#it's what made her believe in past lives long before they were truly confirmed to her and how she rolled with that info

[elizabethrobertajones]

ranking my past lives on a scale from Haldrath to Tenzen

[vampyrial]

A World For Her Alone | A child of ill omen

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12

cw (chapter specific): emotional infidelity, abuse, illness, murder, self harm, suicide, childbirth, vomiting

pairing: claude x fem!reader

summary: in which Claude tries again.

author's note: oh boy.

When he opened his eyes he was in his bedroom. He jolted from the sudden change, looking about him and trying to make sense of what he saw. He was lying on a soft bed instead of the hard, splintery wood he remembered from before. Just a second ago he had been sure to die and now he was home and unharmed. He felt for a wound in his chest, believing that perhaps he’d been saved from his fate, the knights who tried to stop your knight from killing him had taken him back home. But there was no pain there, not even a scar. He had felt the pain searing him for a few beats, the blood drowning him and then there was nothing, there was only this. But it couldn’t have been a dream. He did not dream like this, not so prophetic and pained.

A knock at the door made him jump, every ounce of stimulation made him feel as though he were going insane, as if any moment he would find himself back on the ground. “Come in” He said, in a voice that did not even sound like his own. It wavered with uncertainty very much unlike him, it sounded weak even to his own ears and he resented it. As soon as the butler greeted him with a measuring gaze, concerned he might be ill from the distress on his face and in his voice, he was asking about you.

“You are due to see the lady today. The preparations have been made as you commanded.” 

A broken, relieved sound fell from his lips at the words. You were alive. This life he’d arrived in was new, unblemished from the faults of his past and you were the proof. He lived again, you lived again. The day was miserably overcast, the light was a dull gray and much of the room was cast in shadows. This realization of his second life felt like fool’s gold and yet he wanted it badly enough that he reached for it anyway.

“I see…” He murmured “Nevermind that, prepare a carriage now. I will visit her early.”

“My lord, are you feeling alright?” The butler asked anxiously, clearly baffled by the unusually emotional state of him.

“Do I have to tell you again?” He asked sharply, impatient. He sounded like himself again. 

The butler looked mortified and had the sense to chasten himself before responding. “No, my lord. I will prepare it right away, I apologize.” He excused himself quickly but not so much so that Claude did not catch a sliver of remaining worry on his face as he looked up at him. 

It didn’t matter how he looked, it couldn’t wait. He needed to see you. He needed something to tether him to this bleary new life, to confirm it was all more than a dream, more than a hell made for him where he’d be forever in waiting. He remembered what Felix said. “Do you even know how she died? How long she was held in that filthy, inhumane place?” Had you waited for him then? 

This time, without fail, he’d show up for you. Even if it could not change the fact that he hadn’t before.

When he arrived, he was greeted by your parents who were surprised that he was there early but instead of meeting him with an edge of reproach, they apologized profusely for the tea party not being prepared yet. It was ridiculous how much reverence they showed, it was well past courtesy. Claude couldn’t help but notice the way their faces changed when he asked for you, when they told him you’d hurry along and be down in a minute. It was almost as though your name was unsavory gossip, existing only to be whispered and grimaced at.

Nevertheless, they directed him outside to wait for you at the table. His body had never been so wrought with anxiety as then, he thought he might truly go insane with the waiting, the desire to see you again and the fear that in his deserved punishment, he might never. 

A sense of foreboding came over him, an insistence this was a doomed desire. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he believed something awful was about to happen. What he didn’t know was whether to trust in it or in his hope, his intention and need. He chose neither and merely observed the beautiful and wretched day he’d come back to, trying to hold fast to the feeling of relief he’d felt when he realized you were still alive but wielding his wariness as a weapon in front of him.

When he set eyes on you, finally, he might’ve flinched. For, even though he wished so desperately that you were here, part of him didn’t expect it to ever really happen. He expected some divine punishment, perhaps it was wishful thinking on par with wishing you would alive and safe. But it couldn’t be a punishment, not if you were here. Not if you were really alive again as he was.

He didn’t want to wait for you to reach him, he wanted to meet you halfway and take you into his arms so that he could feel your heart beating, your breathing, the little sounds of surprise you’d let slip. But he remained seated, somehow, and he was able to ignore the tendrils of doubt creeping into his always so cynical mind. Shortly after you, a figure in red. He could not yet take his eyes from you but his lips could not form words. What could he say to you that would make any sense? And how did he speak without falling apart?

When you reached the table, you stalled a moment, eyes unfocused and dead. You greeted him as you always did but somehow you felt far away from him, from everything. There was a murky look in your eyes, like something waiting to emerge from a great depth. He stood, mercifully his body obeyed, he came closer to you. It hadn’t been like this before. Did something happen to you? It unnerved him see you see you look so dead; even in the sunlight your eyes looked so flat and dark to him that they reflected nothing, conveyed nothing. Unreal, like an ink drawing.

His hand had begun to tremble. Something dark was hanging over this day, over him, over you. Ah, would he wake up now? Would he wake up to the true nature of what he believed was his second chance? 

“Are you alright? This isn’t like you.” He heard himself speak, but not from the horror that ruminated in his mind, words that seemed to be at a slight disconnect with his intentions. No…what was this?

Your body was trembling, swaying like a tree in the wind. All of the sudden, life poured into your eyes, something fragile took the place of the shadows. He might’ve been glad for it, for a moment at the least, but he realized that the look in your eyes was utter ruin. Those were not the eyes of his fiancée, not steadfast or bashful and avoidant, these were the eyes of someone who had seen it, the sword falling over her head. Those eyes, he was certain, were his condemnation. 

Did you know that he had killed you before? Had the you from his past lent you the view from below?

Lady Diana, whom he had not even considered until that exact moment, finally reached the table. The tightness in his chest immediately unwound. The rose red dress, her golden hair on the wind, these were images he hadn’t known he’d held to until he saw them again. The unwitting euphoria flooded his body yet again, reaching deeply inside his mind and caressing every anxiety. Diana was here. She lived just as you did. That thought was not cause for anything really, it shouldn’t be but…he felt that he wanted to cry when he set eyes on her again alive. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her and she, under his attention, looked bright and curious. Alive. Such a contrast from her before, already cold and dressed in a thin, bloodied gown. Her throat had been slit but from the struggle there were many bruises on her pale skin, along the whole of her body. He ached to see her unharmed like this, the bright girl he had loved well before. He couldn’t help himself, even with the nauseous feeling that accompanied, he longed for her. It was the only thing he could hold on to for the turning of this strange new life. That familiar and far reaching feeling drove itself past flesh, bone, blood, into something immaterial. 

It wanted him back.

You dropped a teacup onto the grass, freeing him from the hold momentarily as he turned back to you. His stomach sank to see you, your jaw was clenched and your eyes were glassy with unshed tears. Had you been shadowed by something as he had?

“Are you alright?” He was desperate to know. He felt like he was speaking in a rush,  something was creeping up on him as sudden as the clouds blocking the sunlight. Something cloyingly familiar and unwanted. Were you specter or human? Retribution or revision? And what was she, then? What was Diana?

You were the little ghost of something he had killed. You would not respond and he wanted to touch you, so much that his mouth went dry. When had he ever wanted something this badly? He needed to take you by the shoulders, to look into your eyes, maybe his could communicate something to you. Some sincerity that his lips refused to muster. Perhaps if he could only touch you, you’d understand. 

“What happened? You’re not yourself today.” He heard it from outside his own body, automatic like breathing. He could not reach you; he was, in all reality, quite far away from you despite the closeness of your bodies.

“I’m sorry…” A wavering voice that sounded as if on the verge of tears. It made him ache inside when you showed him the same smile you always did, the smile that seemed to always be at the verge of collapse. It was as though he could feel the reverberation of the pain he felt when Felix’s sword broke his skin. It was a burning pain, the breaching of his heart. He smiled back at you and soothed a hand over your back. 

This was what it meant to be ghost. He understood finally, you were not the ghost, he was. He was immaterial, unable to affect anything around him.

Interestingly, you were different this life in more than the bleakness trapped behind your eyes. You worked with a ferocity and you became a much more cunning lady than you’d ever been before. You were more involved in politics and court, willing to shake hands with twice as many people who before you would not have paid any mind to. When had you ever had any desire to be so congenial to everyone? Had you ever had such ambition in the past life? Your intelligence had always been impressive but now it was frighteningly astounding. It seemed in this life that you had somehow become more proactive in amplifying the position of the marquisate, you were fortifying it against its enemies.

It was just another way in which you were looking after him and he appreciated it but inside, there was a certain hurt that came from seeing you work that hard and be condemned by others for it. They called you a “horrible woman” and rumors swirled around high society about you more so than before when you were merely a “jealous, fearsome lady.” He could only stand beside you and your actions, he couldn’t dispel the notions about you that seemed incessant no matter how ubiquitous your goals were among nobles. He wanted to hunt those who would harm your reputation further, to hold their deeds up to the light and make them see they were not, would never be, in any position to act scandalized over what you did.

He meant what he said, he was lucky to have you for a wife. Even more than that, he was lucky that he was able to make himself express it outwardly. That was a good omen, he thought. This time, things would be different. He was no longer a ghost, he had just needed to see you to come alive. His feelings for Diana, compulsive as they were, would not win him over this time. He would not let them. Maybe he had not been saved completely by god but he had been given the chance to save himself. And he would, he would save you too.

He had all the arrogance befitting of his station.

You had become very protective of your little sister, it was a good thing, he tried to tell himself. If Diana could avoid her death, you would not be a suspect. He knew you hadn’t killed her before but the moment it was murmured into his ear that you might be the culprit, it was decided. And for how many others was that the case – considering how badly everyone wanted you to be a villainess? There hadn’t been a single voice that rose in doubt of you being capable of murdering your sister, the voice had been his and that was buried under the weight of something unmovable. 

That was why he agreed when you asked him to look after her one day. He didn’t want to, he hated how his affection for her defiled what convictions he held. He tried to keep in mind that it was for your sake more than anyone’s, to guard himself. But it didn’t work, at the mere suggestion, his heart leaped. He was inundated with a joy that smothered the him that lived beneath. The sweetest of any happiness he’d ever held was to be found at her side, he could not deny that truth but it came with a horrible remorse, a violation of the self that a greater part of him wished to kill.

Diana was glad to have a visitor, no, glad to have him. The thought thrilled his dulled senses. Your parents gave no sense of wariness about having a man alone with their unwed daughter which baffled him, he knew he practically had hearts in his eyes when he arrived, overflowing with anticipation of her. He couldn’t have been more obvious and yet, all your mother did was smile. “It’ll be nice for Diana. She’s really fond of you, my lord.” Her voice was so soft and teeming with the affection she had for Diana, as if she was truly glad for her. Diana was not even her child, born to her or adopted, she came from an affair. At first, he’d thought your mother only showed courtesy out of your father’s desire. But this…it was the smile, the happiness of a mother. And she did not show it for you. 

How it felt to be in her room. It was indescribable, what being surrounded by her scent, her books, her things, did to him. Her room to him was like a secret cave, shielded from society. The pink painted walls were not walls at all but barriers from the world itself. All of hell could rage outside and what would they know of it? In that room only, they could get lost inside each other. Diana was feeling better that day, so the two of them were able to have tea together. She showed him some of the books she kept, she would read her favorite parts in her airy voice that always, always betrayed her feelings. She was bursting with happiness at having someone to show them to.

He stayed for hours, captivated by every little detail he learned from her and greedy for even more. She was nothing like a wonderful hostess should be but he liked her that way, she was innocently impolite and honest, unrestrained by the graces of high society. It made her easy to talk to, easy to tease and laugh with. Had he ever laughed so much as he did with her? He felt delirious from the contrast of his headiness and his dread, the heavy stone weighing on his stomach. His body and the greater part of his soul belonged here but his mind was with you. He wondered what you’d think, knowing he promised to be home by dark. You were probably worried and that bothered him, he wanted to be the sort of husband you wouldn’t have to fuss over. He wanted to be dependable and yet it was decided now that he could not.

Diana felt like the center of the earth, a small divot in the earth for him to rest his tired body. Diana felt like a noose around his neck at the gallows, sure and wrested around his neck tightly. The inevitable she. A veritable stranger no matter how he felt he knew her. All he knew was you. You were not important, another part of him argued. You were his wife. You were not Diana. 

And so raged his thoughts until he could bring himself to come home to you. He’d been told you’d gone to bed and his stomach dropped with disappointment. He’d at least wanted to bid your goodnight, tell you that he’d come home safely so that you didn’t wonder. He wanted to sleep in bed next to you but his feet led him to another room. He justified it in his mind – you needed to sleep and he would only disturb you. Because he could not control his actions, he made up flimsy justifications for them. Though, he was not sure from which voice they came from. He wasn’t sure which he hoped they came from.

The months that came after were as he imagined they would be, still he could not help but hope, he was yet unused to the kind of weakness he displayed. He was born to be strong, to be responsible for many lives, many fates and yet when was the last time he had felt in control? He needed this dichotomy of his two selves to be a war, he needed it to be something he could fight.

Even in his failure, he treated it as if it were his own fault. When he sent a letter to Lady Diana, feeling as if he had only watched somebody else’s hands write the words, he cursed himself for not trying hard enough to resist. The next time was to be different, he would gather his strength. He told himself this even knowing it wasn’t true, even when the steward gave him Diana’s response and he felt relief soothe every tense muscle in his body. He told himself the next time would be different even when he responded to that letter.

He needed to believe in this second chance. This time around, things were actually going quite smoothly with your relationship. To a certain extent, he’d been able to praise you for your efforts as he hadn't before. He’d made you happy when he told you he was lucky to have you, you looked up at him shyly with a genuine smile on your face, a very rare sight which had only grown increasingly rare over time. It was only in that moment that he was able to feel unconflicted. It was only in that moment that things were simple.

They didn’t stay that way. 

A letter arrived to the manor, it was placed directly in his hands rather than yours both because he was the only one who ever received anything from your home and because it was specifically from Diana herself. The steward had whispered the urgency of the matter so he read it at the table before you, even though the him within cringed at the shamelessness of such an act. The larger part of him refused to show such inhibition and as he read the words, his heart only dropped for their contents and not for his wife watching him warily from across the table.

With a shaky breath, he announced to you that Diana’s condition had worsened significantly. He only managed the words because he had to, because it concerned you. The darkness was spreading through his body again, rotting even the reasonable part of himself he’d held above it. He could think of nothing but Diana. Her condition was such that she felt she was going to die, she couldn’t even leave bed without fainting and couldn’t keep down food. The fact that she’d been able to write him would have been a comfort, except that she’d included that she’d had to have her maid write the letter for her. 

It shouldn’t have struck him so, Diana had always been ill, this outcome was not a surprising one but he felt as though he might lose his hold on everything if she died. What would he do if he never again saw that smile? He tried to stifle the ache rising in his body, his inner self had not stayed hidden, it objected and raged against the grief. He commanded himself to come together, to grin and bear it if he couldn’t make it go away. But his body did not listen, how could it when his voice was only a whisper?

Claude stood up and announced his departure, he rallied what strength he had to stop himself but it was entirely futile. His body moved regardless of his objections, just as it had the last time. Even so, he strained himself against the almost autonomous machine he’d become, until the very end, he tried to make his body stop. Even the sound of that pleading voice behind him did not give him what he needed. You were begging him to take you along and he kept finding reasons to deny you. It was vile. He knew she was your sister before he was your anything but inside him, woven around his throat was a pressing need to see her. A selfishness that demanded to be alone with her.

The thoughts were stirred up to the surface of his mind easily and they lashed against each other. You didn’t care about Diana, why should you be there? She had asked for him, not for you. You were only trying to cling to him. But why shouldn’t you? He was your husband and he was leaving you behind in matters that concerned your family. No – Diana was hardly your family, if he wasn’t going, would you have even bothered? Of course you would have, he refuted within his mind, you were a dutiful sister even if you weren’t close to Diana. How vile you are, wouldn’t Diana be able to see how little you care for her? Would she have to die knowing her sister curses her for having his affection?

Even though all his eyes saw was the picture of a woman desperate to get to her sister, he was quickly growing agitated with you. Whatever the cost, he simply did not want to be with his wife while he was falling apart over her sister. He thought his face should be the one Diana saw, he wanted to see himself reflected in her eyes. He wanted to be the one to give her hope. No, you couldn’t be there, hovering over his shoulder and serving as the cruel reminder of all that had been robbed of Diana. It didn’t matter if you were her sister or not, he wouldn’t let Diana be unhappy on top of what she was already going through. Why did you insist on being a burden so much?

He shuddered when he felt himself grab you harder than he ever would have and put you from his body. He caught a sliver of your expression and his misery only grew, suddenly stricken by the thought that he might hurt you worse and be unable to stop it again. Would he yet again be helpless? This time, would he be aware and powerless to watch himself harm you? Would he have to watch himself kill you, beat you, betray you — knowing that the difference between himself and this darkness scarcely mattered anymore?

For once, he surrendered and did not try to rebel when his body moved away from you, out the door.

Through the balmy night air, he moved like arrow darting through the sky. He reached Diana, his princess in her tower. Yet again, your parents showed him reverence and did not so much as ask about their other daughter. It was as if they were only expecting him in the first place, no — that they only wanted him in the first place. In consideration of his status, they were courteous and asked about him, congratulating him on a promotion given to him as a knight. He wanted to tell them to shut up, to stop with the small talk if they couldn’t be bothered to ask about you. He was curt with his answers, he didn’t know whether that was by his design or something else’s.

The instant they caught him up on Diana’s condition, however, he was alert. He was fully consumed by the doomed desire for her life to be spared. Every word that came from your mother’s mouth broke him. When he went into her room, finally, he was left alone with her. She was pale, thin, the light had been siphoned from her. When he went over and brushed the hair from her sweaty face, murmuring sweet words of comfort that he’d never been given himself, she opened her eyes and a little glimmer returned to them. Since when had he known of such romantic words when he was a pitiful man who could not even tell his wife once that he loved her? Since when did he have such power that he could return life to this girl?

Diana nearly exhausted herself trying to sit up to talk to him. He’d had to lay her back down as tears rolled down her ivory cheeks from the frustration of her body giving up. It broke his heart, he felt as though he might really bleed to see her cry so hopelessly. She, with her body and her beauty such a temporal, fragile thing, knew that she was withering and could do nothing to stop it. She cried as she squeezed his hand and he could bear it no longer. He leaned over, taking her face in his hands and kissed her until she calmed, until she thought of nothing but him. Her lips tasted like bitter medicine.

When he pulled away, Diana looked at him, docile and sparkling with an ill fated hope. His love for her in that moment caught in every cavern of his heart, it blanketed all else. It was a gentle intrusion like rain seeping in through his clothes. It quieted his better self for the moment. For the time being, he knew nothing but his desire to comfort her. And so he did.

His inner self was already quite tired after a few days, longing for home, for mercy from this place that seemed to revolve around Diana. She’d become the object of his misery and he’d held to the hope that you’d show up soon but you hadn’t thus far. Where were you to save him from this? It was a pathetic thought but it was true that he wanted to be at your side if his body would not allow him to come home. He knew that as long as he lacked control, it was much better to stay away from you and yet he could not deny himself the simplest desire for the sight of you.

He got his wish months later when he needed to return home for work. He saw you in the foyer waiting for him to stop, even though he kept walking as if he didn’t. He raged at himself in that moment, full of righteous fury against his own body. He wanted to hurt himself, to break his bones, to bruise and bleed his frustration, his anguish. But the moment you blurted out the news: “I’m with child!” He was able to stop, everything stopped, his vengeful thoughts and the anger churning inside his heart. 

On one hand, Claude felt soft at the thought of a child between you two. You had asked him to start trying for a baby and it was the one time the greater force inside was forced to do something that his inner self was more than approving of. It was satisfying, to finally have some piece of a real marriage to you. It was more than needing an heir, it was wanting to have a family with you who would definitely make a great mother and could teach him to be a good father. His heart was satisfied in that regard.

On another…he was terrified to have a child while he was like this. He was already afraid of hurting you, of the disdain he felt for you. What would he feel for this child? There was no promise that he’d never hurt he child that would be born from you, no promise he wouldn’t be resentful that it wasn’t born from Diana. The fear was like a vice, strangling what joy he’d had about the prospect. This voice inside was like a curse.

And even still, there was another front on which he was conflicted. The greater voice inside made the other conflicts seem like drops of water in the sea. The most pressing issue was that you were pregnant and Diana was about to die. You and this child would force him from her. Why now? Why did you have to be pregnant at a time where his greatest responsibility should be comforting her? How could he tell Diana he would have to leave her for the sake of his child knowing that she could never have the family she desired? Agony filtered through his body, sapping away what warmth he felt before and leaving him empty. 

In the end, with such things inhabiting his mind, he could not even express a perfunctory “That’s wonderful” or even tell you that he was thankful to you. He only left, disappearing like a coward with his poorly concealed tears to feel sorry yet again for Diana, for himself. To feel a need to break his own body.

He went back to cheer up Diana, to keep her happy even while you lay at the back of his mind. He knew that he should be there for you while you underwent something so stressful and important but the rest of him didn’t seem to mind ignoring that fact. It was glad to surrender you to thoughts of Diana. He trembled with each sign that she might recover, he died inside at every indication that she would not. He fell up and down the sliding scale of her health and all the while, whispered his love in her ears to reassure her. He felt more justified with every day he spent, that a dying woman needed him more than his wife who had always had robust health and was surrounded by servants and doctors. He strengthened this lie even as a voice of doubt tried to gain his attention. You hadn’t had robust health, not according to Felix who knew you best. Perhaps things would be different in this life but he mourned every single day he spent away from you, he wanted to crawl back home to you. He wanted you to be well, he wanted to make sure you were well.

He could not. His place was with Diana. What pleasure he took in the center of that tragedy, in living in his fantasy of being unburdened and free to love her. It was consolation he felt that he deserved. Soon, Diana did ask to see you and he had to put his greed aside. 

Although he did not desire to break the immersion of him living with her functionally as if they were the last lovers alive, her wishes were more important and she was not long for this world. She, who loved you even despite your coldness, had to leave you with something.

When you came, he could not help but notice the difficulty with which you walked. Your skin was wan and you wore a grave expression, the one he’d have been wearing if he had the choice not to smile for Diana’s sake. You were heavily pregnant, he wanted to ask about your health but his mouth would not open. Your parents also did not inquire, although he had hoped with all his might that they would so that his worries would be soothed. He could only translate Diana’s wish to you.

You left nearly as quick as you came once she required nothing else from you, he wanted to catch your arm as you walked by and tell you to stay here the remainder of your pregnancy. It was dangerous to travel, especially looking as sickly as you did. In his stead, who had been looking after you? What was being done for you? He was forced to watch you leave, not even waiting to see you walk through the door before turning back to Diana’s room. His own consciousness screamed for the loss, for the feeling of impending tragedy. The darkness inside relieved the tension in his body and thought only of Diana.

He went into Diana’s room again to find her crying. She refused to tell him why even as he begged for the reason. “Is it because the lady has gone back? She’ll come back soon, it won’t be long at all before I can call her back.” He was scrambling for something to put an end to her tears when his sweet nothings wouldn’t. “No, don’t send for her. It’s nothing” Diana said as she tried to hold back sobs. “What did the two of you talk about?” He murmured as he held her, trying to bring her back to the sated girl she had been. However, his question only seemed to further upset Diana. “I told her that I loved you. How can I confess something like that to my own sister? How can I be in love with you like this? I should have kept it inside until the day that I die.” She sobbed into his shirt. It took hours to calm her to sleep. 

He was soft with Diana, reassuring her that it was alright, that you would never blame her for falling in love, that you would forgive her. But when he came home, he was nearing madness with indignation. He was certain that you had lashed out at her in jealousy, if Diana had told him what she was planning to say, he would have talked her out of it. She shouldn’t need to confess to you, who already hated her.

It didn’t matter that his own voice spoke up and refuted, desperately citing that you had every right to be angry with her. What an awful girl she was, stealing away her own sister’s husband when she needed him most and then begging like a dog for her forgiveness, using her illness to force her to be graceful about a situation she should be allowed to have anger about. That denial was thin, it evaporated easily. It was insignificant amongst louder, greater ones that favored Diana.

He took his anger out on you, even though his inner self trusted that you wouldn’t have said anything to Diana. He said awful things to you, feeling like her knight, feeling as though he was seeking retribution for her. He watched you grow smaller before him, your eyes go bleak like they had the first time he saw you. He knew what he was doing to you and he hated himself for it but it was if he were only a player in a story who could not diverge from the role he’d be cast in.

Stop, please, stop. 

“Everything you’ve done so far to other people”

Bile rose in his throat as each word left his lips. He tried to stop with all the desperation as one trying to save his own life. 

“How can I believe you? You used that same face while scheming against others without a thought”

He knew what his next words would be, he knew they would kill you. And he could see that there was no end. He surrendered to the darkness, he wanted to escape what came next, what he knew would be another sword through his chest.

“That child you’re carrying, is it even mine?”

He left you reeling, with a visceral disgust for his wife whose jealousy knew no limit. To think that she would even choose to attack her sister as she lay in bed dying. He had no doubts that the child had to be his but it didn’t matter to him, he felt that you deserved to be humbled that way. This was the consequence of your actions. If you behaved as an untrustworthy, nasty woman, wouldn’t it make sense to treat you as such?

He went back to Diana, he wanted to be at her side before she woke up.

Diana’s room felt like a place constantly in stasis, the world was on pause when he was there and she was never to die. In his own misery, he had begun to wish that she would finally die. He knew that he would be there until she did so he prayed that she would set him free. Let her die, he thought, Please. Undoubtedly, his eyes must show it. His gaze must be casting the blame he felt she deserved. Why was she still alive, monopolizing his time? If she could only see it. No, if he could only free his body to smother her and end it. 

A messenger arrived with news from the mansion. His heart dropped in anticipation. In the halls and safely away from Diana’s ears, the steward told him that you had gone into labor. He saw the fright in the steward’s eyes and knew he absolutely had to be there, regardless of what Diana needed. You mattered more. He said that it was a tumultuous birth and encouraged Claude to be there in more reverent language befitting a servant. Despite the screams from inside, he heard himself brush off the request, citing Diana’s condition even as the steward spluttered objections in shock. He himself was shocked at the extent of his helplessness even though he had no right to be. When he could not win the right to control his own body, when he watched the messenger leave, all hope abandoned him. He was a ghost and this home was his only domain as the world kept turning around him.

Diana finally passed the day after that, as he held her in his arms. Something broke apart and allowed him finally, to vent the anguish he had been feeling for months on end. He cried, he let his fingers dig into his hands so hard they bled. It didn’t matter that he knew the tears were not brought forth out of sadness for his wife, he gave them to you anyway. The only thing worth considering anymore was that he would finally return to you. Those tears were his relief, his daybreak. They were his grief and regret.

However, he was again visited with more news. He was told that you had died giving birth. The situation was further explained to him but he did not hear, all sound negated as he seemed to detach from his worthless body. He had let you die alone. Was he only brought back so that he could watch you waste before his eyes? Why, this time, could he not save you? He had let you die, weak and helpless to even do so much as be there with you as you did. 

He’d likely been holding onto Diana as you died. The darkness receded and gave way to grief which weighed his body down, it left him gasping for air as his body returned to his control. He was no longer floating, he was painfully aware of himself, of his failure and what it cost. He reached for his dagger, it was the only thing he could think to do — if this was his punishment, he’d learned his lesson and he would gladly move on to the nothing which surely awaited him. But the steward stopped his hand. “My Lord!” He cried, wrenching the dagger from him and cutting his own hand in the process.

“I’ve already prepared a carriage, please, the daughter Madame left behind still needs you” He was bleeding quite a lot, but he kept his eyes on Claude as he used a handkerchief to wrap it.

The daughter. His child. He’d accused you of being unfaithful, he had said such things knowing they couldn’t be true simply because he knew they’d hurt a fragile woman already in a desolate state. And now she was dead from trying to deliver that child. His child lived same as he did. It was the same as before, same as if he’d killed you himself. Was this all that he lived for?

He allowed the steward to lead him to the carriage, made docile by the numbness that preceded. He came home to the wailing of an infant who, the steward had anxiously explained, had not stopped crying since her mother died. He was urged to rest but refused, he only wanted to see your body, to punish himself further. He wanted to commit it to memory this time, where before he’d abandoned you to a prison far away, he needed now to make himself see.

He wielded the image of your body against himself like a dagger, like his nails digging into his hands. He ripped open his wounds with it, he retched at the sight of you, bloodied and still. He was disgusted at himself, at knowing you had been torn apart for his weakness, as if presented with life he’d taken with his own hands.

He made himself look at his daughter. This pitiful, small thing who resembled him so closely…he’d used her to hurt his wife. He couldn’t bear to hold her and look down into eyes that seemed to damn him with their resemblance. It was as if god had given him his copy to say “You, who would condemn a good woman as an adulterer, have your proof of her fidelity.” When he had demanded an explanation from the doctor, even knowing it was unfair of him, the frail and weeping old man managed to confess that she had declined to save her own life by giving up the child’s. 

He wished that reality would break open, would fracture and crumble. He wished that he would lose his sanity so that all that occurred would be rendered nothing to a mind who could no longer comprehend the definite nature of reality. But there was only one way toward even the sliver of a chance for mercy. It would not be given to him as a gift. He held the dagger up to his throat. In the moment before it bit into his skin, he thought of the perverse escape the darkness had offered. 

Next

tags: @kage-tobiuo @kreishin @rosephantomhive@yeahdrarry@splaterparty0-0 @dear-dairiesss @qluvrv @hafsuhhh @eissaaaa @ayolk @doan-19 @fourcefulcupid@ariachaos@cerisearan@irisspade@yaesflorist@jcrml@xiaosprettygf@yevenly@amaris08atoshi012022 @obsessed-with-a-fictional-man @softbummiee @cassanderasblog

[thatsdemko]

lie detector part two - c.pulisic

part one

full masterlist

warnings: anxious thoughts (nothing else I know of?)

italics=past

a/n: there will be no part three! the ending is open to your own interpretation of what you think will happen next for the two ☺️🫶

your mind was hung up on last nights conversation. you stayed on the phone for hours talking about your lives, what’s new, and what’s different. you couldn’t believe how much had changed with him. just four years ago he was an innocent twenty year old and now he was twenty four taking the world on by storm, he was the biggest name in United sates men’s soccers history.

“it’s getting late isn’t it? what time is it back home?” he asked last night you looked over at the clock on your nightstand, and somehow all the memories that you suppressed came rushing back to you.

“it’s only 8pm Christian do you have to hang up?” the words hurried out your mouth before he could press end. he barely called anymore and you missed his voice. whenever he did, it was only for a couple of minutes before he claimed to have to leave.

“y/n, it’s early here and I’ve got practice. love you.” the line dropped before you could say the words back. he didn’t say the ‘I’ anymore making the words feel less significant. you dropped the phone in your lap sobbing into your pillow hoping none of your roommates heard you.

you truly did miss him, but the more you thought about last night, the more you remembered all the little details of why your relationship went up in flames in the first place.

for example, his phone calls in the beginning of his move to Germany were hours long, but the longer your relationship went on the less he ever did call, and the less he ever texted. it wasn’t his fault most of the time, you got busy finally getting your chance to play for the women’s team that you never had the chance to call. you both were at fault for the lack of communication.

but Christian was more at fault for his dedication to the relationship. he loved you, and he never cheated, but he just never showed you that he cared. when you finally made your first start for the women’s team, he didn’t send a single text or post on social media for you. but when he got his contract with Borussia Dortmund you were the first to congratulate him.

“did he finally call you?” Alex Morgan asked, she sat down next to you in the locker room. it was dead silent, not a single soul remained left just the two of you.

“yeah, he did.” you whispered still sitting there in your practice gear. you typically would’ve been gone by now, but the whole day had been such a blur you felt like you needed a moment by yourself to just sit and think about what you truly wanted.

“what’s on your mind then?” her tone matched yours, she watched your eyes pick up from the ground over to her and your shoulders shrugged, “he asked to see me, because he wants to get back together.”

Alex’s face lit up in excitement for you, but you weren’t sure if that’s how you deeply felt as well. you told him you needed time to think about it because you may regretted the break up, but you weren’t sure you were ready to date him again, “so what are you going to do?!”

“I don’t know. I’ve sat here and thought out every scenario I could imagine, I just need help.” you sighed running your hands down your face, the decision wasn’t getting any easier the more you thought about it. last night you went to bed sure you wanted to get back together, but this morning you woke up feeling different.

“y/n, if you really do love him and don’t want to see him go to someone else, you need to make your move.”

—

he didn’t expect to hear from you. he was asking a lot from you to come out to London and get back together, but he just wished for a text or a phone call confirming you wanted to work on things or that it just couldn’t work. he would respect either decision because he still loved you, and he wanted what was best for you.

“still nothing?” Mason asked peeping over his shoulder to see his message was still on delivered since yesterday. he thought about deleting the message a million times last night while he tossed and turned.

“I mean I broke her heart, Mason. I don’t expect her to come back to me.” he dropped his phone out of his hands and into his bag. he had training on his mind now knowing that his messages were still the same. not a single one from you.

“you never know.” Mason shrugged making his way out onto the pitch. Christian just sighed turning the corner, his body bumping right into another. he expected it to be the social media intern, but when he looked up from the ground it was you.

“you’re here.” he breathed out grabbing a hold of your body, he couldn’t believe you were standing right in front of him. after last night, he was sure you wouldn’t come.

“I don’t know why, but I am.” you nervously chuckled playing with the ends of your hair. seeing him for the first time made you realize how much you did miss his presence. he radiated a calm energy that soothed any of your anxieties. being with him reminded you of how safe you always felt next to him.

“that’s okay, just one day at a time.” his words were gentle, a soft smile on his lips and his eyes were reassuring you that he meant it. he didn’t want to rush things again, there was so much time between then and now. things had truly changed.

“okay, I’m willing to do that.” you heard someone clear their throat, turning around you saw Potter waiting for Christian to join the team, “go run your extra laps, pulisic.” you chuckled watching him run off to the pitch where his coach shook his head patting him off.

“thanks for helping clear his head. he’s been a mess all week because of you.” potters words echoed in the tunnel.

there was no amount of apology you could give him. you knew what Christian was going through because of you, he had done the same to you years ago. the clouded head and horrible judgement, you were familiar with that pain.

“you sticking around? I’m sure Christian would love that.” his head slightly nodded in the direction of Christian working on drills with his teammates, the smile on his face looked irreplaceable.

“I am yeah, I’ll be here for a whole month.” you exhaled a long sigh, a whole month was dedicated to working on your relationship. Christian promised to do whatever it took to work on things, he wanted it to last this time. he regretted losing you just as much as you regretted losing him.

Christian’s eyes met yours from across the pitch and he flashed you a wink, you could really do this again, you thought to yourself. the one thing you learned was the lie detector didn’t lie, all of your feelings were still at the surface for him just like the truth. you missed him, and you’d do what it took to work it out.

[solciego]

Jeankasa in pop terms | @jeankasachallenge

Jeankasa; Little woman inspired

"Don't marry him," Jean's words cut through the air with chilling clarity. Mikasa's heart lurches in her chest, and in her mind, a whirlwind of thoughts is unleashed. Why now? Why Jean, of all people, is saying this to her?

The atmosphere grows tense as silence hangs between them. The whisper of leaves rustled by the breeze seems to quiet in comparison to the emotions engulfing her. Mikasa, her gaze fixed on the ground, feels her heart pounding with an intensity that threatens to burst from her chest. Thoughts crowd her mind, an uncontrollable torrent of memories and reflections.

"What?" she says in a barely audible whisper, seeking confirmation, an explanation. But Jean's words are not ambiguous; they carry a meaning she fears understanding.

The distance between them shortens as Jean approaches.

"Don't marry Eren," he repeats.

"Why?" Mikasa watches Jean's eyes, searching for answers that have remained concealed until now.

"You know why," his response is gentle yet firm.

Incredulity dances in her eyes, her mind grappling to make sense of what's happening. No, this can't be real. Emotions within her stir. Her younger self would have reveled in this declaration, a romantic twist of fate. But in this very moment, it seems absurd, almost surreal.

She recalls the days of her childhood, when her heart raced at his mere presence, the affectionate gestures that initially made her fall for him, the shared smiles. How secretly she had longed for this moment since childhood when she looked at Jean with innocent and affectionate eyes. Even now, glimpses of the boy who once lived next door linger in her memory, interwoven with the man before her.

She feels a pang of pain in her chest as if something vital is being torn apart within her.

"No, no," she whispers as if denying it could reverse the turn of events.

"Yes," his voice expresses conviction, unyielding in its insistence.

Jean extends his hand toward her, attempting to touch the soft skin of her cheek. But Mikasa retreats, as if his touch were an invisible burn. Tears finally spill over, streaming down her cheeks. The pain in her chest is tangible as if a part of her being is slowly being torn away.

"You're being cruel," she murmurs with a voice fractured by emotion.

The accumulated pain of years, the feelings she had tried to ignore and forget, all surge with force. Tears trace paths down her face as she struggles to maintain her composure. She had thought that when she left for Europe with her Aunt Kiyomi, she could finally leave behind these emotions that had tormented her. But here she is again, facing the same feelings for the man who was once her secret longing.

"What? How am I being cruel?" Jean questions, his voice slightly faltering.

Mikasa inhales deeply, her heart now spinning in a whirlwind of affection for a man who once felt affection for her sister. The situation feels like a tasteless joke, a cruel twist of fate. Did he truly believe that she could be a substitute, a consolation prize just because Pieck had rejected him? The struggle between pain, anger, and betrayal boils within her. Did he think she would simply run into his arms the moment he asked her not to marry Eren?

The weight of her affection for him is undeniable, but that doesn't mean she's willing to be used as a replacement for her sister, a stand-in for unrequited love.

All the pain she had harbored for so long rises from the depths of her past, accumulating in her throat until it's finally released, unleashing a flood of emotions she had tried to suppress for so long.

"I've been second to Pieck my whole life, and I won't be the person you settle for just because you can't have her. I won't do it, I won't."

The weight of her revelation hangs in the air, a raw vulnerability exposed. The pain in Mikasa's heart, her frustration, and her unwavering affection, all spill out in a torrent of words, painting a vivid canvas of emotions that can no longer be contained.

The fragile threads of her composure unravel.

"Not when I've spent my entire life loving you."

[maree-go-round]

Under the Heng Gate - Chapter 26

Chapter 26 : Please me.

Though Qichi appeared delicate, her constitution was robust. Within a few days, her illness had significantly improved. She finished the last bowl of her medicine and set the bowl down just as Qiushuang returned from outside.

"Master, General Luo led a team to patrol a hundred li overnight. They acted swiftly and have already returned with the first batch," she whispered as she approached. "I just inquired, and they said they didn't encounter any more bandits."

Qichi listened while wiping her hands with a handkerchief.

Qiushuang continued, "General Luo personally said that the Grand Protector spent three months eliminating the bandits without returning home. The ones they encountered now are just remnants who slipped through the cracks. It seems they are truly gone now."

After returning from Gaolan Prefecture, Qichi had made inquiries about the past situation in the northern region.

The plague initially broke out among the herds and then spread throughout the region. Some said it was a natural disaster, while others believed it was intentionally caused by the Turks. However, there was no way to confirm either theory.

As more people became desperate, banditry inevitably emerged.

Fu Ting had decisively deployed troops to exterminate the bandits and then turned to fend off the Turkish invasion. These remnants likely survived by taking advantage of the wartime chaos.

Now, it seemed that the trade routes were safe again.

She set down the handkerchief and said, "Bring the map."

Qiushuang fetched it and spread it out before her.

On the map, she had marked routes in red ink, indicating the paths Fu Ting had shown her.

Qiushuang glanced at the map and asked, "Master, do you plan to expand the business in the northern region? Will you continue with the original livelihood trade?"

Qichi nodded. "The original business must continue, and we must choose good goods. The people in the north lead difficult lives and need durable items. Tell the shops to lower the profit margin by ten percent and only sell good quality goods. Although the profit will be thin initially, within half a year, all the people will trust our business and won't consider any other."

Qiushuang acknowledged this and made a mental note.

This was a long-term strategy, and eventually, the profits would come back later.

Qichi carefully planned everything and then beckoned Qiushuang closer to whisper instructions.

Qiushuang rolled up the map and listened attentively. She then gasped in surprise and whispered, "Master, you intend to expand the business beyond the border?"

Qichi placed a finger to her lips, "We must be extremely cautious within the Protectorate. Not a word must leak out, understood?"

Qiushuang nodded repeatedly and closed the door tightly when she entered the room. "Don't worry, Master. Since ancient times, merchants have always held low status. I will ensure the Grand Protector doesn't hear a thing."

Only then did Qichi smile and reassure her, "No worries, just follow my instructions."

When she first started the business, it was out of necessity. Thanks to her background, she had enough capital to quickly establish herself. With keen observation and timing, she was able to grow to her current position.

However, no matter what, one must have courage to succeed.

If she hadn’t taken that initial step, the Prince of Guang Residence wouldn't be what it is today.

Now, she needed to take that step again.

Qiushuang was about to leave when Qichi asked, "By the way…" Qichi looked outside, "has he returned?"

Qiushuang knew who she meant and replied, "It’s getting late; the Grand Protector should be back soon."

Qichi remained silent, wondering if he would come directly to her again.

Despite being busy with military affairs these days, Fu Ting always found time to visit her.

Just yesterday, he came over for a meal with her.

With their small tables placed together, they sat side by side.

She asked him, "What did you eat when I wasn't around?"

He replied briefly, "The same as ordinary people."

She knew then that he hadn’t eaten well.

A Grand Protector should not eat the same as ordinary people.

Realizing he had let something slip, he picked up his chopsticks and remained silent.

She couldn't help but laugh, wanting to hear more about his past, but he refused to speak further, simply looking at her and saying, "Next time."

Next time it would be, as there was plenty of time ahead after all.

Qichi put away the map and closed the ledgers she often reviewed, making sure Qiushuang stored everything out of sight before she left, lest Fu Ting see them when he arrived.

After receiving a report on the bandit eradication, Fu Ting rode back to his residence.

He handed the reins to a servant and was about to enter just as Luo Xiaoyi arrived on horseback.

"Third Brother, there’s a letter for you from the military!"

Fu Ting paused, "Who’s it from?"

Luo Xiaoyi dismounted and quickly approached, "You won’t believe it, but it’s from Prince of Yong."

He pulled out the letter from his sleeve and handed it over.

Fu Ting glanced at it but didn’t take it.

He had no connection with Prince of Yong except for competing over horse purchases in Gaolan Prefecture.

Although far from the two capitals, Fu Ting was well aware of the royal families and nobles in the court.

Prince of Yong, a nephew of the current emperor, was known for his arrogance and narrow-mindedness, relying on his royal lineage. A letter from him wouldn’t contain anything good. It must be about the horse auction resentment.

"I won’t read it. You read it," he said.

Luo Xiaoyi didn't hesitate and opened the letter, skimming through it before exclaiming, "This Prince of Yong is actually apologizing?"

Fu Ting, who had already stepped into the doorway, turned back.

Seeing his interest, Luo Xiaoyi continued reading and quickly understood, "I see. It’s a disguised barbs. He’s ostensibly apologizing for his son bullying Li Yan, but he’s actually accusing Sister-in-law of buying the horse out of personal revenge. The nerve…"

His words were cut off as Fu Ting snatched the letter.

He read it himself.

Prince of Yong wrote that he had failed in disciplining his son, resulting in the boy bullying the Prince of Guang’s son, which led to Princess of Qingliu taking him to the northern region. However, it was just the misbehavior of a young child, not worth holding a grudge over. Not only did a private pawnshop stand up for her, but she also made him lose face in front of many dignitaries.

Now, the letter to the Grand Protector aimed to turn enmity into friendship. With the Grand Protector of the North's protection, who would dare mistreat the Prince of Guang’s son again? Being of the same Li clan’s royal lineage, it was foolish to hold grudges, making them appear petty.

Luo Xiaoyi was right. The letter was full of disguised barbs, pretending to apologize while accusing Qichi of lacking magnanimity.

Fu Ting, however, focused on another detail.

Li Yan had been bullied by Prince of Yong’s son.

He recalled that on the day of the auction, Qichi said that the Prince of Yong had bullied the Prince of Guang Residence.

Could this be what she meant?

He tossed the letter to Luo Xiaoyi and turned to enter the house.

"Third Brother?" Luo Xiaoyi was puzzled as he watched his figure disappear around a corner, entering the courtyard.

In the west courtyard, Li Yan had just finished his studies.

He stood in the yard, carefully drawing a small dagger from its sheath, trying it out but struggling with how to use it properly.

As he pondered whether he should seek someone's guidance, he saw Fu Ting walking in from outside the courtyard.

"Uncle," Li Yan, rarely seeing him, gathered his courage and handed over the dagger. "Could you teach me how to use this?"

Fu Ting took the dagger, remembering the time he taught him to ride a horse. He also recalled Qichi's words; she held his nephew in high regard.

He handed the dagger back to Li Yan, holding his hand, twisting his wrist twice, then thrust and retracted the dagger before letting go.

Li Yan, being clever, grasped the idea immediately. "I understand, it's to be used when least expected." He carefully sheathed the dagger and fastened it to his waist.

Dressed in a brocade robe with the dagger at his side, he had an air of youthful bravado.

Fu Ting gave him a few glances before directly asking, "Have you been bullied by the son of Prince of Yong?"

Li Yan lifted his face to look at him, astonished that his uncle knew about this, as he had never mentioned it.

He shook his head, not wanting to stir up trouble or burden his uncle.

Fu Ting continued bluntly, "Prince of Yong has already sent a letter of apology."

Li Yan was stunned. "Really?"

The son of Prince of Yong, always flaunting his closer blood ties to the emperor, was notoriously arrogant and overbearing. His father's sudden apology was hard to believe.

Seeing Li Yan's reaction, Fu Ting knew it was true. After a moment's silence, he asked, "Is this why you came to the North?"

Li Yan did not answer, remembering his aunt's words to forget past troubles and study diligently for a brighter future.

Looking at his uncle, he sensed a change in his expression but couldn't understand why. He couldn't remain silent and thus deflected, "It's all in the past now."

Fu Ting did not need an answer.

The numerous affairs of the North had almost made him forget. The Prince of Guang had died years ago, yet his title still hadn't been passed to his son.

He nodded, and after a long time, he nodded again, thinking about many things.

He finally comprehends the money spent on strengthening the military and improving people's lives. Thinking of that woman, he let out a cold laugh.

So it was because he was a strong supporter.

　　　　　　　　　　　　※

It was nearly dark.

Qichi had just finished balancing a ledger. She stepped out and stood under the eaves, gazing at the rear courtyard's gate from afar.

After a while, she saw a figure approaching.

She waited; sure enough, he was heading straight towards her.

Fu Ting quickened his pace, only slowing down when he reached her.

Qichi looked at him and asked, "Did you come back late today?"

He stood there silently.

After a moment, he passed her, walking ahead.

Qichi frowned at his retreating figure, wondering why he had become half-mute again.

Curious, she slowly followed him. He didn't go to the main hall but headed to the study hall.

At the door of the study hall, Fu Ting pushed it open and went in.

As usual, he unbuckled the belt at his waist and loosened the straps on his sleeves. Seeing the woman at the door, his hands paused.

Then he spread his arms and looked at her, waiting for her to help him undress.

As his wife, Qichi had no choice but to come over. She takes over, and starts removing his military attire.

Suddenly, he pulled her into an embrace.

Startled, she looked up at him.

Fu Ting held her tightly, lowering his head to whisper in her ear, "Show me what you can do to please me."

Hearing his low voice, Qichi's heart pounded and thought she had misheard. "What?"

His lips pressed to her ear, repeating each word, "Please me."

This man was never one for bedroom games, and his tone didn't suggest playfulness.

Qichi was perplexed. She turned her face to look his profile, finally standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

Backing away, she asked softly, "How about that?"

His arms tightened around her. He turned to face her. In the unlit room, she couldn't see his expression, only hearing him say, "Very good."

Very good? Qichi felt even more puzzled.

It felt like he was playing some cryptic game with her.

She stayed still in his embrace, wondering if he was hiding something.

Fu Ting finally released her. He touched his cheek and turned away, saying, "I'm tired today. You should go back first."

Qichi thought for a moment and probed, "Then I'll wait for you tomorrow?"

Fu Ting, with his back turned, gave no response.

He rubbed his fingers, smearing the rouge she had left on his cheek.

He kept rubbing until it was completely clean, but he couldn't erase the tenderness left by a woman.

[sirenofsecrets]

Psychic Experiences: When In Doubt, Call In Your Guides

This is a long-winded story about psychic intuition, a reminder that your body knows before you do, and to ask for help from your guides when you need it.

I went through a period of time last year where everything was confusing and I---an intuitive person, typically---was disconnected from my energetic body more than I ever would have liked. It happened over the course of months of confusion and turmoil, and I didn't trust myself. My boyfriend and I had split up for several months, and we didn't talk for a portion of that time. We eventually found our way back to each other after realizing that we both truly wanted to be together and make things work.

Once rejoining each other's lives, I learned of a female friend of his that he met during that time (I was used to him having female friends in the past), and since we hadn't been together in awhile, I asked him if they truly were just friends and if anything had happened between them. He assured me that nothing had. I met her one day at the beach, it was fine, she had heard of me. I asked again about a month later, the question coming to my mind. He once again said nothing had. I asked once or twice across a few months.

But I could NOT get her out of my head. Every time her name was brought up (she was brought to my social orbit) I felt sick. I didn't know why I didn't like her. Maybe I was jealous of her? We both do the same outdoor sports, afterall. But I am not a jealous or envious person---it's just not in my nature when I know that all of us have such unique things to offer the world.

It was tearing me apart. I felt this heavy cloud lingering over me. It got to the point where I was nearly obsessing over it, and she was barely in my life, if at all. She wasn't really in my boyfriend's life either, they just ran into each other occasionally. I was being eaten alive.

One morning, I prayed to my spirit guides. I told them how I was feeling. I said that I needed help, and that I didn't know what was happening to me but I needed help. I could feel their presence, I could feel them listening.

A few days later, I was laying in bed with my boyfriend next to me, and I started crying because it had become so much weight. I couldn't do it anymore And then I had this epiphany: what if it's not me? what if the energy was coming from somewhere else? what if it was coming from her?

I launched out of bed and straight to my tarot cards. The golden light of truth was already creeping through my heart and I already knew I was right, but I had gaslit myself for so long into believing that *I* was responsible for all of these horrible thoughts and feelings about her. They confirmed that she was, in fact, in love with my boyfriend, and that she was angry with me because I was with him. I called my mother and I asked her to do an energy scan on me, and she confirmed that there was a girl who was very angry and jealous throwing knives at my back. My mom described her physical appearance (which I knew since I had met her before), and made a bunch of connections for me. I went back to my boyfriend and asked if there was any chance that she could have had feelings for him at any time. He said "I could see it" and left it at that. I tried to ask questions, but it was hard to get more information out of him.

I felt this huge weight lifted off of my shoulders, but there were still missing pieces. My intuition was beaming, and I could sift through the feelings myself and uncover her energetic presence on me directly from the source of my own energetic body.

But I was still not feeling good. I felt physically sick when she called him (no emotional feelings whatsoever, like I said, I'm not a jealous person), and there was still something about her that was off. I asked my boyfriend about it over and over. He was there for me, but not in the way he usually was. He had been going through a depressive episode before all of this began (he has unipolar depressive) and it still was continuing through this, so I chalked it up to that.

I met her again at my friends house. We made eye contact, and there was so much behind her eyes. I can't really describe it, but there was a world back there. She didn't miss a beat and reminded me "We met at the beach several months ago). Every time she talked to my boyfriend she would look at me---I noticed and my friends did too. My boyfriend told me after that she wouldn't stop staring at me. I knew I was right and that she still had feelings for him. In the days following, my body was screaming. My energy would not calm down.

I knew the truth. I had tried to ask my boyfriend, but I knew he was lying to me. My energy was telling me so. I had a conversation with my spirit guides as I was coming back from a long drive, where I told them that I couldn't do this anymore. I said that I needed clarity, that I didn't know what was going on anymore, and I didn't know if I was crazy or not. I could feel their presence and love, and I could feel them listening to me.

Later that day, I ended up straight-up confronting him. I told him: "I know you're lying to me. I know there is something you're not telling me." He finally came clean. He said that they had made out a few times back when he and I were not together. He said that after, she confessed her feelings for him, and wanted to be more than friends. He said that he didn't see her that way, that he was still in love with me and that he might have a chance in the future and he didn't want to jeopardize it. He did not cheat on me, he made it clear that he never saw her more than anything but a friend, and he was depressed and sad when everything happened, but it still hurt---she was in his life, and it was under false pretenses.

I was devastated to have been lied to so many times, to not have the truth in the 3-dimensional when I could feel it in every other dimension, and it was so hard. But I was not alone. I had my guides, and later that night, they held me in the shower. I could see their hands outstretched to me in my third eye, and I could feel them comforting me so deeply.

I know that they answered my first prayer and gave me the epiphany. I know they helped lead me back to my intuitive body after not trusting it for so long, even though it was speaking to me from the first moments I learned of her existence. I know that they've been talking to me, helping me, and comforting me.

I wanted to share because I want to document my psychic experiences, and I also want to re-emphasize to myself and anyone else that our bodies KNOW. Sometimes it's hard to sift between anxiety and psychic thoughts, especially when the truth is your worst fear, but ask your guides. They will light the way. You are not alone.

[dallasevans-gardner]

Of course I'm fine || 7/13/24, After Dinner

Even though dinner had already been made, eaten, and leftovers were put away and cleaned up, Dallas was still fidgeting around in the kitchen, much longer than he needed to considering he had already washed the counters, stove, and and the dishes from dinner. He had even dried them all by hand and put them away. It had reached the point he was literally organizing things precisely because it was simple, and didn't require him to truly focus, because it was simple and gave him something to do. This past week had gotten to the point where he was working, spending time at the hospital in rotation with the others, or keeping the house cleaned up and in order. Sleep was technically in there too, but Dally hadn't done much of that or had a sound sleep all week.

He let out a soft exhale a he finally made himself leave the kitchen and walked over to grab his phone from where it was sitting on the table. "I'm going to take a walk." Dally said, loud enough that he knew someone would hear him as he stuck his phone into his back pocket and slipped out of the door without waiting for a response. He reached up and ran a hand through his hair as he made his way down to the sidewalk and began his walk away from the house. He knew he could go to Robin and not fear judgement for needing the man, and he was sure Kat wouldn't think less of him either for needing the extra support considering the circumstances, but Dally was a big brother through and through and the one bad habit he had was ignoring his own needs when those around him were in need.

He knew Sam's subs and slaves were a mess, Hunter, their parents, brothers and sister, and any other person that Sam had managed to touch were all feeling some level of fear and uncertainty. Dallas was older than most of them, and that meant the side of them that placed the pressure on himself also told him he needed to keep it together. "Are you alright, Dally?" He jolted out of his thoughts as one of his and Robin's neighbors spoke to him, stopping as he recognized the elderly lady that lived a few houses down from him. "Oh, I'm fine, ma'am." Dally reassured her, offering her what he hoped would be a believable smile. "Just out for an evening stroll."

The submissive could see the woman giving him a glance over, almost as though she were debating on questioning if he were sincere or not before finally giving a simple nod of her head. "It is a fine evening for a stroll. Warm but not terribly warm." She confirmed, taking a step back to allow him by. "I won't keep you, but do remember you and Robin, and the new young woman I've seen, are always welcome to stop by." She told him. "I'll be sure to let them both know. Thank you." Dally said, managing another small smile before he continued on, glad that she hadn't kept him terribly long. He enjoyed speaking with her, but he also knew he wasn't entirely himself right now either.

Dally went around the block once and then a second time, and only when he realized it was starting to get late did he finally return home and let himself back in. He let the door close with a click, locking it behind him as he took his shoes off by the door and then headed into the bedroom to grab himself some pajamas and then into the bathroom to shower. The shower was also the one place that Dallas had been allowing himself the chance to crumble a bit under the pressure. The sound of the shower and the spray both masked the fact he'd been crying-- at least enough to pretend like he was fine. If he could convince himself that he was fine then maybe he'd actually be fine, or so that's what he kept telling himself even though he knew it wouldn't work. Denial of his feelings was Dally's strategy for the week, or at least it was the only strategy he'd allow himself to have.

[drakoneve]

Complete

request: Could you do one of Viserys I Targaryen?

pairing: viserys i targaryen x fem!reader

word count: 700+

warning: mentions of pregnancy, childbirth, & miscarriages (the latter is briefly mentioned, nothing graphic regarding infant loss or childbirth is described)

A/N: for this fic viserys and aemma never married. mostly because i believe viserys deserves some form of peace😭

Sleep evaded you on the eve of the tournament celebrating the upcoming birth of your unborn child. The future prince or princess of the realm. The sun had now risen over King’s Landing, and as the day wore on your body began to contract and ache in pains you recognized as labor pains.

You couldn’t stop from gently stroking your swollen belly, as if to calm your nerves and ease your pain. In a final attempt for sleep, and seeking peace, you close your eyes as you breathe deep and relax into This wasn’t your first baby, no, but you couldn’t help the worry that’s plagued you these past nine months.

Your firstborn, your sweet Realm’s Delight, Princess Rhaenyra, is the only child to have survived past brith. Five pregnancies that resulted in one living child and four babes lost in the womb. For a long time after your last miscarriage you refused to lay with your husband, King Viserys. He understood your reasoning as the loss of yet another babe took a toll on him as it did you. 

When you first had the inklings that you were with child once again you summoned the maester, who only confirmed your suspicions. Viserys was delighted by the news of course, as he always was, but he also feared greatly for your safety. Over the course of your marriage and throughout the trials of the past Viserys stuck by your side and made sure you were as comfortable as possible.

He called the finest maesters the Citadel had to offer to aid in ensuring both you and your babe survive this pregnancy. You tried to assure him such measures were truly unnecessary, to which he cupped your face and replied “You are my queen, my love, the mother of my children. I would do everything in my power to keep you safe.” Your king seemed to know exactly what you needed to hear, even if you yourself did not.

The wide doors of your chambers swung open, disturbing the last hope of any tranquility. You sit up on your elbows to greet whoever’s entering.

Rhaenyra’s silky silver hair is whipped in whirls you recognized as results of dragon riding. She’s no longer in her delicately scaled riding uniform but you have no doubt your daughter had just been in the skies on Syrax.

“Mother,” Rhaenyra greeted you softly, concern quickly lacing her features. “Father old me your labors had begun.” She crawled into bed with you despite the off looks from some of the midwives. Merely a girl of four and ten, Rhaenyra had yet to take a husband and bear children, so she had no such experience on the birthing bed and thus no idea how to comfort you. 

She laid on your left side, head on your shoulder as she wrapped both arms around yours and intertwined your fingers with hers. “You musn’t stay for long, little dragon,” you advised. “I need you to find your father and bring him to me. I have a feeling it won’t be long now.” You kissed the side of her head.

As the gods would have it, you hardly managed to keep from pushing before Viserys arrived to your chambers. Viserys joined your bed side immediately, holding your hand tight and reassuring you with sweet whispers of his love and adoration. Rhaenyra, despite both your and Viserys’ advise to leave the room, refused to leave your side again. Instead she took to your left and held your hand as Viserys held your right. 

Not but ten minutes later your son, Prince Baelon Targaryen was born. With silver hair and lavender eyes Baelon was every bit Targaryen as his father and sister, and you couldn’t possibly love him more. 

Viserys sat beside you staring in awe at the healthy pink baby laid upon your chest. “He’s beautiful, my love. I am so proud of you.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you brought your left hand up to stroke the silkiness of your newborn’s thin layer of hair, holding Viserys’ hand firmly with your right. 

“I love you,” you whisper as to not wake your newborn babe. “I love our little dragons, Viserys. You’ve blessed me with two beautiful children I could not love more. Thank you, husband. For everything you have done and continue to do for our family.”

Viserys smiles warmly at you before pressing his lips to yours in a short, yet sweet, kiss. He pulled away just enough to part your lips but kept your foreheads pressed together. “There’s nothing I would not do for you or our little ones, my queen.”

You hummed in response, tiredness overtaking your body. You let your eyes flutter closed, content in the presence of your now complete family. 

[honeysunai]

Hostess| Kyoya Ootori x reader

Part three - The dinner date

Pairing : Kyoya Ootori x reader

General rating : Fluff, enemies to love vibes

Word count : 3K

Summary: As only heir to your family you are bound to an arranged marriage with the third son of the powerful house Ootori. His cold behavior is only a mask for you to uncover when you stumble into music room number three.

Hi! I’m just taking a short break from posting for a week or two just because my finals are right around the corner and I obviously have to take care of that first and secure that diploma! So I hope you enjoy this chapter and I’ll see you in a week or two, I’ll keep you updated!

After a long day at school, the last thing you want to do is go to a dinner party with your family in law. You would rather be practicing cello or read than to have some small talk with them. Your mother sent you clothes from her new collection and you were in awe. She made you a custom set with your favorite color: a blazer and high waist fitted palazzo pants made from the most comfortable fabric with a beige sweetheart corset top. The outfit was accompanied by pearl earrings and a pearl necklace that you got from a trip in America a few years ago. You bother to put some makeup on, not too much, but just enough to please your in-laws. You grabbed your best pair of heels to finish your outfit before you head to the living room where your father was probably waiting for you.

He looked as if he was just hit in the guts when he finally looked up from his phone. You politely smiled at your father not wanting to speak with him and turned to head to the front door.

“Can we please talk, my sweetie?” He speaks and you oblige to his demand by walking back and facing him. 

“Dad… What’s done is done, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I do. Especially if you hate me for it.” He’s hurt by how you ignored him the past two weeks and you can’t help but feel bad as well. You never had a bad relationship with your parents, they were understanding and they were kind and helpful, but since the engagement announcement you shut them out. Both of them. “I’m sorry. We should’ve waited until you were ready. The Ootori’s are a respectable people and their third son seemed to be a perfect fit for you. Kyoya’s father told me only good things that you would love about him.” Well he was wrong. He’s an uptight asshole, that son of theirs. “You had many other suitors, which I never spoke to you or your mother about, but I truly believe the one who could deserve my dear daughter would be him.”

“What if you’re wrong? What if he never deserves me.” Your question was distant. You meant it more as if you would never be in love like your father and mother. “What if this arrangement makes me more miserable?” 

“Then make him see how spiteful you are, you are my daughter and you are proud and strong.” He starts and you chuckle. “If Kyoya Ootori doesn’t see this beautiful intelligent young woman, then he’s a fool and he will regret ever messing with you.” He too chuckles. “His father and I made the arrangement for a business marriage, it’s up to you how you want to have this relationship. You could try and make it bearable, even fall in love with him in the end, or you can make it horrible and never speak to him.” That confirms that you are stuck in this relationship, but he’s right. There is no legal contract on how you have to behave with Kyoya, maybe this is why he’s being improper when his father isn’t around. Then let’s have some fun. If Kyoya wants to be this heartless asshole, you can play too. After all, this engagement game takes two to play. 

The Ootori house was not to your liking. It was way too big and too bland for you to actually appreciate. It reflected on their cold personality you thought. Your house in Japan was a proper one with a rather big size as well, but it was filled with souvenirs from travels and some touches of your family and yours. Photos, paintings, stupid decorations your mother couldn’t take her eyes off of. Your house did feel like home, it felt warm, welcoming and safe. The Ootori’s estate felt more like a hospital than a home. You wonder if Kyoya felt this way as well. 

Your entrance to the estate was the same as the last time, the maid announced your arrival and let you enter inside and as usual, she would make you wait in the living room for your hosts to come and join you. 

“My dear friend!” Kyoya’s father, Yoshio Ootori, entered the place and everything went cold. His appearance, his tone… An untamable creature. He turns towards you to shake your hand which you do gladly.

“It’s always a pleasure to see you, sir.” You tried to warm him up with your smiles and polite flattery, but nothing ever worked.

“As well.” He doesn’t even lift a corner of his lips to smile. “Kyoya’s waiting for you in the garden, I’ve set up a meeting before dinner.” He continues. “Our maid will guide you to the garden while your father and I attend to business.” You nod and the maid asks you to follow her as if she’s been summoned. You’ve learned her name by the time you meet her a second time. It was Rose. Rose was from Europe and a distant relative to Yoshio’s wife.

She opened the door of the veranda for you to enter and you were mesmerized. It was beautiful! The garden was unique and filled with diverse plants and flowers with the colors of the rainbow. A straight concrete path led you to a gazebo where Kyoya was waiting, waiting for you it seems.

You kept looking around not knowing how to take such beauties. The garden seemed larger than their home and more lively than its occupants.

“If I would’ve known this part of your home existed I would’ve asked my father for more visits.” You half joke which earned a chuckle from Kyoya. 

“I’m glad you enjoy it.” Was all he said, but his tone wasn’t as cold as the last time you’ve spoken to him a week ago. 

For a whole week, you’ve been denied and ignored by him any time you tried to approach him. He wouldn’t so much as speak with you during the Host Club’s meeting or to glance back at you during the classes you have together. It was as if you didn’t exist to him. It was as if he didn’t want you to exist.

“So now you want to talk to me?” You finally made it to the gazebo without being too close to him. You never met his gaze, you were way too busy to look around and discover new plants. Your eyes finally caught your interest and you walked past him as you made your way to a peculiar bush. “Lavender roses.” Your voice was soft as the petals you carefully stroke.

“I’m sorry if I was rather harsh with you the other day.” He simply says. He followed you to the nearby plant. “It wasn’t very proper of me.”

“Are you apologizing on your behalf or on your father’s?” You ask, finally looking up to his piercing gaze that fell upon you.

“A little bit of both.” Right. It’s Kyoya after all. 

“Well, I don’t accept your apology. You were rude and unfair to me. I was kissed by Kaoru and you treated me as a common whore who would go to bed with anyone.” He looks down to you with a smug smirk on his lips and you return to look at the pretty flowers. “So your apology you can stick it up your pretentious ass.” He laughs. A real laugh. It sounds so true and melodious, you could listen to it all day long. You can’t help, but snort at his reaction. “Does me being bothered make you laugh?”

“A bit, yes.” He manages to say. “I didn’t know such cruel insults could come out of your mouth. It’s almost adorable.” He finally relaxes and stops laughing, which you didn’t want to stop. Your cheeks heat up at the way he said adorable, you adorable? It was a decent compliment coming from him. “You are not a threatening person.”

“You haven’t seen a threat from me yet Kyoya.” You snort. 

“I forgive you for being kissed by Kaoru. If you wondered.” He adds.

“As if I had anything to do with that.” You mumbled under your breath. Kaoru has been extremely distant when you tried to ask him about his suspicions. It felt like everyone was keeping secrets from you. “I never apologized for that.” You continue. “What do we do from now on?” 

“I am yours and you are mine, soon legally, and it wouldn’t be proper for one of us to be intimate with anyone else. The relationship stays between us and we do not see anyone else.”

“So what now? You’re my boyfriend?”

“Hardly. I wish not to force you into being in love with me, but all I ask is faithfulness.” Talk about faithfulness, you’re both courting ladies and boys at your school.

“Don’t worry, no one’s caught my eye but you my sweet Kyoya.” You tried your best to mimic Renge and he chuckles. “But in all honesty, do you really want this to work?”

“I hope not.” Clearly. “I do not despise you, although you are way too cocky to my liking.” He snorts, finally coming closer to watch the flowers as you do. “I do not want this alliance as much as you do, but it is my duty as the last son to marry and bring prosperity to my family this way.” It's as if he finally opened up a door, a small opening, but it’s there. Should you confess your feelings to this arrangement too? You could make it work… Maybe? If he would open up to you every chance he gets this could be a fine marriage, maybe not filled with love, but with agreements. The plan you made to make his life a living hell didn’t seem to want to stick. Yes he can be a heartless asshole, but you didn’t feel like picking a fight with him. Not tonight. 

“I do not despise you either, true I do not like your attitude towards me, but I don’t hate you.” Your response was honest and warm. “My father told me that it’s up to us for the dynamic of this engagement, do you think we could try to be friends? At the very least? I know you haven't liked me very much since the first day at school, but can we start over and try?” You suggest. 

“I don’t think I can start over.” He admits and you look away. You let out a low sigh before turning around and walking away. Dinner would be soon anyway. “I won’t ignore you at school if that’s what you were asking.” He simply adds and you can feel the warmth in his tone a few moments ago getting colder. 

“No. No it was not, but I appreciate the gesture.” You never looked back and went inside to meet with the rest of the Ootori family and your father. 

If you were his and he was yours, why did it feel like you weren’t. Like you couldn’t love him, like he couldn’t love you. Or even want to try… You wanted to try, life wouldn’t be so miserable if you’d both liked each other a bit, but it’s not — He does not want you that way and you have to move on and be mature about this! Be the bigger person! Be the one Kyoya crawls to, not the other way around. All he wants is faithfulness, understandable, but if this is the only thing that can get him riled up and to have this small openness about his feelings, his thoughts, you may flirt harder with your next guest. It’s a stupid plan, probably the worst one you’ve ever had in your entire life, but you were willing to do anything to get real emotions out of him instead of his cold, jerk self of a character. 

The conversations were boring as expected. You father and Kyoya’s were talking about their arrangements and you were eating this delicious food lost in your own thoughts. You were thinking about the boy sitting across from you, you couldn’t get him off your mind. “I do not despise you” were his words. Then why does he make it so hard for you to at least become friends? You truly didn’t hate him and you didn’t love him either, he doesn’t do or say anything to make him likable. You wonder why he is so popular in the Host Club, he clearly isn’t acting like a jerk with his guests, that’s for sure. But why can’t he at least give a quarter of that kindness to his future bride? Was that too much to ask?

Kyoya and you. You and Kyoya. What a pair!  

“These two are such a pair.” Yoshida smiles proudly. “How many grandchildren are you expecting, my friend?” You and your father almost spit both of your drinks into your plates. What!?

“I – Uh… I think three would be lovely, but it’s only if my daughter wishes to have some.” Good save, dad.

“If Kyoya can produce as many heirs as he can, my wife would love a lot of grandchildren, I for the fact would also agree with three.” This is making you uncomfortable, the last bit of respect you had for his father is slowly fading away as he speaks about children as objects, almost. “When you are both married after college, I hope you get a chance to produce heirs as fast as possible. They will obviously share both of our last names…” You hated that word “produce”. It was bitter and a terrifying word that would haunt you. You didn’t think about children, for Christ sakes, you’re in High School. The lovely dinner doesn’t taste as good anymore and you can feel your stomach aching. 

“It seems my fiancé is uncomfortable with the subject, could we talk about this after we get married, please?” Kyoya’s voice echoes in the dining room, cutting his father off. All eyes were on Kyoya who stood proud then back at you. The colors of your face drained and Kyoya’s father didn’t even seem regretful.

“My apologies.” He speaks as if it was as bitter as the word “produce”. 

“I think I need to freshen up a bit, Rose.” You call her and she rushes over to you. “Would you be so kind and show me the bathroom, please?” You tried not to shake as you stood up. All your confidence was gone in an instant. Kyoya stands up and walks over to you. 

“Do not trouble yourself, Rose. I will take care of her.” He smiles at his maid as he gently takes your trembling hand in his and walks you away from the dining room.

Tears are filling your eyes quickly and a lump in your throat is forming, breathing becomes hard and you look away from Kyoya. You’re embarrassed… You’ve embarrassed yourself and your father in front of your in-laws. A shame to your family, Kyoya’s father would either mutter or shout it to your face. Kyoya gestures to a door and you rush inside and lock it. Your back hits the door and you slowly slide down until you sit on the floor. Tears were finally coming out, but you couldn’t let him know. Breathing was harder, especially since you tried to contain your sobbing. Fucking kids!? You’re a young lady, a teenager for Christ sakes! You didn’t want this! You didn’t want to rush things! After college you will be in your early twenties, you have to live a bit before you even think about kids…

“Do you want me to stay outside?” Kyoya’s soft voice is heard behind you, behind the tall white door. “Or do you want me to come inside?” You were hesitant. You think you needed comfort, but not from him.

“Outside.” You choke on your word. 

“If that makes you feel better, I think it’s a stupid idea as well.” He lightly chuckles. “I think I’d rather kiss Kaoru myself before I have children with a woman I barely know.” You laugh through your sob. You’d kiss Renge before you’d have babies with him. “Do you want me to get you anything?” He asks and you take a couple of seconds before you scoot over a bit and open up the door, just a little. Your mother used to hold your hand whenever you were scared, stressed or you just needed comfort after a long day. You needed this, but you were embarrassed to ask, but you need the touch to be reassured…

“Don’t ask why, but can you hold my hand? Please?” You slip your hand in the door opening and you can hear a faint chuckle before a warm hand gently grasp yours. You take a deep breath and try to calm yourself. He probably heard you because his thumb is caressing the top of your hand. He’s drawing slow circles, his soft skin felt so right against yours. “Is that a part of the Ootori medical business?” You sniff in an attempt to hear him laugh again, but he snorts. 

“Only for the desperate cases.” Low blow, but you laugh, truly laugh. “It’s mostly the one’s crying in bathrooms.” 

“You’re so funny.” Your tone was meant to be playful, but cold. He continues his gestures until you pull away and open the door fully to meet his gaze. He stands up and towers you once again. He tilts his head and smirks, what’s up with him? “Falling in love with me, yet?” You joke and he scoffs. 

“Go check yourself before you return to the table, I don’t want my fiancé to look like a ghost.” He chuckles and leaves you in the doorway speechless. What an  asshole!

You’ve done your best to wipe the mascara from your eyes and returned safely to the table. From the sad look on your father’s face, he probably knew what was going on in your mind. Kyoya’s older brother, the second son, was cackling under his breath as if you were a joke. From what information your father’s assistant gathered, Akito was married to an elite Japanese actress and was a terrible lover, an unhappy marriage. Kyoya’s sister and his eldest brother who couldn’t attend dinner had successful marriages and careers. To Akito, you were not a girl, you were an asset incapable of feelings just like his poor wife. 

“Kyoya told us that you’ve grown fond of one another already.” Akito speaks with a chuckle as if Kyoya couldn’t have someone who truly loves him. You will play along, you hate petty siblings. Besides, you won’t embarrass Kyoya in front of his family, you will not go that low. 

“We do!” You giggle. “Kyoya has been nothing, but kind to me and I can’t help but enjoy his company.” You continued on. Lies and lies. 

“It’s odd thinking about it. My baby brother has a girlfriend, she’s beautiful even when she cries and looks smart and she’s dating my failure of a brother… How could a match like yours work?” Mrs. Ootori slaps his son’s shoulder and you wanted to do it as well. How dare he? 

“Hearing you speak makes me believe that you’re jealous of your brother to have a diamond like me as his bride.” Your expression was nothing but a facade. Annoyance was all you wanted to express, but you couldn’t, wouldn’t. “But I am the lucky one in this relationship, he is perfect. He’s all I could ever dream of, even if he’s distant at times and a bit heartless, but no one is perfect. He could say the same thing about me I think… I’ve made a fool of myself more times than I can count in the past two weeks.” You confess. “What about you Akito? Could you say the same thing about your wife?” You wiped off the smug smile on his face, he was worse than Kyoya and you thanked the gods that you weren’t marrying him. You look over to the teenager in front of you and he smirks proudly at how you answered. What a pair the two of you are making now. 

The night is coming to an end and you’ve politely said goodbye to each and every family member, even Akito who couldn’t stand you after your earlier comment. Your father left to prep the car and Mrs. Ootori grabbed you by the arm, pulling you aside from the doorframe. 

“I’m sorry for my husband’s comments earlier, he’s a bit relentless about this matter. Your future with our son. Do not feel intimidated or pressured, you are your own person after all.” She smiles at you and so do you. You felt more comfortable in these few seconds than you’ve been all evening. She’s the liveliest person in this house and they really need her. You thank her and you can see behind her Akito give you an evil smile. 

“Not even a kiss goodnight?” He simply says. Kiss goodnight? What is this, the 60’s? Your ruse earlier wasn’t convincing enough for him or was it payback… Maybe both. His mother’s face lit up and she pulled away to let Kyoya take her place in front of you.

“My father is waiting in the car, I should really go.” You tried not to sound awkward about it. Before you could find another excuse, Kyoya's soft hands reached yours and slid up to cradle your face. His eyes behind his glasses sparkled and he gazed at you… All of you. Your heart skipped a beat, what’s gotten into him?

“Goodnight my darling.” Kyoya lips meet the top of your head and smile fondly at you. “Don’t get your hopes up.” He whispers under his breath. You looked over and Akito wasn’t fazed by his brother’s performance. Screw it! 

“Don’t get yours up.” You gently grab his collar and pull him down towards you so you can kiss his lips. It’s soft, fast and passionless. A pointless kiss, but you smiled warmly at him. He stared at you in utter shock. You wanted to laugh at how silly he looked, but you contained yourself. His new facial expression is now your favorite. The way his lips are parted and his eyes wide... You would take a picture and show it to the twins if you could. “You’re welcome. You whisper before bowing to the Ootori’s and leave to join your father in his car.

You’re such an idiot... You could’ve let it go, but you needed to prove that you were in love with the third Ootori son. If it was quick and awkward, no meaning whatsoever, then why was it the only thing you were thinking about during the whole ride home?

— 𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐬

✧ @gay-noble @vanicogh @hopeless-romanticnamed-s @idktbhloley @p1nkliquor @hellokittykuroo @batboob @kisskissshutmydoor @lemonrolls @hoku-killer @sunukissed @jessiegerl @lunalily19 @i7zha @asrainterstellar @arimoony24 @simp-lythebest @fan-g0rl​ @randobeetlehouse​​ @glomp-me @yeeyeebabe @maackiimoo @kaelysian @noendingtolove @luminaaz @thewendyslogo @eri0-0 @arielbillyboy16 @aangsupremacy​ @yuriklol​ @lillunna @lostsomewhereinthegarden @chocorenchin  @sukcama @bratb1tch @topmeyelena

[cest-la-vieve]

Meeting Eve (The Fourth Time)

Summary: Azriel's been through several versions of Hell but none quite as painful and pleasurable as this one...

IF YOU HAVE NOT READ A COURT OF PAIN AND PLEASURE, DO NOT CONTINUE. YOU CAN DO SO HERE: Chapter One

Word Count: 6.9k (not 8k but i have received confirmation it's good enough ;) )

Warnings: cussing? angst

Notes: this,,,, has taken me ages. between the end of the school year and covid and surgery i am sorry it has taken so long BUT i truly believe it's worth it. i hope you enjoy and, as always, feedback is appreciated and encouraged 😘💜

Next: The Fifth Time

ACOPAP Masterlist

---

The fourth time that I saw her, it was the worst moment of my life.

I had fought in wars. I had been tortured. I had nearly died. Hell, I was half-dead when it happened.

As bad as everything had been leading up to that point, being stabbed, being poisoned, and being trapped, nothing was as bad as the moment I looked up and saw her.

Mor and Cassian had me between them. I could feel the spear in my chest every time I tried to breathe, I could feel the warm sticky blood dripping off me onto the floor, and I could even feel the poison in my veins being willed by the King of Hybern. It was the most pain I had ever been in and all logical thinking had long since left me.

Just hours ago, we had stood getting ready to leave. I had watched Feyre shift awkwardly as she assessed all the weapons strapped to her - at Rhys’ insistence. In other situations, Cassian would have made a joke about how much of a mother hen Rhys had become over Feyre, but we knew the gravity of the situation at hand. Rhys had told us time and time again that Feyre was to be our priority.

When Rhys had winnowed in from Under the Mountain, talking about his mate, it was such a bright spot in the darkness of the past 50 years. It had taken a while to come back around to, after the hugs, reunions, and debriefing, but the love and adoration and pain on his face when he first began talking of Feyre… it both filled me with indescribable joy for my brother but a deep sense of dread at how painful it must be to know the one that he was destined to be with was so far out of his reach. 

So it had been easy for Cassian and I to assure Rhysand that we would do everything in our power to protect Feyre from Hybern. For Rhys, we would. Even if he hadn’t asked.

These past few months, watching him wait for Feyre and letting her come to her own conclusions, watching her find her own place in our family, and watching her confidence in using her powers grow had been an honor. She was perfect for Rhys, truly his equal in every way and… a really good friend to all of us.

While neither Cassian nor I were necessarily jealous of what Rhys and Feyre had when they finally mated, there was a moment when he looked at me and I knew that he felt what I did. That longing for someone who makes you realize that everything you had been through was worth it. It was worth it to live through centuries of pain and one battle or war after the other just to get home and look in their eyes. To feel their warmth in the bed next to you when you woke up. To comfort yourself with their scent when the world feels like it’s falling apart around you. Something every Fae hears stories of from infancy that love and connection - a bond that can’t be broken.

So when we stood, facing the most important mission of our very long lives, Cass told Rhys, “With my life, High Lord. I’ll protect her with my life.”

I didn’t hesitate to say, “With both of our lives.”

From there, things mostly went according to plan… until they didn’t.

I used my shadows to move swiftly over the water and confirmed that Cassian had Feyre. Once we were at the castle, it was easy to make quick work of the guards. A flurry of shadows and a quick slice of my knife had them dead on the ground before they could raise any sort of warning or alarm.

Centuries had taught me to shut off everything in moments like these. Though I always remained at the ready, rarely letting anyone in, I still enjoyed every second with my family - and I hoped they knew it. But when I had to torture or kill… I turned off every thought, emotion, and worry and let the instincts of 500 years of training consume my being. Emotion was weakness. One wrong thought could get you killed.

And it made it a whole lot easier to live with what I had done afterward. It made it easier not to carry the weight of every scream or death at my hands if I simply wasn’t thinking when it happened. So slicing through Hybern’s guards was finished before my brain even caught up with what I had done.

I worked automatically with Cassian, no communication needed, as we moved through the castle at Feyre’s direction, branching off to deal with any soldiers and returning to escort her to the Cauldron.

Once we reached the stairwell and Feyre indicated that was the final descent before the Cauldron, I stood on her left and Mor stayed on her right as Cassian traveled down the stairs to clear them.

I met Mor’s eyes over Feyre’s small frame and a twinge surged through my heart.

Mor was… an incredible female, to be sure. As much as I was scared to admit it, I had realized it was time to reevaluate my feelings for her after Feyre and Rhys had mated. If it hadn’t happened in this many years, when would it?

This dance she, Cassian, and I had been doing for the past several centuries had just become so comfortable and familiar that I worried about what would happen if one of us broke its unspoken rules. If someone said aloud what we had kept quiet for so long.

Cassian often found himself caught in the middle, used by Mor to get me to back off when things got too close to crossing that border between friendship and something more… intimate. I knew Cass didn’t care but I also knew he was well aware of the politics of it. As much as he liked to pretend he couldn’t fathom such things, ‘he’s just the general of the armies and Rhys handles the politics’, he was too smart not to see it.

If Rhys had found Feyre a mere three years after starting to have visions of her… Clearly the Mother worked in interesting and frustrating ways, meaning 500 years of waiting for Mor to have that conversation with me… Well, perhaps it was time to… let that idea go.

Cass’ whistle from the bottom of the stairs snapped me back into defense mode, even as Mor shot me a small wink. I huffed some air out of my nose, knowing she was trying to lighten the mood but gave her a look that told her I hadn’t missed the worry and fear etched on her gorgeous features.

When we entered the room where the Cauldron sat seated on the dais, my breath caught in my throat. My shadows froze completely, unsure whether to scatter, disappear, or surge towards the wretched thing. I could feel their hesitance, almost as if they were waiting for the Cauldron to tell them what to do, rather than me.

I studied the entire room, noting exits, entrances, the depth we were at, and any possible escapes that would need to be made. I listened for footsteps but instead heard…

Feyre began walking towards the Cauldron but I reached out an arm to stop her, “Listen.”

I could hear the throbbing emanating from the supreme power of the object in front of us. I could also hear the way my shadows, finally moving, balked at the messages it was sending. It wasn’t a language I had ever heard or even a language at all. It was almost a strange music that was somehow beautiful and hideous and made every blood vessel in my body feel like it was going to burst. It was not the soft alluring song of the shadows that I had taught myself. Instead, it was demanding, consuming.

One glance at the others told me that while they heard it, they didn’t hear it. Not the way I did.

Feyre moved towards it, Mor at her back and Cassian and I on either side of the room.

I stood silent as Feyre reached out to touch it, then brought the two halves of the book together.

Mor and Cassian argued but I just watched. I could hear Mor telling Cassian exactly why this was a bad idea, but they didn’t notice the way Feyre’s body began to slouch and her eyes rolled back into her head. They were too preoccupied to see how her very life seemed to be draining from her, so I stepped in, knowing that this price was too steep, even for Rhys, who would give anything to save us.

I tore Feyre from the Cauldron and held her limp body upright. I could barely hear her breathing above the thrumming coming from the Cauldron, louder now that I had stepped closer to it. It was taking too long for her to wake up.

Mor and Cass had gone completely silent, fear apparent in their open mouths and heavy breathing.

Feyre’s nose began bleeding and I shook her.

She couldn’t die. Not when Rhys had just found her. Not when they had just mated and she had found her place with us.

I shook harder and her eyes snapped open. I almost breathed a sigh of relief but the sound of footsteps stopped me. I instantly shoved Feyre behind me, worried in her current state she wouldn’t be able to fight or defend herself.

I raised my blade and kept my eyes fixed on the stairwell as the footsteps neared. I could feel Feyre still behind me as she became more aware of her surroundings and shook off whatever the Cauldron had done to her.

Immediately, I sent word to Rhys. He appeared near-instantly, taking the book from Feyre and moving to help face Jurian. His visage of calm didn’t waver once, but I knew him too well to be fooled by his lack of worry.

I reached for him, not physically or with my shadows, but across that bargain bond, the one he, Cassian, and I had made so long ago. It felt faint, almost flickering, and I attributed it to his focus being elsewhere.

I got a small answer back, one that confirmed the anxieties I suspected. We weren’t supposed to have had to call him in. This was supposed to be an in-and-out operation and despite planning for every situation we could think of… There was no telling what Hybern would do.

I watched closely, listened for reinforcements, and snarled as Jurian dared to call Mor a liar.

After what he had done… I almost killed him then but Rhysand narrowed his eyes, telling me to back off.

So I held firm, keeping Feyre behind me until Mor grabbed my hand and Cassian’s and moved to winnow us out of here. To my surprise, and Mor’s, we remained in the room. Her look of shock mixed with fear as she realized her power wasn’t working.

I felt Rhys’ power trying to surge, only to be met with nothing.

Cassian and I crouched, knowing that we didn’t need the magic of our High Lord or siphons to defeat Jurian. He was human and therefore he was vulnerable and weak.

He wasn’t the problem. The problem was Hybern and whatever his plan was now that he had us trapped here.

Winnowing wasn’t an option. Rhys blowing this place to bits with a snap of his fingers also wasn’t an option. Which meant the only way out was through brute force and blood.

Rhysand sent us a nod before moving to leave and every muscle in my legs tensed, ready to run for it. It wasn’t going to be easy but we could make it. We could -

The King of Hybern appeared at the top of the stairs at the same time I felt pressure bloom in my chest.

I stumbled backward at the force the bolt hit me with. I looked down and fell to my knees as Mor’s screams echoed throughout the hall. It took seconds, some of the longest of my life, for the pain to catch up to what my eyes could see. Though I could see the bolt sticking out of my chest the pain only blossomed once my eyes finally dragged their way back up to meet Mor’s.

Through the pain, I could feel the poison dancing in me, taunting me, confirming every word the King spoke when he told my Court the repercussions of acting against him.

I wanted to speak, to tell them to just do it - kill him and let me be the sacrifice - but every movement caused a burning in my veins as if my blood had been replaced with sand. 

I barely registered Rhys and Cass grabbing me and dragging me along with them. So different from earlier when I moved automatically, with no intent, strategy, or conscious thought, now I was alone with my thoughts. 

I had to tell my body to breathe, my lungs no longer working on their own. I felt the blood dripping down my chest and my back. I had to fight for every thought and use every ounce of energy to focus on what was unfolding before me.

Spring. I recognized the scent. I forced my gaze to focus, willing my eyes to work as they normally did, and saw Tamlin and Lucien emerge from somewhere in the room.

The bastards had set us up.

Rhys and Cass’ hold on me tightened and I didn’t need to bond between the three of us to know exactly what they were thinking.

There were voices, Rhys I’m sure holding back whatever he really wanted to say to the two-faced High Lord of Spring, but the blood pounding in my ears made it difficult to do much but reach for my blade. The adrenaline would take over if we needed to fight, as it had before. This wasn’t the worst wound I had faced but I knew that poison… the poison controlled by the King of Hybern would kill me faster than I could grip the hilt of my knife.

I listened as the king explained his part of the deal with Tamlin… to break the bond between Feyre and Rhys. Had my blood not been poured on the floor in front of me, it would have run cold. The bargain bond or… No.

They likely hadn’t made the connection between Rhys and Feyre yet. They didn’t know - couldn’t know. As long as Rhys stayed away from her and they didn’t scent it… it would be okay.

My emotions were a swirling mass of confusion. With a clear head, I could usually sort through and control them easily enough, conceal them from others. Now though… 

Now I knew I was angry. Angry that Rhys and Feyre could lose what so many sought after. 

I was afraid. Not afraid I was going to die, but I was going to die before I could do anything to save my family. 

Mostly, I was… calm. A damning sense of calm washed over me. My steely resolve returned for a moment as I realized this was not the time to be overwhelmed by my emotions but instead to tune them out and focus on what I could do.

Jurian was staring down Mor, sword in hand, and I did my best to look intimidating despite the wave of nausea that swept over me from holding my head up.

I vaguely saw Feyre winnow, still attuned enough to my own senses to reach for the power in my siphons, try to help and fight. If she could winnow, surely someone had figured out what was blocking our powers. But I was met with nothing and nearly lost my balance as Rhys dropped me to punch Tamlin square in the jaw.

It was almost comical the way Tamlin went sprawling. In my pain-riddled state, I had to work twice as hard to hold back the smirk threatening to spread at his shocked expression.

I felt Mor move my arm around her shoulders, working to keep me upright. I tried to meet her gaze but she was staring straight ahead, as was Cassian.

I tried again to tell them to leave me behind. To let Hybern make good on his promise just so they would have the chance to kill him and Tamlin, take the Cauldron, and get the fuck out of here.

I heard the shuffle of footsteps as soldiers poured in and the clack of heels. I tilted my head up, my remaining shadows reporting the presence of the human queens. The human queens and… no.

I could only hang limply between my friends, my family, as the King brought in Feyre’s sisters. I smelled her scent the second she walked into the room and forced my eyes to open, if only a little, to confirm I wasn’t dreaming.

I found her within seconds, bound and gagged. I could barely see her as my eyes fought to close from the amount of blood still dripping from the ash weapon wedged in my chest. 

~

Evelyn.

Her hair was wild around her face, her scared and tear-stained face. Her eyes were wide and red, desperate and full of fear. She, like me, was dangling limply between two guards and I could only imagine how badly she was hurting right now. I could take this. I was Fae, I could handle the pain and this wasn’t even close to the worst I’d felt… Well, maybe close. But she was human. Beautifully and perfectly human. More than that, she was constantly in pain, working around the clock to manage her symptoms.

She never knew that my shadows would report back more than just her talking to them or her with her human fiance. They’d tell me of every stumble, every wince as she took a step, every day that she would lay crying because she couldn’t get out of bed. More than that… they told me of the moment they could tell she was going to power through. An entire mental shift where she would no longer let the pain control her and instead conquer it. Most times, it worked. Others… she was too badly hurt.

That was where she was now, I could tell. Whatever energy had been summoned to fight off her captors and get her to this point had left her drained and in pain.

Rage burned through my blood at her torn nightgown and the absence of any joy on her painstakingly beautiful face. She, despite the numerous times her body had given out on her due to pain, had always had a smile on her face. 

Even when we first met her, as imposing as our Court must have seemed, she was confused and scared but joy seemed to have a permanent stage in her green eyes. It danced and flickered behind every word, every jab at someone, and even as she had stood still behind her sister at the meeting with the queens.

I watched those now terrified eyes dart around the room, trying to take in everything that was going on. They landed on me and she took in the blood, the weapon sticking clean through my chest, and Cass and Mor holding me up. I couldn’t meet her gaze, my eyes falling shut as my head began spinning. I could still hear as she managed to try to fight against the Fae who held her. I heard the muffled, broken cry leave her lips.

I blinked my eyes open again, needing to know she wasn’t hurt. I lifted my head to look directly at her. I met her eyes this time, the green of them blurry thanks to the tears held within them.

I tried to will myself to my feet and force my body to comply with my mind and kill every single person in here who was responsible for making her look like that. I growled low in my throat, trying to sound threatening, to gain a bit of composure, but it was no use.

My attention flicked to the other sisters at that point, Nesta with messed hair and wild eyes to match Evelyn’s but a fire within them that her younger sister lacked. I could see the gears in her head turning and the anger towards us, perhaps even hatred, growing as she realized exactly how she and her sisters got roped into this situation.

Elain stood next to them. Her clothes were still disheveled, but no evidence of violence as her sisters had. Her face was flooded with tears, her eyes still streaming like the Sidra, as she remained trapped in the guard’s hold. It was as if she were frozen, a deer that had heard the sound of a predator’s footstep in the distance. But the predator was right in front of her. And she had no means of escape. 

The stark differences between all the sisters amazed me. Together, the four of them encompassed all that was special about humanity. Nesta, dignity and temper. Elain, innocence and fragility. Feyre, human creativity and enduring love. And Evelyn, tenacity and vulnerability. The four Archerons. They completed each other.

I only stared at the sisters as they listened intently to what was going on in the room, but couldn’t gather my thoughts enough to process what was being said. My head throbbed at the effort it took to keep myself awake and aware of my surroundings. I clenched my eyes shut, trying to force my brain to focus. Any information could be the thing that helped get us out of here.

I heard Tamlin’s voice echo at the realization that Ianthe had betrayed him. I would have snorted if I had the chance. The ignorant fool.

I heard Feyre take a step and then the hall was filled with the King’s power. Cassian’s screams pierced through the haze shrouding my mind and I opened my eyes just enough to see him standing above me as his wings were shredded.

I screamed, but it was drowned out by the sheer pain radiating from Cassian. I couldn’t help the tears that slid out of my eyes at seeing my brother’s wings near-disintegrate in front of me as I was on the ground, unable to stop it. He had stepped in front of me, willing to take the blast to protect me, and I could only watch in horror.

I fought to stay awake and find something to focus on. I just had to stay awake. Now that Cassian was down, I had to find a way to get Feyre out of here. I had promised Rhys.

The three Archeron sisters remained gagged, tears still lining Elain and Evelyn’s cheeks, but screamed as Tamlin lunged for Feyre.

Mor yelled and jumped at the King. I waited for the moment she met him, hopefully delivering a killing blow, but I felt the poison in my blood flow closer to my heart and could only let out a weak cry at the pain that flooded me.

Mor stopped in her tracks and moved towards me, crouching as she reached me.

Evelyn’s shout brought my gaze to her and I watched in awe as this tiny human girl stomped on the foot of the guard who was holding her and broke free. She lunged in my direction and my heart fluttered at the thought of her reaching me. The thought of her holding me like this made me want to cry in agony and joy. At least if I was going to die, unable to help my friends, hers would be the last face I’d see.

I carried her with me everywhere. In darkness and doom, in light and laughter, the thought of her somehow followed my every footstep while also guiding my way. 

In Velaris, as families walked and children played in the street, I would think of how gentle and kind she would be with them. At Rita’s, I found myself wondering what smart-ass remark she would chime in with. At night when I couldn’t sleep, when not even the soft song of my shadows could comfort the pain I had experienced or the pain I had inflicted on others, the memory of her so stubbornly reaching for that tea set would soothe me.

She was the purest form of light and joy that I had ever encountered. It fascinated me, how a human that was otherwise so frail, whose life was so fleeting, and who had experienced more pain than even some Fae have in their centuries of existence, managed to smile and joke. Yet here I was, dying and rarely ever being able to pull myself out of the darkness that metaphorically and literally surrounded me enough to even feel at ease with my family.

It seemed as if time was moving in slow motion. The look of hope on her face as she flung herself towards me, the edges of her mouth just starting to turn up into a grin around the gag set between them, and then her abrupt screech of pain as she jolted backward, the guard maintaining the hold on her hair that had prevented her from crossing the room.

If it weren’t for the hold on my power, everyone in the room would have been dead. Friend and foe alike.

“Don’t you touch her,” I growled, my gaze pinned on her and the Fae who held her.

Her panicked gaze met mine. I had never felt so powerless, not even as a child in that cellar. At least there, I found something that could give me power. Something that could comfort me.

Here, I was useless. I was broken.

I felt Mor kneel beside me, placing a hand on my chest. With the little strength I had, I moved mine to cover hers and I met her teary gaze. She was trying to stop the bleeding, that much I knew. But it was no use.

I tried to convey with my eyes the words my mouth couldn’t form. A million apologies, a million sweet nothings, a million thank yous. I knew then that the game we had played was ending and I was going to be the loser. That was okay though, Cassian and I had sworn to Rhys to protect Feyre with our lives and were duty-bound to honor that. Even so, I glanced across the room at Evelyn, wondering what my life might have been like if this wasn’t the final moment in it.

“Put the prettier one in first,” the King’s voice said. I snapped my attention to him and watched as Elain was shoved forward.

A shot of pain racked through my body and I shuddered. I couldn’t help the cry that left my lips at the feeling of the poison inching closer to my heart.

“If any of you interfere, the shadowsinger dies.”

Just do it, Rhys. I’m not worth this. I tried to reach for that mental link but found nothing.

As Elain was shoved towards the Cauldron, Nesta screamed and fought in a way the toughest Illyrians I had seen would have shrunk at. Evelyn’s eyes were closed as tears ran down her face and her body gave out on her. The most innocent of them all being punished first seemed unfair. I tried to move myself forward to fulfill the promise I had made but that magic poison in my veins surged the faintest bit, reminding me of my fate if I tried to intervene.

I was aware of Tamlin and Lucien being stopped by the King. They were both chained to the floor by his magic, a consequence of realizing far too late that they had chosen the wrong side.

I could do nothing but watch as the soft-spoken Archeron was shoved into the Cauldron. Nesta’s screams echoed throughout the rooms, nobody else daring to make a sound. I saw Cassian’s hand twitch for her and I tried to reach my own out and move my legs to stand but Mor forced me back.

I glared at her the best I could but I’m sure it was far from intimidating with the pained grimace on my face. She just narrowed her eyes in a way that told me I wouldn’t be moving for a long while. Her hand on me tightened slightly in warning and I knew that I must be in much worse shape than I could tell. 

Nesta’s screaming stopped as Elain was poured from the Cauldron and laid limp on the floor.

She was… Fae. My heart clenched at the realization. I knew how much her betrothed hated the Fae and how terrified she herself was of them. This was the cruelest irony the Mother had ever wrought - turning the one family to Fae that hated them yet did everything to help protect them. I knew Feyre was meant for this - to be one of us. It suited her better than her human life had, according to her stories and what Rhys had told me. But Nesta, Elain, and Evelyn, the elder two especially… I had no idea what this would mean for them.

The only hope we had was stopping Hybern before either of the two remaining sisters were forced into that… thing. 

I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t save Elain. I hadn’t been able to fulfill that vow I had sworn to myself to protect these women. I couldn’t get Rhys or Cass out of here. All I could do was watch in horror as Elain remained on the ground, her nightgown completely soaked and her now-pointed ears sticking through her wet hair.

“The hellcat now, if you’ll be so kind,” the King’s voice ordered and I saw the guards behind Nesta go to move her forwards.

A shout stopped them and their eyes turned towards Evelyn.

She had never looked more beautiful than she did at that moment. Despite the tears on her face, the gag in her mouth, and the disheveled hair, her eyes held the defiance of a thousand souls. Her chin was in the air and she stared pointedly at the King of Hybern. No hint of shaking or fear as she met his gaze, eyes burning with a promise. 

“Or it seems we have a volunteer. Very well,” and he gestured to her guards.

No.

My blood turned to lead and my heart stopped. She couldn’t do this. This couldn’t happen.

I watched as she struggled to walk to the Cauldron, her legs failing to find purchase underneath her as she was guided to the platform it sat on.

I tried to shout at her or to tell the King or the guards to stop. I wished they would just kill me rather than make me watch this. I’d rather die a thousand times over than have to see that look on her face that mirrored the one she had back in the manor when she had been prepared to die.

500 years with Rhysand had taught me how to handle someone being self-sacrificial, but he was immortal. He had survived and as angry as it made me each time he placed our lives above his, I had faith in his ability to fend for himself. For Evelyn to think that she was somehow less than us, that she could sacrifice herself to somehow save us, I wasn’t sure if it was the kindest thing someone had done for me or the stupidest.

She met my eyes as the guards lifted her. I tried to convey everything I could as she stared at me. My vision was blurry from bloodloss and I had to strain myself to keep my eyes open, but I wouldn’t let her go through this alone.

Don’t do this. Don’t die. Don’t leave me.

I knew I must have looked pathetic, panic written across my face as she was slowly lowered into the Cauldron. For once, I couldn’t bring myself to think of looking weak in front of both our enemy in Hybern and a rival Court. All I cared about was how horribly I had failed. I failed to be prepared for Hybern’s spell, failed to save Feyre for Rhys, and failed to protect the sweetest soul that had decided I was worthy of even a speck of her light and kindness.

Just as her head was about to go under she flashed me a smile and shook her head. Her eyes glittered, not with joy like they usually did, but with a goodbye. 

For those few seconds, I let everything I had tried to bury deep and forget these few months come rushing back to me. All the thoughts and daydreams I wouldn’t let myself indulge in because I didn’t fully understand hit me at once. Her eyes held everything I had ever wanted. I let myself picture her singing in the kitchen as she made tea, her playing with my shadows between her fingers, my hands in her hair as I kissed her, and even just holding her small body in my arms. I couldn’t fathom how this human woman had found herself in the deepest reaches of my heart so quickly, but I knew I wanted - no, needed - more time to figure it out.

She had to survive this.

And then she was gone, fully emerged in the Cauldron.

I let out a sob. Mor’s head whipped to me and her eyebrows furrowed, whether from confusion or worry I didn’t know. I only spared her a glance and fixed my gaze on the Cauldron, waiting.

I held my breath from the second she entered the Cauldron to the moment she spilled out of it. It felt as though I couldn’t allow myself to breathe if she wasn’t. My body wouldn’t function unless hers was too. I knew in that moment… no. 

For Feyre. She had to be okay for Feyre. We had promised Rhys, Feyre, and the Archeron sisters that we would protect them. It was our duty and nothing more.

As the guards tipped over the Cauldron, her small body came tumbling out of it. She was sprawled across the ground, much less ceremoniously than Elain had exited. I waited for her to get up, to sob or cry as Elain had. Instead, she stayed on the floor.

I let out a sigh of relief that she seemed physically unharmed, but it quickly caught in my throat. I raked my eyes over her form and tried my hardest to concentrate on hearing her heartbeat. She was eerily still. And I heard nothing.

She wasn’t breathing.

She wasn’t breathing.

I whipped my head to Rhys, eyes desperately begging him to do something, anything. I tried to form words but couldn’t. Through the throbbing pain in my chest, my hand still clutching the wound, blood still spilling sticky and warm between my fingers, and the deep tug in my gut, words couldn’t explain how much this could not be happening.

He managed to grab her before the King’s guards. He dragged her to Feyre, Mor and Rhys looking at each other in panic, neither knowing what to do without their magic.

But Feyre knew. And she worked as a human would have, hands-on Evelyn’s chest, and blowing air into her lungs.

We all just stared until Evelyn’s mouth opened and she coughed. Instead of water leaving her lungs, an inky smoke spilled out of her mouth. Her chest began moving and my entire body went limp, a sigh leaving it.

She was alive. 

And as she coughed, eyes still closed, in her new Fae form. I felt it click.

That moment that I had waited for my entire life that I still wasn’t completely sure I deserved. I felt that link between her soul and mine and I gasped. Mor rushed towards me, fussing over my wound, but I actually managed enough strength to push her away from me.

Her mouth gaped open, both at my ability to push her that hard and also at the fact that I had just shoved her away from me, but I couldn’t get myself to care. I used the newfound adrenaline in my body to throw myself forward toward where Rhys and Feyre sat in front of Evelyn.

She was on her side, arched lips slightly parted from coughing so hard, eyes gently closed, and wet hair slightly falling in her face. She was perfect. And she was perfect before she went into that Cauldron, I just couldn’t and wouldn’t let myself admit it.

I reached out an impure hand - covered in scars and blood - towards her peaceful face and carefully moved the hair out of her eyes. I shakily reached down and took her perfect, unmarked, smooth hand into my own. Seeing the marks of my past meet with her otherwise pure skin made me realize that perhaps the Mother didn’t always get everything right. There was no world in which I was worthy or deserving of someone as light and hopeful as her.

Her eyes fluttered open, but only for a moment. I could tell it was subconscious as my skin met hers but I finally admitted it to myself as her green eyes met my hazel ones.

Mate. My mate.

Her eyes rolled back into her head and she let out a deep sigh as she fell back into whatever sleep the Cauldron had put her in. I had no idea what had happened around me as I tightened my grip on her hand, noting Mor watching the entire exchange.

I could barely keep a coherent thought as Nesta was forced into the same fate as her sisters, but there was no screaming for her.

I saw Cassian struggle to move, but much like Evelyn, it was not a conscious effort. Mor had moved to my side where I laid by Evelyn, doing her best to keep me from bleeding out. Rhys looked desperately at Cassian’s wings, trying to staunch his bleeding with his hands when he realized the wounds were still open.

Nesta didn’t so much as cough as she left the Cauldron, getting to her feet and immediately shoving Lucien away from Elain. 

My eyes widened at his confession of being her mate but my mind couldn’t even wrap around the thought. Nesta dragged Elain next to Evelyn and crouched protectively in front of both of them.

I met her eyes as she took in my red-stained hand grasping Evelyn’s, but surprisingly she didn’t shove me away as she had Lucien. I couldn’t read the emotion that flickered through her gaze but I could see a silver fire that was lit deep within them. The only thing I could compare it to was how I had felt when I first met Amren, but even then that wasn’t close. 

Instead of pulling Evelyn away from me, she maneuvered herself and Elain to be within reach and kept one arm around Elain’s shoulders and the other resting on Evelyn’s motionless head.

With all four Archeron sisters officially Fae, Tamlin declared his deal to the King fulfilled and demanded what was promised in return. All this… just to break the bond between Feyre and Rhysand. Sacrificing all of Prythian just so Feyre wouldn’t have to go to the Night Court every month, despite every clue being that she wanted to be there. A selfish bastard and crazy, too.

I mentally reached for Rhys as Feyre demanded the bond - the deal - between them be broken. I wasn’t sure why she was playing along and I couldn’t handle when she screamed at Rhys asking what he had done to her.

I met Rhys’ eyes and his broken look was just another knife in my chest after everything that had just happened. Cassian’s wings, the sisters, and now we had lost Feyre.

I felt it, though, as she lit up the room. The magic working behind the scenes and my siphons filling again with power. Maybe… maybe this had been the plan all along. If it was, I had never been angrier at Rhys for not filling us in.

But I knew the King’s spell had been broken when I reached for that bond between Rhys, Cass, and I. I could feel Cass but knew he wasn’t awake, Rhys though…

Rhysand…

His body whirled towards me with realization and his eyes widened. I could see the tears forming in his eyes even as he tried to blink them back, keeping up whatever front this was in front of Hybern and the Spring Court.

The realization crossed his face at the same time he moved closer to me, wrapping the arm that wasn’t clenching Evelyn’s hand around his shoulder. Magic was back and therefore we could go home. 

I heard more talking but the pounding in my ears had finally overcome the sound of voices. Then Feyre disappeared with Tamlin.

Before the King and Jurian could do anything else, I felt Rhys hoist me and Cassian up. I kept hold of Evelyn’s hand as long as I could, watching as Mor picked her up and grabbed Nesta and Elain’s hands. Rhys held me up but gently pulled me away, urging me to drop her hand.

I wouldn’t, I couldn’t. If… If I let go, what would happen to her? Where would they take her?

I kept my eyes on her face as Mor equally as gently pulled Evelyn away from me. As my hand finally dropped from hers, I felt the vague sense of winnowing as the pain and blood loss finally overcame me. 

The last thing I saw was Evelyn’s peaceful face, without any life in it, as she disappeared with Mor.

[aquamarinescarlet]

Don’t give up just yet

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word count: ~3.6k

Warnings: two curse word (I think), brief mentions of sex and cheating, angst (bare in mind these warnings don’t apply the way you think they do, you’ll have to read to understand)

Summary: The classic soulmate AU, sentences written on each other’s wrists, but with a twist.

Author’s note: This was basically an excuse for me to reinvent the soulmate AU with the wrist tattoos thing. It’s sorta angsty, but I just thought the ending was too funny. Just experimenting here, tell me what you think.

PSA: Dividers are the count down till the day: black is reader focused, red is wanda focused, gold/yellow is also reader focused, but I thought it deserved a little spark.

“You should call her, y’know.”

“Why would I do that? She made her point very clear.”

“It’s her wedding day, Y/N,” Mia reasoned, “and this fight was months ago, you have to get over it.”

You rolled your eyes at her insistence. This discussion has been happening every day for the past two weeks.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, why am I the one who should get over it?” You emphasized.

“He is her soulmate, and she is your sister, the least you could do is pretend.”

“Ugh,” you let out a guttural scream, “I can’t do this anymore Mia, I stand by what I said. That man is an asshole and this soulmate thing is stupid. I don’t trust him, no matter what the words on both their wrists say, and I’m not gonna watch her go down with this and not do anything about it.”

Mia didn’t respond, she knew she’d reached your last nerve. You watched as the woman left your office, sending a last sympathetic glance your way before walking into the hall. 

Mia was right in some points, and you knew that. She was right about it being your sister’s wedding day and that you should be there to support her. She was wrong about you needing to be the one to apologize though. The way people manipulated their lives to fit this whole twisted Soulmate Theory made your blood boil.

The Soulmate Theory was quite simple: everyone was born with a sentence written on their wrists, popular belief is that those are the first words your soulmate will say to you. It was cute, and it worked most of the time, not for your sister though. Or at least you thought so.

Oli's soulmate was Isaac. They had met three years ago and eventually started dating. Oli was a firm believer of the Soulmate Theory and had never dated anyone before, so it was all new and exciting.

You started noticing the patterns roughly one year after they started dating. He was controlling her, discreetly, barely noticeable, but it was there. 

First with clothes, Oli had made it a habit to always ask for his opinions on her clothing, and he would tell her he hated something, regardless of her telling him over and over again she had liked it. You made little comments here and there about his actions, mostly jokes but with some truth behind, she didn’t notice.

Second was friends, Isaac would always want to meet Oli’s friends, and if she went out with one he didn’t know he would make her feel guilty. You started giving more serious warnings, pointing out what he was doing more clearly, she didn’t care and called you crazy.

Third was her feelings, he had his mind set on what her role should be in his life. He praised Oli endlessly when she cooked or cleaned. Other than that, he didn’t care, didn’t pay attention to her stories, didn’t appreciate her paintings and drawings… 

It got to the point where she wouldn’t want to paint anymore, when she was telling a story it would be without her usual excitement. Her smile no longer reached her eyes, she was constantly tired. 

You confronted her about it, several times, but it was of no use. You’d point out the facts and she’d retort with ‘he is my soulmate, the universe bound us together, he wouldn’t do this to me!’

Three months ago was the last time you two talked. She told you he asked her hand. She knew you would be against it, she tried to ease you into the idea of her being with Isaac for the rest of her life. You weren’t having any of it. 

After hours of screaming, arguing and loads of tears, she told you not to come to the wedding, and you said you wouldn’t. 

It’s now four days from the date and you’re not going as long as he’s the one she’s marrying.

You stared at the words on your own wrist. ‘It’s you’. That sentence haunted you for years. What a stupid set of words for your soulmate to say.

As a kid you adored the Soulmate Theory, you paid meticulous attention to the first words you’d exchange with anyone, you made new friends nearly every day in hopes of hearing those words, but they never came.

Until they came. At first it was exhilarating, but the ones you said didn’t match the ones on the person’s wrist. You were extremely disappointed. And then you heard them again, and again, and again… It became almost routine. Every single person you met would say ‘it’s you’ or some variation of it. 

You being who you are certainly didn’t help. During college you had started a tech company and now it had grown to be one of the biggest and most important in the field. The new inventions did win you several prizes and a lot of money. You were also stupid famous, being the young brilliant CEO and all. 

Ever since, you gave up on looking for your soulmate. It seemed counter productive to get yourself all worked up just for it not to happen every single day. You made your peace with it, although a small part of you just wanted to meet said person.

The situation with Isaac and Oli helped. Seeing that it could end up hurting you made it easier to not fixate on finding your soulmate. Nonetheless, the desire was there; hidden, pushed to the back of your mind, but still there.

You just wished your sister could see it too, that the Soulmate Theory is not the solution to all her problems. 

“Relax Steve, it’s all taken care of.” 

“What about the flowers? Did you book the buffet? Did you check with the band? And the decorations? I saw some people didn’t RSVP yet, should I redo the seating charts?” Steve rambled on as Wanda just laughed.

“The flower problem is solved, the buffet confirmed, so did the band, the wedding planner is working on the decorations and redoing the whole seating chart seems… unnecessary, they still have three days to confirm their presence.” She reassured the man who was more stressed than her about the whole situation.

“Okay, sorry, I just want to make sure everything is perfect.” He huffed, taking a seat on the couch. 

“It’s going to be perfect, don’t worry.” She couldn’t help the weirdness that surged upon uttering those words.

“How are you so calm?” Wanda just shrugged, not really sure how to answer. 

Steve took a deep breath and gazed at the red head, offering her a smile. 

“I’m going to sleep, all this wedding stuff has been stressing me all day.” 

“Okay,” Steve made his way to his bedroom but she called him before he reached the hallway, “thanks for the help Rogers.” 

“No worries.” He shot a last smile before disappearing. 

Wanda found herself alone in the living room, the silence only making her thoughts scream louder.

She would be married in three days. It seemed unbelievable. After losing her parents, being experimented on at Hydra, fighting along Ultron, losing her brother and becoming an Avenger, she never thought she would have time to fall in love.

Yet, here she is. Although the feeling wasn’t quite what she thought it would be. It wasn’t exciting, or nerve racking. She felt no different than any other day of her life. Steve seemed like the one who was getting married, not her. 

Vision is sweet and caring, she feels so happy around him. Then what is causing all these doubts to haunt her?

She knows what it is, she just doesn’t want to admit it.

Those words. Those stupid words painted forever on her wrist. ‘Don’t do this’. Ever since joining the Avengers she started using several bracelets to hide them, but they still burned on her skin every single day.

She’d heard of the Soulmate Theory at a very young age. Her parents had explained how those were the first words she’d hear from the love of her life. She would spend hours daydreaming all sorts of scenarios in which someone would say those words to her and they’d fall in love.

After her parent’s death, that stopped being her priority. At the Hydra base she’d only see her brother and a couple dozen different Hydra soldiers, too old and mean for a soulmate. 

Gaining powers was a game changer. She was older then. Stronger. They finally allowed her and Pietro to leave the base and create chaos in Hydra’s name. “Do good” in Hydra’s name. She believed she was doing the right thing. She truly did. 

Hearing her first ‘Don’t do this’ made her question everything. It came from a little kid nonetheless. A scared little kid. It must’ve been a mistake, she thought at the time. But that mistake happened, again, and again, and again… 

When she joined the Avengers her eyes were opened to all the pain and terror she had caused. All the people she hurt. Then it dawned on her, what if one of those ‘Don’t do this’ came from her soulmate? What if she had hurt them, or worse, killed them?

The idea terrified her. So she hid those words on her wrist. A reminder of the evil she’s done and the love she’ll never have. She promised herself to never look for her soulmate, she already caused them enough pain, they didn’t deserve to get tangled in the mess that was her life.

And then Vision was created. Him and Wanda got along greatly. He made her happy. They fell in love, or at least that’s what Wanda told herself, that she fell in love with him. It was possible, there’s no rule on the Soulmate Theory that says you can only fall in love with your soulmate. Plus, Vision is not human, so he doesn’t have words written on his wrist, he doesn’t have a predestined soulmate, technically he doesn’t even have an actual soul for this sort of thing. They could be each other’s soulmate. A loophole on this stupid theory.

Why didn’t it feel like that though? Why was she questioning it so much? And why now? Three days before her wedding?

She took off the bracelets and stared at the ink, brushing her fingers lightly over it. She loved Vision, she affirmed to herself. She wants to marry him. This is what she wants. And she believes in these words, for a while. Long enough for her to fall asleep, turning off her brain from overthinking the situation too much.

Work has had you occupied all week. With back to back meetings and loads of paperwork to fill out, you’ve barely had time to think of anything else.

But now it seems like everything is done and you have more free time than you’d like. 

You left the office early, not having much to do there anymore, and, instead of spending all afternoon home alone, you decided to go out for some coffee.

You were sitting on your usual table in the small coffee shop close to your place. It was calm, quiet and homely, a nice contrast between the places you frequent. The warm cup on your hands did nothing to distract you though.

The book you’d brought was long forgotten on the table as you glanced at your phone every few seconds. It’s two days till the wedding and, even though you tried not to think about it, you hoped your sister would text you saying she broke it off. It was unlikely, but wishing she could get some sense knocked into her wouldn’t kill.

You were so focused on your thoughts that you didn’t notice a woman glancing at you until you caught her trying to call your attention.

“It’s you!” She said, astonished, pointing to the cover of a magazine showing a picture of you.

Recognizing that issue as being a rather old one, you just nodded and offered the woman a friendly smile. She took that as an opportunity to approach you.

“Hi. Sorry,” she sounded excited and also nervous for bothering you, “I just wanted to say what an inspiration you are to women all around, to me especially. I’ve been opening my own business and seeing what you do has been such an encouragement to me. So, thank you!” 

You were surprised by how nice she was. You’d expected her to ask you to invest in her business or something, like everyone who approaches you does, but she didn’t and it was a nice change of pace for once.

“What kind of business are you opening?” You asked. Listen to her talk would be a good distraction, plus, you could use the company.

“Oh, no, that’s ok,” she said, “I don’t want to bother you any further.”

“Please,” you urged, “I have the rest of my day off and I could use someone to talk to. Unless you’re busy, then I wouldn’t want to be a burden to you.” You laughed to ease the woman’s nerves.

“Sure?” You nodded and gestured to the empty seat across from you. 

She accepted it and you spent at least an hour talking before she had to leave. It was a pleasant conversation, she praised your work but didn’t refrain from giving some interesting criticism on your business. The topic of an investment or a partnership never even came up. 

It got your sister out of your mind for a while, although it didn’t last long.

Laying on your bed, your eyes fought to stay open, your mind swirling with all possible scenarios regarding Oli. She would be miserable if she went through with this, and you couldn’t do anything about it.

You love your sister, you care so much about her, but she refuses to listen to your warnings. You could swallow your pride and go to the wedding. You could try and support her. But that would just make an accomplice to her stupidity and you’re not going to just stand there and pretend that that’s ok.

You thought about texting her, way too many times. But your relationship is already rocky as it is, the least you could do is hope she gets some clarity on her own.

One day till the wedding. She’s 24 hours away from the happiest day of her life. Why is it, then, that Wanda doesn’t feel as happy as she should be. 

She didn’t have to fake a smile, she was happy, but that smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

None of the others seemed to notice it. They just thought it was the nervousness of having everything set so the day could run smoothly. Vision even brought up the possibility of her having cold feet about it, but she denied it thoroughly, assuring him she wanted this.

And she does. She wants to get married, have kids and build up a family of her own. She wants it all. 

It still seemed weird though. Like something was off. 

“Steve just called,” Nat interrupted her thoughts, walking back into the room, “everything is set, prepped and organized for tomorrow.”

“Let’s try on the dress then.” Carol urged the girl to put on the piece of clothing for the millionth time.

It did her justice. Slim at the top and flowy at the bottom, accentuating all her curves perfectly. It wasn’t big and puffy but light and delicate. She smiled at her own reflection as the other women crammed around her to take a look.

“You look beautiful.” Pepper said in awe. 

“She does, doesn’t she.” Laura agreed, even though she’s the one that helped her choose it.

Wanda didn’t say anything, just smiling and appreciating her own image, excitement growing on her chest from wearing it in front of everyone the next day.

The girls spent hours planning how they would do her hair and makeup. There were so many ideas, disagreements and arguments that Wanda was completely drained by the end of the day. She was happy though, to see her friends being there for her, eager to help and make sure everything was perfect.

It was nice to have people around since she lost so much throughout the years.

After the women were gone and she found herself alone, Wanda’s thoughts from the beginning of the day came back, hitting her like a train.

Was she really more excited about wearing a dress than about getting married? Was this a sign of her actually getting cold feet? 

She shrugged them away, affirming to herself these are just stupid uncertanties people always get before their wedding day. At least that’s what happens in movies, so nothing to worry about... right?

Thankfully your work slump had subsided as now a gigantic pile of papers sat on your table. Some contracts had to be restructured and a set of stores had to be chosen to distribute your newest technology. 

You thrived in that scenario, with countless reports and 2D drawings of the prototypes scattered about the room. Your mind was going a thousand miles a minute, seemingly unaware of the events that would take place later that day.

That peace, however, was short lived. Your brain short circuited for a second when you checked what had caused your phone to buzz.

Two voicemails. 

From none other than Isaac. 

It was right then that it dawned on you: Oli was marrying that asshole today. In only a couple of hours actually.

Before listening to the messages you started to record your phone screen, maybe he would try to threaten you or something and you could use that to convince Oli to break things off with him. It wouldn’t kill to be precautious.

The first one was sweet, although it almost made you gag, it was sent with good intentions. Isaac was asking you to go easy on Oli, regardless of your feelings towards him, you should be supportive of her and her decisions. Too pretentious for your liking, but sent with good intentions nonetheless.

The second one started awfully weird. Some muffled sounds, things you couldn’t quite make out. Until you heard a loud moan, your eyes going wide as you pushed your phone away from your face. Isn’t it technically ‘bad luck’ to see the bride on the wedding day? You didn’t have time to dwell on those thoughts as the voice on the phone started to moan each other’s names. The woman didn’t sound anything like Oli, because it wasn’t Oli. Isaac was cheating on your sister? And on their wedding day!?

Oh you weren’t about to just let that go. You stopped the recording, thanking your intuition, and quickly ringed Oli.

It rang once… twice… three times… and then voicemail. You tried at least four more times until you figured she just didn’t want to talk to you.

“Marie can you come in here please?” You called your secretary.

A few seconds later she popped her head inside your office.

“How can I help?”

“Can I use your phone!?” You sounded more exasperated than you wished.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to call your sister today?” Damn, that woman knows you too well. You sighed loudly.

“Please… I just…” You trailed off, sounding desperate this time around.

Thankfully Marie gave in and lent you her phone. You typed Oli’s number and rang it, several times, she didn’t pick up once. You were starting to get truly desperate now.

“Do you have the address?” You handed Marie her phone back.

“Here.” She handed you a piece of paper from her pocket. 

It was on the other side of the city, at least a one hour drive. You quickly grabbed your coat, purse and phone, rushing out of the office, only being stopped by a hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” You gave her a reassuring smile and a quick nod before making your way to your car. Marie has been working with you since the beginning, she always knew when you were up to nothing good. She also knew that when you set your mind to something, there was no stopping you.

The drive was excruciating. You kept making stupid mistakes and taking wrong turns. Everything seemed to work against you, being it: accidents, red lights, slow drivers, pedestrians. Even the birds chirping around were pissing you off.

You finally reached the venue and stopped the car messily in the front entrance. You quickly ran up the stairs, and almost tripped and fell when you heard the officiant was already performing the ceremony.

You reached the doors and yanked them open, hopefully interrupting the wedding before it was too late.

“Don’t do this!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, nearly breathless. 

The guests all turned towards you, surprised. So did the couple on the podium.

Except those people weren’t Oli and Isaac. You recognized them, Vision and Scarlet Witch, or at least that’s the names they went for on television. You’ve seen them before, doing business with Stark had its perks, but had never been introduced.

You could’ve felt bad, but your stomach was a turmoil of faith and nausea. You were either really early or really late to stop Oli.

“Sorry,” you said, trying to catch your breath, “wrong wedding, carry on.” You turned around to leave, but not before noticing the bride glancing at her own wrist.

You didn’t get the chance to take a single step out the door before her voice filled the silence that had settled.

“It’s you.” You stopped dead on your tracks. Your wrist burning slightly, not the kind of pain to cause discomfort, just enough to be noticeable.

Those words. 

Her looking at her wrist.

Your’s burning now.

You turned back around, earning all kinds of confused glances from the guests. Your eyes fell on the woman, a smirk plastered on your lips.

“Seems like this isn’t the wrong wedding after all.”

[magicblooms]

Of course Albus wouldn't even consider apologising for the mistakes he had made. Gellert readily accepted his own role in the destruction of their bond but he could see that the other man did not. He was far too proud and feeling self righteous in his beliefs and actions. Hearing that some of those choices were painful as only slight vindication but it wasn't enough. "No, I'm fully aware that you have no intention of joining me." Gellert would never admit aloud that he had still been hopeful that maybe, maybe Albus would see reason and realise the mistakes he had made. He would realise just what the Ministries were doing to their kind, all in the name of protection when what they really needed was protection from them. Albus should have known better then most just who the authorities sided with and it wasn't with the wizarding world. "You'd rather be the Ministries lap dog then ever admit that you were wrong." He snapped before he could help himself before he took a deep breath. He had not come here to fight and Albus was barely in a state to function, let alone argue with him.

Gellert reached out as Albus gasped softly, leaning heavily against the desk once more. He didn't dare touch him, knowing the reaction he would receive. But the temptation to just hold him, to comfort him was overwhelming. He recalled those few times Albus had sobbed in his arms during that summer, still grieving and struggling to find his place with a role that he never should have been burdened with in the first place. He remembered placing feather light kisses across his forehead, stroking those thick red curls as he whispered reassurances and declarations of love and adoration. But those days had long come to an end. At best, Albus would push him away. At worst he would raise his wand against him and this was no time or place to duel. But still he winced at seeing Albus like this. He watched in silence as the man moved across to fetch water. This was never what he wanted, despite how things were now between them. A world without Albus in it was inconceivable, even they were now to remain enemies for the rest of their days. "You should add this to your water. One drop, three times a day. It will relieve at least some of the side effects for now." He pulled a vial from his pocket and floated it over to Albus where he stood sipping water. "Did you really think useless Muggle items were going to destroy what we created? Would you attempt to terminate an Unbreakable Vow with a pen knife?" Gellert almost rolled his eyes at the thought of Albus wasting his efforts. The man was too brilliant to truly think common non magical items could break the troth. Perhaps he didn't really want to break their part or most likely his desperation to be free of him was leading him to act irrationally. He winced again at the mention of Ariana. He knew Albus wouldn't believe that he had also felt her loss greatly. He had come to feel quite protective over her and held her in great affection. He would never forgive himself for his participation in the events that had led to her death. Was that what had come between them or was it Albus betraying him the first time there had ever been a difficult choice to make? He would never forget the look on Albus' face that night when he had raised his wand against the man he had claimed to love above all others. "You might not want to hear it but you trying to break the bond is what is leading it to poison you, poison us." Gellert had never and would never make a pact with another living soul. But he was familiar enough with the magic they'd used, now more than back then. The research he had been conducting only confirmed what he had suspected. "You know the type of spells we used Albus. They bound us together. Past, present and future. It linked our magic and our very souls, if you believe that I still have one." The corners of his mouth twitched to indicate he was teasing. "You can't simply break that bond without consequence."

magicblooms​:

Gellert shook is head, knowing that it was better to hold his tongue than to snap and snarl back. He hadn’t come here to fight, something he felt Albus should have realised under the circumstances. There was no value to him risking his safety and freedom to simply come here and gloat over an old lover. He would have been better off staying safe at Nurmangard and just letting the troth finish off the one who was his ‘enemy’ while working on a cure for himself. “You made your choices Albus that day back in Godrics Hollow and you have had ample opportunity to come looking for me if you had wanted to.” Gellert had made many mistakes back in the Hollow, especially the fateful night that still often caused him to awaken in a cold sweat and gasping for air. He shouldn’t have cast those spells against Albus’ brother, if only because he was Albus’ brother. He knew he shouldn’t have run the way he did but he had panicked. Ariana was dead and Albus had raised his wand against him! Him! Perhaps if he had stayed, tried to talk to Albus and demand an explanation… He had spent decades mulling over this and there was little point to continue. Gellert watched as the troth coiled around Albus’ neck once more, not as tight as it had been earlier but it still felt incredibly dangerous. Just how long had this been going on for? Much longer than he had suspected. Perhaps since Albus himself had come into possession of it. A betrayal, since it had been stolen! By that little red headed pet of Albus’ no less. Gellert had been furious and uncontrollable when he had realised the pact was missing. He hadn’t left a single thing in his office standing or in one piece, feeling nothing but pure rage and grief at the loss. “The troth cannot be beaten by whatever magic or Muggle tools you are attempting to use. I’m afraid we were quite thorough in our spells, even back then.” Neither had even considered the possibility that they might not be together, forever. They’d been fools. So young and in love and clinging to the firm belief in ever after, even if they weren’t so sure it would entirely happy. They’d both known the revolution they were going to create wouldn’t necessarily lend itself to complete happiness. But being side by side with Albus would have been enough.

Gellert made no attempt to leave as Albus once more tried to suggest he leave. If his husband thought he was going to leave him in this state without at least attempting to help, he had lost his mind. Albus might be ready to accept his what he believed to be his fate but Gellert wasn’t going to simply allow him to play the role of martyr so quickly or soon. “Since you have had the troth, what have you been doing with it?” Gellert watched him closely as he waited for his response. He feared that Albus intended to break the blood pact, which would certainly explain why it was attacking them after all this time. Gellert had never wanted such a thing, hopeful for so long that perhaps one day they would find their way back to each other. “Planning to break the bond?”

❝—And  I  stand  by  my  choices,  no  matter  how  painful  some  of  them  might  be,❞  he  quickly  shot  back.  ❝Why  would  I  have  come  looking  for  you,  Gellert?  The  lines  have  been  drawn.  The  only  reason  I’d  need  to  come  looking  for  you  is  to  join  you  and  we  both  know  that  I  will  not.❞

And  honestly  he  wasn’t  trying  to  pick  a  fight.  Heck,  the  last  thing  he  wanted  to  be  doing  right  now  is  fighting  with  his  ex,  but  if  he  kept  making  little  comments,  that’s  exactly  what  this  was  going  to  turn  into  and  Albus  be  damned  if  he  allow  himself  to  be  berated  in  his  own  damn  home.  Not  when  there  was  enough  blame  to  go  around  on  both  sides.

He  let  out  a  shaky  breath  as  he  gripped  the  desk.  He  wanted  to  sit  back  down,  but  he  knew  he’d  be  tempted  to  lull  himself  back  to  sleep.  Now  was  not  the  time  when  he  had  a  visitor  and  one  who’d  likely  have  a  lot  to  say  about  his  sleeping  habits.

The  necklace  went  ignored  again.  Albus  found  it  best  not  to  think  about  its  actions.  If  he  worried  too  much  about  the  coiling  around  his  neck,  he  might  start  panicking  all  over  again.  Gellert’s  gaze  did  not  go  unnoticed  this  time,  but  again,  Albus  brushed  it  off.  Gellert’s  concern  wasn’t  needed  right  now.  Not  when  his  ex  couldn’t  help  much  in  the  first  place.

❝Yes,  well  thank  you  for  the  kind  reminder,❞  he  huffed.  ❝I  gathered  that  much  after  several  vain  attempts  at  busting  it  open.❞

Because  initially,  he  had  sought  to  merely  free  himself  from  the  chains  keeping  him  from  living  life  in  a  new  direction.  The  necklace  was  a  horrible  reminder  of  a  past  gone  wrong.  Ridding  himself  of  the  feeling  had  been  on  his  immediate  agenda.  Much  research  had  gone  into  it  with  Albus  finding  little  by  means  of  destroying  dark  objects  such  as  the  troth.  He  had  given  up  for  a  time,  carrying  on  with  life  until  the  sickness  began.  Subtle  at  first,  and  something  he  thought  he  could  simply  rest  off,  but  in  time  things  only  worsened.  Maybe  it  had  been  naive  to  believe  mere  Muggle  objects  could  destroy  the  chain,  but  it  had  been  worth  a  try  when  all  else  failed.  Now  more  than  ever  he  was  convinced  it  would  take  some  really  powerful  magic,   but  his  own  was  far  too  weak  right  now  and  that  complicated  things.

He  slowly  moved  from  behind  the  desk,  crossing  the  room  with  poise  despite  the  pain.  There  was  a  small  table  that  had  a  chalice  upon  it  filled  with  water.  He  reached  for  it,  taking  a  few  sips.  The  house  elves  were  good  about  keeping  him  something  to  drink  even  if  Albus  often  declined.

Gellert’s  question  made  him  pause,  turning  to  look  at  him  warily.  As  if  he  didn’t  already  know.  What  ELSE  would  he  have  been  doing  with  an  object  determined  to  steer  his  fate?  ❝Up  until  now,  I’ve  been  doing  research  on  how  to  possibly  destroy  it.  Most  recently  I’ve  been  trying  to  smash  it  to  bits,  but  to  no  avail.❞

Albus  turned  away,  scoffing.  ❝The  bond  was  broken  the  moment  Ariana  died.  You  know  this.  It’s  not  some…  grand  secret  that  I’ve  been  keeping.❞

[genshin-impact-fics]

Finding out You're in the Fatui

Characters: Jean, Childe, Keqing, Albedo, Diluc, Xiao

Diluc:

Whatever way he finds out he’s very upset; he trusted you, he fell in love with you yet now he finds out you’re with the enemy? He’s fearing that everything that’s happened between the two of you was a lie, that you just used him until you got what you needed. His brain is just in a storm of thoughts

He wants to believe that you’re good at heart, that all of this was because you didn’t have much of a choice. He’s going to ask questions, but more importantly he will offer you a way out: abandon the Fatui and just live with him he will vow to protect you and even find a safe area to work if employment was a concern of yours

If you accept his offer he’s glad that he didn’t have to lose you, he loves you too much and it’d be just too sad for him to have to cut ties with you especially since you’re the first one he’s felt such strong feelings for

But if you refused and you made it clear that you willingly joined the Fatui, he’s absolutely heartbroken. He’d probably start crying out of how painful the reality of the situation was and try to beg you to leave and stay with him. He does not have the heart to even consider having to fight you, he didn’t want to harm you yet here you were showing a completely different side to you that not even he caught onto

Xiao:

He is enraged at the new information when he finds out. He curses himself for being so blind and having trusted you as much as he did. How could he be calm about this; you played a hand in the fall of the archon he served under, the archon that saved him from his horrible past and gave him a new purpose in life. How could he ever forgive you for such a betrayal

Though he refuses to bloody his hands with those of mortal blood, he will lash out and attack you. His heart hurts as how could he let this happen, he loved you yet was this the world’s way of punishing him for his past he could only wonder

If you plea to him to listen to your explanation he’s conflicted; you were either telling the truth or you were lying to just buy yourself some time… But he stopped and kept a safe distance from you as though you hurt his trust in his heart he still very much loves you so if there was a glimmer of hope that you can be saved he would be willing to listen to judge for himself. His expression softens when learning that you essentially got forced and trapped into working in the Fatui and at that point he is willing to keep you with him which mainly consisted of you living at the Wangshu Inn with him

However if you confirm that you’re in the Fatui of your own choosing he’s hurt, but he’s already withdrawing his own emotions so it didn’t get in the way of his duties. You’re no longer the mortal he fell in love with, you were just another mortal trying to use him for your personal gain. He’ll warn you to never to return and that you are no longer permitted to call out his name because from that moment on you were enemies

Albedo:

Deep down he didn’t want to accept the possible fact you were potentially bad. There were small things you did or said that made him slightly skeptical of you yet he overlooked them because he was in love with you, there was something that always made him so curious and so fascinated with you. You never judged him, you were patient with him, as you even put yourself at risk with plenty of his experiments

Of course this conversation was in the privacy of his lab in Dragonspine, surely there was no need to have a big scene be made especially when he wanted to simply hear what you had to say for yourself. He’s very composed and calm for someone who’s feeling this pain in his chest at the fact that you’ve kept this from him for so long

If you were truly innocent it saddens him to hear how you were stuck paying off a debt that wasn’t even your own and that was the only reason why you were stuck in the predicament that you’re in. Surely there had to be some way to hide you from the Fatui right? Maybe not up there in Dragonspine since there were already so many of the agents scouting the mountains, but maybe he could ask Jean if you could stay with him; however, that then led to another possible problem. If he tried to explain the details the fact that you were associated with the Fatui, Jean might just want to arrest you for interrogation which he might have to simply keep that knowledge to himself for the sake of your safety

But at any time you're telling your story he will call you out on something if he feels you weren’t being truthful. Hearing that you were a third generation agent he came to understand that it was initially a family legacy to uphold; rather unfortunate but oddly enough he still didn’t look down on you for that. Of course he’s unsure of what to do as things are surely to be complicated now, but how could he come to really see you as the enemy when he loves you

Regardless of the case, he will continue to stay with you; however, he’ll take a few precautions to insure his own safety. He won’t be sharing details of things he’s working on, no more asking to help with experiments (unless they’re just something mundane and nothing too serious), but other than that he just can only hope that you will continue to be truthful from there forth

Childe:

You are his favorite and it’s very obvious to everyone in the Fatui. You are just about the only exception out of all the agents that he will go a little bit easy on when it comes to missions not going accordingly. He love you to bits and surely made sure that you knew he was serious about your twos relationship

You are not allowed to go on missions with the other Harbingers, Childe is very keen on having you accompany him and only him on missions. He also personally sees to your training because he sees the potential in you and it just seemed like the other agents who are in charge of training don’t seem to up to the level that best benefited you

You get spoiled a lot, he also makes sure to always praise you after any mission or task you do: you had a minor task to go collect a debt? Childe will tell you a job beautifully done. You were away on a big mission that had to do with looking for evidence of the whereabouts of another archon? He’ll tell you how proud he is and how much he loves you. He will make a request the Tsaritsa to bestow a delusion onto you; cuz surely if one of her Harbingers is speaking so highly of someone truly they are worthy of her gift

There was already so much to love about you already but ever since he found out how good you were with his siblings he knew that you were the one for him. He can trust you to look after his siblings to keep them safe since they already know that you are his significant other (but of course have no clue either of you work in the fatui). You two are in Liyue and Teucer suddenly appears out of nowhere: you’re already prepared to take care of and look after the younger brother. Childe just loves how good you are with him and it shows how much Teucer likes you too. Childe only wish that he could marry you the next day (something he says often to you)

Jean:

Needless to say she was distraught when she stumbled upon you speaking in a hushed tone with La Signora in the dead of night in an alleyway during her patrol. She didn’t know what to think but of course she wanted to confront you yet she’d stay hidden and wait till you were alone which didn’t help her spiraling thoughts wondering if you had been with the enemy this whole time and what the two of you had was just pretend to you

The moment the coast is clear Jean will come out of hiding and stand tall with her arms over her chest though the expression on her face does not match the rest of her body language. She knows she should keep this professional without getting her emotions involved, but how could she not when it was you; you were her lover so naturally she can’t help it

You knew you were in trouble as you could have hightailed it the other way, but you knew it would only make matters worse though also even if you had run now you’d have to face her eventually so what was the point. You answered whatever question she asked you; Though Jean did have a slightly difficult time being able to tell when certain replies you gave were possibly a lie. It pains her to have to consider breaking up because she did love you yet how could she love someone that could pose a great threat to her home that she’s sworn to protect; would probably have you put into custody for a while just to fully ensure that you weren’t just a spy or scheming behind the knights of favonius’ back

You of all people did Jean not expect to have such a high standing in the Fatui; you weren’t just some agent to be stationed there, you were a younger sibling of one of the harbingers overseeing everything the agents did. It made everything all the more painful for Jean as she thought she finally found someone who understood her and loved her despite her business along with her flaws, but she started to doubt your relationship. She’d have to take you in for further questioning to see what information you’ve leaked out, but when you made a run for it Jean knew she should chase after you yet… She let you escape, she didn’t want you getting hurt as for this one time will she let you do so; however, if you two crossed paths again unfortunately you’d give her no other choice but to warrant your arrest

Keqing:

She’s surprised at the fact that you’re associated with the Fatui, but of course she’s going to act as if it doesn’t bother her or hurt her in the slightest (though we all know just how badly she’s hurting on the inside). She knew it was too good to be true that you so happened to share the same ideologies and that you got along so beautifully.

She has put so much trust in you that she’s brought you up to the Jade Chamber with her to have peaceful tea time dates a couple of times before its destruction. Yet you made her look like a fool, as even if you never intended to hurt her or betray her, Keqing takes it very personally even if her love for you runs deep

Regardless whether or not you were good of heart that was trapped serving the Fatui or truly was lying about everything and using her that whole time she will coldly cut you off. She’s putting on her tough act saying how she simply cannot love a traitor that has put liyue in harm's way

It’s not until she’s alone or possibly just with Ganyu that Keqing breaks down into tears sobbing over her heartbreak. Nothing hurt more than letting you go, how she wanted to give you that second chance, but she couldn’t let love cloud her judgement, as maybe one day in the future you two could be together, but for now she’d need time to heal though she probably never really gets over you

[laketaj24]

Serotonin

Author’s Note: I finally finished something in my drafts after two months. I feel semi accomplished today! Taglist is open, as are requests!!!! Send them… I want them.

Pairing: Colson Baker x Reader

Warning: Smut, public sex, drinking, language

Inspo Song: Why are you here?

 The eyes searing into you from across the club belonged to Meg Styer; you knew of her well, based on Colson’s Instagram, she was the new arm piece. The well-known model had a reputation of making herself known to the exes, even if that meant starting confrontations when they were not needed. She crossed her long russet brown legs; they shimmered in gold, as did her entire outfit. You felt immediately outdone, thinking of the minimal effort you’d put into the outfit or your makeup today. Tonight's outing was not supposed to be about Colson or this new woman; it was about falling out of this fucking slump you'd found yourself in for the past month.

"It’s lively here.” Eric grinned. Straight edge, Eric.

You cringed inside; if your mother could have created someone on an app, Eric would have been him. Without a doubt, he was handsome, with dark hair, delicate features, and not a tattoo or piercing in sight. The club had been his idea, but parts of you believed he’d gotten the idea from your sister, who knew that there was no way in hell you’d sit at a restaurant and eat. You liked the action; your job called for you to sit in silence and awkward conversations; you didn't want your life to be a damper as well.

“It is,” you looked around, taking everything in, including the abrasive eyes that still remained on you, but it didn’t matter once he entered the room. The black shirt revealed his entire tattoo-riddled chest, even the one of your name he’d gotten a few years back. He looked like he might be up to trying you tonight, so you had to disappear and do so quickly. “We should go to the booth you got.”

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea.”

It wasn’t a good idea; you sat uncomfortably across from the pair watching their every move while trying to suppress the need to end the date abruptly and slap the fuck out of him. Irritating you always was the one thing he did exceedingly well. Meg sat in his lap, draping her arms over his body, throwing her ass on him like she had no shame!  Did he know it was you across the room from him? Did he care? You watched as the waiter brought your third glass of tequila to the table and leaned into Eric, noticing the earthy cologne mixed with the whiskey. He smelled nice, or perhaps you were elusive to the bullshit because being near to him dulled the ache of the scene across from you.

The room to be secluded offered no privacy, so even when you felt alone, you were smothered in the thoughts of what if he saw you kiss or touch this guy- what the fuck was his name again? You uncrossed your legs, clumsily kicking the round glass table in front of you and spilling his drink but thank god not yours.

“I need some air; I’m gonna go get some.” You paused and took your glass. “I’ll be back.” The words scrambled out, and you did too, pushing up from the leather couch and not looking back to see Eric’s reaction to the awkward movements.

Too many people surrounded you, and at the moment, all you truly wanted was to hear nothing and feel nothing, even if it meant you had to get shit-faced. The stairwell didn’t have many people in it; only two women consumed in one another and Colson.

Your heart sunk once you realized it was him, from fear, dread – fucking embarrassment, maybe? He shook his head; you took notice of the three earrings in one ear while the other garnished a seat of crosses that dangled. Colson’s hair was slightly disheveled atop his head; the dark roots peeked out of the platinum blonde tapered cut. He looked great as usual. “I thought you were in for the night?” Colson’s voice carried over the music because he refused not to be heard, especially by you. He looked down at you, nursing the glass of chilled tequila. You’d acquired a taste for it over the years of being with him, Colson drinking tequila like water had rubbed off on you. “This doesn’t look like your place.”

“Did you want something?”

“Why are you here with that broke down,” He paused dramatically, raising his hand as he thought of more insults. “Tom and Jerry looking motherfucker?”

“That’s the best you can do?”

Colson drug his teeth over his lip, “Where you meet him?”

“Where’s that instamodel chick? You know the one with the plastic ass and tits? You leave her in the car just so you can go check on your other hoes, or is she in here with them?”

“Man, stop.”

“I saw her looking at me, don’t tell them about me. I’m not your concern, and I am damn sure not theirs.”

“How’d you catch her looking at you if you weren’t looking at me?” Colson’s cocky smirk sent a rush of anger coursing through your body; even when he lost, he found a sure way to find a confident victory in it.

“Bye, Colson.” Your eyes met his, remembering how blue they were. Even when he was dead drunk, they found a way to still hold onto the Colson you knew was in there somewhere. The sweet one that danced in the rain and stayed in bed with you every free night he could give -- you shook it off. Breaking eye contact with him to look anywhere but the blue crystal stare. You cut down to the ground, admiring your pumps before he turned away from you and left.

The drink was no longer cold, and the tequila didn’t even burn as you chugged down the remnants of the clear liquid. You pinched the bridge of your nose, taking a deep breath, and then leaned against the stairwell.

“Long night?” Eric cleared his throat.

“Already, I’m so sorry. Could we leave here?”

Eric shook his head yes and placed his hand on your shoulder, “Is everything okay?”

“Perfectly, fine. It’s fine.” You swallowed. The hazed state of your mind needed to be cleared, especially before you left with him. “Can I meet you upfront? I’m going to freshen.”

“It’s fine; take your time.”

 You wouldn’t take your time; the quicker you were out of this place, the better. Whenever you were in his element, your mind refused to do the right thing. You moved through the crowded dance floor, carefully avoiding familiar faces. And finally, you were at the restrooms splashing the cool water on your face. You looked yourself over, grateful you hadn’t worn makeup—the trickles of water run down your rich ochre brown skin.  Too many thoughts raced through your mind out there but not in here. It was silence, and your mind was in a stupor. For a second, everything stilled, your heart and breathing were relaxed, and everything was back to normal, that moment as everything else was short-lived.

Colson’s reflection appeared in the mirror before you. “I cannot believe you lied to me?” The door clicked behind him.

“I didn’t lie to you.” The way he casually entered the women’s bathroom to start an argument pissed you off. “And get the fuck outta here.”

“We talked earlier today, and you said you were in for the night.”

“You said you were going out by yourself, and you got a whole entourage. So, same shit, we both just single now.”

“Come here.”

“No, you don’t get to tell me to come here. You don’t get to follow me in the bathroom and talk to me about fucking lying when you-.”

Words ended when his lips met yours, he towered over you, but he didn’t mind the effort it took to get to your lips. He walked you against the wall- steadying your steps to his until he picked you up, and as if your body knew the routine, you wrapped your legs around him. Your lips eagerly kissed him back, tugging on his bottom lip before returning to take more kisses. How were you this hungry for him? You wanted nothing more than him to fuck you, rip this dress and ruin you in this unlocked bathroom. “Y/N.”

“Fuck me.” You pleaded.

He only needed the confirmation to move towards his belt buckle unsheathe his dick. There were two ways you fucked, frantic and as if you would never see one another again and then slow – ironically, they both had the same outcome. Your heartbeat matched his, strumming against your chest, and his matched yours. You loved it. There was no foreplay needed; you wanted to feel every inch of the pain he had to offer. He pushed the black dress up to your thighs, bunching the fabric enough that it revealed your pussy for him. He swiped his tongue over the pads over his fingers and swiped your lips. You were wet for him. You had been the whole night, no matter how much you wanted to deny it. He pushed the long finger into you, curling it to press the soft pad that made you squirm and throw your head back in pleasure.

He moved from the wall to the counters, not giving a fuck if someone walked in or not; he spread your legs wider for him and gripped your curls. Exposed to the world, but all you could see was him. You reveled as he slammed into your hilt deep, muted your sequel with his lips, and paused. “You missed me, didn’t you?” He whispered. “Y/N?”

“Shut up,” Your pussy answered for you, squeezing to pull him deeper as he fucked into you. He wasn’t even deep enough for you; your fingers tug on the black shirt as you thrust to meet him each time. Your skin clapped against his every time, his cock expertly hitting that spot inside of you that made you want to cum right then and there. You held it, panting as it began to build up all over your body. He knew the signals, the way your hands rapt against him, legs quivered, and your pussy throbbed.

“Up.” He said, listening to the door open behind him.

Decency had left when he started fucking you, there was no way in hell you’d stop now, and Colson possessed no fucks when it came to sex. They could watch whoever the fuck it was. He positioned you in front of the mirror, bent over for him. Colson’s heavy hand came down on your ass, and then he pushed into you arching your back before wrapping a hand around your hair and fucking into you wildly.

Your ass bounced back on him, and his moans made you wetter. Your fists clenched as you tried to steady yourself – there was no controlling the orgasm that flowed through you. Your breath quickened, your toes curled, and your eyes snapped closed as his name rolled from your tongue.

“Open them eyes.” He gave an arrogant laugh before leaning over you, pushing himself deeper and flicking his tongue over the lobe of your ear.,

Your eyes opened, and you saw yourself flushed with sweat, mouth open, and him fucking the shit out of you. The scene erotic, beautiful, and shit you wanted it again and again. “Oh shit.” You mumbled.

“You think that fucking clown ass suit gone give you this?” He laughed as he slapped your ass again. “I thought not.” He guided you back on him, taking your hips in his hands, making sure you took every inch. He was greedy himself, watching your breast bounce in the reflection of the mirror, all while hearing you echo throughout the entire bathroom. It was music to his ears. Colson slowed his stroke momentarily, peppering, kissing down your shoulder blade before increased his pace once again, and your body jolted. You ground against him, urging him to cum and the pressure built. He panted against your back for a moment and then kissed your exposed skin. “Don’t go home with him.” He whispered, retrieving your panties from his pocket. Colson lowered himself to his knees and turned you around.

“You can’t tell me that.” You whispered.

“I’m asking.”

“Are you taking her home?”

“I can drop her ass off at her place right now.” He smiled, pointing. “Shit, you can ride shotgun.”

Good memories flooded of his snarky ass sense of humor and late nights. “You’re silly.”

Colson adjusted your dress and then stood in front of you, making sure your hair and lipstick was not smudged everywhere. “Drop Chandler off and come home.”

“Fucking hell mate,” Dom’s voice did not seem shocked. “This other chick is trying to kill me out here. Y/N?”

“Dude, will you get the fuck out of here… like now.”

“Fine. I’m leaving.”

“This was-,” You step away. “Uhm, I don’t know. I’ll call you okay?”

“Tonight?”

“Tomorrow.” You clarified. “Or the next day, just give me a damn minute to breathe?”

“Bet.” He sighed. “Should I go first… so it won’t seem suspect?”

“You’re a 6’4” guy leaving the women’s restroom, you’re busted.” You chuckled.

 A/N: I through Dom (Yungblud) in there because I kinda love him just as much lol might right him too! Hope you enjoyed! Thank you! Please let me know what you think!

Taglist: @taytayize123 @supernaturalvikingwhore @jae-writes-fanfiction @bigsisbria @placeoffreedom @kyla-queen @missdforever @gottatoxicattitude @bang-kim-bap @msreshel @blowmymbackout @titty-teetee​

[1kook]

youtube & use lube

part 7 of my netflix and chill collection!

summary: You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube.  warnings: smut in the forms of nipple play, handjobs, spit kink, face riding, unprotected, flavored warming lube, riding, praise kink, soft femdom, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, tit sucking, more jk has an impreg kink, oh and this is all subby kook rating: mature (18+) miscellaneous: domesticity baby!! fluff, soft scenes /.\, jk is sick:((, doyeon is A Doctor, yn sees an opportunity and she grabs it, surprise ending <3  word count: 8.7k  

notes: finally…. 7 parts later and we get ~✨💓sub kook💓✨~ this was honestly my fave to write I think because I was obSESSEDDD with his softness and yn leading hehe /.\ also yeah we time jumped 6 months bc uhmmm 😎 story progression also here’s [ THE KOOK U SHOULD IMAGINE FOR THIS 😡 ] also if see a typo ummm no u didn't .

let me know what u think! a simple ask goes a long way <3

Despite what past experiences may dictate, Jungkook’s body is actually quite resilient. It’s due in part to his obnoxiously healthy lifestyle; avocado breakfasts, gym rat tendencies, and a normal person’s circadian rhythm (you could never relate). He lives the life health professionals can only dream of writing down in their notes, so careful of his well-being that it’s almost annoying. Of all the habits you help him break, the rituals he sometimes forgets, his health is never one and it’s actually one he ropes you into quite often. The ladder accident last summer had truly been an odd occurrence, and for a while after, you doubt anything else will ever happen to him. 

And then winter comes. 

Now, Jungkook, with all his superior bodily systems and strict lifestyle, is still not immune to the common cold. So when he comes down with a stuffy nose, a saggy frame, you’re not too surprised. It’s right after New Year’s, which you had spent it at one of Taehyung’s classic overcrowded parties this year, shivering on a rooftop as he kissed you silly under the fireworks, so one of you was bound to get sick. And you were sick for Halloween, so it’s only the universe’s way of leveling the playing field when he gets sick after New Years. 

What does surprise you is when he doesn’t bounce back right away. Usually, Jungkook’s high caliber immune system has him in tip top shape about two days later. But this time around, it takes a while. In fact, it takes longer than usual, and you don’t realize until you’re coming over on a Friday night, met with an unusual silence at the Jeon household. 

As you slowly grew accustomed to your life out of school, you and Jungkook accepted that you didn’t really have time to be glued to each other’s hips at all hours of the day. It was only natural that sometimes you had too much work, were too tired, or were just not in the mood to visit each other. That was fine, and you’ve come to quite appreciate this new routine, because it only made your heart flutter faster than before when you did see him next. You don’t have to see each other everyday, and that was fine; it was part of growing up together (and growing old together, your sappy heart says).

But today, this separation ends up being your downfall. Jungkook first showed signs of a cold on Monday, and now it was Friday and you hadn’t heard from him in two days. You’re beginning to suspect he’s come down with something severe— maybe that strain of the flu that he forgot to get vaccinated for this year —or even worse, dead.

Luckily, Jungkook isn’t dead, just sadly slumped across the end of his bed, nose a bright red and hair a tangled mess. “Oh no,” you frown, but there’s not an ounce of distress in your voice, because boy, was he cute. 

He groans at the sight of you. “Don’t look at me,” he whimpers, hands fisting the sheets. “I’m ugly.”

You bite down on a smile, hang your bag on the hook behind his bedroom door. He’s barely making an effort to stay on the bed, clinging to the side with such powerless hands. “Absolutely hideous,” you play along, arms wrapping around his middle. Registering your touch, your support, he immediately releases what little grip he had and almost sends the two of you tumbling to the ground. “My poor baby,” you croon, manhandling him back into the comfort of his sheets. 

Perhaps the reason you believed Jungkook was so immune was because, well, he never let you see him sick. 

He was picky about his presentation to the world, always wanting to show his best side. And well, you were in that world. Hell, you were probably the main person he wanted to show off for (not to toot your own horn), so he avidly avoided showing you his unpleasant sides. Even in college, when you had been practically stuck to his side, he had always made a big deal of pushing you away when he was sick, calling off dates and hiding away at his house. 

You sort of knew why. Namjoon had told you once that Jungkook when drunk was the equivalent of a needy, whiny baby. You could attest to that because wine drunk Jungkook and vodka drunk Jungkook were quite the experiences to haul home. And apparently Jungkook when sick was more or less the same. He was all doe eyes and pouty lips, magnified by his weakened appearance. He was adorable. 

He’s wearing a lot of layers, but it’s still winter so you don’t think too much of it. Dark long sleeve sweatshirt, the front tucked into some cute brown and black checkered pants. You see it as just some casual at home attire until you reach for his covers, hand brushing his hair from his face, only to find it ice cold. 

“Oh, you’re freezing, honey,” you frown, for real this time. Jungkook whimpers, snuggles into the sheets you pull up to his chin. He dozes off soon after, pouty lips chapped to hell and back. You reach for your chapstick, deciding to get one good use of it on your own lips before contaminating it with Jungkook’s sick germs. Even in his sleep he’s a good boy, rolling his lips together after you’ve applied it on him. 

With Jungkook knocked out, you pad back downstairs and into his kitchen. You can more or less infer that he’s come down with something a little more intense than a cold. His skin was cold, and his nose was runny, but, oddly enough, he wasn’t sweating. You decide to consult a professional. 

“The little gremlin is sick?” Doyeon repeats, a comforting buzz in your ear as you get to work making Jungkook your famous Get Better Soon Soup, idly waiting for the water to boil over. You confirm. Doyeon, legend that she was, accidentally sat an entire physiology class one semester (and passed), so this is the closest you’ll get to a doctor friend. “Hm,” she says, “what’re his symptoms?”

You press your phone between your ear and shoulder, clattering around Jungkook’s kitchen for ingredients. “Runny nose and colder than your ass that one time you passed out in the snow,” you supply. “Oh, but not sweating.”

Doyeon hums over the line, tells you to give her a second, and disappears. “WebMD is saying fever, but you said he’s not sweating?” You confirm again. “Throw him in front of the heater and make him sweat then. He has to burn it out somehow.”

“I can’t do that,” you sigh, pausing when you hear some vague sound from around the house. It’s not Jungkook, so you return to your call. Anyway, Jungkook’s house is, like, perfect. Always warm when need be and always cold as well. You don’t even think he knows what a space heater is. “He’s sick sick. Like, can barely hold himself up sick.” 

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

Anyway, Jungkook probably has a fever, except it’s weird because he’s not sweating it out. He wakes up about an hour later, but this time he’s more self aware. He eats his soup and takes the medicine you offer him. Afterwards, he can’t go back to sleep so he huffily asks for his iPad and begins watching some weirdly specific YouTube videos you don’t think you’ve ever seen him watch before. 

You have absolutely no idea what he’s watching, some niche videos of guys in Singapore turning random forest areas into underwater pools? You don’t know. Jungkook seems interested, though, for all of ten minutes until he falls asleep again. 

He’s still cold, poor baby, nose like an ice cube that just won’t melt. You find a heating pad you left over in his closet and place it on his chest. Your thought process is that if his heart, the source of all energy, was warm, then certainly the rest of him will warm up soon enough. Yeah, you missed the last three seasons of Grey’s Anatomy; you were a little rusty. 

So with Jungkook fast asleep and nothing else to do, you assume the age-old, patriarchal task of cleaning around the house. 

His house was usually neat and tidy, mostly as a result of Jungkook’s virgo manifestations, but even those varied. His living room tended to be spotless, but his personal office was a different story. But with him having been out of it this past week, the entire house is littered in tiny garbage that would make Normal Jungkook burst a blood vessel.

There’s a pile of Reese’s wrappers in the downstairs bathroom, on the sink next to his toothbrush. The sight makes you sad, because your poor boy must have been struggling if he was eating candy in the bathroom, where he… uses the bathroom. And then that thought makes you even sadder, thinking back to all the times he was sick and alone, fending for himself out of his weird embarrassment of showing normal body functions. 

You had thought he was cute when you first arrived— he still was —but he was also so weak and frail, bulky muscles rendered useless by whatever bacteria was attacking his body, making him sleepy and in pain for god knows how long. With a resolute nod, you sweep all the wrappers into the trash and decide to do your very best at helping Jungkook get through this sickness and bounce back better than ever. 

Before leaving his bathroom, you ransack his cabinets, deciding he probably keeps most of his antibiotics here. It’s a spot you never really snoop around, because Jungkook always keeps a fully stocked basket in his closet filled with your typical necessities— from conditioner to pads to nail polish remover, he kept it all. And furthermore, you always tended to use his upstairs bathroom anyway, so that’s where your toothbrush and the like were kept. There was really no need for you to ever look through the downstairs bathroom’s cabinet. So the downstairs bathroom cabinet is practically the other side of the world to you, a culture shock so strong it has you plopping down in front of it to thoroughly sift through. 

He’s got a disgusting amount of hair products, none of which you actually think you’ve ever seen him use, and a maniacal amount of tooth stuff. Now, you were quite possibly the biggest proponent for dental care, but this was ridiculous. Four packs of floss on reserve, and about three cases of those dental picks. A whole family pack of toothbrushes and one of those cute little cases for his retainer you’ve seen a few times. 

So overwhelmed with his ungodly stash of dental hygiene utilities, you almost miss the pretty pink tube hidden in the very back corner. 

You’re thinking it’s some makeup primer you left before that he mistook for moisturizer, probably dumped it with all his other things, only to find out you are very, very wrong. 

Sensation Warming Lubricant: NOW! in strawberry flavor 

You blink. 

Lubricant? Jungkook was using lubricant? Strawberry, sensation warming lubricant?!

Somewhere in your mind you had convinced yourself that Jungkook was a simple man, a lotion at his bedside drawer type of man. He had you for the last one and half year, and you two fucked like rabbits, so you hardly doubt he was jacking it alone these days. And even if he was, why on earth was he so specific about the type of lube he uses?

You turn the bottle around, eyes scanning for an expiration date or something of the like, only to find that the copyright symbol was under this current year. The year that had just started, like, two weeks ago. 

Oh, so this was new. 

You turn it over, eyes scanning over the warnings like it’ll tell you something about your boyfriend you don’t know yet, some other hidden secret that he’s maybe held from you. Granted, owning lube isn’t really a big deal, but the fact he’s got it so hidden away (not really, it was casually sitting beside his sunscreen) was definitely something to zero in on. 

Strawberry flavored, you read again, warming, stimulating, edible? Forget his weirdly extensive floss collection, you had stumbled upon something amazing in here, the goddamn Hope Diamond among snooping girlfriend finds. You’ll confront him about this later, you decide, when he’s back to normal and not whiningly calling your name from upstairs. You pocket it for now, tucking it into your cardigan pockets for said later interrogation, and bound up the stairs to him again. 

He’s sitting up in bed like a very angry and confused toddler, brows furrowed sharply like he’s mad. Actually, he just can’t see, the light from the hallway blinding him, so you shut the door and flick on his bedside lamp for him instead. “Hi, honey,” you coo, sitting down on the edge beside him. He’s still waking up, leaning a little too heavily into your palm when you cup his face. “How’re you feeling?”

“Terrible,” he rasps out, but he’s definitely looking better than before. You don’t know if you imagine it, but there’s this slowly accumulating sweat that forms along the base of his neck. “Please don’t leave again,” he says softly, droopy eyes glassy. 

Something shoots straight to your heart— an arrow from Cupid himself! —that makes you stroke his cheek tenderly until his eyelids are fluttering shut again. “I won’t,” you promise, feeling around for his iPad. He doesn’t seem like he’ll fall back asleep, sitting up with more strength than he had that morning. 

You end up climbing behind him, let him be the little spoon you know he secretly craves to be, as he watches his weird YouTube videos again. His body is so warm against yours, but his skin is still so cold. If what Doyeon had said was true, it’s no wonder he’s kept the same sickness all week. The rhythmic sound of machetes hacking at the earth and water trickling through bamboo pipes grows on you, makes you fall into a sense of comfort behind him, arms tracing circles over his chest. 

It’s a mindless habit, one you actually do a lot. Most of the time, it’s when he’s at his desk and stressed out, your masseuse hands making an appearance to soothe the muscles in his neck and chest from being hunched over for so long. Even now, your fingers unconsciously press into the fabric over his pecks, tickle up his sternum until he’s melting against you. 

It takes one quiet whimper from him to let you know exactly how he’s feeling. “Everything alright?” you inquire, halting your movements over his chest. Jungkook nods shakily, head lolling forward. The nape of his neck calls to you, whispers for a kiss that you tenderly bestow upon it. It makes Jungkook jolt, another pretty sound leaving his lips at the press of your warm lips against his sensitive neck. 

“No more,” he mumbles, rolls his head around until it’s resting against your shoulder, giving you a clear view down his chest. You slide your hands back up from where they’d gone stiff just around his ribs, let them palm over his pecs. Jungkook’s hips buck, a minuscule movement you almost miss. 

His heart thunders like the inside of a horse race track beneath your palm, breath picking up just from the simple motion of your hands on his chest. It’s on the fourth circle around his pecs that you feel your pinky briefly catch on something. “Poor thing,” you sigh, running the pad of your pointer finger over the hardened nipple that peaks beneath his sweatshirt. “Is this what was bothering you?” 

A shaky exhale in response, hands tightly clutching at his iPad and beloved YouTube video genre. “N-No,” he denies, but you chance a peak at his face, where his lips are bitten a rosy pink color, its slightly muted sister rushing down his cheeks, over his neck. 

You press the lightest of kisses to the side of his neck, and he shivers. “Need me to take care of you?” you purr, trail your hands down his chest towards where the hem of his sweater sits. You run your finger over it twice, before moving to slip your hand beneath. Your fingers brush along his abs, contracted tightly at your touch, and slowly make their way back up his chest. 

Fingers find his pebbled nipples, a gasp escaping his lips. “Does this feel good?” you ask softly, pinching the swollen nubs between your fingers. Jungkook groans, body arching just the slightest as you rub his nipples, tug and twist them until he’s a whining mess. “Need you to tell me, honey,” you encourage, lips ghosting over his neck. 

The second kiss has him flinching as well, head rapidly turning the other way as you slowly kiss over his neck. “___, please,” he pants, knuckles pale on the sides of the iPad. You're afraid it’ll snap, if not from his grip then from the way he pushes at it, like he’s breaking a wooden board over his knee. It’s still on YouTube, playing another video from the same collection, volume competing with Jungkook’s tiny sounds. 

Pressing your lips to his neck, you kiss along it slowly, reveling in the lovely noises that Jungkook produces the more you rub his nipples, lower body squirming animatedly before you. Your kisses grow wet for a short period, suck purple blossoms across his skin until Jungkook is quivering like a leaf. “E-Enough,” he begs, voice a wobbly mess that is so light and airy. 

You grin, giving his rockhard nipples one last flick before sliding your hands down his chest, over his stomach to toy with the elastic of his pants. He inhales sharply, iPad nearly snapped in half mid video. Ready to play with him some more (and slightly afraid for the future of his tablet), you reach out a hand to move it away, set it off to the side. 

But Jungkook doesn’t release it. In fact, he clings to the damn piece of tech tighter than before. “Hmm?” you murmur, bottom lip brushing against his neck once more. “Not letting go, sweetheart?” 

He shakes his head, soft crown of curls bouncing from the movement. “Can’t, can’t,” he shivers. His knees shift back and forth, move between being casually spread and flush together. Like he’s hiding something, using the iPad and the videos on screen as cover. You tug at his wrist and Jungkook shakes his head again. 

You change tactics, hand sliding around his wrist instead. The other travels up, up, up, comes curling around the base of his neck. Jungkook whimpers, tilts his head back for you cutely at the first brush of your fingers against his Adam’s apple. “Thought you were my good boy?” you ask, eyes zeroed in on the tremble of his lower lip. 

Jungkook exhales shakily, a rather torn expression crossing his features. “I am,” he insists, fingers still tight “I am your good boy.”

You smile, stroking the front of his neck softly as you lean down to press a kiss against his cheek. “You are, aren’t you?” He whimpers. “Then let go, honey,” you murmur, hand on his wrist giving another experimental tug. Still, his grip remains solid. “Jungkook,” you snap, “let go.”

“Y-You’ll laugh,” he cries, yet his grip slowly weakens. It’s with a swift tug that the iPad tumbles to his side, presses against his hip, and shows you the raging hard-on that stirs beneath the front of his cotton pants. Pressed nearly beside your ear, Jungkook shivers. 

Ever so slowly, your hands return to their place around his waist. “Why would I laugh, sweetheart?” you mumble, marveling at the way his cock twitches and jumps beneath his pants before you can even touch it. His shirt is hiked up just above his abs, your hands tenderly stroking over the skin beneath his navel, but it’s got Jungkook writhing. “Hips up for me,” you instruct. 

He shakes even when he pushes himself up, knees wobbling as you slip your hands beneath his waistband and tug them down his thighs. Afterwards, his legs flop forward flatly, spread out with his beautiful swollen cock on display against his hip. 

You trap it at the base and Jungkook mewls, hands fisting the sheets now that his beloved iPad has been snatched away. It’s still playing his videos, interrupting his saccharine moans with corny ads every few minutes. A hand snaps up to join, opposite of yours, until your fingers are entwined around his dick. How romantic, you think, discreetly rolling your hips back against the mattress. “Gonna help me make you cum?” you ask instead, give him a light squeeze that makes him jolt. 

“Uh huh,” he responds, feathery. 

You reward him with a kiss to his cheek, reaching up to brush away the hair that’s begun sticking to his forehead. In the very back of your head you recognize this as being good for his fever, but the rest of you is more concerned with the pretty pout on his lips. “Hold tight for me,” you smile, releasing his cock to press your finger against the very tip of his cock where a pearly drop of precum has begun forming. “So pretty, Jungkookie,” you praise, teasing the length of your finger over the slit on his head. It has that juicy droplet coating your finger, gliding seamlessly over and over again. 

The simple touch makes him buck, has him blindly wrapping an arm around your bent knee that was pressed to his side this whole time. He squeezes around you rather weakly, the majority of his strength going to holding his cock tightly like you’d instructed. He’s such a good boy for you, trying his absolute best, even when you’re very obviously overwhelming him. 

You roll the flat side of your finger over him, his mushroom tip slowly growing more and more slick as he produces more precum. It’s shiny, fits perfectly between your clasped fingers when you squeeze around his head. Jungkook’s breath turns labored. 

He’s always so well kept down there, skin so smooth and free of hairs, and you know he does it because he wants to impress you. “So pretty, baby,” you hum, acknowledging his efforts. Your praise makes Jungkook moan, suddenly fucking up into his hand. It’s accidental, because he hisses at the drag of his dry palm around his relatively dry dick immediately. 

“Hurts, hurts,” he whimpers prettily, lower lip caught between his teeth. 

You frown, slide your wet fingers down the base of his cock until they’re wrapping around his and Jungkook’s little gasps even out. “I’m sorry, baby, you gotta be patie—“

Something presses against your hip, something distinctly hard that you had hastily picked up from his bathroom cabinet earlier, and a whole new door opens before your eyes. “Hold still for me,” you tell him quickly as you release your grip around his cock. Jungkook wails at the separation, but you’re more concerned with wrestling the tube out of your pocket with one hand. It’s heavy in your palm, turning over until that big fat label on front comes into view again. 

Jungkook explodes at the sight. “Wh— Where did you find that?” he stammers, cheeks ablaze. “I-I don’t know where that came fro—“

You ignore him, hold the bottle of lubricant over his stomach as you uncap it, a gooey pink substance spilling over into your hands the moment the lid pops off. Jungkook is still rambling away about the origins of the bottle, as if you care. You set the bottle on his tummy, the cold plastic makes him shiver. But you know what’s not cold? The warming lube in your hands that only takes three rubs of your palms to activate. 

You latch down like a crazed animal around his cock. With both your hands fighting to grip at his cock, you’re pressed closer against Jungkook, lips against the shell of his ear. 

The initial touch makes him sob, back arching and legs kicking at the sheets piled at the foot of the bed as your slick hands track the lube over his dick. “No!” he cries, hands wildly reaching out to grab whatever he can as you slowly get to work pulling him off. “I-I can’t, __, I can’t.”

“You can,” you coo, watching the translucent pink substance coat his cock, join his sticky precum. 

Maybe you get overexcited in your efforts, forget Jungkook is the way he is right now because he was still a little weak from his fever, but you go crazy on stroking his cock. One hand lingers around the base, squeezing and rolling over his balls, palm pressing against the hardened sac and squeezing there too. The other focuses at the tip, does most of the actual stroking over his cock. His head is leaking precum now, every stroke and squeeze making him shudder and push out another drop, until it’s mixing with the lube to form a sticky sweet substance that you wanna lick at so bad. 

So you do. 

You release one hand to curiously bring it up to your face, turning it over and around as you examine the stickiness on your fingers, the fat drop that unintentionally drips onto the front of Jungkook’s sweatshirt. He sobs at the sight of your lips around your fingers, squirms and bucks into the hand still on his cock until he’s embarrassingly coming. “I’m sorry,” he wails, hands fisting the sheets, fucking into your hand like a virgin. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to.” 

You draw your hand away, watching in slow motion the cum that just spurted from his cock come dribbling down the slowly softening length now. “Oh, sweetheart,” you croon, hands on his tummy. The bottle of lube slips to the side, meets the still playing iPad at his hip. It’s sticky and gross to touch him like this, especially when you know Jungkook hates being unnecessarily dirty, but you can’t stop yourself from softly caressing him, soothe him after such a hard-hitting orgasm. 

Honestly you had thought he would hold up a little more, let you get in a few more strokes, but he must’ve been more sensitive than you thought. “I’m sorry,” he cries again, head lolling to the side to meet your gaze with watery eyes. 

You tilt his head to the side, angle him just right for you to bestow your first kiss of the night against his little pout. Jungkook hiccups, melts against you as you slowly guide him through the kiss. He’s sloppy and shy, moves nothing like your normal Jungkook, and that fact alone has you slipping your tongue past his lips. He doesn’t fight back, just lets you play with him and sighs all delicately against your mouth. 

There’s something about this, his soft and submissive attitude, that has you pulling away to look at him. Big brown eyes, glassed over with unshed tears, and plush lips that call your name. And yet. 

“Open,” you murmur, hypnotized by the way that tiny mouth moves. 

“Huh?” Jungkook flushes, but he’s so good, he’s your good boy, and does so anyway. Lower lip quivers as he parts his lips, stuttering exhales creeping through as you purse your lips, let the saliva collect on your mouth, before rudely spitting into his. He flinches, whimpers softly, and swallows. He looks at you with these expectant eyes, like he wants to hear how much of a good boy he is, so you do exactly that. 

You brush his bangs away lovingly. “Aren’t you just so good for me,” you purr, revel in the way his eyes flutter shut at your touch, like you could never hurt him, and you won’t. 

As sweet as the moment is, there’s a raging fire in your core begging to be stroked, and your hyperfixation on Jungkook’s mouth lets you know there’s only one way to chase the feeling. “Up,” you tell Jungkook, who whimpers sadly when you finally escape from behind him. 

But you don’t get too far, settling beside him on the bed until you’re looking at the damage you’ve caused from the front. His skin is sticky in some places, pink sheen of the lube decorating him from your incessant touching. Pants around his thighs, shirt against his chest. His face is flushed, all the way down to his chest and up to his ears, so rosy and pink all for you. He shies away under your gaze, drops his head to his chin bashfully. 

You grin, shuffle forward to turn those pretty eyes back towards you. “Messy little thing,” you tease, slotting your mouths together again. Jungkook moans this time, lazily kissing you back. His lips move in slow motion, trembling hands reaching for your face to cup, your name falling from his lips when you pull away slightly. “Need you to help me out now,” you murmur, hand on his jaw. “Can you do that, honey?” Jungkook nods hurriedly, eyes foggy and on your mouth. “Lay back.”

He does so, rushes to lay against the pillows until he’s flat on his back. You get to work on your clothes, shed your cardigan and languidly tug your top over your head in the way you know makes your breasts bounce. Beneath you, Jungkook whines at the sight. “You too,” you remind him, wiggling out of your jeans. At your instruction, he begins fumbling with his clothes, pants and underwear haphazardly thrown over the edge of the bed. 

By the time you’re naked, you’re met with a rather amusing sight. 

In his haste to take his clothing off, Jungkook seems to have gotten himself tangled in his long sleeves, shirt awkwardly bunched up around his wrists and twisted over some. You chuckle. “Help please,” he asks so politely, shaking his arms back and forth above his head. But you’re genuinely confused as to what he did, because one of the sleeves wraps around the other, pins the bulk of the fabric to his skin, and then the other wraps around that. A mess you don’t bother dissecting, simply climbing over him. He complains, of course, soft huffs you wave off. 

“Don’t need them anyway,” you shrug, can’t help the lovesick look you send him when you brush his hair away for the umpteenth time. Jungkook leans into the touch sweetly, rosy cheek pressed against your palm. “Lemme see your pretty little tongue,” you order, pussy clenching when he does as told and rolls his tongue out for you, tip pressed against his bottom lip. “Good boy.”

A soft whimper, and then you’re shuffling over him, pretty doe eyes watching with amazement when you finally hover over his face. “For me?” he asks so softly, so sweetly. 

It’s a question you’ve heard him utter countless times before in similar settings, always with a cocky grin and mean eyes, ready to send you to hell and back with his tongue or his cock. But it’s different now, big shiny eyes looking at you like you’re the greatest thing to ever happen in his life, so pliant and demure beneath your touch like he lived to serve you. 

“All for you,” you assure him, get comfortable, and slowly lower your pussy over his face. His eyes flutter shut immediately, pink tongue ready for you by the time your dripping cunt nears his face. 

You can’t help the moan that tears itself from your throat, a soft cry as he begins lapping against your folds. He’s so tender, so careful. It drives you crazy. Hands above his head squirming as you slowly grind your pussy over his face, more mindful than usual because he was so delicate tonight, like a baby bird that shivers with the simplest touch. 

His tongue is smooth, circles around your clit. He nudges your bundle of nerves back and forth a few times, sends an initial wave of tingles down your spine, before taking it between puckered lips. His slurps it into his mouth, where it’s so hot and wet, it makes your grind stutter. “Oh,” you pant, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair. “P-Perfect,” you mumble. 

The praise makes his features twist up cutely, mouth desperate to get more out of you. “You like that?” you gasp, holding his head still as he runs his tongue along your folds. Jungkook nods, eyes glazed over as he messily begins eating you out. “Like when I tell you you’re a good boy, Jungkookie?” 

He lets out a broken whine, the vibrations shooting up your spine and making you shiver. Tongue pressed in at your entrance, prods gently like it’s his first time (it’s not) and he’s gauging your reactions. “Oh baby,” you shudder, fingers tightening in his curls. 

He looks like an angel beneath you like this, halo of curls artfully splayed across the sheets, arms knotted above his head. Big pretty eyes that make you want to lay down and be his bitch instead, their power just so strong even when he’s whining and whimpering against your pussy like this. His tongue dips into your cunt, makes you buck against him by accident. “I’m sorry, angel,” you breathe, so caught up in your thoughts that the name just slips. It makes Jungkook’s cheeks flush a pretty pink, arms tug at their makeshift restraints. But his brain is scattered, torn between releasing himself, eating you out, and being shy. 

He settles soon enough, ends up just sticking his tongue out flat for you to grind against, using the grip in his curls to drag your pussy over his face. His scalp feels warm, sweat clinging to his hairline. He sighs endearingly against you, and it’s that final puff of warm air against your folds that has you coming, cum dripping over his lips and chin sinfully. 

When you finish, you quickly get off of him, lay down beside him. Jungkook is panting softly, tongue peeking out to taste the cum that splattered against the corner of his lips. “You were so good for me,” you praise, idly dragging your finger across his skin, collecting your cum on the tip. 

Jungkook looks at you with a heavy gaze, knotted wrists slowly returning to rest over his abdomen. “Can you… Can you call me that again?” he asks hesitantly, so shy and polite. 

“Hm?” you ask. “Angel?” His lips part, an awfully aroused look crossing his features. You smile, press your cum loaded finger against his lips and he opens, sucks around your finger and moans. “My pretty little angel,” you purr, slowly thrusting your finger in and out of his mouth. Before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning over to kiss him again, swallowing his cries in your desperate need to taste yourself on his tongue. Jungkook is more active this time around, daringly challenging your tongue with his before ultimately giving up, languidly following the pace you set for the kiss. You pull off with a pop, leave him dazed and trailing after your mouth cutely. 

You pat his cheek once, offer him a tender smile, before moving to get up and clean up. Jungkook whines at your departure, and it’s only once you’ve sat up that you realize why. 

Half hard cock at his hip, fattening slowly but surely. Instantly, it’s like the post-orgasm fatigue is yanked away, pussy throbbing at the sight of your angel and his cock, swelling from eating you out and kissing. He was too good to be true. 

“Oh, you poor thing,” you sigh dramatically, shifting onto your knees at his hip to look at him. Something pokes your leg; it’s the stupid iPad playing his dorky YouTube videos that you click off and chuck to the other side of the bed. You had had enough of that by now. 

He’s not at full mast yet, and he’s not getting there quick enough for your liking. So you take matters into your own hands. (Besides, what was stopping you tonight? Certainly not this soft, pliant Jungkook.)

Kneeling between his legs, you reach for the forgotten bottle of lube, squirt a fat glob into your hands, then decide that isn’t enough and squirt it directly onto your chest. Jungkook watches with wide eyes, lower lip caught between his teeth. “What— What’re you doing?” he stammers, can’t even sit up with his hands held together. “__, y-you don’t have—“

Squeezing your breasts together, you slip his cock between the crevice, watch as his angry head comes out on the other side so easily, so slippery. Oh, this was gonna be post-work, shower-time, spank bank material for months. 

Jungkook sobs, loud and unfiltered at the sight, expression torn as he watches you slowly work your tightened breasts down his quickly hardening member. “T-Too much, too much,” he cries, squirming and bucking beneath you. “I-I’ll come—” 

“Don’t,” you snap, stilling your moments to flick your eyes back to him. His head is rolled back, jaw strained, but when he manages to lift it up and look down at you, there’s tears that streak his cute face, trails that glisten when the lowlight of the lamp hits him just right. “Don’t fucking come yet, Jungkook.”

He sniffles weakly, more tears spilling from his eyes. “But I— it feels,” he blubbers, knotted hands reaching down for the base of his cock. You slap it away. “___, please,” he wails, face flushed from all his conflicting emotions. 

Ignoring his cries, you get back to work, moving your upper body to and fro to simulate the thrusting motion he is too weak to do himself. He whimpers pitifully, more tears leaving his eyes when you lean down and spit on the head of his cock when it emerges next, make it join the rest of the ungodly fluids painting your chest. Honestly, you’re certain it’s that damned strawberry flavored, sensation warming, edible lube that makes this experience so enjoyable, so mind-blowing. 

Jungkook seems to agree, stuttering out a messy whine. “Feels weird,” he snivels, only to be cut off when you release him from in between your tits. Immediately, he begins lamenting the loss. 

Slowly, you ease him back in. You’re beginning to understand the intensity of that damned warming lube, because with each glide of his cock between your breasts, it’s like a tingle of nerves sparks within you, insides folding in on themselves as they channel all their energy to that one area of hastily spread lube. It feels so good and wet and messy, Jungkook’s whiny sniffles only fueling the experience. His cock twitches dangerously, and you flash him a glare. “Jungkook,” you warn. 

“I’m sorry,” he weeps, thrashing back and forth as if that makes it any easier. “I just— I want,” he chokes, hips bucking into the suction you’ve created between your boobs. Tentatively, you stick your tongue out, let his tip brush against it on the next thrust. Jungkook curses, a feral groan escaping his lips. “Wanna fuck,” he seethes, “now.”

It’s but a slight peek into his regular personality, his normal mannerisms. But something about it now annoys you. In fact, it pisses you off, seeing him be so complacent and sweet just to try and overthrow you at the last second. And it’s with this same train of thought that you release him, climb over him like a crazed sex demon, and press your hand to his throat. 

“You're supposed to be good,” you spit, scowl turned on him and it immediately has Jungkook drawing back with his tail tucked, falling into line as he should. “You’re supposed to be my angel tonight, remember?”

Jungkook nods, big round eyes looking at you like you’re insane, but the cock that presses against your ass tells you that he likes it. “I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, shrinking back into the mattress. Sticky hands around his throat, probably make him warm and tingly, but all you can think about is those pretty eyes. Sensing your wavering emotions, he takes advantage by tilting his chin forward for you cutely, pink lips trembling as he silently asks for a kiss. 

You release him.

“Stupid angel,” you huff, mouth against his. “Gonna make me mad if you don’t act right,” you remind him, pushing his sweaty curls away from his face. He whimpers against your mouth, let’s you play with his hair as you calm down. He’s a blushing mess beneath you, every inch of him flushed and warm and sweaty. 

You shift back and are met with his still rock hard member against your ass. You touch him appreciatively, reaching back to stroke him with a half-assed grip. It makes him moan nonetheless, pulling away from your lips to mewl against your shoulder. “Wanna fuck?” you hum, curling your hand over the tip like he likes, watching his head roll back against his pillow at the sensation. Jungkook groans, doesn’t seem to hear you now. You try again. “Wanna fuck my pussy, baby?”

“Yes,” he gasps this time, jolts when you press the tip of your finger against the slit on his head, plug his cock from releasing any more precum. “Please, please,” he begs, the hands on his chest straining against the shirt he still hasn’t managed to shake off. 

One last kiss is delivered to him, a chaste one against his pout that makes him whine. “Whatever you want,” you purr, line him up. 

Your hands are still sticky with the lube and so is his cock. Everything is sticky; his cock, you folds, your tits, his neck. It’s a big sticky, slippery mess, but you can’t even be annoyed because everything feels so good. Your tits tingle from whatever they put in that damn lube, nipples rock hard and extra swollen today, like if you don’t touch them you’ll die. You sink back into Jungkook’s throbbing cock, and the second his cock spreads the lube along your walls, you’re jolting because it just feels so damn good. 

You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube. 

His cock pushes past your folds, fits snugly inside of you just like it belongs. It still feels like the first time, feels like your first day where he was so perfect and sweet. Part of you wonders what would have become of you two if he had reacted like this that day, soft and whiny, when you first prepositioned him. Maybe the sexual aspect of your relationship would be entirely different today, maybe you’d be one the always leading. 

But… you’re not sure if you’d want that. Leading is fun— hell, you’re certain this moment will be what you get engraved on your tombstone —but you were a pillow princess at heart with occasional dominant tendencies. You drool over this moment now, but if he asks for this again tomorrow you might actually bend over and die. It was a lot of work, keeping the energy going, and you find yourself having this newfound sense of respect for Jungkook as his cock slips past your folds. 

Anyway, when you sit on his cock, fingers teasingly tightening around his throat, Jungkook’s eyes are weirdly focused on your tits. He’s been doing that a lot lately, losing his mind by just staring at your tits. On some occasions he puts them in his mouth, gets possessed by some titty loving monster and sucks on them until you’re trembling. It’s fine because it’s quite frankly a huge ego boost, but something him now makes you want to pick at him for it. 

“They’re yours to taste, angel,” you hum, slowly rolling your hips over his fat cock. Jungkook whimpers, softly ruts up into your heat the next time you press down. “Tell me what you want,” you exhale, a breathy moan. 

He doesn’t say anything, just drops his mouth open for you with a trembling lower lip. Tongue peeks out, eyes glazed over in his lust, looking every bit like those hentai ads he hates so much. But you fulfill his wishes, help him sit up until he’s flush against your chest. His awkwardly bound hands get squished in the middle, and he says, “m-my hands...” 

“I’ve got you,” you soothe, undo his self-made restraints and toss them to the side. Immediately, he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against him to latch his lips around your breasts. “S-Slow down,” you whine, hands on his biceps as he sucks your tit into his mouth, twirls his tongue around your nipple. He’s good with his tongue even when he’s sick. 

He pulls off with a pop, ragged breathing only making you more sensitive as it fans over the thin layer of saliva he leaves on your tits. “Tastes like strawberries,” he groans wondrously, head against your chest. You use the lull to get back to fucking yourself on him, but Jungkook’s got other plans. He rolls the two of you over, pins you beneath him with his hot and sweaty body. “I’m sorry,” he moans as he begins jackhammering his thrusts into you. 

Your back arches, legs thrown around his waist as the sudden change of events. “Fffuck,” you heave, “harder, angel— gotta fuck like you mean it.”

Jungkook shudders, hands looped around the small of your back. His cock rams into you over and over, each glide of it against the walls of your pussy making you unravel in his arms. His lips latch around your other boob, suck and suck like he’s expecting something to come out.

That’s when it hits you. 

“N-Nothing there,” you tell him, arms wrapped around his shoulders. His lashes are wet, eyes pinching tighter at your reminder. He pulls away almost to protest, but then you’re guiding him up to your face, hot breath mingling with yours. “Nothing there because you haven’t given me a baby yet,” you murmur darkly, watch the emotions flood his features as you tap into that taboo kink of his. 

He chokes, grinds his cock into you and holds it there. “I-I didn’t,” he sniffs, “we never— you never said,” he whines, “...you wanted one.”

You cup his face in his hands, feel slightly mean for the pride you get from his tear stricken appearance. “I do,” you purr, lazily kissing him. “Want one if it’s from you. Don’t you?” He nods like an antsy puppy, quivering against you as he slowly and shallowly ruts into you. “Don’t you wanna see me like that, angel?” you egg on, hands looping behind his neck, idly playing with stray waves and curls. “Tummy so big and swollen because you did something bad, because you couldn’t pull out.” 

Jungkook sobs, pulls you impossibly closer until the head of his cock is missing your cervix repeatedly. One of your legs is pressed nearly to your chest, hip tight from the force in which he holds you. “I-I want,” he agrees, more tears spilling down his cheeks. 

You smirk evilly, kissing the corner of his mouth gently as he slowly picks up the pace of his thrusts. “Then fuck me hard, Jungkookie,” you demand, “fuck me full of your cum.”

Jungkook nods with a sniffle against your shoulder, fingers tightening against your skin as he slowly but surely begins nailing you into the mattress. He’s a good boy, always, because he does exactly what you tell him to. Uses those bulky muscles to hold you down, makes it impossible for you to move as he pistons his hips, cock sheathing itself inside your cunt. 

Every drag makes you unconsciously clench, the raw feeling consuming your thoughts. His cock is so big and wet today, certainly due to that stupid lube from beneath his cabinet. Your entire pussy feels like it’s on ecstasy, stupidly geeked up by that lube, and you’re sure Jungkook’s cock feels the same. It makes the glide so much better, so much easier, each ram of his cock feeling so easy. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper, nails digging down his spine. Jungkook is a sobbing, sniffling mess against the crook of your neck, absolute gibberish falling from his lips. 

But you’re no better, tongue seemingly set on a chaotic rampage to validate every single one of his fantasies. “Gonna fuck me while I’m pregnant?” you pant against his ear, fingers tugging at his hair. He doesn’t offer more than a strained cry, thrusts momentarily falling out of rhythm. “You would like that, huh? Fucking me when you’re not supposed to. You’re so bad, Kook-ah,”  you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Only pretend to be an angel but really you’re just a dirty, little pervert.” 

He wails loudly, slams his hips so hard into you that it makes you sob as well. “N-No,” he blubbers, tears against your skin. “I’m good— I’m a good boy,” he stresses, fingers bruising their prints into your skin. 

He presses so close, cock practically making your stomach bulge, but neither of you see. “Dirty angel,” you spit, yank his hair back roughly until he’s forced to look at you with that watery gaze. “So horny you’re willing to get me pregnant.”

Jungkook cries out, snaps his cock into you like he’s trying to break you in half. “No,” he heaves, tears dripping down his cheeks and onto yours. “I-I-I’d do it right,” he defends weakly, hips losing their demonic pace as his orgasm sneaks up on him. “Ma— Marry first… then, b— ba— bab—“

You swallow his words with your lips, kiss him like you’re on the verge of death in a desperate attempt to hide your tears from him. They paint your cheeks in stark strokes, trail down your skin and make everything blurry, but so does your orgasm. 

You come first, heart and body trembling at his unexpectedly sweet words, as you become a whimpering, teary mess beneath him. Jungkook follows, cries out your name one last time as he busts inside of you. 

Sticky and gross, he falls onto the pillow beside you. Poor baby is so tired, curls covering half of his face, but lips cutely puckered against the pillow. He’s sweaty as hell though, which you now vaguely remember was your original goal with all of this so you count this as a success. 

You think he’s fallen asleep, sitting up slowly and reaching for that t-shirt that bound him together earlier to clean up. He shudders when you run it against his skin, obviously still overwhelmed. You shift around the bed in search of today’s MVP. “Where’s the lube?” you mutter to yourself. 

Jungkook groans. “YouTube?” he asks, voice dry as all hell. 

“No, honey, the lube we used,” you respond, running your hands over the sheets for any signs of the pink bottle. 

“Want YouTube,” he mumbles, lets you swaddle him up in the blanket again. You roll your eyes and reach for the forgotten iPad that had long since tumbled to the floor. When it turns on, that same video from before is on pause so you don’t bother changing it as you hand it back to Jungkook. “Nice,” he murmurs, “underground water slide.”

You snort. “Weirdo.” He glares cutely, eyes barely open at this point. “Watch your YouTube.”

“Use your lube,” he sasses back softly, nonsensically, and then rather anticlimactically passes out. 

There’s something soft in your chest, something so big and overwhelming, that has you bending over his sleeping figure, mouth brushing against his. “Hurry and get better, angel,” you whisper, wish on it with all your heart. 

 To no one’s surprise, you get sick two days later. Doyeon laughs and laughs for hours about it, tells you that’s what you get for using sex as medicine. But Jungkook’s back to normal, which means he stays over and coddles you to death. 

“Hurry and get better,” he says, spoon feeding you your famous Get Better Soon Soup that you passed on to him. “I have a question to ask you.”

There’s a little black box in his downstairs bathroom cabinet that you swear you’ve never seen, but Jungkook knows you’re lying. 

It fits perfectly. 

epilogue

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[echotzzz]

Elriel Mate Behaviour

1. So after reread some of acotar past book and some of others post lately about elriel mate behaviour and parallel, i am really convince that elriel are mates and the second mate thing is real. Sjm said that if there are two mate bonds only one will be activate and in elriel situation this explain why Azriel couldn’t be in the same room with Elain and Lucien because of the mating bond scent. Elriel bond are not activate but the uncontrollable instinct as a mate eg.to eliminate any threats and protective towards their mates are there.

“ Lucien as Beron’s son, has the right to demand it (blood duel) of you.”. “ I’ll defeat him with little effort.” Pure arrogance laced with every words, But it was true.

Azriel only said coldly, “If Lucien kills Graysen, then good riddance.”

2. Next are the parallel of elriel between Feysand and Nessian regarding mate behaviour are also undeniable

Elain just linked her arm through Nesta’s and led her toward the family room, where Azriel stood in the doorway, monitoring them. As if he’d heard Elain’s sharp laugh and wondered what had caused it.

Just staring—and listening to that beautiful laugh. My mate’s laugh. I rubbed a hand over my chest at that sound—the joy in it.[...] I smiled. Smiled wider as Feyre’s laugh sounded again—as I felt it down the bond, sparkling brighter than the entirety of Starfall.

So Azriel search for the cause of Elain laugh because maybe he felt it same as Rhys when he heard Feyre laugh. And the laugh that they made are not like any laugh but the genuine laugh that comes with joy that even the bond could capture.

They were speaking, Azriel with some urgency, but Cassian didn’t hear him, heard nothing but the roaring in his head before he said to no one in particular, “I’m going after them.”[...] “Winnow me to her. Az, you find Emerie and Gwyn.”

From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.” Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows. Nesta said, “Then you will die.” Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

The similarities of this two situation is that both male are ready to sacrifies their lives and they aware of the repurcussions. Cassian knew the rule of the blood rite that he would be hunt down and executed if he retrieved Nesta while Az would die (nearly die) if enter the Hybern camp that even his shadow recoil. Eventhough Cassian decided not to rescue Nesta he still feels worried and restless for four days and just hope that she survives.

“You’d know if she’d died,” Azriel said, pausing his work and looking up at Cassian. He tapped his brother’s chest with a scarred hand. “Right here—you’d know, Cass.”

I don’t know but this feels like that Azriel has the same understanding and have been through it to said it to cassian like that🤷🏼‍♀️

“How can I possibly be his mate?” Mates were equals—matched, at least in some ways. “He is the most powerful High Lord to ever walk this earth. You are … new. You are made of all seven High Lords. Unlike anything. Are you two not similar in that? Are you not matched?”

3. So to be mates you must somehow match, equal and complement each other. We know that Azriel are one of the most deadliest Illyrian ever lived and his siphon contains only the killing power of an Illyrian and his shadowsinging ability was developed and feared by enemies. As for Elain we know that she is a seer can see vision and future and a lot many more that would be discover in her book but same as Nesta and Feyre she was made by the Cauldron and it turns out Cauldron likes her to purr at her presence and found her so lovely. At this point Elain could regard as powerful for the Cauldon itself blessed her with a seer gifts. And to add to the mix, Elain also practise stealth and maybe some spy stuff.

She scanned Elain from head to toe, wondering if she’d been taking lessons in stealth either from Azriel or the two half-wraiths she called friends.

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.”

I am not saying that Lucien is weak but in terms of powermatch and similarities between elriel it seems to make them as equal and best partner especially doing mission that giving good cause to save Prythian and Cauldron seems to play match maker in this👀

From Amren: an illuminated manuscript, ancient and beautiful. From Azriel: rare, vibrant paint from the continent. From Cassian: a proper leather sheath for a blade, to be set down the groove of my spine like a true Illyrian warrior. From Elain: fine brushes monogrammed with my initials and the Night Court insignia on the handles. And from Mor: a pair of fleece-lined slippers. Bright pink, fleece-lined slippers.

Okay this may be nothing but i can’t help myself to point out that even in present buying Elriel are buying the best gift and complementing each other ( what are the odds that Az bought paint and Elain gave brushes).

4. The last one i want to point out is Mor. So Mor have the power of truth right and she always there in mate situation. What if she could know a mating bond because of her power truth and reveal secrets ( A thing of secret, lovely, beauty)👀

Mor stayed overnight, even going so far as to paint some rudimentary stick figures on the wall beside the storeroom door. Three females with absurdly long, flowing hair that all resembled hers; and three winged males, who she somehow managed to make look puffed up on their own sense of importance. I laughed every time I saw it.

This scene was Mor painting in the wall during Feyre retreat after her mate revelation and before the sisters were made. At first i thought that the three female were mor, feyre and amren but amren has short hair👀. Maybe this is a forshadowing of the three brothers and three sisters🤷🏼‍♀️

Mor leaned back against the steps, utterly unrepentant. “Let him live with his Band of Exiles. Let him deal with Tamlin in his own way. Let him figure out where he wants to be. Who he wants to be. The same goes with her.” She was right. [...] Mor continued, “Just be patient. It’ll sort itself out. It always does.” Another kernel of truth.[...] “I want them to be happy. All of them.” “They will be.”

At this point Elucian will not be endgame okay i truly believe so and sjm said it is OBVIOUS (elriel👀) and it seems like Mor also thinks the same. She knew something we dont.

He was still happy to be Mor’s buffer with Azriel, but there’d been a change lately. In both of them. Mor no longer sat beside Cassian, draped herself over him, and Azriel..

So Cassian said that not only Azriel somehow gave up on Mor but Mor also stop to make Azriel jelly maybe because she sees there is no need to do it any longer. Maybe she knew abt Az feelings towards Elain.

But I strode to my seat—nestled between Amren and Mor—in time to see Elain say to Azriel, “Hello.” Az said nothing. No, he just moved toward her. Mor tensed beside me.

I think this when Mor started to see the truth between elriel feelings?? mating bond?? i just found it weird why she have a certain reaction towards them and maybe it has something to do with her truth power.

I just want to say that if elriel are not mates than it is fine too but the parallel and the crumbs really make me thinks the second mate are real. Lucien action towards Elain also show mate behaviour but much weaker?? compare to Azriel reaction. i dont know will find out in the next book to confirm. just sharing my two cents😘