You give yourself too much credit.”

Despite yourself, you let out a shaky laugh, the tension in your chest easing ever so slightly.

Jaheira’s smile softened, and she leaned forward, pressing her forehead gently against yours.

“You are stronger than you realize, my love,” she murmured. “And you are not alone in this. I will stand by you, no matter what comes. Do you understand?”

You nodded, unable to find the words to express the gratitude swelling in your chest. For the first time in weeks, the darkness within you seemed to quiet. It was still there, a part of you that would never fully go away. But with Jaheira by your side, it would at least lessen.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

The night was quiet, the campfire burning low as the stars shimmered above like scattered shards of broken glass. Gale sat across from you, absorbed in his spellbook, his brow furrowed in concentration as the flickering light played over his features. You watched him silently, your heart heavy with the weight of thoughts you could no longer suppress.

The darkness inside you had been growing louder—whispers of violence and chaos scratching at the edges of your mind. Being Bhaalspawn wasn’t just a cruel twist of fate; it was a constant shadow, an insidious force threatening to consume you. And tonight, the fear of it all was too much to bear.

Your hand trembled as you reached for the cup of tea beside you, but you barely managed a sip before setting it down, the bitter taste doing nothing to calm your nerves.

Gale noticed. He always noticed.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice gentle as he closed his book and leaned forward, concern etched across his face. “You’ve been quiet all evening. More so than usual.”

You hesitated, staring into the fire as if it could provide the answers you didn’t have. Finally, you spoke, your voice low and strained. “I need to tell you something, Gale. It’s… important.”

He straightened, his attention fully on you now, his worry deepening.

“Go on,” he urged softly, his tone as warm and steady as the firelight between you. You swallowed hard, trying to steady the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

“I’ve been… struggling. The darkness inside me, the urges… it’s been getting worse.” You glanced up at him, your eyes pleading for understanding. “I’m terrified that one day, I won’t be able to control it.”

Gale’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt, waiting patiently for you to continue.

“I’m scared, Gale,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “Scared of what I might do. Of who I might hurt.” Your gaze dropped to your hands, clenched tightly in your lap. “Of hurting you.”

For a moment, there was only silence, the crackling of the fire the only sound between you. You braced yourself for his reaction, for the possibility that he might recoil, that he might see you as a monster.

Instead, Gale reached across the space between you and took your hand in his, his touch warm and grounding.

“You’re scared because you care,” he said gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Because you love.”

You looked up at him, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“That doesn’t change what I am,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “It doesn’t change the danger I bring.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Gale agreed, his gaze steady and unflinching. “But it also doesn’t define you. You are more than your lineage, more than the darkness you carry.” He leaned closer, his voice soft but firm. “I’ve seen your strength, your kindness, your determination to do what’s right, even when it’s difficult. That is who you are.”

His words were like a balm, easing the ache in your chest, but the fear still lingered, a shadow that refused to dissipate.

“What if I fail?” you asked, your voice trembling. “What if one day, it’s not enough?”

Gale’s grip on your hand tightened, his eyes filled with unwavering resolve.

“Then I will stand by you. I will fight for you, my love. And if it ever comes to it, if you ever lose yourself…” He paused, his voice faltering for just a moment before he continued, “Then I will do whatever it takes to bring you back.”

The weight of his promise settled over you, both comforting and sobering. Gale wasn’t naive. He understood the risks, the danger. But he still chose to stay, to believe in you.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, and you looked away, ashamed of your vulnerability. But Gale reached out, gently cupping your face and turning you back to him.

“You don’t have to carry this alone,” he said, his voice a soothing murmur. “Let me share the burden. Let me be your anchor, your light when the darkness feels too heavy.”

The sincerity in his words, the love in his eyes—it was more than you felt you deserved. But it was exactly what you needed.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Gale smiled, a soft, bittersweet expression. “You’ll never have to find out,” he said simply.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

The night was eerily quiet, the campfire crackling softly as shadows danced across the surrounding trees. The rest of the party had already retired, their quiet snores or the occasional rustling of blankets filling the air. You, however, couldn’t bring yourself to sleep. Not tonight. Not with the turmoil twisting and clawing inside you like a living thing.

You sat by the fire, staring into its embers, your hands clenched so tightly around your knees that your knuckles had gone pale. The warmth of the flames couldn’t reach the chill in your chest, the fear that coiled there like a venomous snake.

You thought you were handling it. You thought you could keep it at bay—the dark, violent urges that came with being a child of Bhaal. But they were growing stronger, whispering in your mind, seeping into your dreams. And then there was Astarion.

Beautiful, sharp-tongued, and endlessly charming Astarion.

He was your light in this abyss, your anchor when the tides of your bloodline threatened to drown you. And that terrified you more than anything. What if one day you lost control? What if the darkness overtook you, and the person you hurt was him?

The thought was too much to bear.

“Brooding by the fire, are we?”

His voice, smooth as silk and tinged with amusement, broke the silence. You looked up to see Astarion approaching, his pale features illuminated by the firelight. He had that same easy grace, that effortless confidence, as he crouched down beside you.

But his eyes—those piercing red eyes—softened when they met yours. “Darling, you’ve been quieter than usual. And that’s saying something, given your quirk of blurting out how one day all will be ash and meat. What’s troubling you?”

You opened your mouth to deflect, to brush it off with some half-hearted excuse. But the weight of it all—the fear, the guilt, the constant battle within yourself—was too much. The dam broke.

“I’m scared, Astarion,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

His playful smirk faded, replaced by a look of genuine concern. “Scared of what?”

You hesitated, your hands trembling as you fidgeted with the edge of your cloak. “Of me. Of what I am. Of what I might do.”

Astarion tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharpening. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your hand, grounding you. “You’ll have to be more specific, love. I’m not following.”

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m a Bhaalspawn, Astarion. Violence, bloodshed, and death are in my veins. Lately, it’s been harder to suppress. The urges… they’re getting louder.”

His brow furrowed, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he moved closer, his hand now fully enveloping yours.

“And I’m terrified that one day I won’t be able to stop it,” you continued, your voice cracking. “What if I lose control? What if I hurt you?”

Astarion was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, he let out a soft chuckle.

“Astarion, this isn’t funny,” you said, your frustration bubbling to the surface.

“No, it’s not,” he said, his tone serious despite the slight curve of his lips. “But the idea of you hurting me? Darling, that’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.”

Your brows knitted together in confusion. “You don’t understand—”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” he interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. “You’re battling demons—figurative ones, in this case—and you’re terrified of losing. But let me tell you something: I’ve spent centuries surrounded by true monsters, the kind who delighted in inflicting pain, who relished in their power over others. You? You are nothing like them.”

“But what if—”

He silenced you by cupping your face, his touch cool but steady. “Listen to me. You have more control than you think. The very fact that you’re worried about this, that you’re fighting so hard against it, proves that you’re stronger than whatever darkness is trying to claim you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but his unwavering gaze held you steady.

“And as for me,” he continued, his tone softening, “I’m not some fragile thing that will break at the first sign of trouble. I’ve survived worse than you can imagine. If you ever lose control, if the worst happens, I’ll stop you. I’ll pull you back. But I don’t believe it will ever come to that.”

You searched his eyes, finding nothing but sincerity and a quiet, fierce determination.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“And you won’t,” he said, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Because you’re stronger than this. Stronger than Bhaal, stronger than the urges, stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

The knot in your chest loosened ever so slightly, his words and his presence easing the storm inside you.

“Now,” he said, his playful smirk returning, “let’s go to bed before you spiral into another fit of unnecessary guilt. You need rest, and frankly, so do I. Being this sentimental is exhausting, you know.”

Despite everything, a small laugh escaped you, the tension breaking like the first rays of dawn after a long night. And as he led you back to the tent, his hand never leaving yours, you felt a flicker of hope. Of love, and the urges lurched in response - it made you smile.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

The moon hung high above the camp, its light spilling through the gaps in the trees and painting the world in shades of silver and shadow. Most of the group had retired for the night, the soft murmur of Gale's incantations and the crackling of the fire the only sounds breaking the stillness. You sat alone near the edge of camp, your hands trembling as they gripped your knees.

The pressure inside you had been building for weeks. Suppressing the violent urges that came with being Bhaalspawn was an exhausting battle, one fought every moment of every day. But tonight, it felt different. Heavier. Darker. The whispers at the edge of your mind were louder, tempting you with promises of release, of power, of blood.

And then there was Wyll.

Wyll, who had become your safe haven, your light in the dark. The thought of him—his warm smile, his gentle touch, his unwavering sense of justice—usually kept the worst of it at bay. But tonight, those same thoughts brought a new wave of fear crashing over you. What if you slipped? What if you hurt him? What if the monster in your blood lashed out at the one person who made you feel human?

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear Wyll approach until he spoke, his voice soft and filled with concern.

“Darling, what are you doing out here? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You looked up sharply, startled to see him standing before you, his silhouette framed by the moonlight. He was dressed casually, his usual armor replaced with a simple shirt and trousers, but he still carried that same regal air, like a knight from a storybook.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted, your voice hoarse. Wyll frowned, his dark eyes studying you intently.

“Something’s troubling you,” he said, kneeling beside you. “I can see it. Talk to me.”

You hesitated, your throat tightening as the words threatened to choke you. But this was Wyll. If anyone deserved the truth, it was him.

“I’m scared,” you finally said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Not of someone else. Of me.”

Wyll’s frown deepened, but he didn’t interrupt, waiting for you to continue.

“I feel it growing inside me,” you confessed, pressing a hand to your chest. “The violence. The bloodlust. The part of me that’s tied to Bhaal. Most days, I can keep it at bay, but lately… it’s been harder. I can’t stop thinking about what might happen if I lose control. What if—” Your voice broke, and you looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “What if I hurt you?”

Wyll was silent for a moment, and the fear in your chest tightened. But then he reached out, gently taking your hand in his.

“You won’t hurt me,” he said softly, his voice steady and sure.

“You don’t know that,” you whispered, shaking your head. “I don’t even know that.”

“I do know that,” Wyll said, his grip on your hand tightening. “Because I know you. You’re not defined by the blood in your veins or the darkness you fight. You’re defined by your choices, by the person you’ve chosen to be. And that person would never hurt me.”

“But what if I can’t control it?” you asked, your voice trembling. “What if one day it’s too much?”

Wyll’s expression softened, and he reached up to cup your face, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek.

“Then I’ll be here to pull you back,” he said. “I’ve fought devils and demons, faced horrors that would drive most people mad. Do you really think I’d falter in the face of this?”

His words brought a lump to your throat, and you struggled to hold back tears.

“I’m not as strong as you think I am,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wyll smiled, a warm, reassuring expression that seemed to chase away the shadows in your mind.

“You’re stronger than you know,” he said. “And you don’t have to face this alone. We’ll fight it together, just like we’ve faced everything else.”

For the first time that night, the weight on your chest began to ease. Wyll’s unwavering faith in you, his belief in your strength, was enough to quiet the whispers in your mind.

“You’re too good for me,” you said, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

Wyll chuckled, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “Nonsense. If anything, I’m the lucky one. Now, come on,” he said, pulling you to your feet. “Let’s get some rest. The night may be dark, but the dawn always comes.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

The camp was calm that evening, the embers of the fire casting a warm glow on the surrounding trees. The quiet murmurs of your companions settling in for the night mixed with the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze. You sat a distance away from them, perched on a rock at the edge of camp. The weight in your chest felt unbearable, like an anchor dragging you down, deeper into the murky abyss of your thoughts.

For weeks, you’d fought it—the growing darkness, the violent whispers of your lineage that clawed at the edges of your mind. As a Bhaalspawn, the pull toward destruction was an ever-present shadow, lurking just behind your every action, every thought. It was one thing to suppress those urges in battle, but here, in the stillness of camp, when you were surrounded by those you cared about most, the fear took on a sharper edge.

What if one day, the darkness won? What if you hurt someone? What if you hurt Halsin?

The thought alone made your stomach twist with dread. Halsin, with his boundless compassion and unshakable calm, was your anchor, the one thing that made you believe you could rise above the blood that coursed through your veins. He saw the good in you, even when you struggled to see it yourself. The thought of losing him—of being the reason he suffered—was too much to bear.

You heard his footsteps before you saw him, the gentle crunch of leaves beneath his boots a familiar sound that sent a flicker of warmth through your chest. You didn’t look up as he approached, but you felt his presence as he settled beside you on the rock, his broad frame a comforting silhouette against the night.

“You’ve been quiet,” Halsin said, his deep voice soft and laced with concern. “More so than usual. What troubles you, my heart?”

You swallowed hard, your hands twisting in your lap as you tried to find the words. For a moment, you considered brushing it off, telling him it was nothing. But this was Halsin. If anyone deserved the truth, it was him.

“I’m scared,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper. Halsin turned to look at you, his golden eyes studying your face with gentle patience.

“Of what?” he asked, though there was no judgment in his tone—only understanding. You hesitated, your throat tightening.

“Of myself,” you said at last. “Of what I might do. Of what I might become.”

Halsin’s brows furrowed slightly, but he remained silent, waiting for you to continue.

“I can feel it,” you said, gesturing vaguely to your chest. “This… darkness inside me. It’s always there, whispering, urging me toward violence. I can control it, for now, but… what if one day I can’t? What if I lose control, and I hurt someone? What if I hurt you?”

Your voice broke on the last word, and you looked away, ashamed of the tears that pricked at your eyes.

Halsin was silent for a moment, and you braced yourself for his response, your mind racing with worst-case scenarios. But then, to your surprise, he reached out and took your hands in his, his touch warm and grounding.

“Listen to me,” Halsin said, his voice steady and calm. “I have walked this world for many years, and I have seen both the best and the worst it has to offer. I know what it means to carry a heavy burden, to feel as though you are fighting a battle within yourself every day. But you are not defined by the blood in your veins or the whispers in your mind.”

You looked up at him, your breath hitching as you met his gaze. There was no fear in his eyes, no hesitation—only unwavering belief.

“You have a choice,” Halsin continued. “Every day, you choose to rise above the darkness. To fight it, even when it feels impossible. That is what makes you strong. That is what makes you you.”

“But what if it’s not enough?” you asked, your voice barely audible. “What if I fail?”

Halsin smiled softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Then I will be here to catch you. To remind you of who you are and the goodness you carry within you. And if the worst should ever come to pass…” He hesitated, his expression turning serious. “If you truly lose yourself, I will do what must be done to protect those you care about. But I do not believe it will come to that. You are stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

His words washed over you, easing the tightness in your chest ever so slightly.

“You’re not afraid of me?” you asked, your voice small.

Halsin shook his head. “Afraid of you? No, my heart. I am in awe of you. You face a battle every day that most cannot imagine, and yet you continue to fight. That is not something to fear—it is something to admire.”

The weight in your chest began to lift, replaced by a flicker of hope. Halsin’s faith in you was unshakable, and for the first time in weeks, you began to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could overcome this.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice thick with emotion.

Halsin leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You are not alone in this,” he murmured. “And you never will be. Whatever comes, we will face it together.”

As he pulled you into his arms, the warmth of his embrace chased away the lingering shadows in your mind. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to feel at peace.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was a bit of a long one for y'all, I struggled slightly with some repetition, but i hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

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[kromato]

I saw @evilfrogcereal29's post which led me to @just-some-user-hunny's idea about a werewolf Nikto and so!! Here we go!! I would love to design him some tactical gear when I'm not so bogged down at work... CW: violence/dark themes in HCs under the cut

Filed, blunt teeth (from use, by captors, or himself? Who knows). It makes his killings brutally inefficient - it's no quick bite to the jugular but a steady crushing, ripping, tearing. His maw unusually large, kept wide by scar tissue that pulls at the corners of his mouth. A broken jaw with bone that juts and doesn't quite align as it should. Scars from past captors and encounters with enemies, many made to answer the question, "Just how good is a werewolf's healing factor?"

Shifting is already a painful process - bones break, skin burts, muscle frays and re-knits. His are made worse by the heavy scarring, an already disfigured face morphing , somehow, into something much worse.

Torn nare makes his nose whistle a little if he's not careful with his breathing - he has purposefully trained himself to be silent when needed, and as a byproduct, has incredible lung capacity and stamina.

Only slightly larger than the average werewolf, he's no hulking behemoth of a specimen - but his visage more than makes for a terrifying opponent.

[elysianightsss]

RUN FROM ME DARLIN, YOU BETTER RUN FOR YOUR LIFE | PART ONE

Rejection. Open and hollow, stinging like a cat scratch, it’s monumental and abstract and it’s everything you never knew you wanted. Being rejected put you in this position, you could say it made you vulnerable but with the way his rough calloused hands manoeuvred over your skin, you could say it was worth it.

The way his half mast cerulean eyes rake over you, a prize to be earned. Something he’s going to win, not that he knows that yet. You’ll make him work for it, that much he does know though.

You’re deep in the infatuation of it even if you wish that’s not true. You relish in the feeling of his gaze on you, soft but yet somehow cold and distant. It sparks the interest you thought long gone. Dead and buried. The ends of it frayed like the neurons of your brain. Unravelled and worn at the edges.

Something dark and deceitful urges you to step forward, tempting you with the musky aroma of him. Something you’d like to devour whole if you could. The faint redolence of cigar smoke hung on his clothes.

He licked his thin chapped lips imagining the way his tongue would slide over your supple skin and despite the dull gnawing of insecurity that has grown since adolescence, you can imagine it too. His willpower hedging with every moment that slowly passes by, every moment that agonisingly ticks by.

The sweet decadence of your pulsing cunt lingers in the cold air, your nipples pebbling beneath your cotton night gown. He breathes in deep, harsh. A hint of mania colouring his grin as he groans at the smell of you, the scent you’re exposing yourself to him with. A poor little bunny trapped in the lions den….

Then he’s leaning in, parted lips inches from his. The thick beard on his face prickling against the skin of your chin. His breath mixing with yours, heat and desperation so present in the air. It hangs heavily around you, makes your knees weak.

Then his lips are moving, but nothing is coming out. He’s talking but it’s quite literally falling on deaf ears. You can’t hear a word he is saying. You frown, pulling away when a loud, obnoxious roar starts pestering you. It’s weaving its way behind your eyes, mixing with the light that doesn’t go no matter how hard you squeeze your eyes.

You’re soon fluttering them open, groggy and just the perfect amount of warm, you don’t want to move a muscle. You’re weak in a good way. In that, the duvet is heavy but not too heavy, you’re warm but not burning and if you pulled your curtains back into place so the moonlight wasn’t streaking through you’d fall right back to sleep.

That is if the thunder outside wasn’t annoyingly loud keeping you awake. Closing your eyes for a moment, you take a breath before sitting up not at all ready to start the day, especially not at four am in the morning but with the loudness outside you wouldn’t be getting any sleep anytime soon, so at least getting out of bed would be a start.

Everything seems to be happening in slow motion as you comb through your wardrobe looking for something to throw over your pyjamas as a chill seeps into your bones, teeth beginning to chatter just as you pull on a soft, knitted sweater. You’re all long sighs, slow blinking and yawning every few minutes like you hadn’t just slept eight hours straight.

You feel out of it as you slide the sweater over your head, you’re practically falling back to sleep with your head resting on your arched knee while you pull on a pair of socks. It feels as though you hadn’t even slept a second when you’re pouring the milk into your tea, eyes all blurry and head starting to ache.

Your hands pause mid grabbing a spoon from your kitchen drawer, the dream. The vivid dream. The very real feeling of his rough calloused hands grazing over your skin, you can almost still feel the ghost of it on your arms. It makes you shiver. But you try to forget and by the time the sun comes up and a fog rolls in your successful.

October came in with golden days and silver nights, foggy mornings and coffee iced. It soothed your soul to see the harvest moon in the sky at night, brightened your heart when you spotted all the pumpkin patch picking signs dotted around town.

Town, you barely frequent it. If feels like a ghost town, hollow and not at all lived in. It’s more than an hour away from the cottage you were living in but there are these rare moments when you long for civilisation, so you put up with the drive there. Say hello to a few locals, grab some more food to stock your pantry with and leave feeling a little bit more socially charged than before.

This was one of those times. You smiled at the pumpkin patch and Halloween bash signs on the town events board. Hands full of bags after doing some food shopping. You even treated yourself to a new heavy weighted blanket, half off and so soft.

“Looks fun doesn’t it?” You jump, unnaturally on edge which the guy who spoke seems to notice. “Sorry, I come in peace I promise.” He smiles softly at you, American you noted, up here in the highlands. It makes your back tense and your shoulders stiff, a nervousness settling into your skin like a tattoo.

“It’s okay. I’m just a jumpy person.” You lie smoothly. You weren’t jumpy by far. You were highly trained not to be, but that had all changed after them. Maybe you were a little jumpy now.

“So you gonna go?” He asks and it makes your frown, you were so lost in thought about the monsters under your bed that you think you missed something. Then he points to the Halloween bash poster stapled to the board. His brown hair blowing in the cold breeze as he looks at you.

“Oh! No, not really my thing.” Another lie. You loved a good party, the dresses, the drinks, the dancing. You would love to go to one again, when you could be carefree enough to know you’re not being watched and no one was after you.

“So what is your thing?” He asks with a small smile, teeth showing and tender eyes. He didn’t look like a threat but you can never be too careful these days.

“I don’t know knitting.” You say outright before walking away but he follows you, you really don’t want to be rude to a local, maybe just this once if he doesn’t leave you alone? But it would draw attention to you, create whispers about you, the very thing you don’t want.

“Just knitting? You don’t have any other hobbies?” Interested or intel? You weren’t sure at this moment and maybe you’d never be sure again. You thought they were just interested and yet here you were hiding from them.

“Reading.” You don’t stop walking away from him, even hitting him with a ‘nice to meet you’ over your shoulder. He seems to get the message and stops following you. You keep looking back to make sure he goes away and he does, back to the town board thankfully giving you enough time to slip through the back alley of the store where you parked your jeep.

You load up the boot and get strapped in before you start driving off. You wouldn’t be coming back for a bit longer than usual, you didn’t want to create a pattern. Patterns are easy to track. You needed to be unusual. You do your regular checks, gun in one hand, knife in the other as you enter the cottage.

You were with them for months you know how they work and how they fight. You’re an outstanding tracker, they had noted. You would know if they were here and how to escape them. Thankfully it didn’t come to that. The place was clear. You really needed to get a dog or something.

You unpacked the bags and parked the car around the back hiding it under some waterproof tarpaulin. After putting all the food away, you made pasta for dinner and got cosy under the new blanket while you watched the next episode of Gilmore Girls.

This was what you did now, binged watched tv shows and movies you never had time to watch growing up. Who could blame you, when other girls were watching these shows and fawning over two vampire brothers and a human girl, you were fighting other unlucky girls and learning how to build bombs, resist poison and how to kill.

You were always jealous that Kate hadn’t been put in the red room by your parents like you had. She was their favourite you knew that, and even though she wouldn’t admit it, she knew it too.

8 months ago ~

Your leg bounced as you sat in your designated seat on the Boeing CH-47 Chinook, new by the looks of it. You weren’t anxious, not that you’d admit it even if you were, you just know what happens every time you see Kate; all the feelings that come up that you’d rather not deal with. All the hurt you’ve tried desperately to avoid. It was all going to come rushing back, you just know it.

The helicopter landed and the ramp door opened, you moved from the main cabin following all the other passengers off the tandem-rotor helicopter. The sky was cloudy and atmosphere cold. It made you miss the heat of Malta, the sunbeds and cocktails but then again that’s how this whole mess got started.

A squad in camouflage gear were doing drills just off to your right, a couple of other teams were either coming back from missions or just heading out for them. Then you spotted her, Kate Laswell and her precious little 141. You practically spat the words in your head.

Slinging your duffle bag strap over your shoulder you stalked towards the group of five, past the soldiers jogging in a pack following a drill sergeant with a particularly loud mouth. You pushed though the crowds and descended on your target. Just as you reached her, she turned ready to walk inside the base only to find you blocking her path.

Kate gasped out your name, eyes wide with shock and body frozen. The reaction made you smirk, giving you a sick sense of pride for eliciting such a reaction from her.

“Hello sister.” The Russian accent swirling around your words was thick.

Kate stutters in her words not knowing what to say back to you other than an uneasy, “What are you doing here?”

“Well that’s not very nice to say to a family member who just flew 7 hours just to come see you.” You scoff looking her up and down with distaste.

“Wh-Why would you do that?” She cringes at how scared she sounds.

“I have some information for you, a mission too if you’re interested. All I know is I want nothing to do with it. This is something the military should deal with, not me.” You huff, eyes drifting to the bulky men stood behind her just by the four by four car.

“We should talk inside.” She says holding her hand out in the direction she wishes for you to go.

“You first.” You narrow your eyes, distrust burning in them. She nods and gestures for her team to follow.

You slam the haul of around thirteen red vials on top the table once you’re inside the debriefing room. Price and Ghost take a seat at the table to the left of where you stand, Soap and Gaz choose to stay standing by them. Kate rounding the table opposite you.

“It’s a chemical agent. The red dust is a gas used to free mind controlled victims from their subjugation. Dreykov has been trying to destroy it. One of the freed windows sent it to me and was killed for it too.” You stare at your estranged sister as she hangs on your every word, frown full of worry.

“What is a widow?” The man who was introduced to you as Soap MacTavish, while you walked inside the barracks, asks sounding genuinely confused. You scoff letting out a little laugh afterwards.

“God no wonder.” You shake your head the smile still on your lips but there was only anger on your face, “I kept checking in with my contacts to see if the famous Kate Laswell had taken down the red room for another one of those amazing promotions. But nothing.”

Kate looked speechless, unable to form any words without making the situation worse. Without pumping more hate into you, like that was even possible. The way you looked at her, like if she said one wrong thing you’d grab the knife in your thigh holster and throw it right between her eyes.

You turn to the four large men to the left of you, “A widow is a kidnapped girl who is brutally trained to become an assassin. The Red Room is the name of the place we are kept. The Black Widow program is one of the KGB’s espionage training programmes run by a man called Dreykov.” You explain, taking in their faces. They don’t look horrified but definitely suprised.

“Maybe one in twenty survives the training and becomes a window. The rest he kills. To him we are just things.” Your fists tighten, a dark look growing upon your face that makes even Ghost shift in his seat. “Weapons with no faces that he can just throw away because there is always more.” Your upper lip curls with disgust and for a moment Gaz thinks you’re going to let out a snarl. “He sees us as trash that is thrown away and he is simply recycling us.”

“Is this…” Kate takes a breath, short and shaky. The team thinks it’s the first time they’ve seen her waver, first time she looks unsure before speaking, gesturing towards the red vials “Is that what they did to you?” She looks at you through her lashes, her face pained.

“No. What I experienced was physiological conditioning for years.” You ignore the sharp inhale you hear to the left of you and keep talking,“I’m talking about chemically altering brain functions. They’re two completely different things.”

“You’re fully conscious but you don’t know which part is you,” you look down at the red chemical vials, “I’m still not sure.” Price takes in the lost look on your face, the frown that pulls your eyebrows so tight together it must hurt. He’s seen it before, in Simon’s eyes. “They could ask you to stop breathing and you’d have no choice but to obey.”

“Let my team do what they do best.” You raise an eyebrow in question. “Let them destroy this place and kill the man in charge.” Kate reaches for your hand but you’re quick to pull away as if her touch is furiously hot and would burn you. She feels her heart ache, missing the days you used to call her Katie and cling to her touch with nothing but happiness behind your eyes. Now there is nothing but bitter darkness.

“Even though the red room is impossible to find and Dreykov is too slippery to kill?” You scoff, leaning back from the table and crossing your arms defensively in front of your chest.

“It’s what we do lass.” MacTavish gives you a little smile, almost trying reassure you that they could do it. That they could slay your demon.

“That sounds like a shitload of work.” Price barks out a laugh at your words.

“Maybe so. But it would save a lot of girls in the future.” Gaz countered, looking serious.

“Good luck fighting them. We’re trained specifically to copy our opponent’s fight style. Don’t underestimate them.” You try to warn them as best you can but you can see the cocky pride in them after winning the majority of their battles.

“I think we can handle them, you too.” Ghost declared with an air of amusement and a slight warning, one he’s wanted to say since you showed up. Your face drops, becoming void of all emotion as you lean forward, pressing your palms flat to the cold table. You lean in close to Ghost, eyes darkening as you do so.

“I was selected by a program that assessed the genetic potential in infants. A bargain was struck and they paid my parents off. They were more than happy to get rid of me in exchange for the cash.” You glance at Kate who has tears in her eyes, her sadness makes you glare, whipping your head back to the skull.

“I went on to become the greatest child assassin the world has ever know. Six hundred and seventy one confirmed kills by the time I was fifteen.” Ghost adjusts himself in his seat, moving back a bit and double checking to make sure his mask was on properly. Hiding his true feelings from the feral little thing in front of him. The way you stared at him, he felt like you could see right through him.

“They were so proud that no one could match my efficiency and ruthlessness. That’s the only reason they didn’t rip out my uterus and ovaries like they did to the other girls. Your pretty mask doesn’t scare me. Whatever nightmares you could conjure up, are dreams compared to what’s behind me.” You scowl, glowering at the man in front of you. He shifts once again, uncomfortable. The sight of this big man fidgeting under your gaze has a smirk crawling onto your face once again while you move back.

“I’m so sorry.” Kate chokes out, tears streaming down her cheeks now. “I didn’t know that-“

“Oh please.” You cut her off, “you must of known. That’s why you were more than okay to let our parents use me for that pathetic mission that earned you the promotion to your current position.” You spat before pointing to the vials.

Before Kate could refuse anything you cut her off, “Do what you want. It’s not my concern anymore, I have to leave now or I’ll miss the heli out of here. There won’t be another for a week and I’d rather not spend all that time with the five of you.” You go to turn but it’s a hand reaching for your shoulder that stops you.

The hand doesn’t even touch you before you’re reaching for it yourself, bending it once you’ve grabbed hold. You use your grip on the wrist to spin behind the person, twisting their arm behind their back and holding it there as you kick their legs swiftly. They fall to the ground, staring back up at you in surprise.

The chairs groaning against the floor fall on deaf ears, you’re still on edge, like a caged animal finally been let out and ready to fight anything that looks even remotely like a threat. Soap helps Gaz off the floor, ocean eyes never leaving you as he does so.

“I’m sorry that was stupid of me.” Kyle is quick to apologize though he isn’t quite sure why. Is it because his heart ached so much when you shared your painful story so casually just to shut Ghost up? Is it because he found you drop dead gorgeous? He’s not sure. All he knows is he wants to wrap you in his arms and never let the world touch you again, it had done so much damage to you already.

You breath in and out deep, slow. Calming yourself in the way you taught yourself. Meditation was one of the first things you learnt after you escaped the red room, it was either that or attack anyone who looked at you the wrong way.

You grab your duffle bag, with one last glance at Kate and the red vials still on the table, you left.

To be continued…

[atlasthegreatest]

Strategic Minds and Wild Hearts / Annabeth Chase x Gender Neutral! Reader

Percy embarks on a quest with Annabeth and Y/and he can only watch in amusement as their different personalities crash together.

Word count: 3035

A/n: This was requested by an anon. I hope you enjoy it! The gender wasn't specific so, gender neutral it is. The godly parent is up to you, too.

The early morning sunlight filtered through the trees, casting soft shadows on the ground. Percy had just finished stuffing his backpack with supplies for the journey ahead. He glanced at Annabeth, who was busy going over the map, lips pressed into a focused line. Beside her sat Y/n, casually lounging against a rock, their eyes lazily scanning the horizon as if they were more concerned with the birds in the sky than the impending quest.

Y/n was the exact opposite of Annabeth in almost every way imaginable. Whereas Annabeth was precise and organized, Y/n thrived in spontaneity. Their tousled hair often looked like they’d just rolled out of bed—probably because they had—while Annabeth’s blond curls were meticulously tied back, ready for battle. Annabeth carried a thousand plans in her head, while Y/n often made up their plan as they went along if they even bothered with one at all. And yet, they were best friends, bound by something deeper than shared interests.

“You’re staring again,” Y/n’s voice cut through Percy’s thoughts as they playfully nudged Annabeth. “What are you trying to figure out now? How to make this map into a ship and sail it down the river?”

Annabeth rolled her eyes, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. “I’m trying to figure out the best route to avoid getting killed, Y/n. You should try it sometime.”

Y/n yawned and stretched their arms above their head. “Nah, I leave the avoiding-death part to you. I handle the fun stuff, like making sure we don’t starve or die of boredom.”

Percy couldn’t help but smirk at the exchange. Watching them interact was like watching a fire and ice dance—different but somehow complementary. They worked in a way that shouldn’t have made sense but did, blending Annabeth’s strategic brilliance with Y/n’s laid-back adaptability.

“Alright, you two,” Percy said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “We’ve got a long way to go. Annabeth, are we good to go?”

Annabeth nodded, folding the map with care. “Yeah. I’ve got the route planned out. It’s not the safest, but it’s the quickest. We’ll cut through the forest and reach the river by nightfall.”

“Sounds perfect,” Y/n said as they stood up and gave a dramatic salute. “Lead the way, Captain Wise Girl.”

Annabeth shot them a look but didn’t argue. The three of them set off into the woods, the sounds of birds and rustling leaves filling the air. As they walked, Y/n kept up a steady stream of chatter, commenting on everything from the shape of the clouds to the weird way the trees were bent in one area. Annabeth mostly kept silent, occasionally offering a sarcastic retort when Y/n’s commentary got particularly absurd.

At one point, they reached a narrow ravine with a rope bridge spanning across it. The bridge looked old, with rotting planks and frayed ropes swaying gently in the breeze.

Annabeth eyed it warily. “This isn’t on the map. I didn’t plan for this.”

Y/n grinned and clapped Annabeth on the shoulder. “Well, that’s the beauty of life, my friend. You can’t plan for everything. Sometimes, you just have to wing it.”

Annabeth frowned, her brows knitting together in frustration. “This could be dangerous. We need to think this through.”

But before Annabeth could protest further, Y/n was already halfway across the bridge, balancing on one foot for a moment like she was walking a tightrope at the circus.

“Y/n!” Annabeth yelled, her voice tight with irritation and concern. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“Nah, this thing’s sturdy enough. Probably.” Y/n wobbled a bit but made it to the other side, turning to face them with a wide grin. “See? Easy peasy.”

Annabeth groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I swear, one day you’re going to get yourself into real trouble, and I won’t be able to save you.”

“That’s why I keep you around, Annie,” Y/n called back with a wink.

Despite her exasperation, Annabeth shook her head with a fond smile. She turned to Percy, muttering, “She’s going to be the death of me.”

Percy chuckled. “Yeah, but you’d miss her too much.”

Annabeth’s smile softened. “Yeah… yeah, I would.”

As the day wore on, the dynamic between Annabeth and Y/n became even more apparent to Percy. Annabeth was all about tactics and careful consideration, while Y/n had an instinct for seizing the moment. When a group of monsters ambushed them in the forest, Annabeth formulated a plan in seconds, coordinating their movements and giving clear orders. But it was Y/n who noticed the weak spot in one of the creatures and went in for the surprise attack, turning the tide in their favor.

Later, as they made camp for the night, Percy found himself watching the two of them again. Annabeth was busy building a perfect fire, arranging the logs just so, while Y/n leaned back against a tree, staring up at the stars.

“You two are something,” Percy said, shaking his head with a grin.

Annabeth looked up from the fire and gave him a curious glance. “What do you mean?”

“Just… how different you are. And yet, it works. You’re like opposites, but somehow you balance each other out.”

Y/n snorted. “Yeah, that’s because Annabeth’s got enough brains for the both of us, and I’ve got enough chaos to keep her on her toes.”

Annabeth rolled her eyes again, but this time, she laughed. “Maybe. But I think I’d go crazy without you around to remind me not to take everything so seriously.”

Y/n winked. “See? That’s what best friends are for.”

And as the fire crackled in the quiet of the night, the two of them sat side by side—opposites in every way, but closer than anyone could imagine.

———————

The firelight flickered between the shadows of the forest, casting a warm glow over the campsite. Percy sat across from Annabeth and Y/n, watching their dynamic play out like a puzzle coming together in real-time. It was fascinating—no matter how different they seemed, they moved in sync in ways that defied logic.

Annabeth leaned over to her pack and started sorting through a neatly organized stack of supplies, double-checking everything for the next leg of the quest. “We should leave at first light. The closer we get to the river, the more we’ll be in monster territory. We can’t afford to lose time.”

Y/n, lying on their back and staring up at the stars, waved a hand dismissively. “Pfft, we’ll be fine. We could take an extra hour of sleep, easy. Plus, I found some wild berries earlier. They’ll give us an energy boost, and we won’t even need breakfast. Multitasking, you know?”

Annabeth shot them a look. “You can’t just wander around eating random berries, Y/n. They could be poisonous.”

Y/n grinned and raised their eyebrows mischievously. “Live a little, Annabeth. The worst thing that happens is we find out whether or not I’m immune to poison. Best case? They taste amazing.”

Annabeth let out a groan but couldn’t hide the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. “You are impossible.”

Percy chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “It’s kind of like watching a comedy show,” he said. “You two could do this all day.”

Annabeth leaned back, her brow furrowed in thought. “Honestly, sometimes I wonder how we’ve stayed best friends for this long. You’d think Y/n’s recklessness would drive me crazy.”

Y/n snorted. “Oh, it does. I can see it in your eyes every time I do something fun.”

Annabeth threw them a look that was equal parts fond and exasperated. “Fun isn’t what I’d call it. I call it unnecessary risks. But…”

“But you love it,” Y/n finished, sitting up and brushing leaves off their jacket. “C’mon, admit it, Annie. You need me around. If you didn’t have me to shake things up, you’d spend all your time plotting out every second of your life. Where’s the fun in that?”

Annabeth crossed her arms, but the smile she tried to hide gave her away. “I don’t need chaos in my life. I just—”

“Balance,” Percy interrupted, causing both to look at him. “That’s what it is, right? You two balance each other out. Annabeth, you keep us alive with your planning and strategy, but Y/n makes sure we don’t lose sight of why we’re doing all of this. You can’t have one without the other.”

Y/n grinned and leaned back against their tree, arms behind their head. “See? Even Percy gets it.”

Annabeth sighed, but this time, it was a sound of acceptance rather than frustration. “Fine. I’ll admit that sometimes—emphasis on sometimes—your approach works.”

Y/n pumped a fist in the air. “Victory!”

Percy laughed, shaking his head at the pair of them. “I gotta ask though, how did you two even become friends in the first place? I mean, you’re so… different.”

Annabeth smiled softly at the question, the kind of smile that held memories deeper than words could explain. “It was at camp. I was… well, I was pretty intense back then, even more than I am now. I didn’t have a lot of friends. I spent most of my time studying battle tactics, reading ancient texts—”

“Shocker,” Y/n teased, but they nudged Annabeth’s arm affectionately. “The brainiac loner. Yeah, I remember.”

Annabeth glanced at her and nodded. “Yeah, and Y/n, well, they were different. They’d show up late to activities, always doing their own thing. But one day, we were on this Capture the Flag mission. I’d planned everything down to the last detail, but when we got ambushed, the plan fell apart. I didn’t know what to do.”

Y/n cut in, grinning. “So, obviously, I swooped in and saved the day.”

Annabeth laughed, shaking her head. “Not quite. You didn’t save the day, but you did something I couldn’t: you improvised. You took a completely insane, reckless path that somehow worked. It shouldn’t have worked, but it did. And that’s when I realized—”

“—That you needed me around,” Y/n finished for her, their grin widening. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Annabeth gave them a sideways glance. “It wasn’t just that. I realized that not everything has to go according to plan. Sometimes, the unexpected can be… helpful.”

“And that’s why I keep her around,” Y/n said, puffing out their chest in mock pride. “To remind her that life is full of surprises, and you have to roll with them.”

The fire crackled as the conversation lulled, the weight of the upcoming quest settling back in. Percy tossed a few more sticks onto the flames, watching them spark and burn.

“You know,” Annabeth said softly after a long pause, “I don’t think I could do this without you, Y/n. You drive me crazy sometimes, but you remind me that there’s more to life than just the mission.”

Y/n gave her a lopsided smile. “And you keep me from running headfirst into danger without thinking. We make a good team.”

Percy couldn’t help but feel a surge of admiration for both of them. They were so different, yet their friendship worked in ways that defied logic. They trusted each other completely—Annabeth’s calculating mind was balanced perfectly by Y/n’s instinctual courage. In a way, they made him think of his own friendship with Grover, though their bond had its own unique flavor.

As the night deepened and the stars twinkled above, the three of them settled into a comfortable silence. Tomorrow would bring more dangers and more challenges. But tonight, they had each other. And in the unpredictable chaos of quests and gods and monsters, that was enough.

————————

In the morning, Percy woke to find Y/n already standing at the edge of the campsite, hands on their hips, surveying the world as if they owned it.

“Annabeth’s still sleeping?” Percy asked as he walked over.

Y/n grinned. “Yeah, she actually took my advice and let herself sleep in for once. Miracles happen, Percy.”

He chuckled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “You’re good for her, you know.”

Y/n’s smile softened as they gazed back at the campsite, where Annabeth lay curled up by the fire, a rare moment of peace on her face. “Yeah,” they said quietly. “And she’s good for me too.”

And as the first rays of dawn broke through the trees, they both knew that no matter what lay ahead on this quest, they had the strength of each other to get through it. Balance, chaos, and order—side by side.

Bonus chapter

The stars shone brightly above Camp Half-Blood, the quiet hum of crickets filling the summer air. The quest was over—at least for now—and the trio had returned with their usual mix of triumph and exhaustion. Tonight, however, was different. The tension and stress of the last few days had melted away, leaving behind a feeling of celebration and calm. No impending doom or monsters were lurking in the shadows, just a rare moment of peace.

Percy sat near the campfire, poking at the embers as he watched the flames dance. Annabeth sat beside him, scribbling something in her notebook, her brow furrowed in concentration. Y/n, as usual, was sprawled out on the ground, head propped on a backpack, staring up at the stars with their usual air of careless ease.

“Do they ever run out of energy?” Percy whispered to Annabeth, nodding toward Y/n, who was absentmindedly twirling a dagger in one hand.

“Never,” Annabeth replied with a soft laugh. “You should’ve seen them after we got back. I thought for sure they’d crash, but here they are. They’re like a never-ending battery.”

“Hey!” Y/n called out, not bothering to lift their gaze from the sky. “I can hear you, you know. And I resent the implication that I never relax.”

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. “You’re literally always moving. Even now, you’re doing something.”

Y/n grinned, flipping the dagger in the air and catching it with expert precision. “I relax in my own way. Plus, the night’s too pretty to waste sleeping.”

Percy leaned back and took a deep breath, feeling the tension in his shoulders start to fade. “ They’re not wrong. It’s kind of perfect out here.”

Annabeth finally closed her notebook and set it aside, leaning into Percy’s side as she glanced up at the stars. “Yeah, it is.”

The three of them sat in comfortable silence for a while, the fire crackling softly in the background. It felt almost surreal—having nothing urgent to plan for, nothing to fight, nothing to solve. Just three friends under the stars.

Y/n broke the silence first. “You know what this night needs?”

Percy raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid to ask.”

“A little adventure,” they declared, springing to their feet with the kind of energy that only Y/n could summon after a grueling quest. “We’ve got the whole camp to ourselves. No monsters, no quests. Just a little fun. We can sneak into the Hermes cabin and prank the pranksters. They’ll never see it coming.”

Annabeth groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Y/n, can we go one night without causing chaos?”

Y/n feigned a look of shock. “Me? Chaos? I’m offended. Besides, this isn’t chaos—it’s payback. Remember that time they put spiders in your bed?”

Annabeth shuddered, and Percy gave a sympathetic chuckle. “That was kind of messed up.”

Y/n nodded, crossing their arms in triumph. “Exactly. This is justice, not chaos.”

Annabeth shot Y/n a long-suffering look but eventually stood up, brushing off her jeans. “Alright, fine. But we do this my way.”

Y/n grinned, bouncing on her heels. “Oh, this is going to be epic.”

They set off into the night, a mixture of excitement and mischief in the air. Annabeth, of course, took charge, laying out a detailed plan of how they would sneak into the Hermes cabin, avoid detection, and plant a harmless but hilarious prank—switching the labels on all the drawers and closets in the cabin, so no one would be able to find anything for days. Percy and Y/n followed her lead, though Y/n added her own creative twists, suggesting they also sneak in a few fake snakes for added confusion.

The operation went off without a hitch. Annabeth’s precise planning and Y/n’s flair for the dramatic worked together flawlessly. Within the hour, they had successfully rearranged the entire cabin without waking a single camper.

As they snuck back to their campfire, stifling laughter and high-fiving, Percy couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride at how seamlessly the three of them worked together.

Back at the fire, Y/n stretched out on the ground again, grinning like a kid who’d just pulled off the best trick of their life. “You have to admit, that was worth it.”

Annabeth rolled her eyes but smiled. “I’ll admit it was pretty funny. But if they find out we did it, I’m blaming you.”

Y/n laughed. “Deal. I’m bulletproof, remember?”

Percy chuckled, sitting back down beside the fire. “That was definitely a night to remember.”

Y/n looked up at the stars, her expression softening in a rare moment of reflection. “You know, nights like this are the best part of being a demigod. It’s not just the quests or the fighting—it’s this. The moments where we get to be… us. No monsters, no gods breathing down our necks. Just… friends.”

Annabeth’s smile softened as she looked at Y/n. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said something that didn’t involve a prank or breaking rules.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Y/n quipped, but the sincerity in her voice remained.

Percy nodded, feeling the warmth of the fire and the deeper warmth of friendship settling in his chest. “You’re right, though. It’s nights like this that make it all worth it.”

As the fire crackled and the stars continued to shine, the three of them sat together, not as heroes or demigods on a quest, but as friends who had been through it all and come out stronger. The night was theirs, a moment of peace amid the chaos of their lives. And for now, that was all they needed.

[no-saints-no-scholars]

Hear me out: Duncan's got more homemaker skills than Courtney.

Courtney's parents were always focused on her academic life and career. They got her private tutoring any time she slipped, had her in all advanced classes, and they made sure she never did an extracurricular she couldn't put on a resumé. But they never taught her any regular life skills.

It's not like she's clueless, though. A lot of stuff is common sense. She's too much of a neat freak to have a messy dorm or apartment, and she can do her own laundry, but she can't cook. She ruined her new frying pan the day she bought it trying to make eggs. She doesn't know what to do when her bookshelf collapses the first week of college, and resorts to stacking her books next to her desk. She burns a hole in one of her most professional looking blouses with the iron when she doesn't realise fabric can melt.

So when her favourite jumper begins to unravel, the pale purple one with tiny flowers on the cuffs, she very nearly cries about it. It's just a jumper, but Courtney is nothing if not particular. She knows there's no replacing it.

When she mentions it to Duncan, frustrated and not thinking much of it, he raises an eyebrow and asks why she doesn't fix it, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. The thought hadn't even crossed her mind.

"How would you even begin to fix it? There must be half a foot of wool coming off already, and the hole's in this super awkward place by the elbow."

"So you didn't try?"

Courtney goes a little red in the face at that.

She doesn't expect Duncan to come over the next day with a banged up biscuit tin and ask to take a look at the jumper himself. He inspects the damage, careful not to tug at any of the loose loops of knitting, and looks up at Courtney.

"This is the "huge hole", you mentioned?"

She might have exaggerated a little, but she's emotional about this, damn it. Duncan sighs, and grabs the biscuit tin. He cracks it open to reveal a sewing kit, packed full of loose fabric and needles and threads of every colour.

"This won't take long. Put the coffee pot on."

Courtney bites her tongue about manners and does as she's told, pouring them each a cup while she watches Duncan work.

It shouldn't surprise her that he has this stuff. Most of his clothes look D.I.Y'd somehow, with little tears and patches tacked on. But the scene before her is just so uncharacteristically domestic. He tries mending the hole normally at first, but the yarn keeps fraying when he tries, and he huffs before rummaging through the sewing kit.

When Courtney sets his cup down in front of him, Duncan is sewing what looks like a loose scrap of fabric over the hole.

"I had some blank patches left over and this thing is being a bitch, so it'll have to do."

After some time, he hands the jumper over for Courtney to see. There's an oblong white patch neatly stitched onto the left sleeve, covering the hole, and the elbow entirely. If she didn't know better (and if the other sleeve wasn't blank) Courtney would almost think that the jumper came that way- the evenness of the stitches is shocking.

Courtney blinks. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"My mom. I used to fuck up everything I wore within a week, and she always fixed it. She showed me how to do it myself when I was ten." Duncan takes a sip of his coffee. "You're welcome, by the way."

Courtney rubs the back of her neck sheepishly. "Right, thank you. Really."

"You really didn't think to do it yourself?" Courtney opens her mouth, and it's like Duncan can sense the indignant response before she gets a word out. "I'm not judging, I just figured little miss C.I.T would know how to do this stuff."

She huffs. "Not all of us were burning holes in our shirts before 8th grade."

"It was barbed wire, thank you very much. And it's still a good skill to have."

"My parents were just focused on teaching me other things, and it's not like I ever needed to know before now."

"Uh-huh." Duncan looks at her, thinking.

"I could always teach you anyway?"

"You'd teach me to sew?"

Duncan down at his cup. "Well, not just that, but yeah. I just don't wanna be the one to fix all your shit."

Courtney crosses her arms. "It was one hole in one jumper, Duncan."

"And the bookshelf?"

She flushes. "I just haven't got around to it!"

"Sure you haven't."

Courtney thinks, rubbing the soft wool of her jumper between her fingers. She gets a small hole in one jumper, and suddenly it's like she's hyperaware of how little she knows. Sure, not everyone can sew, but it's not just that. She doesn't want to admit to Duncan how many times she's eaten out this semester after burning her dinner, or how many times she's called Bridgette in a panic over her dishwasher making weird noises.

"...I guess it couldn't hurt. To get a second opinion."

Duncan smiles. "Whatever you say, Princess."

[infamous-if]

10 with orion? 👀

Next RO~ ( I'll do 1 for each RO + the poly and then do the rest :>)

10. "Please... what am I doing wrong?" "What aren't you doing wrong?!" (i changed it just a bit)

"Alright, alright. Stop."

The music cuts off. Your friends groan and you huff out a sigh.

You're going to kill someone.

This night has been the longest in recent memory. The moment you stepped into the studio, the universe has been determined to make nothing work. The sound was off, the vibes weren't meshing well, and the entire band seems to be on their last nerve. Even frustratingly neutral Orion has grown irritated. You can see it in his furrowed brows, the way his voice pitches whenever he notices something wrong.

You put your hands on your hips, trying to keep your voice even. Your patience has been fraying since the first complaint when Orion decided it was appropriate to comment on the fact that you came in wearing pajamas....to the studio. At three a.m. "What now?"

"It's not working." Orion huffs through the mic and runs a hand through his hair before waving you guys away. "Just go home. We'll pick this up tomorrow."

"Thank God," Rowan mumbles. He's practically speeding away, not bothering to say another word. Your bandmates follow suit, mumbling halfhearted farewells before filtering out of the studio.

Somehow the producer is gone too, leaving you and Orion alone. He grumbles something, pacing back and forth, as you open the door of the booth and step out back into reality.

Orion doesn't notice you--or doesn't care, most likely--and continues mumbling. Ah. He's in one of those moods. The one where he hates the world and takes it out on his work.

"It's not that serious." You shrug. "We'll get it eventually. We always do."

"This was a waste of time," Orion groans. "Two hours down the drain."

You step closer. "How was it a waste of time? Work was done-"

"Unproductive work," he grits out, facing you with brows knitted.

You stare at him a moment. His anger can't just be on the work, can it?

"Orion-"

He shakes his head. "Forget it. I need to clean this up." Turning around, you watch as Orion furiously picks up the papers on the table. He seems to be looking for something and he stops. "Did you bring the notes I told you to bring?"

You pause a moment. Then the realization hits you. Shit. "Ah...I forgot-"

"Wonderful," he mutters, shaking his head. "Juuust wonderful."

"Orion." You clench your jaw. "You don't need to be an ass."

"I'm not." He frowns. "Being upset at your mistakes isn't being an ass."

"Mistakes?" you guffaw. "Like plural?"

He makes a sound in his throat. "That's how language works. Yes."

"Don't get smart with me." Your voice rises. "What have I done wrong?"

"What have you not done wrong?!" he says with equal severity. He whirls around to face you, moving too quickly. His elbow hits a shelf with a row of vinyls, everything tumbling to the ground.

Silence.

And then-

"Shit."

Orion bends down to pick it up and you follow a moment later. You two don't say anything a moment before he says: "I'm sorry." His voice is quiet, unfamiliarly soft. "I didn't mean to yell."

"It's okay-"

"It's not okay." He shakes his head. "I've just been a mess lately. Nothing has been going right for me. But this? This is what I'm good at. Work is what I'm good at. And when I fail at work-"

"You think you fail at everything."

He says nothing, face darkening when he continues to pick up the records. "...Yeah."

You stare at him, dropping the records in your hand to touch his cheek. "You don't fail with me."

His eyes land on yours and he smiles a little, but it looks more like a wince. He turns his head to rest his cheek in your hand. "Give it a few days. You'll be sick of me in no time."

"Not likely." You smile.

Something dark crosses his eyes, and you watch the way his hesitant gaze lowers to your mouth. You clear your throat, and Orion leans in, lips parting. He's never tried to kiss you at work before-

"Hey, did you know there's a two for one deal at McDonalds-" The producer stops mid-entrance. You and Orion quickly move away, pretending to be busy with picking up the records. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," you and Orion say in unison.

Unfortunately.

[slowburnwonderland]

Scraps - a Jemily fic

The team’s banter filled the small cabin, combining with the plane’s hum to create an almost lulling quality after a long case. Their teasing was both familiar and biting. Emily leaned back in her seat, letting the conversation wash over her despite her tight smile.

“Prentiss, you? Relationship material? Please,” Morgan joked, grinning as he leaned across the aisle.

“Oh, come on, you know I’m a heartbreaker,” Emily shot back with a smirk, trying to play along, even as the quip didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Rossi chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re too much of a mystery, Emily. People want stability, not secrets.”

“Yeah, statistically, no one wants to date someone who’s always got one foot out the door,” Reid added, though his tone was more conversational than teasing. Emily knew he meant well, but the words still cut.

JJ’s laugh joined the chorus, and that hurt the most. Emily forced herself to maintain the facade, but she could feel her composure fraying with each jab. The fact JJ was laughing along with them stung deeper than she’d expected. Was that how JJ saw her? Was that why JJ continued to insist their relationship was kept a secret?

“Guess I’m just too mysterious for my own good,’’ Emily said lightly, her voice just a touch strained.

But JJ noticed. She noticed Emily’s eyes flicker with something more than just amusement. Guild twisted in JJ’s stomach, the realization creeping in like a slow, dawning horror. Emily wasn’t flighty, or secretive, or unwilling to open up. Emily had done nothing but give—sacrificing pieces of herself for the tiny, pathetic scraps of attention JJ offered in return. The secret glances, the stolen touches, the whispered moments—all of it a far cry from what Emily deserved.

JJ’s mind flashed back to all the little things Emily had done, the moments she’d taken for granted.

There were the playlists Emily had made for her, filled with all of JJ’’s favorite songs – songs that somehow always seemed to match her mood or be the right mix to get her through a tough day. Emily never asked for anything in return, just sent them along with a casual text: Though you might like this.

Then there were the mornings when Emily would show up with a coffee in hand, exactly how JJ liked it. She’d drop it off without fanfare, just a quick smile before moving on with her day. She always made the blonde agent feel seen, like Emily understood her in ways no one else did.

And on those rare occasions when they shared a room during cases, Emily would always leave a nondescript sweatshirt behind—nothing flashy, just something comfortable that JJ could wear. It smelled faintly of Emily, a scent that JJ found oddly comforting in the sterile, impersonal rooms they stayed in. Emily never mentioned it, but JJ knew she did it on purpose, leaving a piece of herself behind as if to say, I’m here, even when I’m not.

The memories piled up, each one a reminder of how much Emily gave and how little JJ had returned.

The rest of the flight passed in a blur, and JJ’s mind was far from the teasing and laughter that filled the cabin. She couldn’t shake the image of Emily’s forced smile, the way her eyes had dimmed just a little more with each word.

When the plane touched down and the team disbanded, JJ found herself standing outside Emily’s door before she even realized what she was doing. She knocked, her heart pounding in her chest.

Emily answered, surprised to see JJ there. “JJ? What are you—”

JJ didn’t let her finish. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Emily asked, confusion knitting her bow.

“For… everything,” JJ admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “For not being brave enough. For hiding us. For making you feel like you’re not enough when you’re everything.”

Emily looked away, her throat tight with unshed tears. “I get it, JJ. You have a life, a family—”

“That’s not an excuse,” JJ interrupted, stepping closer. “You deserve more than this. More than me.” Emily shook her head. “But I want you. I just… sometimes I wonder if maybe the team’s right. Maybe I’m not—”

“Don’t,” JJ whispered, reaching out to take Emily’s hand. “Don’t do that. Don’t let them make you question yourself. They don’t know how incredible you are, how strong and compassionate, how you make everything better just by being there.”

Tears welled up in Emily’s eyes, and she blinked them back furiously. “Then why won’t you—”

JJ closed the distance between them, pulling Emily forward, and kissed her, soft and desperate, as if trying to make up for all the ways she’d failed Emily. For a moment, Emily melted into the kiss, clinging to JJ as if she could keep her there forever.

But then JJ pulled back, breathless. “Emily,” she began, distracted and torn, “you know we can’t-- I’m not ready to…”

Emily’s gaze softened, her smile soft and sad. “I know. I just—” she faltered, then met JJ’s eyes with a mix of courage and fear. “I just get scared sometimes.”

JJ’s heart clenched, a wave of guilt crashing over her. “Scared of what?”

Emily’s lips trembled, and she tried to smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “That this is all it’ll ever be,” she whispered. “That you’ll never really let me in. That I’ll always just be a secret, something you have to hide.”

JJ swallowed hard, the truth of Emily’s words hitting her like a punch to the gut. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I never wanted to hurt you. I just… I don’t know how to do this, how to make it right.”

Emily’s eyes filled with unshed tears, and she nodded, understanding in her gaze but also a deep, aching sadness. “I know, JJ. Do you think you can just humor me for a while?”

JJ flinched at the words, the raw honesty behind them. She didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to keep hurting Emily, but she also couldn’t bring herself to let go. She didn’t know how.

“I’m sorry,” JJ repeated, but the apology felt hollow even as she said it.

Emily forced a small smile, one more tragic than reassuring. “Don’t be. I know what this is,” she murmured as she pulled JJ into her arms and began to sway in her silent living room.

JJ wanted to argue, to tell her it wasn’t just that, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Emily’s neck and let the older agent lead her in a dance as if trying to drown out the guilt that was threatening to consume her.

Deep down, JJ knew this wasn’t enough—not for Emily, and not for her. This moment, like everything else between them, was just another scrap of attention, another stolen moment that would only deepen the hurt when this exploded between them.

When they finally pulled away, JJ rested her forehead against Emily’s their breaths mingling in the silence. Neither of them spoke, both knowing there were no words that could fix what was broken between them.

[fawnandshadows]

I'll Be Home For Christmas ~ Part One

Word Count: 8.8k

Warnings: Smut, language

AO3

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I’ve never been on a train before.” Elain admitted, her eyes trained on the snow-covered pine trees through the moving window. 

The strong body beside her shifted, careful to maintain a small amount of space between them. 

“Really?” Azriel asked curiously, turning the page in his worn book, A Christmas Carol, that he snagged from her bookshelf. 

“Usually someone drives me to and from school,” Elain turned to him with a smile. “Someone being you.”

Hazel eyes met hers over the brim of a fraying book. 

“Sorry my car broke down.” Azriel said, almost playfully. Well, Elain could recognize the playfulness in his voice. Anyone else would have heard a droll deliverance. 

“‘Broke down’ seems excessive,” Elain turned towards him, her hands pressed between her cheek and the cloth seat in a praying gesture. “You need a new battery and the shop is closed.”

“The perils of traveling on Christmas Eve.” Azriel said, and though the book was covering half of his face, Elain knew he was smiling. 

She looked around the carriage of the train, over the empty seats, and silently wondered if they always ran the train with next to no one on it. A few passengers rose in other carts, but Elain was grateful for the privacy. Somehow they had managed to hop on the train all of three minutes before it left — the bus that they tried left five minutes early, and the car rental place was completely sold out. 

“I think you did it on purpose,” Elain yawned, her eyelids suddenly feeling heavy. It must have been the excitement and anxiety of this morning getting to her — all the last minute changes, and it wasn’t until her butt sat firmly in her train seat that she felt exhausted. It all crashed into her at once. “So you could see more of my ugly face.” 

An ugly sound caught in Azriel’s throat, and she saw the corner of his eyes crease as he smiled. 

“Of all the words I would use to describe you, sweetheart, ugly isn’t one of them.” 

She smiled softly at that, and then they weren’t talking. She became startlingly aware of the fact that they were just looking into each other’s eyes and the weight of his gaze became the center of her universe.  

With flushing cheeks she blurted out, “Read to me?” 

“Marley was dead to begin with…”

Elain shut her eyes and hunkered down in her seat, listening to his deep, dark, relaxing voice. She focused more on the luxurious sound of his voice than the actual content of what he was saying, but she had read the tale multiple times and saw enough movies to be able to follow along, a picture forming in her mind as she felt lighter and drifted off. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Elain awoke when she felt as if she was no longer in motion. Her neck was bent at an awkward angle, and somehow her cheek no longer pressed against her hands, but had migrated to Azriel’s chest. One arm smooshed between her side and the seat while her other arm came up and clutched Azriel’s shoulder. Her sleeping form clinging to his strength and warmth.

The book was laid open on his chest, and Elain gazed up at him to find that he had fallen asleep as well — one hand resting on his stomach to keep the book in place, and the other stretched over her seat, allowing her to snuggle and burrow into his side. 

He looked devastatingly handsome. 

His black hair curled out from under his navy knit cap on his thick locks, and she could see a few freckles on his brown skin — Elain wanted to touch each and everyone of them, to map them out as if they were her own constellations. Soft snores passed through his parted lips, and it somehow endeared him more towards her. Which she didn’t think was possible. 

With more strength than she had, Elain turned her head away from him and looked out the window. The entirety of the glass was frosted over and Elain nearly had to shield her eyes from the blinding snow swirling around outside. She quickly looked away, but after growing up in New England she only needed two seconds to register what the whiteout meant. 

A blizzard. 

Begrudgingly, Elain pushed herself away from Azriel, leaving her hand on his shoulder to gently shake him awake. 

She watched as his eyes blinked awake, slowly gaining consciousness. 

“Are we there?” Azriel asked, his voice heavy with sleep. 

Elain shook her head in response. 

“I don’t think so,” Elain started, ignoring the way his arm fell so that it no longer rested on her seat but rather on her back. “There’s a blizzard.”

His eyes fluttered behind her to look at the window and then drifted back to her face, understanding dawning in his expression. 

“I fell asleep.” Azriel stated, slight disbelief coloring his voice. Elain bit her lip and nodded her head — Azriel was notorious for his insomnia. Whenever she couldn’t sleep Elain would find herself scrolling through tumblr or Instagram, and Azriel was always on. She’d wake and find messages from him timestamped 3:00, 4:00, or 5:00 am…and whenever she and her sisters would spend the night at the place Az shared with his brothers, she would always wake to hear him quietly playing videos. Sometimes she would go and join him, either having him show her how to play, or if she was too tired she would just sit by him to keep him company. 

“Well, it’s a good thing cause you didn’t sleep much last night.” 

She woke up at seven and saw a text dated three hours before. 

Azriel was in grad school at the same university where Elain was pursuing her bachelors — about seven hours southwest from where their family lived. It was only Elain’s second year, but she loved traveling with Azriel to and from campus. She always had a small, school-girl crush on her sister’s boyfriend's brother, but somehow she had fallen hopelessly in love with him from the passenger side of his car. He was kind…funny…attentive…and there was nothing she could have done to stop the casual affection she felt for Azriel from blossoming into something beautiful. 

And Azriel…Elain thought he felt something similar. When she first started college, he went out of his way to make her comfortable, and he was her only friend until she met Nuala and Cerridwen. But he went on dates and had casual hook ups — on more than one occasion she went to his apartment early enough to see half-dressed girls try to sneak out. Elain would simply paint on a fake smile and avert her eyes, not saying anything to Azriel when she saw him…but his dates and hook ups became few and far between. He spent most of his days texting her, and in all of their free time they would go to the library or their favorite diner — studying together, sharing their favorite meals, or even having Netflix marathons at his apartment. 

Azriel sought her company just as much as she sought his. 

“What are the chances we actually made it to Velaris?” Azriel asked in a gravelly voice, sitting up slightly from his slouched position — his discarded coat halfway off his seat. 

Elain pulled her phone out of her backpack on the ground and checked the time. Somehow only two hours had passed since they left. 

“It’s only 3:00.” Elain showed him her phone. 

“Well, fuck,” Azriel said, rubbing his clean shaven chin. “You should text Feyre, let her know what happened. You know your dad will worry.” 

Elain nodded, sending a quick text to her sister, downplaying what happened to make it seem as if her and Azriel weren’t somehow stranded in the middle of a blizzard — even if they were stranded in the middle of a blizzard. 

“My dad likes you,” Elain said softly, her eyes not looking up from her screen. “I have no service. You?”

Azriel jostled in his seat to pull his phone out of his back pocket, tapped the screen, and shook his head. 

His eyes met hers and a sarcastic look took over his expression as he said, “Your dad hates me.” 

There was one time last winter break where Azriel came over to her house and they watched all the Christmas episodes of The Office in her room — the rest of their family went bar-hopping and Azriel stayed home with her — and they both fell asleep on her bed. Fully clothed. On top of the covers. Somehow in the middle of the night she had ended up in Azriel’s arms. And when her father knocked on her door the next evening he wasn’t thrilled to see her and Azriel sleeping next to each other. Ever since then her father would make off handed remarks about their relationship and would give Azriel the stink eye whenever he saw him — Even if they were huddled over her phone or sitting too close together her dad would yell, “Save room for the Holy Spirit!” which would cause Elain to turn bright red and roll her eyes. 

“That’s not true.” Elain said, tucking her phone back into her backpack. 

“He certainly doesn’t want me dating you.” Azriel raised a dark eyebrow at her and adjusted his beanie. 

A flushed ran through her cheeks as she mumbled, “He doesn’t want me dating anyone. It’s nothing against you in particular. He just knows that we spend so much time together.”

“And you told him you spent the night in my bed.” Azriel groaned and rubbed the heel of his hand into his eye. 

Elain cringed at the memory. For some reason she thought it would placate her father to know that it was a common occurrence — she would go over to his place and accidentally fall asleep while watching tv. Nothing ever happened, but her fathers face turned red with anger before pointing to her doorway and saying “Out.” between clenched teeth. Azriel tried to apologize, but her father wouldn’t let him, so Azriel left and sent her a sad look over his shoulder. 

“I thought it would make it better. Give him a better understanding of our friendship.” Elain explained, crossing her arms across her chest as she leaned back into her seat. 

His eyes fell to her chest, not in a sexual way, but to take note of the sweatshirt she was wearing. His sweatshirt that she had stolen months ago. 

“No one understands our friendship.” Azriel stated, mimicking her posture and crossing his arms, but he did it with arrogance. As if he has somehow checkmated her in this conversation. 

He was correct. 

There were whispers around campus that they were friends with benefits — Even though Elain liked to stick to herself, she had the twins and Azriel and it was enough. Too many bad friends burned her in high school that she learned the value of just having a few good friends. Most people weren’t even interested in her, they just wanted to know the girl who got Azriel to stop sleeping around. For the most part, they just ignored the whispers. 

There was, however, one person that really didn’t love or understand their relationship. Rhysand. Azriel’s closest friend. 

Rhys shrugged off the entire incident of Azriel spending the night in her room. At that point, Elain was still basically his little sister and Azriel was his brother, and as far as Rhys knew Azriel was still fucking around on campus and wouldn’t look twice at her. However, two days later he held a party at his house, where Elain could drink with her entire family and not have to worry about anything, and somehow she ended up on Azriel’s lap. They were both drunk. One of Azriel’s hands on her bare thigh, her skirt was bunched and hiked up higher than she would have liked if she was sober, and his other hand was on her knee — holding her close to his chest so she wouldn’t slip off. Elain was playfully adjusting the Santa Cap on his head, her fingers touching his hair a little more than was necessary, but Azriel let her. He just smiled up at her. And there was a teeny, tiny part of Elain that was hoping he would kiss her. 

He didn’t. 

Feyre came over and kindly pulled Elain off of his lap, offering to dance with her and Elain eagerly agreed. 

Elain had no idea anything was even wrong. It wasn’t until later when she heard Rhys and Azriel arguing upstairs on her way to the bathroom that she realized there was an issue. 

“She’s 18!” Rhys whispered angrily. “You’re 23!”

“You didn’t have a problem with that a few months ago, when you kept pushing me to hang out with her.” Azriel replied in an icy voice. One that Elain almost never heard. 

“To be her friend! To make her feel comfortable and help her settle in! Not to drool over her tits while she’s giving you a lap dance,” Elain looked down at her chest from the opposite side of the door.  “Not to make her fall in love with you.” 

“We are friends.” Azriel responded glibly. 

“A friend you don’t want to fuck?”

Silence. 

“Don’t you fucking hurt her,” Rhys started, and for some reason Elain thought he was probably poking Azriel in the chest. “I know how you are, Az, you’ve never been with someone longer than a week. You get bored and you leave them. Fucking A — that girl looks at you with fucking stars in her eyes. She obviously likes you. Just be her friend. And keep your dick to yourself.” 

Elain quickly scampered to the bathroom. She sat on the toilet and ran her hands under cold water, wanting to cool herself off as she tried to make sense of what had just happened. And when she went back downstairs Azriel was standing next to Cassian — who was playing against Nesta at beer pong — and Az intentionally didn’t meet her gaze as she reached the bottom of the steps. So, she walked over to the makeshift dance floor with Feyre and Mor. Thankful they never noticed the confusion hidden behind her smile. 

Neither of them spoke for a few moments and then the blurry, distorted voice of the conductor came from the overheard speaker. 

Elain and Azriel looked at each other, silently imploring whether or not they could hear what the conductor was saying. 

They couldn’t. 

It wasn’t until one of the workers walked into their car a few moments later that they realized they had managed to dock at a small station, but the tracks were completely snowed over ahead of them and there was no way for them to be going anywhere. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The small diner located just down the street from the train station was cozy, to say the least. 

Small with a few locals sitting in the booths, and as soon the bell jangled to alert the patrons of their arrival, Elain felt all eyes land on her and Azriel. 

It was the type of place where people recognized a new face. 

Elain smiled politely and quickly sat in the booth toward the end of the restaurant, where there was enough room for Azriel to lay down their bags without being in the way. 

She expected him to sit on the opposite side of the table, but he surprised her by scooting into the booth next to her — his thigh pressed against hers as he leaned his head close to hers. 

“What are the chances we get out of this town tonight?” Azriel asked, his voice low and close to her ear. 

Elain forced herself to turn her head and look out the window, taking great effort to appear unaffected by his closeness, and saw the white flurries falling down and obscuring the entire view. Nothing but a veil of white. 

“I’m thinking it’s pretty low,” Elain said, turning back to him. “The roads aren’t even plowed yet.” 

Azriel nodded his head. 

“Looks like you’ll be spending Christmas Eve with me,” Azriel said, nudging his shoulder into hers. “Hope you aren’t disappointed.”

“Never,” Elain smiled, suddenly feeling shy. “You don’t have anyone back home waiting for you? Heartbroken that you aren’t showing up?”

Elain meant the words as a joke, but as soon as the words left her mouth it felt as if the entire world was resting on a pin. Ready to topple with what he said next. 

“No,” Azriel said, his eyes darkening. He brought one hand up to rest behind her shoulders, on the back of the booth. Just like how he sat in the train. “I don’t have anyone pining over me.” 

“Are you sure about that?” Elain asked, leaning into his side. 

Azriel tucked one of her curls behind her ear. He opened his mouth to respond, but the waitress sidled up to their table and handed them the menus. 

“Can I get you lovebirds anything to drink?” She asked, smiling at them. Elain could see the fine lines in her face made from smiling over the years. Her dark curls were piled on top of her head and her name tag read ‘Alis’. 

“Two hot coffees with cream, no sugar.” Azriel said, giving Alis a polite smile. 

“Do you know what you want? Or do you want to look at the menu?” Alis asked. 

Azriel turned to Elain, not even opening the menu before saying, “Waffles and bacon?” 

Elain nodded her head upon hearing her favorite breakfast. Not the healthiest. Or one she had very often. But her favorite. 

Elain tapped her finger on her nose three times, thinking. And as she spoke her finger slowly turned and pointed at his amused expression. 

“Denver omelet,” Elain said thoughtfully. “Rye toast, hash browns, aaaaaaand,” She drew out the last word, thinking about what Az would like to complete his meal. “A side of fruit.” 

“Perfect.” Azriel said with a grin that showed off his dimples and handed the unopened menus back to Alis. 

“You two are sweet,” Alis said, tucking the menus under her arm. “How long have you been together?” 

Elain felt her cheeks blush at the words, but Azriel didn’t miss a beat. 

“About a year now.” 

His arm dropped down from the seat and settled around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. For the second time today. 

His hand curled around her shoulder. 

“But we’ve known each other for years.” Elain added, and Azriel looked at her in surprise as she wrapped her arms around his waist. Underneath his coat. 

“Awww, childhood sweethearts,” Alis said with affection. “I’ll put your order in.” 

She walked away, but neither Azriel or Elain moved. They didn’t shift or pull away. 

They leaned closer together. 

“This isn’t a horrible place to be.” Elain admitted, slightly nuzzling closer to him. 

“Even on Christmas Eve?”

“Especially on Christmas Eve.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

After their meal Elain and Azriel finally decided to check their phones and see if their service finally returned — they both hid their disappointment as they saw the full signal bars on their screens. 

“I’ll call hotels and you call Feyre?” Azriel suggested and Elain nodded along, looking at all the unread messages on her phone. Sighing, she called her sister. 

“Elain?” Feyre answered, worried. “Are you ok?”

“We're fine,” Elain reassured her sister, watching Az dial from the corner of her eye. “We just finished lunch, but I don’t think we can make it home tonight — Our train stopped at the first station it could. We only rode for about two hours.”

“Where are you?”

“My phone said Winter Court — wherever that is,” Elain replied, noting how Azriel hung up the phone to call someone else. “Are you guys still doing cookies tonight?” 

“Yes,” Feyre said, and Elain could hear the shuffling cookware over the phone and multiple people speaking at once. “Though, I’m sure they’ll be burned without you.” 

Azriel sighed, hung up, and called someone new. 

“They’ll be delicious,” Elain said with a soft smile. She was about to remind her sister to set the oven five degrees less than what the recipe recommends, but she heard her fathers voice on the other end. 

“Is that Lainy?”

“Yeah, papa.”

“Let me talk to her,” Static shuffled through the phone, and like clockwork Azriel called someone new. “Are you being safe, sweetheart?” Her fathers voice became crystal clear and for the first time she felt a pang of homesickness. 

“Of course, papa,” Elain said. “But we’re not gonna make it home tonight. Az is calling hotels to book a room for us. I miss you guys.” 

A beat of silence. 

Azriel hung up his phone, but didn’t call anyone else.  

“A room?”

Her eyes met Azriels, and he must have heard her father because he nodded in confirmation. 

“Is was all they had?” Elain meant to say with confidence, but her voice lilted into a question. 

Azriel nodded in confirmation even though his lips curled into a smile as he mouthed, 

“Honeymoon Suite.”

She blushed. 

“Hopefully it has a couch for the boy.” Her father grumbled. 

Before Elain could stop herself she said, “I’m not going to make Azriel sleep on the couch, dad.” 

Azriel raised a dark brow at her. 

“Let me speak to him.” Her father said with a sigh. 

Elain held the phone out to Az, their fingers touching as he took it from her. 

The bastard turned the volume down so she couldn’t hear what her father was saying. 

“Mmmhm,” Azriel’s eyes never left hers. “Don’t worry sir, I’ll protect her,” His hazel eyes darkened. “Mmhhmm. Goodbye.” 

Azriel handed her phone back to her and said, “He hung up.” 

“Honeymoon Suite?” Elain asked, pocketing the phone. 

“This town has a surprising amount of hotels and motels and somehow they’re all booked. Apparently, this is a really popular Christmas destination for tourism, and hotels get booked years in advance. Somehow I found this small B&B and the only room they had was the honeymoon suite on a special reserve. If anyone asks, we eloped at the courthouse on a whim and haven’t had time to buy rings yet,” At her silence he continued. “I’m thinking we take a cue from Alis. Childhood sweethearts?”

“Az?”

“Yes?” 

“We’ve been good friends for over a year now, yes? And we’ve known each other for a while — but I’ve never heard you talk for so long.”

A face-splitting grin stretched across his lips. 

“Maybe I talk when I get nervous.” Azriel said, his cheeks pinkening. 

“You’re nervous?” Elain asked softly, her heart speeding. 

“It’s not every day that I propose.”

Her stomach felt hollow. 

“Well, if it’s any consolation, this is the best proposal I’ve ever received.”

Their bodies were still pressed together, so Elain could feel him tense just a bit. 

“I’m not your first?”

“Lucien Vanserra in the fourth grade and then again in eighth.” Elain explained and watched as 

Azriel’s expression became carefully guarded. 

“The prick in your American Lit class?”

“He’s not that bad, and he was very gracious considering the fact I shot down his proposal twice.”

His jaw worked. 

“And what about mine?” 

Elain leaned forward and adjusted his knit cap, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. 

“How would you like to be my first husband, Az?” 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Their B&B was a fifteen minute walk from the diner, but it took them almost 40 minutes since they couldn’t see more than a foot in front of them. 

Azriel held Elain’s hand tightly as they wadded through the snow — neither of them in the proper footwear. At one point Azriel’s beanie almost blew off and Elain practically had to jump on top of him to keep it from flying away. 

Their coats were wet and heavy by the time they arrived, and as soon as they stepped through the door they dropped their duffle bags on the ground and Azriel immediately wrapped his arms around Elain. Her wet hair in his face. His hands aggressively rubbing her arms over her wool coat. 

“You must be the newly weds!” A friendly voice called over to them and Elain heard the clicking of heels over the wooden floor. 

Elain poked her head out from Azriel's chest and saw a stunningly beautiful blonde — eyes a bright blue and hair almost white as snow and creamy, bright skin. 

“That’s us.” Azriel said in an even voice, one that made it seem like they just took a stroll on a lovely fall day and not through a blizzard mars. 

“I’m Viviane,” She introduced herself and held out her hand. Elain stayed wrapped around Azriel for warmth, but he managed to find enough manners in her to shake her hand. “My husband and I own this place. I’ll get you checked in and have someone show you to your room.”  

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“You can shower first.” Azriel said as soon as they stepped into their room.  

Elain toed off her boots and walked across the hardwood floor to place her duffel bag at the base of the bed. 

“Are you sure?” Elain asked, ignoring how her teeth harshly chattered together. 

“Lainy,” Azriel said, his feet silently padding across the floor as he came up behind her. “You’re a human popsicle. I’m pretty sure you’re so cold that my tongue would stick to you if I licked you,” He placed his hands on her shoulders and spun her so that she would face him. Her white socks twisting beneath her feet. “Go take a hot shower.”

Her wide eyes met his. 

“Do you plan on licking me?” Elain asked, slightly breathless and a flash of heat swept through his hazel eyes. He didn’t say anything. “There’s a rumor I’ve heard about you on campus.” Her tongue came out to wet her lips. 

“And what’s that?” Azriel challenged. His voice was rough and Elain could vaguely feel his fingers tightening on her shoulders. 

“That you like…”

“That I like…?”

“That you like using your tongue.” Elain rushed out and her face was so hot she thought that her skin would start to peel off. Her cheeks were at odds with the rest of her body. 

“Yes, I like using my tongue,” Azriel said as he narrowed his eyes. One of his hands fell away from her shoulder and he brought it up to rub at his lips. “I need it for speaking. For eating. I find my life would be quite difficult without it.”

It was Elain’s turn to narrow her eyes. 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

Azriel tilted his face down to hers. 

“Say what you mean, Elain.”

“I heard around campus, from a few girls,” Elain started and she fought the urge to turn and climb under the covers to find her flushing face, but she wanted to finish what she started. “That you like to go down on them. With your tongue. In their vaginas.” 

Elain puffed out her chest a bit like she won some sort of battle. 

“I do.” 

Her chest faltered. 

“Oh.”

 Elain scrambled for something to say — for some reason she never thought he would actually admit it. And she couldn’t stop the onslaught of images that cascaded through her brain, of all the girls that taunted her about it. She could picture them with Azriel's dark head between their thighs. 

“I like giving blow jobs,” Elain admitted, her voice deceptively innocent. His face didn’t change. He didn’t so much as blink at her words. “If you were curious.” 

“I wasn’t,” Azriel said blandly, his voice carefully even toned. “Take your damn shower Elain.” 

She scampered to the bathroom without looking back. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Azriel wanted to hit someone. 

Mainly himself. 

“I like giving blow jobs,”

And whoever the fuck Elain was giving blowjobs to. 

He shucked off his soaked coat and sunk into a froofy chair by the window as the shower turned on. 

His scarred hands came up to grip his hair as he tired hard not to picture Elain’s naked body glistening with water as she showered, and he tried fucking hard not picture her blowing her exboyfriends. None of them fucking deserve it. They didn’t deserve her. 

Maybe he wanted to hit Rhys. 

For getting in the way last year. 

If Azriel thought hard enough, then he could still feel her plush thigh beneath his palm. Her fingers gently tugging at his hair. He could remember the feel of her on his lap, and how his eyes kept drifting from her lips to her flushed cheeks to the ample cleavage on display — and he kept fighting the little urge to kiss her. It wasn’t even an urge. It was a beck and call. 

Elain was the type of girl he could kiss forever and never get bored. She was soft. Luscious. He could hold her in his arms and kiss her until he was blue in the face — his hands lazily exploring her body as their lips moved together. Slowly. Gently. Playfully. 

There were a few times before she plunked herself down on his lap last year that he thought about kissing her. Her lips pursed whenever she was concentrating really hard ( her nose scrunched as well, but that’s besides the point) and he recalled one night they were studying late in the library when he thought that kissing would be a much better use of their time. 

And when she would bake for him. Sometimes a little frosting would linger on her mouth, and Azriel wondered if it would be sweeter on her lips than out of the bowl. 

Elain had the perfect fucking lips for kissing. 

And blowing. 

Apparently. 

“I like giving blow jobs,”

Azriel wasn’t stupid. Or blind. 

He’s always known Elain was incredibly beautiful — it was a fact. Saying Elain is beautiful was like saying Cassian is incredibly fit. Or that Rhysand is smart. It just is. 

He knew that Rhysand didn’t push Elain at him just to help her settle in on campus, but the more time Elain spent with Azriel, then the less time horny frat boys and jocks would be sniffing around her. Azriel was aware of his reputation, and he didn’t care that Rhys wanted to use it to protect Elain. Hell, Azriel even agreed with it. And he liked Elain. So he went along with it. 

But he didn’t realize just how much he fucking liked Elain. 

He found himself seeking her out. Calling her. Texting her. He would send her all the tiktoks that he thought she would like, or even just a random one with his thoughts like, “This is fucking weird.” He didn’t realize how much he craved her until he was in bed with some blonde, and after they were finished fucking Azriel immediately checked his phone and smiled when he saw the notifications from Elain. The blonde girl he was with wanted to talk. Or cuddle or something. And he cared more about replying to Elain’s  tiktok messages than he did about going for round two. Eventually, he started thinking about Elain as he was fucking some random girl and he couldn’t wash away the oily feeling that lingered for days afterward. 

Azriel sighed deeply as he sank further into the chair, the heels of his palms rubbing his eyes as he tried to ignore the images of a wet, showering Elain that were pilfering through his mind – her pale skin glistening and beads of water dripped down her curves, lathered soap slipping down her back—

His cock hardened at the image, and Azriel shifted himself in his jeans. 

The squeaking sound of Elain turning the knob of the shower off rankled his nerves. 

“Az?” Elain called out, and Azriel lifted his eyes to peek at the bathroom door that was cracked open ever so slightly, steam floated out like shadows from behind her. 

“Yes?”

A beat of silence. 

“I forgot my clothes.” Elain said hesitantly. 

Azriel felt his skin flush and overheat, but he pushed himself up and walked over to where he plunked their luggage down. 

“Do you want your entire bag?” He asked in an even voice, his eyes dropped to her lips as she took her bottom one between her teeth. 

“Just my toiletry bag and pajamas, please.” Elain said in a high voice. And Azriel nodded, slowly unzipping her bag and carefully moved her clothes out of the way to fund her pjs. 

“You didn’t pack any.” Azriel called out, forcing a teasing tone to his voice as he ignored the scraps of lace panties that kept jumping out at him. 

“Yes I did,” Elain responded, huffing in slight annoyance. “Those plaid shorts,” Azriel had thought they were underwear, but grabbed them at her words. “And your old AC/DC shirt.” Azriel’s fought from grinding his teeth together — he knew Elain stole his clothes, knew that she slept and lounged in them, but knowing that he packed his old tshirt and was going to sleep beside him in it made his skin flame. 

Azriel carefully grabbed the first underwear he could find and placed it between her pajamas so that they weren’t on display. He placed her clothes underneath her toiletry bag, and tried not to stare down at her damp cleavage as he handed them to her. 

A tiny white towel was wrapped around her body, and Azriel knew that with one tug the knot would be undone and the towel would be on the floor. 

“Thanks.” Elain breathed, opening the door to accept the pile Azriel stuck out for her. 

“Need anything else?” Azriel asked, his voice unnecessarily husky. 

Her cheeks turned pink, but she shook her head and said, “No, thank you,” and closed the door. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Her damp feet pattered over the wood floors, her body still damp and humid from her shower, and sunk onto the bed, her eyes trained on Azriel who looked at her from the overly stuffed chair by the window. She still couldn’t see past the snow coming down outside. 

“What now?” Elain asked, tucking her feet underneath herself. 

“Well,” Azriel teased. “By the looks of it, you’re ready for bed.” 

Elain rolled her eyes. 

“I think that after your shower,” She smiled at him. “You should start reading to me again since this place doesn’t have a television, and then we order down for room service for dinner.” 

“Hungry already?” Azriel asked, his eyebrow tilting upwards. 

“No,” She said firmly “But I will be. Eventually. And I bet they have amazing desserts here.” Elain smiled at her, knowing his weakness for sweets. 

Azriel didn’t bother to hide the smile playing on his mouth and pushed himself to his feet. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Somehow they ended up under the covers. Elain’s soft body pressed into his warm one as they were both sitting propped up against the headboard, pillows cushioning their backs, and the soft glow of the lamp illuminating the room, along with the moonlight reflecting off of the white snow outside their window. 

Azriel’s dark, silky voice carried through the quiet of the night. 

He didn’t even startle when her cold feet tucked into his for warmth. Azriel just shifted so that they were more comfortable. 

“...During the whole of this time Scrooge had acted like a man out of his wits. His heart and soul were in the scene, and with his former self…” Azriel wet his lips and shut the book, causing Elain to furrow her brow and raise her eyes at him.

“What is it?” Elain asked. 

“Silly as it may be,” Azriel started. “After a few hours of reading I need some water.” 

Elain felt her eyes widen at his words and said, “Hours?” in disbelief. She pulled herself away from his warmth and checked her phone, ignoring the messages from her family and focusing on the fact that it was closing in on eight. Well past dinner time. 

“You must be starving,” Elain said, crawling closer to him with her phone still tucked into her hand. “Should we call down for dinner?” 

Azriel nodded in agreement, and leaned over to grab the antique phone from the nightstand next to him. 

“Think this works?” Azriel asked, eyeing the delicate brass machine. 

“For sure,” Elain nodded. “It was probably just made to fit the aesthetic of the place,” She snuggled into his side. “Order me something good.” 

Azriel dialed one, and Elain could hear a feminine voice answering his call. 

Her mouth watered as Azriel ordered two pot roast dinners, a bottle of wine, bread, chocolate cake, and, most importantly, water. 

“I think you’re officially the best orderer,” Elain said, slinking into his side as he took up his initial position, his arm coming out to wrap around her as he picked up the book. “Let me,” She took it from between his fingers. “Until the water comes.” 

It only took 30 minutes until a knock interrupted them. 

“Already?” Elain asked, setting the book down. Azriel smirked at her before getting up and walking towards the door. Elain found herself sinking into the warmth he left behind on the sheets. 

The door was out of her line of sight, but Elain heard Azriel open the door and the brief conversation he had with the woman who brought their food for them — the oddly long conversation that didn’t seem to have an end in sight. 

Elain pushed herself out of the bed, the chilled air nipping at her toasty skin, and walked over to the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest. 

 Azriel was standing at the door, incredibly still in a way that told Elain he was hiding his annoyance, and out in the hallway was a redhead holding their service cart in a deathgrip. 

“Is this everything?” Elain asked, sliding up next to Azriel and threading her fingers through his. Azriel relaxed at her touch. 

The girl’s teal eyes flashed towards Elain and said, “Hello,” with a strained smile. 

“My husband and I are … eager … to continue our night,” Elain said in a too kind voice. “So, I was wondering if this was everything?” 

Azriel’s body vibrated with suppressed humor. 

“This is everything,” The girl said, pushing the cart to them. They’d have to take her word for it, considering everything was covered in silver domes, but Elain wasn’t going to reach out if anything was forgotten - she didn’t want any more interruptions. She just wanted time with Azriel completely uninterrupted. Luckily, she could see the bottle of wine and water on the bottom shelf of the cart. “Please don’t hesitate to call if you need anything else.” 

“Thank you.” Elain said as Azriel pushed the cart further into the room, and shut the door after bidding the girl farewell. 

The savory smell of the potroast was mouthwatering, but Elain couldn’t shake the irked feeling of the redhead so obviously lusting after Azriel — and they were in the honeymoon suite. 

Elain grumbled as she lifted the silver covers and took in the food. Everything appeared to be in place, and Azriel looked down at her in amusement as she inspected their dinner. 

“Everything to your satisfaction?” He asked and Elain felt her cheeks flush at the way he looked at her, knowingly. 

“Yes, husband.” Elain grumbled and Azriel threw his head back in laughter, her body prickling at the sound. 

His large hands clamped onto her hips and Azriel drew her back into his chest. 

“Jealous?” He asked, his lips absurdly close to her ear. 

“I don’t see why I should be,” Elain said, shifting on her feet. “I know who’ll you’ll be sleeping with tonight.” 

Azriel groaned and buried his head into the crook of her neck. 

“You can’t say things like that, Elain.” He spoke into her neck, and Elain could feel his lips moving against her skin.

“And why’s that?” She asked breathlessly. 

“We’re trapped in the honeymoon suite with spotty cell phone service and a bottle of wine.” Azriel replied. 

“Planning to take advantage of me?” 

His fingers tightened on her hips. 

“I think it’s the other way around,” Azriel muttered, tearing himself away from her body. “Now, do you want to eat in bed, or should we try to be civilized and eat at the table?” His chin nodding in different directions as he spoke.  

“Bed?” Elain asked and watched as Azriel’s eyes darken just a hair.  

It was something that that had done time and time again — having dinner in bed together. Usually while watching television, but the honeymoon suite didn’t have one, and from the second they stepped foot into the room they had an unspoken rule about not touching their phones, so as soon as they crawled back into bed (Azriel wheeled the the cart next to his side of the mattress, so he could serve them as he pleased) their conversation ebbed and flowed so that no tension lingered between them. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Most people would have been surprised at how easily and freely Azriel spoke around Elain. And at that the wicked sense of humor Elain let loose around Azriel, and Azriel only. Every once in a while it would slip out around her sisters or his friends, but most of the time it was just reserved for Azriel. 

A Christmas Carol was tossed onto the nightstand, far away from any damage it could incur from their food and drink, and Elain and Azriel hunkered back into their original positions. Volleying back hypothetical questions and would you rathers. 

“Bullshit!” Elain exclaimed, jerking up right, and narrowing her eyes at Azriel’s amused expression - his eyes gleaming as they crinkled with his hidden laughter. “In no world is Jason Todd a better Robin than Dick Grayson! You’re just saying that to annoy me.” 

“Am I?” Azriel laughed, using his fork to steal a potato from her plate, and he stared at her as he chewed smugly. 

“Yes,” Elain said, shoving at her shoulder. “You know I have a crush on Nightwing.” 

“You don’t have to be so obvious about it.” Azriel said, his dimple indenting his cheek. 

“Not everyone tucks away their feelings like you do.” Elain mumbled, settling back into her position by his side. 

“Is that what I do?” Azriel asked, his eyes bright with a challenge as he looked at her. 

Elain glumly stabbed a carrot and brought it up to her mouth, chewing slowly. 

“You tell me.” 

After a short pause Azriel asked, “Wine?” 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I really don’t see how that’s any of your business.” Elain said, taking a sip from her second glass of wine. 

“You don’t?” Azriel asked, his eyes intently peering at her face and she carefully avoided his eyes. 

“No, I don’t.” Elain shook her head, careful not to slosh her drink over the edge of the glass. 

“You don’t think it’s any of my business how many of my shirts you steal? Do you have any idea how expensive it is to be your friend? You’re lucky I’m not naked right now.” 

Elain’s eyes flashed to his at his words, her eyes falling to his torso and made the mental note to start taking even more of his clothes. 

“It’s not my fault,” Elain defended herself. “Your clothes are just comfier than mine.” 

“Are they?” Azriel asked, his fingers sliding underneath his shirt that hung off of her frame and over the soft skin of her belly. 

Elain silently nodded her head, her breath caught in her throat. 

“Do you want to know a secret?” Azriel asked, and Elain gave him another slow nod. “I think my shirts look better on you.” He whispered conspiratorially and Elain couldn’t stop the smile taking over her face. 

“Do you want to know a secret?” Elain asked, pushing her face closer to his, and Azriel jerked in head in confirmation. “I get sad when your shirts lose their scent. That’s why I always have to steal more.” 

“You like how I smell?” Azriel asked darkly, pushing their bodies closer together. 

“Mmmmhmm.” Elain confirmed, holding her wineglass close to her chest. 

“I love it when you sleep over,” Azriel admitted, his eyes smoldering. “You make my bed smell like jasmine.” 

Elain took one more sip of her wine before handing him the glass, silently asked him to put it back on the cart, and Azriel took his cue and placed his glass down next to hers. 

“There’s something I’ve been curious about.” Elain admitted quietly as soon as Azriel faced her again. 

“What’s that?” He asked curiously. 

“Ever since I heard those rumors,” Elain wet her dry lips as she forced the words out. “About you being good with your tongue…I’ve been curious.” 

Azriel’s body stilled next to hers. 

“Curious about what, Elain?” 

“About what it’s like - with you. Guys have gone down on me in the past,” Elain shared, her cheeks burning. “But it was always awkward. It felt like a fish was down there.” 

A choking sound ripped through his throat at her words. 

“A fish?” Azriel exclaimed, and Elain shoved at his chest. 

“You can’t make fun of me!” Elain shrieked before hiding underneath the covers. “Just forget I said anything. I want to go to bed.” Her voice was muffled from the layers of blankets and sheets. 

Azriel slowly moved the covers off of her and she looked up at him with wide brown eyes, her face red and flushed, and her golden hair messily tousled over her face and pillow. 

“You want me to go down on you, sweetheart?” Azriel asked softly, and Elain nodded her head. He shifted so that he was caging her in with his arms. “Are you wet for me?” She nodded again slowly. 

Heat gathered in Azriel’s groin at her admission. 

Azriel lifted one hand to slowly tug down her bottoms, so that she was only left in his shirt and her white lace panties. Elain kicked her shorts to the bottom of the bed, silently hoping she didn’t appear too eager. 

His large, warm hands cupped her over the lace and Elain shivered at the groan Azriel let out. His eyes shut as if he was savoring this moment and the feel of her. Elain hips moved against his finger, which was rubbing her through the lace, the tip of his finger almost touching her swollen clit. 

Needy mewling sounds started escaping from Elain’s lips. 

“I can feel how hot and wet your pussy is,” Azriel said, looking at her through half-open, heavy lids. “I bet it tastes fucking delicious.” 

“I-I never get this wet.” Elain said, her cheeks burning. 

Azriel couldn’t stop the male pride that threatened to tear him apart. 

“You only get this wet for me?” Azriel asked, his voice laced with possessiveness and  his fingers working overtime. 

“Yes.” Elain said, feeling her orgasm mounting, and didn’t even try to hide her disappointment as Azriel stopped his movements. 

“Would you rather have my fingers or my mouth?” Azriel asked, his eyes dark. 

“Mouth.” Elain mutters, flushing harder as Azriel pulled away her panties, at the wetness that was coming out of her and clung to the lace.

Azriel tossed the scrap of fabric over his shoulders and moved under the covers, and Elain could feel his humid breath dance across her wet center - could feel the shadow of his mouth against her lips. 

“Wait!” Elain called out, and Azriel immediately popped up, the blankets over his head as he looked at her with a blank, slightly worried expression. 

“Did you change your mind?” He asked evenly, and Elain knew that if she asked, then he would move on and act as if this never happened. 

“No,” Elain shook her head. “I just want to see you. Us. This.” 

Something shuttered over Azriel’s face, but he nodded and the two of them tossed aside the bedding so that Elain had an unobstructed view. 

She leaned back onto her elbow, her chin forward as she looked down. 

Azriel spread her legs wide, his large hands on both of her thighs, as his eyes feasted on her dripping core. 

His eyes met hers from his position between her legs - his eyes gleaming from lust - and he deliberately ran his tongue up her slit. His eyelids nearly shut in pleasure. 

“Ohh.” Elain moaned, her hips arching off the bed, but Azriel kept her in place with his hands. 

His tongue repeated the motion and Elain felt herself panting. 

Her hands snaked into Azriel’s dark curls, pulling slightly, needing something to grab onto. 

Azriel’s eyes darkened at the movement, and coaxed a moan out of Elain and he slowly slid his tongue into her channel. 

“Yes.” Elain sighed, her heart pounding as his tongue thrust in and out of her. “Yes.” 

He groaned against her, sending vibrations through her core and causing Elain’s hips to jerk. 

Azriel pulled back, his lips wet and plump, and brought one hand up to work her with his long fingers. 

“You taste so fucking good.” Azriel said breathlessly before diving back to between her legs. Using both his tongue and fingers to tease her into a frenzy - and eventually Azriel stopped trying to control her hips and let Elain ride his face. Her fingers pushing his face deeper into her pussy. 

“Fuck,” Elain cursed, as Azriel fingers hit the sensitive spot deep within her. “Right there - yes!” She screamed and his fingers fucked her faster. 

Her eyes were clenched as pleasure seeped through her, only to go wide as Azriel took her clit between his lips and sucked hard. 

Her toes curled as she came undone. 

Her body went limp as her breathing turned harsh as the last of her orgasm rushed through her. 

“I - that - thank you, Azriel.” Elain panted, forcing her heavy lids to open as she looked at him. 

Azriel licked his lips and he made his way up the bed. His breathing was heavy and there was a noticeably large tent in his pajama pants.  

“Don’t thank me,” Azriel said as he laid next to her. His hair stuck in every which way thanks to Elain’s fingers, and he wrapped one hand around her body to press them close together. “I enjoyed that way too fucking much.” 

Elain bit down on her lip, her eyes dropping to his pants. 

“May I?” She asked in a soft voice. 

“Only if you want to.” Azriel said, and Elain met his eyes briefly before cupping him through the flannel of his pants. 

He groaned deeply and pressed himself into her hands. 

Elain moved her hand to slide beneath the waistband of his pants and exposed his erection - and nearly came again at the sight of it. Its purple head had a bead of pre-cum seeping out of it and she could see veins extending along the shaft before disappearing underneath the fabric. 

She licked her lips and ran her hand slowly up and down his length. She knew her fingers couldn’t wrap around it even if she tried, so she slowly stroked him. 

Her eyes met his as she worked his erection, and he stared at her so intently, as if he couldn’t believe that Elain’s hands were on him. His breath warmed her face and she could feel his chest moving up and down, but Elain kept her pace steady - squeezing gently every once in a while - but not wanting this moment to end. 

“Do you like this?” Elain asked. 

“Too fucking much,” Azriel said in a heavy voice. “You’re going to ruin me, sweetheart.” 

Elain gasped at his words, her thumb smearing the liquid at the tip of his cock - and that one tiny movement pushed him over the edge. He came, coating her hand as she worked him. 

Spent, Azriel tugged her closer to his side, pulling the discarded blankets over their bodies. 

Elain held her hand out, his orgasm sliding down her skin, and Azriel was about to apologize but stopped as she brought her hand to her mouth and licked. Her pink tongue collecting his seed, and it took everything in Azriel not to take her right there. 

She licked at her hand again, and met his eyes. 

“Next time you’ll come in my mouth.” 

“If you’re not careful,” Azriel said, leaning to grab a napkin from the cart next to the bed and then took her hand to clean it off. “That’s going to be sooner than you think.” 

Elain squirmed next to him. 

He tossed the napkin away and turned back to Elain. 

“That was magical.” She said quietly, almost sheepishly. 

“Better than…fish?” Azriel couldn’t stop himself from asking, and Elain rolled her eyes. 

“Much better,” She said, her face bright red. “I’ve never come like that before.” 

An arrogant smirk appeared on his face and Elain hid her face in his chest. 

“Goodnight.” She murmured, bringing a leg up to wrap around his hips. 

Azriel stretched to turn the lamp off, the glow of moonlight on a bed of snow snuck through the curtains, but he soon found himself back to Elain - his hand resting on her soft thigh. 

“Good night, sweetheart.” He whispered into her hair.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Hehe, I couldn't not post something for the holiday season! You guys know I love Christmas and winter too much not to write something seasonal :) . It's been so long since I've posted that I'm not going to be tagging anyone! Please share if you enjoyed this and let me know your thoughts! I'm wishing all of you a Merry Christmas <3

[t4tails]

the biggest scam alt fashion lines try to pull is they all sell those stupid loose knit sweaters with the random frayed holes all over it for like $50+ and thats such bullshit if i wanted a sweater with holes in it id walk to my local goodwill. it somehow makes pre-ripped jeans look cooler

[oatmealcrisp-freak]

here's the first part of the break up fic cus idk when/if this'll be finished :3

“I really can’t stand,” Aren growled out between knitted teeth. “Dishonest people.”

Those words hit him like a truck.

Kusuo looked at his lunch tray, seated right next to Aren’s, with a hollowness rising in his stomach. Across the table, Kaidou laughed and the conversation turned to the newest release of SiCy but Kusuo barely heard it. His ears were ringing. He was nauseated. Shame welled up in his mouth - it tasted like acid.

It wasn’t directed at him.

It didn’t matter.

He closed his eyes and did his best to breathe.

Perhaps sensing his unease, Aren’s hand slid around the small of his back and attached itself to his hip with thoughtless demeanor. Kusuo looked upon it, upon its wide and scarred expanse on the green of his slacks. Took note of the heat where it pressed into him.

He clenched his teeth.

Who the hell was he fooling.

He reached down and took the hand from his hip then stood and grabbed his lunch tray. He was done. He couldn’t eat anymore. He couldn’t sit here anymore. He couldn’t let Aren touch him anymore.

Not after hearing that.

He was done.

“Kusuo?” Aren asked as Kusuo stepped out from the bench.

He could feel Aren’s eyes burning into his back.

He sucked in a breath, clamped it all down and back, and walked away.

For the rest of the day he tried to put it out of his head, but it refused to stay gone. It scratched at him, a scraping scalpel digging relentlessly at his composure.

Who had he been fooling? Seriously? Getting together with Aren, having hope for once for the future - he’d been stupid. Aren had gotten into his head somehow and made him forget the very pertinent reasons for avoiding relationships. For two glorious months he’d deluded himself that he could have something human.

Aren made him stupid.

Aren made him selfish.

He wanted to keep this, Kusuo thought as he stared out the window during a lecture on economics. He wanted to keep going like he’d never heard Aren say that. He wanted to keep pretending to this sweet normality that he’d been walking in as though his powers didn’t exist.

He really, dearly wanted to.

It would be more convenient that way too. This was the new status quo that he’d foolishly agreed to. Could he afford to disturb it?

He looked over at Aren, and could tell right away he was doing his best to pay attention as well as he could. His leg was jiggling furiously and his brows were mired in concentration, his sharp eyes purely focused on the board as he took his notes. How good those notes were was debatable. There was a zit on his chin. Kusuo had noticed it this morning. He knew it was rude to stare at zits, because normal people didn’t like them for some reason, but he couldn’t help but be a little enamoured of it. Aren’s nose scrunched - he was having trouble wrapping his head around a concept. There went another doodle of his motorcycle, joining several more and a medley of Dragonball Z characters because Aren wasn’t Aren if Aren could concentrate on a lesson without drawing. That in turn made Kusuo look at his hands. The cuticle of his thumb was frayed. His nails were clipped short. Kusuo was a big fan of Aren’s hands. He liked it especially when they were on him.

He liked holding onto them too.

Aren liked it when he did that even, which was the real shocker. For some reason Kusuo couldn’t divine, Aren liked him. Aren liked touching him. Worse, Kusuo had found he didn’t actually mind being touched if it was Aren - something as simple as holding hands, or a kiss on the cheek, or a cuddle, he’d warmed quite quickly to all of those things that Aren enjoyed too. It felt safe.

He wanted to keep that.

He remembered the way it’d felt when Aren had touched his hip in the cafeteria after saying what he had - how polluted it’d felt. How he suddenly hadn’t been able to stand it. How he’d run away.

Aren hated liars.

How could Kusuo let him touch the single biggest liar of them all? It’d felt so wrong. It’d made him sick.

How had he deceived Aren into loving him? 

Him, of all people?

Kusuo looked back out the window, heart beating a sluggish, sick pace.

‘Everything looks so normal.’ He thought as he took in the blue sky.

Funny, that, given it felt like the world was crumbling.

It sayed with him for the rest of the day. The school doors opened ahead of him and Kusuo looked up. Aren’s purple bangs shifted over his sky hewn eyes as he looked down at him, and he smiled.

There wasn’t a single miserable thought in his head. He couldn’t sense it. How strange. Usually his instincts were so keen.

Something inside Kusuo trembled. It was a miracle it didn’t reach his hands.

“Want to get some coffee?” Aren asked, and reached up to scratch at his cheek as it blushed red. “We can go to the usual place.”

“Ou, the lovebirds are gonna make smoochy smoochy faces at each other,” Nendo jeered then yelped as Kaidou elbowed him. 

Aren blushed deeper but laughed. “If he’ll let me, sure.”

“Come on you big oaf, leave them alone. We’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” Kaidou asked, trying to pull Nendo away and failing.

“Yeah.” Aren waved, then looked back at him and held out his hand.

Kusuo looked at it, feeling as though his heart was dripping right out of him.

It would be strange to ignore it.

He took it, and it made him feel like a monster.

Kusuo knew what he had to do.

~~~~

Aren had a boyfriend.

His first, he thought as he looked down at the pink head next to him, and his last, because this was the man he was going to marry someday.

He squeezed the hand in his, hoping that Kusuo would look up at him instead of staring at the ground. Kusuo didn’t look at him, but did squeeze back. His fingers were laced around Aren’s firmly, firm enough that it’d take effort to pull away.

His eyes seemed shadowed.

Aren wasn’t a fan of that.

It was hard, granted, to see the exact nuance of Kusuo’s eyes through his glasses and hair, but something about his face reminded Aren of that disturbing moment at lunch when Kusuo had taken his hand off him and left without a word.

Mind, Aren was used to Kusuo simply leaving a conversation when it suited him. It was one of his more endearing charm points. 

This had felt different.

But now they were holding hands.

So it was fine.

Right?

It didn’t feel fine. Some instinct in the back of his head was telling him that something was wrong here, something very difficult not to listen to because Kusuo so rarely shied from his touch. In the two months they’d been together, he’d had the joy of witnessing a steady dripping thaw in the other boy, a reciprocity, and a deep fondness for cuddling that Aren was really enjoying. Most of the time if Kusuo was in a mood, all Aren had to do was hug him, and that was all it took to make Kusuo feel better.

It was a privilege to be able to do that. It was one Aren held close to his heart.

With school he hadn’t really gotten the chance for a good snuggle since lunch, however, and Kusuo was touchy about public displays of affection besides. Best to secret his boyfriend into the privacy of a booth and give him a good cuddle there.

If Kusuo would let him.

Aren would admit, Kusuo shying from his touch had really taken it out of him.

Something was clearly not okay. But it would be okay. He was certain of it.

After all, they had each other, and that was what mattered.

Aren pulled Kusuo’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. When he opened his eyes again, Kusuo was finally looking back at him with something shattered in his eyes.

Aren felt his gut curl in concern, and tried to smile.

Kusuo looked away, and Aren’s concern mounted.

Fortunately, Cafe Mami was found in short order. Aren settled his arm over Kusuo’s shoulders and led him to a booth, a nice private one toward the back. Cafe Mami was Kusuo’s favourite cafe. If there was anything that could cheer him up, it was some of their coffee jelly, and a good snuggle. Aren was certain of that.

Hell, it’d cheer him up too. He was worried.

He just wanted Kusuo to feel better.

Kusuo wasn’t loosening up into his touch. It was like holding a cardboard cut out. They settled into the booth, but Kusuo sat away from him on the other side. Aren stared at the other boy, trying to make out any expression in his face and finding none - an eerie blank wall was looking back at him.

‘What the hell is going on?’ Aren swallowed and opened his mouth to ask, but it was at that moment that a waiter came to their table and cheerily asked for their order.

“Uh.” It took Aren a second to recalibrate. He tried for a smile in answer to the waiter’s own. “Coffee please. Black.”

“Sure thing. And you, sir?”

Kusuo stared at him with empty eyes. “Nothing. Please.”

A stammer of goosebumps swept up Aren’s back. Heart in his stomach he stared back at Kusuo, then flicked his eyes to the waiter, then looked at Kusuo again and tried to figure out why that was so unnerving. Kusuo wasn’t getting coffee jelly? He was getting nothing?

He was staring…

Even the waiter seemed confused. “Ah. Alright. But if you change your mind let me know.”

He wrote it down on his little pad then nodded at Aren with a customer service smile. “I’ll be right back with your coffee.”

“Thanks…” Aren said, not looking away from Kusuo.

The waiter walked away from their booth and they were left in the remote silence, the soft happy music playing on the crescendo of Aren’s nerves with awful, sticky, contrast. He swallowed it back and gave his head a shake. What the hell, dude. What was he so afraid of? 

This was his boyfriend.

Aren put on a smile. “So that’s-”

Kusuo sucked in a breath that rode his shoulders up to his ears. “I’m breaking up with you.”

“-not,” Aren blinked. “...What?”

Had he heard that right? No. No there was no way he’d heard that right. His smile cracked and expanded around the edges. “What’d you just say?”

But Kusuo just looked at the table, his eyes round and his lips pencil thin rashes of paleness on his face. He turned his head to the right. To the left.

He shifted, and started to slide out of the bench.

No. Hell no. Aren quickly got out and slid into the opposite bench, blocking Kusuo in. He reached out and grabbed the other’s hand but it wouldn’t budge into his, staying firm and tightly laced to the seat.

“Kusuo,” He lowered his voice, doing his best to catch Kusuo’s eye. “Look at me. What’s going on?”

Kusuo said nothing. He wasn’t exactly given to talking to begin with, granted, and Aren had loved that about him, had loved his quietness and the way Kusuo could turn even that companionable. Cohabitation of space was a symptom of his trust and affection, Aren was pretty sure - slicing that up with mindless chatter simply wasn’t Kusuo’s style. Aren had experienced that so rarely before, a peaceful quiet, but with Kusuo it felt like his life was made of it. He was hooked. He was addicted.

He couldn’t lose this.

“C’mon, babe,” Aren hissed and pressed in closer, his heart pounding in his ears as he gripped the wrist tighter. “Talk to me, tell me what’s wrong. You can’t-not just like that, you gotta-”

Fuck, what the hell was he even saying?

“Your coffee, sir.”

Aren flinched and whipped around, his fist slamming into the pleather backrest. 

“Can’t you see we’re having a moment here?!” Was out of his mouth before he could even try to claw it back, and the startled expression on the waiter’s face only made it worse.

“S-Sorry,” Aren stammered. “Just. Uh. Th-thanks.”

The waiter put the coffee down and left. Aren turned back. Kusuo still wasn’t looking at him. He wasn’t fucking looking at him.

Aren thought he was going to be sick.

“Kusuo, come on.” He said and reached out, pulling Kusuo’s chin to face him and begging to see his eyes. Fuck, he was pathetic. “Tell me what this is about so we can fix this-”

Kusuo finally looked at him in the eye but it wasn’t a comfort because his gaze was empty and cold, stealing Aren’s breath and plowing right through him. This wasn’t a friendly, familiar look - this wasn’t the Kusuo he was used to. This wasn’t even the Kusuo he’d met on his first day at P.K., this was something different.

Worse.

“It’s not you,” Kusuo said, pulling at his wrist and jaw both to take them from Aren’s hands. “It’s me. Let me out.”

What-

What the fuck was that?!

And just like that, Aren was fucking enraged.

“What the FUCK are you talking about?!” Aren didn’t even try to keep his voice down. “‘It’s not you, it’s me’?! That’s some bullshit people say when they don’t give a shit and I know you, I know that’s not you! You CARE about me, Kusuo.”

Kusuo’s jaw seemed to twitch for all of a second before it was gone, barely a wobble then it was tensing up tighter than Aren’s fists and he was lifting his chin in that confrontational way that drove Aren fucking nuts.

“No,” Kusuo’s eyes were chillier than an arctic blast. “I don’t.”

Aren saw red.

He couldn’t fucking stand this.

He grabbed Kusuo’s chin again and shoved their mouths together in a sharp clack of teeth, his fingers crunching down on jaw bone and the smooth clavicle of Kusuo’s shoulder. He had to make him see sense. He’d kiss it into him if he had to-!

Kusuo groaned under his mouth and a warm hand clasped down onto his wrist. It wasn’t working. Kusuo wasn’t softening. What was this?

Where had the boy he thought he’d known gone? Where was the Kusuo who would sigh into him, who would search for him with his lips, who’d confessed to him during a quiet night that he’d used to hate kissing until it was just the two of them, where was he?

Where had he gone?

The fingers on his wrist turned in tight and with a surprising show of strength wrenched his hand away from Kusuo’s chin, and Kusuo shortly ripped his mouth away. There was a searing gaze haunting behind spectral green shades for a second and then Kusuo was stepping onto the booth, stepping between Aren’s legs, and jumping down from the bench.

He was-

He was leaving him-

Aren’s body moved before he knew it, his hand grabbing Kusuo’s wrist.

“Don’t-” He gasped through his buzzing, fumbling lips, his eyes desperate upon Kusuo’s face. “Don’t go.”

Kusuo gave him one more cold, searing stare, and then slapped his hand away. He turned. He walked away.

Aren’s legs were too numb to go after him. He stared after the departing back of his boyfriend, collapsing slowly into the bench. And then Kusuo was gone.

Aren stared at the doors for longer than he knew before it hit him.

Kusuo was gone.

Kusuo had broken up with him.

Aren scrubbed his hands through his hair, leaning over the table, completely numb and broken through to the quick all at once.

‘He didn’t even tell me why.’ God. All he could see was those blisteringly cold eyes boring into him. Kusuo had said he didn’t care. Kusuo had said it wasn’t Aren, it was him, like it was all some fucking joke.

Kusuo, Aren shut his eyes and tried to reach for the memory of the soft and pliant boy he’d just been getting to know, could be a real fucking asshole sometimes.

Fuck.

What did he do now?

Right now, Aren barely felt like he could move.

It wasn’t fair, he thought as he buried his face in his hand and sucked in a harsh, stuttering breath. It wasn’t fucking fair.

‘He didn’t even tell me what I did wrong.’

Leaving the cafe was an exercise in humiliation, when Aren finally got his legs under him. It felt like every eye in there was staring at him, and after that little fiasco why wouldn’t they be? It pissed Aren off, which was good, he fucking needed it.

“Fucking staring at me, square up to me homey and I’ll show you all what’s good,” He hissed as he slammed the door shut behind him. He stomped as he walked, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he furiously rattled his brain for what the fuck to do now.

It took him seven blocks to realize he was crying.

That just pissed him off even more.

He scrubbed a hand over his eyes and threw back his head, giving a loud yell of fury to the sky. Of course that meant everyone stopped to stare at him again, and he barked, “What the fuck do you think you’re looking at!?” before he could begin to think of stopping himself. The people on the sidewalk around him quickly went back on their way and Aren stared around himself, seething.

Where did Kusuo get off?

Where the FUCK did he get off, making Aren feel this way?

He started back on his way, to where he didn’t know but away from here was fucking grand, and clenched his fists tightly.

He didn’t know what to do, but he couldn’t live without Kusuo in his life. That was the man he was going to marry someday. 

The desperation was tearing him apart. It couldn’t end this way. 

It couldn’t.

[twst-drabbles]

Night Raven College Staff 1

Summary: Scars. As the magicless janitor of this college, you have gained a lot of them. The staff here notice it and it bothers you in different ways.

(I'm in that romance repulsed mood again. I see ship art or fics and my soul wants to escape my skiiiiin. It'll fade and I'll be back to being neutral about it. I don't really ship anything or anyone anyway.)

There’s really something unfair about the way magic works on your body.

You’ve seen the way bruises receded on pale skin, the way orange sized bumps became nothing without a stretch mark to be seen. You’ve seen the way gashes with gushing wounds would just close without needing so much as a stitch or a scar.

Like magic, injuries and wounds became nothing. Therefore, one could toss a fire spell, aim it at anyone and not worry about what’s left behind.

But, that’s how the bodies of these people’s work. Not yours. The wounds knit together just fine, but they always leave something.

Scars on your hands from swinging branches. Stretch marks from nearly being pulled apart. Patches of scars on your arms from when you nearly lost all the skin there. Little pinhole scars on your shoulders. Some on your thighs and ankles from when the skin sloughed off.

So many, all in a compacted space of time. You look in the mirror and somehow your brain just can’t register that this was you now. It’s annoying. Irritating. At least you have clothes and gloves. At least none of them are out of place.

“Well?” Ashton wiggled your new tracksuit in your face, somehow managing to drag you away from your books for some light exercise. The sleeves were too short.

“No, it’s fine,” you sighed out, tugging your fraying collar over your neck, lightly scratching the little raised bumps there, “No need for any of that.”

Something irritated you about the way Ashton didn’t push it. Just, gave in instead of doing that bulldozing over your answer until you gave in shtick.

Sam was…Sam.

“Sam, mind getting some clothes for me?” This wasn’t the first time. If anything, it’s become routine. Usually has some very nice clothing at decent prices.

“Of course!” He always happy to make a sale. “I’ll even throw in some gloves as a bonus.”

He’s been throwing in all sorts of clothing bonuses since…well since you started wearing long sleeves over anything. He doesn’t need to do that and yet he does so anyway.

Annoying, but you don the gloves anyway. They fit perfectly, as always.

Mozus is at least tolerable. He never speaks more than needed. He even closed his eyes when you had to take off your jacket to air yourself out when you were in the staff room.

You appreciate it, and yet it still rubbed at you the wrong way all the same. You never said you hated the way your skin healed over and yet Mozus knew enough to leave you to your privacy.

Divus wasn’t any better.

“You sure you don’t need any help with that?” He asked after you were sure he went to recount the ingredients for his next class…

“No, it’s fine,” you sighed out again after putting the box on the desk, gently rolling your shoulders, pain thankfully missing, “No need for any of that.”

He never asked before. Why’s he asking now? You’ll ask for help when you need it.

And Dire…

“Stop looking,” You scratched at your wrist, pulling up the sleeve to cover it, “it’s annoying.”

That mask does nothing to hide where his eyes are landing. Doesn’t help that his irises are just, bright little lamps.

Really, what can you do besides just live with this? Eventually, a new normal should set in. You just hope it’s sooner rather than later.

[everybodyknows-everybodydies]

The world is white.

The world is always some degree of white in Winterhold, some degree of pale monochrome, but this silence is… wrong. It takes Mirabelle a moment to realize the un-silence is the ringing in her ears muffling everything else.

An unfocused dark shadow interrupts the sea of white. Mirabelle blinks, once, twice; slowly, slowly, her vision clears a little; a hazy Faralda is leaning over her, wild curls haloed around her tight face. Saying something. Something important, surely; Faralda has never wasted a word.

“What? What is it?” Mirabelle tries to say, but can’t work her jaw, can’t hear either of them over the loud echo of nothing in her ears and some awful taste in her mouth and a heat—somehow both familiar and unfamiliar—that has caught her right hand. She tries to spit out whatever is in her mouth and is illogically self-conscious that she nearly chokes on it instead.

She can’t move. Why can’t she move? The warm tell-tale glow of restoration magic at her chest, where it feels like a mammoth has sat down. Ah—she recognizes, or remembers, or it only starts now that everything hurts. Pain clenches through every muscle. There, at least: sound beginning to seep faintly, barely, back in. “…going to need at least another three hours of this,” Colette is saying, her reedy voice on edge as ever, but with a sincere and tearful panic Mirabelle is unused to hearing from her. Take deep breaths, she wants to remind her, but her tongue is heavy in her mouth and tastes of metal. She can’t take a deep breath. “It’s too much. It’s too much. I haven’t got enough magicka to last that long.”

“Use mine. Take mine.” Faralda sounds utterly grim. That isn’t what she’s supposed to sound like, Mirabelle thinks vaguely as the world fades out again. Where has her eternal wry humor gone?

 ---

This is already much longer than she should have been able to go. The light keeps sputtering out in her hands, her magicka taut and ragged and wispy as a fraying thread on the verge of snapping. “I can’t,” Colette chokes. “I need both hands here. I can’t do it. I can’t do it.”

Poor Savos was already dead before any of them could reach him. It will be much worse, she imagines, a little distant from herself, to have Mirabelle die like this, under her own ineffective shivering fingertips.

There’s too much to knit together where she can’t see, too much displaced, misaligned; she’d straightened out the spine first to try to help get everything else closer to where it belongs, but Mirabelle had only opened her eyes to spit out a horribly solid chunk of something bloody with an awful gurgling sound and gasp, frighteningly shallow. Lungs. Ribs. The heart at least seems fine for now, and thank Mara for small miracles, but the abdominal cavity, which is disorganized on a good day—she thinks with a sudden fierce passion that she has always hated the abdominal cavity—

Faralda’s mouth is a grim line across from her. “You have to,” she says, never looking up. “You have to. This isn’t—it’s not—”

A shadow. A hand on her shoulder. She prepares to snap that she has told everyone to stay well away to let them make their futile attempt in isolation, terrified at the thought of the whole College audience to her impending certain failure, but it dies in her throat. Uncharacteristically pale and unsmiling, Kharish kneels beside her. “The thing in Labyrinthian,” she says, quieter than Colette has ever heard her, “knew how to siphon. I hadn’t…” She shifts her jaw. “I know what it feels like, now. I can try to—to replicate it, in reverse. To help. So you can cast uninterrupted.”

“You won’t last long enough either,” Faralda says, voice hard and glinting. She thrusts out a hand, palm upwards, long fingers rigidly straight. “I said use mine and I meant it. You can’t let her—” She snaps her teeth together suddenly and doesn’t finish the thought, as if biting off the word could prevent its happening, as if it isn’t already hanging in the air ready to outlast all their scrabbling efforts. “You will not,” she says at last, with a terrible finality, and says no more.

“I’m sorry I’m not very good,” Kharish admits, an embarrassed little tremor to her voice, “at dual casting.” She takes Faralda’s outstretched hand.

The rush of foreign magicka blazes so hot and so sudden that for half a second Colette is convinced there will be a print on her shoulder forever, and the end of a curl that has fallen into her eyes briefly catches fire—but it’s there.

Lungs first. She pulls the ribs straight, smooths out the tissue, moving with the airflow. Follow a breath in and out: less ragged, less wet. Good. Again. Again.

Again.

---

It is much later than she would have expected when it shifts and the wild heat burns out at last, replaced by something else, soft in the way of freshly-sanded wood. Faralda huffs out a breath, shivering—Colette has never seen Faralda shiver before—and says, hoarse, “I’ve got it. I can keep on.” She has not let go of Mirabelle’s hand. They will be here all night, and Faralda will not let go of her hand. The way her mouth is set, she looks as though she might never let go again.

“Take a moment to recover,” Colette says through gritted teeth, concentrating on the way the liver fits into place. “She and I can manage just fine until then.”

“How—how much longer do you think…” Kharish wets her lips. Her grip on Colette’s shoulder tightens for a moment.

She’s afraid to look, Colette thinks. “She’s breathing fine now,” she tells her, which does not really answer the question but is all she can do for now. And that is good. She sets after the tangle of the abdominal cavity, which she has decided lamentingly is her archnemesis. It does not seem nearly so insurmountable as it had when the sun was still up, though, and holding fast to the thought that whatever else she manages, Mirabelle has time now, she presses on.

Kharish’s magicka runs dry much sooner than Faralda’s had. Colette has barely begun knitting the intestines back into shape when the wood-soft feeling splinters away, leaving only her own, unaugmented. Immediately Faralda is there again, scorching. “Sorry,” Kharish croaks out, alarmed, “I didn’t ask if you were ready—”

“Yes. Yes.” Faralda shakes her head once, hard, as if waking up. “Please.”

After a moment spent studying her haggard face, Colette says, “You are both keeping a reserve so I don’t have two more people to worry after, aren’t you? Aren’t you?”

“Ye-es,” winces Kharish, which is so painfully and clearly a lie that Colette would laugh if she didn’t also have much more concerning things at hand.

“Don’t worry about me,” says Faralda; “I will be as irresponsible about it as I need to be.”

This is not reassuring in the slightest, but it does get them through the abdomen.

---

The sky has begun to grey into dawn when Colette shakes Kharish’s hand off her shoulder and says, “Give me her hand, that’s all now.”

Faralda’s expression contorts about thirteen different ways in the span of half a second before she lets go. “That’s all,” she says, almost disbelieving.

Kharish opens her eyes. “We did it?”

“Well—it will be a few weeks before we should expect to see her in the halls, certainly, but,” she swallows and sits back on her heels, rubbing her palms on her thighs where they’ve gone numb from the constant channeling, “yes.”

Faralda laughs, far higher than usual, and then says suddenly, “Oh. I’ve got to sit down.”

“You are sitting down,” Colette says, exasperated. “I told you to hold back a reserve—”

“I’m not sitting down. I’ll go to tell—to tell everyone.” A stupid giddy smile on her face, Kharish pauses halfway to her feet, swaying dangerously, like a drunkard. “Oh,” she says. “Hang on. I’ve got a really good one to celebrate. Do you know the difference between a joke and a rhetorical question?”

“This is not the time for your nonsense,” Colette begins to bark, and then with a whuff Kharish pitches backwards into the snow. Mouth agape, Colette stares for a moment, then whips her head around to Faralda, who has only prevented her own collapse by propping herself up against the stone wall of the bridge first. “Really!” She stands, knees wobbling most unfortunately, and sends up the flimsiest magelight that possibly ever was cast. It does the job, at least—a shout, and a handful of dark shapes come running from town. “I have to do everything myself!”

---

Mirabelle opens her eyes to the soft glow of candlelight. Colette freezes in the doorway. “Oh, your timing is awful.” She hurries to amend, “That is—I am very glad to see you awake. But I’ve just gotten her to leave—are you really awake this time? Say something, and I’ll tell her you said hello or—whatever it is you like!” And then she’s sniffling violently, which is alarming, and says with startling intensity, “None of you are ever scaring me like this again! Promise me, Mirabelle!”

Mirabelle, bewildered, tries to sit up and finds she has been buried under what appears to be every blanket in the building. She opens her mouth—there was a foul taste, or something, she recalls, but it isn’t there now. “I think,” she manages around the dryness of her tongue, “I need some water, and then you can explain what exactly… happened.” She licks at her lips, thoughtfully flexing the fingers of her right hand. Something warm there, too, she remembers, and something tingles at the back of her neck. “And if it’s alright,” she pushes at the mountain of blankets, “I think I would rather a fire.”

[daryltwdixon]

The Promise of Us: Chapter 57

You

You hadn’t even realized you’d fallen asleep when you woke up to the empty couch beneath you—the warmth of Daryl missing so clearly, like it was the thing that woke you in the first place. Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you peer over at the boarded-up window near the top of the room. There are just enough cracks to see that it’s still dark outside. You couldn’t have been asleep long. Sitting up, you swing your legs off the couch, about to stand when a soft knock sounds against the door.

“Y/N?” A familiar voice calls softly, and you recognize it immediately as Rick’s.

“Yeah, I’m comin’,” you say, your voice still a bit groggy as you get up, throwing your clothes on and heading for the door. Unlocking the knob, you pull it open, stepping back only to see his face set in a grim expression that makes your heart plummet.

“What’s goin’ on?” you ask Rick, already searching his face, hoping for anything but the worry tightening his features.

“Bob’s been missin’ for a while now,” he says, his voice tense, but there’s something else there too, something that makes the hairs on the back of your neck prickle. He glances over your shoulder, brows knitting together before his eyes settle back on you, his voice rough with hesitation. “Where’s Daryl?”

The breath catches in your throat, cold dread pooling in your stomach as you turn around, scanning the empty room like somehow you’d missed his presence before looking back at Rick. “What do you mean where’s Daryl? I thought he was out here with you.”

Rick’s jaw ticks, and he looks back over his shoulder into the main room of the church, where low murmurs have started to rise, voices full of unease. When he turns back to you, something hard and apologetic ia in his gaze. “We don’t know where Bob went,” he says, his voice thickening as he adds, “And if he’s not in here…Daryl and Carol are missing too,”

What was a chill in your stomach has turned to ice, shooting through your spine, your heart seizing painfully as every thought crashes against you at once. You cling to the last bit of hope, grasping for anything to keep you grounded. “He could be out in the woods—”

But Rick shakes his head, cutting you off. “I was just out there with Sasha and Tyreese. Nothin’.”

The weight of it sinks in, pressing down on your chest, making it harder to breathe. You struggle to keep the panic at bay, but it claws its way up, insistent and wild, pushing you into motion. You step past him, out into the main area of the church, grabbing your rifle from one of the pews, hands shaking as you clutch it like a lifeline.

“I’m goin’ out there,” you declare, voice trembling but full of determination. The desperation bleeds into your tone, each word edged with a sharpness that you can’t contain.

“Like hell you are,” Rick snaps, stepping into your path, his voice rough as he tries to hold your gaze. The room has fallen silent now, every eye turned toward you both, but you barely register it. The need to find Daryl, to make sure he’s safe, is all you can think about, all that matters.

“You want me to just stand here and wait?” you bite out, your voice cracking under the weight of it all. The helplessness is like a fire inside you, burning through any semblance of calm you’re trying to hold onto. 

Rick’s eyes soften just a fraction, but his face stays set, his jaw tight. “I’m askin’ you to come up with a plan instead of goin’ guns blazin’ into the damn woods at night,” he says, his voice still rough, but you can hear the worry in it, feel the weight of it pressing on both of you. He doesn’t want another person disappearing into the dark, not when he’s already holding onto frayed edges.

You can feel the desperation clawing at you, your chest tight and your heart hammering as the silence stretches between you. Rick’s voice softens, just barely. “I know you’re scared. We all are. But runnin’ out there blind ain’t gonna help them or us,” he murmurs, his words slower, careful. “We gotta be smart about this, Y/N. You know I’m right,”

The truth of it stings, but you can’t deny it. He’s right; going out there alone, without a plan, could be a death sentence. But the thought of just standing here, waiting, is almost worse. Your throat tightens, tears pricking the corners of your eyes, and you look down, your hands gripping the rifle so hard your knuckles turn white.

Rick steps closer, his voice lowering, trying to reach through the wall of fear and urgency pressing down on you. “We’ll find ‘em. Maybe they went out to check the car you found with Carol, maybe they’ll come walkin’ back through that door any second. You know they can handle themselves,” he says, his words like an anchor, pulling you back, giving you something solid to hold onto.

“He said he felt we were bein’ watched, Rick,” you whisper, your voice barely holding steady as you recall Daryl’s words, that faint tension in his tone. You blink, keeping the panicked moisture at bay. You feel stripped bare, all the fear you’d tried to hold in spilling over, and all you can think of is him out there, maybe needing you, maybe alone. Nobody knew if the three of them were together, if they were separated or caught by something–someone. You look around at your people, desperate for someone to volunteer to go out there with you, but then your eyes lock on the only stranger in the room.

“What about him?” you demand suddenly, pointing at the priest. “What if he’s got something to do with this? He just shows up, brings us here, and now our people are missin’? Daryl said we’re bein’ watched.” you repeat again, teeth clenching.

Gabriel’s eyes widen, hands going up as he glances around at the roomful of faces turned toward him. “I don’t…I don’t have anything to do with this,” he stammers, looking desperately from one person to the next.

Sasha steps forward, an angry, determined set to her jaw, a knife flashing in her hand as she points it at him. Her face is drawn, her eyes dark and wild.

“Don’t!” Maggie’s voice rings out somewhere behind you, and Tyreese moves forward, tense as he pleads with Sasha to put the knife down. But you don’t move to stop her. You were seconds away from doing the same thing.

“Who is out there?” Sasha demands, her voice sharp, pushing him back against the altar without even touching him, her mere presence forcing him to stumble backward with his hands still held high.

“I don’t have anything to do with this!” Gabriel repeats, quicker this time, his voice tinged with a desperate edge as he glances toward you, pleading.

“Where are our people?” you snap, your voice hard and low as you glare at him, taking a step forward.

“I don’t have—”

“WHERE ARE OUR PEOPLE?” Sasha roars, her voice ripping through her and echoing in the church. Gabriel jumps, his eyes going even wider as she gets in his face, her anger radiating off her in waves.

“Please,” Gabriel stammers, his voice quieter, almost a whisper. “I don’t have anything to do with this, I swear.” Sasha backs away slightly, her body still tense, eyes locked on him with fury.

Rick’s hand grips your arm, tugging you gently to the side as he steps forward, his gaze fixed on Gabriel. “Why’d you bring us here?” he asks quietly, his voice low and deadly calm. The flickering candlelight throws shadows across his face, darkening his expression to something almost menacing.

Gabriel stutters, eyes darting around as he tries to find the words. “Please, I—I—”

Rick steps even closer, his gaze never wavering. “You workin’ with someone?” he growls, his voice barely more than a murmur, but the threat in it is unmistakable.

“I’m alone! I’m alone! I’m always alone!” Gabriel insists, his voice climbing in pitch as he backs further into the altar, hands still raised defensively.

Rick’s face hardens, his eyes narrowing. “What about the woman at the food bank, Gabriel? What did you do to her?” Rick’s tone sharpens, each word deliberate. “‘You’ll burn for this.’ What does that mean? What are you gonna burn for, Gabriel?”

Everyone is silent, watching with bated breath as Gabriel’s face goes pale, and he stumbles over his words, unable to respond. You look around seeking answers for what he means, but everyone just stares on. There was more to this you hadn’t even realized had happened, too wrapped up in your own world with Daryl to be caught up.

Without warning, Rick lunges, grabbing Gabriel by the lapels, jerking him forward as he forces him to meet his gaze. “What did you do?” Rick snarls, his voice barely controlled. “WHAT DID YOU DO?”

He shoves Gabriel back, releasing him, and the priest stumbles, gasping for air. He collects himself, closing his eyes for a moment before he whispers, almost to himself, “I lock the doors at night…I always lock the doors at night.” His voice trails off, desperate and broken, and he looks around at each of you, his eyes pleading. “I always…I always lock the doors,” he chokes out, his face crumbling.

“They started coming, my congregation. Atlanta was bombed the night before…they were looking for a safe place, somewhere they felt safe,” Gabriel says, his words rushed, breathy, as though reliving it. “It was so early, the doors were still locked.”

You feel a shiver run down your spine, vivid memories flashing through your mind—the early days of panic, the fights through crowded roads, the distant echo of bombs. You can almost see it as Gabriel speaks, as though it happened only yesterday.

“It was my choice,” Gabriel continues, voice trembling. “There were so many of them, prying at the shutters, banging on the doors, screaming my name. And then…the dead came for them.”

A chill settles deep in your bones, disgust and anger mixing as you stare at this so-called man of God, someone who turned his back on his own people, leaving them to die.

“Women…children,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “Entire families calling my name as they were torn apart. Begging me for mercy…” His hands clasped together as if in prayer, though his words are choked with guilt. “Damning me to hell.” He stares at the floor, his eyes glazed with the weight of his own sins. “I buried their bones. I buried it all.”

Finally, he collapses to his knees at the altar rail, eyes red and filled with tears as he looks up at Rick. “The Lord sent you here to punish me,” he whispers, his voice hollow. “I’m damned. I was damned before.” He shakes, sobbing, his words a whisper, barely audible. “I always lock the doors…I always lock the doors…”

Gabriel’s voice fades into a low, hollow murmur, his broken figure slumped before you. The room has gone utterly silent, heavy with the horror of his confession. His words hang like a curse in the air, a reminder that even the supposed sanctuary of faith can twist into something dark and cruel. The sound of his weeping grates against the stillness, each choked sob sending a fresh wave of disgust and rage through you. You feel your hands clenching at your sides, your chest heaving with the urge to make him answer for what he’s done—to those families, to his own people, and now to yours. You didn’t know if someone was out there, watching, but if he had invited something terrible into all your lives, he would pay. 

As Gabriel crumbles lower, mumbling his guilt in pitiful whispers, there’s a sharp whistle from the back of the room, snapping everyone’s attention. Glenn is peering out the dark window, his face pale and tight with urgency. “There’s something,” he calls, his voice tight, “there’s someone outside, lying in the grass!”

Sasha bolts toward the door before Rick can stop her, her panic like a flame catching fire. You’re right on her heels, racing down the church steps, Sasha’s voice ringing out over the snarls of walkers as she screams, “Bob!”

You skid to a halt beside her, the horror in her voice anchoring you to the spot, and your stomach turns sharply as you look down. There’s Bob, sprawled out in the grass, his face pale with agony, one leg severed clean at the knee. You nearly stagger back as queasiness washes over you, but Sasha’s anguished sobs pull you into action. The growls are growing louder, the walkers advancing with a relentless hunger, their hands clawing forward.

“Get Bob inside! We’ll take care of them!” you shout, feeling the edge of desperation creeping into your voice as you plunge your knife down into an advancing walker’s skull. Glenn moves in beside you, mirroring your motions with grim determination. You can hear Sasha’s sobs behind you, each one tightening the knot in your chest.

But suddenly, gunshots ring out from the dark woods, piercing the night with shocking clarity.

“Get inside!” Rick’s voice roars over the chaos, each shot echoing like thunder as he fires toward the trees. “Go!” he shouts, and without a second thought, you turn, all of you bolting back up the steps. Rick gives the woods one last, wary look before following close behind, his face drawn tight with anger and dread.

Inside, the warm glow of the candles flicker against the walls as you gather around Bob, who stirs slowly, gasping, his face slick with sweat and pain. The room is alive with tension, each labored breath he takes making it harder to look away.

“I was in the graveyard,” Bob chokes out, his voice raspy and breathless. “Somebody knocked me out, and I woke up outside…outside this place. Looked like a…a school.” His words are halting, each one strained with the effort. “It was that guy, Gareth. And five others. They were eating my leg��right in front of me, like it was nothing. All proud, like they had it all figured out.”

The earlier queasiness grips you again, but you swallow it down, stepping closer. Your hands are trembling, dread twisting in your gut as you meet his eyes, the question clawing its way up your throat as you crouch down. “Did they have Daryl?” you whisper, each word barely audible over the pounding in your chest. “Carol?”

Bob’s eyes flick to you, sympathy and sorrow etched into his features. “Gareth said they drove off,” he says quietly.

The words hit you like a punch, the ground beneath you seeming to fall away. You feel the blood drain from your face, a hollow ache settling where hope had been. Daryl…left with Carol. Just left, without a word, no note, taking off in a car while you were here, none the wiser. He’d just…left you here.

Bob groans in pain, his breathing labored, and Sasha is by his side, her hand brushing the streaks of blood from his face, her voice cracking. “He’s in pain,” she says softly, desperation seeping into her tone. “Do we have anything?”

Rosita steps forward, her voice low, offering what she can. “I think there are pill packets in the first aid kit.” She turns, ready to grab them, but Bob’s voice halts her.

“Save ‘em,” he mutters, voice sharp and full of resolve.

“No,” Sasha protests, her hand finding his cheek, her touch gentle, clinging to him even as he begins to falter.

“Really,” he insists, a painful groan tearing from his chest. Slowly, he pushes himself up on one arm, his face drawn with agony as he tugs up his shirt to reveal a nasty, festering bite, bright red and swollen. The wound stands out starkly against his dark skin, raw and angry.

“It happened at the food bank,” he murmurs, his voice thick with pain as he looks at his mate.

A fresh wave of grief and horror crashes over you, seeing him suffering, Sasha holding his face, whispering, “It’s okay,” even as his breathing grows more labored, his face contorting with every pulse of pain.

His eyes flutter shut, his body finally giving in as he faints, slumping back into Sasha’s arms. Her face is streaked with tears, her hands trembling as she cradles him. Gabriel’s voice breaks the silence, soft and awkward, “There’s a sofa in my office. It’s not much…but it’s something.”

Sasha nods, her eyes brimming with gratitude as she looks up at him. “Thank you,” she whispers, voice thick with emotion.

“I got him,” Tyreese says, stepping forward. You move to help, taking Bob’s legs as Tyreese grips his arms, and together, you lift him, his weight settling heavily in your hands as you carry him to Gabriel’s office.

But as you walk, your thoughts turn chaotic, each one like a fresh blow against your already raw heart. You picture Daryl, out there with Carol, the two of them just…leaving. Leaving without a word, without warning, while you slept unaware. Had he even thought of telling you? Of what you’d think, waking up to an empty room, to nothing but questions and fear? The sharp sting of betrayal mixes with your worry, confusion turning to anger. After everything, how could he leave you here?

You walk out of the office, Bob settled on the cushions, his face drawn with pain even in unconsciousness. But you barely have time to process it before Abraham’s voice booms across the church.

“Time for a reality check,” he says, his tone cold, unyielding. “We all need to leave for DC. Right now.”

Your eyes narrow as anger surges through you, an ember that’s been building with every blow you’ve taken tonight. Daryl leaving, Carol gone, Bob barely hanging on—and now Abraham’s talking about abandoning what’s left of you here? You glance at Rick, seeing his jaw set, his expression hardening.

“Daryl and Carol are going to be back,” Rick says, striding forward, each word clipped and serious. “We’re not goin’ anywhere without them.”

Abraham stares back at him, unblinking, his tone almost robotic. “I respect that,” he says, his voice void of emotion, like he’s spitting a military order. “But there’s a clear threat here to Eugene.” Abraham gestures to Eugene, sitting silently on a nearby pew. “I need to extract his ass before things get any uglier. So if y’all won’t come, good luck to ya. We’ll go our separate ways.”

Your anger tightens, searing through you like a wildfire, but Rick holds up a hand, steady. “You leavin’ on foot?” Rick asks, eyeing the door as Abraham strides toward it, gun in hand.

“We fixed that damn bus ourselves,” Abraham replies, voice confident, firm.

“There’s a lot more of us.” Rick seethes.

“Wanna keep it that way?” Abraham retorts, “Come with us.”

It’s too much. The frustration, the helplessness, all the anger you’ve been trying to keep in check, finally boils over. You step forward, glaring at him. “Carol saved your life,” you snarl, your voice cold and bitter.

Abraham’s face remains stony, unfazed, but his voice rises as he meets your gaze, unflinching. “Well, I’m tryin’ to save yours.”

“We’re not goin’ anywhere without our people,” Rick interjects, his voice low but steely, taking another step forward until he’s chest-to-chest with Abraham.

Abraham scoffs, his tone sharp, dismissive. “Your people took off.”

“They’re comin’ back!” Rick snarls back at him, fists clenched. You can see the anger simmering under his skin too, mirroring yours.

“To what?” Abraham roars, his voice echoing through the church. “Picked-over bones?”

Without thinking, you lunge forward, arm pulled back as you aim to strike, but Rick catches you, arms looping your middle, nearly throwing you behind him as he steps forward, squaring up to Abraham. In the blur of movement, Rick’s hand flies to Abraham’s gun, trying to wrestle it from his grip, the two men pushing against each other with a fierce intensity. Glenn shoots forward, shoving himself between them before it turns uglier.

“Abraham,” Rosita’s sharp voice cuts through the tension, her warning clear from the corner of the room.

“Hey, hey! Stop! Now!” Glenn shouts, throwing his hands out to stop both of them. “Do you really think you’re gonna be any safer leaving right now? In the middle of the night?” he asks Abraham, voice steady but imploring.

Abraham’s posture shifts slightly, his breath heavy as he meets Glenn’s eyes. “Yeah,” he replies, though his voice is lower, the anger tempered with reluctant resolve.

Glenn holds his ground, his face a mask of determination. “What about tomorrow?” he presses. “We need each other for this. To get to DC. We can get through all of it together!”

A silence settles, the weight of his words hanging in the air, until Tara steps forward, her voice hesitant but steady. “I have an idea,” she says, glancing at Abraham. “If you stay and help for one more day, I’ll…I’ll go with you to DC no matter what.”

Glenn and Maggie exchange a look, sadness flickering in their eyes. The connection they’ve built with her these past few days is undeniable, and her offer feels like a sacrifice.

Abraham’s eyes narrow as he takes in her words, and he nods curtly, barely glancing at Glenn and Maggie. “Glenn and Maggie too,” he says.

“No,” you and Rick say sharply, voices rising in unison, a protective edge in each of your tones.

Abraham shrugs, his voice cold, dismissive. “Good luck, then. I’m not interested in breaking up what you have here.” His tone is harsh, indifferent, and it only fuels the anger burning through you. “Rosita, grab your gear.” He starts toward the door, not sparing a glance back, but Rosita stands there, hesitant, her gaze pleading.

“Now,” he snaps, his tone brooking no argument.

You watch as Rosita’s face falls, and something clenches painfully in your chest, anger flaring hot as she reluctantly picks up her things. Abraham calls to Eugene next, but Eugene sits frozen, his gaze darting from person to person. “Move it,” Abraham barks, louder this time, his eyes flashing with impatience.

Eugene stares down at his feet, hesitating, his voice barely more than a murmur. “Okay.”

Your grip tightens on your rifle, your own frustration simmering dangerously close to the surface. “You’re not takin’ the bus,” you growl, stepping forward, fury and disbelief lacing your tone. The reality of it hits you hard—they’re going to leave you all stranded, leave you here without a vehicle, without any way to find Daryl and Carol, as if they’re the only ones who matter. You’d helped them fix that damn bus, and now, all you feel is betrayal. “Try to stop me,” Abraham challenges, pausing in the doorway, daring you.

You glance at Rick, a flicker of understanding passing between you, and together, you step forward, the tension mounting as you move to confront him head-on.

“Y/N!” Maggie calls, reaching out, trying to pull you back, but her voice fades as you surge forward, your blood pounding with a mixture of fury and fear.

Rick gets there first, and Glenn rushes in again, shoving himself between them, his palms pressing against both men’s chests, his voice firm, pleading.

“Hey, hey, hey, wait!” he says, looking from Rick to Abraham and then back to you, lifting a hand, urging you to hold off. “You stay,” Glenn says, his gaze boring into Abraham’s. “You stay and help us. And we will go with you.”

“No,” Rick whispers fiercely, his voice hard.

Glenn doesn’t waver, his eyes locking with Rick’s. “It’s not your call,” he says quietly, before turning back to Abraham. “You stay and help us.”

Abraham considers for a moment, his jaw working as he takes in Glenn’s words. “Half a day,” he mutters, his tone finally softening. “Come high noon, we’re taillights. Not waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“And we’ll leave with you,” Maggie agrees, glancing at you with an apologetic look, one you can barely stand to meet.

“Half a day,” Abraham repeats, his voice quiet but resolute. He picks up his gun and turns, heading back into the church without another word.

You watch him go, frustration boiling in your chest, every instinct telling you to fight back, to scream, to lash out. The whole world feels like it’s unraveling, leaving you stranded in the wreckage. Daryl’s gone, Carol’s gone, and now half of the people you thought you could count on are ready to leave too. You swallow back the rage, forcing yourself to breathe, but every breath feels like fire, a reminder of just how alone you might be by tomorrow.

You stare out into the dark, your thoughts circling painfully, every detail pressing deeper. Just hours ago, he’d been here with you, holding you, whispering "my wife" like it was a vow that couldn’t be broken. You’d let yourself believe in that, in the warmth of his arms, the steady beat of his heart against yours as if it was the safest place you could ever be. For him to leave now, so soon after you’d made promises in a way words couldn’t hold—it digs the knife in deeper, twisting until it hurts to breathe.

The memory of it all is still so close, almost warm against your skin, and yet it feels painfully distant, like it never really happened. You trusted him with a part of yourself you never thought you’d trust anyone with, and he’d been gone like it was nothing. It’s a hollow ache, one that only grows sharper with each minute that passes, the weight of it settling heavy in your chest.

You move to the front pews, joining everyone as Rick goes over the plan to take out Gareth and his group. The air is thick with tension, everyone leaning in, their expressions grim and resolute. Rick’s eyes are dark, sharper than you’ve ever seen, and he paces slowly, his voice low and intense.

“They don’t think we’re thinking straight,” he says, his gaze sweeping over each of you. “They think we’re gonna act rash, come at them head-on. But they don’t know us, and they sure as hell don’t know what we’re capable of.” His voice tightens, a flicker of anger crossing his face. “We’re gonna take them by surprise, hit them where they don’t see it coming. Every step has to work—no mistakes.”

Your jaw clenches, the determination flaring in your chest. These people had taken Bob, left him mutilated, and now Daryl and Carol were out there somewhere, maybe suffering the same fate. You won’t let them take anything more from you. As Rick lays out each detail, you find yourself gripping your weapon tighter, every step of the plan searing itself into your mind.

Around you, you can feel the intensity radiating from everyone else. This isn’t just a rescue—it’s retribution. They’d taken enough from you all, and tonight, you’re taking it back.

One by one, you gather your weapons, the weight of each one a steady reminder of what lies ahead. Silently, you follow Rick out the door, stepping into the cold night, the dark wrapping around you like a shroud. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing as you fall in line, each step measured and purposeful, the only sound the faint crunch of leaves beneath your feet. The trees loom around you, their branches twisting in the moonlight, casting long, skeletal shadows. The night air is thick, tense, as if it knows what’s coming. You settle into place, every sense sharpened, eyes scanning the darkness. Your heart beats steadily, each beat a countdown, the calm before the storm. The Terminus people think they’ve won, that they’re the hunters. But tonight, in this silent darkness, they’re about to find out what it’s like to be hunted.

You head straight for the woods, following Rick into the shadows. But to go to the elementary school, no. 

To wait.

[oldiesstationlover11607]

Hello! Hope you're having an amazing day! I love your writing so so much! I was hoping I could request for a part 2 to your TØP zombie apocalypse fic where the reader gets hurt maybe and Tyler gets worried and breaks the stoic facade he's been keeping? Thank you thank you so much ❤️

You don't have to write it if you had different ideas for the continuation of that fic!

Apocalypse Part 2- Tyler Joseph + Josh Dun X Reader (Zombie Apocalypse AU)

Warnings: Death and zombie apocalypse stuff

Word Count: 1489

A/N: hello lovely anon :) hope this fits your fantasy!

Part 1

The house was quiet, save for the steady sounds of Tyler rearranging furniture and blocking off potential entry points. His movements were efficient, almost too controlled, as though his entire being hinged on keeping us hidden from whatever lurked outside. He shot a few looks in our direction, as if assessing us, making sure we were pulling our weight. His tough attitude made it hard to talk to him, but after barely making it out alive on my own, I couldn’t not be grateful. 

Josh had been the softer of the two, his eyes still hopeful. He maintained the idea that we’d regain what we once had before the world went dark, safety and security. 

Once Tyler was satisfied with the barricades, he set down his pack and surveyed the room. “Alright,” he said, his voice calm and commanding, “we’ll take shifts. I’ll go first. You two, get some rest. We'll have a long walk tomorrow.”

“Sounds good to me,” Josh said with a tired smile. He leaned back, his shoulders easing as he sat beside me, and I tried to match his relaxed demeanor, though my mind was still racing from the day. “Tyler’s always been serious about the shift thing,” he murmured to me, noticing my hesitation. “He probably hasn't slept in days himself, but he would never admit it.” He gave a quick glance to Tyler, who was busy securing the last window, his jaw set in grim determination.

I nodded, exhaustion threatening to knock me over. “I just… I’ll try to sleep,” I said, and it was only half a lie. There was no way my mind was slowing down enough to let me fall asleep easily, not with the events of the past days gnawing at me.

“Close your eyes,” Josh murmured softly, watching Tyler carefully, making sure he couldn’t hear. 

“I can’t sleep,” I sighed, running a hand through my hair. 

“Just try. Tyler and I will keep watch,” he responded. 

The warmth of Josh’s jacket draped over me, unexpectedly, and I was surprised by how much comfort it brought. I pulled it close and sank onto the frayed couch, resting my head against the musty fabric. But every time I closed my eyes, the faces of the people I’d lost flickered to life, their last screams echoing in my ears. I forced myself to stay calm, stay quiet. Weakness gets you killed, I could almost hear Tyler’s voice saying.

Then, pain flared along my arm, sharper than before, and I couldn’t suppress a wince.

Josh noticed instantly. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, brows knitting together in worry.

“It’s nothing… just a scratch,” I muttered, brushing it off. But the lie was weak, and Josh wasn't buying it.

Tyler appeared beside us, as if he’d been watching the entire exchange from across the room. His eyes were narrowed, suspicious. “Let me see.”

I hesitated, but the look in Tyler’s eyes made it clear there was no option for argument. He reached out, taking my wrist with a grip that was firm but somehow reassuring. He pushed up my sleeve, revealing an ugly, jagged gash that I’d done my best to ignore. Tyler’s face darkened, his no-nonsense exterior cracking just slightly.

“Why didn’t you tell us about this?” he demanded, his voice low, almost frustrated. His fingers were warm against my cold skin as he inspected the wound.

I swallowed, trying to ignore the way his worry made my chest ache. “I didn’t… I didn’t want to be a burden.”

Tyler’s expression softened, just for a second. “You’re part of this team now. That means we need to know if you’re hurt. Nobody’s getting left behind.”

Josh, who had already dug out their small, battered first-aid kit, was quick to hand it to Tyler before going to guard the exits of our hideaway. Tyler cleaned the wound, his touch light and careful.

“This is gonna sting,” he warned, giving me a quick look of sympathy before he dabbed the antiseptic on the wound.

I hissed in pain, squeezing my eyes shut as the burning sensation spread. When I opened them, I was startled to see the look of concern in his eyes, 

“Guess you’re a lot tougher than you look,” he said with a small smile. “Not everyone could make it as far as you have.”

I tried to smile back, though it came out weak. “Thanks. But I think it’s less ‘tough’ and more ‘lucky.’”

Tyler shook his head. “Luck only gets you so far out here. You’re still here,” he said, almost as if he was reminding himself. “That’s what matters.”

I blinked, surprised by the hint of warmth in his tone. The man I’d known so far had been all hard edges, with a voice that was steady but cold, like he’d seen the death of millions–which he probably had. But now, there was a vulnerability in his gaze, a crack in his armor that I’d never expected to see. “Just… be honest with me,” he continued, his voice quiet but firm. “If you’re hurt, if you’re scared… I can handle it.”

“I… I didn’t think you’d care,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I instantly regretted it. But he didn’t look angry. If anything, he looked pained.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I get it. We all have to be strong out here. But… I don’t want anyone else getting hurt because they were trying to hide something.”

Josh glanced back at us, giving Tyler a slight nod as if to say, Finally, you’re showing some compassion. But he said nothing, only continued bandaging my arm with gentle, careful movements.

“Out here, we’re a team,” Tyler continued, his gaze unwavering. “If we’re gonna survive, we’ve gotta trust each other.”

I nodded, my chest tight with gratitude. “I… I get it. I’ll be honest from now on. I promise.”

He finished securing the bandage, giving me a warm smile. “There. Good as new. Just be careful, alright?”

I nodded, murmuring a quiet “thank you” as I glanced between the two of them. Josh’s comforting warmth and Tyler’s tough, unyielding strength—they balanced each other out, somehow, and it made me feel safer than I’d felt in days.

Tyler’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Get some rest,” he ordered, his tone softening just a fraction. “We’ll head out at dawn.”

I lay back down, and this time, sleep came a little easier, the warmth of Josh’s jacket and Tyler’s watchful presence lulling me into a fitful but mercifully dreamless slumber.

When dawn finally broke, it was Tyler who shook me awake, his hand firm but gentle on my shoulder. His face was serious as always, but there was a hint of something softer in his gaze.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice low. “We don’t want to be here when they wake up.”

I nodded, shaking off the last remnants of sleep. I noticed Josh watching us from the door, his face alight with quiet encouragement. I felt a surge of strength, like maybe, with these two by my side, I could actually keep going.

The walk through the forest was tense and silent, with Tyler leading the way. Every so often, he’d glance back at me, his eyes lingering just long enough to check that I was keeping up. Josh stayed close, his steady presence a comfort as we weaved through the dense trees and overgrown trails.

We hadn’t gone far when Tyler raised a hand, signaling us to stop. “There’s a house up ahead,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll check it out. Could be empty… but don’t let your guard down.”

I followed his gaze, spotting the dark outline of a small cabin half-hidden by the trees. My heart raced, and I glanced over at Josh, who gave me a reassuring nod.

“Stay close to me,” he whispered, his voice steady. “We’ll be alright.”

Tyler motioned for us to stay back as he moved forward, slipping into the shadows with a quiet, practiced ease. I held my breath, watching as he disappeared into the cabin, my pulse hammering in my ears. Every second that ticked by felt like an eternity.

Finally, Tyler reemerged, his expression serious but calm. “It’s clear,” he said, giving us a nod. “Come on.”

We hurried inside, and Tyler immediately set to work, pulling furniture in front of the doors and windows. He was fast and efficient, his movements almost mechanical, as though he’d done this a thousand times before. Josh helped him, moving a dusty armchair in front of the door while I sat by the window, keeping watch.

Once the cabin was secure, Tyler sank down onto an old couch, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion. For the first time, I noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the lines of worry etched deep into his face.

//

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